That occupied us as far as The Crown and Anchor in Welhampstead and I fell silent, too busy taking in the differences in my home town to talk coherently about penal reform. The others put up very patiently with me pointing and exclaiming, ‘I live down there!’ and ‘I never knew there was a pond!’ and, ‘Oh look! Stocks!’ but, when I collapsed back from the window once we had rolled out of town, they were all smiling indulgently.
‘Sorry. But it is exciting.’
‘It is,’ Luc agreed. ‘I want to visit London when I am next in your time.’
We drove through Berkhamstead and Tring and turned north on more minor roads, with the Vale of Aylesbury on our left and the Chiltern Hills, covered in a green froth of beech trees, on our right.
It was just past one when we finally rolled to a halt in front of a handsome stone-built manor house. It sat in the middle of an ancient moat, the banks of which now sloped gently down and were dotted with weeping willows, and was surrounded by shaggy lawns and overgrown shrubbery. Beyond the moat were pastures, but Luc pointed at the hedges ringing them. ‘That’s the limit of the land belonging to the house.’
The carriage with the boys arrived as we were climbing down and Prestwick, the decid
edly tottery butler, descended the front steps to greet us. I could almost hear him creaking. Our staff had already arrived, he informed us. Luncheon would be ready the moment we called for it and hot water was, at that very moment, being sent to our chambers.
The twins shot off to look at the ducks on the moat, pursued by both nursemaid and nanny.
‘Let them run,’ Luc said. ‘They have been cooped up for over four hours.’ Then he too broke into a run as one of them – Matthew, most likely – took hold of a hanging branch and began to swing over the water. James swore and ran too.
‘My nerves cannot stand it,’ Lady Radcliffe said, laughing. ‘All four will probably end up in the water in a moment. Come along, Cassandra, let us go and find our bedchambers and tidy ourselves.’
Chapter Nine
After luncheon Luc sent a note to Alexander Prescott to tell him that we had arrived and to enquire about the arrangements for the funeral. I was disappointed not to be able to attend, although I knew that upper-class females were considered too fragile to cope with the trauma of the graveside, but Lady Radcliffe said that while the men were at the interment we could call on the ladies of the house to offer sympathy and support. And, she pointed out, once there, we could sneak in to listen to the reading of the will. Luc intended telling Alexander that his own presence to observe this ritual was essential for the investigation.
Then we set up the evidence boards in a room that could be secured and the family, with me in tow, set off to investigate young Matthew’s new house.
He and his twin were profoundly uninterested in the number of bedchambers, the state of the roof, the condition of the gardens or the effectiveness of the kitchen range. They wanted to explore the cellars, the attics and, most definitely, the moat.
‘Please, Papa, may we have a boat?’
‘Not this time,’ Luc temporised. ‘We do not know yet how deep the water is. We may need a punt or we might be able to use a rowing boat. But, unless I have your word of honour, both of you, that you will not go within six feet of the edge without either Uncle James or myself, then there will be no boat of any sort, ever.’
‘What if someone falls in and is drowning?’ That was Matthew, of course. I had a vivid image of him as a teenager and shuddered.
‘If that happens you run and get help,’ Luc said sternly. ‘Now – do I have your word?’
‘Yes, Papa,’ they chorused obediently. Matthew, I could tell, was already trying to think of an honourable way around their promise, but at least they had been brought up to regard breaking their word as just about the worst sin they could commit.
‘Better drowned than duffers, if not duffers won't drown,’ I quoted from Arthur Ransome, then had to explain what duffers were and all about Swallows and Amazons.
Lady Radcliffe was making copious notes on what need to be done with furnishings, cleaning and the kitchen, James and Luc cast knowledgeable eyes over roofs, gutters and brickwork and I was consumed with house-envy. It was gorgeous and I wanted it.
One of the first things I was going to do when I was back in my time was to check it out. Was it still there? Hopefully. Was it for sale? Unlikely. Could I ever hope to afford it? Never in a million years. Was it three times larger than I could possibly need? Yes. That didn’t stop me organising, decorating, furnishing…dreaming.
‘What are you brooding about?’ Luc asked when he found me slowly rotating in the middle of the drawing room.
‘This house. I love it.’
‘If it were mine I would give it to you,’ he said, suddenly very serious. ‘If we could be together, always, I would give you your heart’s desire.’
‘You are my heart’s desire,’ I told him. ‘And I will learn, somehow, not to yearn for what I cannot have.’ I found I was crying, soggily, and not at all prettily, all down his shirt front. ‘Sorry.’ I scrabbled for a handkerchief, realised there were no pockets in the walking dress I was wearing, and snatched at the linen square that Luc produced from somewhere. I blew my nose, mopped at my eyes and said, ‘Sorry,’ again.
Luc swore, scooped me up and strode out of the room, across the hall and up the stairs. I love it when he does that, it is the most romantic thing, but I always worry he is going to put his back out. Fortunately he reached the landing unscathed, and without anyone seeing us. He swept into a bedchamber that I assumed was his, dropped me on the bed, jammed a chair under the door handle muttering something about no keys, and proceeded to rip his clothes off.
As he very well knows, that would be enough to cheer me up even if we happened to be on a sinking ship in a hurricane, and it certainly worked. It was ridiculous to be weeping for the moon when this was what I had now.
Before I could whip anything off he pounced, threw up my skirts, said something (fortunately unintelligible to a woman buried in yards of fabric) when he encountered my sensible knickers (I don’t care what he says, I refuse to go without in approved Georgian manner – far too draughty), yanked those off and –
Yes, well… To be honest, after that, everything was a blur. We emerged, considerably happier, in time to dress for dinner.