“Well…” he said. He was still hesitating.

“I suppose I could put you on the train. Aubrey could pick you up at the other I end.”

“For Heaven’s sake! You make me sound like a parcel.” And so it happened that on that hot and sultry day I set out for Minster St. Clare.

My father had, as he said, ‘put me’ in a first-class carriage, and” as I waved goodbye to him I tried to set aside my anxieties. I did worry about his health and that mysterious illness he had] had some time before, and I made up my mind that I was going to make him tell me all about it as soon as I was withj him again.

But as I grew nearer and nearer to my destination I ga myself up to excited anticipation. Aubrey was standing on the platform waiting for me. He smiled as he hurried to me and took my hands.

“Welcome, Susanna. It is good to see you.” He put an arm round me and called to the porter, who was standing by watching us with interest: “Here, Bates. Put the luggage in the carriage, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bates; and Aubrey took me out of the station yard.

He led me to a carriage. I opened my eyes in amazement. It was so splendid. It was mulberry colour and drawn by two magnificent greys. I did not know much about horses but I could see that these two were very fine.

He noticed my admiration for the carriage.

“It’s so grand,” I said.

“I’ve taken it over from my brother. He can’t drive it now.”

“How is he?”

“Very, very ill.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have come.”

“Nonsense. In there. Bates. That’s right. Come, Susanna, up beside the driver.” He helped me into the carriage. Then he climbed in beside me and took the reins.

“Tell me about your brother,” I said.

“Poor Stephen. He has been dying for the last weeks. The doctors think he cannot last for more than three months … or he could go at any moment.”

“How very distressing.”

“You see why I had to come home. Amelia is most anxious to meet you.”

“She wrote me a very kind letter.”

“She would. It is hard for her, poor girl.”

“I am sorry Father could not come. You understand?”

“But of course, and as a matter of fact it was you whom I wanted to see. I hope you like the house. You have to, you know. It’s going to be your home.”

“I am so excited.”

“These old houses take a bit of getting used to. For us who are brought up in them they seem like part of the family.”

“Yet you were away from home for quite a while. I know how much you’ve travelled. You must tell me all about it sometime.”

“Well, the house will be mine now. Things seem different when they belong to someone else. Oh, it was always my home, but my brother was master of it. I was afraid that I should feel like a guest.”

“I understand.”

“I think you’ll find it interesting. There is little of the Minster left. The house was built by an ancestor of mine in the sixteenth century when a great deal of building and reconstruction was done on the site of old monasteries and abbeys. It’s a real Tudor building late Elizabethan and there are only fragments of old ruined walls and a buttress or two about the place to remind you what it was before the Dissolution.”

“I had no idea it had such a history. I just imagined an old manor house.”

“Well, you will see for yourself.”

We had come to a stretch of road and the horses broke into a gallop. I was thrown against Aubrey and he laughed.

“They can really go, these greys,” he said.

“I’ll show you one day what they can do.”

I laughed. It was exhilarating to be beside him and to contemplate arriving at this old house which was to be my home. I was struck by his masterly handling of the horses. He clearly enjoyed driving them.

We had come to a stone wall. Massive iron gates stood open and we passed into a drive. The horses were trotting now.

Then I saw the house. I caught my breath. I had not expected it to be so grand. The central keep with gateway and portcullis was flanked by two machicolated towers.

Aubrey glanced at me, well pleased by my obvious admiration.

“It’s wonderful,” I stammered.

“How could you have left it for so long.”

“I told you. I did not know it was to be mine.”

We drove through a gateway into a courtyard where two grooms appeared.

Aubrey threw the reins to one of them, leaped down and then helped me out.

“This is Miss Pleydell, Jim,” he said.

I smiled and the man touched his forelock.

“Have the baggage sent in at once,” commanded Aubrey. He turned to me and, taking my arm, said: “Come along.”

