A Castle of Dreams

by Barbara Cartland

  Viola shook her head vigorously.

  All she wanted was to be as far away as possible from the Castle, before the Duke appeared again and she had to see the cold condemnation on his face.

  “It’s only water. I won’t melt. Goodness, remember how wet we got when the ship sank? I’ll run all the way! If there’s any lightning, I promise I will take shelter, don’t worry. There is no way I can come to harm between here and the village.”

  David watched as she vanished down the driveway leading to the cliff path and then he climbed the steep stone steps up to the front door of the Castle.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Robert, the Duke of Glentorran, was an angry man – angry with Viola, but really furious with himself.

  He had kissed the girl against her will!

  That was the mark of a cad, a rotter, a man whom decent Society should shun.

  Whistling up his dogs he stormed out of the Castle, headed across the gardens and out onto the moors.

  Oblivious of the rain that was now falling heavily, he strode on through the heather, slashing with his stick at the odd thistle and bramble that dared to snag his kilt as he passed.

  Yes, he had kissed her, but she deserved it!

  He loved her so much and she had played with his affections, made a fool of him and hurt him so badly that he did not think he could ever recover.

  He suddenly recalled the old gypsy who had visited the Castle one Christmas, telling fortunes to him, Meg and their guests.

  She had told him he would have his heart broken by a man from across the water.

  He had laughed at the time, paying the old woman her fee, but privately thinking to himself what rubbish this fortune-telling seemed.

  But now –

  The Duke pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and stared through the veils of rain towards the tumultuous sea.

  Well, she had been right!

  When that American, Lewis Wilder, had told him last night about the fortune that Viola and her brother now owned, he had felt his heart break into a thousand pieces.

  He had been about to propose marriage to her, but how could he now ask for her hand in marriage?

  The world would believe that he was an adventurer, a man who was prepared to live off his wife’s money.

  And Society would never believe that he had fallen in love with a beautiful young girl who he had thought was penniless – like him.

  No, they would all snigger and point behind their hands and he would find it difficult to hold his head up in company again.

  He was far too proud to even contemplate such a situation for one single moment.

  If only he did not love Viola so much!

  Everything about her was perfection to him.

  Her smile, her sense of humour, the way she was so interested in everything she saw round her, the long golden hair and such brilliant blue eyes, her ability to understand and sympathise with people from all walks of life.

  Yes, she was his perfect woman and just when he thought she was within his reach, he realised that it had all been just a game to her.

  Surely she could have told him of her change in circumstances as soon as they had met.

  Would that not have been the natural and kind thing to do?

  Sighing, he whistled to the dogs that were happily sniffing for rabbits in the wet heather and turned back to the Castle.

  He stared down at that wonderful building – even half hidden by mist, he could see all the magnificent turrets and spires.

  This was his heritage and he wondered bitterly how long he could keep the wolf from the door.

  The Duke’s expression was grim.

  ‘I should have gone ahead and asked Viola to marry me,’ he mused. ‘That is just what most men in my position would have done and be damned to any gossip. I used to say I would do anything to save Glentorran – but that is a step too far.’

  A sudden crack of thunder made him recognise that the big storm that had been brewing all morning had finally reached Glentorran.

  The skies had darkened to a purple hue and the sea was grey and angry-looking, covered with white crests as the wind tossed the waves around.

  With a face as black as the storm, the Duke turned and strode back down the slope towards the Castle.

  He was very sure that Viola and her brother would soon leave Glentorran.

  He knew that his sister would be upset, but for now he could not worry about that.

  “The sooner they leave here the better,” he snapped at his astonished dogs.

  “Wretched girl!”

  He stamped into the Great Hall, dripping water all over the black and white tiles.

  Mrs. Livesey hurried to meet him.

  “Och, Your Grace. It’s soaked through you are!”

  The Duke shrugged away her concern.

  “Just a little water, Mrs. Livesey. Don’t fuss! Can you inform Lady Viola that I would like to speak to her in the study immediately, please.”

  Mrs. Livesey frowned.

  “Lady Viola is away to the village, Your Grace.”

  He stared at her.

  “What? When did she go?”

  “I – I am not sure, Your Grace.”

  “Did she ride or take the pony cart?”

  Mrs. Livesey shook her head.

  “No, I believe she walked, Your Grace.”

  The Duke now swung round and headed back to the great studded entrance door.

  He flung it open and stared out at the driving rain.

  Flashes of lightning forked through the sky whilst thunder rolled and crashed overhead.

  A feeling of dread ran through his body.

  Suddenly it did not seem to matter that Viola had not told him the truth about her fortune.

  All that mattered was that the woman he loved so passionately was out there alone in that tempest.

  Without another word he ordered his dogs to stay, then plunged out of the door and headed at full speed down the drive, across the grounds towards the cliff path leading to Glentorran village.

  *

  The storm driving in from the West was still several miles away over the mountains when Viola reached the outskirts of Glentorran village.

