Текст книги "Gossamer Cord"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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“I could never have done it alone,” I said. “I did not know which way to turn.”

“You could have been drowned,” whispered Dorabella.

“I think that is very likely. I have to thank Gordon.”

Gordon said: “Oh, you would have clambered up somehow.”

“Good old Gordon,” said Dermot.

“It was a miracle that he came along in time,” said Matilda. “And he is always so calm in any emergency. Most people would have panicked and dashed off to get help and, by the time that came, it could have been too late.”

“I was lucky to know the cliffs so well,” said Gordon.

“And I was lucky that you saved my life,” I added.

“Yes,” said Matilda firmly. “It was a wonderful rescue, and I’m proud of you, Gordon.”

I caught the old man’s eyes. I could not read the expression there. He said: “Well, my dear, we are all happy that we have not lost you. It will be a warning to you. Don’t take risks with the sea.”

“I shall be very careful in future, I assure you.”

Dorabella said: “I feel exhausted by all this. I shall have my meal in bed and Violetta must have hers with me. I want to get used to the idea that she is safe. Otherwise I shall have nightmares.”

Dorabella looked very pretty, sitting up in bed with her hair falling about her shoulders.

She demanded to know everything, for she was sure there was more than I had told the others.

“Fancy Gordon,” she said. “One doesn’t see him exactly in the role of gallant knight, does one?”

“He was very practical.”

“It’s so romantic.”

“You should have seen us climbing the cliff. Most inelegant, I am sure, and far from romantic.”

“Now, Vee, of course it was romantic. Damsel in distress, gallant young man rides by.”

“He was walking.”

“It was like Sir Lancelot.”

“I did not know he ever rescued anyone from drowning.”

“Well, one of them must have done. And what was he like? He must have been different. He’s always so aloof…what did he say?”

“We talked a bit.”

“What about?”

“Nothing very much really.”

“You can’t be all that time sitting on a ledge talking about nothing much. Come on, tell me, or I shall be very cross and that is bad for my condition.”

“He told me a little about his childhood before he came to Tregarland’s and how, when he was a boy, he explored the cliffs, which was a great help to us then, and how he would really like a place of his own.”

“A place of his own?”

“Well, he only works here, doesn’t he?”

“What does he want a place of his own for? He runs this one.”

“It will be Dermot’s in due course. A man such as he is, who cares about the land, would naturally want his own place.”

“He didn’t…er…make any approaches?”

“Approaches? Gordon? What do you mean?”

“Well, a man and woman in those circumstances…barriers come down and all that.”

“You are talking about Gordon Lewyth. Your mind runs on one thing. I am not the frail little piece of femininity that all men wish to protect. I am plain, no-nonsense, usually able to look after myself.”

“It did not seem like it this afternoon. He does like you, I’m sure. Even if he didn’t before, he will after this. People always like those whose life they save. Every time they look at them they are reminded how wonderful they were and how the saved one must be eternally grateful.”

I laughed.

“Where were you going anyway?”

“I was coming back to Tregarland’s.”

“Naturally. But where had you been?”

I hesitated. I did not want to tell her I had been with Mrs. Pardell. I was still not sure how she felt about Annette. Perhaps I would tell her later…choose my moment. To talk about the death of her predecessor might upset her in her present state.

“Oh, just for a walk,” I said.

“And what about this Jermyn man? You haven’t seen him yet.”

“No.”

“Well, you usually do when you come here.”

“Perhaps I will.”

“Do you know, Vee, you are a dark horse. Grim Gordon risks his life for you. Then there are secret meetings with the family’s enemy. That’s two of them. I believe you are a femme fatale.”

“Oh, no. That is your role.”

“We are really one. You know that. We are different, of course, but that is because we are one person. I used to think that the foolish side was myself and the sensible side you. But not after this afternoon. Who was silly enough to get caught by the tide? I shall taunt you with that throughout our lives, whenever you put on one of your superior acts. When did I ever do anything so foolish as that?”

“I’ll consider it. I am sure I shall be able to come up with something.”

She put out her tongue at me and laughed. She was so happy and I knew it was because I was safe and back with her.

She went on: “I am longing to hear more of the enemy.”

“You are thinking of that silly old feud. Jowan Jermyn is not an enemy.”

