“There must be no midnight where Westwood is concerned,” her brother said firmly.
“Then keep your fingers crossed,” Carola said. “Quite frankly, if I am honest, Peter, while I understand that this is something I have to do, I am very – very frightened!”
CHAPTER TWO
Carola spent a delightful time buying three pretty evening gowns in the nearest town.
She had decided that for the daytime she could wear her mother’s clothes as fashion had altered very little in the last two years.
For the evening, however, her mother’s clothes would have looked old-fashioned.
She found some very pretty dresses at a price that would have horrified her had it not been for the one hundred pounds that Peter had given her to spend.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, she thought at least the Marquis would not be ashamed of her and she remembered too that he was bringing the Broxburne jewels down from London for her to wear.
In the last week Peter had left the house very early in the morning and only returned for dinner.
The Marquis had given him the task of seeing that everything at Brox Hall would be ready in time for the visit.
He himself was staying in London in order to prepare his friends for Alton Westwood’s arrival and also to meet him when he did.
“Keep him in London for as long as you possibly can,” Peter had begged.
He was not being optimistic that the Marquis would be able to do so and it was obvious that Alton Westwood was a very strong-minded and determined man.
He did exactly what he wanted.
From what Peter had heard of him he was not surprised that the Marquis was afraid of finding himself married to his daughter.
He thought with a slight feeling of amusement that of the party he himself had the least important title although it was easily the oldest.
He could therefore breathe freely when Westwood arrived.
The Duke was a widower, but the two Peers were single.
Peter was not certain who else of his closest friends the Marquis intended to invite.
“Fortunately,” he told Carola, “there is not as much to be done at The Hall as I had feared.”
“I have always longed to go inside it,” Carola said. “Is it very impressive?”
“It will certainly impress Westwood,” Peter answered, “and considering that it has been shut up for so long, there is really very little real damage.”
Then he added,
“One or two ceilings have been stained by rain, but they are mostly on the top floors, which we will not be using.”
“I am longing to see the State rooms,” Carola enthused, “but, most of all, the library.”
“I grant you that is very impressive,” Peter replied, “but I would be surprised if Westwood is much concerned with books.”
*
The days seemed to fly by at a frightening speed.
When Carola came down to breakfast on Thursday morning, Peter said,
“They are arriving tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow!” she exclaimed, “but I thought that the Marquis was going to keep Mr. Westwood in London.”
“That is what we had hoped,” Peter said, “but he is determined to hold his meetings in congenial surroundings and is apparently not particularly impressed by the Marquis’s house in Park Lane.”
“I should imagine that the houses in Fifth Avenue are larger,” Carola replied, “and have more treasures in them, if what I have read is correct.”
“What do you mean by that?” Peter asked.
“Well, I understand that the Vanderbilts, for instance, have collected an enormous number of antiques from all over Europe and their rooms in their New York house are stuffed with them like a pot of pâté de foie gras!”
Peter laughed.
Then he said,
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t say anything like that to Westwood!”
“No, of course not,” Carola replied. “Every minute I have had to spare this week I have been reading books on America until I am filled with a whole lot of information which will make it easier for me to talk to Mr. Westwood and his daughter.”
“Be careful what you say,” Peter said warningly.
“Of course, if you prefer I will just sit looking dumb!” Carola remarked, “but I think they would find that rather dull!”
“You are deliberately upsetting me!” Peter protested.
“On the contrary, I am putting on a brave front,” Carola answered, “because as you know, I am terrified in case I do something wrong.”
“I was just thinking,” Peter said, as if he had not been listening, “that the best thing would be for you and me to go to The Hall this afternoon.”
Carola looked at him in surprise and he explained,
“I feel I know every inch of the house by this time, but it will all be new to you and it would be a mistake for you to be heard asking your way to the library or enquiring if the drawing room is upstairs or down.”
“Now you are being unkind,” Carola complained. “Even so, I think it’s a good idea and you can show me all over the house, which I am longing to see. Then we can be waiting on the doorstep when the party arrives.”
“They are coming by train,” Peter told her, “so perhaps I ought to be waiting on the platform or rather at the halt as the Marquis has arranged, so that any train will stop there when he wishes!”
“Goodness me, how grand!” Carola said. “I never thought of them coming by train.”
“The Marquis is trying to impress Westwood that America does not have a monopoly where railways are concerned,” Peter said, “and he told me when he wrote that he is trying to have his father’s private coach attached to the Empress train.”
“A private coach!” Carola cried. “I have always longed to see one but I have no doubt that Mr. Westwood has one himself in America.”
“I am sure he has,” Peter agreed. “As he owns at least one railway I imagine he could have a whole train for his guests, if that is what he wants!”
They both laughed at the idea.
