Page 30 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
The final room on the ground floor was the smoking room, another green-painted room, this time far more plainly furnished, judging from what furniture was unwrapped. It was like whoever had removed the dustcovers had been interrupted, dumped as they were unceremoniously on the floor. George tsk-tsked and folded them as she explained this room was once used as an office, before suggesting they return to the main Entrance Hall and look upstairs.
“Where does that door lead?” Liv asked, pointing to a cunningly designed papered-over door.
“That’s the library that’s been closed to tours for years.”
Liv nodded, thinking over the house’s floor plan. This room overlooked the house’s rear courtyard, and from the window she could see what looked like stables. But that space clearly hadn’t seen much use, as the cobblestones were marked with twigs and weeds. A vehicle was parked nearby.
“Is the family in?” she asked.
“What makes you say that?” George asked.
“I just noticed that car.”
“Oh, that’s mine. I sometimes park it here. The owner doesn’t mind.” She shot her brother a mischievous look, which earned her a shake of the head.
What did that mean? That the owner did mind? “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be doing this tour? I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”
“You’re fine,” George said breezily.
But Liv was coming to the impression that George would say that even if it wasn’t true. She glanced at Liam, studying him until he acknowledged her.
He jerked a nod. “It’s fine,” he said gruffly.
Okay. That put her heart more at ease. “So, I imagine they have their own living quarters somewhere? The family, I mean.”
“Yes. Beyond the library is another area.”
“Ah, so the sitting roomisused by the family.”
“Sometimes. She’s sharp,” George said to her brother before addressing Liv again. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”
They returned to the Entrance Hall, and Liv checked on her grandmother, who was on the phone.
“I’m quite all right,” Gran insisted, gesturing for Liv to join sister and brother upstairs before resuming her call.
Liv walked up the creaky stairs, marvelling at the paintings, at how the artist had created the effect of an angel that looked like it had slipped from place, holding a scroll depicting a bewigged gentleman. She peered more closely. “Who is that?”
“Liam?”
He cleared his throat. “That is Reverend Henry Sacheverell, who was put on trial by the government in 1710.”
“It’s amazing,” she murmured. As was the fact that a mere gardener was so knowledgeable about the house. She glanced at him. He looked away. “Pardon me for asking, but why do you know so much about the house?”
He coughed, clearly uncomfortable. Shrugged. “I’ve known this place all my life.”
“You’ve worked here all your life?”
“You could say that.”
Hmm.
The hallway facing the front was the Long Gallery, holding a series of paintings she’d love more time to examine. But Liam was gesturing her away from the roped-off rooms that would overlook the fountain. Perhaps that was where the family stayed when they visited.
The other side of the upper floor contained a series of state bedrooms: a Blue Room (in name only, as the walls were white and the only trace of blue was the bed’s velvet canopy); the Hercules Bedroom, named for a plaster figure above the chimneypiece; and the Cedar Room, a light panelled room overlooking the forecourt and surrounding grounds. Beyond this lay the nursery and governess’ dayroom, the dusty toys giving a sense of poignancy, of loss. That same eerie feeling she’d experienced outside in the garden shivered over her.
She moved to the window. From this high point, large trees swayed in the breeze, as the parkland stretched for miles.
“What is it?” George asked, joining her. “You didn’t exclaim over this one like you have over all the others.”
