Lament for a lost lover

I could imagine what this place had once been. I could picture lavish flower beds full of colour; the yews cut into quaint shapes, fountains and sequestered paths. The remains of these things were there, but everything proclaimed that this garden was not meant to be beautiful, only useful. There were herbs, fruit trees and vegetables. Everything for use and nothing ornamental.

“God!” whispered Edwin. “What a change. Eversleigh under the Puritans!” My exultation was turning to apprehension. It was dangerous for Edwin to have come back to his own home, though it must be ten years ago that he had left it. He was now twenty-two, so he would have been twelve when he left. Would anyone recognize him? A boy of twelve could bear a resemblance to the young man of twenty-two whom he had become, but perhaps only those who knew who he was would look for it. “Tom,” he said, “go to the house and ask for shelter. You know your part. We’ll stay here with the horses.”

It was not long before Tom returned with a groom, who looked at us curiously. “If you will go into the house, my master will see you,” he said. “Ah,” said Edwin, “I did not think we should be turned away. Tom, help with the horses.”

He did so and we went across the path and into the hall. A girl was standing there waiting for us. I saw her eyes take appearance and come back to Harriet, who looked as beau-, j as ever in her Puritan robes. It amazed me how she managed convey a demureness which I knew was quite alien to her. She was a superb actress. “Please to wait,” the girl said. “Master will be down.”

I studied the hall with its lofty vaulted roof and its panelled walls on which was displayed armour of all description. I supposed that was puritanical enough, as it was through force of arms that the Puritans had beaten the Royalists and driven them into exile. I could detect lightened patches where I presumed tapestry had hung. There was a long refectory table on which stood a few pewter utensils, and there were benches on either side of the table. I wondered whether they had been put there to create a lack of comfort while eating.

There was scarcely anything else in the hall, and although it was summer and promised to be a hot day, there was a chill in the air I shall never forget my first glimpse of Carleton Eversleigh. He came down the stairs at one end of the hall. A fine, carved, wooden staircase of a kind which I remembered from before I had left England and which was typical of the Tudor era when this part of the house had clearly been built or reconstructed. He was, as I remembered Edwin’s telling me, tall and he was certainly impressive, perhaps more so in the plain black garments of a Puritan than he would have been in the silk and lace fripperles of the Royalist regime. His dark hair was short and fitted his head like a cap after the only acceptable fashion, and the touch of severity which I had noticed in people’s dress since I had set foot in England was accentuated in his costume.

But he was an impressive man-his complexion pale, his eyes dark and luminous, his brows heavy, his features strong and large. What Edwin had said about his being larger than life was certainly true.

His footsteps rang out on the stone flags as he advanced towards us. I did not detect any expression of recognition for Edwin or surprise at seeing Harriet and me.

“God preserve you, friend,” he said.

Edwin replied: “God preserve you, friend.” He went on: “I am travelling to London with my wife and her sister. We stayed the night at an inn and during that time our purses were stolen by villains who left the inn before sunrise. We travelled with one servant and I propose now to send him off to my house in Chester to bring money for me. Until then, we are in a sorry plight. Passing your house, sir, we called in the hope of finding a little shelter and perhaps a bite to eat.”

“You will be fed and sheltered here, friend, until your servant rescues you.”

“When, sir, you will be recompensed for all that you have given us.’

“As the Good Book says, we must not turn away the stranger within our gates,” replied Carleton Eversleigh, and I could not help feeling how incongruously this mode of speech seemed corning from him. He had the face of an Elizabethan buccaneer rather than a godly Puritan.

He went to a bell rope and pulled it. Two maids came hurrying in from behind the screens. One was the girl we had already seen.

“We have visitors seeking shelter, Jane,” said Carleton. “Pray have rooms made ready. A man and wife ... did you say, friend? And sister-in-law and manservant. Two rooms then - one for the husband and wife, and another for his sister-in-law. The servant can be accommodated with our own.”

“Yes, master,” said the girl, bobbing a curtsy.

“Doubtless you are hungry,” went on Carleton.

We were. We had not felt like eating much while we were on the boat and had had nothing since we arrived in England.

“Sit down at the table,” he went on. “We abhor fleshly indulgence here and eat simply.”