“That is what Lady Irene was saying this morning,” his companion had responded, “and wondering which artist you would find today to paint her.”
The Marquis stiffened but his friend continued,
“I gather however she wants to be hung in the drawing room rather than in the passage.”
The Marquis said nothing.
Later that night when he went, as was expected, to Lady Irene’s bedroom, she was waiting for him.
Their lovemaking was, he thought, even more passionate than it had ever been.
When he was tired and thinking it was time to return to his own room, she said very softly,
“You are so wonderful! How could you be anything else in this enchanting Palace, which we would never want to leave.”
The Marquis pretended that he had not heard what she said.
When he finally found his way back to his own room, he realised that he was in a dangerous position. The trap of matrimony which he had avoided for so long was opening just beneath his feet.
If it had been possible, he would have returned to London the next day taking his party with him.
But it was Sunday! And all his guests had been asked to stay until Monday and it would be impossible for him to find any excuse why they should not do so.
It occurred to him that perhaps Lady Irene would try to make some announcement before they left the Hall and those who were staying there, who were all close friends, would be convinced that she and their host were soon to be married.
They would undoubtedly whisper the story around Mayfair.
‘What can I do? What the devil can I do?’ the Marquis had asked himself as he dressed to go out for the day’s shoot.
All through the day the same question kept rushing through his mind – even when he was bringing off a good right and left.
His valet helped him to change his clothes.
Then just as he was about to go downstairs there was a knock at the door.
“It’s Dawkins, my Lord.”
Dawkins was the butler who had been at the Hall for many years.
The Marquis was brushing his hair in a mirror which hung over the chest of drawers he used as a dressing table and did not turn round.
“What is it, Dawkins?” he asked.
“There’s a young lady to see you, my Lord. She says it’s of the utmost importance and she comes from the Rose and Crown. ”
“The Rose and Crown?” the Marquis repeated in surprise.
Then he remembered the young woman who had cooked the shoot luncheon yesterday and his friends had thought her surprisingly beautiful to work at such a menial task.
He wondered what on earth she could want with him, unless perhaps there had been an accident to the proprietor or had the money he had left for the luncheon with an extremely generous tip been incorrect.
“Where is this young woman?”
“I put her in the study, my Lord,” Dawkins replied.
“The guests are all in the blue drawing room.”
“I will be down in a moment.”
He finished brushing his hair and his valet helped him into the coat.
He knew the rest of his party would still be having tea, a meal he usually skipped.
It was getting on for six o’clock and he wanted to attend to his letters before he came upstairs again for a bath.
He turned away from the chest of drawers, thinking that whatever the young woman from the Rose and Crown had to tell him, he could not give her much time.
*
Shana had been worrying all the way to the Hall about what exactly she should say to the Marquis.
Would he believe her?
She knew it was impossible for her not to warn him that his silver was in danger and equally she found her situation extremely embarrassing. Her father would be horrified at her becoming involved in anything that could cause a scandal.
She began to feel that if she was sensible she would forget what she had heard the two Italians plotting and that she could leave the Marquis to fight his own battles.
But she was aware of the outstanding treasures which were housed at the Hall.
The Marquis’s silver ranked as a national treasure.
She and her father had often talked of the treasures he had seen in the different parts of Europe he had visited. She remembered him saying that he had seen the famous enamelled salt cellar in a museum in Vienna that had been made for Francis I by the celebrated Florentine Benvenuto Cellini.
She could remember him adding that the only piece of silver comparable with it, also made by Cellini, was in Brooke Hall.
Shana tried to recall the other treasures he had spoken about belonging to the Hall and because she had not seen them, she had not been as interested as she might have been.
At the same time, however uncomfortable for her, it would be wicked to allow treasures of that value and beauty to be spirited away from England.
‘There is nothing I can do,’ she thought, ‘but tell the Marquis what I have overheard and then leave it to him to cope with the thieves.’
It sounded quite easy, but she had an uncomfortable feeling she might become more involved and she must take every possible precaution so that the Marquis would not guess or learn who she was.
She ordered the old chaise to be ready at five o’clock and told the groom who had brought it that she was only going a short distance and would drive herself.
“Very good, miss,” he said, “I’ll be looking out for you when you return.”
“Thank you, Ben, I will try not to be away for long.”
She set off, driving herself with an expertise she had learnt when she was quite small as her father had taught her to drive as well as ride. As he was an expert at both she could not have had a better teacher.
She enjoyed being on her own, driving on roads which were unfamiliar, but which she knew led to the Hall.
However, she could not help feeling a little nervous and wondered if she was making a mountain out of a molehill, in which case the Marquis could just ignore her.
However, it had seemed very strange that the thieves should be Italians and that they should actually mention the safe in the pantry where, as Shana knew, in most big houses the silver was kept along with any valuable jewellery.
