Page 68 of Impetuous

“Oh, my. She must be very old, then.”

“Around ninety, I think.”

“Goodness. Perhaps she will know something about the ‘Queens Book,’ then.” Cassandra began to feel more hopeful. When Philip had suggested the day trip to see Aunt Liliane, she had been pleased to go along, as it meant almost an entire day alone in Philip’s company, since he had firmly turned down Joanna’s suggestion this morning that they all go to see the old lady, saying that Aunt Liliane was too frail to have more than one or two visitors. But now she felt a spark of hope that the old woman might provide a useful clue to their search.

It was a lovely ride to Aunt Liliane’s house. It took a little over three hours, and they followed the Ouse almost the entire way. Cassandra, parasol tilted to keep the sun off, drank in the scenery and tried not to think about the fact that they were getting perilously close to a dead end with the Neville map.

Aunt Liliane lived in a very old house built in the distinctive style of the Tudors. The front door was so low that Philip had to stoop to enter it. He had to stoop again as they went up the stairs to Aunt Liliane’s bedroom, for the ceiling at the landing slanted down to a height that Cassandra could barely pass under standing straight.

“When I was young, I thought of this as a witch’s house,” Philip said to Cassandra in an undertone. “It is full of strange nooks and crannies.”

“It’s charming.”

“Aunt Liliane moved here after she was widowed. She couldn’t stand her son’s wife, and she refused to live with them. This house, she said, was big enough for her and a companion and their servants. Of course, she was getting on in years even then, and everyone worried about her. But she was an independent old soul. I used to visit her for a week or so now and then. I loved it. She had all sorts of books and a…a more carefree way of doing things than we had at Haverly House. We had meals at all sorts of odd times, and she didn’t care if I wanted to take things apart to see how they worked or anything like that.”

“You sound as if you love her very much.”

“I do.” He sighed. “But it’s sad. She was so bright, but now she rarely even knows who I am.”

The maid led them into a bedroom. The windows were open, flooding the room with light, and a wizened old crone sat in a wicker chair in front of one of the windows. She looked to be about four and half feet tall, but the effect was heightened by the fact that she was bent over at the shoulders to such an extent that she had to twist her head to look up at them, giving her an odd, birdlike appearance. The dark eyes that watched them alertly added to the illusion. White hair stuck out in tufts from beneath a dark cap. Gnarled, large-jointed hands were clasped in her lap.

Aunt Liliane looked at them brightly for a long moment, then gestured toward a chair. Philip escorted Cassandra to the chair and brought another over for himself.

“Rosemary?” the old woman barked, startling Cassandra.

“Uh, no, ma’am. My name is Cassandra.”

“Do I know you?” Her voice again boomed out, at odds with her fragile appearance.

“No, ma’am.”

“Aunt Liliane, let me introduce you to Cassandra Verrere.”

“Verrere!” The old lady’s eyes widened, and she shot Philip a sharp look. “A faithless Verrere? In my house?”

“No,” he replied hastily, realizing his mistake. “Ferrars. Cassandra Ferrars is what I said.”

She nodded, easily accepting the excuse of her poor hearing. “Don’t know any Ferrars.” She gaze at Philip for a long moment, then said, “It’s been an awfully long time since you have been to see me, Edward.”

“No, Aunt Liliane. I’m not Edward. I am Philip, Thomas’s son.” The names seemed to mean nothing to her, so he pressed on. “Sir Richard’s grandson.”

“Richard?” She frowned at him suspiciously. “You don’t look like Richard.”

“No, ma’am. I’m not Richard. I am his grandson.”

“Richard’s not old enough to have a grandson.” She stared at him some more, then crowed delightedly, “Hah! You’re that boy Cecily married, aren’t you? That is just like you—always playing tricks.”

She smiled, apparently fond of the boy Cecily married, despite his tricky ways. Philip sighed and let the matter drop.

“We came to ask you about a book, Aunt Liliane,” he began.

“A book? What book?” She glanced around, looking confused. “I don’t have any books in here anymore. Can’t see worth anything now. That silly chit of a parson’s wife comes in and reads to me. She skips all the hard parts and thinks I don’t know. Hah!” She sighed, her face falling into sad lines. “Ah, well, one has to make do with what one can.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Philip hesitated and turned to Cassandra helplessly.

“Do you remember the library at Haverly House?” Cassandra asked.

The old lady swiveled toward her. “Of course I do! What a silly thing to ask.”