“I don’t know,” Shimona answered. “There must be something.”
She gave a little sigh.
“Perhaps after all I could go on the stage.”
“And have your father and mother turn in their graves?” Nanna asked furiously. “That’s the last thing you’ll do, Miss Shimona, and then over my dead body!”
“Well, what else is there?”
“We’ll think of somethin’.”
Shimona knew that they were the consoling words of a nurse to a fretful child and that, despite the effort she made to deceive her, Nanna was really worried.
“Well, I’ve not got time to think about it now,” Nanna went on in a brusque tone. “I want to get down to the shops. We’re out of bread and I want to buy some eggs for supper. At least we’ve enough money not to starve for the next month or two.”
“Shall I come with you?” Shimona asked.
Nanna looked towards the window.
“It’s drizzlin’,” she said. “You’ve been out once today. You keep by the fire and put the kettle on in about half-an-hour. If I see a muffin man, I’ll buy some muffins for tea.”
“That will be nice,” Shimona smiled.
She knew that Nanna was trying to give her a treat.
She had always loved muffins when she was a small girl and would listen for the muffin man’s bell as he came down the street carrying the tray on top of his head.
Nanna bustled away with an empty basket on her arm and Shimona sat down in front of the fire.
She wondered what the Duke was doing now.
Perhaps, she thought a little forlornly, he was with a beautiful woman, elegant and sophisticated, someone who amused him and talked the language of the world he lived in.
They would have private jokes about the people they both knew. They would gossip about the famous personages she had read about in the newspapers.
Perhaps he would be going to dinner at Carlton House to be surrounded by more beauties like the Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Jersey and the fascinating Mrs. Fitzherbert, who had captivated the Prince Regent for so many years.
‘I am not part of the social world, I am not part of the theatrical world, I don’t belong either in the City or in the country. In fact I belong to nowhere,’ Shimona thought dismally. ‘I am just an ‘odd one out’.’
It seemed strange that, when the day before yesterday the newspapers had been full of reports of Beau Bardsley’s death, there was no mention of her.
They had all of them revived the story of how her father had run away from Bath with the beautiful Annabel Winslow.
But apparently they had forgotten, if they had ever known that the handsome actor and the beautiful Society girl had produced a child.
Doctor Lesley had brought Shimona all the newspapers so that she could read the glowing obituaries that had been written about her father.
There had been a long column in The Times and another in The Post besides a news report about the financial state of Drury Lane now that the actor who had brought in the audiences was no longer there.
One correspondent had written,
“Something will have to be done, but it appears that no one in the management has any idea what it should be.”
There were many sketches in the newspapers of Beau Bardsley in his leading roles, but even when she had read everything that was written about him Shimona felt that there was very much left unsaid.
The newspapers did not describe his generosity and his kindness to his fellow actors and none of them had understood how his whole life had centred round his home, his wife and daughter.
“I have protected you from the newspapers as I know your father would have wished me to do,” Doctor Lesley said.
But because she was so anonymous to the extent that no one had ever heard of her, Shimona could not help feeling that she had died too.
The house that had once held three happy people united by their love for each other was now only a hollow shell.
Sitting in front of the fire she was just thinking that it was about time she put the kettle on when she heard a knock on the front door.
She thought perhaps Nanna had forgotten her key and, jumping to her feet, she ran across the small hall and opened the door.
Then she gave a gasp, for it was not Nanna who stood there in her black cloak and bonnet, but the Duke.
He was even more resplendent than she remembered, with his starched white cravat, the points of his collar high above his chin and his high hat at an angle on his dark head.
As they stared at each other, it seemed to Shimona as if she had flown across the world to find the person who was waiting for her on the other side of it and she felt an extraordinary sense of homecoming, security and protection.
“Shimona!” the Duke exclaimed.
She thought that her name had never sounded so attractive as it did spoken in his deep voice. Then slowly, as if he forced himself to remember his manners, he took his hat from his head.
“May I come in?” he asked. “There is a great deal I have to say to you.”
She opened the door a little wider and he walked into the hall and seemed much too large for it.
Shimona closed the door behind him and, without speaking, led the way into the small sitting room.
The Duke looked up at Beau Bardsley’s portrait over the mantelpiece.
“Now I understand! You are Beau Bardsley’s daughter, but I had no idea that he had one!”
“Papa would never – allow me to have – anything to do with the – theatre,” Shimona answered, wondering why her voice sounded so strange.
“I can understand that,” the Duke said, “and yet he let you come to me to act the part I required.”
“Papa was – unconscious and knew nothing about it. I came because I needed the money to take him abroad. I hoped it would – save his life.”
There was a perceptible quiver in her voice and the Duke said,
“I asked you to trust me.”
“I dared not do so,” Shimona replied. “Papa would have been so – angry that I did not – intend to tell him anything about it – until he was well.”
