The Silk Vendetta

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As I grew out of childhood it began to dawn on me that there was something rather mysterious about my presence in The Silk House. I did not quite belong and yet I felt a passionate attachment to the place. To me it was a source of wonder; I used to dream about all the things which had happened there and all the people who had lived in it over the centuries.

Of course, it had changed somewhat since those days. The Sallongers had changed it when Sir Francis’s ancestor bought it just over a hundred years before. He it was who had renamed it The Silk House—a most incongruous name, even though there was a reason for it. I had seen some old papers which Philip Sallonger had shown me—for he shared my interest in the house—and in these the house was named as the King’s Hunting Lodge. Which King? I wondered. Perhaps the wicked Rufus had come riding this way. It might have been William the Conqueror himself. Normans had loved their forests and revelled in their hunting. But that was probably going back in time a little too far.

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