She reached the gates of the drive and was aware that the tips of the iron posts had been newly painted with gold and the urns on either side cleaned.
She had seen the Hall from the outside when she had been hunting and had thought that the lodges and the gates looked somewhat dilapidated, but she could not say so now.
The drive itself was tidy and the first glimpse Shana had of the house was very impressive with the Marquis’s standard flying on the roof.
The last rays of the sun were glinting on the large number of windows and in front of the Hall there was a huge lake and the ancient bridge crossing one end of it had been there for centuries.
As Shana passed over it she had a glimpse of a number of swans moving on the still water and some ducks rose at her approach and flew away from the bridge towards the other end of the lake.
It was all in keeping with the beauty of the house and she thought it was no wonder the Marquis gave himself airs when this was his home.
She had made her plans carefully. Instead of going to the front door as she would have done normally she drove to the stables.
She passed under an arch in the cobbled yard and saw a long row of stables which she knew contained the superlative horses the Marquis was reputed to own.
A stable boy came out to meet her as she pulled her horse to a standstill.
“I am calling to see someone in the house,” she told him, “and I would be grateful if I could leave my horse with you. I do not expect to be very long.”
“That’ll be all right, miss.”
Shana climbed out of the chaise, hoping that she did not look too conspicuous.
She had chosen one of her plainest gowns which had a short jacket over it and she wore
a hat from which she had taken several feathers before she placed it on her golden hair.
She walked to the kitchen door and when it was opened by one of the scullery maids she said,
“I have come to see his Lordship on a very important matter. Will you be kind enough to tell him I am here.”
The girl hesitated and then she replied in a somewhat embarrassed manner,
“I’ll tell Mr. Dawkins what you wants.”
She turned round and Shana followed her, thinking perhaps she would have been wiser to go to the front door. At the same time, if she really was the cook from the Rose and Crown, she would certainly have come to the kitchen entrance.
They walked on through what seemed miles of flagstones until they passed the kitchen from where Shana could hear voices talking loudly and there was a savoury smell of cooking.
Next they passed through a baize-covered door to what she recognised was the front of the house.
“You stop ’ere, miss,” the scullery maid said, “and I’ll look for Mr. Dawkins.”
Shana did as she was told.
The maid hurried away as if frightened at being in a different part of the house from where she belonged.
It was not long before she returned with the butler.
Shana knew from the way he looked at her that he was surprised at her appearance. He had obviously expected someone looking very different.
“I am sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I have a very important message for the Marquis of Kilbrooke and as it is so urgent I would be grateful if I could see him for a few minutes alone.”
There was a little pause.
Shana knew the butler was wondering if what she was saying was genuine, because of the way she was dressed this might be some sort of joke.
“I assure you,” she repeated, “it is of the utmost urgency.”
She looked so pretty that any man would have found it hard not to believe her.
“If you’ll come this way I’ll inform his Lordship that you are here.”
It was only when they reached the study that he asked, “What name shall I tell his Lordship?”
“Tell him it is the cook from the Rose and Crown and he will understand,” she answered.
She knew by the expression on the butler’s face that he was astonished and at the same time curious. He was however too well trained to say anything and he merely left the study closing the door behind him.
Shana looked round her.
She had taken in a great deal of the house as she had come through it. Now she thought the study was exactly what she might have expected. Two of the walls were covered with books, although she was sure that there was a library somewhere else in this huge building.
A Regency desk with its gold feet was in the window and the gold inkpot standing on it was, she could see, a museum piece.
Over the mantelpiece there was a striking portrait of one of the Marquis’s ancestors and the other pictures in the room were by Stubbs and other famous artists who painted mostly horses.
Shana wanted to look at them closely, but she felt it would be a mistake to move about as when the Marquis arrived he might think she was prying.
She therefore stood in front of the mantelpiece, which was of exquisitely carved marble and undoubtedly placed there by the Adam Brothers.
There was a very beautiful clock on the mantelpiece and two gold candlesticks, which Shana guessed were seventeenth century as well as two pieces of Sevres china she would have loved to own.
It was quite obvious, she thought, that treasures like these were every burglar’s dream.
‘I wonder,’ she asked herself, ‘if the Marquis really appreciates them or just takes them for granted because he has grown up with them.’
The door opened and the Marquis entered.
In his ordinary clothes he looked even more handsome than he had in the tweeds he had worn for shooting.
As he walked towards her, Shana recognised he resented her taking up his time as he should be entertaining his guests.
Because she felt nervous her eyes were very large in her face.
“I understand,” the Marquis said as he reached her, “that you wish to see me.”
“I have something – to tell you, my Lord,” Shana began, “which you will think – very strange, but I believe it is something – you ought to know.”
