To Heaven With Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “Everything is now in such a state,” sighed Mama, as she ran her fingers over the mantelpiece in the drawing room. “I can’t touch anything without getting dust all over myself. And look – it shows up so badly on my clothes!”

  She brushed marks off her black mourning dress.

  “It’s because we can’t afford parlour maids anymore,” Dorianna agreed.

  “Why on earth doesn’t Marjorie dust in here?” her mother asked. “Can’t she see it needs doing?”

  “Marjorie is too busy looking after you, Mama, she is very old now and she is supposed to be having a rest this afternoon, but I know she is mending your stockings while she puts her feet up.”

  Mama sighed again.

  “My little shepherdess has got a dirty face, look!” she exclaimed, picking up a little china figure.

  “Mama, I will fetch a bowl of soapy water and then we can wash the shepherdess and all the little china people. Wouldn’t you enjoy that?”

  Mama was not too pleased with the idea at first, but once she started, she began to remember the history of each piece of china and she was soon happily telling Dorianna how long each china dog or horse had been in the family, going back through the generations.

  “Oh, my goodness me!” she cried out suddenly, as Toby and Maria sprang up and began yapping loudly.

  “Be quiet, now! I almost dropped this little china lamb!”

  Outside at the front of the Hall, the loud crunch of carriage wheels over the gravel could be heard and a horse neighed loudly.

  “Visitors! Quickly, Dorianna, we must now clear this mess out of the way!”

  Dorianna hastily rearranged the figurines along the mantelpiece and picked up the bowl of dirty water, ready to carry it down to the kitchen.

  But she was too late.

  The drawing room door was already open and their visitor was heading towards them.

  He was a tall and lean man in a smart grey coat that looked brand new. His brown hair was neatly cut and his moustache was most elegant, the two ends of it waxed into perfect points.

  His eyes twinkled behind gold rimmed glasses as he looked at Mama.

  “Lady Dale, your most humble servant,” he began, and bowed deeply with a flourish of his arm.

  Mama looked flustered.

  It was a long time since she had received visitors at Ashburton Hall.

  She glanced at the closed curtains.

  “I am afraid we are not being very hospitable. You see, we are still in mourning – ”

  The visitor did not seem to notice her distress.

  “Neville Shawcroft,” he introduced himself. “My dear friend Richard spoke of you both to me so many times.”

  He reached down to pat Toby, who was sniffing his shoes, but he backed away and hid underneath one of the chairs.

  Dorianna wondered where her Papa could have met this man. He did not look like any of his usual friends, who spent their time outdoors with their horses and dogs.

  Mr. Shawcroft was bowing over her mother’s hand.

  Dorianna decided not to worry about the bowl any more and put it down behind one of the armchairs.

  “Would you care for some tea, Mr. Shawcroft?” she asked, politely.

  Mama now looked uncomfortable.

  “Shhh, my dear,” she mumbled under her breath. “Who will bring it? I cannot have the garden boy bringing up the tray when we have a guest.”

  “I will ask cook to lay the tray and then I will bring it up myself,” suggested Dorianna quickly.

  The gentleman in the grey coat turned towards her.

  “I am sorry. You must be Richard’s daughter?”

  “Yes, I am, and I was just saying that, as we were about to have our tea, we would be delighted if you would join us. But please, excuse me for just a moment while I make the arrangements. We are very short of staff today.”

  Mr. Shawcroft’s green eyes stared at her intently.

  He had a long pointed nose like a fox, thought Dorianna. And his forehead was wrinkled as if he spent a lot of time frowning.

  But suddenly he was smiling, one side of his mouth lifting up to reveal his slightly crooked teeth.

  “Charming, charming!” he said. “What a delightful young hostess your daughter is, Lady Dale. I do anticipate that our tea will be delicious.”

  “Of course,” responded Dorianna, hoping that Mrs. Bertram had been baking that day.

  Her Mama was looking sadly at Mr. Shawcroft.

