“Actually, I was thinking of the Marquis.”
“A great many people think about him,” was the reply, “and the annoying thing is it is invariably the lady I am with!”
The way he spoke made Valessa laugh.
“I have just been hearing what a success he is,” she volunteered.
“He must have been born under a lucky star!” her partner replied. “But, as I often tell myself, there is no use being envious or jealous of a man like that!”
Valessa thought this comment over and then she said,
“I think that is a good way to think of people who are out of reach and whom it is impossible for us to emulate.”
“My advice to you, Miss Chester, is not to fall in love with Stafford Wyndonbury!”
“I was not thinking of falling in love,” Valessa answered, “but, of course, you are right and it would be a tragedy for anyone to love ‘the Man in the Moon’!”
“That is a very apt description of him,” her partner said, “and that is what I shall always call Wyndonbury in the future. ‘The Man in the Moon’!”
When dinner ended, Sarah led the ladies from the room. When they reached The French Salon where they had assembled before dinner, in a voice that only she could hear she said to Valessa,
“Slip off to bed now without saying goodnight to anybody. Harry wants you to have a good night’s sleep and feel really well tomorrow when there will be a lot to do.”
Valessa did as she was told, although, because she felt so much better, she would have liked to stay.
She had the feeling that she must savour every moment of this strange and unexpected adventure.
Harry had been right and that was exactly what it was! When it came to an end she knew that she would want to remember everything that had happened.
As she reached her bedroom, she felt some of the excitement ebbing away and she realised that Harry was sensible. She was tired and she was weak.
Two meals and a short sleep were not enough to give her back her health and buoyancy that she had enjoyed when her father and mother were alive.
A maid was waiting to help her undress and, when Valessa was in bed, she put a cup and saucer and a jug beside her.
“That’s milk, miss,” she said, “and, if you wakes in the night, you’re to drink as much as you can.”
Also by the bed was a pretty box, which Valessa was told contained biscuits.
“There’s every sort in there if you gets ’ungry, miss,” the maid explained.
“I have just eaten a large dinner!” Valessa smiled.
“If you wake you may feel peckish,” the maid answered. “I often does meself!”
She looked around the room to see that she had remembered everything.
“Goodnight, miss,” she said, “and sleep well!”
As she closed the door, Valessa lay back for a moment against her lace-trimmed pillows.
It was true! She was here and she was being maided, cosseted and fed like a prize turkey.
For what?
That was the question she could not help feeling was repeating itself over and over again in her mind.
What did all this mean?
Why should the rich Lady Barton suddenly wish to entertain her?
Why should she provide her with beautiful gowns and Sir Harry Grantham take so much trouble over her?
Suddenly none of it seemed to matter.
Whatever she had to do she could not believe that it was anything very terrible.
There was two hundred pounds in the drawer of her dressing table and she had been promised more gowns like the one she had worn this evening.
‘I am lucky, so very very lucky!’
Then with what was almost a rapt note in her voice she added,
‘Thank You – God – thank You!’
*
Downstairs in the French Salon several people spoke to Sarah about her friend.
“She is very attractive, Sarah! Why is it we have not met her before?” Lady Mortlake asked.
“She lives in the country,” Sarah explained, “and actually she has been ill, which is why she has gone to rest after her journey here.”
When the gentlemen joined the ladies, there was cards for those who wanted to play and music came softly behind a screen of exotic blossoms that hid the musicians.
The Marquis played cards until midnight and then he rose from the table and declared that he was going to bed.
He would have left the room without saying goodnight, if Sarah had not intercepted him.
“You are turning in early, Stafford?”
It was a question and her eyes, looking up at him, were very revealing.
“I need to have my wits about me tomorrow,” he replied.
She put out her hand and he gallantly, and at the same time gracefully for such a large man, raised it to his lips.
“Will you come and say goodnight to me?” she asked in a whisper that only he could hear.
He shook his head.
“I really am tired,” he said, “and you know the reason why!”
She gave him a dazzling smile and her fingers tightened on his.
“I shall miss – you.”
“If you are sensible,” he replied, “after having a fall you will go to bed early. Does your arm hurt you?”
“A little!”
“Take care of yourself.”
His tone was sympathetic.
He left the drawing room and walked upstairs.
As he did so, he thought with satisfaction that Sarah was sensible enough not to be upset or to take umbrage because he had said that he would not marry her.
‘It must have been just a passing idea,’ he told himself confidently. ‘She could not really expect me to accept her as my wife!’
His valet was waiting for him and, when he was undressed and in bed, the man said,
“We’re all bettin’ on your Lordship bein’ the winner tomorrow.”
“I hope I shall not disappoint you,” the Marquis replied.
