A Duke in Danger (5 page)

The Duke had been disappointed, since he had expected Gerald to be waiting for him when he arrived.

But Sir Archibald Chertson was old and very demanding, and he accepted that there was nothing else Gerald could do.

“As soon as I get back, Gerald and I will enjoy ourselves,” he promised himself.

He then remembered Isobel.

As he thought of her he could almost smell the exotic and seductive perfume she always used and feel her clinging arms round his neck, her lips on his.

However, Jason or no Jason, he told himself, he was not getting married until he wished to do so.

What was more, he had every intention of enjoying himself as a Duke, the head of the family and a very rich man, before he settled down.

“I will see Jason when I return to London,” he decided. “I will give him a quite generous allowance on the condition that he behaves himself. I expect anyway I shall have to pay off his debts.”

He was quite certain they would be out of all proportion, which would anger him considerably.

At the same time, it would be impossible for him to start off as the fifth Duke with a family scandal.

It was about four o’clock when he turned his horses through the impressive, gold-tipped wrought-iron gates which were flanked on each side with a heraldic lion, which was the crest of the Harlings.

The gates were open and he gave a quick glance as he passed through the Lodges on either side. He noticed that one of them was empty.

This surprised him, for he remembered the Lodge-Keepers, who wore special uniforms with crested silver buttons. They had always kept the gates closed but on hearing a carriage approach would hurry to open them.

If the passer-by happened to be the Duke himself, they would sweep their caps from their grey-haired heads with what seemed a courtly gesture, and in the background their wives and daughters would curtsey respectfully.

The Duke had thought it was very much part of the pageantry of the Castle, and he missed it now.

However, there was no point in stopping to enquire what had happened, and he drove down the long avenue of huge oak trees, which seemed even larger and sturdier than when he had last seen them.

Halfway down the drive there was the first sight of the Castle.

It was very impressive and so beautiful that instinctively, without thinking about it, the Duke checked his horses.

Standing on high ground above a lake, the Castle overlooked the gardens, the Park, and beyond that the rolling country, much of which was thickly wooded.

Originally it had been built for one of the feudal Barons who had been brought under submission at the time of Magna Carta.

But all that remained of the original Castle was a Tower which had been heightened and strengthened with castellated ramparts a century or so later.

Adjoining the Tower was now an enormous edifice, the centre of which was Elizabethan, while other parts were Restoration, Queen Anne, and early Georgian.

It might be a hotch-potch of architecture, but each century had contributed to the impressiveness of the whole Castle, which from a distance gave the impression of being not so much a great fortification as a fairy-tale Palace.

The afternoon sun was shining on the hundreds of windows, and silhouetted against the sky were statues on the roof which the Duke remembered vividly.

Between each one was an exquisite stone vase. He had as a small boy climbed up to see them close to, and they had then seemed enormous.

But now in the distance they too had a fairy-tale quality that once again made him think of Knights in armour, nymphs rising from the lake in the haze that hung over it in the early morning, and dragons living in the dark fir woods and breathing fire at those who disturbed them.

Then abruptly, as if he had no wish to be fanciful or poetical at the moment, his mind came back to Lady Alvina and her perfidy in daring to damage anything so precious as the traditions of the Harlings, all of which were centred in this one great building.

As he drew nearer he noticed, again with a little surge of anger, that there were weeds in the gravel sweep in front of the great flight of grey stone steps which led up to the front door.

He pulled his horses to a standstill and said to his groom:

“The stables are round to the right of the house. Take the horses there. You will find grooms to help you.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

The Duke handed him the reins, saying as he did so:

“I will send someone from the house to help take the luggage in through the back door.”

The groom touched the brim of his crested top hat. The Duke alighted from the Phaeton and walked up the steps towards the front door.

This was the moment for which he had been longing and waiting. But now that he was here, he half-regretted that he had not informed Lady Alvina of his arrival.

Because Gerald had notified them at Berkeley Square that he was coming home, Bateson had been waiting in the Hall, and two footmen had run the red carpet down the steps and across the pavement the very moment the carriage which had brought him from Dover had pulled up outside.

But here there was no red carpet, and as he reached the door he saw that it was open and for the first time wondered what he would do if Lady Alvina was away.

He then told himself that it would not constitute any problem, because the servants would obviously still be there.

He walked into the huge marble Hall and saw that the stone statues of gods and goddesses were still in the niches, and the wide staircase with its carved golden balustrade was just as impressive as it had always been.

He felt he was being welcomed home.

He stood still for a moment, looking at the tattered flags hanging beside the beautifully carved mantelpiece.

They had all been won by Harlings in battle, and he remembered as a small boy being told where each one had been captured.

Agincourt especially had remained in his mind. He looked at the French flag captured then as if to reassure himself that it was still there.

He walked on through the quiet house, remembering well where each room was and what it was called.

At the top of the long flight of stairs there was on the left the Picture-Gallery, which ran the whole length of the house, and on the right were the State bedrooms.

