Call of the Heart (17 page)

“Now tell me,” Lord Rothwyn went on, “which means the more to you, the finished painting by Rubens, acclaimed master of his craft, or the drawings that you hold in your hand?”

Lalitha thought for a moment and then she said: “Both are wonderful in their way. Both give me a feeling of inexpressible beauty, but . . .”

She paused.

“Go on,” Lord Rothwyn prompted.

“Perhaps it is only a personal feeling,” Lalitha said, “but to me these sketches are more . . . inspiring.” Lord Rothwyn smiled.

“Did you know that William Blake, who was a friend of mine and is of course both an artist and a poet, said once: ‘Not drawing—but inspiration?’ ”

“No, I did not know that,” Lalitha answered. “It is what. . . happens to me when I look at them ... what happens . . . inside me.”

She felt that she had not explained herself very well and went on:

“I feel as if I do not look at a drawing with my ... eyes but with my ... soul.”

Feeling that she had perhaps sounded too emotional, she said: “You will... laugh at me for being ... sentimental!”

“I am not laughing, Lalitha,” Lord Rothwyn said. “I want to tell you something.”

He put out his hand towards her as he spoke and covered hers. She was not certain whether it was the touch of his fingers or the note in his voice that made her feel as if she could not move, and that something strange and very wonderful was about to happen.

Almost as though he compelled her to do so she raised her eyes to his and was spell-bound.

He was looking at her in a way which he had never looked at her before; in a manner which no man had ever looked at her. It seemed to take the very breath from her body.

“Lalitha!” Lord Rothwyn exclaimed.

Behind them the door opened.

“Sir William Knighton, M’Lord,” the Major-Domo announced.

For a moment it seemed to Lalitha as if the interruption did not reach their minds and they could not comprehend what had happened.

Lord Rothwyn held her to him by a spell that was inescapable. Then, as if he broke a thread which bound them irrevocably to each other, he took his hand from hers and rose to his feet.

“Sir William!” he exclaimed. “I was not expecting you.” “No, indeed, My Lord, and I had intended to call in the morning before you left for the country.”

Sir William Knighton had by this time reached Lord Rothwyn and the two men shook hands.

A quiet, unobtrusive, middle-aged man, industrious, conscientious, and discreet, Sir William, besides being His Royal Highness’s Physician, had recently become a close confidant of the Regent.

“You must forgive my intrusion at this late hour,” Sir William continued, “but His Royal Highness has requested that I should attend him in Brighton tomorrow and I must therefore make an early start.”

“Of course I understand,” Lord Rothwyn said.

“I thought therefore instead of inconveniencing you by calling before breakfast,” Sir William said, “I would look at your shoulder this evening, and then Your Lordship can return to the country without further anxiety.”

“That is very obliging of you,” Lord Rothwyn said, and added: “I do not think, Sir William, that you have met my wife?” “Your wife?” Sir William ejaculated as he bowed.

There was no doubt of the surprise in his eyes.

“Our marriage has been kept a secret,” Lord Rothwyn explained, “and I should be grateful if you would not mention it to His Royal Highness until he receives a letter from me.”

“I will respect your confidence,” Sir William answered. “As Your Lordship is well aware, I am discretion itself!”

Lord Rothwyn smiled.

“We both know that the Regent is very angered if he does not learn of anything closely concerning his friends before anyone else.”

“That is true,” Sir William agreed and his eyes were twinkling. “We must not keep you, I am sure you are very busy,” Lord Rothwyn said. “Shall we repair to my bed-room?”

“Of course, My Lord,” Sir William agreed.

It seemed to Lalitha that Lord Rothwyn hesitated a moment and then he said:

“In which case, Lalitha, it would be best if we say good-night to each other. I would not wish to keep you up late when we have a tiring day ahead of us. We leave at noon, if that suits you.”

“I will be ready,” Lalitha answered.

Lord Rothwyn raised her hand to his lips.

She thought for a moment, although afterwards she was certain that she had imagined it, that his mouth lingered for a moment against the softness of her skin.

