Lady Sydel Blackford!
“And she left a note for me?”
“No, my Lord. She expressly said that she would not leave a note because she had a surprise for your Lordship this evening and didn’t wish to spoil it.”
“It seems to me extraordinary that her visit was not reported to you, Hunt.”
“It was sheer incompetence, my Lord, and I’ve already spoken to Hayes.”
“The under-butler?”
“Yes, my Lord. Apparently ’twas Hayes who let her Ladyship in.”
“And who decanted the wine that was brought to my room this evening?”
The Major Domo looked surprised, but he answered, “I’m afraid I’ve no idea, my Lord, but I’ll find out.”
“Do that,” the Earl said sharply.
Again there was a wait. The Earl had undressed and had his bath, revelling in the cold water and getting Dawson to pour over him the last can before he stepped out to wrap himself in a towel.
He was still drying himself when the Major Domo returned.
“I apologise, my Lord, for taking so long,” he said, “but it was with some difficulty that I discovered the bottle of wine in question was decanted by Hayes, and also brought upstairs by him. He then handed the salver to Robert, who’s on duty on this floor and who brought it to your Lordship’s room and handed it in.”
“What do you know about Hayes?” the Earl asked.
“He came with excellent references, my Lord, after your Lordship thought with so much entertaining in the Season it was too much for Dean.”
“What references did you take up on him?”
“Two, my Lord. One from the Duke of Newcastle which was excellent and the second from Lady Sydel Blackford.”
The expression on the Earl’s face was that of a stalker who gets the stag he has been following within range of his rifle.
”Lady Sydel Blackford!” he exclaimed. “And it was she who spoke to Hayes this afternoon! Send the man up to me in five minutes!”
It was not difficult for the Earl to extort from Hayes all the information he required.
He then sent for the Major Domo and told him to dismiss the under-butler immediately without a reference.
Looking as magnificent in his evening clothes as Demelza had thought him to be last night, the Earl drove off towards Lord Dysart’s house with a feeling of triumph.
He had found the culprit and he would take great care in future that no one recommended by Sydel Blackford should cross the threshold of any house that he possessed.
But one thing remained unsolved.
Who had written the warning note? Who had put it on his dressing table? And who used the tantalising perfume to which he still could not put a name?
He found himself puzzling over the answer to these three questions the whole evening.
Somehow in consequence he found the enigmatic expression in Charis Plymworth’s slanting eyes less mysterious and intriguing than he had expected.
Chapter Four
Returning from the races on Wednesday Demelza felt it was one of the most exciting days she had ever spent.
She had not only seen the most superb horses, but she had also been thrilled in a manner that she had never known before by the knowledge that she had saved the Earl.
She could see him in the small enclosure outside the Royal Box and occasionally caught a glimpse of him in the window beside the King.
She watched him in the saddling enclosure after she had persuaded Nattie much against her will to cross the course with her.
“What’ll Master Gerard say?” Nattie questioned.
“If he notices us, which is very unlikely, he will understand that I cannot bear not to see the horses at close quarters.”
She particularly wanted to see a horse called Cardenio race against Mr. Green’s Trance.
She also knew the breeding of both the horses was favoured against the colt entered by the Duke of York for his own fifty pound plate.
It was run over two-and-a-half miles and the colt His Royal Highness had which won was a three-year-old bay by Election out of a Sorcerer mare.
Boyce, an apprentice whom Abbot had picked out as likely to be a well-known jockey in the future, rode extremely well.
When that excitement was over, there was the Albany Stakes to watch where again the Duke of York was victorious with his Derby winner, Moses.
Moses had been bred by him and was a bay. But, although it was a superb animal and Demelza had been looking forward to seeing him, she decided he did not really measure up to Crusader.
She was sure that the Earl was winning his bets and, when she saw him talking to Gerard, she hoped that her brother was taking advantage of his superior knowledge of the turf before he expended their precious money with the bookies.
Nattie took her to the far end of the saddling enclosure, as far away as possible from the Social viewers who were crowded at the other end nearest to the stands.
The gentlemen who attended the King looked exceedingly smart and wore their high-crowned hats at a rakish angle that was fashionable.
But Demelza felt that not one of them could equal not only the elegance of the Earl but his air of consequence which seemed an inescapable part of him.
Again Nattie insisted that they should leave immediately after the third race and, although Demelza longed to plead for them to stay a little longer she knew in fact that it was prudent not to take any risks.
She had not spoken to Gerard since the Earl and his party had arrived at The Manor and she knew that her brother was deliberately pretending to himself that she was not in the house.
She could not help wondering why he was making such a fuss, for the Earl’s guests behaved in the most decorous manner.
There was no hard drinking that Demelza had been told was traditional among the bucks of St. James’s.
What was more, there were no riotous parties, which she had heard invariably took place in most other houses in Race Week.
