She lived, he noted, very carelessly. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. Mrs Sindlesham occupied a large padded armchair to one side of a corner fireplace, which gave out a heat more than adequate for September to one of the major’s robust constitution. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. Besides the table close by loaded with books, there was a central table with upright chairs around, covered in a multitude of papers, inks and quills, and assorted unrelated items such as playing cards. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets.
Accepting his glass from the butler, Gerald glanced at Mrs Sindlesham and saw a dimple peep out. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms.’
A trifle discomposed at being caught examining his surroundings, Gerald was provoked into retort. ‘Then I don’t advise you to visit Remenham House.’
Too late he saw his error. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment.
‘So now we come to it.’
Her gaze followed the butler, who was moving towards the door. She waited for him to leave the room, and turned back to Gerald. Abruptly the sterner look vanished and she twinkled.
‘Tell me, my boy. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’
‘West Kent, yes.’
‘Dear me. And what took you to Remenham House?’
‘I shall come to that presently,’ said Gerald cautiously. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’
‘Quite right.’
She sipped at the liquid in her glass, but her eyes remained fixed, rather unnervingly, on Gerald. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding.
‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham.’
‘Perfectly correct, my boy. Prudence Remenham.’
‘Prudence,’ repeated Gerald unguardedly. ‘Why, that’s one of the names with which she tried to fob me off.’
‘She again?’ enquired his hostess, her delicate brows rising
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. I spoke a thought aloud. So you are Prudence Remenham.’
‘Was. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady. ‘There are no Remenhams left.’
‘But there is still Remenham House.’
‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. ‘Not but what it was near that before Jarvis died. Half the rooms empty. Paintings sold off the walls. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts.’
‘Lord,’ Gerald murmured, awed more by the outspokenness of his hostess than by what she had said.
The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. ‘Shocked you, have I? We weren’t mealy-mouthed in my day, my boy. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’
‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted.
She let out a delighted laugh. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be just as hardheaded. I often wonder why the young always take us ancients for namby-pamby creatures.’ She gave him a straight look. ‘So now you may safely cease your roundaboutation, and tell me what took you to Remenham House.’
‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought.’
‘That old fool? Why my brother kept him on I shall never know. Except he was the only idiot who would stay.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Went to the dogs, did Jarvis, after Mary died.’
‘His daughter, ma’am?’ Gerald asked.
‘That’s right. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. I tried. Sindlesham tried. My late husband, I mean.’ All at once Mrs Sindlesham looked across at him, a sharp question in her eyes. ‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’
Gerald hesitated. Was this the right moment? After what she had said about Jarvis Remenham’s habits, he could do with more information before he revealed his purpose.
‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. ‘I live in Kent. One is always familiar with the business of one’s neighbours.’
She set down her glass with a snap. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. You don’t know about Mary because you live in Kent. It was years before your time.’
Gerald capitulated. ‘You are too shrewd for me, ma’am. Very well, then. I have a special interest in Mary Remenham because I believe I have discovered her daughter.’
For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. Mrs Sindlesham’s wrinkled cheek had paled, and her eyes were fixed upon Gerald in a look that wrung his heart. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old. He had thought it might have that effect.
But then the features changed. The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance.
‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. Then she slowly straightened, releasing him. ‘I can manage now.’
Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. She turned there and beckoned. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes.
‘Now,’ she said, in an imperious manner that so much reminded him of Melusine that he was obliged to suppress a grin, ‘I can see you properly. Tell me that again.’
‘I have found Mary Remenham’s daughter,’ he repeated.
Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. ‘You’re speaking the truth.’
‘As far as I know it, ma’am. Unfortunately, I have little detail of the circumstances which surrounded the birth of the girl, and her subsequent removal to France.’
