A Shaft of Sunlight

by Barbara Cartland

  “I have been admiring your garden, Stamford,” the Duke said. “It is absolutely delightful! You must tell me who planned it.”

  Sir Jarvis laughed.

  “I am gratified that it pleases you. Shall I sound very conceited if I tell you that I laid it all out myself? It is one of the achievements of which I feel justifiably proud!”

  There was no doubt that his tone of voice echoed that sentiment.

  At the same time the Duke was aware that he lied.

  CHAPTER THREE

  If Giona stayed awake finding it impossible to believe what had happened, so did the Duke.

  He had made himself particularly pleasant to Sir Jarvis to eliminate any possible suspicion that might be in his mind.

  When finally he reached his own bedroom Hibbert was waiting for him and he undressed in silence.

  Only when Hibbert was about to leave the room holding his evening clothes over his arm did the Duke say,

  “Tell me what you make of this place, Hibbert. I am interested to hear your views.”

  His valet looked at him enquiringly, being well aware that he would not have asked the question without there being some good reason for it.

  He had been batman to the Duke while he was in the Army and had been exceedingly useful on many occasions by obtaining information when they had captured a town or a village which otherwise would not have been available to the English.

  Hibbert, despite his very English name, was a mixture of several nationalities, and he was proficient in several languages including French and Portuguese, which had been invaluable.

  Now he hesitated before he said slowly,

  “Sir Jarvis, Your Grace, employs a larger amount of people than any house we’ve visited recently, but as Your Grace has asked me my opinion, it’s that they’re not happy.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not quite certain, Your Grace,” Hibbert replied, “but there’s a sort of undercurrent about everything that makes me think, though I’m sure it’s ridiculous, that they’re afraid in some way.”

  “I do not think it ridiculous,” the Duke said, “and I want you to try and find out what makes them afraid and anything else that you think might be of interest to me.”

  He was well aware that there was an alert look in Hibbert’s eyes like that of a terrier who scents a rat. He had often thought that Hibbert, like himself, found peacetime dull, and when the valet had left him he thought that it was in fact the truth.

  The superficiality of the Social World, the way in which party succeeded party all much the same and the women showed little originality or individuality, had contrived to make him both bored and cynical.

  Now the knowledge that he not only had to save Giona but to outwit what he was sure would be a formidable enemy, resuscitated a feeling he had not known since the defeat of Napoleon had brought an end to the hostilities with France.

  He thought over all she had said and built up a picture in his mind.

  But he knew that it was not going to be easy to prove why Sir Jarvis had paid large sums of money to his brother to stay abroad unless Middleton could unearth a scandal to account for it.

  Try as he would he could not recall anything other than a vague idea that somehow he had heard something derogatory about Sir Jarvis.

  It must have been a long time ago,’ he said to himself.

  Then he remembered the horror he had felt when he saw the weal’s on Giona’s back and knew if it was the last thing he did he would save her from a cruelty which must cause her indescribable agony.

  It had been impossible not to see the pain she was suffering etched on her face, and he wished he could give Sir Jarvis some of his own medicine and whip him until he was unconscious.

  He had felt such a wave of hatred well up inside him when he met his host on the terrace that only years of self-control, which was in part due to his Army training, made the Duke respond to Sir Jarvis’s geniality with flattering appreciation of his garden, his house and his daughter.

  It had been, the Duke thought in retrospect, a fine piece of acting and he only hoped he could continue the role tomorrow without Sir Jarvis having the slightest suspicion that he was not favourably inclined towards an alliance between Claribel and Lucien.

  Then as he thought of his Ward he was suddenly aware that it was not going to be easy to convince him that the girl he loved was as reprehensible and despicable as her father.

  If he had read Lucien’s character right, direct opposition to his plans to marry Claribel would only make him all the more determined to press his suit, with or without his Guardian’s approval.

  ‘It is what I would do myself,’ the Duke thought with a wry smile.

  He knew in fact, that it was an admirable trait for any young man to believe in the woman he loved rather than listen to defamatory hearsay against her.

  The Duke was well aware that this constituted another problem and a very definite obstacle, which must be overcome if Sir Jarvis was to get his just deserts.

  In the same way as he planned every move of his troops before going into battle, the Duke began to think out his moves one by one and it was a long time before he got to sleep.

  The Duke had arranged to ride early the next morning before breakfast in the same way that he rode when he was at home in the country or in London. Hibbert called him at seven and helped him dress in a customary silence before the Duke said,

  “One thing I would like to know, Hibbert, and you might be able to find out from some of the older servants, is why the Earl of Dorset who was pursuing Miss Claribel a short time ago cried off and became engaged to somebody else.”

  “I’ll do my best, Your Grace,” Hibbert replied, “but the older servants are very closed towards those of us who are visitors. In fact, what’s never happened before in any house we’ve visited, we eats in a room on our own.”

  The Duke raised his eyebrows.

  He was well aware of the hierarchy in the aristocratic mansions in which there was a protocol below stairs which was stricter even than that observed in the dining room.

