Call of the Heart (2 page)

“It will mean sacrificing my big wedding. I shall have no bride’s-maids, no Reception, and I will not be able to wear my beautiful wedding-gown,” she said wistfully, “but His Lordship has promised me a huge Reception as soon as we return from our honeymoon.”

“Perhaps people will be . . . shocked that you have . . . jilted Mr. Verton in such a cruel manner,” Lalitha said hesitantly.

“That will not prevent them accepting an invitation to Rothwyn House,” Sophie assured her. “They will realise quite well that the number of parties Julius will be able to give before he becomes the Duke will be infinitesimal.”

“I still think you should marry the man to whom you have given your word,” Lalitha said in a low voice.

“I am glad to say I have no conscience in such matters,” Sophie replied. “At the same time I shall make His Lordship realise what a sacrifice I am making on his account.”

“Does he think that you love him?” Lalitha asked.

“Of course he thinks so,” Sophie replied. “I have naturally told His Lordship that I am running away with him only because I am head over heels in love and cannot live without him!”

Sophie laughed and it was not a pretty sound.

“I could love anyone as rich as Rothwyn,” she said, “but I do regret the Ducal strawberry leaves which would have been so becoming to my gold hair.”

She gave a little sigh. Then she said:

“Oh well, perhaps His Lordship will not live long. Then I shall be a rich widow and will be able to marry Julius when he is the Duke of Yelverton after all!” “Sophie!” Lalitha exclaimed. “That is a most wicked and improper thing to say!” “Why?” Sophie enquired. “After all, Elizabeth Gunning was no more beautiful than I am and she married two Dukes. They used to call her the ‘Double Duchess’!” Lalitha did not answer, as if she realised that nothing would change Sophie’s mind. She had sat down at the dressing-table, once again absorbed in the contemplation of her own reflection.

“I am not quite sure that this is the right gown for me in which to elope,” she remarked. “But as it is still a little chilly at night I shall wear over it my blue velvet cloak trimmed with ermine.”

“Is His Lordship calling here for you?” Lalitha asked. “No, of course not!” Sophie answered. “He believes that Mama knows nothing of our plans and would be annoyed and would put obstacles in our way.”

She laughed.

“He does not know Mama!”

“Where are you meeting him?” Lalitha asked. “Outside the

Church of St. Alphage, which is just to the North of Grosvenor Square. It is small, dark, and rather poky, but appeals to His Lordship in that he thinks it a right setting for an elopement.”

Sophie smiled scornfully and added:

“What is more important is that the Vicar can be bribed to keep his mouth shut, which is more than one can say of the more fashionable incumbents who are in league with the newspapers.”

“And where are you going after you are married?” Sophie shrugged her shoulders.

“Does it matter, as long as it is somewhere comfortable? I shall have the ring on my finger and I shall be Lady Rothwyn.”

Again there was silence and then Lalitha asked hesitatingly: “And what about... Mr. Verton?”

“I have written him a note and Mama has arranged that a groom shall deliver it to him just before I arrive at the Church. We thought it would look better and be more considerate if he were told before the ceremony actually takes place.”

Sophie smiled.

“That of course is really rather a cheat, since Julius is staying with his grandmother in Wimbeldon and he will not receive my letter until long after I am married.” She added after a pause:

“But he will imagine that I have done the right thing, and it will be too late for him to arrive offering to fight a duel with His Lordship, which would be embarrassing to say the very least of it!”

“I am sorry for Mr. Verton,” Lalitha said in a low voice. “He is deeply in love with you, Sophie.”

“So he should be!” Sophie retorted. “But quite frankly, Lalitha, I have always found him unfledged and a bore!” Lalitha was not surprised at Sophie’s words.

She had known from the very beginning of the engagement that Sophie was not in the least interested in Mr. Verton as a man.

The notes of passion and adoration that he wrote her were left unopened.

Sophie would hardly glance at his flowers, and she invariably complained that his presents were either not good enough or not what she required.

And yet, Lalitha asked herself now, was Sophie really any fonder of Lord Rothwyn?