Everything her brother had said made Carola feel that the part she had to play was more and more difficult.
However, when he arrived for luncheon, Peter brought with him not only a chaise in which he could drive her to The Hall but also a brake for their luggage.
There was a coachman and an attendant she had never seen before in charge of the brake and, when they drove away from Greton House, Carola asked,
“Are all the servants strangers?”
“All except for the old caretakers who I have told to keep to their own quarters and leave everything to the new staff.”
“Then no one is likely to recognise me because they have seen me in the village?”
“No one!” Peter said firmly. “They all arrived two days ago from London and I told them that the Marchioness has been staying with friends. I said that I would be driving her back today so that she will be here for her husband’s return.”
Carola gave a little shudder.
She did not know why, but the thought of the Marquis being referred to as ‘her husband’ made her feel apprehensive.
Peter always spoke of him either as ‘Broxburne’ or else ‘the Marquis’.
It was only yesterday that Carola remembered that she did not even know his Christian name.
“I suppose I should know it seeing he is a neighbour,” she said, “but I cannot remember hearing it.”
“It is Alexander,” Peter replied, “which I think is very appropriate.”
“Why?” Carola enquired.
“Because Alexander is always the name of Generals or Kings, and that, in his own way, is exactly what the Marquis is!”
“You mean he is authoritative and overwhelming?”
“Exactly!” Peter smiled, “but there is no need for you to be frightened of him. Don’t forget that it is you who is doing him a favour.”
“Do not speak too soon an
d keep your fingers crossed!” Carola warned him. “I might make a frightful mistake and then, if the whole plan collapses about his ears, he will blame me!”
“Now you are frightening me!” Peter said, “and for God’s sake bow to the new moon or whatever else it is you do for good luck and hope and pray that Dame Fortune is with us.”
Carola wanted to slip her hand into his.
She felt that he was speaking like a little boy who is frightened his toys might be taken away from him.
But as he was driving, she put her hand on his knee and said,
“I am only teasing, Peter. I am quite certain that with your organisation and my intelligence the Marquis will secure his Chairmanship of the Board and the immense remuneration that goes with it.”
“That is what we are all hoping,” Peter sighed.
As they drove up the long drive, Carola began to feel excited at seeing the inside of Brox Hall for the first time.
She vaguely remembered her father and mother going there before the old Marquis had died, but she was too young to accompany them.
Although she had often been in the Park, fed the ducks on the lake, ridden through the woods and all over the estate, she had never entered through the front door.
She saw the house ahead of her.
It certainly looked very different from the day she had ridden past it when Peter had come home.
The shutters had been taken from the windows and the panes had all been cleaned until they glittered like diamonds in the sunshine.
She was aware as they drew nearer that some men were working in the gardens.
The lawns had been cut and the yew hedges trimmed.
Peter drew up the chaise at the front of a long flight of steps.
As he did so two footmen wearing the Marquis’s livery appeared and a red carpet was rolled down the steps.
There was a very imposing butler with white hair waiting to greet them at the front door.
“Good afternoon, Stevens!” Peter said and, turning to Carola, he added, “This is Stevens who is looking after the house. He has been a tremendous help in getting everything arranged for his Lordship’s return.”
Carola held out her hand.
“Sir Peter has told me how splendid you have been,” she said. “I am only sorry that I was not able to be here to help.”
“I hopes your Ladyship finds everything to your satisfaction,” Stevens replied with a slight bow.
“I am sure I shall,” Carola smiled.
“Tea is laid in the drawing room, my Lady,” Stevens said respectfully.
“Oh, thank you!” Carola replied. “It is what I have been looking forward to after my long journey.”
Peter had told her on the way that she was supposed to have come some distance.
“And don’t forget, Carola,” he said, “that you have been ill and you have given your lady’s maid, who has done so much for you, a well-deserved holiday, which is why a temporary maid has come down from London with the other servants.”
“I shall feel very grand having somebody to look after me,” Carola smiled.
Her mother had always had a lady’s maid, but Carola had looked after herself from the time she was old enough to dispense with a Nanny.
Now she would have a lady’s maid whose sole job was to look after her and press and wash her clothes.
When she and Peter were hard up, she had managed with just the Newmans and had herself done a great deal in the house like the dusting.
‘This will be a holiday for me,’ she thought, ‘at least from the household chores.’
She knew, however, she would have to be on her guard.
It would be a disaster if the servants, let alone Alton Westwood, guessed that she was not the Marchioness she was pretending to be.
She walked into the drawing room and found it was just as she had expected.
On a table near the fireplace there was a large silver tray on which stood a teapot, a kettle which had a lighted wick under it, milk and cream jugs and a sugar bowl. There were hot scones in a covered silver dish.
A variety of other plates contained cucumber sandwiches, small fairy cakes and chocolate biscuits that Carola remembered so well from when she was a child.
