A Particular Circumstance Read Free

a lot more rain to come. You will be utterly soaked if you attempt a dash for it now. And what will your dear Aunt Lavinia think of me then? I cannot allow you to risk it, dear Matthew.
    ‘Oh, here is Kitty. Let us ring for more tea and try to finish Mrs Palmer’s excellent cake. The weather is so dismal, it is more like November than August. I shall get Phoebe to put a light to the sticks and we may soon have a cheerful fire.’
    Kitty came in with her sewing and Matthew went back to his chair. Soon they were all settled down again, but the crashing of the thunder and the jagged flashes of lightning illuminating the angry sky did nothing to make the conversation easy.
    Westbury Hall was not a comfortable residence. It had been utterly neglected for years and no amount of cleaning, dusting and flower arranging seemed to dispel the dark musty atmosphere. It was a house which had grown gradually over more than three centuries and had been lived in by generations of the Westbury family and their successors. The south front had been built in the 1620s on the foundations of a Tudor house which had been acquired by Thomas Westbury in the fifteenth century. He had died childless and left the estate to his cousin, Sir John Westbury, whose coat of arms and that of his wife could still be seen above the front door along with the words ‘GLORIA DEO IN EXCELSIS’ prominently acknowledging God’s help in their enterprise. Successive Westburys had added a new west wing, a service wing and stables, with an orangery and a gate house which had been added in 1700. Each new addition had made the hall more substantial and the different architectural styles served as an interesting contrast to the original Jacobean front.
    One notable feature had been the old staircase, dating from the 1680s and which had been much criticized by a prominent neighbour of the Westburys, because of its alarming steepness . It had since been replaced by a much more shallow flight, protected by a balustrade of beautiful wrought iron, custom made by a London blacksmith, which added a graceful touch to the old stair hall.
    Like all old houses, it had its share of secret hidey holes and it was rumoured that there was an underground tunnel leading from Felbrook woods to the library, which had once been the great chamber of the Jacobean house. So far, though, no one had discovered the underground passage or learned the secret of opening the panelled wall.
    As for Jane Grayson, when she’d heard of the so-called secret tunnel from the all-knowing Mrs Palmer, she’d declared herself to be not interested in such tomfoolery and expressed the hope that her darlings would not listen to such idle tales of priests’ holes and such. Mrs Palmer had taken umbrage at this and had expressed the hope that Mrs Grayson would not live to regret her scepticism.
    The storm, which gave no sign of abating, had caused the dusk to arrive prematurely and once the candles were lit, Jane Grayson was already planning in her mind to invite the two guests to stay for dinner, rather than send them out to brave the elements on horseback. Having finished the second lot of tea and cake, conversation seemed to have petered out and they were all, it seemed, wrapped up in their own thoughts.
    Kitty was still busy sewing and Adam Brown was glancing idly at an out-of-date copy of The Times , while Charlotte and Matthew chatted quietly about a riding party they were both going to attend the following week. Aurelia Casterton and her bosom friend, Ann West, were together hosting a picnic in the grounds of the Castertons’ country home for various of their young friends and it promised to be an interesting excursion. Except for the spectacular noise of the storm, it was just another pleasant family evening.
    Quite suddenly, there was an exceptionally deafening thunderclap and a flash of lightning, which lit up the whole of the countryside for several miles and made the candles flicker and go pale.
    This