Chapter Sixteen #2
While we were sitting talking and finishing our picnic, it became clear whose eyes were busy watching us.
Tentatively, at first, two or three fallow deer approached the water, and having decided we were not about to attack them they dipped their noble heads into the cool water to drink.
The green canopy above our heads filtered out the strong sunshine, which fell in golden shafts, dotting the earth and dappling coins of light onto the spotted backs of the graceful creatures.
Everywhere looked beautiful, and I’d have been happy to sit there all day, but Thomas said we should carry on.
We stood up and stretched, shaking the crumbs from our clothes.
I was conscious of the fact that my hair was untidy and wished I hadn’t left my bonnet behind.
The wood became denser as we walked, and large tracts of bracken made our progress slow.
Everywhere was so quiet, apart from the birds singing up above, we could have been the only people left in the world, but then the silence was shattered by the snap of breaking twigs and the slapping sound of flattening vegetation.
There, glimpsed through the trees was a white stag, a majestic creature standing proudly on a knoll in the distance, as if he was proclaiming his territory and warning us off.
Even from far away he seemed to fix me with a large rolling eye, stamping his hooves and waving his head aloft, showing off the elegance of his great antlers.
‘Don’t be afraid, Jane,’ said Thomas, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the undergrowth. ‘He’s not really interested in harming us.’
We were waist high in bracken, but soon the great road leading to the house came into view, descending for a while before winding up between the trees.
And there was the house ahead, much bigger than I’d imagined, like a medieval village, all grey towers and battlements, red-brown roofs and ancient chimney stacks.
Thomas greeted the servant on guard at the gate like an old friend, and he led us across the courtyard to the Inner Wicket where we were told to wait in the stone courtyard.
Ten minutes went by and I was sure we’d been forgotten, and wondered if we were being watched from the latticed windows, dark like unseeing eyes.
The clock on the tower above our heads counted the passing minutes, and then just as I was beginning to think we should turn and go, a diminutive figure came shuffling out from the door.
The vast girdle of keys worn round her waist jangled noisily, as she walked, and when she saw Thomas, she held out her hand to greet him.
‘Master Thomas, it must be a whole year since I saw you last - my goodness, what a fine young man you’re turning out to be … how you’ve grown. Your grandfather tells me you are an excellent scholar - you make him very proud. And how is that brother of yours … is he as wild as ever?’
She clearly didn’t expect an answer because she turned to me in the next second, looking me over from top to bottom, and glanced back at Thomas with an inquiring expression.
‘And who is this young lady, Master Thomas? Your sweet’eart, pr’aps?’
Thomas took her remarks in his stride. ‘Mrs Edwards, how you love to tease me. No, this is my cousin Jane, a Miss Austen from Hampshire. She’s come to stay with my grandfather for a few weeks. She’s very interested in history and old houses, and one day might put Knole House into one of her books.’
‘Is the young lady a writer?’
‘Not yet, but I think it very likely you’ll be reading her tales before very long.’
‘Oh, I don’t have time for such leisure as sitting with a book, my dears, though I know Madame has taken to reading more lately, filling the empty days.’
‘Could we show Miss Austen over the house, Mrs Edwards?’ asked Thomas. ‘I know you’re kept very busy, but I promise we shall not be long.’
‘I’ve always time for you, Master Thomas, and your grandfather who is so very kind to me.
Now, what is it to be first? Of course, Shelley’s Tower, as we call it, is out of bounds, since it’s occupied by the mistress and she is sitting for Mr Humphry just now, but I can show you the Great Hall and take you up the Great Staircase to see the ballroom and the picture gallery. ’
‘Oh, that would be most kind, Mrs Edwards,’ I said, finding my voice at last.
We followed her through the door and turned into the Great Hall, dark with wooden panelling, and an oak screen where Mrs Edwards told us there was a musicians’ gallery in the upper part, where long ago the players made music for the stately Elizabethan dancers below.
