Yorkshire by Lynne Connolly Page B

things. “The third earl,” Mrs. Peters told us, “always planned to decorate the interiors as elaborately as the outside of the Abbey but at his death everything changed, and the rooms were all closed.” The curtains had been drawn and some of the great windows opened, but the fusty, unpleasant smell of disuse still permeated the air. Black mould encroached at the edges of the ceiling, and if left unchecked would destroy everything here.
    The great Rooms of State were arranged in enfilade at the front of the house, so when the doors all lay open, the onlooker saw the end of the procession of rooms from the beginning. They were grand indeed, but in their heyday they would have intimidated, too. I understood why Martha had been so nervous at the prospect of another visit here, even when she assumed the house was being run properly.
    “We’ll come again in a day or two,” Martha said to me. “Then we can bring a notebook and make our plans.”
    I saw Martha had already cast me in the same mould I had at home—that of dutiful spinster, a helpmeet to my sister-in-law. To help with the revival of such a great house had its appeal, but one way or another, I would have a life of my own, with or without my newfound love. I shot one or two looks at him, and Lizzie saw me once and frowned, but he seemed sublimely unaware of my presence. He didn’t look at me once. I found his self control unnerving; I wondered if I could live with that.
    At the end of the enfilade Miss Cartwright declared she would like to go back to her room and rest, so Richard offered to accompany her. I was glad to see him go, as I found his presence increasingly unsettling, afraid someone would notice. He didn’t look at me, but his hand gently brushed mine, as though by accident, when they passed close by me.
    With him gone, I felt entire once more, as though he had leeched me of my own self. Then I understood what Lizzie had meant last night, that I should keep myself intact in his presence. It would have been so easy to succumb without reserve, to do whatever he wanted me to do, but I would have to fight to retain my own independence of spirit.
    Steven also left us, saying he had arrangements to make in the chapel. He had found the old vestments and sacred vessels locked in a cupboard, and commandeered all the maids he could find to clean and polish the chapel in readiness for the funeral the next day. “The maids won’t work there on their own.”
    “Why ever not?” Martha asked.
    “Because of the two earls lying in state there.”
    “Afraid they’ll jump up and attack them?” Amusement coloured Mr. Kerre’s voice.
    Steven glared at him. “Just so. But I’d like to check on the progress and make certain everything is ready for the funeral.”
    Steven left, with a speaking glance at me. He wanted to meet me, perhaps to make good his hold over me. He must have known it had been weakening for weeks, but he couldn’t know by how much.
    To our surprise, the elder Miss Cartwright decided to stay. To our greater surprise, when on her own she proved to be a capable, practical woman, offering useful suggestions.
    We went into the wing at the end of the enfilade, and found a dismal series of rooms. Before the Haretons had abandoned the greater part of the building, these had been the family rooms. An old piece of embroidery, still only half finished, sat in its frame by a window, and books lay on tables. Dust smothered everything.
    “I’d like to restore this wing,” said Martha. “We’ll live in the west wing, for now, and move here if we stay. It’s a shame to waste such potentially pleasant rooms.”
    “Do you plan to redecorate?” asked Mr. Kerre.
    “I shall have to decorate some of the rooms. The upholstery is perished and there’s mould creeping in. If only they had used dust covers.” Martha sighed deeply, giving her ample bosom some exercise, her mind evidently on all the beautiful things that had been destroyed here by simple