A Woman of Consequence Read Online Free PDF

embellished ever since the first Harman had bought the land at the time of the Dissolution. Every generation had made ‘improvements’ according to its own taste, so that now the old Tudor core was flanked by many-windowed wings from Queen Anne’s time, a grand ballroom built by the late Mr Harman and a conservatory and orangery of the present owner’s creation.
    At a short distance from the house stood the broken outline of the once great religious foundation; its mass of tumbled, ivy-covered walls appeared rough and irregular in the fading light, the great broken arch of the east window loomed against flying, red-tinted clouds. A likely home for a ghost , thought Dido as she set off through the mud towards the ruins.
    And there had been a ghost at the abbey for as long as anyone in Madderstone or Badleigh could remember. Everyone could tell a story of the Grey Nun – though, asis generally the case with apparitions, she had usually been seen by a relative – or a friend – or the relative of a friend – rather than by the speaker himself. And Dido could not admire the originality of her story, for it was one which had probably been told of every ruined abbey since Henry VIII turned the nation to the Protestant faith.
    In the ‘old days’ a rich young girl had fallen in love with a poor knight and had been parted from him by her cruel father – a baron (for barons are, by common consent, much more addicted to mistreating their daughters than any other class of men). The girl had refused the grand suitor her father would have forced upon her, become a nun and pined to death within the abbey walls. Her spirit had haunted the place ever since. Though why she should haunt the abbey, Dido did not know. She could not help but think that it would have been much more to the purpose to go off to the wicked baron’s castle and haunt him …
    But by now she was approaching the ruins and, as she looked about at the red sky, the lengthening shadows, and the rising moon gleaming palely through an ivy-clad arch, she found that she was not quite above a superstitious shudder. Perhaps she should have deferred her visit to a more propitious time …
    No, there was no rational reason why twilight should be feared more in a ruined abbey than in the parlour at home. She walked on resolutely, but a minute later there was a lurching of the heart. A dark figure was just visible among the great fallen stones of the nave, pacing towards the night stair – mounting towards the gallery above, and vanishing into the shadows.
    She stopped and, before she could quite reason herself out of the notion that she had seen a ghost, another, smaller figure appeared, rounding a corner of the ruins and dawdling towards the house. Fortunately there was no mistaking this for a spectre. It was, very certainly, young Georgie, walking slowly: dragging and scuffing his good boots mercilessly. The injuring of shoe leather was a crime Dido never could regard with equanimity and, for a moment, she forgot all about ghosts.
    ‘Pick your feet up, Georgie!’ she cried indignantly. ‘You are spoiling your boots!’
    ‘Well, what if I am?’ He stopped in front of her, thrust out his plump chin and stared up defiantly, then put out one foot and scraped it slowly and deliberately against a stone that edged the path. A pale, ugly scuff mark appeared on the dirty, but costly, brown leather.
    Dido withdrew her eyes from the distressing sight – and found herself looking more closely at the fat little face which was watching eagerly for her disapproval. There was a fresh red bruise upon his cheek.
    ‘Your face is hurt, Georgie,’ she said – glad of the distraction. ‘How did you do that?’
    He quickly put his hand up to cover it. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘I just fell – on the path back there.’
    ‘You had better have some witch hazel put upon it immediately.’
    He shrugged and began to walk away, saying something quietly which sounded remarkably