The Lost Ancestor Read Online Free Page B

beautifully elaborate ruby
and gold wallpaper, across pieces of ornate furniture, enormous porcelain and
pottery pieces, which would take up most of her tiny bedroom, and a gigantic
cascading chandelier.  Whilst her twin sister dreamed of working her life in a grand place such as this, Mary dreamed of living her life in it, becoming Lady Mary Rothborne and owning all of these precious things.  She knew
that it was an impossible fatuous dream, but it was one that had failed to
release its childhood grip on her ever since she had first met Cecil Mansfield,
heir to the Blackfriars estate, at a summer fête in 1902 to celebrate King
Edward’s coronation.  Although she was just nine years old at the time,
and he was thirteen years her senior, that moment cemented Mary’s infatuation
with him and his family.  The childish games that Edie had just mocked her
for, the annual family attendance at the Blackfriars fêtes, were always at
Mary’s initiation and insistence.  Her infatuation was knocked but not
diminished when Cecil became married to Philadelphia Carnarvon.
    The sound of laughter jolted Mary from her
musings.  She cursed herself for her silly daydreams and fantasies—they
were always getting her into trouble.  She tucked herself against a large
stone pillar and peered to the side.  Two gentlemen whom she did not
recognise headed across the hallway, chatting animatedly as they went. 
They disappeared from sight and Mary quickly moved into the east wing of the
house.  Once there, the library was impossible to miss and, as she reached
the open doorway, she had to remind herself to move inside the room where she
would be out of sight, rather than stand dumbstruck at the sheer marvel of the
room.
    Mary set the coffee pot down and took in
the splendour of the library.  An eerie grey light caused by the falling
snow fell through the tall, latticed windows.  Her eyes danced excitedly
around the room, unable to focus on any one aspect.  Thousands upon
thousands of books lined floor-to-ceiling shelving, set within intricately
carved walnut panels.  An open fire stacked with seasoned oak pumped life
and heat into the room; Mary knew that if she had been the lady of the house, this would have been the place that she would spend her days.  Mary, unlike her
twin, had an insatiable appetite for books of all kinds: she read about kings
and queens, nature, history, science, foreign countries and, on her father’s
instruction, she read the Bible.  Under Mary’s bed was a veritable
treasure trove of fiction books—stories which she read over and over, living
her life vicariously through the protagonists’ exciting lives.  However
dreary and unpalatable her life really was, Mary always knew she had a whole
different, more exciting and exotic world waiting under her bed.  Standing
here, in the Blackfriars grand library was better than anything that she could
have produced from her imagination.
    Having taken in the scale and wonder of
the room, Mary moved to the nearest shelf and pored over the tomes before
her.  Her forefinger moved carefully over the coarse spines, tracing the
gold and black lettering, absorbing unfamiliar authors and titles.  To her
delight, Mary’s fingertip came to rest on Four Sisters, the most recent
novel by her favourite author, Alice Ashdown.  She delicately pulled the
book from the shelf then turned it over in her hands.
    ‘What are you doing?’ a voice whispered at
the open doorway, making Mary drop the book in fright.
    ‘Edward!  Don’t creep up on me like
that!’ Mary said.
    Edward pushed the door closed. 
‘Mary, I’m serious.  What are you doing in here?’
    ‘Bringing up a coffee pot.  I
couldn’t find one of the dreadful servants, so I did it myself,’ she said
playfully.  ‘I shall be having coffee, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner and
supper in here.’  Mary stooped down in an exaggerated fashion to pick up
the fallen book.  ‘See to it that I’m not disturbed,