There the booths would be bright with lights and doing a roaring business before the races started the following day.
She expected, however, that Abbot would stay in the stables, feeling sure that she would seize the first available opportunity of seeing the Earl’s horses.
Abbot had been told that she was in hiding and he was on no account to mention to anyone her name or that The Manor was her home.
Abbot could be trusted in the same way that Betsy and Jacobs could, and Demelza was certain that where he was concerned there would be no gossip such as might be expected to take place in other houses.
She reached the stables where all was very quiet. Then, as she moved over the cobbled yard, Abbot appeared carrying a lantern in his hand.
“I thought you’d not be long in comin’, Miss Demelza,” he said with the affectionate familiarity of an old servant.
“You knew I would want to see Crusader,” Demelza answered.
“We be right proud to ’ave such a fine piece of horseflesh ’ere,” Abbot said.
There was a note in his voice that told Demelza, who knew him so well, that he was extremely impressed with the Earl’s famous horses.
Abbot went ahead of her and led her inside the stable where the stalls all opened onto a long passage running the whole length of it.
He opened the barred gate of the first stall he came to and Demelza saw the horse she had longed to meet.
Jet-black with a star on his forehead and two white fetlocks he was a magnificent animal.
She knew he was directly descended from Godolphin Arabia, the Arab horse which had come to England in 1732 after many strange and unhappy adventures.
He had finally become the property of Lord Godolphin, son-in-law of Sarah, the famous Duchess of Marlborough.
Secretly the bedouin who was his constant companion allowed Godolphin Arabia to serve Roxana, a great mare, from whose foals had descended many of the celebrated thoroughbreds on the turf.
Demelza patted Crusader’s arched neck and, as he nuzzled his nose at her, she saw the muscles rippling under the polished shine of his dark coat.
“He is wonderful!” she said in an awe-struck voice.
“I’d an idea as you’d think so, Miss Demelza,” Abbot said, “and I admits I’ve never seen a finer stallion in all me born days.”
“He will win the Gold Cup – I am sure of it!” Demelza exclaimed.
It was hard, after the magnificence of Crusader, to appreciate the merits of the Earl’s other horses, but she knew that all of them were exceptional.
When finally they reached Firebird, she felt ashamed that she could see so many faults in him.
She put her arms round his neck.
“We may admire our visitors, Firebird,” she said in her soft voice, “but we love you. You belong to us and are part of the family.”
“That’s true,” Abbot said, “and you mark me words, Miss Demelza, Jem’ll bring Firebird first past the winning post on Saturday.”
“I am sure he will,” Demelza replied, “and perhaps the Earl will see Jem win and offer him a ride on one of his horses.”
“You can be sure that’s what Jem’s a-dreamin’, miss,” Abbot said with a grin.
“Is there a horse of any consequence in the race in which you have entered Firebird?” Demelza asked.
Abbot scratched his head.
“The Bard might be a danger, miss, but ’e’s a-gettin’ on in years and I don’t much fancy the jockey as is a-ridin’ ’im.’
Demelza hugged Firebird again.
“I know you will win!” she whispered, and felt as if he responded to her confidence in him.
She had to go back again to Crusader’s stall before she left the stable, but before that she looked at the Earl’s magnificently matched team of bays with which he had arrived at The Manor.
“One does not often see four horses so identical,” she said as she inspected them.
“’Is Lordship’s groom was a-tellin’ me that the chestnuts they started out from London with be so exceptional that ’is Lordship’s refused twice and three times their value!”
“Who would not rather have horses than money?” Demelza laughed.
At the same time she thought that Gerard could do with both and she could understand how frustrating it was for him to be with friends who had so much while he had but one horse and had to count every penny.
She talked to Abbot for a long time about the next day’s racing, then hurried back to the house in case any of his Lordship’s grooms should return early from the Heath.
It was not as late as she had anticipated and, when she started to climb the secret staircase she passed a connecting one that led to the dining room and heard laughter.
She knew then that she could not resist looking at the Earl again and she let herself out onto the Minstrels’ Gallery overlooking one end of the great Dining Hall which had once been the refectory used by the monks.
The Minstrels’ Gallery had been added after the Restoration when, with the return of the ‘Merrie Monarch’, Charles II, everyone had wished to dance and enjoy themselves.
It had been elaborately carved by the great craftsmen of the day and it would have been impossible for someone seated at the dining table below to know that anyone was hidden beyond it.
Looking through the screen, Demelza saw that, because he was host at the party, the Earl was at the top of the table in the chair that had always been occupied by her father.
High-backed and upholstered in velvet it seemed a fitting background for the man who was now sitting there. Never had she imagined that any gentleman could look so magnificent or so elegant in evening clothes.
She had always admired her father when he had been dressed for some formal occasion, but the Earl would, she thought, be outstanding even at a Royal party at Windsor Castle.
As she looked down at him, he was laughing and for the moment it made him look younger and eased away the cynical lines that were otherwise so prominent on his face.