“There’s not much likelihood of that, my Lord! You always wins!”
It was a statement of fact.
Although the Marquis had heard it a thousand times before, it pleased him.
As he closed his eyes, he was thinking of the steeplechase.
He was confident that his team would win the expensive Gold Cup that Sarah had promised as a prize.
Chapter Four
Driving towards the Racecourse, Valessa felt wildly excited.
She had always longed to see a steeplechase and, although her father had ridden in several, she had not accompanied him.
She had heard that the steeplechases arranged by Lady Barton were more demanding and more professional than any others in the County.
After she had seen Ridgley Towers, she was prepared to believe it.
She had been told by the maid who called her that she should be downstairs by ten-thirty.
When she reached the hall, she found that it filled with people.
There were men in pink coats collecting their hats and gloves from the footmen and seven of them wore peacock blue, which she discovered had been provided by Sarah for her own team.
They looked very smart with velvet collars, white revers and white cuffs.
She noticed, however, that the Marquis seemed to be regarding them disdainfully.
He, as she had expected, looked outstanding wearing the pink coat of his own pack and his boots appeared more brightly polished than anybody else’s.
The teams mounted their horses and there was a long row of carriages for the spectators.
Valessa was told that she was to travel with Sarah.
When she climbed into the carriage, she found that Lord Cyril Fane was seated opposite them.
“Are you not riding?” she asked in surprise.
“Sarah does not consider that I am good enough,” he replied with a wry twist to his lips.
“You are a very good rider, Cyril!” Sarah said.
“It’s simply that I had to choose seven and I think, if you are honest, you will admit that each one of them is exceptional.”
“Nevertheless, I am humiliated!” Lord Cyril persisted.
But he was smiling as he spoke and Sarah replied,
“You will have your hour of glory tonight.”
They exchanged glances.
Valessa wondered a little nervously if it had anything to do with the charade that she was to take part in.
She knew, however, that she should not ask questions.
Actually she was content to gaze about her.
The Park with its old oak trees was very attractive as they drove through it.
Then, when she saw the Racecourse, she knew that it was everything that she had expected, and more.
It was laid out on a flat piece of land beyond which there was an incline up to a thick wood.
The jumps were, Lord Cyril told her, the highest in any steeplechase that he had ever known or heard of.
To Valessa they seemed enormous and she wondered if any horse would be strong enough to jump them.
It was then she saw that the Marquis had mounted and realised that her fears were groundless.
She had expected him to ride a superb horse.
His stallion, which was being obstreperous, was the most outstanding animal that she could possibly imagine.
It obviously had Arab blood in it and she did not only admire the horse but equally its rider.
Then there was a great deal of preparation, instructions from the referees and a long wait while the teams manoeuvred into line.
Valessa found herself watching the Marquis.
She knew that, just as he had stood out in the dining room, on the Racecourse there was no one to touch him.
She had promised Harry that she would will him to victory, but she found it impossible to look at any of the riders except for the Marquis.
He was riding with ease and what appeared to be a lack of effort.
This was different from many of the other men who seemed somehow insignificant beside him.
She had so often watched her father and had attended some Point-to-Points and Horse Fairs with him
But Valessa knew that the Marquis was as exceptional as if he was a God from another planet.
‘Or perhaps,’ she thought with a little smile to herself, ‘the Man in the Moon!’
He was holding his stallion on a tight rein and at the same time keeping ahead of the other riders to make sure that there was no obstruction when he came to a fence.
He took the first in style, although it seemed exceptionally high, and the stallion seemed to fly over the second and third jumps.
Then Harry was riding beside him and Valessa had the feeling there was no one else in the race.
They certainly were doing their utmost.
The pace and the way the horses took the jumps were, she thought, breathtaking.
The steeplechase was four times round the course and then there was a long run up to the Winning Post a quarter-of-a-mile away.
“It’s not usually used,” Sarah told her.
From the Starting Point they watched the riders going round three times and then Sarah ordered the coachman to take them to the Winning Post.
Because it was so exciting, Valessa found it impossible to listen to anything that Sarah and Lord Cyril were saying.
She just found herself watching the Marquis and, because he was such an outstanding rider, she knew that she wanted him to win.
The carriage drew up at the Winning Post.
Looking back they could see that the Marquis and Harry were taking the last fence still side by side.
The rest of the field was nearly two lengths behind them and Valessa realised that this was the crucial moment of the race.
She found it hard to breathe as the two riders came galloping towards them.
They seemed to be equally matched and the horse on which Sarah had mounted Harry was nearly as fine as the Marquis’s.
Nose to nose they drew nearer and nearer.
Then Valessa realised that by a superb piece of riding the Marquis passed the Winning Post by just a head in front of Harry.