“He will have heard by now of your adventure. News travels fast here. We may be something of a backwater, but our communication service is superb. I have discovered that lots of people here are related to each other—many sisters and cousins are working for the various people around. So news is circulated quickly. Most things we do are recorded as soon as they take place. We are all living in glass houses, so that adventure of yours on the cliffs will be headline news, or would be if they had newspapers. Mr. Jermyn will know of it by now and gnashing his teeth because he was not the one to make the gallant rescue.”

“What nonsense!”

“Promise me you’ll go and see him tomorrow…when I am having this ridiculous rest of mine…you go to the meeting place and see if he is there. You must promise me. In my condition I have to be humored.”

We were laughing again.

“And when you come back, I want you here with me…to tell me every detail.”

I promised.

The next afternoon, true to my promise to Dorabella, I decided I would go to the field and see if Jowan Jermyn were there. I did not believe Dorabella was right in believing that he would already have heard of my adventure, but he might know that I had been in Cornwall for a few days. In any case, there was no harm in riding to the field. If he were not there, I would just ride around and tell Dorabella that I had kept my promise.

I went to the stables. Jack was not there. A young man was grooming one of the horses. I had seen him before and I knew he was Seth. He was about nineteen or twenty and had large gray eyes which seemed to be looking at something the rest of us could not see. I had heard that there was something strange about Seth. He was “piskymazed,” said some. “Something missing in the top story,” said others. He was always referred to as Poor Seth, but all admitted that he had a way with horses.

I said: “Good afternoon, Seth.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and went to Starlight’s stall. He was muttering something to her, patting her as he led her out. I noticed the loving way he touched her and I saw her response. Oh, yes, he had a way with horses.

He started to saddle her. Then suddenly, he looked at me with those strange eyes and said: “Be careful, Miss. What did happen yesterday…”

He had a slurred way of speaking, as though his tongue were too big for his mouth, and I had some difficulty in hearing him.

“Master Gordon…” he said. “If ’e ’adna been there…”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “He saved my life. There was no way I could have escaped from the cove if he hadn’t come to help me.

“ ’Twere ’er again, Miss.”

“Her?”

“Her from over Jermyn’s.”

I looked puzzled.

He went on dealing with Starlight, murmuring to her as he did so.

“ ’Tis the curse, Miss. ’Er drowned herself, didn’t ’un. ’Twere ’er. She be after folk at Tregarland’s. Women…’er wants ’un with her …so ’er comes back to get ’un.”

This sounded like garbled nonsense to me. He was “piskymazed.” Poor boy. But I wanted to know what was in his mind.

“Tell me, Seth,” I said. “What do you know about her…coming to get them?”

“ ’Er drowned, didn’t ’er? It was ’cos of Tregarland’s. ’Er’s doing to them what was done to ’er. There were Mr. Dermot’s first wife…her from the Sailor’s Rest.”

“What of her, Seth?”

“ ’Er went down to the sea…and that baby went with her. That’s what her wanted.”

“Her?” I repeated.

“ ’Er from Jermyn’s. ’Er ’ave it in for Tregarland women…well, ’er would, wouldn’t ’er?”

“But she is dead, Seth. How could it be?”

He looked at me in amazement. “ ’Er comes back, don’t ’er? I seen ’er.”

“You’ve seen her! But she’s dead.”

“She come back and ’er got the first Mrs. Tregarland, didn’t ’er? ’Er beckoned her into the sea. I seen ’er. Then…Miss…the sea nearly got you.”

“I’m not a Tregarland, Seth.”

“Aye…but your sister be. That’s close enough for ’er.”

Poor Seth. He was indeed crazy. But now he had saddled the horse and she was ready for me.

“Thank you, Seth,” I said, smiling.

“She be a good ’un,” he said. He patted Starlight lovingly. “You be a good ’un,” he said in her ear and she rubbed her nose into his hand.

I rode out of the stables, wondering what was going on in Seth’s muddled mind.

I made my way to the field. There was no one there and I felt deeply disappointed. I was about to ride away when I hesitated. After all, there had been no fixed arrangement. I looked at my watch. It was about five minutes earlier than last time.

I dismounted and, tethering Starlight to a tree, I sat down, leaning against a hedge. I was still thinking about Seth and how pleasant it would be to talk to Jowan Jermyn when I saw him riding toward me.

He pulled up sharply.

“Oh,” I said, “so you came.”

“Naturally. I came yesterday and the day before.”

“I am sorry. But it wasn’t a definite arrangement, was it?”

