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| Mercia Ridge |
| From the journal of Miss Allison Hortensia MacArdle 26 April 1851. Mercia Ridge is everything I had expected! We arrived at dusk and I can still not believe our journey is finally over. Elspeth was terribly tired from our travels. I suppose I was as well, but I simply could not wait to see the grounds, so Aunt Amelia obliged my curiosity as much as possible before darkness fell. There is a great cornerstone in which the date of 1608 is carved. Imagine, 1608! The house is made of stone and boasts great arched doorways and wonderfully ornate carvings. How beautifully dark it is! Imagine that I am to have an entire month in such a place! Elspeth is only fourteen, but what a splendid memory this will become for her. The inside, too, is worthy of great description. Although the house itself is medeival, the interior is quite modern. Indeed, it is even equipped with gas lights. The fyer had wooden floors and a beautiful rug which looks as if it might have been made in the Orient. Aunt Amelia told me that the house was built by a man named Lord Ainsley, but he only lived in it for two years. Apparently, his daughter died here, and he couldn't stand to be here after her death. Nobody lived her until 1802, when our grandparents moved in. Oh, listen to me prattle on about the house when I've not yet even told about Aunt Amelia and Uncle Seth! It is wonderful to finally meet my mother's brother and sister. Uncle Seth looks much older than his fifty years. He does not look much like his photograph --- less jovial --- but I suppose that is, at least in part, due to the recent loss of his wife, Mary. Indeed, he looks quite pale, as if he had been drained of much of his blood. Nevertheless, he is very sweet, with a mass of white hair, a mustache, and eyes of cobweb blue. He is most kind, although not nearly as jolly as Mother had painted him. Still, he is kind and cheerful. Nevertheless, there seems a layer of sadness beneath the surface. Uncle Seth said one thing that truly puzzled me: he was just sitting in the parlor, and he was looking about him when I heard him mumble something. I was sketching, but I was intrigued by him, so I glanced at him once in awhile; and he never seemed to be doing anything but looking about him. His mumble was low enough for it to be reasonable to assume that I'd not hear it, but I did. "Damnable house," he said. I'm sure that was it. "Damnable house." Aunt Amelia is much different from him. She has auburn hair, green eyes, and all of Mother's aristocratic features and then some. I'm rather puzzled that she never married. She's really very sweet, although she seems quite distant. She'll speak about the house or our trip or the color of the sky happily, but as soon as she's asked about herself, she seems to drift into a whole different person, as if she would rather you not be there at all. She answers questions with as little detail as possible, and does not offer any information for which she is not asked. 27 April 1851. |
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