  She glanced up at the threatening sky, but she was so miserable that the dark clouds made no difference to her.

  She resolutely refused to turn around and gaze back up the hill to where the Castle stood, its spires and turrets reaching for the sky.

  No, that was a place she no longer had any right to look at or love.

  That was Robert’s home, his Castle of Dreams and nothing to do with her.

  All she wanted was to reach The Glentorran Inn, find Lewis Wilder and arrange her journey to London.

  And she would be on her own, because David was determined to stay here in Scotland and fight for Meg, the girl he loved.

  Viola felt more tears burning her eyes and brushed them away.

  This was all her fault.

  She should have told Robert the truth straight away instead of wanting the luxury of his friendship for just one more day.

  As she rounded the final corner, she stopped.

  Heather Lyall, Fergus’s wife, was standing by the side of the road, a large wicker basket at her feet.

  “Heather! Good morning.”

  The Scottish girl dropped a small bob curtsy.

  “Lady Viola! Whatever are you doin’ out in this weather? Och, you’ll be soaked through. This drizzle will become a fearful storm very soon.”

  Viola laughed shakily.

  “I certainly won’t melt away! And I intend to be indoors very soon. But what about you?”

  Heather pulled her plaid over her head to keep the rain from her hair.

  “I’m here waitin’ for the local omnibus. One runs every week through Glentorran. It’s market day today in Corraig, our local town. I’m in need of several things our shops in the village can’t supply.”

  Viola nodded.

  “And is Fergus looking afte
r Ian?”

  Heather laughed out loud.

  “Och no. Fergus has gone to anchor his boat further out into the harbour in deeper water where it will be safer when the storm arrives. My mother is looking after wee Ian.”

  She sighed, the happiness draining from her pretty face, as she continued,

  “Our boat is gettin’ old – it belonged to Fergus’s father and has been repaired so many times that it’s hardly seaworthy now. I’m always terrified it will founder one day when he’s out at sea.

  “That is why he hasn’t gone out fishin’ today. The boat needs a new rudder badly and Fergus cannot fish until it’s fitted.”

  “And there is no money for a new boat?”

  Heather shook her head.

  “No indeed. We make just enough from the fish to live on, but a new boat costs a fortune and that we don’t have!”

  Viola hesitated.

  She could see so clearly the great diamond brooch pinned into Heather’s plaid.

  Surely if Fergus had stolen it from the Van Ashtons then he would realise its value and not give it to his wife to wear?

  Suddenly Viola made up her mind.

  Not speaking out when she should have done had caused her so much grief recently. She was not going to let this opportunity slip past.

  “Heather – I do hope you will not be offended by my question, but – ”

  The Scottish girl looked puzzled.

  “Och, ask what you like, Lady Viola.”

  “That brooch you are wearing – ”

  Heather’s pretty face broke into a wide smile.

  “I can guess what you are goin’ to say!”

  “Can you?”

  Viola was startled.

  “Aye. I told you that Fergus had bought the brooch from a pedlar, didn’t I? Well, I was wrong. He let slip the other night that he didn’t even have enough money to buy me a wee present, but he still wanted me to believe he had. Silly man! As if it would bother me when things are so difficult with the fishin’!”

  Viola frowned.

  “So you know where the brooch came from?”

  “Och, yes. It was a gift from that American lady, Mrs. Van Ashton, for helpin’ to save her and her husband from the ship that dreadful night. He didn’t tell me at first because he thought I would be cross that he had received a gift because, of course, you don’t expect recompense for savin’ lives.”

  Viola felt a wave of pure relief wash over her.

  A gift!

  Why had she never thought of that?

  Heather looked concerned.

  “You’re not to worry, Lady Viola. It’s only a silly trifle made of paste. And look – here comes the omnibus. I’ll be glad to get in out of the rain.”

  And she waved down the bus which came chugging around a bend, full of women on their way to market, black smoke billowing from its exhaust.

  Before Viola could speak, Heather nimbly jumped on board and, as the rain began to fall more heavily, the omnibus rattled and groaned its way along the road up the hill and out of sight.

  Viola found herself smiling to herself, despite her breaking heart.

  She knew that she would have to send a message to Fergus and Heather before she left Glentorran.

  If they sold that brooch, there would be plenty of money for a new boat!

  ‘Well, that at least is one good thing I can do for Glentorran,’ she thought as she pulled up the collar of her jacket more tightly around her neck.

  The rain was driving in now on the wind and Viola turned her steps towards The Glentorran Arms.

  She now had to find Lewis Wilder and arrange her transport away from this magical place and away from the man who so obviously despised her.

  *

  Back in the Castle, David was sitting in the library, moodily glancing through his sketchbook.

  Outside thunder rumbled closer and closer and the windows rattled loudly in their frames as the storm began to gather strength.

  He hoped Viola had reached The Glentorran Arms safely. But he was sure that she would be fine as she had had plenty of time to get indoors out of the storm.

