Stars in the Sky

by Barbara Cartland

  The three waited, listening. But there was no other sound, save the faint drip, drip of water on stone.

  "Sounds as if there's a pane open somewhere," said Lord Farron.

  He resumed his task. Sylvia and Charity gasped as the stone finally rose. Lord Farron pushed it back.

  He picked up the lantern and swung it over the gaping hole that was revealed.

  Its beam was met with the glitter of gold and precious stones.

  "We are saved!" cried Sylvia, clasping her hands to her breast. "My family is saved."

  "You have done my work for me. Excellent!" came an all too familiar and chilling voice from the shadows.

  The Count stepped forward. In his hands was a pistol – the very pistol that the stable boy had dropped in the woods.

  Lord Farron cursed as he saw it.

  In his other hand the Count carried a sack. He now threw this at Lord Farron.

  "Fill it," he ordered. "Fill it with – the 'chattels' you have found here!"

  "You won't get away with this," growled Lord Farron, tensing for a move.

  "You think not?" said the Count. With a sudden lunge he was at Sylvia's side, the pistol pointed at her neck. Lord Farron froze.

  "You do see," shouted the Count, "that you must obey me now?"

  His jaw set, Lord Farron opened the sack and began to shovel in the gold and jewels that lay in the hole.

  "Help him!" gestured the Count to Charity. She hastened to her brother's side.

  Sylvia could smell the wax on the Count's moustache, stale and malodorous. She clenched her fists, wishing she could strike out at him.

  When the sack was as full as it could be, Lord Farron hoisted it and threw it across to where the Count stood.

  "There, villain," he said bitterly. "Take your – spoils of deceit – and go."

  "Not without Lady Sylvia," grinned the Count. "Do you think I'm a fool? She will be my hostage. If you attempt to follow me – she is dead."

  He began to back away from Lord Farron and Charity, the heavy sack in one hand, the pistol still at Sylvia's neck, forcing her to move with him. Lord Farron watched desperately.

  "I will follow you to the ends of the earth if you harm her!" he cried.

  "Then I must be rid of you now!" snarled the Count.

  For one second, the pistol was turned away from Sylvia and raised towards Lord Farron. With a cry she grabbed at the Count's wrist with both hands. The pistol wavered.

  "Get away, you fool," shrieked the Count.

  Lord Farron took his chance. He leapt like lightning across the floor. Sylvia was knocked aside. She fell to her knees as the two men struggled above her. Then – there was a report. It shattered the silence of the vault, echoing from wall to wall.

  The Count tumbled to the floor. Sylvia and Charity stared in horror as his blood seeped out across the cold, white stones.

  *

  Sounds of merriment rose from windows far below the tower roof, where Lord Farron and Sylvia stood in the moonlight.

  The Belham family had come to dine at Farron Towers, along with Braider. Braider had explained – his eyes flickering again and again towards Charity as he did so – that he had hardly known the Count and had been surprised to be asked to officiate as Best Man at his wedding. He hoped he would now be judged on his own merits.

  Charity had blushed under his glances.

  The Duchess was resplendent in a shimmering new gown, with one of the necklaces discovered in the castle vaults gleaming about her neck. Charity was wearing a ruby brooch that Sylvia had given her from the treasure.

  The Duke had recovered fully from his illness. He was so ashamed of the way in which his behaviour had almost led to the terrible sacrifice of his favourite daughter, that he had firmly turned his back on the gaming tables. All he wished for now was his daughter's happiness.

  The Count, to everyone's surprise, had survived his injury. He was in prison, awaiting sentence. The Countess von Brauer had vowed that on his release – in some three or four years time – she would be waiting for him in Paris.

  The Count's establishment at Endecott, financed with the money he had stolen from his wife, had been broken up. Polly had not found employment with the new tenant and was now a serving wench at a hostelry in Norwich, much to her chagrin.

  Sylvia thought of all this as she stood in the moonlight, gazing over the estuary towards Endecott. Tears of relief started in her eyes at the thought that she would never have to see the Count again!

  Lord Farron followed her gaze. "You know," he said teasingly, "it's a mystery to me how that fellow the Count had two such lovely ladies vying for his attention!"

  Sylvia, stung, burst into tears. "I…did not…want his attention, sir," she sobbed. "I only wanted…to save my poor father…from the disgrace of bankruptcy."

  Lord Farron gently lifted her chin. A soft breeze stirred the curls on her forehead as her brimming eyes met his.

  "I suspected as much," he murmured. "Do you think, if I had believed for one moment that you truly loved him, I would have kept this token of you?"

  To Sylvia's wonder, he held up the white and gold mask she had worn all that time ago at Lady Lambourne's ball.

  "And do you think," continued Lord Farron, "that if I had believed you wanted nothing more than to be his wife, I would have ventured so much to save you?"

  Sylvia shook her head, stifling her tears. "I..I do not know, sir."

  "Then know it now," said Lord Farron. "I only wanted to hear it from your own lips. Lips that now belong to no other man, lips that I, at last, may kiss."

  He bent his head to hers and Sylvia's heart took flight within her breast as she gazed up at him.

  "Now that you may be mine, my darling," breathed Lord Farron. "Demand of me what you will and you shall have it. Even if you desire the very stars in the sky!"

  With a sigh of happiness, Sylvia yielded herself, body and soul to his lips……