“I understand,” the Duke said. “Shall we sit down? I have so much to say to you, Shimona.”
“Yes – of course,” Shimona answered. “I apologise, Your Grace, for my bad manners. I was not expecting to see you.”
“I know that,” he answered. “How could you have done anything so cruel as to slip away from the house before anyone was awake? When they told me you had left, I could hardly believe it!”
Shimona said nothing and, seeing the colour come into her cheeks and the flicker of her eyes, he knew what she was thinking.
“I was determined to find you again,” he said after a moment. “I went to the theatre to be told that Beau Bardsley was away ill. I thought it was only a temporary indisposition. I called the next day and the next, until I saw the newspapers and learnt that he was dead.”
“How did you manage to find this house?” Shimona enquired.
The Duke smiled.
“I was not going to be defeated,” he answered, “and I remembered that you had asked me to pay the money I owed Beau Bardsley into Coutts Bank. They gave me his address.”
“I never thought of that.”
“I thought you could not have,” the Duke replied, “and now I have found you, I will not allow you to hide from me again.”
She did not answer and after a moment he said in a gentler tone,
“I am very sorry about your father. He will be deeply missed, as you well know. No one could act as he could or look so compellingly handsome.”
His eyes went up to the portrait as he added,
“I can see now a faint resemblance between you. If I had had any sense I would have noticed it before.”
He looked around the room.
“So this is the private part of Beau Bardsley’s life upon which no one was allowed to encroach on. Having seen you I am not surprised th
at he was so protective. He was right in trying to keep you safe.”
Shimona sat down in a chair opposite him, her fingers locked together and the Duke knew that she was very tense.
“I would not do anything to distress you,” he said quietly, “but once again, Shimona, I need your help.”
“My help?” she questioned.
“I suppose we might have expected that our little charade could not really have such a conclusive and happy ending.”
“Something has gone – wrong?”
“Not exactly wrong,” the Duke answered, “but The McCraig, having safely reached the home of the Earl of Glencairn near Leicester, has been taken ill.”
“Oh, no!” Shimona replied. “I am so sorry.”
“I understand it is not a dangerous illness,” the Duke said, “and I think myself it is just exhaustion. For a man of eighty to travel so many miles must have taken its toll of his strength.”
“Yes – of course,” Shimona murmured.
“The McCraig has however, decided that, before he returns to Scotland, he will set his house in order. In other words, he will settle on Alister the sum of money he promised and will also make a new will. But before he does so, he wishes to see you both.”
Shimona stiffened.
“To see – me?”
“It is quite understandable,” the Duke smiled. “After all a great deal of money is involved and I think he wishes to impress upon Alister exactly how it should be expended.”
“But – why should he want – me to be present?” Shimona asked.
“That, of course, is entirely your fault,” the Duke said with a smile. “You have captivated him, Shimona. He was delighted with you and, if he wants to see you again, then who shall blame him? I am in exactly the same boat!”
Shimona looked away towards the fire.
“It’s impossible!” she said after a moment.
“Why?” the Duke enquired.
She tried to find a reason, but there did not seem to be a very valid one.
There was no longer her father to be kept in ignorance of her movements. There was in fact no one.
Yet underneath the apprehension she felt at committing herself to acting a part and again deceiving The McCraig, there was an irresistible excitement because she would be able to go on seeing the Duke, at least for a little while.
“When I found you,” the Duke went on, “hoping that perhaps someone in Beau Bardsley’s household would have some idea of where you might be, I was going to suggest that you and I could drive to Leicester together and Alister could follow in his own phaeton.”
Shimona did not reply and he went on in a beguiling tone,
“Of course if you prefer to go in a closed carriage I shall understand, but personally that is something I abominate on such a long journey.”
“Yes – of course – I should like to – drive with you,” Shimona said in a small voice, “but – ”
“What is worrying you?” the Duke asked.
“I don’t know,” Shimona replied. “It seems – wrong somehow to – go on with this – pretence.”
“When I was small,” the Duke said, “my nurse used to say that one he always leads to another.”
Shimona smiled.
“I am sure your nurse said the same thing,” the Duke remarked.
“She often says it,” Shimona replied. “But The McCraig is such a kind old man.”
“He can be a hard tough one when it suits him,” the Duke said. “He has needed a great deal of persuading before he could see that, as the next Chief, Alister was entitled to some consideration.”
He paused before he said quietly,
“I am quite certain that, if you had not been you, he would not have been half so generous.”
Shimona gave a little sigh.
“I wish you would tell him the truth.”
“That is completely and absolutely impossible,” the Duke said firmly. “He would feel defrauded and insulted, both of which are intolerable to a Scotsman!”
Shimona was silent for a moment.
Then she said,
“Could you not do – without me?”
“I think it would be impossible,” the Duke replied.
