by Deryn Lake
“What? Does the wretch say you are not good enough for her? The jumped-up fool! I’ll see his nose out of joint. I shall be your go-between, dearest. Leave everything to me.”
Unfortunately, Lady George not only attitudinised constantly but championed causes into the bargain. And now the cause became Young Love. Sarah, like the heroine of a romantic novel, was the victim of a callous guardian who stood in the way of her happiness because of his own inability to recognise true passion. Lord Newbattle, so very handsome, was Sarah’s soul mate, her ideal husband, sinned against by those in authority. It became Louisa Lennox’s quest to unite the pair in the face of all the odds.
At once she began to call on her sister-in-law, Caroline, and leave notes for Sarah behind a loose brick in the garden wall, a place prearranged by the two of them during a whispered conversation when no one else was in the room. This frequent visiting was facilitated by the arrival of Emily, Countess of Kildare, the sister who had raised Sarah. Obviously, family gatherings were arranged and so it was little problem to take Sarah to one side before dinner and murmur that her lover would be waiting for her in the Home Park early on Saturday morning and that she, Lady George, and her husband would see to it that the girl was able to leave the house undetected. Feeling rejuvenated by the intrigue, the arch plotter then went in to dine.
Sarah, equally elated by all the secrecy and the fact that she had stolen the heart of the most dashing rake in London, hardly knew how to contain her excitement. In comparison with this adventure the fact that the King was attracted to her faded to nothing. A longing to elope had come over her and Sarah could concentrate on nothing but thoughts of her gallant young man.
“But the King said you were the fittest person to be Queen,” Susan protested vigorously.
“It was a joke,” Sarah replied. “If he had really meant it he would have spoken to me direct.”
“But he asked me to repeat it to you. That’s as good as saying it.”
“No it isn’t. If he’s not man enough to declare himself face to face I’ll swear I am no longer interested in him.”
And with that she refused to discuss the matter further, leaving poor Susan to depart for her family seat, Redlynch House in Somerset, feeling that she had not obeyed her sovereign’s commands correctly.
Since the ball ten days earlier at which the King had made his extraordinary statement, Sarah had not been to Court. Terrified that, infatuated as she was by Newbattle, she might say something out of place, Fox had deemed it necessary that his sister-in-law remain at home. The public excuse for her nonappearance was the visit of Lady Emily Kildare to Holland House, but it had not escaped Bute’s attention that the Fox family were conspicuously absent from all gatherings. Master manipulator that he was, the Earl made it his business to ask Lady Louisa Lennox to cut cards with him when next he saw her at the house of a mutual friend.
“I do trust, my dear Lady George, that the visit of Lady Emily is going well,” he said whilst dealing.
She looked at him sharply, wondering how it was that no detail, however trivial, escaped the attention of this suavest of creatures.
“Very pleasantly, thank you, Sir.”
“Good, good,” Bute answered, and played a card.
He really was a most attractive man, thought Louisa, preening and simpering as he gave her a delightful smile, and recalled how, when the Earl had been penniless, trying his hardest for recognition, it had been his superlative legs which had finally brought him to attention. At amateur theatricals and masquerades, Bute had displayed his greatest asset in well-cut costumes, and it had been while playing the part of Lothario in The Fair Penitent, organised by the Duchess of Queensberry’s private theatre group, that he had been seen by Prince Frederick of Wales and his climb to power and riches had begun. Rumour had it amongst the ladies that it was not only the Earl’s legs that were amazing and at this thought Lady George felt the colour come into her cheeks.
“Tell me,” Bute said now, “is it just her sister’s visit that keeps the lovely Lady Sarah at home or is she trying to avoid someone at Court?”
“Who might you mean, Sir?” asked Louisa archly, having heard every rumour there was about her sister-in-law attracting the King.
“Your brother perhaps,” Bute replied unexpectedly.
“How did you know?”
“As adviser to His Majesty I make it my business to be au fait with all that goes on,” Bute said with the merest suggestion of a wink.
