This afternoon he rode over to the Dawsons, saying he was going to borrow something from Peter. He returned with a red coat, Peter being in the army, and went upstairs to show it to Mama. But she was by then feeling unwell, and he was unable to see her. Papa said he would send for the physician tomorrow if she is no better.

Eleanor spent the afternoon sewing diligently, so that she will have something to show Mama when Mama is feeling well again. Being disposed to help Eleanor in her noble endeavour, I took up A Sicilian Romance.

‘Oh, yes, Henry, please do read to me,’ she said. ‘I do not know how it is, but a novel is always more enjoyable when it is shared.’

‘By which you mean you are afraid to turn the pages by yourself, lest Julia should discover a skeleton in the southern reaches of the castle.’

‘I am frightened of no such thing.’

‘Of course not. Very well, then, where did we leave it? Ah, yes, Julia was reading late one night and was moving to her chamber, when the beauty of the night attracted her to the window.

‘She opened it; and observing a fine effect of moonlight upon the dark woods, leaned forwards. In that situation she had not long remained, when she perceived a light faintly flash through a casement in the uninhabited part of the castle. A sudden tremor seized her, and she with difficulty supported herself.

‘In a few moments it disappeared, and soon after a figure, bearing a lamp, proceeded from an obscure door belonging to the south tower; and stealing along the outside of the castle walls, turned round the southern angle, by which it was afterwards hid from the view. Astonished and terrified at what she had seen, she hurried to the apartment of Madame de Menon, and related the circumstance.

‘The servants were immediately roused, and the alarm became general. Madame arose and descended into the north hall, where the domestics were already assembled. No one could be found of courage sufficient to enter into the courts; and the orders of Madame were disregarded, when opposed to the effects of superstitious terror. She perceived that the servant Vincent was absent, but as she was ordering him to be called, he entered the hall.

‘Surprised to find the family thus assembled, he was told the occasion. He immediately ordered a party of the servants to attend him round the castle walls; and with some reluctance, and more fear, they obeyed him. They all returned to the hall, without having witnessed any extraordinary appearance; but though their fears were not confirmed, they were by no means dissipated.

‘The appearance of a light in apart of the castle which had for several years been shut up, and to which time and circumstance had given an air of singular desolation, might reasonably be supposed to excite a strong degree of surprise and terror.

‘In the minds of the vulgar, any species of the wonderful is received with avidity; and the servants did not hesitate in believing the southern division of the castle to be inhabited by a supernatural power.

‘Too much agitated to sleep, they agreed to watch for the remainder of the night. For this purpose they arranged themselves in the east gallery, where they had a view of the south tower from which the light had issued. The night, however, passed without any further disturbance; and the morning dawn, which they beheld with inexpressible pleasure, dissipated for a while the glooms of apprehension.

‘But the return of evening renewed the general fear, and for several successive nights the domestics watched the southern tower. Although nothing remarkable was seen, a report was soon raised, and believed, that the southern side of the castle was haunted. Madame de Menon, whose mind was superior to the effects of superstition, was yet disturbed and perplexed, and she determined, if the light reappeared, to inform the marquis of the circumstance, and request the keys of those apartments.’

‘Do you think it is really haunted?’ asked Eleanor.

‘Who can say? It seems only too likely,’ I said. ‘I can think of no other reason for a mysterious light. There can surely not be a rational explanation of so strange a thing?’

‘And do you think Madame will really ask the marquis for the keys?’

‘I think she may very well ask him, but whether he will give them to her is quite another matter.’

‘Poor Julia,’ said Eleanor, with a pleasurable shiver, ‘to live in a haunted castle. I am glad the abbey is not haunted.’

‘Are you sure? I believe I saw a mysterious light in the kitchen last night,’ I remarked.

‘Oh, that was just Mama’s maid making her a little something,’ said Eleanor.

At talk of Mama she fell silent. Reading her thoughts, and knowing she was worried about Mama, I invited her to go riding with me, but she would not be distracted from her needlework.