Last night the Earl had been out to dinner, but tonight he was dining at home and Demelza wondered if his guests would include any beautiful ladies.
Of one thing she was quite certain, the lady who had ordered the under-butler to drug his wine would not be present.
Nattie had told her that Hayes had left the house yesterday evening under a cloud.
‘I saved him!’ Demelza whispered triumphantly to herself.
She wondered if the Earl was curious as to who had written the note. He would never know and she found the knowledge somewhat dispiriting.
They arrived back at The Manor and Demelza entered as usual by the garden door so that she should not be seen by any of the Earl’s servants who were on duty.
As she went up the secret stairway, she could not resist looking into the rooms to see if the flowers she had arranged first thing in the morning before anyone was awake were still looking lovely.
She had cut them from her own garden which, enclosed by red brick Elizabethan walls, was out of sight of any of the windows of the house.
It was here that her mother had planted a herb garden and Demelza always took immense trouble in cultivating the same herbs, besides the flowers she loved best.
These included the pink roses she always put in her father’s room.
Climbing over a little arbour at the end of the garden was a riot of honeysuckle intermingled with sweetly scented white roses, which had been her mother’s favourite.
Because she thought the Earl might appreciate them, her bowls of roses in the drawing room were larger than usual and there was hardly a side table that did not hold them.
She had also changed the roses in his bedroom and thought that they made a perfect splash of colour against the dark panelling.
Then she told herself that as the Earl undoubtedly had so many priceless treasures in his possession, he could hardly be expected to concern himself with flowers.
Nevertheless she took a great deal of trouble over the arrangement on the
desk in the library, where she had realised he wrote his letters and sometimes sat alone first thing in the morning.
She was sure it would be wrong and impolite to spy on him and she had deliberately restricted herself to looking at him in the dining room and naturally on the Racecourse.
There she could not feel she was intruding and it was hard to take her eyes from him to the horses.
She kept asking herself why Gerard had said the Earl was so wicked where women were concerned. Perhaps it was because he was so handsome that he excited them to behave as the lady did who had tried to drug him.
She longed to know if he had loved her very much and found herself wondering what happened when a man like the Earl made love to anyone so beautiful.
They would of course kiss each other and Demelza could not help thinking that it would be a wonderful experience. Yet perhaps she herself would never be kissed.
Nattie was always murmuring that she ought to meet ‘the right people’ and Demelza was well aware that she really meant she should meet eligible bachelors from whom to choose a husband.
‘Maybe I shall never marry,’ she told herself, and thought again how terrible it must be for the Earl to have a wife who was insane.
It gave her almost a physical ache in her heart to think what he must have suffered and she prayed such a tragedy would never happen to Gerard.
Walking up the twisting staircase to the Priests’ Room, Demelza decided she would lie down on her bed and read one of the books that she had brought with her into hiding.
The room was so well constructed that it was in fact quite light, although the slit-like windows were close against the low ceiling hidden under the eaves of the house.
Demelza had cleaned them and the light in the room was diffused and gave the place an air of coolness after the heat of the sun at the races.
She picked up her book but found it hard to concentrate on anything but the races – and the Earl.
He was everything, she thought, that she had always envisaged a man should be – sporting, fond of horses and, she was quite certain, a magnificent rider.
He seemed to embody all her childhood dreams of St. George, Sir Galahad and the heroes in Sir Walter Scott’s novels which her father had bought for her each time one was published.
I never thought then,’ she whispered, ‘that I would see the hero of them in real life!’
*
Demelza must have fallen asleep because she awoke with a start to find that there was very little light in the room which made her think the sun had already set.
At that moment she heard Nattie coming clumsily up the stairs with her evening meal.
Demelza sat up on the bed.
“I have been asleep, Nattie,” she said. “What time is it?”
“Nearly ten o’clock,” Nattie answered, “and the servants are starting their supper.”
Demelza then very nearly cried out aloud her disappointment.
She had meant tonight to watch the Earl in the dining hall. Now it would be too late and by the time she had eaten her own food she was quite certain they would have moved into the drawing room.
“There was a party tonight,” Nattie said almost as if she knew what Demelza was thinking.
“Were there any ladies present?”
“No, only gentlemen. I expect the conversation was of nothing but the racing. No one can think of anything else in this place!
“And no one will talk about anything else tomorrow,” Demelza said with a smile, “when Crusader wins the Gold Cup.”
“If he wins!” Nattie countered sharply.
“He will!” Demelza replied. “How could the greatest horse fail to win the greatest race?”
The Ascot Gold Cup had been introduced in 1807.
The first time it was run it was over two miles, but was increased by half-a-mile the following year.
Demelza had been told that the Queen and the Princesses watched the race in a special pavilion erected at the arm of the course. Another box had been completed opposite the judges for the Prince of Wales.
“Do you remember, Nattie, the first ever race for the Gold Cup?” Demelza asked.
