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been kept as it was in Elizabethan times. We don’t use it ver> much. It’s just to look at.”
    “It’s well worth the looking,” said Julian. For the room was resplendent with carved and gilded wood, heraldic designs, and colourful tapestries, The plaster ceiling was a riot of birds and flowers, scrolls and acanthus leaves. Julian, whose tastes usually ran to space, light, and simplicity, was surprised to find himself captivated. It was all so artlessly exuberant. He thought how beautifully it expressed the spirit of an age when continents were being discovered, when Armadas were defeated, and great English poets and dramatists flourished. An age, he thought, when it must have seemed that anything was possible to humankind.
    “I’ve always thought this room ought to have a ghost,” Philippa was saying. “It’s so old, and nobody uses it anymore—it's just the sort of place to be haunted. Olivier Fontclair would make a good ghost. He's an ancestor of ours who lived in Elizabethan times and was mixed up in the Babington Plot and had to flee the country.
    Mama says there aren’t any ghosts, really. But, just supposing there were—supposing bad people’s souls didn’t rest quietly in their graves—wouldn’t you think a man who plotted treason against his queen might be condemned to haunt his family house? Especially if he wasn’t caught and punished while he was alive.”
    "If everyone who died with unpunished sins on his conscience came back as a ghost, the living would be crowded out of every home in England.”
    “You’re cynical. I thought you would be. Can you sneer?” “With terrifying effect.”
    “Oh, do it, please! I want to see it!”
    “I’m afraid you’re much too young to withstand it. I should be accused of stunting your growth—perhaps even sending you into a decline.”
    “I wouldn’t go into a decline. I’m robust. My governess says so. But, come along, I mustn’t make you late to dinner.”
    They went down a monumental staircase, with arcaded banisters and terminal posts topped with gryphons. “Anyway,” she went on, “as I was telling you, the house is divided into three parts: the main house, the new wing, and the servants* wing. We’re in the main house now. The dining room and the library are on the ground floor. Upstairs there are only guest rooms and the great chamber. Mr. and Miss Craddock’s rooms are around the corner from yours. Have you met them?”
    “No, not yet.”
    “I don’t like Mr. Craddock. He’s gruff and bearish. Miss Craddock is very nice. She often comes to see Joanna and me in the schoolroom. We like her.”
    That emphatic we spoke volumes: We like her, even if other people don’t.    *
    They passed through the vast great hall, with its hammerbeam ceiling and stained-glass windows. “Those doors under the minstrels’ gallery open on the screens passage,” Philippa said. ‘You have to cross it to get to the servants’ wing. The three parts of the house are all in a row: servants’ wing, main house, new wing. We’re going to the new wing now.”
    Julian pictured the facade of the house, which he had seen to advantage when he arrived. Philippa must be taking him to the right-hand wing which was set farther back from the rest. It was built of the same grey stone, but in a graceful classical design that contrasted starkly with the crenellated walls and mullioned windows of the older part of the house.
    Inside, the contrast was just as dramatic. Right-angled corridors gave way to sinuous curves. Intricately carved oak panels were replaced by pastel-painted walls, edged with chaste white mouldings. It was elegant, easeful, and in very good taste—and yet Philippa was right, it did seem a little insipid after what came before.
    Philippa gave a little jump. “Oh, how horrid! There’s Miss Pritchard, and Hugh and Josie with her. Let’s run before they see us!” “They have seen us, I'm afraid.”
    “Pritchie will give me such a scold for