  “I am glad you have come to visit us,” she sighed. “Please, won’t you have a seat? I am so longing to hear you speak about my dearest Richard.”

  He sidled over to one of the armchairs beside the fire and sat down, leaning forward towards Mama.

  “A man beyond compare, my Lady, you must miss him terribly.”

  Dorianna slipped out of the room.

  She was glad her Mama had someone else to talk to, even if it was this rather odd gentleman.

  Mrs. Bertram was sitting in a high-backed chair in the kitchen, dozing in the short interval between clearing up after luncheon and the preparations for dinner.

  “I do know what you’ll be after,” she called gruffly, opening one eye as she heard Dorianna enter.

  “Tea. That’ll be it. I heard the carriage at the door and I knew you’d be bothering me before long. There’s no cucumber to be had, I’ll tell you that, straight up!”

  Dorianna smiled.

  In spite of cook’s abrupt manner, she was very fond of her and had many happy memories of standing on a high stool at the table learning to make gingerbread men.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs B. We do have a visitor today, but he is just one gentleman and I would not suppose he will miss cucumber sandwiches with his tea, if we could give him something else nice.”

  Mrs. Bertram snorted.

  “Well, I suppose I’ve made a new batch of scones for you and your mother. I just took them out of the oven before I sat down.”

  Dorianna grinned and told her to stay in her chair.

  “I’ll do everything. It will be just like the old days, when you used to let me play in the kitchen.”

  Mrs. Bertram snorted again to show her disapproval though secretly she admired Dorianna’s practical skills and the plucky way she was coping with their reduced circumstances.

  “That it should come to this!” she sighed, “mind you don’t burn yourself, my Lady.”

  The heavy iron kettle was on a hob by the fire and Dorianna was careful to use a thick towel to lift it as she poured boiling water over the tea in the delicate teapot.

  She laid a clean white cloth on the wooden tray before carefully arranging cups and saucers of delicate flower-patterned bone china onto it. Then she placed the plates, silver knives and teaspoons, milk, sugar and a silver tea strainer in the space left, taking care to balance out the pretty china to make it easier to carry.

  “Anyone would think you’d been a kitchen maid all of your life! Shameful, that’s what it is,” exclaimed Mrs. Bertram.

  Still clucking under her breath, the cantankerous old cook pulled herself out of her armchair to find jam and cream to go with the scones.

  “There’s still cream from the farm, thank Heavens. But things cannot go on like this or there’ll be no servants left at all! And you can’t run a big house like this without staff.”

  “I am sure that all will be well. Mama and I will do everything we can to keep the house going.”

  “There’s more to keeping a big house together than fussing with tea-trays, my Lady. The sooner that you find yourself a nice young husband to look after you the better.”

  Dorianna ignored this remark and instead watched her laying out the freshly baked scones on a plate.

  All cooks, because of their important position in the household, held the honorary title of ‘Mrs’. But as Dorianna gazed at the familiar back of the cook, whose bark was so much worse than her bite, she found herself wondering whether there ever had been a Mr. Bertram.

  She pl
ucked up her courage and asked the question she had never dared to voice before –

  “Were you ever married, Mrs. B?”

  “Why ever would I want to do that? Saddle myself with a man, when I can perfectly well make my own way in the world? No thank you. Not that I haven’t had my offers!”

  She laid the scones on the tray and paused, her little blue eyes misty with memory.

  “There was one boy, who might have done me. A sailor, he was, in the Merchant Navy. But it wasn’t to be.”

  “Did you love him, Mrs. B?”

  “I did, and he loved me too. But the timing of it was all wrong. I went away to take up a post in service and he thought I didn’t care for him and when I came home again, he was married to another.”

  “Oh, Mrs. B, that’s terrible!”

  Dorianna felt her eyes filling with tears.

  “Fair broke my heart, it did, when I heard the news. He took her to sea with him on his ship and I had always dreamed of that, to travel the world and see all those far-off places. But what will be, will be. I’ve had a good life and I’m glad I never settled for anything less than the man I loved. For I’ve had plenty come chasing after me.”