“Of course I remember it!” Nattie replied. “The Queen and the Princesses were wearing mantles in the Spanish style with what I would call gypsy hats.”
Demelza laughed.
She always teased Nattie about her interest in the Royal Family.
“And who won the race?” Demelza enquired. “That is far more important!”
There was a silence and then Nattie said,
“Believe it or not, Miss Demelza, it’s slipped my memory!”
Demelza laughed again.
“You were watching the Queen instead of Master Lackey!”
“Perhaps I found Her Majesty more interesting,” Nattie retorted almost defiantly.
“Well, you can forget the King tomorrow and concentrate on Crusader! I don’t suppose the prize money of one hundred guineas will be of significance to the Earl. It will be the honour and the glory which counts.”
She was thinking of how every year owners and jockeys strove to win what had originally been called ‘The Emperor’s Plate’ because besides the prize-money there was a gift of a plate presented by the Czar of Russia, Nicholas I.
Demelza’s father had always been more interested in the Gold Cup than any other race and he had inspired her with his own enthusiasm.
Nattie’s mind was, however, still on the Royal personages she had seen in the past and she was relating how King George III and his suite used to arrive on horseback, when, as if suddenly she realised the time, she rose to pick up Demelza’s tray saying,
“Now you go to bed, Miss Demelza. If you’re not tired you ought to be!”
“I was tired when I first came home,” Demelza admitted, “but now, as I told you, I have been asleep and feel very wakeful.”
“Then don’t strain your eyes trying to read until all hours of the night,” Nattie admonished her.
She had always been convinced that candlelight was too dim for reading and Demelza had heard her say the same thing over and over again in the years she had been growing up.
“Goodnight, dearest Nattie,” she said, “and don’t worry about me. Remember I want my very best gown to wear tomorrow.”
That could only be another white muslin, but it was new and unlike Demelza’s other gowns was trimmed with some pretty ribbons which had seemed to both her and Nattie a vast expenditure when they had bought them.
Alone Demelza undressed, put on her nightgown and over it a white dressing gown also made by Nattie. It fastened close at the neck and had a little flat collar trimmed with lace.
She brushed her hair as her mother had taught her to do until it shone, then still feeling wide awake she picked up her book and forced herself to concentrate on it.
Before she did so she lit two candles which Nattie would have thought, eyes or no eyes, an extravagance.
Then, because her book had begun to interest her, she forgot everything else until it was with surprise that she heard the stable clock strike the hour of midnight.
‘I certainly must go to sleep now,’ she told herself and shut her book to put it away tidily.
Everything in the Priests’ Room had to be put in its place because it was so small.
Then, as she stretched her arms above her head, feeling a little cramped after sitting for so long, Demelza had a sudden longing to breathe the fresh air.
One disadvantage of the Priests’ Room was that it was not well ventilated and for the first time since she had slept there Demelza felt stifled and restricted.
‘I will go downstairs and stand at the garden door,’ she thought. ‘I will breathe deeply, then come up again, not even Nattie could find fault with that!’
She slipped her feet into her soft satin heelless slippers and very quietly began to descend the stairs.
She passed the top floor, reached the first and was just proceeding further when she heard
voices in what was known as the Red Room.
Someone was speaking clearly, but in what seemed a deliberately lowered tone and there was something almost sinister about it as if the words were hissed.
Without actually realising that she would be prying on the occupant’s privacy Demelza stopped and, standing on tiptoe, looked through the small hole, which was incorporated in the Jacobean panelling with which the room was lined.
As she did so, she remembered that it was Sir Francis Wigdon who slept there, the man she disliked.
She could see him sitting on the side of the bed. He was still wearing his evening clothes, but had loosened the cravat round his neck.
“You have brought exactly what I told you?” Demelza heard him say in a lowered voice, which made his words seem deliberately secretive.
She moved slightly so that she could see to whom he was speaking and saw to her surprise there were two other men in the room.
One looked like a valet, wearing a striped waistcoat in what she thought was Sir Francis’s colours. The other was a much rougher type, coarse and wearing a red handkerchief round his neck.
He held his cap in his hands which he was twisting nervously as he said,
“I’ve got it safe, Guv’nor.”
“You are sure that it’s strong enough to be effective?” Sir Francis asked, speaking now to the man who appeared to be his valet.
“I can swear, sir, that when ’e’s taken it Crusader’ll not run tomorrow.”
“Good!” Sir Francis ejaculated.
Demelza held her breath as if she could not believe what she had heard.
“Then get on with you!” Sir Francis ordered, “but be absolutely certain before you enter the stables that everyone is asleep.”
“We’ll be cautious, sir,” the valet replied.
Demelza did not wait to hear any more. She knew now what the men intended to do.
There had always been talk of horses being doped before races and of owners having guards to watch their stables. But she was quite certain that it had never crossed the Earl’s mind, or Abbot’s, that the horses were not safe at The Manor.
The Ghost Who Fell in Love Page 7