These included Queen Elizabeth’s room, Charles II’s, and Queen Anne’s, and at the end of the corridor was the Duke and Duchess’s Suite, in which so many of his forebears, with the exception of himself, had been born and died.

He remembered that to the right on the ground floor was the very large Dining-Hall in which he had last eaten at Richard’s twenty-first-birthday party.

Beside it was a smaller private Dining-Room which had been designed by William Kent, where the family ate when they were alone.

To the left, where he was moving now, was the Library with its first editions of Shakespeare and books that had been collected for centuries, making it one of the finest and most valuable Libraries in the country.

Successively on that side of the house were the Rubens Room, the Library, the Red Drawing-Room, the Green Drawing-Room, and the Blue Drawing-Room.

The Duke’s eyes darkened with the thought of the last as he remembered that that was where the miniatures were.

He wondered why the place was so quiet, with no-one about.

He came to the first door, which opened into the Rubens Room, and found that the furniture was covered in Hollands, the shutters were closed, and the darkness smelt musty.

He closed the door and moved to the next one, which was the door to the Library.

Here there was a light because the windows were not shuttered, and as he walked into the room he had the impression, but he could not be certain, that everything looked shabby and, although it seemed incredible, somewhat dusty.

It was then that he was aware of another human being.

It was a servant, and she had her back to him and was dusting somewhat ineffectively with a feather brush the books on one of the higher shelves.

He watched her for a moment and realised that the feather brush, light though it was, was dislodging a great deal of dust.

He suddenly felt he needed an explanation and asked sharply:

“Where is everybody? Why is there no-one in attendance in the Hall?”

Although he had not intended it, his voice sounded in the room almost unnaturally harsh and loud, and the woman at the far end of it jumped as if she was startled and turned round.

She had a duster over her hair and was wearing an apron.

The Duke, walking towards her, said:

“Is Lady Alvina at home? I wish to speak to her.”

It was then, as two very blue eyes stared up at him, he had a sudden idea, although it seemed most improbable, that this was not a servant.

When she did not speak, he felt he should introduce himself and said:

“I am the Duke of Harlington.”

The woman facing him gave a little gasp and then said in a voice that was barely audible:

“I thought ... you were ... in France.”

The Duke smiled.

“On the contrary. I have arrived back today.”

There was silence, and the woman stared at him as if she could hardly believe what she had heard.

Then at last, finding her voice with difficulty, she said:

“Why did you not let us ... know, and how ... could you have ... stayed away so ... long?”

It was then that the Duke realised to whom he was speaking, and he said:

“I think perhaps we should introduce ourselves properly. I am sure you are my cousin Alvina.”

“Yes, I am,” the woman answered, “and I have waited and waited for you until I had given up ... hope that you would ... ever return.”

There was a desperate note in her voice that the Duke did not miss, and after a moment, and because he knew it was expected of him, he said:

“I must apologise if I have seemed somewhat remiss, but I had urgent duties in France, and the Duke of Wellington would not release me.”

He almost despised himself for making apologies, and yet he had the feeling they were necessary.

As if he was determined not to remain on the defensive, he said:

“If you wanted me back urgently, why did you not write to me?”

“I did write to you when Papa died, but there was no answer.”

“
I never received your letter.”

“I did not ... think that was the ... explanation.”

“Then what did you think?”

“I did not know. I thought ... perhaps you were not ... interested. It was
...
stupid of me ... not to write ... again.”

“I apologise not only for not receiving your letter but also because I should have written to you. I realise that now.”

She did not reply, and he smiled.

“My only excuse is that I had really forgotten you had grown up, and I was thinking of you as the little girl I had last seen when I was here at Richard’s twenty-first-birthday celebration.”

As he spoke he thought it was tactless to remind Alvina of her brother’s death, but she said:

“It was kind of you to write to Papa after Richard was killed, but he would not read ... any of the letters he ... received or allow me to ... reply to them.”

The Duke did not quite know what to say to this, so, feeling it might be somewhat embarrassing, he walked
away from Alvina towards the window, saying as he did so:
“It was impossible for me to return before now. Now that I am here, I realise there is a lot for me to see and a great deal for me to learn.”

“A great ... deal,” she said, and her voice seemed to falter.

The Duke told himself that she was afraid because of her behaviour in pawning the family treasures.

When he thought of them, his anger rose in him again, almost like a crimson streak in front of his eyes.

Yet, because he had disciplined himself to have complete control outwardly over his feelings, he merely said in a cold, icy voice:

“What I need to have explained, Cousin Alvina, is why you have dared to pawn some of the treasures in this house, which I thought any Harling would regard as sacred.”

As he spoke he thought he heard a little gasp and told himself she was surprised that he had learnt so soon what she had done.

He turned round and saw that she had taken off the duster which had protected her hair and also the apron she had been wearing.

She was very slim, and now he could see that her hair was fair and somewhat untidy. But she looked very young, little more than a child, and certainly not the age he knew her to be.

She was standing very still, holding the apron and the duster in her hand, and she stared at him with an expression in her eyes which he knew was one of fear.