  “I am sure you have. You must be one of the best cooks in the County.”

  Mrs. Bertram chuckled.

  “Yes, and plenty would have taken me for that alone. But that’s not love. Love is when the other one wants you for yourself, not just for your money or position in the world – or even how light your pastry is. You remember that now, and when you find someone who really cares for you, you stick by him to the end!”

  Dorianna felt a shiver pass through her body, as she imagined how it might feel to have someone who cared for her and her alone.

  “I will, Mrs. B!” she said, as she picked up the heavy tea tray, balancing it carefully as cook opened the door.

  It was a long way to the drawing room and her arms ached from carrying the tray, but Dorianna felt happy.

  For so long as Mama and she could be together and stay on at Ashburton Hall, she did not mind how many tea trays she was asked to carry.

  As she entered the drawing room, Dorianna blinked with shock.

  The curtains had all been pulled back and the room was full of glorious spring sunshine.

  “Oh!” she cried, catching her breath. “Papa!”

  For one wonderful moment she thought her father was there, sitting on the sofa and bending his head close to Mama’s pretty curls.

  But as she looked again she realised that it was Mr. Shawcroft.

  He was holding her Mama’s hand and stroking it.

  “Our grief must have its time,” he was saying, “but we must not forget that life goes on.”

  Mama dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “You are so wise,” she replied, her voice trembling a little.

  “Yes,” added Mr. Shawcroft, as she handed him his teacup. “We must take our happiness wherever we find it, as I heard my dear friend Richard say so many a time.”

  “Oh, but my dear sir, you bring his memory back to me so vividly,” sighed Mama. “Please do come again and visit us whenever you can!”

  As Dorianna sat by the fire to eat a scone, she could not help but be glad to see her Mama smiling.

  It was strange, though, that Toby and Maria did not seem to take to Mr. Shawcroft.

  Usually, they never left Mama’s side, but now they had deserted their Mistress and were snuggled up next to Dorianna’s feet.

  From that day on, Mr. Shawcroft became a regular visitor at the Hall. Each time he came, he brought flowers and chocolates and always seemed to be dressed in a brand new outfit.

  “It is so pleasant to have a man at Ashburton Hall again,” commented Mama one day, “and Mr. Shawcroft is so generous. I wish we could repay his kindness, for I feel our hospitality is sadly lacking.”

  “He is not obliged to visit us,” remarked Dorianna. “So he must be happy to do so. And he seems to be a man of means, as he is always well turned out.”

  Mama blushed.

  “You are too blunt Dorianna, it is unbecoming in a young lady. I really don’t think we should discuss such matters.”

  And so no more was said.

  But Mr. Shawcroft continued to visit almost every day and on one sunny afternoon in May, he walked through the big front doors of Ashburton Hall looking particularly dapper, his brown hair glistening with scented pomade and his moustache points waxed to perfection.

  “Well, well, my little Marie Antoinette!” he said, as Dorianna came downstairs to greet him. “I hope we shall have cake with our tea today!”

  “I’ll do my best. Is it a special day?”

  Mr. Shawcroft winked at her.

  “Oh, yes. Every day I spend in the company of you and your lovely Mama is a very special day!”

  And he sped off up to the drawing room, springing up the ornate curving staircase two steps at a time.

  Mrs. Bertram was sorting through a pile of wilting vegetables in the kitchen and she looked very unhappy to see Dorianna.

  “I suppose you expect me to make a cup of tea from a bag of old potatoes!” she moaned. “I may be the best cook in the County, but I’m not a magician, you know!”

  “Whatever do you mean? Have we run out of tea?”

  “Ask the grocer!” cried Mrs. Bertram, frowning and brushing earth from her hands. “Though I doubt even you will get any joy from him.”

  Dorianna felt a chill of fear run through her.

  For the last few weeks there had been no money to pay the grocer’s bills, but he had still been sending them deliveries of food and household items as usual.

  Surely he would not let them down now?

