He found not Mary-Lee, but Blaise waiting for him.
“Good morning, Blaise. I hope Mary-Lee is ready. My horses are outside and we need to make a start.”
Blaise crossed the room to take his hand in hers.
She looked up at him with her brown eyes and said in her soft voice,
“I am sorry, Robin, but I am afraid that you will be disappointed.”
“Disappointed? Why? What has happened?”
“Mary-Lee has gone off with the Marquis. He is playing polo and he persuaded her to go and watch him.”
Robin’s lips tightened.
“I am so sorry,” Blaise, repeated. “I knew you would be disappointed. But that is like Mary-Lee. She is always fascinated by the latest attraction on offer. It gets us into a lot of trouble one way and another.”
Robin did not reply and after a moment she added hesitantly,
“I suppose that you could take me to see your pictures? They are treasures I long to see before we return to America.”
“Of course, I will and I have a distinct feeling that you, Blaise, will appreciate them far more than Mary-Lee would have been likely to do.”
Blaise gave a little chuckle.
“I am afraid Mary-Lee is not at all artistic, but my mother was, and she taught me about the great artists. But living in America their works are few and far between.”
Robin laughed.
“Come along, Blaise, you shall see the great artists at their very best.”
Blaise merely smiled at him and then hurried off to put on her hat.
They climbed into the carriage that had a place for the groom at the back. It had an open hood and yet it still prevented the groom from hearing anything that was said by the driver or his companion.
Just as Robin was an outstanding rider, he was also a most proficient driver.
He noticed when they were out of the City and into the countryside that Blaise was glancing at him admiringly.
“I know you ride as well as you drive,” Blaise said, as the horses quickened their pace.
“All I want are really first-class horses. In India I was fortunately able to ride those specially chosen for the Viceroy. Now I am back in England, I need to build up my stable.”
He spoke in a lofty fashion and then asked himself cynically whether he was defying the fates again.
“My father used to take me to the races even when I was very small,” Blaise was saying, “and I think for a man to win a difficult and close race must be the most exciting adventure.”
“I agree with you, Blaise, I suppose that you have ridden a great deal?”
“Yes, I have and I have had good and bad horses. I am just hoping that Mary-Lee will stay long enough for me to watch the races at Royal Ascot, where I am told the best horses in England can be viewed.”
“That is true,” Robin agreed. “And I would love to take you there.”
He thought as he spoke that unless by that time he was married to Mary-Lee it was unlikely he would be able to afford to go to Ascot – let alone run a horse in any of the races.
Unexpectedly Blaise remarked,
“It must be very very difficult for you with two big houses on your hands and not enough money to keep them up.”
Robin stared at her in astonishment.
“How do you know that?” he demanded.
Blaise blushed.
“I should never have said it – ”
“But you have said it, Blaise, and I would like to know what you mean by it.”
“I don’t think I ought to tell you.”
“I will be very hurt and even angry if you don’t,” Robin countered brusquely.
“Very well, I overheard a conversation between the American Ambassador and your Home Secretary.”
“How did you do so?”
“I was in the Embassy waiting for Mary-Lee, who was doing some business there. I was sitting in the corner of a room reading when two gentlemen came in who were not aware I was there. They started to talk about various people who were just names to me.”
Robin was listening intently and Blaise continued,
“Then one of them said he had heard that Sir Robin Dunstead had just opened his house in Park Lane and was splashing out in a big way with a ball for his sister.”
“Who said that?” Robin asked sharply.
“It was the Home Secretary. Then the Ambassador commented, ‘I think if you ask me it is a sprat to catch a mackerel. He has asked me which Americans he should ask to his ball – and needless to say the one he really wants is Mary-Lee’.”
“What else did you hear?”
“The Home Secretary then said, ‘well, he certainly needs money. I have learnt that his huge houses are in a disgraceful state since his father died and I have been told secretly, so, of course, it must not go any further, that the old man sold everything saleable before he passed on’.”
Robin was still listening with his heart in his mouth as Blaise continued,
“The Ambassador replied, ‘in that case we can just hope a few American dollars will repair the cracks.’ They both laughed and then a servant told them someone they wanted to see had arrived and they went to another room.”
“So you knew that in pretending to be a rich man I was really an imposter? I thought I had put on a rather good performance.”
“You have, Robin, and, of course, I shall tell no one what I overheard.”
“That is very kind of you. So Mary-Lee is still in ignorance?”
There was silence and then after they had gone a little further, he asked,
“I haven’t got a chance, have I?”
“Not if the Marquis asks her to marry him.”
She reached out her hand and put it on his knee.
“I am sorry, so sorry if I have hurt you, Robin, but perhaps it is better for you to know the truth.”
