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Chapter 13: Killerton House

            Later that afternoon, as she drives away from Killerton House, Teresa accuses herself of being jaded.  In her travels she has toured many of these old elegant homes that were turned into museums because the owners couldn’t afford the upkeep.  Killerton House was much like the others she has seen, except for the vintage clothing display.  For this exhibit it was worth the tricky drive in the rain.  The mizzle did eventually turn into a steady downpour.  Visibility is limited, so Teresa creeps along the slick roads at fifty kilometers per hour.  She reviews the outfits she saw that came from Margaret’s time.

            A woman in Margaret’s society would not have worn the fancy silk evening clothes on display.  Working women wore simple linen and woolen dresses with a cap or bonnet, an apron, and a shawl for warmth.  The colors were muted, but may have been brighter when they were new.  Hair was worn in loose curls.  Men wore knee breeches, boots, and loose blouse-like shirts for work.  Seeing the clothing of Margaret’s time, and the utensils and furniture the people used, brought the period into focus.

            Killerton House itself is grand indeed.  The grounds are lush with flowering shrubs, climbing vines, and long vistas across emerald lawns.  There is even a bear hut, an odd little cottage with a thatched roof and a barred bay window.  Though the Manor House is not imposing, Teresa prefers its human-sized earthiness.

            Teresa realizes that she is already planning the project, Margaret’s story.  It is typical of her process.  When she is in the middle of writing a piece and can see the end clearly, Teresa begins to mull over the next one.  She considers the research she will have to do.  She must look up the historic events that frame the time period.  She’ll need to find out about the lives of farmers in Devonshire, and, of course, the doings of the smugglers and wreckers. 

Tomorrow, Teresa thinks, I’ll make an appointment to talk to Miss MIcklewhite.  And maybe I’ll rise early enough tomorrow morning to hear what Mr. Braithewaite knows.

 Teresa’s plans occupy her until she is back again at her desk in front of the laptop.  She is wearing a dry sweatsuit; her wet clothes are hanging on the shower curtain rod in the bathroom.  A fresh cup of Earl Grey and some biscuits wait on a small tray.  After answering the five emails, one from her editor, and the rest from her sister, Debo, Teresa opens her writing file.