Kettering Hall by John Kiste
Even as the coach rumbled beneath the great wrought iron gates that announced Kettering Hall , I strained my eyes through the side window without ever catching a glimpse of the manor through the crisp late afternoon air . The extensive grounds ensured the driveway to the hall took a quarter of an hour , and this road was not tree-lined but was rather forest-enshrouded . After ten more minutes of rattling along uncomfortably in the cold carriage interior , I began to espy stone towers through breaks in the autumn foliage , and we finally rounded a sharp twist in the road which allowed a dramatic panorama of the estate .
The castle , for such it truly was , was quite old but wonderfully maintained . Two footmen awaited us before the massive main oaken doors . I was led inside the moment the coach pulled up , with assurances that my luggage would find me within . The entrance hall was vast , with dark recesses crawling away above me . I felt as though hushed birds were perched in black niches observing as I crossed the threshold . A footman guided me down a corridor which branched off to the left and he graciously pointed me into a huge library / study where a bright fire crackled beneath an enormous mantel .
Lord Kettering rose from a comfortable armchair positioned between the fireplace and a long wall of books . His greeting was genuine and friendly , though I was only too aware that he eschewed visitors of any kind . Especially
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