  “Did he not send the usual basket in this morning?”

  “He did not. And nor will he, till your Mama pays what is owing to him.” Mrs. Bertram said through clenched teeth, clearly unhappy at this new turn of events.

  “I don’t think that will be at all possible,” Dorianna replied, feeling her face grow hot with embarrassment.

  “Hmmph!” Mrs. Bertram shrugged her shoulders. “We’ll have to make do with putting hot water over the tea leaves from breakfast then!”

  “But we can’t! We have a visitor – Mr. Shawcroft is here!”

  “I doubt that one will know the difference,” griped cook, as she tipped the soggy wet leaves from the bottom of the breakfast slop basin into the china teapot.

  Dorianna’s heart was heavy as she climbed up to the drawing room.

  Not only was there no cake, as Mr. Shawcroft had hoped, but he and her Mama must drink stewed stale tea made from used leaves.

  She was surprised, as she entered the room, to see that he was not there.

  Mama was sitting by herself on the sofa with Toby and Maria curled up in her lap.

  “Mama,” began Dorianna, “I am so sorry, it’s an awful thing to say, but the tea – ”

  “Dorianna,” her Mama smiled at her, “come and sit by me!”

  “But Mama – the grocer – ” stammered Dorianna. “He won’t send any more provisions!”

  “It doesn’t matter, my darling one,” she responded, her eyes shining. “Please put down that heavy tray. I have some wonderful news to tell you.”

  Dorianna dutifully went to sit by Mama on the sofa and she took her hand.

  “Where is Mr. Shawcroft?” she asked.

  “He has kindly left us alone, as he thought I should break the news to you myself. Such a sensitive and kind man!”

  “What is it, Mama? What is going on?”

  “Mr. Shawcroft has just asked me to marry him, my darling.”

  “Marry him?” Dorianna started incredulously. “But Mama, he’s – he’s not – ” she stumbled over her words.

  She felt shocked to the core that her Mama would even think of marrying a man who, though he claimed to have been a friend of her Papa, was not the same kind of gentleman as him at all.

  “Mama, he is not really – he is not
one of us!” she managed to mutter eventually.

  Mama patted her hand.

  “I know, my darling, that he is not a man of our class. But he is a good man and a friend of your Papa, and he is very wealthy.”

  “Mama, do you really want to marry him?” asked Dorianna, looking deep into her mother’s gentle blue eyes.

  “There will never be anyone else like your Papa for me, but I think I can be very happy with Mr. Shawcroft. And, my darling, we will be able to afford for you to go to London and be presented for the Season.”

  Dorianna could not help but feel excitement at the thought. But she still felt anxious for her Mama.

  “You mustn’t do this just for me, Mama!”

  “No, my darling, I shan’t!” she exclaimed reaching to hug her daughter. “But just think – we shall never have to worry about that horrid old grocer ever again!”

  *

  If only that had been true, Dorianna thought, as she sat at the long dining table the evening before she was due to leave Ashburton Hall forever, watching her Step-papa hunched over the racing results.

  If only Mr. Shawcroft had lived up to his promises, she would not now be about to leave her beloved home, nor losing any hoped-for chance of finding happiness and love in her life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The servants’ door to the dining room swung open slowly and Marjorie inched her way around it, balancing a large tray on her frail old arms.

  Dorianna felt almost faint as she looked at the big silver tureen that rested on top of the tray.

  She was feeling hungry and at last they were going to have something to eat.

  Marjorie seemed to take forever to wend her way around the dining room, serving first Mama, then her Step-papa and finally making her way to Dorianna herself.

  The old maid was not used to serving at table and her hands shook as she ladled a small helping of thick soup into Dorianna’s bowl.

  “What kind of soup is it?” she whispered, so that no one else could hear.

  “I think it’s potato, Miss Dorianna. I did see cook putting lots of pepper in, so perhaps it won’t taste too bad.”

  Marjorie’s wrinkled face drooped in anxiety as she bent over Dorianna and replied to her question.