Chapter TwelveThe ground floor room was almost bare. The carpet must have been at least a hundred years old, Lucy thought, and the scuffed floorboards beneath it could be glimpsed through the moth holes. The bed and the giant oak cabinet in one corner were ornately carved with a matching leaf pattern and the same family crest Lucy had noticed above the front doorway of the Manor. The whole house spoke not of austerity, but of grandeur faded to a genteel poverty.
A housemaid had brought in some logs and lit a fire and Lucy felt her convulsive shivering starting to ease. The window was set into two feet of solid grey stone and opened onto a balcony overlooking a stretch of parkland. Once, it must have been beautiful, for the trees outside were set in straight rows flanking a wide avenue, no