“La, are you aware of everyone’s affaires then, my Lord?”
“But of course,” he said, and patted her hand.
It occurred to Lady George then that it was as well they were playing bezique so there were no other players at the table to eavesdrop on their conversation. Slightly emboldened by this privacy, she said, “It is actually Mr Fox who has interfered. He has had the gall to ban my brother from his house, nor will he let John and Sarah meet outside. Perhaps the Paymaster feels he has bigger fish to fry.”
The Earl raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps, indeed. Ambition is Henry Fox’s middle name.”
“I can’t say that I care for the man, now you mention it. To me there is something déclassé about his antecedents.”
“Then you personally are not against a match between Lord Newbattle and Lady Sarah?”
“Not at all. I think it insulting to our family that he is not considered good enough.” Lady George took a good swallow of champagne and added in a whisper, “In fact I am doing all I can to aid and abet the young couple.”
“That must be very difficult when they are not allowed to see one another.”
Lady George looked slightly shifty. “It may be wrong of me, of course, to flout the wishes of Sarah’s guardian but they are in love. And who has not been? How dare Fox, with his reputation for a rakish past, stand in their way?”
“So you help them meet secretly?” said Bute, studying his cards.
“Yes, I do,” answered Lady George defensively. “This very Saturday morning at dawn they are to see one another in the Home Park of Holland House and there, or so I believe, my brother intends to ask Sarah for her hand in marriage.”
The Earl raised his brows. “Really? So the relationship is a serious one?”
“Most serious. I would not assist them if they were indulging in a grubby little affair.”
“Of course not,” Bute replied soothingly. “What woman of honour would?”
And with that he changed the subject, talking instead of the latest fashions at Court and congratulating Lady George on the beauty of her gown and the width of her hoops. He was one of the most charming people alive and by the end of the evening Louisa Lennox could understand perfectly how both the King and the Princess of Wales relied on the Earl of Bute completely.
“A nobleman of substance,” she remarked to her husband as they drove towards Holland House.
“Bute?”
“Of course.”
“A scheming devil more likely.”
“George, how could you?”
“With ease, my dear. I wouldn’t trust the man as far as I could spit.”
“You’re excessively churlish,” said Louisa furiously and relapsed into an angry silence.
“Not so damned churlish that I won’t help you tomorrow morning.”
George’s wife relented. “You are good-hearted, Sir. I apologise. Tell me the plan again.”
“As we are staying at Holland House tonight it will be simple. I shall rise before dawn, awaken you, and together we shall help Sarah creep out of the house.”
“Is it wrong of us?”
“Too late to think of that now, my dear,” answered her husband briskly. “Your brother is standing by and will be at the rendezvous as arranged, and if my sister has set her heart on him then so be it.”
Lord George Lennox believed firmly that people should be free to marry whom they chose, but even he felt guiltily that he was betraying Caroline’s trust as he stole out of Holland House with his you
nger sister into the frosty February morning. Yet the look on Sarah’s face as she spied Lord Newbattle waiting beneath some trees at a discreet distance from the house, his horse tethered nearby, went a great way towards reassuring him. Tactfully, George turned away and went back inside, leaving the lovers to share their illicit tryst alone.
“I’ve missed you terribly,” declared Lord Newbattle ardently, smothering Sarah’s flower face with kisses.
“And I you,” she answered, thinking him the most romantic figure in the world and so handsomely dashing.
“I can’t bear this separation much longer, nor is it right that we be made to endure it.”
“No, it isn’t. Oh John, my own dearest, what are we going to do?”
He grinned triumphantly. “I know the precise answer. Sarah, I formally intend to ask for your hand in marriage. I beg you, will you be my wife?”
And the pretty young nobleman dropped on one knee before her, both hands clasped over his heart.
“My first proposal,” gasped Sarah, turning the colour of a peony. “Oh how thrilling!”
“But what is your answer to it? Will you have me?”