“I would much rather know the truth. But since my father did not leave us a penny and the pictures are entailed I have somehow to keep my sister and myself alive. The only way we could think of was that we should both marry Americans with money.”
“I think a lot of Englishmen have thought that,” she said softly. “At the same time I do often wonder if they are happy.”
“You mean they want real love?”
“Of course. Everyone wants real love, the love my father and mother had for each other. Even though her parents were furious that she did not marry an Englishman, she was very very happy.”
They drove on for a little while before Robin said,
“I suppose you are right. That is what we all want – to be married to someone we love and who loves us, and to have children to make a complete family.”
“That is happiness,” agreed Blaise, “and I will pray very hard that you will find it.”
“Thank you so much, Blaise,” Robin answered her gently.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The horses passed through the gates.
Alena gave a sideways glance at the two lodges that were both empty and dilapidated.
Then they were rolling along the drive with ancient oak trees on each side.
They had only gone a little way when Alena said,
“Where the trees come to an end, I want you to stop. I think the best view of the house is from there and I would love you to see it as the Adam brothers left it when it really was magnificent.”
Vincent smiled at her.
“I think you really love your home, my darling.”
“Of course I do. It is unbelievable misery to see it in such a condition and I want you to imagine it as it was when it was the most distinguished house in England.”
“Perhaps one day it will be like that again – ”
Vincent slowed down the horses and, as they passed the last oaks, he pulled them to a standstill.
Looking right ahead, he understood why Alena had so wanted him to see the house from this angle.
Rising a little higher than they were, it had the sun gleaming on a p
rofusion of windows.
The centre block, which was the oldest part, seemed to tower over the two wings the Adam brothers had added.
There were high trees looming behind the house and, although Alena was sure they were full of weeds, there were colourful flowerbeds in the front.
There was a hushed silence before he exclaimed,
“It’s magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.”
“I thought you would think so,” Alena said softly.
Then she gave a cry.
“What is it?” Vincent asked.
She was about to respond when, to her amazement, Robin and Blaise drew up beside them.
As he pulled his horses to a standstill, Robin called out,
“I did not expect to find you two here!”
Alena found her voice.
“Look, Robin! Look!” she called out frantically. “Outside the front door.”
Her brother turned.
Now he saw a large covered van standing in front of the flight of marble steps that led up to the front door.
Even as they stared at it, two men came out carrying a large picture between them.
“They are stealing the pictures!” Alena gasped.
As she spoke, Vincent put his hand down beside his seat.
He knew that his father, because he was nervous of robbers and highwaymen, always carried a pistol with him when he went driving.
For one moment, he thought it was not there.
Then he found it had slipped low down, because it had not been required for a long time.
He pulled it out.
Robin saw what he was doing and he too searched beside his seat, but the pocket where the pistol should have been was empty.
Then unexpectedly the groom, who had been sitting behind stood up and said,
“You’ll find the pistol, if that be what you’re a-lookin’ for, sir, under the seat. It were rubbin’ against me leg and I moved it.”
“Go to the horses’ heads,” Robin ordered him.
As the man sprang out to do so, Robin checked his pistol to see that it was loaded and Vincent did the same.
Then they were both on the ground.
The groom stood between the two carriages, holding onto the bridles of the horses nearest to him.
The two men who had come out of the house lifted the picture they were carrying into the van and climbed in after it.
“Come on!” Robin called to Vincent. “They have obviously not seen us.”
He and Vincent started running towards the house.
They kept to one side of the drive where there were large rhododendron bushes, thinking that, as the men were busy, it was unlikely that they would see them approach.
As they hurried off, the two girls looked at each other.
“We will follow them,” suggested Alena, “but we must not get in their way.”
Moving as much as possible in the shadow of the rhododendrons, they started to run after them.
Robin and Vincent reached the covered van, which was a large one, just as the two men began to climb out of it, having obviously stowed the picture securely inside.
One man was standing and the other sliding off the tailboard as Robin and Vincent challenged them.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Robin demanded harshly.
The men had obviously not expected anyone to be around.
They were, for a moment, stunned into immobility.
Then one of them piped up hurriedly,
“Us ’as been told to collect some pictures from this ’ouse, but there were no one to answer the door.”
“In other words you broke in – ”
Before Robin could say anything more the man on the ground suddenly pulled a gun from his belt.
He was, however, too slow.
Robin had raised his pistol rapidly and shot the man through the arm,
He gave a scream as he fell backwards.
The other man, who had been in the van, picked up a heavy stick and attempted to hit Vincent.
So Vincent shot him in the leg.
As he fell forward onto the ground, Vincent sprang into the vehicle.
He went to the picture that was propped up against side of the van and fastened in an upright position with a piece of rope.