  David knew that he should be upstairs packing, because it was obvious that he could not stay in the Castle once his twin sister had left.

  ‘Oh, darling Meg, how am I ever going to win you as my wife?’ he mused wistfully.

  ‘If I was to give away every penny I own, would that help? Would your brother let you marry me if I could not even afford to put a roof over your head? I think not!’

  But he was still determined not to give in.

  He had already worked out his plan of campaign.

  He would sell the majority of his shares in the oil company – either to Lewis Wilder or to someone else.

  He was quite certain there would be no scarcity of buyers.

  He would keep enough to live on, find lodgings in Glentorran and concentrate on his art.

  All his dreams of travelling abroad would have to be abandoned for the present.

  But one day he was quite certain that he and Meg would have their own adventures and travel together to the South Seas.

  Absently he now turned over the earliest pages of the sketchbook.

  When Mrs. Livesey had found him a book to draw in, she had asked him to be careful as there were already sketches in the front of the book.

  David had never looked at them before.

  He had vaguely believed that they had been drawn by another visitor to the Castle and so had no interest for him.

  Now as he turned over the pages, he realised he was looking at sketches of paintings.

  How very strange and who would bother to sketch detailed drawings of someone else’s art?

  “But I recognise these!” he called out aloud. ‘These are the paintings up in the Castle attics, the ones covered in dirt and dust.’

  He flicked swiftly forward through the book to find the charcoal sketch he had made a few days before.

  Yes, there were the same pieces of artwork, but he had only indicated a rough outline of the figures. He had not even bothered to take off the dustsheets that covered most of the paintings.

  He had liked the shrouded shapes and only detailed the one closest to him.

  He had made a clearer sketch of the old Egyptian vase Meg had shown him, but it was not what excited him now.

  These drawings were very clear and as he looked at them, he began to feel a shiver of excitement run through his body.

  The colours – the shape of the figures – surely these had not been painted by an amateur.

  These were wonderful paintings drawn, he was sure, by an Old Master of the Italian School.

  David leapt to his feet and headed out of the door, calling for Meg.

  He had to go up to the attics immediately!

  *

  When the storm eventually broke over the village, Viola was only yards from the inn, which stood back a little way from the quayside that ran around the harbour.

  Waves were beginning to swell and crash over the sea wall casting their spray over a wide arc.

  Luckily the fishing fleet was not in the harbour.

  They were anchored out at sea.

  Viola could understand why Fergus had decided to move his boat.

  There was a small dinghy tied onto the harbour wall and every time the waves rushed in from the sea, the boat smashed against the unyielding stone sea wall.

  Viola sheltered her eyes from the stinging rain and gazed across the harbour.

  Through the gloom she thought she could just make out the shape of Fergus’s boat, anchored safely away from the land.

  Another roll of thunder made her flinch.

  The storm was almost on top of the village now.

  But even as she turned round to hasten into the inn, she knew that no amount of bad weather would ever make her love Glentorran the less.

  ‘But it isn’t just the place itself I love so much,’ she whispered. ‘It is Robert, the life and heart of the estate.<
br />
  ‘Oh, Robert, I love you with all my heart. You will never know how deeply I honour and respect you and how devastated I am that you think so badly of me.’

  With hot tears mingling with the cold raindrops on her face, she turned once more to gaze out at the sea.

  Just then a wild flash of lightning streaked through the overcast sky.

  The brilliant light illuminated the dark quayside for a second and a movement caught Viola’s eye.

  Then the light was gone and gloom descended once more.

  Viola hesitated.

  She was so wet and desperate to reach cover.

  But that movement had been odd – out of place.

  ‘Just a stray dog,’ she tried to tell herself, straining her eyes to see through the rain.

  But it had been far too slow to be a dog running for cover and too big for a cat or even a bird desperate to find shelter.

  With an ear-splitting noise that made her wince, the thunder crashed again and the lightning flashed, zigzagging across the rolling clouds.

  And to Viola’s great horror, she could now see that the movement was a small boy, walking cheerfully through the rain towards the steps that lead down to the water from the harbour edge.

  A very small boy, about three years old.

  Gasping with fear, Viola now realised that it was little Ian Lyall, the Duke’s Godson.

  “Ian! Stop! Ian! Oh, help, someone help me!”

  But the village street and harbour were deserted, of course. The men all at sea and most of the women indoors or, like Heather, gone to the market.

  Viola ran like the wind towards the child.

  Where was his grandmother?

  How had he escaped from her cottage?

  But there was no time to think of such questions.

  Even as she ran, she knew she would not be in time.

  The little boy was clambering down the steps out of her sight.

  With a sob Viola flung herself forward and skidded down the slippery seaweed-covered steps.

  To her relief she saw that the child was not in the water, but had stepped into the dinghy she had seen earlier.

  Babbling away happily to himself, oblivious of the pouring rain, he was playing at some silly game, obviously pretending to fish like this father.