The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [313]
When the dessert course had been served, Mr West proposed that instead of the men sitting over port, they should all retire to the library; which clearly suited Aunt Adelaide, who said she hoped he would forgive her if, at her age, she did not linger long.
‘But I should like to see something of the house, Mr West,’ she said, ‘for strangely enough, the place always being empty, or tenanted by people who seldom stayed, I have never been round it before.’
‘Why then,’ their kindly host said, rising, ‘if you will forgive the fact that I have not yet had time to do much to the place, let us explore it together.’ And taking a candlestick in one hand himself, and calling to the footmen to bring more, he led them all out into the hall.
There were two smaller formal rooms besides the library on the ground floor. The decorations were what one would expect in a manor house of the Georgian period, but somewhat faded. The better furniture had been brought by Mr West, but some of the pictures and a few old tapestries had come with the house and evidently dated from the century before; so there was a hint of the Jacobean era in the place, which reminded Fanny of the darker intimacy of Albion House.
When they had done looking at these rooms, it seemed to her that it was time to leave; but her aunt was not quite finished. ‘What lies upstairs?’ she enquired.
‘A landing and small gallery, and a parlour,’ Mr West replied, ‘and the bed chambers, of course. But they are hardly touched as yet, I fear, and are scarcely fit to be seen.’
‘May we not look, Mr West?’ the old lady asked. ‘As I am here, I confess I am most curious.’
‘As you like.’ He smiled. ‘If the stairs …’
‘I go upstairs every day,’ she replied, ‘do I not, Fanny?’ So up they all went, at a slow pace, Adelaide upon Mr West’s arm, two footmen carrying candlesticks, and the vicar discreetly following Adelaide like a shadow, a step below, in case she should fall. Up on the landing they paused for a moment, then Mr West went forward and opened one of the chamber doors, which swung with a soft creak.
It was pitch-dark inside, but as the footmen went in with the candles, faint shapes could be seen: a tall four-poster bed with heavy old curtains in tatters; the faint glow from a polished oak chair, the ghostly flicker of reflected candlelight in a blackened looking-glass.
‘I really think no one has touched these rooms in almost a century,’ Mr West declared. The next bedchamber was the same and, having seen it, Aunt Adelaide signalled that she was ready to descend again.
They were just coming to the head of the stairs when, down a short passage, the old lady caught sight of a large portrait in a heavy gilt frame facing them, but whose lineaments were hidden in the shadows. Seeing her peer towards it, Mr West obligingly bade one of the footmen to hold the candles closer and by their light there now emerged a striking image.
He was a tall, saturnine and darkly handsome man. He had been painted three-quarter length and his clothes suggested that the picture must be about a century old. His long dark hair, falling to below his shoulders, was his own. His hand rested upon the hilt of a heavy sword and he stared out at them with the cold, proud and somewhat tragic air that is often found in those who were friends to the Stuarts.
‘Who is that?’ Adelaide asked.
‘I do not know,’ Mr West admitted. ‘It was here when I came.’ He went over to the picture with a candle and searched the base of the frame. ‘There is a label,’ he said, ‘but it is hard to read.’ He studied it a moment. ‘Ah,’ he called out, ‘I think I have it. This gentleman is …’ He struggled a moment more. ‘Colonel Thomas Penruddock.’
‘Penruddock?’
‘Of Compton … Compton Chamberlayne. Does that mean anything to you?’
Of course. The former Penruddocks of Hale, Fanny realized, must have been responsible. But who could have known that they had a portrait of their kinsman, or that they would have left it behind like this? What ill fate had arranged this ghastly shock for them?
The effect upon Aunt Adelaide