“Will you tell me why you are so reluctant to do what I ask of you? Can it possibly be that you do not trust me to behave as you would wish me to?”
He saw the colour come into Shimona’s cheeks and he added quickly,
“I promised your father that I would do nothing to hurt you and I swear that the last thing I would want to do now would be to shock or frighten you.”
He paused for a moment before he added very softly,
“Do you believe me?”
“I believe you!” Shimona answered.
“Then what worries you?” the Duke asked. “If you are not afraid of me, why are you afraid?”
“I – think of – myself,” Shimona said in a low voice. “I thought I would – never see you again and– I told myself I had to – forget everything that had – happened – and now you are here.”
“Did you really think I would let you go?” the Duke asked. “I had every intention, Shimona, of seeing you again and finding you however cleverly you hid yourself away.”
“But – but – why?”
“Because something happened between us that was different from anything that ever happened to me before,” he answered. “Even now I cannot explain what you mean to me. I just know that I cannot lose you.”
He gave a sigh before he said,
“It is like finding an incredible treasure. You know it is one and yet there is so much you have to learn about it before you are aware not only of its true value but also of its history and its very existence.”
He bent towards her.
“That is what I feel about you, Shimona. You are unique. Someone who seems to have come to me from another world.”
He was speaking with a note of sincerity and also passion in his voice.
Then, as their eyes met, it seemed as if the words they were saying to each other were quite unnecessary.
“That – is what I – feel too,” Shimona whispered.
“My precious! My darling!” the Duke exclaimed.
He put out his hands towards her as the door opened and Nanna came into the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
Driving away from London Shimona thought it was incredible that she should really be with the Duke and that they were journeying towards Leicestershire.
The whole entourage filled her with excitement that she had never known before.
First, she was travelling with the Duke in his yellow and black phaeton with a groom up behind wearing the Ravenstone livery, as were the four outriders with their white wigs and black velvet peaked caps.
Alister followed them in his own phaeton, although his team of four horses was not of such magnificent horseflesh as the Duke’s.
Behind them again came the Duke’s travelling chariot with Nanna, very straight-backed and disapproving, sitting inside.
It was Nanna who nearly made it impossible for Shimona to undertake the journey.
When she had returned to the house to stand in the sitting room, her face rigid with disapproval, the Duke had risen to his feet.
“I will leave you now,” he said to Shimona. “I have to tell Alister that I have found you and make arrangements for tomorrow. I will return later this afternoon to tell you what is planned.”
When he had gone, Shimona faced a storm of protest.
She had hoped before she went to Ravenstone House that Nanna had never even heard of the Duke.
But her very first words as the door closed behind him told Shimona all too clearly that she had not only heard of him but also knew a great deal about him.
“What’s that wicked man doin’ here?” she enquired angrily. “He wouldn’t have dared to cross the threshold when your father was alive.”
“He is the Duke of Ravenstone, Nanna,” Shimona answered.
“That is impossible, Nanna.”
“Why should it be impossible?” Nanna enquired.
Hesitatingly, because Shimona was choosing her words with care, she told Nanna that it was the Duke who had paid her the five hundred guineas for pretending to be his nephew’s wife and it was his money that had been paid into Beau Bardsley’s account in Coutts Bank.
“You’ll send it back immediately!” Nanna said. “His money’s tainted and no decent person would lay a finger on it!”
“It will not be very decent for us if we starve!” Shimona answered.
“You can’t touch pitch without being contaminated,” Nanna retorted. “I couldn’t eat a mouthful if I thought it was paid for by a Duke who is a disgrace to his name and his family!”
Shimona did not speak and she went on,
“I’ve heard your father often enough saying he’s known in the theatrical profession as ‘His Disgrace’ and that’s what he is – not a fit person for you to know about, let alone speak to.”
“It is too late for all that now,” Shimona said wearily. “I know him, Nanna, and I must help him.”
“Over my dead body!” Nanna persisted firmly.
“His Grace has always been polite and considerate towards me.”
“And what was he sayin’ as I came into the room?” Nanna demanded. “He was speakin’ to you as no gentleman worthy of the name should speak to a lady who be unchaperoned, a girl who had no more idea of the wickedness of the world than a newly-born kitten.”
Nanna ranted on and on, until finally she said,
“You’re not goin’ to Leicester with the Duke and that’s that! What you’re goin’ to do is meet your grandparents.”
“My grandparents?” Shimona exclaimed in surprise.
“I’ve been thinkin’ it over,” Nanna said, “and there’s nothin’ for it but for you to go where you belong.”
“Do you mean Mama’s parents or Papa’s?”
“I believe Canon Bardsley is dead,” Nanna replied, “but about two years ago your mother’s father, Sir Harvey Winslow, was still alive. I saw his name in one of the newspapers.”
The Disgraceful Duke Page 10