  He knew it was usual for Hibbert, being the valet of a Duke, to sit on the housekeeper’s right, unless there was Royalty present.

  Following the same tradition, the lady’s maid to his wife, when he had one, would sit on the butler’s right.

  Every servant took on the rank of their master or mistress, and he knew at Alverstode there would be no deviation from this rule, though to make it more interesting for his guests he often changed their places at meals so that they would have different people with whom to talk.

  “That is certainly strange, Hibbert!” he remarked aloud. “Nevertheless, see what you can find out. I have never known you fail in matters of this sort.”

  He knew as he spoke he put his valet on his mettle, and was quite confident that some results would be forthcoming before they left early on Monday morning.

  He had, in fact, been on the point of insisting that they should leave on Sunday, but Lucien had pleaded with him to stay three nights at Stamford Towers, saying anxiously,

  “It is only fair on Claribel and me, that you should take time to consider your judgement.”

  The Duke had laughed.

  “You make me sound like a Hanging Judge.”

  “That is what you will be if you do not allow me to marry Claribel,” Lucien replied hotly.

  The Duke thought apprehensively that he would undoubtedly have a great deal of trouble with Lucien when he informed his Ward that he would rather see him dead than married to any child of Sir Jarvis Stamford.

  As he came in from riding and went into the breakfast room, he found himself wondering what Giona had had to eat.

  He also found it hard when Claribel appeared later in the morning in a ravishing and extremely costly creation not to compare it with Giona’s cheap grey cotton gown and her worn slippers.

  It would have been impossible for Claribel to live in the same house and not know how her cousin was b
eing treated, and he thought that her dewy-eyed, spring-like appearance was a very clever impersonation of what people would expect her to be like, and not what she really was.

  Sir Jarvis had been so determined that the Duke should enjoy his visit to Stamford Towers that every moment of the day had been carefully planned.

  The ladies did not rise early, but for the gentlemen after breakfast there was an interesting Mill between two local pugilists who the Duke found were unexpectedly fine exponents of the sport he himself enjoyed.

  Before luncheon, when the ladies joined them, they inspected the stables and Sir Jarvis’s stud would have impressed any lover of horseflesh.

  “I have two horses with which I hope to challenge you next year,” Sir Jarvis said complacently to the Duke. “Perhaps together we should challenge the rest of the world and take each prize without having to divide it.”

  Sir Jarvis spoke with an eagerness that showed the Duke that he was thinking that by next year Claribel and the Viscount would be married.

  “It is certainly an idea,” the Duke managed to smile and changed the subject by admiring the points of a horse they were examining.

  After luncheon, at which they were joined by a number of neighbours, there was a Steeple Chase on Sir Jarvis’s private racecourse situated a short distance from the house.

  They drove there in Phaetons and brakes, the ladies in their flowered muslin and pretty bonnets holding sunshades over their heads and looking elegant enough for the Royal Enclosure at Ascot.

  There was a book-maker to take the gentlemen’s bets, not a professional but one of Sir Jarvis’s employees, and any profits they were told, would be shared out at the end of the day amongst the backers.

  As this was such an amusing idea the bets were high, although the horses taking part in the Steeple Chase were so superlative that the Duke acknowledged it was difficult to pick a winner.

  It was in fact an entertainment he would have enjoyed if he had not found himself disliking his host more every minute as the day passed, and being critical of everything he said, suspecting it to be an untruth.

  There was however nothing untrue about the preparations that were being made for the Ball that was to take place that evening.

  The garden was decorated with Chinese lanterns, fairy lights glittered amongst the flowers and round the edge of the paths, and an Orchestra had been ordered from London which the Duke was aware was the favourite amongst the young women who danced to it every night.

  “You must be enjoying yourself, Cousin Valerian,”

  Lucien said to the Duke as they went upstairs to dress for dinner.

  “Naturally,” the Duke replied.

  Lucien followed him into his bedroom and as Hibbert tactfully withdrew he said,

  “I suppose it is too soon to ask you if you have made up your mind?”

  “About your marriage?”

  “I would like to propose to Claribel tonight in the garden.”

  “If I allowed you to do so,” the Duke said loftily, “I think it would be somewhat banal.”

  “Banal? What do you mean – banal?” Lucien asked testily.

  “It is all too obvious, my dear boy, the stars, the moon, the music in the background – it might as well be a stage set!”

  “What is wrong with that?”

  “If I were going to propose marriage,” the Duke replied, “or when I do, I would like it to be in such original circumstances that we would remember it for the rest of our lives.”

  There was silence. Then Lucien said,

  “I see what you mean.”

  “I have always thought that you would wish to excel in some particular way of your own,” the Duke went on, “and I can imagine nothing more important than the moment when you ask a woman to live with you for the rest of your life. It is then you should show your originality and of course, your intelligence.”

  He feared as he spoke, he was rather overdoing the flattery, but to his relief Lucien accepted the idea and was smiling as he said,

  “You are quite right, Cousin Valerian, I have never thought of it like that before. Claribel and I have been to innumerable dances and in a way they are all very much the same.”

