The Landower Legacy by Victoria Holt Page B

like that,” said Jago. “He’s usually so restrained about our troubles.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, no use going over and over something that can’t be helped. Come on.”
    There was so much to see. The long gallery with more portraits, the state bedroom which had been occupied by royalty from time to time; the maze of bedrooms, ante-rooms and passages. I looked through the windows across the beautiful park and often into courtyards where I could see the carvings on the opposite walls—often grotesque, gargoyles, threatening intruders, I fancied.
    In due course we arrived at the ante-room which I believed led to Paul’s bedroom. It was a small room with a window into a courtyard. There was a small table on which stood a tray containing everything that was necessary for tea.
    Paul rose as I entered. “Oh here you are, Miss Tressidor. Have you still a high opinion of Landower?”
    I said fervently: “I have never before had the privilege of being in such a wonderful place.”
    “You win our approval, Miss Tressidor. Especially as you come from the Manor.”
    “The Manor is delightful, but it lacks this splendour … this grandeur.”
    “How good you are! How gracious! I wonder if Miss Mary Tressidor would agree with you.”
    “I am sure she would. She always says what she means and no one could fail to recognize the … the …”
    “Superiority?”
    I hesitated. “They are so different.”
    “Ah, loyal to Cousin Mary. Well, comparisons are odious, we are told. Suffice it that you admire our house. What a mercy it is you came … just in time.”
    I thought: He is obsessed by this tragedy, and I felt very sorry for him, far more than I ever had done for Jago.
    He smiled at me and his expression, which before I had thought a little hard, softened. “Now tea will be served. Miss Tressidor, will you do us the honour. It is supposed to be a lady’s task.”
    “I’d like to,” I said, and I seated myself at the tea table. I lifted the heavy silver teapot and poured the tea into the very beautiful Sevres cups. “Milk? Sugar?” I asked, feeling very much at ease and grown-up.
    Paul did most of the talking. I noticed that Jago was quieter in his brother’s company. Paul asked me about my impressions of Cornwall, about my home in London and the country. I talked vivaciously as I invariably did; but it was different when I spoke of my father. He had always seemed a stranger to me and never more than now. I was surprised how quickly Paul Landower sensed this. He quickly changed the subject.
    I was deeply moved by this encounter. I was excited, of course, to be in this ancient house, and at the same time I was sad because of the agony the family was suffering at the prospect of losing it. I felt uplifted in the company of Paul Landower and so pleased that he had come across Jago and me in the house and that he was treating me like a guest.
    He was so different from Jago. Jago I looked upon as a mere boy. Paul was a man and a man whose very presence excited me. I liked his virile masculine looks, but perhaps it was that touch of melancholy which stirred me so deeply. I longed to help him. I wanted to earn his gratitude.
    I had the impression that he was thinking of me as a rather amusing little girl, and he was interested in me merely because I was a Tressidor, from the rival house. I longed to impress him, to make him remember me after I had gone—as I should remember him.
    He talked about the feud between our families in the same way as Cousin Mary had.
    “It does not seem much of a feud,” I said. “Here am I a member of one side chatting amicably with members of the other.”
    “We could not possibly be an enemy of yours, could we, Jago?” said Paul.
    Jago said it was all a lot of nonsense. Nobody thought anything about that sort of thing nowadays. People had too much sense.
    “I don’t think it’s a matter of sense,” said Paul. “These things just peter out. It must have been rather fierce