“Of course I will. I can think of nothing more delicious than being married to my own beloved John.”
Lord Newbattle stood up again. “Then that is settled. I shall go at once and ask for my father’s consent to the match.”
“Will he give it?” Sarah asked anxiously.
“Of course he will. He let his daughter marry a Lennox, there is no reason why he should not let his son do likewise.”
And John kissed her in a way that made Sarah’s body fill with longing for him. But as she pressed against her lover, closing her eyes, Sarah thought she heard the distant whinny of a horse. Starting and pulling away from him, she looked over her shoulder to see if they were observed.
“What is it?”
“I thought I heard something. I had the sudden feeling we were being watched.”
John stared round him. “There’s no one in sight. But it’s best we don’t linger. The household will soon be up and stirring. I’ll get home quickly.”
“I can’t bear to leave you.”
“We must be sensible.” He took her face between his hands. “Goodbye, my beautiful love. I shall send word to you tomorrow of what my father says.”
And without any further delay the young man crossed to his horse, untethered it and mounted. Sarah ran to him, sighing theatrically.
“I can’t bear this parting.”
“You must,” he answered with just the faintest hint of irritation. “Now, farewell. It’s not safe for me to stay any longer.”
And with that John Newbattle dug his heels into the sides of his mount and went off at considerable speed. Sarah gazed after him, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, and feeling exactly like a deserted heroine in one of the theatrical performances so well loved at Holland House. Then she braced herself and began to hurry through the grounds and gardens to the safety of the mansion.
It was just as she had left the protection of the trees and drawn level with the Lady Well that Sarah clearly heard the sound of distant hooves and turned, wondering whether John had come back to her for some reason. Over in the Little Breaches, heading in the direction of the Uxbridge Road, was a horseman, his back towards her. Yet even at this distance there was something familiar about that tall elegant figure. With a lurching heart, Sarah realised that the King of England was abroad in the dawning and might well have witnessed all that had taken place between herself and her lover.
Instantly she was torn by warring emotions. Vivid memories of how kind George had been to her, how he had tolerated her criticism of his mother, how his clear and sincere eyes had gazed into hers, came back to torment her. Sarah Lennox suddenly felt cheap and shabby, a worthless drab who had unkindly dropped one lover to make way for another. She also remembered Fox’s description of John Newbattle as a vain inglorious insignificant puppy and wondered momentarily if there was any truth in it.
And then every other thought was banished from Sarah’s mind as to her immense horror she saw that the King was not alone, that beside him, outlandish in loose pink trousers, a creature was running, its red hair gleaming in the first rays of the sun. The sinister woman, last seen when the January snows had lain upon the ground, was also abroad in the early light.
It occurred to Sarah then, though it made little sense, that the stranger might be a spy, sent to watch her, hired perhaps by the Earl of Bute or even the King himself. With a shudder the girl hurried in through an open door leading to the servants’ hall, and scurried up the east staircase towards her bedroom and sanctuary, wondering what the consequences of this eventful daybreak might turn out to be.
Chapter Seven
It snowed after Christmas, very swiftly and very thickly, so that Holland Park and the remains of the magnificent dwelling that once had stood there were swathed in the most beautiful of coverings. Paths and walkways were blotted out, ankle-deep, and all the age-old trees were bowed beneath the sparkle of white that decked their branches.
It had started to snow as Sidonie drove back from Wiltshire, leaving behind her the mystic village of Avebury and the sixteenth-century farmhouse in which her parents lived. By the time she reached the outskirts of London it was falling quite fast, and when she had put her key in the main front door of her home in Phillimore Gardens it had been still and shadowy because of the silence in the streets. The fact that the place was empty, everyone away for the festive season, had only added to the general air of desolation.
