Sir John Dering by Jeffery Farnol

High Dering, drowsing in the sun, opened a door here and there to stare in idle wonderment as Sir John handed his companion in at Dame Haryott's garden wicket, for visitors were rare, more especially such visitors as these who bowed and curtsied to each other with such courtly, albeit frigid, ceremony; so High Dering opened its doors a little wider and became a trifle more awake as Sir John knocked.

And, after some while, chains rattled, bolts creaked, the heavy door opened, and old Penelope stood peering at them from the dim interior.