The servants had left the room and the gentlemen were talking over their port. Some of them were cracking walnuts which filled two of the Crown Derby dishes that had been among her mother’s most treasured possessions.
They were seldom used and Demelza thought she must remember to tell Nattie to remind the visiting servants to be especially careful of them.
The candelabra, which had belonged to her grandfather, had been brought from the safe and lit the table, but the huge hothouse peaches certainly did not come from what remained of the broken greenhouses. Nor did the large bunches of muscat grapes.
Demelza was less concerned with what the gentlemen were eating than with the man who sat at the head of the table.
She found it difficult to take her eyes from him, and at first the conversation was just a burr of words to which she did not listen until with a little start she heard the Earl ask,
“Have you any ghosts in this house, Gerard?”
“Dozens of them!” her brother replied, “but personally I have never seen one.”
“What are they?” the Earl persisted.
“There is a monk who is supposed to have hanged himself for the expiation of his sins,” Gerard replied. “A child who was burnt at the stake with its parents by Queen Mary’s Inquisition, and of course the White Lady.”
“The White Lady?” the Earl asked sharply.
“She is undoubtedly, according to legend and local superstitions, our most famous ghost,” Gerard smiled. “Tell me about her.”
Gerard told the story of the White Lady searching for her lost lover and Demelza, seeing the Earl listening attentively, was sure he had in fact seen her in the Long Gallery which would account for his interest.
She wondered if he would admit to having done so, but when Gerard finished the tale he merely asked,
“To those who see the White Lady does it mean good fortune – or bad?”
“It means,” Lord Ramsgill interrupted before Gerard could
reply, “that they who see her will seek endlessly for love which will always elude them.”
He laughed.
“That is something which will never happen to you, Valient.”
“It would do you good to be the hunter instead of the hunted for a change!” the Honourable Ralph Mear interposed.
“A hope that is as unlikely to be fulfilled as that Crusader will not win the Gold Cup,” Lord Ramsgill remarked.
“I suppose you have all backed him?” the Earl asked.
“Of course we have!” Lord Chirn said, “despite the fact that we got damned rotten odds. The trouble is, Valient, the bookmakers are afraid of your unparalleled success and are not really anxious to take any bets on him.”
Looking around the table Demelza noticed that Sir Francis Wigdon said very little.
He had the habit of sticking forward his lower lip which gave him a sinister, rather sardonic expression.
‘I don’t like him!’ she thought again. ‘There is something about him that is unpleasant.’
She thought him a contrast to the Earl’s other guests who seemed to be decent sporting types such as her father’s friends had been.
She was sure that Gerard would come to no harm with any of them except perhaps Sir Francis.
She did not know why she had taken such a dislike to him, but perhaps because she spent so much time alone she was very perceptive about people.
It was as if she could feel the aura that emanated from them and at times be almost aware of what they were thinking.
‘I am sure,’ she told herself now, ‘that while Sir Francis pretends to be his friend, he is jealous of the Earl. There is no warmth about him.’
She told herself that it was time she went upstairs to bed and she knew that, as soon as the servants sat down to supper, Nattie would bring her something to eat.
With one last look at the Earl, thinking again how authoritative and imposing he was, she slipped through the secret panel and found her way with the surety of one moving in a familiar place to the top of the house.
Nattie was there before her.
“Where have you been, Miss Demelza?” she asked in the severe tone that she always assumed when she was frightened.
“I have been to see the horses, Nattie, and Crusader is wonderful. The most magnificent horse you have ever seen!”
“You’ve no right to be walking about when you know what Master Gerard said to you.”
“I was quite safe,” Demelza answered. “There was only Abbot in the stables. Everyone else had gone to the Heath and I knew that the gentlemen were at dinner.”
“When they are in the house, you are to stay here in this room,” Nattie stipulated firmly.
“Stop worrying about me, dear Nattie,” Demelza smiled, “and tell me what you have brought me to eat, I am exceedingly hungry!”
“I thought you would be and I managed to bring you a little of three of the many dishes they had for dinner.”
Demelza lifted the silver lids that covered the dishes and gave a cry of delight.
“They look delicious! Do find out how to make them, Nattie, and we can try them out next time Gerard comes to stay.”
“That’s exactly what I thought,” Nattie replied, “and now I’d better be going back.”
“No, wait and talk to me for a moment,” Demelza begged. “I am longing to hear everything that has happened. It will save you coming back a second time for the tray.”
She knew by the way that Nattie set herself down on the rush-bottomed chair that she was only too willing to be encouraged to talk.
“I have to admit, Miss Demelza,” she began, “that his Lordship’s servants are most helpful and exceedingly polite.”
‘It was what might have been expected,’ Demelza thought.
As she ate, she listened attentively as Nattie told her about Mr. Hunt, the Major Domo, the footmen, who had told her they would help her with the beds and the chef who had been with the Earl for many years and was undoubtedly a culinary genius.
“There’s only one man I don’t care for,” Nattie chattered on, “and that’s Mr. Hayes, the under-butler.”
“The under-butler?” Demelza asked. “You mean to say there are two of them?”