Then, leading the way with Sir William following him, Lord Rothwyn left the Salon and she heard them going upstairs.

She was disappointed! She felt like a child who having being taken to a Pantomime finds the curtain falls unexpectedly and without a satisfactory ending.

Sensibly she told herself there was tomorrow and they were going back to Roth Park.

They would be together. She would drive there with Lord Rothwyn and their conversation could continue from where it had been interrupted.

She opened her portfolio.

How could he have given her anything so beautiful, so exquisite?

She knew that such drawings must have cost a great deal of money.

That was immaterial. What was important was that he had found something that was exactly to her taste.

They were “an inspiration.” Did he think that she needed inspiring?

She had the feeling that he was trying to tell her something and the drawings were part of a message he wished to convey to her.

She looked again at the head of the angel. There was something about it which made her thrill in some way as when his lips had touched her hand.

How did he know? How did he guess that the drawings could move her far more than paintings and she had always longed to possess one?

She felt that there was so much she wanted to say to him; so much she wanted to hear.

Almost automatically she tidied the cushions on the sofa. She had been forced to do it so often in her Stepmother’s house.

Then as she took up the portfolio preparatory to going up to her own room she realised that the piece of paper on which she had written Lord Hadley’s poem was no longer there.

Lord Rothwyn must have taken it with him.

Was he pleased with her efforts?

There was so much more she wanted to tell him about the difficulty of putting together the pieces.

The words that she could not find, but which she had fitted in, to make sense of what the writer had written all those centuries ago.

Slowly Lalitha went up the stairs.

It had been a wonderful evening and yet she could not help feeling that it might have been even more wonderful if Sir William had not interrupted them.

What had Lord Rothwyn been going to say to her? She did not dare to guess.

She reached her bed-room to find not Nattie, as she had expected, or Robinson, the older house-maid who usually attended her, but a much younger girl. Lalitha remembered her name.

“Good-evening, Elsie,” she said. “Where is Nattie?” “Nurse was not feeling well, M’Lady, nor Miss Robinson either.”

“Not well?” Lalitha asked.

“I think it was something they ate for supper, M’Lady. They’ve both been taken sick and so I said I would look after you.”

“I do hope Nattie will be all right,” Lalitha said. “Shall I go up and see her?”

“I think she would rather be left alone, M’Lady. No-one wants to see people when they’re being sick.” “No, I suppose not,” Lalitha agreed, “but the Doctor is here. He could see Nurse if it was serious.”

“Oh no, M’Lady!” Elsie answered soothingly, “it’s not as bad as all that. I think perhaps the fish was not as fresh as it might have been, and both Nurse and Miss Robinson say they have squeamish stomachs. I am all right and I ate from the same dish.” “Then perhaps they are not too bad,” Lalitha smiled.

She walked across to the dressing-table to unclasp the diamond necklace.

Lord Rothwyn could not have really intended it as a gift, she thought.

Perhaps she had not heard him aright. Perhaps he had only meant a gift for the time she was at Roth Park.

She felt as if she could not think clearly and remember exactly what he had said.

She had been so conscious of him; of being so close to him; of being affected by the deep note in his voice.

She put the diamond stars in her hair back into the box and then the bracelet.

As she did so there came a knock at the door.

“I expect that will be Royal,” she said to Elsie.

Royal had been taken by one of the footmen for a walk after they left the Dining-Room.

She thought now that he had been away a long time.

Usually he was let into the Salon, or wherever she might be, not more than a quarter of an hour after he had been collected.

Elsie went to the door.

She spoke to someone outside and then came back to Lalitha’s side.

“I’m afraid, M’Lady, that Royal has been in an accident!”

“An accident?” Lalitha said sharply. “Where? What has happened?”

“It’s not serious, M’Lady, but will you see him?”

“Yes, yes of course,” Lalitha said. “Where is he?”

“Follow me, M’Lady,” Elsie said.

She went ahead of Lalitha, who followed her not down the main staircase but along the passage and down another flight of stairs which she knew led to the side of the house.