The first Earl of Dorset looked down on us from his portrait, resplendent in dark robes and staff, his long grey beard adding gravity to his sombre expression above the crisp ruff.
As we turned through the Jacobean doorway, finding ourselves at the bottom of a great oak staircase, it struck me what a dramatic setting the house would make for a gothic tale.
I couldn’t help picturing the victim of a heroine dressed in white on a moonlit night, held aloft by the hideously disfigured villain of the piece.
Carrying her to a certain dreadful fate, I imagined a trail of blood dripping from a slit in her throat, leaving scarlet stains in the wooden steps, which no hand could ever erase.
‘Ah, there’s my mistress, and very like her,’ said the old housekeeper, her voice breaking with laughter, bringing me out of my reverie and making me jump. But, I was startled by more than the wizened housekeeper’s cackling laugh, and held my breath at the sight before us.
Lit by shafts of sunlight coming through the leaded windows, the life-size plaster figure of Madame Baccelli sprawled nakedly across rumpled sheets.
Propped up on tasselled cushions, she was baring one plump breast, and showing her long legs, fleshy buttocks, and a half smile playing on her lips.
I didn’t know where to look and felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment, until I saw Thomas grin and wink at me, which made me feel just a little better.
It was shocking to think she was the mistress of the house, displayed in such a fashion for all to see, and yet there was no shame or embarrassment in her pose or expression.
Indeed, it was clear she was inordinately proud to be immortalised like a Roman goddess, and with her hair piled on top of her head, and a curl cascading down her back, she looked like a classical statue.
‘Madame’s very beautiful, is she not?’ said Mrs Edwards, ‘and the Duke of Dorset’s favourite, as she should be.
It was his Grace’s dearest wish to see her sculpted in her prime …
a very special commission. She’s never been ashamed of her ripe, young figure, and is proud to show off what’s brought her good fortune. ’
Thomas’s eyes locked with mine, and it was all I could do not to fall into a fit of giggles as he smirked, and it took a moment before I could compose myself.
Though despite being amused, I felt very shocked at what I’d seen and heard, and as we followed the housekeeper up the ancient staircase, and into the ballroom, I could not get the image out of my head.
It was impossible to see at first. The room was pitch black as we entered, and as Mrs Edwards said we should hold still for a moment for fear of knocking into some precious object, I was aware of the blood thumping through my veins, and my heart beating through the thin fabric of my dress.
It was difficult to understand why I was feeling so uneasy, but I’d felt anxious almost as soon as we entered the house.
I was beginning to feel guilty that I’d not told anyone that I was coming here, and the way I’d behaved on the journey was making me feel as if there was a part of my character I didn’t know existed inside me before.
I’d craved adventure, and had felt daring and bold.
I’d wanted to break all the rules, run wild, and with the kind of abandonment I’d never known before.
But now, I felt a determined disinclination for any further escapade, I was feeling ashamed of my behaviour, and wished I’d not agreed to come at all.
Mrs Edwards was not at all the kind of housekeeper I was familiar with - I could not imagine my mother exchanging any conversation with a woman who exhibited such a coarseness of manner.
The way she’d looked at me with a gleam in her eyes as she’d described me as Thomas’s sweetheart, and the casual manner in which she’d discussed the pleasure in the nakedness of her mistress disturbed me.
I could not describe it, but there was an atmosphere in the house I did not like - I felt uncomfortable in the suffocating room, and completely ill at ease.
I wished Thomas was by my side, but he’d gone into the room before me, and it was impossible to see where he stood.
I thought, at first, it must have been my imagination, but the sense that we were not alone was very strong, as I stared into the darkness trying to make out any object.
In a second I felt as if someone were standing immediately behind me.
I felt cool breath like a sigh on my neck, which made me shiver, and a sudden hiss in my ear, making my heart leap, and my head whip round.
I was sure Thomas must be playing a trick on me, but then I heard him call my name, and I realised he was too far away to have been the culprit.