exactly what she means to do.
This week, for example, Caroline is on her way to Prague to give a piano recital, and after that, Vienna for another recital and Rome for a holiday. Of course, things might have been different if Jeremy Crosfield had fallen in love with her, as she hoped, rather than with Deirdre Malone. But that was not to be. Jeremy and Deirdre are married now and settled at Slatestone Cottage, with a baby on the way. Caroline is fiercely determined to make the very best of her talent—and the most of her freedom. Times are changing for women, and she eagerly embraces every tempting possibility that crosses her path. Who knows what the world will offer her, or what she will do with it?
But Lady Longford, I am sorry to say, is a different story. She has not changed one iota since the day we met her, nor do possibilities tempt her. She is not a cheerful woman by nature. She continues to dress in deepest black, although Lord Longford—a generous and jolly man who enjoyed a great many friends and was as unlike his wife as it was possible to be—passed on to his reward some decades before. Some people think that living at Tidmarsh Manor has made her ladyship gloomy, for the house, built some three centuries ago at the edge of Cuckoo Brow Wood, is curtained in heavy draperies and shadowed by a row of dark yew trees. On the other hand, perhaps it is her ladyship who has darkened the house, for it would be easy enough to tear down the draperies, trim the yew trees, and bring sunlight and life into the house.
But whether Tidmarsh Manor has darkened her ladyship’s gloomy view of the world or the other way around, the forbidding old place certainly matches her determined inhospitality. She distrusts most people, has almost no friends, and receives very few callers, with the exception of the vicar (who comes because he feels it is his Christian duty) and Mr. Heelis, who comes because he is her ladyship’s solicitor and truly has her best interests at heart.
And if you are in the neighborhood and invited to drop in at teatime with the expectation of something nice on your plate, I’m afraid that you will be disappointed, for all you will get is bread and butter, or perhaps only a plain biscuit, and no lemon or milk with your tea. Her ladyship is reputed to be the most parsimonious person in the parish, a reputation which she enjoys and cultivates. She is not poor, of course, but she likes to pretend that she is in order to keep people from asking her for money. It is said of her that she will not part with a shilling unless it is pried out of her cold, dead fingers, and those who know her can cite more than one instance of her attempts to cheat people out of what they are owed. And this is why she never entertains, you see. Entertaining costs money. (With such a grandmother, I think you can understand why Caroline has fled Tidmarsh Manor and refuses to return except for short visits.)
And this is why it is such a surprise to learn that, early in the previous week, Lady Longford entertained a guest. Or perhaps it is not accurate to say that she “entertained” him, because if we had gone up to the third floor of Tidmarsh Manor (where this visit took place) and peered through the open door, we would have seen her perched on the edge of a straight chair, tapping her foot impatiently and watching with suspicion as this person—a rotund, scholarly gentleman with a gold pince-nez and a pair of extraordinary mutton-chop whiskers—went about his work. Or perhaps it is not quite accurate to say that Mr. Darnwell (for this is the gentleman’s name) was a “guest,” for he had been invited to Tidmarsh Manor to perform a service for her ladyship, one from which both Mr. Darnwell and her ladyship hoped to profit.
There is an interesting story behind this rather unusual exercise. During his busy and active life, Lord Longford collected a great variety of things , obsessively and indiscriminately, most of them of no
This week, for example, Caroline is on her way to Prague to give a piano recital, and after that, Vienna for another recital and Rome for a holiday. Of course, things might have been different if Jeremy Crosfield had fallen in love with her, as she hoped, rather than with Deirdre Malone. But that was not to be. Jeremy and Deirdre are married now and settled at Slatestone Cottage, with a baby on the way. Caroline is fiercely determined to make the very best of her talent—and the most of her freedom. Times are changing for women, and she eagerly embraces every tempting possibility that crosses her path. Who knows what the world will offer her, or what she will do with it?
But Lady Longford, I am sorry to say, is a different story. She has not changed one iota since the day we met her, nor do possibilities tempt her. She is not a cheerful woman by nature. She continues to dress in deepest black, although Lord Longford—a generous and jolly man who enjoyed a great many friends and was as unlike his wife as it was possible to be—passed on to his reward some decades before. Some people think that living at Tidmarsh Manor has made her ladyship gloomy, for the house, built some three centuries ago at the edge of Cuckoo Brow Wood, is curtained in heavy draperies and shadowed by a row of dark yew trees. On the other hand, perhaps it is her ladyship who has darkened the house, for it would be easy enough to tear down the draperies, trim the yew trees, and bring sunlight and life into the house.
But whether Tidmarsh Manor has darkened her ladyship’s gloomy view of the world or the other way around, the forbidding old place certainly matches her determined inhospitality. She distrusts most people, has almost no friends, and receives very few callers, with the exception of the vicar (who comes because he feels it is his Christian duty) and Mr. Heelis, who comes because he is her ladyship’s solicitor and truly has her best interests at heart.
And if you are in the neighborhood and invited to drop in at teatime with the expectation of something nice on your plate, I’m afraid that you will be disappointed, for all you will get is bread and butter, or perhaps only a plain biscuit, and no lemon or milk with your tea. Her ladyship is reputed to be the most parsimonious person in the parish, a reputation which she enjoys and cultivates. She is not poor, of course, but she likes to pretend that she is in order to keep people from asking her for money. It is said of her that she will not part with a shilling unless it is pried out of her cold, dead fingers, and those who know her can cite more than one instance of her attempts to cheat people out of what they are owed. And this is why she never entertains, you see. Entertaining costs money. (With such a grandmother, I think you can understand why Caroline has fled Tidmarsh Manor and refuses to return except for short visits.)
And this is why it is such a surprise to learn that, early in the previous week, Lady Longford entertained a guest. Or perhaps it is not accurate to say that she “entertained” him, because if we had gone up to the third floor of Tidmarsh Manor (where this visit took place) and peered through the open door, we would have seen her perched on the edge of a straight chair, tapping her foot impatiently and watching with suspicion as this person—a rotund, scholarly gentleman with a gold pince-nez and a pair of extraordinary mutton-chop whiskers—went about his work. Or perhaps it is not quite accurate to say that Mr. Darnwell (for this is the gentleman’s name) was a “guest,” for he had been invited to Tidmarsh Manor to perform a service for her ladyship, one from which both Mr. Darnwell and her ladyship hoped to profit.
There is an interesting story behind this rather unusual exercise. During his busy and active life, Lord Longford collected a great variety of things , obsessively and indiscriminately, most of them of no
Similar Books