It was a large one and as he reached it, he realised it was Raphael’s world famous painting of St. Catherine of Alexandria.
“You will have to give me a hand over here,” he shouted to Robin.
Robin had by now grabbed the pistol from the hand of the man he had shot, who was writhing on the ground.
To join Vincent he had to walk round him and this meant standing on the bottom step of the flight leading up to the front door.
He was looking down at the man he had shot whose arm was bleeding and he was clutching it and groaning as he did so.
Robin was not aware that a third man had come out of the house behind him carrying a smaller picture in one hand and a heavy long-handled hammer in the other.
He realised at once what was happening and raised the hammer in his right hand.
With Robin’s back to the man and unaware even of his existence, the heavy hammer would have come down on his head and almost certainly cracked his skull.
It was then from behind the rhododendron bushes that Blaise and Alena saw what was happening.
Alena gave a cry of horror.
Blaise bent down and, picking up a large stone, she threw it with all her strength at the man on the steps.
The stone caught him in his left eye.
He staggered and gave a scream of pain.
Robin turned round abruptly and quickly realising what was happening, he shot the man through his shoulder.
He fell onto the steps, dropping the picture as he did so and it fell over the side of the steps and onto the grass.
Alena ran forward to pick it up.
She saw that it was a portrait of St. Joseph by Roger van Werden, painted in the fourteenth century and according to her father, particularly valuable.
Robin quickly hurried to help Vincent with the picture of St. Catherine.
They lifted it out of the van and then propped it up against the side of the steps.
Robin walked round to the front of the van.
He had assumed that the three men were driving it themselves and then he saw that there was a driver doubled up on the floor in front of his seat.
He had his head down and his hands over his ears, obviously terrified of being shot.
Robin caught hold of him by the back of his collar and pulled him up so that he could see his face.
“Are you with these robbers?” he asked fiercely.
“No, sir! No! Them just hire’s the van and I drives ’em ’ere as they told I to do. I haven’t anythin’ to do with ’em, sir.”
“Then what you can do, my man, is to take them back where they started from. Tell them if they ever try to steal from my house again, I will take them directly to the Police and they will either be sent to prison or transported.”
“Be ’em dead?” he asked in a frightened voice.
“No, they are wounded and they may well ask you to take them to a doctor,” replied Robin. “I should have as little to do with them as possible.”
“I’ll make sure of that, sir. I didn’t know ’em to be robbers or I’d never ’ave brought ’em ’ere.”
“Well, you just take them away now and the quicker the better. My friend and I will put them in the back of your van.”
Robin put down his gun on the steps.
Then he and Vincent lifted the two men who were groaning from their wounds into the van.
The first man had already crawled into the van as if he was anxious to hide from them.
“I be a-dyin’,” the man moaned who had been shot in the shoulder.
“I very much doubt it, although it is exactly what you deserve. Tell whoever sent you here that the next man who comes trying to steal my pictures will die. T
here will be no doubt about it.”
He moved back as he spoke while Vincent firmly locked into place the iron bar that fastened the doors at the back of the van.
Stepping to one side, he shouted out to the driver to move off and he turned the van round in the courtyard.
Then he set off down the drive going a little slower as he passed the two carriages.
Alena gave a huge sigh of relief.
Then she turned to Vincent.
“Let’s go and see if the rest of the pictures are safe,” she suggested.
He smiled at her as they ran up the steps and into the hall.
With the sunshine streaming through the windows it did not seem to Alena to be quite as dilapidated as it had been when she had left.
But at the moment she was too concerned with the pictures to worry about anything else.
She started to hurry up the stairs.
The Adam brothers had built the Picture Gallery on the first floor of the West wing.
As she and Vincent reached the top of the stairs she looked back to see if Robin was following them.
To her surprise she saw that he had his arms round Blaise and was kissing her.
She did not say anything, but ran along the passage towards the West wing.
*
As the van drove away, Robin had stood watching it until it was almost out of sight.
Then he turned to see that there was only Blaise beside him.
She was not watching the van, but looking at him.
“Thank you, Blaise, thank you for saving my life. I had no idea there was a third man behind me.”
“I could see – he was going to kill you,” she replied in a strangled voice.
“He most surely would have done so if you had not saved me.”
As he spoke, he saw that tears were running down her cheeks.
Yet he thought he had never seen a woman look so lovely.
Instinctively his arms went round her and he asked,
“How could you be so brilliant as to hit him with a stone before he could hurt me?”
He realised that she could not answer him and he kissed her more in gratitude than on any other impulse.
Then, as his lips were touching hers, he felt a quiver of rapture running through her body.
It was, quite unexpectedly, exactly what he was feeling himself.
It was something he had never known before when he had kissed a woman – and he had kissed a great many.
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