The Marquis Takes a Bride (1980)
“Not for her the Gothic omens of the thunderstorm, with its jagged flashes of lightning and purple clouds.
When she and her husband drove up to the ivy-covered front of Runbury Manor, brilliant sunshine was flooding the ragged estate and the birds were chirping busily in the trees, ruffling their feathers under the benison of a mock spring day.
The groom, John, performed a cheerful rat-tat-tat on the door knocker and Jennie and the Marquis stood side by side on the mossy steps, waiting for someo...ne to answer.
Silence.
No omens. No warnings. Only the busy chattering of the birds in the ivy and the dry rattle of crumpled dead leaves over the frozen gravel of the drive.
John banged on the knocker again and then tried the door which swung open revealing the darkness of the hall beyond.
The smell of the cold, fetid air was like a blow in the face.
On an old, high-backed carved chair in the hall sat the elderly footman, dressed in his finery of the last century. His thin, spindly legs in their clocked stockings were neatly crossed, his frail, gloved hands rested motionless in his lap and his pale old eyes stared blankly into space.MoreLess
When she and her husband drove up to the ivy-covered front of Runbury Manor, brilliant sunshine was flooding the ragged estate and the birds were chirping busily in the trees, ruffling their feathers under the benison of a mock spring day.
The groom, John, performed a cheerful rat-tat-tat on the door knocker and Jennie and the Marquis stood side by side on the mossy steps, waiting for someo...ne to answer.
Silence.
No omens. No warnings. Only the busy chattering of the birds in the ivy and the dry rattle of crumpled dead leaves over the frozen gravel of the drive.
John banged on the knocker again and then tried the door which swung open revealing the darkness of the hall beyond.
The smell of the cold, fetid air was like a blow in the face.
On an old, high-backed carved chair in the hall sat the elderly footman, dressed in his finery of the last century. His thin, spindly legs in their clocked stockings were neatly crossed, his frail, gloved hands rested motionless in his lap and his pale old eyes stared blankly into space.MoreLess
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