They had been watched at the Winning Post by a number of the other guests who cheered wildly.
Valessa could only clasp her hands together and wish that her father were with her.
Then she heard Sarah say almost beneath her breath,
“Damn him! I wanted Harry to win!”
“He rode extremely well!” Lord Cyril pointed out.
“Not well enough!” Sarah retorted sharply.
“Never mind,” Lord Cyril said. “He will have his revenge!”
“That is true,” Sarah agreed and now she was smiling again.
The two riders, having pulled in their horses, came back towards them.
The rest of the field had by now passed the Winning Post and they also were turning back.
The Marquis and Harry reached the carriage first.
“That was the most exciting race!” Sarah enthused. “Bad luck, Harry! But you did your best.”
Lord Cyril was talking to the Marquis.
“Congratulations!” he said. “And if you want to sell that horse at any time, I will buy it!”
“I would not part with Saladin for all the money in the world!” the Marquis replied.
He bent forward to pat the stallion’s neck and there was an expression on his face that made Valessa feel that after all he was human.
Then laughing and talking with the Marquis receiving a great number of congratulations, they rode back to the house.
*
There were nearly a hundred people at luncheon because a number of neighbours had come to watch the race.
As it finished, Sarah presented the Marquis with a magnificent gold cup.
“I feel,” she said, “that this is ‘coals to Newcastle’ but, of course, I give it with my warmest congratulations and an admiration that I cannot put into words.”
She looked at the Marquis as she spoke.
Valessa had the feeling, however, that it was not admiration she had felt for him but the anger that Sarah had expressed when she was bandaging her arm.
Then, as the Marquis took the cup from her, she saw him smile at her.
‘I am sure I am wrong. They have made up their row and she is no longer angry with him,’ she thought.
As they left the dining room, Harry caught hold of her arm and said in a voice that only she could hear,
“Go and lie down. I want you to look your best this evening.”
Valessa drew in her breath.
She had heard that there was going to be an exhibition of jumping during the afternoon and she longed to see it.
But there was a firmness about the way Harry spoke that made what he said an order.
Everybody else went out through the front door to mount their horses or waited for their carriages, which left Valessa alone to walk up the stairs.
When, however, she was in bed, she knew that Harry had been sensible.
She still felt a little weak, but a large breakfast, the milk she drank before she went to the Racecourse and an excellent luncheon had made her feel more like her former self.
Yet she was wise enough to know that if she was to please Harry this evening she would need to have her wits about her.
She must certainly avoid the exhaustion she had felt before.
Her maid drew the blinds and closed the curtains.
Five minutes later Valessa was asleep.
*
When she next awoke, Valessa was to find that a delicious tea had been placed beside her bed.
There were hot scones, sandwiches and cream cakes.
She wanted to laugh because it was not only a case of ‘rags to riches’, but from ‘fasting to a feast’.
‘I am very very lucky,’ she told herself for the thousandth time.
She wanted to move, but she felt it more sensible to rest and she even
dozed a little before the maids brought in her bath.
Again there was a beautiful evening gown for her to wear.
This time it was very pale green and decorated with white camellias and there were two real camellias to wear in her hair and, when she went downstairs, Harry looked at her with approval.
For the first time she actually spoke to the Marquis.
He was standing beside Sarah, who put out her hand to check Valessa as she walked past them.
“Come and tell the Marquis what you thought of the steeplechase, Valessa,” she suggested.
“I have never watched anything that was so exciting!” Valessa exclaimed.
“I was just telling our hostess how much I enjoyed myself!” the Marquis said.
“Your horse is magnificent!” Valessa went on. “And you were – ”
She stopped, thinking perhaps that she sounded rather over-effusive.
“And I was – what?” the Marquis enquired.
“There are no words – appropriate to express such – superb riding,” Valessa answered.
“Thank you!” the Marquis smiled.
“My father used to say,” Valessa went on, “that no man can be a good rider unless he is part of his horse – and his horse is a part of him!”
She made a little gesture with her hands as she added,
“But that does not really explain it.”
“I know exactly what you are trying to say,” the Marquis replied. “I have never heard it expressed exactly in that way.”
Valessa wanted to go on talking to him.
But Harry came up to her with an elderly man she had not talked to before.
Dinner was announced and again it was as excellent in every particular as it had been the night before.
After the enormous number of guests at luncheon, Valessa was not surprised to find that this was now just the house party.
It seemed to her that the men were noisier and laughing more frequently than they had the previous evening and she wondered if it had anything to do with the wine.
She noticed that the servants refilled every glass as soon as anyone took even a sip from it.
She was very careful to drink only a very little champagne as she knew that in her weak state alcohol of any sort would go straight to her head.
Revenge Is Sweet Page 6