He shook his head. “Well, now you are here, it’s cider time once more. Let’s see, it was the Horned Stag last time. This time it shall be the Lion’s Head. That’s in another fishing village slightly smaller than Poldown, similar and yet different. I think you will like it. May I say how pleased I am to see you.”

“And I you.”

“That is nice to hear. Would you like to go now?”

I had risen to my feet and he helped me mount Starlight and soon we were riding out of the field.

“Did you have an interesting time in London?”

“Very interesting, thank you. And you…here?”

“Much as usual. We go westwards. It’s about four miles along the coast. Will that suit you?”

I said it sounded good.

He asked about Dorabella and we talked lightly as we rode along. Often we had to go in single file through narrow lanes so it was not possible to hold much of a conversation.

We climbed fairly high and then descended into the fishing village to the Lion’s Head on the sea front.

There were stables where we could leave the horses and we did this and went into the inn parlor.

There was a similarity between these hotels and it would be hard to distinguish one from another. There was the traditional inglenook and the cosy, intimate atmosphere.

We sat down and he ordered cider.

“You’ll find little difference in that, either,” he said. “I expect it all comes from the same source.”

When we were alone he went on: “Congratulations! I heard you have been snatched from the jaws of death.”

I laughed. “Dorabella was right…”

“In what way?”

“She said you would have heard of it through the local news service.”

“But of course. I was told at breakfast this morning by one of the servants. He has a dramatic touch. ‘That there Miss what’s-her-name, you do know, sir, the new one’s sister up at Tregarland’s, ’er had a near shave ’er did. Caught in that there cove. You do know how easy that can be, sir, the way that old tide do come in there…all of a rush like. And what was ’er doing down there? Didn’t know nothing about tides seemingly.’ ”

His reproduction of the accent was very good. I laughed and he sat back surveying me.

“The reporting is fairly accurate,” I said. “I was caught by the tide.”

His face was grave now. “It could have been dangerous,” he said.

“I know now. I just didn’t think of it.”

“Very remiss of you.”

“Well, it was an experience.”

“I believe someone said, ‘Experience is the name we give to our mistakes.’ ”

“It could only have been Oscar Wilde. It’s true, of course. But our mistakes do teach us not to repeat our follies.”

“Well, then, it was not in vain.”

“Gordon Lewyth was wonderful.”

“I am sure he was. Quite a feat, I imagine, on that cliff face.”

“It was a great good fortune for me that he happened to be passing and saw me.”

He looked at me intently and said: “That was his good luck. I wish it had been mine.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Poor Lewyth. He’s in an invidious position.”

“He is devoted to Tregarland’s.”

“Yes, but the place will never be his. A pity. He’s done more for it than anyone. James Tregarland…”

“That’s old Mr. Tregarland?”

“Yes. He was letting the place run to ruin. He was not meant for the land. He’s clever, they say. He used to be something of a wit, I believe. He spent hardly any time here. He was always in London. Something of a gambler. He married late in life…a charming lady, by all accounts, but he wasn’t the sort to settle down. He just married for the sake of the family—so I’ve heard. His wife provided the required son, Dermot, and after a year or so, she died. Then the Lewyths came. She was a good-looking woman…some vague family connection, it was said, and with her her young son. Things settled down for a while, but James Tregarland was never one for the land. It was lucky that when Gordon grew up he could take over. He saved the place from disaster…just in time. Such estates can stand one indifferent generation but no more, so it was like a miracle that Gordon could take over and so efficiently. Though it is all for Dermot’s benefit.”

“Dermot has the same indifference.”

“It seems so. They should thank Heaven for Gordon.”

“As I did yesterday. By the way, that boy in the stables. Do you know anything about him?”

He looked puzzled.

“I wondered if he would be an item of news. He seems a little mad. He said such a strange thing to me today just as I was coming out. He had evidently heard what happened on the cliffs yesterday, and he seemed to think that some evil force was at work to harm me.”

“Harm you?”

“Because of my connection with the Tregarlands…sister of the bride.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“Something about the curse. That ancestor of yours who walked into the sea because of her blighted love affair is now taking her revenge on Tregarland women.”

“Poor old Seth, was it? He’s said to be a little addlepated.”

“Piskymazed, I have heard.”

“It’s the same thing. It means mental confusion. He must have heard about your adventure yesterday and he thought of the first Mrs. Tregarland who was drowned. He connected the two.”

