The Reluctant Widow by Georgette Heyer

certainly with curiosity, but there was no surprise in his face; and a glance round the hall showed Elinor that an attempt had been made to render it habitable. “Barrow, here is your mistress,” Carlyon said, laying his hat down on the table. “Mrs. Cheviot, you will find Barrow very attentive to your comfort. You will wish to see Mrs. Barrow presently, I dare say, and to give her your orders. Meanwhile, I will conduct you over the house, if you are not too tired by the drive.”
    “Not at all,” said Elinor feebly.
    “Mrs. Barrow and the young wench your lordship fetched over from the Hall have redded up the Yellow Room for the mistress,” disclosed the retainer. “Them not thinking mistress would care to sleep in poor Mr. Eustace’s room, not but what he didn’t take and die there, when all’s said. Howsever—”
    “Yes, that will do!” interrupted Carlyon. “Mrs. Cheviot, the bookroom you have seen already. The dining parlor is here.” He opened the door into a room on the left of the entrance” lobby. “It is not handsome—none of the rooms here are large, and the pitch is everywhere low—but I have known it when it has looked very pretty.”
    “Ay, that you have, my lord,” agreed Barrow with a reminiscent sigh.
    “Barrow, be so good as to go and desire Mrs. Barrow to send some coffee to the bookroom
    for Mrs. Cheviot!”
    The retainer having been thus shaken off, Carlyon led Elinor over the rest of the house. She found it rather bewildering, for it was made up of what seemed to be a multitude of small rooms and very long passages. Many of the rooms were wainscoted to the ceiling, and the furniture was all old-fashioned and more often than not coated with dust. “Most of these apartments have not been in use since my aunt died,” Carlyon explained. “Why in the name of heaven did no one put the chairs under holland covers?” exclaimed Elinor, her housewifely instincts quite revolted. “Good God, what a task you have set me, my lord!”
    “I know very little about these matters, but I imagine you will have your hands full.” He added, “That may keep you from indulging your fancy with thoughts of headless specters.”—She cast him a very speaking look and preceded him into the apartment which had been prepared for her use. This at least showed signs of having been scrubbed and polished, and, since it faced south, the pale spring sunlight came in through the leaded windowpanes and gave it a cheerful aspect. Elinor took off her bonnet and her pelisse and laid them down on the bed. “Well, at all events, Mrs. Barrow showed her good sense in her choice of bedchamber for me,” she observed. “And who, by the by, is the young wench you brought over from the Hall, my lord?”
    “I do not know her name, but Mrs. Rugby thought that she would prove a suitable and an obliging maid for you. You will of course engage what servants you deem necessary, but in the meantime this girl is here to wait on you.”
    She was touched by this thought for her comfort, but merely said, “You are very good, my lord. But, regarding the servants you have recommended me to engage, pray, how are their wages to be paid?”
    “They will be paid out of the estate,” he returned indifferently. “But, as I collect, sir, that the estate is already grossly encumbered—” “It need not concern you. There will be funds enough to cover such necessary expense.” “Oh!” she said, a little doubtfully.
    They were interrupted. “There had ought to be the hatchment up over the door,” said Barrow severely.
    Carlyon turned quickly. The retainer was standing on the threshold, gloomily surveying them. “Hatchment,” he repeated.
    “Nonsense!” Carlyon said impatiently. “Situated as this place is in the country, I see not the least need for—such a display.”
    “When mistress took and died,” said Barrow obstinately, “we had the hatchment set up in proper style.”
    “Then pray set it up over the door again!”