Celia's House Read Online Free PDF

She’s still alive—Ellen Dunne, I mean—a stupid woman (I never could get on with her), and she chose a stupid name for her son. The Dunnes have always been Williams or Henrys or Humphreys…then we come to Mary,” said Miss Dunne, putting her finger on the diagram. “Mary married an American and went back with him to Pittsburgh; she had two children. I’ve lost sight of them since Mary died, so we don’t know what has happened to that branch of the family.”
    â€œRather a pity!”
    â€œDeplorable,” agreed Miss Dunne. “They must have moved from Pittsburgh, I suppose. I’ve written several times…”
    â€œThen comes Henry, my grandfather,” said Humphrey, returning to the diagram that lay between them on the table.
    â€œYes, and then Isabel. Her daughter, Henrietta, is a delightful creature. She’s a widow and she lives at Bournemouth. I haven’t seen Henrietta for years, but I hear from her occasionally.”
    Humphrey had been following this explanation carefully. “I see,” he said. “It’s her daughter, Joan, who you’re anxious about.”
    â€œYes, she made an imprudent marriage. Young Halley was an artist, not a very good artist, I’m afraid. He died about two years ago and left her with one child. I felt sorry for the creature and I wanted to see what she was like, so I asked her to come stay at Dunnian—but she never came.”
    â€œShe writes to you, I suppose.”
    â€œOh, yes,” said Miss Dunne, smiling. “She writes to me when she’s short of money, and that’s not seldom. Becky says she plays on my feelings, and I daresay it’s true enough, but I can’t help that. I always used to help Isabel with her sums and brush her hair for her, so it seems natural that I should look after her granddaughter.”
    â€œDoes she live with her mother at Bournemouth?”
    â€œNo, no, it would never work. Parents and children are better apart if they don’t get on well together; besides, Henrietta isn’t well off herself…I’d like to see Henrietta again,” Miss Dunne added thoughtfully.
    There was a short silence after that; Humphrey broke it. “That’s a portrait of old Henry Dunne, your father, above the mantelpiece, isn’t it?” he inquired.
    â€œNo, that’s my grandfather. That’s Humphrey who built Dunnian House. I remember him quite well—just like that. It’s an excellent portrait. He was always beautifully turned out, point device , and I remember,” said Miss Dunne, smiling, “I remember he smelled of lavender water when I kissed him. He used to tell us stories, true stories about things he had seen when he was a boy, about Prince Charles riding into Edinburgh at the head of his troops and—”
    â€œDo you mean he had seen Prince Charles?” Humphrey asked incredulously.
    Miss Dunne nodded.
    â€œDid he take part in the rising?”
    â€œNo, he was too young, but even if he had been old enough he wouldn’t have gone out, for he wasn’t a believer in the Stuart cause. He used to say that the Stuarts made good stories, but they didn’t make good kings.”
    â€œI suppose that’s true really,” Humphrey said thoughtfully.
    They moved back to the drawing room and settled down by the fire. The lamps had been lit, but the french windows were wide open, and although the sun had gone down behind the trees, it was still light outside.
    â€œI like the gloaming,” said Miss Dunne. “Sometimes I sit here and watch for the first star. Do you want to ask me anything, Humphrey?”
    â€œYes, Aunt Celia. I know you’ve thought a great deal about this arrangement, so I suppose you’ve realized there may not be another Celia.”
    â€œI think there will be.”
    â€œEven if there is another Celia,” continued Humphrey, choosing his words with care. “You