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They lay on her voluminous lap and from the folds of her skirt jet-beaded satin slippers were visible.
    I was immediately overawed and my respect for Aunt Charlotte rose because she could sit there looking so unperturbed in the presence of this formidable woman.
    â€œMy niece, Lady Crediton.”
    I curtsied and Lady Crediton gave me the full attention of her marmoset eyes for a few seconds.
    â€œShe is learning to know antiques,” went on Aunt Charlotte, “and will be accompanying me now and then.”
    Was I? I thought. It was the first time it had been stated, although I realized that for some time it had been implied. It was enough explanation of me. They both turned their attention to the escritoire which they had evidently been discussing when I entered. I listened intently.
    â€œI must call your attention, Lady Crediton,” Aunt Charlotte was saying almost maliciously I thought, “to the fact that it is only accredited to Boulle. It has the richly scrolled corner pieces, true. But I am of the opinion that it is of a slightly later period.”
    It was a beautiful piece, I could recognize that, but Aunt Charlotte would not have it so. “It is definitely marked,” she said. Lady Crediton had no idea how difficult it was to dispose of furniture that was not in first class condition.
    Lady Crediton was sure that any defects could be put right by any man who knew his business.
    Aunt Charlotte gave a hoarse cackle.
    The man who knew that business had been dead more than a hundred years—that is if André-Charles Boulle was really responsible, which Aunt Charlotte gravely doubted.
    And so they went on—Lady Crediton pointing out its virtues, Aunt Charlotte its defects.
    â€œI don’t think there is another piece like it in England,” declared Lady Crediton.
    â€œWould you give me a commission to find you one?” demanded Aunt Charlotte triumphantly.
    â€œMiss Brett, I am disposing of this one because I have no use for it.”
    â€œI doubt whether I could find an easy buyer.”
    â€œPerhaps another dealer might not agree with you.”
    I listened and all the time I was thinking of the man downstairs and wondering about the relationship between him and this woman and the man in the portrait in the gallery.
    Finally they came to an agreement. Aunt Charlotte had offered a price which she admitted was folly on her part and Lady Crediton could not understand why she should make such a sacrifice.
    I thought: They are two of a kind. Hard both of them. But the matter was completed and the escritoire would arrive at the Queen’s House in the next few days.
    â€œMy patience me!” said Aunt Charlotte as we drove away. “She makes a hard bargain.”
    â€œYou paid too much for it, Aunt?”
    Aunt Charlotte smiled grimly. “I expect to make a fair profit when the right buyer comes along.”
    She was smiling and I knew she was thinking that she had got the better of Lady Crediton; and I wished that I could have crept back to Castle Crediton and heard Lady Crediton’s comments.
    ***
    The man I had met in the hall of the Castle would not be dismissed from my mind so I judiciously set about discovering if Ellen knew anything about him.
    When we went for our walk I led the way up to the cliff top facing the Castle and we sat on one of the seats which had been put there by something called the Crediton Town Trust, the object of which was to add amenities to the town.
    The seat was one of my favorites because I could sit on it and gaze across the river at the Castle.
    â€œI went there with Aunt Charlotte,” I told Ellen. “We bought a Boulle escritoire.”
    Ellen sniffed at what she called my “showing off,” so I came quickly to the point, which was not, on this occasion, to show my superior knowledge.
    â€œI saw Lady Crediton and…a man.”
    Ellen was interested.
    â€œWhat sort of man? Young?”
    â€œQuite