“What is the time?” Sophie asked from the dressing- table. “Half after seven,” Lalitha replied.

“Why have you not brought me something to eat?” Sophie asked. “You might realise I would be hungry by now.”

“I will go and get you a meal at once!”

“Mind it is something palatable,” Sophie admonished. “I shall need something sustaining for what I have to do this evening.” “At what time are you meeting His Lordship?” Lalitha asked as she moved toward the door.

“He will be at the Church at nine-thirty,” Sophie replied, “and I intend to keep him waiting. It will be good for him to be a little apprehensive in case I cry off at the last moment.”

She laughed and Lalitha went from the room.

As she shut the door Sophie called her back.

“You might as well send the groom now,” she said. “It will take well over an hour to get to Wimbledon. The note is on my desk.”

“I will find it,” Lalitha answered.

Again she shut the door and went down the stairs.

She found the note addressed in Sophie’s untidy, scrawling writing and stood looking at it for a moment.

She had the feeling that Sophie was doing something irrevocable that she might regret. Then she told herself that it was none of her business.

With the note in her hand she walked down the dark, narrow stairs which led to the basement.

There were few servants in the house and those there were were badly trained and often neglectful of their duties; for every penny that Lady Studley had, and a great deal she had not, had been expended on the rent of the house and on Sophie’s clothes.

It had all been a deliberately baited trap to lure rich or important young men into marriage and it had succeeded.

The person who had suffered had been Lalitha.

While they were in the country, even after her father’s death, there had been a number of old servants who had continued to work in the house because they had done so for years.

In London she had found herself being alternately cook, house-maid, lady’s-maid, and errand-boy from first thing in the morning until last thing at night.

Her Step-mother had always hated her and after her father’s death had made no pretence of treating her with anything except contempt.

In her own home and amongst the servants who had known

Lalitha since she was a baby, Lady Studley had to a certain extent tempered her dislike with discretion.

In London these restrictions disappeared.

Lalitha became the slave, someone who could be forced to perform the most menial of tasks and punished viciously if she protested.

Sometimes Lalitha thought that her Step-mother was pushing her so hard that she hoped it would kill her and faced the fact that it was not unlikely.

Only she knew the truth; only she knew the secrets on which Lady Studley had built a new life for herself and her daughter, and her death would be a relief to them.

Then Lalitha told herself that such ideas were morbid and came to her mind merely because she had felt so weak since her illness.

She had been forced out of bed long before she knew it was wise for her to rise, simply because while she was in her bedroom she received no food.

On Lady Studley’s instructions, what servants there were in the house made no attempt to wait on her.

After days of growing weaker because she had literally nothing to eat, Lalitha had forced herself downstairs in order to avoid dying of starvation.

“If you are well enough to eat you are well enough to work!” her Step-mother had told her, and she found herself back in the familiar routine of doing everything in the house which no-one else would do.

Walking along the cold, stone-flagged passage to the kitchen, Lalitha perceived automatically that it was dirty and needed scrubbing.

But there was no-one who could be ordered to clean it except herself and she hoped that her Step-mother would not notice. She opened the door of the kitchen, which was a cheerless room, badly in need of decoration, with little light coming from the window high up in the wall but below pavement level.

The groom, who was also a Jack-of-all-trades, was sitting at the table drinking a glass of ale.

A slatternly woman with grey hair straggling from under a mob-cap was cooking something which smelt unpleasant over the stove.

She was an incompetent Irish immigrant who had been engaged only three days previously as the Employment Agency had no-one else who would accept the meagre wages offered by Lady Studley.

“Would you please take this note to the Dowager Duchess of Yelverton House?” Lalitha asked the groom. “It is, I believe, at the far end of Wimbledon Common.”

“O’ll go when O’ve afinished me ale,” the groom answered in a surly tone.

He made no effort to rise and Lalitha realised that the servants always learnt very quickly that she was of no importance in the house-hold and warranted less consideration than they themselves received.

“Thank you,” she answered quietly.

