LIME PARK was over a hundred years old—it had been built before the break-up of the Catholic Church, when the proud Mortimers were at the height of their power, and its stern elegant beauty expressed that power and pride. Pale grey stone and cherry-red brick had been combined with great masses of square-paned windows in a building of perfect symmetry. It was four stories high with three dormers projecting from the red slate roof, with its many chimneys so exactly placed that each balanced another, and with square and round bays aligned in three sections across the front. A brick-paved terrace, more than two hundred feet long, overlooked the formal Italian gardens that dropped away in great steps below. In marked contrast to the decay of the town-house, Lime Park had been carefully and immaculately kept; each shrub, each fountain, each stone vase was perfect.
The train of coaches circled the front of the house at a distance of several hundred yards and drove around to the back courtyard, where a fountain played many jets of sparkling water. Some distance to the west could be seen a great round brick Norman dove-cote and a pond; on the north were the stables and coach-houses, all handsome buildings of cherry brick and silver oak. A double staircase led to the second-story entrance, and the first coach stopped just at the foot of it.
His Lordship got out, then gallantly extended his hand to help his wife. Amber, now unbound and completely recovered from the effects of the drug, stepped down. Her face was sulky and she ignored Radclyffe as though he did not exist, but her eyes went up over the building with admiration and interest. Just at that moment a young woman ran out the door overhead and came sailing down the steps toward them. She shot one swift timid glance at Amber and then made Radclyffe a deep humble curtsy.
“Oh, your Lordship!” she cried, bobbing up again. “We weren’t expecting you and Philip has ridden over to hunt with Sir Robert! I don’t know
Amber knew that she must be Jennifer, his Lordship’s sixteen-year-old daughter-in-law, though Radclyffe had made no mention of her beyond her name. She was slender and plain-faced with pale blonde hair which was already beginning to darken in streaks; and she was obviously very much awed by her two worldly visitors.
Ye gods! thought Amber impatiently. So this is what living in the country does to you! It no longer seemed to her that she had lived most of her life in the country herself.
Radclyffe was all graciousness and courtesy. “Don’t trouble yourself about it, my dear. We came unexpectedly and there was no time to send a message. Madame”—he turned to Amber —“this is my son’s wife, Jennifer, of whom I’ve told you. Jennifer, may I present her Ladyship?” Jenny gave Amber another quick fugitive glance and then curtsied; the two women embraced with conventional kisses and Amber could feel that the girl’s hands were cold and that she trembled. “Her Ladyship has not been well during the journey,” said Radclyffe now, at which Amber gave him a swift glance of indignation. “I believe she would like to rest. Are my apartments ready?”
“Oh, yes, your Lordship. They’re always ready.”
Amber was not tired and she did not want to rest. She wanted to go through the house, see the gardens and the stables, investigate the summer-house and the orangerie—but she followed the Earl upstairs into the great suite of rooms which opened from the northwest end of the gallery.
“I’m not tired!” she cried then, facing him defiantly. “How long have I got to stay shut up in here?”
“Only until you are prepared to stop sulking, madame. Your opinion of me interests me not at all—but I refuse to have my son or my servants see my wife behaving like an ill-natured slut. The choice is your own.”
Amber heaved a sigh. “Very well then. I don’t think I could ever convince anyone that I like you—but I’ll try to seem to endure you with the best grace I can.”
Philip was back by supper-time and Amber met him then. He was an ordinary young man of about twenty-four, healthy and happy and unsophisticated. His dress was careless, his manners casual, and it seemed likely that his most intellectual interests were horse-breeding and cock-training. Thank God, thought Amber at first sight of him, he’s nothing like his father! But it surprised her to see that though Philip was so different from him Radclyffe was deeply attached to the boy—it was a quality she had not expected to find in the cold proud lonely old man.
Amber spent several days exploring Lime Park.