“Has he always been like that?”

“Oh, no. Something happened to him when he was about ten. He is the son of one of the grooms. He has a way with horses. There was an incident in the stables one day. A wild horse which broke free. The boy was there. He was knocked down and the horse rode over him. It damaged his head, and he has been strange ever since.”

“That would account for it, I suppose.”

Then I told him about Mrs. Pardell and how she had talked to me.

“You did well,” he said. “She is not usually so forthcoming.”

“I was sorry for her. I think she really cared about her daughter.”

“She is one of those people who find it difficult to express their feelings. They always miss something, I think, don’t you?”

I said I thought they might.

“But I sensed when I was with her that she loved her daughter and grieved for her,” I said. “She talked a little about Annette. She seems to have been a very bright person.”

“Indeed, yes. She was very suited to her job. There would always be a crowd of admirers round her.”

“Dermot among them,” I said.

“You know how people talk. They said he was one of several and that she chose the right one to blame for her condition.”

“And he accepted it,” I said.

“Dermot is a kindly young man. He would do what he thought was right.”

“I daresay he was in love with her.”

“I don’t know. There is certain to be talk about that sort of situation in a place like Poldown. However, it is in the past. Let us drink to the present Mrs. Tregarland, and may she bring forth a healthy son and live happily ever after.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

He smiled at me across the tankards. “I should like to meet her.”

“And she would like to meet you.”

“You have mentioned me to her?”

“To her, but to no one else, in view of this ridiculous feud. When she is active again, she and I will put our heads together and see what we can do to break it.”

He lifted his tankard. “To your success,” he said.

I felt happy to be in his company. We rode back together and made arrangements to meet a few days later.

The Promise

I ARRIVED BACK IN Caddington in early September. I was sorry to leave Dorabella. Moreover I was finding myself more and more absorbed in the life of Tregarland’s. However, I knew my mother thought I ought not to stay too long.

My mother said: “I know Dorabella loves to have you, but she has a husband now and should be building up her own family life. Besides, it is not fair to you to be tucked away down there all the time. You have a life of your own to lead. You must not allow yourself to become just part of Dorabella’s.”

I knew what was in her mind, of course. She was planning dinner parties to which she was going to invite eligible young men. I found this a trifle embarrassing. I did not want to be put up for auction, I told her.

“What nonsense!” she replied. “You want to see a bit of life, that’s all.”

She was delighted when Edward suggested we should go to London.

He wrote: “Richard Dorrington would like you and Violetta, and Sir Robert, if he could come, of course, to spend a week with them in London. You will want to see our house. It is a little topsy-turvy at the moment because we haven’t properly settled in. You could stay with us, though, for a time. Mary Grace is going to write to you.”

“I suppose they feel they ought to ask us because Richard stayed here,” I said.

“It is a nice, friendly gesture,” replied my mother. “I’d like to go. I am not sure about your father.”

My brother Robert had gone back to school. It was a constant complaint of his that, because of school, he had to miss so many interesting things which the rest of the family could do.

“You’ll emerge from it in time,” I told him. “It has happened to all of us.”

I was rather pleased by the prospect of going to London; and it turned out to be interesting to visit the Dorrington family.

Mrs. Dorrington was charming, and she and my mother got along very well. I liked Mary Grace. She was slightly younger than Richard—a rather quiet, shy girl whose main occupation seemed to be to look after her mother.

The house was large, well staffed, and comfortable. It faced a quiet garden square and was characteristic of many in the area.

Edward’s newly acquired house was not very far away—in a row of houses in a tree-lined street. He and Gretchen seemed very happy and contented with each other, though at times I saw shadows in Gretchen’s eyes and guessed the reason. She would be thinking of her family in Germany. As far as I could gather, the situation had not changed there.

Richard Dorrington was very eager that we should enjoy our visit. He had arranged trips to the theater, and we usually had supper afterwards in a small restaurant near Leicester Square which was frequented by theatrical people. It was exciting after life in the country.

Richard and Edward were working during the day and my mother and I were able to make full use of the shopping facilities. Our purchases were frequently for the coming baby. Mary Grace was very interested and sometimes accompanied us.

She and I went to an exhibition of miniatures in one of the museums and I realized at once that she was quite knowledgeable about the subject. Her shyness dropped from her and she became enthusiastic and eloquent.