  “I have always found that,” the Duke agreed.

  “Then are you saying that if I can think of some really original way in which I can ask Claribel to be my wife you will give me your blessing?”

  “I am saying nothing of the sort!” the Duke answered quickly. “I am merely saying that tonight is too soon and too obvious, and I would like to get to know Claribel a little better before I consider she is really good enough for you.”

  “Good enough for me?” the Viscount echoed in astonishment. “But she is the most beautiful girt in London!”

  “And you, in a great many people’s estimation, are the most handsome and certainly the best-dressed young man!”

  The Duke was not looking at his Ward as he spoke, but was aware that he was preening himself.

  He thought it a mistake to ‘over egg the pudding’ and added quickly,

  “As it will undoubtedly take time to tie your cravat to perfection, I suggest you go and dress. You must not be late for dinner.”

  The Viscount gave a little exclamation of horror and hurried from the room.

  The Duke was smiling as Hibbert came back to help him out of his Hessian boots.

  Only when he was bathed and nearly dressed did he ask,

  “Any news for me, Hibbert?”

  “Nothing concrete, Your Grace, just a conversation I overheard from one of the men who had come in from the village to help.”

  “Who was he speaking to?”

  “A footman who’s been here for several years and is older than the others.”

  “What did they say?”

  “They didn’t know, Your Grace, I was listening, but Your Grace’s aware I’ve got sharp ears.”

  The Duke nodded, and Hibbert went on,

  “The man from the village said, ‘Oi hears we be a having a wedding ‘ere soon, Oi shall look for’ard ter that. There’ll be a feast an’ fireworks, no doubt.’

  “ ‘No doubt,’ the footman agreed. ‘But we was acountin’ on it a month or so ago.’

  “ ‘Oi knows that! What happened?’

  “ ‘None o’ your business!’

  “ ‘They says down at t’ ‘Dog and Duck’ Jack had stuck ‘is oar in.’

  “ ‘Whether he did, or whether he didn’t,’ the footman replied, ‘keep yer mouth shut or you’ll be in trouble.’”

  Hibbert gave a very good impersonation of the country accent of the man from the village, then said simply,

  “That was all, Your Grace.”

  “Have you any idea who this man ‘Jack’ is?”

  “Not at the moment, Your Grace.”

  “Try to find out.”

  “I’ll do that, Your Grace.”

  No more was said and the Duke went downstairs where he found, as expected, that the largest drawing room in the house, where they were gathering before dinner, was packed with people.

  He thought with a slight smile that the Viscount out did every other gentlemen present, just as Claribel stood out amongst the younger women like an orchid in a field of buttercups.

  The Duke’s partners at dinner were sophisticated beauties whom he had met in London, who he learned were staying at neighbouring houses.

  “We were told,” one of them said, “that the party was being specially given for you. I could hardly believe it until I arrived here. I thought you never stayed away except with your own particular friends.”

  “There are exceptions to every rule,” the Duke replied.

  “You certainly have a good excuse,” the speaker went on.

  She was looking at Claribel as she spoke and added,

  “Surely it is unnecessary for her to be so rich, especially when your Ward is a wealthy young man?”

  “I have never met anybody yet who had enough money!” the Duke remarked cynically.


  The food, if possible, was even better than the night before.

  Once again the gentlemen were not allowed to linger over their port, but repaired to the ballroom.

  The Duke had no wish tonight to stay any longer than necessary.

  He found himself looking forward to the moment when he could escape and see Giona.

  At the same time he was aware that to disappear too obviously would be a mistake, which might have far reaching consequences.

  He was therefore forced to dance, which was something he most disliked and usually avoided, with several of the older women present, and finally asking Claribel to honour him by being his partner in a waltz.

  He noticed she accepted eagerly. She did not seem shy and was undoubtedly a good dancer.

  Only when they had circled the room in silence did she say in an engagingly soft voice,

  “I do hope Your Grace is enjoying yourself. Papa has tried so hard to please you, and so have I.”

  “I should be very ungracious if I did not appreciate your efforts,” the Duke answered.

  “And we appreciate you,” Claribel said.

  She spoke in a sweet, ingenuous way that would have deceived a more experienced man as being completely natural.

  “Lucien was afraid that you might be upset at leaving London in the middle of the Season,” the Duke remarked.

  “How can he be so foolish?” Claribel replied. “I love the country! It is so beautiful and when I return home here I have time to think.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  “But of course! But knowing how clever Your Grace is, I am afraid you will find I am very ignorant – even after an extensive education in many subjects of interest.”

  It was all too glib, too contrived, the Duke thought, and had certainly been thought out very carefully, doubtless by Sir Jarvis.

  He made the appropriate reply and after the dance was finished he danced with an older woman, then took her through the open windows of the ballroom into the garden.

  He was well aware as he did so, that Sir Jasper was watching him go, and thought that this was the moment when he might escape if he could do it cleverly.