“Apparently the old butler, Mr. Dean, who was with his Lordship’s father, suffers from the heat and the Major Domo brought his assistant with him. But there’s something about him I don’t care for, ’though I can’t put my finger on it. He’s polite enough.”
Demelza thought with a smile that Nattie had the same instinct about the under-butler as she had about Sir Francis Wigdon.
Doubtless if anyone heard them saying such things, they would think they were being spooky because they lived in such an old house.
‘We will turn into a pair of witches, if we are not careful,’ Demelza told herself, but aloud she said,
“I expect he is efficient at his job and knows what wines suit his Lordship.”
“Certainly enough bottles have arrived!” Nattie exclaimed. “The cellar’s almost full and that’s the truth!”
“Papa always said that racing was thirsty work,” Demelza laughed, “and you and I will be thirsty tomorrow, if the dust is as bad as it usually is on the heath.”
“I was just thinking, Miss Demelza, it’d be a mistake for you to go to the races – ” Nattie began.
“Not go to the races?” Demelza interrupted. “You must be crazy, Nattie, of course we are going! We have always been and certainly nothing would stop me this year, when I want to see Crusader run – and of course Firebird.”
“It’s taking a risk,” Nattie murmured.
“How could it be?” Demelza asked. “We shall be on the course and everyone who is staying in the house will be in the Royal Box with His Majesty.”
That was so undeniably true that Nattie had nothing more to say.
“As soon as the gentlemen have left the house and the footmen have finished helping you make the beds,” Demelza said, “we will slip down to the stables.”
Her voice was excited as she went on,
“Abbot has promised to take us in the gig and he will park it well beyond the stands. In the crowds I promise you it would be a miracle if anyone paid any particular attention to us.”
“I suppose you are right,” Nattie admitted a little grudgingly. “I’ll bring up a fresh gown in the morning and you go to bed now straight away.”
“I have every intention of doing so,” Demelza answered. “I want to dream about Crusader.”
”Horses, horses! That’s all you think of!” Nattie said. “It’s time at your age you had something else to dream about.”
Demelza did not answer.
She had heard these words so often before from Nattie and knew that her old nurse deeply regretted the fact that they were unable to entertain what she thought of as ‘the right sort of people’.
It was quite impossible living alone at The Manor without a chaperone for her to meet girls of her own age or go to the balls that occasionally took place in the countryside.
Most of the great houses, it was true, were full only during Race Week or when there was some major entertainment at Windsor Castle.
Even so, if Lady Langston had been alive, there would have been parties in which Demelza could have taken part.
But their mother had died when she was sixteen and still in the schoolroom and when Gerard had gone off to London it was impossible for Demelza alone to make any overtures to the people who lived around them.
In fact she did not even know who they were, since many of the houses had changed hands since her father was alive.
Actually she had no desire to do anything other than live quietly at The Manor and ride Gerard’s horses.
When he occasionally came home when unable to afford the expense of London, she was blissfully happy to ride with him over the Heath and in the forest and listen eagerly while he told her stories of the gaiety of his life in the Beau Monde.
Sometimes she w
ondered to herself what would happen if Gerard was married.
Then she knew that was something he would certainly be unable to afford at the moment, in fact at any time, unless he married a rich wife.
She saw the expression on Nattie’s face now and, as she kissed her goodnight, she said,
“Stop worrying, Nattie, I am happy. You know how happy I am.”
“It’s an unnatural way of living – that’s all I can say, Miss Demelza!” Nattie said sharply.
Without waiting for an answer, she went down the stairs to let herself out at the first secret door she came to because, as she had often said, “Them secret passages give me the creeps!”
Alone, Demelza laughed fondly to herself because she loved Nattie who gave her heart and soul to her ‘babies” interests.
Quickly her thoughts returned first to Crusader, then to his owner.
As she knelt to say her prayers, she prayed that the great horse would win, but somehow, as she conjured him up in her mind, the Earl stood beside him and the two seemed inseparable.
*
The next morning The Manor was full of bustle and excitement.
It was always the same the first day of Race Week. Everyone was eager to be off and a dozen things seemed to have been overlooked at the last moment.
The Earl with his guests was lunching in the Jockey Club, while owing to the sunny weather the Heath would be covered with people of all classes having picnics.
The coaches which had been crowding in since first thing in the morning had huge hampers of venison, fish and sweetmeats piled upon their roofs.
The tents and booths were stocked with food and, because of the heat, casks of spruce beer had begun to flow since very early in the morning.
By the time Demelza and Nattie reached the course the noise was deafening not only from the punters, the bookmakers and the ‘tictac men’ but also from the entertainers.
Outside a showbooth where a wide variety of freaks were to be seen, the public was being invited to enter for the expenditure of one penny.
They passed the ‘Bohemian’ who balanced coach wheels on his chin and saw a number of women dancing on stilts eight feet high.
‘They not only make money by exercising their skill but also,’ Demelza thought, ‘have the advantage of seeing the races over the heads of everyone else.
The Ghost Who Fell in Love Page 5