Turning to the cook, she said:

“Miss Studley would like something to eat.”

“There ain’t much,” the cook replied. “I’ve got a stew ’ere for us, but it ain’t ready yet.”

“Then perhaps there are some eggs and she can have an omelette,” Lalitha suggested.

“I can’t stop wot I’m adoing,” the woman replied.

“I will make it,” Lalitha said.

She had expected to have to do so anyway.

After finding a pan, but having to clean it first, she cooked Sophie a mushroom omelette.

She put some pieces of toast in a rack, added a dish of butter to the tray, and finally a pot of hot coffee before she carried it upstairs.

The groom left grudgingly a few minutes before Lalitha went from the kitchen.

“It be too late for goin’ all the way t’Wimbledon,” he grumbled. “Can’t it wait ’til tomorrer mornin’?”

“You know the answer to that!” Lalitha replied.

“Yeah—Oi knows,” he replied, “but Oi don’t fancy bein’ outside London after dark with ’em footpads and ’ighwaymen about.”

“It’s little enough they’ll get out of the likes of ye!” the cook said with a shriek of laughter. “Get on with ye, an’ when ye gets back I’ll have some supper waitin’ for ye.”

“Ye’d better!” he replied, “or Oi’ll drag ye out o’bed t’cook it for me!”

As Lalitha went up the stairs from the basement carrying Sophie’s tray she wondered what her mother would have said if she’d heard the servants talking in such a manner in her presence.

Even to think of her mother brought tears to her eyes and resolutely she told herself to concentrate on what she was doing.

She was feeling very tired. There had been such a lot to do all day.

Besides cleaning most of the house and making the beds, there had been innumerable commands from Sophie to fetch this and to do that.

Her legs ached and she longed just for a moment to be able to sit down and rest.

This was a privilege seldom accorded to her until after everyone had retired for the night.

She opened the door of Sophie’s bed-room and carried in the tray.

“You have been a long time!” Sophie said disagreeably.

“I am sorry,” Lalitha replied, “but there was nothing ready and the stew which is being prepared does not smell very appetising.”

“What have you brought me?” Sophie asked.

“I made you an omelette,” Lalitha replied. “There was nothing else.”

“I cannot think why you cannot order enough food so that there is some there when we want it,” Sophie said. “You really are hopelessly incompetent!”

“The butcher we have been patronising will leave nothing more until we have paid his bill,” Lalitha said apologetically, “and when the fish-man called this morning your mother was out and he would not even give us credit on a piece of cod.” “You always have a lot of glib excuses,” Sophie said crossly. “Give me the omelette.”

She ate it and Lalitha had the impression that she was longing to find fault, but actually found it delicious.

“Pour me out some coffee,” she said sharply, but Lalitha was listening.

“I think there is someone at the front door,” she said, “I heard the knocker. Jim has gone to Yelverton House with your note and I am sure the cook will not answer it.”

“Then you had better condescend to do so,” Sophie said in a sarcastic tone.

Lalitha went from the room and down the stairs again.

She opened the front door.

Outside was a liveried groom who handed her a note.

“For Miss Sophie Studley, Ma’am!”

“Thank you!” Lalitha said.

The groom, raising his hat, turned away and she shut the door.

Looking at the note Lalitha thought it must be another love-letter. They arrived for Sophie at all hours of the day.

Lifting the hem of her dress, she started up the stairs.

As she reached the landing there was a cry from the back room.

Lady Studley slept in a small bed-chamber on the first floor because she disliked stairs.

Sophie’s bed-room was on the second floor, as were all the other bed-rooms.

Lalitha put the note on a table on the landing and went along the short passage which led to her Stepmother’s room.

Lady Studley was standing by the bed, dressed for a Reception that she was attending in half an hour’s time.

She was a large woman who had been good-looking in her youth, but her features had coarsened with middle-age and her figure had expanded.

It was hard to realise that she could be the mother of the lovely Sophie, and yet she could look attractive if she wished.

For Social occasions she also had an ingratiating manner which made many people find her quite a pleasant companion.