Finnan had flown to Ireland on the day before Christmas Eve, while Jannie had gone to stay with the owner of the black beard, Max, and their three teenage love children. The couple from the Penthouse, Rupert and Fiona Carruthers-Greene who, as Sidonie had discovered, only used the flat as a pied-à-terre and actually lived in a large house in Sussex, had spent the holiday in their country home. And so now, in those odd few days between Christmas and New Year, the entire building was deserted.
To combat her solitude, Sidonie practised ferociously, playing long into the night, knowing that she wasn’t disturbing anybody. She ate out a good deal, mostly at the little Italian restaurant round the corner, then would hurry home to talk to Catty Scarlatti, her feline companion, called Carl for short. He was currently very affectionate as he had been boarded out while his owner was away from London.
But by the third day of isolation Sidonie was beginning to realise how much she missed having other people around. Even without seeing the doctor or Jannie it was somehow reassuring to know that they were only a flight of stairs away if she should need them, particularly in the case of Finnan.
“I wish they were back,” said Sidonie to Carl, who flicked one ear. Getting up from the keyboard she walked to the glass door of the music room and looked out.
The garden was full of snow — there was even a large ball of it, which Sidonie had rolled for fun, standing in the middle of the lawn. A sudden desire to be outside engulfed her, to breathe the crisp stinging air deep into her lungs, to run about and make a fool of herself in all the wonderful whiteness. Without stopping to worry about wasted time, Sidonie put on a big hat, a coat and scarf and headed off for Holland Park.
It was gloriously deserted, the weather obviously keeping people indoors, and it was with a tremendous feeling of ownership that Sidonie crunched through the snow-filled ornamental gardens and made her way round that shell of what once had been. Remembering the night when the mansion had been lit by candles, and ghostly dancers had thrown their nonexistent shadows against the windows, Sidonie thought now, when everything was normal and innocent, that she must have been mistaken, that it must have been an optical illusion caused by the intense fatigue following a concert. And yet in a part of her mind that she used very little because it made her afraid to do so, she knew there had been no mistake, that she had actually experienced something beyond rational explanation.
Turning away from the house, Sid
onie made her way over what was known as the north lawn and into the rose walk, barely recognisable in its thick covering of white powder. It was more heavily wooded than she remembered, great rows of trees standing on either side, clumps of snow falling from their branches as she walked beneath. Everything seemed so different beneath its bleached covering that she could almost have sworn she was in a planted woodland, yet there was none in the park, as far as she knew. And then Sidonie stopped, frozen in her tracks, as she saw what lay ahead of her.
The wooded path led to a central clearing in which stood two stone seats and a statue. And though there was nothing remarkable about this it was to the people who stood within its enclave that Sidonie’s eyes were drawn. The Joshua Reynolds girl was there and with her three other creatures who could have stepped straight from the painter’s canvases. An awareness of time slipping out of rhythm, of ghosts from the past appearing as once they did in life, filled Sidonie’s mind as she gazed and gazed at the delightful vision of two boys and two girls from another age playing merrily in the snow. Then suddenly there was a distant cry and Sidonie realised that the girl who had been haunting her ever since she first came to Holland House had not only seen her but was about to give chase. Fear replaced pleasure and Sidonie turned to run.
Now a sense of nightmare overtook her for, as it had done once before, the landscape changed. Ahead of her lay fields and parkland, all white with winter’s drapery. The whole terrain seemed treacherous and heavy with drifts, and nowhere in sight was there a familiar path or turning. She was trapped in another age, falling and floundering in snow so deep that it seemed likely to drag her in and bury her. Frantically, Sidonie blundered on, aware that the girl was still behind her. And then she tripped and plunged downwards into the sinister softness.
She lay panting for a moment or two, her heart thumping, the sound of her blood roaring in her ears. Then she heard, quite distinctly, the chatter of excited young voices close at hand and knew that they had caught up with her, that something that was impossible had taken place. But when Sidonie raised her head, tears stinging her cold cheeks, she saw that it was only a group of schoolchildren, well muffled up and wearing woolly hats, determinedly throwing snowballs at one another. A black child, more friendly than the rest, approached her.