Mistress of Elvan Hall by Mary Cummins

turned to stare at her, then the older man slowly descended the ladder.
    “I thought it was funny,” he confessed, “but the lady of the house said to paint it all right, that it needed brightening up, and that the plans had been changed.”
    “I’m the lady of the house,” said Anne, her eyes flashing.
    “The older lady ... Mrs. Wyatt,” protested the painter. “She told us. She really did say the plans were changed.”
    “They were not changed. I thought I made that clear to you.”
    The man looked uncomfortable.
    “Oh aye, miss ... ma’am ... only it wasn’t clear who had the right of it, you see. You or her.”
    “You could have asked!”
    “Asked who? Her or you?”
    Anne bit her lip.
    “I’m afraid it will have to be cleaned off,” she said firmly.
    “Cleaned off! But ... but that’s well-nigh impossible, miss. It’s... ”
    “I don’t care how impossible it is, it will have to be cleaned off,” said Anne firmly. “You do not paint carved oak panelling, centuries old, and polished with age.”
    The man pushed a hand through his hair.
    “No, I wouldn’t have thought so, but ... well, it will take time. It’ll be costly, too. Thank God there’s only a little bit done.”
    This time Anne gave no thought to be economical.
    “I don’t care what it costs,” she said, her eyes flashing. “It must be cleaned off.”
    She looked at it again, her panic rising. Whatever would Francis say? Now she was beginning to understand his insistence that she took charge of the work which had to be carried out. Only she hadn’t ... she’d let him down. She should have checked up on it all along the way, but her head had been so full of fears over Francis and Caroline, and her own efforts at deciding whether to allow the girl to keep coming, or if it would be wiser to send her home. Yet the renovations had to be considered, and Anne had put that first. Now she was furious with herself for not checking on the painters, too.
    'Anne hurried from the room, a cold sickness in her heart, and mounted the stairs to her mother-in - law’s bedroom. This time they really were going to have it out!
    “The place has been like a mausoleum for years,” protested Mrs. Wyatt. “Henry promised me I could brighten it up, then he wouldn’t allow it to be touched. No woman has been allowed to bring a bit of taste to the place for generations.”
    “I’d hardly call painting beautiful carved oak panelling bringing taste to the place,” said Anne hotly. “Francis trusted me to look after it, and now you ... you went behind my back!”
    “If I hadn’t it would still be the same dull room,” Mrs. Wyatt told her balefully. “I could make this house a place of beauty, fresh and bright with a ... a sort of lightness to the place. But I was never given my head, and now ... now Francis has handed it over to you and you’re obviously going to toe the line, like all the rest. I think I might at least have had my chance.”
    Anne sat at the foot of the bed. For some reason she began to feel sympathy for the older woman who would probably have been much happier in a different sort of home from the Hall.
    “The panelling has only improved with age,” she said gently. “It’s beautiful. It was made with love, and generations of women have looked after it with love, and its beauty was enhanced by its patina. When you paint it, that’s all swept away by each stroke of the brush. Don’t you see? ... anyone coming after who prefers the original panelling would find it almost impossible to remove the paint, and till keep what was already there. As it is, heaven knows what harm has been done... ”
    Her voice trailed off forlornly, but Mrs. Wyatt was more angry than sorry.
    “It’s ridiculous to waste time and money going back,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “The only way is to take one’s courage in both hands and order the job to be done. It takes one woman with an individual mind to be firm. No doubt everyone will enjoy