There was also an iced cake as well as a rich fruit cake, which was decorated with almonds.
When they were alone and she was pouring out Peter’s tea, she said,
“If all the meals we have over the weekend are like this, we shall certainly have grown very fat by Monday!”
“Personally, I am going to enjoy every mouthful!” Peter laughed, helping himself to a hot scone. “I have been working like a slave all this week. In fact I cannot remember having to do so much, since the time I left school!”
“Well, this room looks lovely!” Carola said, “and it was clever of you to remember the flowers.”
“Of course I remembered them,” Peter said, “and also new tapers for the chandeliers.”
Carola looked up at them and thought they looked very grand.
Because she wanted to see everything she jumped up from the tea table and examined the china in the cabinets.
She was thrilled by a collection of snuff boxes displayed in a glass-topped table by the window.
Peter finished his tea and said,
“Come along! I will show you the rest of the rooms and, if you are very good, the library as well!”
Carola laughed.
“You know I want to see that more than anything else!”
“If there are a lot of books there you wish to read,” Peter said, “I am sure after this the Marquis will agree to your borrowing them.”
“Do you really think he might?” Carola asked eagerly.
“You should not ask the moment he arrives,” Peter said, “but I think it should be part-payment for what you are doing to make a success of his party.”
“Now I know why you are holding out the library like a carrot before a donkey!” Carola said, “but don’t forget, Peter, that if I am too nervous to ask the Marquis for the loan of his books, you will have to do it for me.”
“All right,” Peter agreed, “but come along or we shall still be walking round the house at midnight!”
There was certainly a great deal to see.
By the time Carola had been thrilled by the music room and almost forcibly dragged by Peter from the library, the sun was sinking.
Peter then opened the door of the Picture Gallery.
It was very large and each painting, Carola thought, was a joy she had not expected.
“I had no idea that the Marquis had such a wonderful collection!” she exclaimed.
“They are all very valuable,” Peter answered, “but, of course, they are entailed, so there is no question of him selling any of them.”
Carola turned to look at her brother.
“I had forgotten there would be an entail,” she said, “and naturally it means that the Marquis will have to get married and produce a son.”
“That is something he has no wish to do at the moment. He is only twenty-nine and there is no reason for him to marry for at least ten years.”
They continued their tour of the house and it was almost time to change for dinner by the time they reached the nurseries.
Carola thought it rather sad that they were empty.
They were set out in very much the same manner as those at home, except that they were larger and she was delighted with a huge rocking horse and a big fort.
Even Peter found it intriguing with an array of tin soldiers that seemed to include every Regiment in the British Army.
There was a large teddy bear propped up in an armchair and a number of other toys similar to those that she and Peter had played with when they were children.
Carola picked up a golliwog and enquired,
“I was just thinking – if the Marquis is supposed to be married – what will Mr. Westwood think of his not having any children?”
“I had not thought o
f that,” Peter said, “I suppose we must attribute it to the fact that his wife has not been in very good health.”
“Of course, it would be the woman who would get the blame!” Carola objected. “I must remember to look pale and, of course, retire to bed early.”
“I think that would be a good idea anyway,” Peter suggested. “Westwood might think it was impolite to discuss business in front of you.”
“Very well, Peter, but I am hoping that there will be some interesting books upstairs.”
When she went to her bedroom to change for dinner, she found that it was extremely beautiful with a huge four-poster bed.
The posts were carved and gilded and on the canopy there was a delightful carving of cupids carrying garlands of flowers.
“It looks very romantic!” Carola exclaimed.
“And so it should!” Peter said. “This is the Marchioness’s room and there is a communicating door that leads into the Marquis’s.”
“Then – I am – next – to him!”
“Of course you are! Don’t forget that you are supposed to be married to him, so be very careful what you say in front of your lady’s maid.”
As if he had just thought of it, he added,
“I did not tell you that the only servant who knows the truth is the Marquis’s valet. He went with him to America and knows exactly why he has to say that he is a married man, so he is in on the secret.”
Carola thought that this was a little embarrassing, but she did not say so.
Peter walked to the end of the room to open the communicating door.
“Come to see the Master bedroom,” he said. “I think it’s the most magnificent room I have ever seen and I only wish I could have one like it!”
Carola followed him and, when she saw the Marquis’s room, she understood.
She was sure that any man who slept in it would feel a King. It too was dominated by a four-poster bed, but the posts, wood-carved, were of oak.
The bed itself was covered in crimson velvet with the Broxburne coat of arms behind the headboard. The curtains were of the same velvet and the walls were also panelled in oak.
There was a magnificent marble fireplace, which Peter said had been brought from Italy and the furniture had been chosen at the same time as the house had been built.
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