Fillingford was looking intently at Jenny now. He raised his brows a little and smiled, as the result of his survey.
"Yes—I'm afraid I know which picture Amyas means, though I don't often go to the West Gallery. The one on the right of the north door, Amyas?"
"Yes—in a wonderful gown all over pearls, you know."
"Who is she—besides me?" asked Jenny. "Because I believe she has a look of me really."
"She's an ancestress—a collateral ancestress at least—of ours. She was one of Queen Elizabeth's ladies. But we're not proud of her—and you mustn't be proud of the likeness—if there is one, Miss Driver."
"But I am proud of it. I think she's very pretty—and some day I'll have a gown made just like that."
"Why aren't we proud of her, father?" asked young Lacey.
"She got into sad disgrace—and very nearly into the Tower, I believe. Elizabeth made her kinsman Lord Lacey—one of my predecessors—take her away from Court and bring her down to the country. Here she was kept—in fact more or less imprisoned. But it didn't last many years. Smallpox carried her off, poor thing—it was very bad in these parts about 1590—and, unluckily for her, before the queen died.
"What was her name?"
"Mistress Eleanor Lacey."