Frederick was still wearing his red coat when I went upstairs to dress for dinner. He was just emerging from Mama’s room, where he had met with a smiling reception, for Mama was feeling somewhat better. He looked remarkably handsome and he was pleased that Mama had said so.

Papa was less pleased to find that Frederick had been to her room, saying, ‘Your mother is too ill to be disturbed.’

‘On the contrary, she was feeling much recovered and needed someone to take her out of her thoughts,’ Frederick remarked. ‘She said that red is a very good colour and suits me.’

‘It is a very good colour for disguising blood, anyway,’ said Papa, ‘and there will be plenty of that when you see some action.’

Frederick scowled and said that, as he had worn the coat into town this afternoon it had already seen some action, a remark which incensed Papa. But Frederick laughed at his anger. I did not like to hear it. There was something bitter about the laughter, something cynical. I hope it will not last. Frederick is not made for bitterness and cynicism. I hope his disappointment has not soured him. I am sure it has not. He is too young to abandon all hope of meeting a heroine of his own.



Sunday 18 April

Mama was well enough to join us at church and, apart from being a little pale, was so well that Papa felt able to go ahead with his plan of driving me over to Woodston this afternoon.

‘I am glad to see that you are not following in your brother’s footsteps,’ said my father as we set out. ‘A clergyman needs to be sober and respectable and I think I can rely upon you to be both. You have a propensity to humour and you have a love of the absurd, both of which you should attempt to curb, but I am pleased with you nonetheless, Henry. I will be glad to give you the living of Woodston when you are old enough for it. You will not become ordained for many years, but Woodston will be waiting for you.’

He wanted no reply, and so whilst he talked I was free to observe the countryside, with its hints of the coming spring. The drive was agreeable and the twenty miles went by quickly.

‘Woodston is larger than it was the last time I was here,’ I said. ‘There are more chandler’s shops, and some new houses, too.’

‘It is becoming more prosperous,’ my father agreed. ‘Its situation is good and its people are hardworking. You will have sensible parishioners and you will be able to make your mark here. I foresee great things for you, Henry, my boy.’

We reached the further end of the village and my father pulled up in front of the parsonage.

‘There it is. What do you think of it, Henry?’

I was surprised at his question. We have been to Woodston many times before, but it was the first time he had sought my opinion.

‘A little run down, perhaps, and small, but well enough,’ I said.

‘You think so? I cannot agree with you. In fact, I am very disappointed in the place. I have been growing more and more dissatisfied with it for some time. It is small and dark, and has a mean look about it. I think I am going to have it pulled down and have a new parsonage built in its place.’

I was astonished, but a moment’s reflection showed me that I should not be surprised. There is very little left to do on the abbey and my father must always be altering something. Goodness knows what he will do with himself when everything is done.

‘The drive needs altering. What do you say? A semicircular sweep would look well, I think. Do not you?’ He did not wait for me to answer but continued: ‘Good, good, I knew you would approve. It needs a pair of imposing gates to make the entrance worth looking at. Then, with an impressive sweep and a stone-built parsonage beyond, it will be passable. Inside, it will need spacious rooms, well shaped, with windows reaching to the ground. What do you think? The view of the meadows beyond is pretty enough. Perhaps that tree could be moved.’

He set the carriage moving again and drove on to the church, which we reached in time for the evening service.

‘The roof has just been replaced,’ he said as we climbed out of the carriage, ‘and that window will be refitted. I have always thought it a pity it has no coloured glass. There is room for improvement there. We will replace it with a scene from the New Testament. Or perhaps the Old. What do you think? Yes, yes, you are right, David and Goliath, or perhaps the Battle of Jericho.’

The Reverend Mr Wilkes caught sight of us at that moment and set his servant to take care of the horses as he made us welcome. We were the object of some attention as we took our place in the family pew. I liked the atmosphere of the church, it was calm and peaceful. I looked about me at the venerable stonework and the carved oak, which had been made mellow by the countless generations worshipping there. My father’s eyes roved around with quite a different view, seeking out things to be altered, and lingering now and then on an ugly bonnet or a battered cane, which I knew he was tempted to remove and replace.