I was pleased to see her interest and listened intently; she went on talking more than she ever had before and revealed to me that she herself painted.

“Only a little,” she added, “and not very well. But…it is quite absorbing.”

I said I should like to see some of her work, and she shrank visibly.

“Oh, it’s no good,” she said.

“I’d like to see it all the same. Please show me.”

She went on: “There are some people one sees and knows immediately that one wants to paint them. There is something about them.”

“You mean they are beautiful.”

“Well, not necessarily conventionally beautiful. But there is something…I should like to paint you.”

I was astonished and, I admit, flattered.

I laughed and said: “My twin sister Dorabella would make a very good picture. We are alike in a way but she is different. She is vital and very attractive. I wish you could see her. You’d want to paint her. She is going to have a baby quite soon. Perhaps after it is born you could paint her. I am sure she would be a better subject than I.”

Mary Grace said she liked to feel that special urge to paint before she did so. So far no one had sat for her. She saw a face she liked, sketched it from memory, and then worked on it. She made life-size sketches and then got down to the intricate work.

“All right then,” I said. “You can do some rough sketches of me.”

“Oh, will you let me? Don’t tell anyone.”

“It is our secret.”

The next day I went to her room, and she made the sketches, but she would not show them to me. She did, however, show me some of the work she had done. There were several miniatures in watercolors. I thought they were charming and told her so. She was flushed with pleasure. I had rarely seen her look so pleased.

My mother said: “I am so glad you get on well with Mary Grace. She seems to like your company very much.”

“She is a nice girl,” I said, “but she is too self-effacing.”

“Not like her brother. What she needs is someone to bring her out of herself.”

That evening we went to the opera. It was wonderful to be in Covent Garden. The opera was La Traviata. Richard had known that it would be performed that evening and he had gone to great trouble to procure the tickets. From the moment the curtain went up on a scene of Fragonard-like elegance and Violetta was greeting her guests, it was pure enchantment.

We had a supper afterwards in a restaurant near the Opera House and we were quite hilarious, and much play was made of my name, which was the same as the heroine’s.

“There,” said Edward, “the resemblance ends.”

My mother said: “People laughed at me when I gave her the name, but I don’t regret it one little bit. I think it is beautiful…and don’t you think it suits her?”

They all agreed that it did.

“And,” I said, “Dorabella had the greater burden to bear.”

“Dorabella,” said Richard. “That’s beautiful, too. What a pity she is not with us here tonight.”

“I shall give her a detailed account of the evening when we meet,” I said.

It was late when we arrived home. It had been a wonderful evening. I was thinking about Dorabella, who would have loved to share in it—and I found myself wondering afresh how she would fit into life in Cornwall.

Next morning my mother said to me: “Wasn’t it a wonderful evening? I think Richard is delightful.”

“Yes,” I said. “He is very thoughtful.”

“It was so good of him to plan the opera. He said it was Traviata that made him determined to go…your being Violetta, of course.”

“The similarity ends with the name, as Edward pointed out.”

“I should hope so,” said my mother. “I should hate to think of you leading that sort of life and fading away before your time.”

I laughed and she said: “Do you know what is coming up soon? I’d almost forgotten it with all this excitement about the baby. Your birthday.”

“Of course…next month. I haven’t got Dorabella’s present yet.”

“Nor I. What would you like?”

“I’ll have to think.”

“We’ll get it while we are in London. We’ll go and look tomorrow. But think about it.”

“I will.”

There was a dinner party that night. The Dorringtons had invited a lawyer and his wife with their newly married daughter and her husband.

The conversation at dinner was mainly about the situation in Europe. The elderly lawyer said he did not like the way things were going.

“The alliance between the Italian and German dictators is an unholy one, I reckon,” he said.

“We should not have stood by while Italy took Abyssinia,” said Richard.

“What could we have done?” asked Edward. “Did we want to go to war?”

“If all the states of Europe with America had stood together against it and imposed sanctions, Mussolini could not have gone on.”

“Too late now,” said the lawyer.

I glanced at Gretchen. She was looking uneasy, as she always did when the politics of Europe were discussed. I wished they would change the subject.

They eventually did, but I think the evening was spoiled for Gretchen.

The next morning Mary Grace said she had something to show me. I went to her room. Laid out on a table was the miniature.

Mary Grace pointed at it and stepped back, looking away as though she could not face my reaction.

