Gossamer Cord

There was a drive up to the gate house; we passed under this and were in a courtyard.

“Here we are,” said Dermot. “Come along in. Someone will take care of the bags. Oh, there you are, Jack.”

A man came forward. He touched his cap to us.

“Take the luggage, Jack. Tess will show you where it goes.”

“Aye, sir,” said the man.

We went into a stone-floored hall with a high-vaulted ceiling. As we did so, our footsteps rang out on the floor and I noticed the customary array of weapons on the walls very similar to ours at Caddington, to signify that the family had done its duty to the defense of its country, I had always supposed. There was a similarity about hundreds of such houses all over England.

A woman was coming down the staircase at the end of the hall. She was dressed in a pale blue cotton gown with white collar and cuffs. I knew who this was before Dermot introduced us, because he had already described the household to us.

She would be Matilda Lewyth, who had looked after the house since Dermot’s mother had died and he was about five years old. She was, in fact, the housekeeper, but not known as such because she was a distant connection of the family. I gathered that she had fallen on hard times when, as a widow, she had come here with her son, Gordon, to manage the household for Dermot’s father. She had stayed and looked after it to everyone’s satisfaction and had been doing so over the last twenty years. We all knew who Matilda Lewyth was.

She welcomed us now as our hostess.

“We are so pleased that you have come,” she said. “Dermot has told us all about you. And this is Miss Denver…”

“Dorabella,” said Dorabella. “And I know you are Mrs. Lewyth.”

“And Sir Robert and Lady Denver,” she said, turning to my parents. “And…”

“Violetta,” I introduced myself.

“Violetta…Dorabella…what pretty names!”

We explained about the operas and there was gentle laughter.

“What a romantic idea! We are so glad you came all this way to see us,” said Mrs. Lewyth. “You will meet Dermot’s father at dinner. He suffers…from gout…and is very often confined to his room. But he is very eager to meet you. We have to be careful with him. He is more than a little infirm. Then there is my son, Gordon. He has grown up here and is deeply concerned in estate business. He runs the place…practically.” She sent a deprecating smile in Dermot’s direction. “He and Dermot between them,” she added quickly.

She turned to Dorabella. “But I suppose Dermot has told you a great deal about the family.”

“Oh, yes,” said Dorabella. “He has talked about you all.”

“And now, you must be tired. It’s a long journey. Would you like to rest before dinner?”

“Oh, no,” cried Dorabella. “I’m far too excited for that.”

Mrs. Lewyth smiled indulgently and looked at my parents.

“We are not really tired,” said my mother. “We’re just longing to meet everybody.”

“Well then, I’ll have you shown to your rooms and then you can wash…unpack, perhaps, and then come down and have a chat and a drink before dinner.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll have dinner put forward a little, but I’ll make sure there’s time for a chat beforehand.”

We were taken to our rooms. The house was so large that there was plenty of accommodation and Dorabella and I had a room side by side.

I stood in the center of mine and surveyed it. My suitcase was already there. It was a large room with a high ceiling; the windows were leaded and the curtains of heavy dark blue velvet. It was not overfurnished; there was a four-poster bed, a heavy ornate wardrobe, a chest on which stood two highly polished candlesticks, a dressing table with a swing-back mirror, two easy chairs and two smaller ones, and a table with a wash-hand basin and ewer. There was not a great deal of light from the leaded windows and it seemed full of shadows; and because one could not but be aware of its antiquity, one could not help wondering how many people had slept here…and what tragedies…and perhaps comedies…had occurred within the seclusion of these walls. I was in a foolish and fanciful mood, and I could trace it all back to that horrific experience in the schloss. I told myself I must get that out of my mind.

I unpacked my case, washed, put on a dark red dress, and sat before the swing-back mirror to comb my hair. The mirror was about two hundred years old, I guessed, and the glass was slightly mottled. It seemed to distort my face so that the features which looked back at me did not appear entirely to be my own.

What was the matter with me? I was looking for evil everywhere, I admonished myself. I must forget that scene. But I could not get out of my mind the memory of Else’s lover in that moment when he had risen from his seat and set the riot in motion. There had been what I could only call the look of a predatory animal on his face…mindlessness, unreasoning hatred…in love with cruelty…cold and pitiless.