He led me from the courtyard to a quadrangle. The walls were creeper-covered and the latticed windows looked like eyes peering out from under shaggy brows. There was a table with some chairs on which were flame-coloured cushions; and a number of pots containing flowering shrubs added colour to the spot. It was very attractive, and yet I had a sense of claustrophobia, as though the walls were closing in on me.

There was a passage with moulded vaulting; we passed through this to a bigger courtyard. Before us was a door heavy, iron-studded, with a panel in it which I presumed could be drawn back so that those who were inside could see who was without, before admitting them.

Aubrey pushed open the door, which creaked loudly. We were in a lofty hall. I glanced up at the hammer beam roof and my eyes went to the whitewashed walls on which hung arms and trophies; two suits of armour stood at either end of the hall, like sentinels guarding the place. I looked with wonder at the heraldic panels on the windows and I noticed they all had the fleur-de-lys prominently displayed.

Aubrey was watching me with an almost childish joy which was very appealing.

“It’s so … exciting,” I said.

“I see you are impressed. Most people are. At the same time you’re a little alarmed. Don’t be. This is the ancient part of the house. We leave it as it is. We have more comfortable quarters in which to live.

I am sure you will agree that although we want to preserve antiquity it is more satisfying to allow a few modern comforts to creep in. Oh, here is Amelia. Amelia, come and meet Susanna. Susanna, this is Amelia, Mrs. St. Clare. “

She had descended the staircase which was at one end of the hall. She was elegant rather than beautiful and appeared to be in her early thirties. Her fair hair was piled high on her head to give her height, I supposed, for she was not very tall or perhaps I thought this as I was well above the average in that respect. Her blue eyes were speculative. That was natural, of course, and she seemed pleasant.

She took my hand and clasped it.

“Welcome to the Minster,” she said.

“I am so pleased you came, even though your father could not. Would you like to go straight to your room? You probably want to rest after the journey. “

“It is not very far from London and I don’t feel in the least tired. I am so impressed by this wonderful house. I had no idea it would be so baronial.”

“Yes, it is fascinating. My husband made the care of this house and the estate which goes with it… his life.”

There was an infinite sadness in her voice and I warmed towards her.

“Do come this way,” she said.

“I’ll have hot water sent up. I am sure you want to wash. They are taking up your luggage now.”

I followed her up the stairs. At the top I turned to look back. Aubrey was looking up at us with an expression I could not interpret.

We came to a gallery lined with portraits; there was a dais at one end on which was a piano.

“We call this the long gallery. Just above it is the solarium. Both rooms get the sun and particularly the solarium.” We passed through the gallery and ascended a short spiral staircase. We were in a corridor.

“The main bedrooms are here. I have put you in the green room. It has pleasant views. Most of the rooms do.”

The green room was big with a high, vaulted ceiling and windows looking out on the drive. There was a walnut fourposter bed with a cover of green silk quilting. There was an escritoire in walnut and the chair seats had been worked in tapestry the predominant colour of which was green.

I said: “It’s beautiful.”

“There is an alcove here. Oh yes, there is the hot-water can. And here is your luggage. One of the maids will help you unpack.”

“I can do it myself,” I said.

“There is not very much.”

“I hope you will be comfortable.” She hesitated.

“My husband very much wants to see you.”

“I want to see him.”

“He is very ill.”

“Yes, I know.”

Her lips trembled.

“Well,” she went on with an attempt at brightness, “I’ll leave you. When you are ready ring the bell. I’ll come for you or maybe one of the maids will.”

“That’s kind of you,” I said.

She went out. A tremendous excitement gripped me. I imagined myself living in this house . mistress of it. Then I thought of Amelia, who had been in that position and still was, and I wondered if she regarded me as a usurper.

I liked her. She had shown me a welcome which I believed to be genuine and she gave me the impression that she cared deeply for her husband.

I washed quickly, unpacked my bags and changed into a light afternoon dress. Then I rang the bell.

A maid appeared. She was young and I could see by her expression, very inquisitive; she could not take her eyes from me. I asked her her name and she said it was Emily. I told her that I was ready to join my host and hostess.