It was the quickest way to the garden, Lalitha thought, and she hurried after Elsie, who was moving very swiftly, feeling anxious.

She loved Royal and she knew how much he loved her.

She had grown used to him being always beside her, sleeping on her bed at night although Nattie said he should keep to his basket. Wherever she went he was there behind her, a little shadow at her heels.

How could anything have happened to him? Lalitha wondered.

The footmen always kept him on a lead when they took him for a walk first thing in the morning or last thing at night.

It was only when Royal was with her that he was allowed to roam loose because she knew he would come to her the moment she called him.

Elsie was now leading her along a corridor in a part of the house where she had never been before.

There appeared to be no-one about and she guessed that most of the servants would have gone to bed with the exception of the footman in the main Hall.

At last ahead of them was a side door and Elsie pulled it open.

There was a carriage outside.

Lalitha realised that it was standing at the side of the house which further round led to the kitchen entrance.

‘Royal must have been run over! ’ she thought with a feeling of horror.

There was a footman standing beside the carriage-door.

“Royal is inside, M’Lady,” Elsie said, and Lalitha moved forward.

She looked inside the coach. It was dark. Then suddenly a cloth was thrown over her head.

As she gasped and tried to struggle she was dragged forcibly inside the carriage and thrown roughly onto the back seat.

She heard the door slam behind her and as it did so the horses started moving.

For a moment Lalitha could hardly credit what was happening.

She struggled with all her strength but the cloth over her head was thick and now she felt rough hands winding a cord round her. It held her arms straight at her sides and pulled the cloth so that it was taut from the top of her head to her waist.

“Help!” she tried to scream. “Help!”

The sound was stifled. Then a rough voice said:

“Make a noise and Oi’ll give ye somewat that’ll silence ye!”

It was a rough, uncouth voice, and Lalitha knew that the man who spoke meant what he said.

The fear of being hurt returned to her with all the fright and terror that she had known so often before.

It was impossible for her to make a sound; impossible after the man had spoken even to move; she could only lie as he had put her, in a corner of the carriage, completely helpless. Now he was tying her ankles together and the rope was cutting into her skin and hurting her.

“That be better!” he said, “an’ if Oi’ave so much as a chirp out o’ ye until Oi say ye can speak Oi’ll bash ye unconscious! Be that clear?”

Lalitha was far too afraid to answer.

She heard him give a chuckle as if of satisfaction. Then, having tied her legs together, he sat down on the seat beside her.

After a moment she knew by the smell of raw tobacco that he was smoking.

What was going to happen to her? Where was he taking her? And how did it concern Royal?

Then she knew that Royal had nothing to do with it.

He had not suffered an accident. He had merely been used as a decoy to get her from her bed-room and outside the house to where the carriage was waiting for her.

But why? What did it mean? Where was she being taken? Then, insidiously, coming into her mind like the slithering of a revolting reptile, she knew the answer.

These were the people who Lord Rothwyn had told her spirited young women away and who were known as the “White Slave Traders.”

Even as the thought came to her Lalitha cried out against it.

It could not be true. It must be a figment of her imagination. She could not be involved in anything so horrible, so degrading, so terrifying!

But the idea persisted.

Where else would she be going? Who else would want her?

It could not be robbers, for she had already taken off her jewellery.

Besides, who would have known what she would be wearing this evening?

She thought of Elsie.

She had seemed a pleasant enough maid and yet she was not, Lalitha thought, exactly the type of simple country girl one might have expected to find in the London house of someone with a large country Estate.

Her mother had so often explained to her how the great Landowners employed as servants in their household generation after generation of the same family.

They became knife-boy and then pantry-boy, footman, Butler, and Major-Domo in their turn.

First, second, and third scullery, kitchen, still-room maids, assistant-cook, and Cook; that was the ladder for the women. Had Elsie risen from fifth or fourth house-maid to number two? Or had she lied when she said that only Nattie and Miss Robinson were ill because of what they had eaten for supper? Was it a genuine illness or had it been contrived?