Curious, I stepped over to the fireplace and examined the splendid carvings in deep relief that adorned stone and woodwork. High up near the roof on the over-mantel I discerned the family crest, together with numerous heraldic shields in colors faded and dimmed. But the most curious feature of the ornamentation was a lower panel supported by a group of bibulous monks in comically disordered attitudes. On the panel appeared to be lettering.
"Watkins," I called, "bring me a candle, please."
He lifted a weighty candelabra from the table and carried it toward me, Hugh and Nikka trailing him like small boys eager to view anything new. As he held it aloft, arm-high, the soft light shone on four lines of Gothic lettering which had once been gilded. They showed clearly in the age-old oak of the paneling:
Whenne thatte ye Pappist Churchmanne
Woudde seke His Soul's contente
He tookened up ye Wysshinge Stone
And trodde ye Prior's Vent.
"I had forgotten that," exclaimed Hugh. "It's some more of Lady Jane's poetry.'
"She seems to have been rather hipped that way," I suggested.
"Now you speak of it, I can't recall any other specimens of her wit in rhyme," answered Hugh, puzzled. "Can you, Watty?"
"No, your ludship. 'Is ludship, your late uncle, made a careful examination of Lady Jane's papers, but 'e found no other verses."