‘Indeed. I recognised its age upon first viewing. I like the grisaille glass in the chapel’s east window, by the way.’
‘Yes, it is rather nice, and considering it is made up of the pieces that were collected by the housekeeper when all the windows were broken in the Civil War, it is amazing.’
‘Clearly that period was … difficult.’
‘Yes, but I shall not tell you about it just yet.’ She halted in the gallery. ‘Calling it “the Long Gallery” is rather grandiose because it is only fifty feet or so. I remember my brother James pacing it out when he was first able to make his stride one yard. Apparently, people would promenade up and down when the weather was inclement, but if so, they must have looked more like soldiers upon guard duty, marching up and down and turning at the end.’
‘There speaks the lady who prefers the outdoors,’ commented Sir Rowland.
‘Very true, sir. I had not considered it, but that must account for my disdain for the idea. However, one must116be fair, and if they were wearing those starched ruffs and stiff skirts and slashed velvet doublets, I can see why getting their clothes wet would have been most unpleasant. Can you imagine a limp and soggy ruff?’
‘Not without laughing, Miss Lound.’ He smiled and realised that he often had the urge to smile when he looked at her.
‘This was all panelled, and the chimney in the gallery added, in Queen Elizabeth’s time. Houses must have been very cold, and people really had to wear thick furs and layers of wool. One Lound went to sea with Grenville for one rather profitable expedition, which ended in them ransacking the Azores, and earned his share despite discovering early on that he was vilely seasick. His name was Valentyne Lound and there was once a Hilliard portrait miniature of him, but it was “removed” with the other contents that were plundered during the Civil War, and all that the family retain is a letter from Sir Robert to his son in the 1680s, relating the family history and describing the picture as he had seen it in his youth. Seasickness is not at all romantic, but when I was a girl, I thought any adventurer romantic, and several times drew rather inexpert sketches of a man with close-cropped, copper-gold hair and a neatly trimmed beard, a ruff, and a golden chain of plundered Spanish gold – and I was specific that it was plundered gold – about his neck. I do wish that, of all the old things, had been saved.’ She sounded regretful, but then shook her head. ‘It does no good to grieve over what117happened over a century and a half ago.’
‘I assume the portraits here now are all ancestors?’ Sir Rowland, for all that he liked landscapes, had looked at the faces that stared from the frames, unconsciously seeking resemblance to the lady before him.
‘Yes. Some of the men are rather grumpy, I feel, and I doubt that all of the ladies can have been as beautiful as portrayed. Not one is even “rather plain”.’
Sir Rowland wisely forbore from commenting, lest he put Miss Lound upon her guard against compliments.
‘This wing is much less used, of course, since the erection of the west wing, and the fact that several of the rooms are only accessible through the others is awkward.’
‘Do you have any great attachment to the chair and little table by the window at the end, ma’am? Is it some Lound heirloom?’ Sir Rowland enquired.
‘No. I believe they were bought by my grandmother, but she tired of them and sent them into “exile” in this wing. Have you thought of something else there?’
‘I am not a collector of sculpture, but my grandfather bought a bronze by an Italian called Soldani Benzi, a representation of autumn. I think the morning light on it there would be rather good. I have apietra dura-topped table that it could stand upon.’
‘Well, at least it would be a reason to go there rather than seeing an uncomfortable chair.’ She glanced at him with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘I do not think the house would be offended.’118
‘That is good. I am having those pieces, and some paintings, brought down from the house in Cumberland.’
‘Has your family lived there many generations? I always think of it as cold and wet and in autumn colours.’
‘As well you might! Actually, my father inherited Skillerslaw rather unexpectedly. As the younger son of the younger son it had not looked likely, and my father was in Holy Orders. What money we had came from my mama, and her connections, which was also how my father found himself with a very comfortable living in Berkshire, and a rectory that rambled. It seems that a rectory ought always to be described as “rambling”, which leads one to wonder what vicarages ought to be.’
‘If the vicar’s wife is to be trusted, Sir Rowland, it is “leaking”, prodigiously, through the roof.’
‘Accurate, no doubt, but not alliterative, ma’am.’
‘This I admit, sir, but do continue.’ She felt light-hearted, and could not explain why, even to herself.
‘My mama has suffered for many years with an arthritic complaint, which meant that travelling all the way to Cumberland was simply impossible, so although my father went up there once or twice, he never lived there. I would go more often, and we did what we could to improve the farmland, but it is in truth fit for sheep and turnips. The land here is so very much better, and one can get to Bath or London quite easily without night after night upon the roads. I want this to be my home, not an outpost to visit upon occasion.’ He paused. ‘I am119sorry. It must gall you to hear another want to live in what was, and still must feel, yours.’
‘In a way, Sir Rowland, though it grieves me, I would rather someone was living here who cared for it, and will love it, than Edmund, for whom this was merely a house and land from which to get rents.’ In that moment Mary Lound forgot her plan, forgot her aspirations, and was filled with a deep and mournful realisation of what was actually the state of affairs.
Sir Rowland saw it, heard it and felt the generosity of it. This young woman was seeing the loss of four centuries of her family in this house, and through the bad husbandry of her sire and elder brother.
‘Thank you. I will do everything that I can to be a good guardian.’ It sounded very formal, but it was like a handing over of more than legal deeds. It was responsibility.
‘I did not come here to make you feel weighed down by another’s family, Sir Rowland.’ She gave him a shaky smile. ‘Let me tell you about what happened after Valentyne’s time.’ She led him back along The Long Gallery to the door and then into the great hall, where she halted. ‘Valentyne’s son was one of those whom James I raised to a baronetcy. The Lounds remained King’s men even when the king might not show great sense. Thus, when Charles I raised his standard, there was no doubt that there would be a Lound raising troops for him. Sir Martyn Lound was not a young man, and one whose failing sight rendered him incapable of120fighting, but his son Robert did so.
‘There has been bad blood between the Risleys and the Lounds since the Civil War. Just as we were for the King, Lord Cradley, despite being elevated to nobility by King Charles for support over taxes, was very much a time-server and chose to support Cromwell. He did so with words and sending men to fight, rather than taking up arms personally.’ She sounded scornful. ‘Robert Lound, in contrast, fought at Roundway Hill and several skirmishes, before he inherited the title from his father. His breastplate is there upon the wall.’ There was a touch of pride in her voice as she pointed to a very utilitarian piece of armour on the wall opposite the fireplace, set above a pair of crossed pikes.
‘After King Charles was beheaded, Cradley made sure that the estate was sequestrated, and he profited by it. It was his steward who took over the estate, and took everything he could from it, in goods and in rents. That went straight into the Risley coffers. They were good at accruing wealth.’ She spoke with disdain in her voice. ‘Lady Lound joined her son in exile, sailing from Bristol with her jewels in her petticoats, and the most vital family documents in her maid’s bodice. The poor lady did not live to see England again. Sir Robert married another exile, the Lady Elizabeth, and at the Restoration they returned to find this house little better than a farmstead, the chapel ruined, panelling damaged, anything of obvious value stolen. There were even holes in the roof, through neglect.’ She shook her head at such lack of care.121
‘It is remarkable that it shows so little evidence of its years of peril,’ remarked Sir Rowland. ‘I take it at the Restoration it was itself restored?’
