The Conjurer's Daughter (A Mystery of Shakespeare Book 2) by Leonard Tourney

Author:Leonard Tourney [Tourney, Leonard]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2015-09-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

No lordly mansion is like unto another, although a cankered cynic, envious of them with better stars, might dispute it. Each great house has its own history, has been built by stonemasons and carpenters who have left their marks; the very walls and furniture of each have absorbed its master’s sins and intrigues, servants’ whispers, the malice of tenants wronged, or they who think themselves so, and jealous neighbours. Each great house has its own ghosts, its own malign spirits, and its own desperate fate.

In the island’s manor house I could feel all this. It was no ordinary house, I tell you. As I have said, it was more castle than manor, despite its name – il manoir – which in French would mean the same as our English word like unto it.

We came upon the great hall of the house suddenly. It had the capacious echoing space you would expect in such a house, but no family portraiture or turkey carpets, no grand effect to impress with its lord’s wealth. It was a warriors’ chamber, as dull and dreary as one of the Tower’s cells and cold stone except for blackened beams far above, and for a fireplace, a huge old fashioned four-centred arch with carved panels and figures, animals, I think. I did not examine it with any care. Within this monumental contrivance a fire blazed and smoked, sending the lion’s share of its heat up the chimney into the night. One could have cooked a brace of oxen there and had room to spare.

Sir Geoffrey’s company sat at a long table on a raised dais at the end of the hall, above which were depicted heraldic stuff, old rusty weaponry and tattered banners the hues of which had long since faded. The table was spread with a fair white cloth already in the way of being soiled since his guests were well into their dinner.

We entered unnoticed, Miranda and I. The half dozen hounds that snoozed upon the rushes near the fire showed no apprehension or interest in a stranger. Stillwell, the Norwich glover, and Lawyer Thorpe seemed no worse for wear. They were intent on feeding or giving ear to something said. Edward Talbot was present too, sitting not at the head of the table but to the right of the slight, pinched face gentlemen I supposed was Sir Geoffrey.

Talbot was not garbed as I had seen him before, in his monkish attire, but in a dark grey doublet with silver buttons and a white ruff collar, so that he appeared as an ordinary London gentleman, but for his long beard. He wore about his neck a medallion the very twin of that worn by Miranda. For the first time I noticed half of Talbot’s right earlobe was missing, the mark of a convicted thief or perhaps counterfeiter.

Next to Sir Geoffrey was a plump lady, maybe thirty, whom I presumed was his lady wife by her dress and her manner. A troop of aproned servants stood about, seeing to needs, off to kitchen wherever it was and back again.

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