She spoke a little hesitatingly and as if the Marquis realised she was agitated, he smiled before he said,
“Then I suggest we sit down and you can tell me as quickly as possible what has brought you here. I hope it is not bad news of Mr. Grimes or his wife.”
Something flashed through his mind. Grimes had said yesterday when he was congratulating the cook that his wife had just had an accident.
Perhaps she was dead and they could not afford to bury her!
Shana seated herself in an armchair and the Marquis sat down on the one beside her.
“Today,” she resumed, “there were two visitors to the Rose and Crown for luncheon. When I carried the food into the dining room for them, to my surprise they were Italians.”
“Italians!” the Marquis exclaimed. “What are they doing in this part of the world?”
“I wondered that myself, my Lord,” Shana replied. “And when I left the dining room and walked back down the passage which leads to the kitchen, I heard them speaking to each other through a false window.”
She paused for a moment and the Marquis asked,
“You could understand them?”
“Yes, I speak Italian. One of them was saying that he had arranged with a servant of yours he had bribed, to leave a window open as soon as it was dark and he had a plan of the Hall in his possession.”
The Marquis was staring at Shana.
“You knew he was talking about this house?”
“I did not know at first, but later he said ‘the house is as big as a Palace and the Marquis sleeps at the far end of it’.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“He had to be talking about the Hall and before that he said, ‘what is important is to get unseen to the safe where the silver is kept.’ He added their friend would be on guard inside and would have the key.”
“That means it will be one of the footmen,” the Marquis muttered as if he was speaking to himself.
“That is what I thought, my Lord,” Shana answered. “Then the other man said they would also bring their tools with them as he had heard the safe was an old one.”
“I can hardly believe what you are saying,” the Marquis said. “But you are quite right the safe is old. But I thought with a footman to guard it every night it would be impossible for anyone to take us unawares.”
“Someone else they were afraid of was the butler, but one of the Italians said he was an old man and getting deaf and they had told their confederate to make another footman who might be within hearing ‘as drunk as a Lord’.”
The Marquis smiled as if he could not help himself.
“Tell me what else you heard. Try to remember everything.”
“The taller Italian, called Mario, who was obviously far the better educated,” Shana told him, “and I should imagine better bred than the other, said that the silver was worth thousands and thousands of pounds. All they had to do was to take it to – he said a name but I am not quite certain of it – in Rome and then they would fill their pockets.”
“What was the name of the place they mentioned in Rome?” the Marquis enquired sharply.
“I have been trying to remember it, my Lord. It was a rather unusual name, but I think, although I would not swear to it, that it was Abramo or something very like that.”
“Abramo,” the Marquis repeated as if he intended to memorise it.
“I could not stand listening any longer,” Shana continued, “in case they became aware of me. So I went to the kitchen and then I knew I must tell you what was going to happen tonight.”
“Of course you had to tell me and I am sure you feel
as I do that the silver which has belonged to the family for generations is also a treasure of our country. It would be a tragedy for England to lose it.”
Shana smiled.
“I thought that myself when I was coming here, my Lord. In fact I wished I had not overheard what was being planned.”
“You were afraid at having to tell me?” the Marquis smiled.
“I thought perhaps you might not believe me – it is somewhat embarrassing.”
“Then I can only thank you from the bottom of my heart for being so brave and for saving treasures my family has valued for centuries.”
“Touch wood, my Lord. You have not saved them yet. I am sure they will not only be very clever but also dangerous.”
“What makes you think that?” the Marquis asked sharply.
“There was something about them which made me think they were not the ordinary burglars we are used to in England.”
She saw the Marquis was waiting for an explanation and she went on,
“I mean men who are just hungry and want to steal something they can sell to the first pawnbroker they find. I may be wrong, but I thought these men, especially one of them, was somehow a lot more professional than that.”
“I am sure you are right,” the Marquis said. “Although most burglars would go for a safe, I suspect these Italians would know what is inside mine.”
Shana rose to her feet.
“I can only wish you luck, my Lord, in preventing them from robbing you.”
“I shall do my best and I expect you would like to be told the end of the story.”
“Of course I hope it all has a happy ending, but I have not mentioned anything to Mr. Grimes and I think the fewer people who know about it the better.”
“You surprise me, I thought you would expect me to give you a party in the village to show my gratitude.”
“I think it important,” Shana said in a serious tone, “that no one in the village has the slightest idea that this has happened or that there has been any trouble. And I would be grateful, my Lord, if you would not tell Bob Grimes or anyone else that I am at all involved.”
She spoke so seriously that the Marquis, who had also risen to his feet, looked at her questioningly.
“Now you are being mysterious and I have only just realised I did not ask your name. If I come to the Rose and Crown to see you and you are not there, I can hardly ask for the very beautiful young woman who does the cooking!”
Journey to love Page 4