I stared at it. It was beautiful. The colors were soft and exquisitely blended. It was my face, but there was something there, something arresting. It was a look in the eyes, as though I were trying to prove something which I could not understand. The mouth was smiling and seemed to belie that expression in the eyes.

I could not believe that she had created such an exquisite piece of work. I turned to her in wonder and she forced herself to look at me.

“You don’t…like it,” she stammered.

“I don’t know what to say. You are a true artist, Mary Grace. Why have you kept this hidden?”

She looked bemused.

“I think it is wonderful. It really is. Everything on such a small scale and yet…it’s there, isn’t it? It is the sort of portrait which makes one pause and wonder what is behind that smile. What is she thinking?”

Did I really look like that? What had I been thinking of when I sat for Mary Grace? That subject, which was always uppermost in my mind? Dorabella and Dermot…their marriage…Mrs. Pardell who did not believe that her daughter had died as it was said she had…that sly old man who was watching us all the time as though we were spiders in a basin from which we could not escape. Those were the thoughts which had dominated my mind as I sat there.

I looked at Mary Grace in wonder. Her talent really did amaze me.

I said severely, trying to introduce a light note, for she looked very emotional: “Mary Grace, you have been hiding your light under a bushel. Have you heard of the Parable of the Talents? You have been given this talent and you have hidden it away. If you have such talent you must surely use it.”

“I can’t believe…”

“You have to believe in yourself. I am going to buy this miniature from you. I am your first client.”

“No…no…I shall give it to you.”

“I shall not accept it as a gift, but I very much want it and will have it. Listen. You have solved a problem for me. It is my sister’s birthday in October—mine also. I have been wondering what I am going to give her. Now I know. I can’t accept a gift from you which I am going to give to someone else. This is a blessing. She does not see me so often now, though we were always together until she married. This will be the ideal birthday present. You and I will go out and buy a beautiful frame for it, and that shall be my birthday gift to her. She will love it. It is beautiful and it will be so unexpected. Oh, Mary Grace, thank you so much. You have made a beautiful picture of me and at the same time solved my problem.”

She was staring at me, her lips parted in sheer astonishment.

“My dear Mary Grace,” I cried. “You look piskymazed, as they say in Cornwall.”

I carried her along on my enthusiasm. She was a most unusual artist. The few I had met had an inflated idea of their own excellence and a word of criticism could make an enemy for life. Mary Grace was modest and genuinely surprised. She was that rare creature—a good artist and a modest one.

I was already imagining Dorabella’s face when she saw the miniature. She would surely want one of herself. A commission for Mary Grace, I thought delightedly.

Mary Grace and I announced that we were going shopping that morning. There were certain things we wanted to get. We took the miniature with us and went to a jeweler’s shop in the High Street. I had noticed it before because there were several unusual pieces in the window—secondhand, some of them, rare and beautiful.

A bell tinkled over the door as I pushed it open and we went in. An elderly man came toward us to stand behind the counter.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“We want a frame—a small frame—to fit this.” I laid the miniature on the table.

He looked intently at the miniature and smiled at me.

“Very nice,” he said. “An excellent likeness.”

I glanced sideways at Mary Grace, who was blushing.

“Have you anything?” I asked.

“It has to be small,” he said. “There are not too many of this size around. Small and oval-shaped, of course. Most frames are the more conventional types. A piece of work like that needs something special, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it is going to be a present.”

“It’s lovely.” He was thoughtful. “A pair of silver frames came in the other day. Excuse me a moment. Thomas,” he called.

A man appeared. He was considerably younger than the one who was serving us.

“Yes, sir?” he said.

“What about those frames that came in the other day…with the Marlon lot.”

“Do you mean those small silver ones, sir?”

“Yes. They’d take a picture like this, would they?”

The man came and looked down at the miniature.

“Beautiful,” he said, smiling at me. “You’d want something really nice for that.”

“Can you put your hands on those frames, Thomas?”

“I reckon so, sir.”

The older man turned to us. “They came in only the other day. We haven’t had much chance to look at all the stuff that came with them yet. Secondhand, you know. From a sale of one of the stately homes. Been in the family for years, then someone dies and everything’s up for sale.”

He chatted awhile until Thomas appeared with the frames.

They were beautiful.

“They’d be some two hundred years old,” we were told. “They knew how to make things in those days. Craftsmen. We could do with more of them nowadays. Well, I reckon we could make that picture fit. Trouble is, they’re a pair.”