But no one had an answer to offer.
2: The Architect
“Do come inside,” Lily said. “Let us at least offer you the hospitality of Staineybank. You will want hot baths and perhaps something to eat? Or drink? Do you have servants with you?”
“No. Just the two of us,” Lady Juliet said, deflated by the discovery that they had been brought there under false pretences.
Lily waved a footman forward. “Henry will take your coats.”
They unwound scarves and removed outer garments and gloves and various other impedimenta, and Sophia was pleased to see that Mr Payne was indeed a good-looking man, symmetrical of feature and with dark eyes of unusual brilliance.
Cousin Hester appeared just then, and Lily introduced the awkward guests. Whatever the difficulty, Cousin Hester could always deal with it unflappably. Sophia was not quite sure what sort of cousin she was to the duke — an irregular one, she suspected — but since she was still a spinster at the age of forty-one, she made herself useful running Staineybank.
“Lady Juliet? Mr Payne? Would you care to follow me?” Cousin Hester said in her soft voice.
She made for the stairs, with Lady Juliet and Lily dutifully in her wake, but Mr Payne was still craning his neck to view the magnificent ceiling plaster-work. The ladies stopped and turned on the stairs.
“Simon?” Lady Juliet said, sounding anxious. “Do come along. You may look around the house later, I am sure.”
His face fell, and he almost pouted, like a schoolboy denied a long-anticipated treat. Sophia was tempted to laugh, for he was an oddity, that much was certain.
“Perhaps Mr Payne would like to view the principal rooms now?” she said. “I should be happy to show him around, and bring him to his room later.”
“That is very kind, dear,” Lily said. “Where are you putting Mr Payne, Hester?”
“I thought perhaps the smaller Chinese room? If you approve, your grace. Sir, if convenient, I shall order your bath for one hour from now. Would you care to step this way, my lady.”
They vanished up the stairs, and the servants and luggage had disappeared, too, leaving Sophia gazing at the stranger, while he continued to revolve slowly, taking in every detail of the hall.
“I think we were not introduced properly, Mr Payne,” Sophia said. “I am Miss Sophia Merrington. My brother Richard is heir to the duke — a second cousin.”
“How do you do?” he said, bowing formally to her. “I am Simon.” Then as an afterthought, he added, “Payne.”
Automatically, she curtsied in response. “Shall we look at another room? The White Drawing Room is through here.”
For a while, he prowled around the room, muttering excitedly under his breath at the statues in niches or the carved stone mantels that graced the twin fireplaces. Occasionally hewould stretch out a finger to place the gentlest of touches upon an object of particular interest, straightening any ornament slightly askew, his manner almost reverent.
Then he looked up and gasped in awe. Sophia rather liked the painted ceiling, too, with its swirling colours and flying cherubs. When the ladies were yawning after dinner and watching the clock to see when they might expect the gentlemen to return and liven things up a little, Sophia would rest her head on the back of her chair and admire the ceiling. Richard’s estate at Leahollow had some interesting plaster work, and a few good paintings hanging on the walls, but this scene, painted directly onto the ceiling, gave her a great sense of wonder. Imagine the skill of the artist, to create such a thing in place, lying on his back, just like Michelangelo! It made her very humble to be able to live beneath its extraordinary beauty.
“It is lovely, is it not?” she said.
“Yes!” He spun round to face her, alight with enthusiasm. “Magnificent! Incomparable! Better than Chatsworth.”
“Oh! My goodness! I had no idea. I know nothing of art in general, but I like this very well. There is another, smaller painting on the ceiling of the dining room, if you would care to see it.”
“Yes. I would. Very much.”
They ambled from room to room, and perhaps because she had expressed an interest, he stopped muttering to himself and described to her all the interesting features. She did not understand much of it, for the vocabulary of art seemed to be largely Italian, not a language she had ever studied beyond a few simple songs, but she liked to listen to him. He had a pleasant voice, lighter than one would expect for such a large man, and his passion for the subject infused every word. And she could not help admitting that he was well worth looking at himself. Withhis face afire with enthusiasm, and his dark eyes shining, she liked him just as well as the painted ceilings.
Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her, and she said, “I have been trying to decide how you are related to Lady Juliet, but I cannot work it out. You are related, I assume? Or… married?” The ages were odd for a married couple, since Lady Juliet was some ten years older than Mr Payne, but it was as well to know at once.
“Ha! Not married. Brother and sister. Half… different mothers.”
“And your father is…?”
“Earl of Edlesborough. Nasty, vindictive man.”
“Oh!” Sophia said, shocked.
