Only a Dream

by Barbara Cartland

  Because he seemed so rich and his horses were excellent, she had somehow imagined that he would be living in one of the huge Georgian mansions that her mother had often described to her and she had seen pictures of them in the magazines.

  Instead, it was, she thought, quite obviously a house built at the beginning of the century, rather pretentious and with a great many gables and windows.

  But it was not symmetrically beautiful, as she had hoped.

  She had often read of the houses that were described so vividly in The Illustrated London News or The Graphic, but which she thought belonged to a world she would never enter.

  She knew that some of the girls at school had lived in houses of exactly that sort and they had talked of the garden parties their parents gave in the summer and the house parties in the winter.

  Isla had felt very left out as she could hardly describe to them the tiny little house she lived in with her parents.

  Now she was, however, not envious, merely curious.

  When Lord Polegate told her he was taking her to the country, it flashed through her mind that now she would be able to see at close quarters the houses she had heard so much about.

  One thing she had learned, both from her mother and at school, was an appreciation of what was architecturally whole and well-proportioned.

  Lord Polegate’s rambling mansion was neither, but she was, of course, too polite to say so and admired the drive and the gardens, which were bright with colour.

  At the same time she was worrying about whether she was doing something wrong in going to stay with Lord Polegate in the country.

  It seemed strange that he had not told her before they left London, so that she could have brought the right clothes with her.

  He had swept her away in such a precipitate manner that she had hardly had time to think.

  If she had been given time to pack, she would certainly have considered the invitation in a different light, but when he talked about the clothes of his sisters and nieces, she told herself that she was being very stupid.

  Of course some of them would be there and it would be pleasant to meet some young people of her own age.

  As they drew up at the front door, there was a red carpet laid down the steps and there seemed an innumerable number of footmen in very smart livery that had a great deal of gold braid on it.

  “I am sure you are hungry,” Lord Polegate said, “and I know I am. There will be a glass of champagne waiting for you in the sitting room, although first, I am sure, you will wish to take off your bonnet.”

  “That would be nice,” Isla agreed.

  A footman led the way upstairs to where on the landing was waiting the housekeeper. She seemed almost identical to the one she had seen at Lord Polegate’s house in London.

  She did not seem, however, very welcoming in her attitude as she led Isla along a dark passage.

  Almost at the end of it she opened a door and they went into what Isla thought was a magnificent room.

  It was certainly very large and it seemed to be crammed with furniture that was all very ornate, inlaid and ornamented, with burnished gold handles.

  The bed, which was draped with curtains, was also gilded and betasselled and the frame of the mirror on the dressing table was a riot of angels holding up garlands of flowers.

  It ought, Isla thought to herself, to have been impressive and very beautiful and yet it somehow missed it.

  The housekeeper in a frigid voice showed her the wash-stand where there was a can of warm water and she was provided as well with a brush and a comb for her hair.

  The housekeeper looked so disapproving as she waited on her that Isla wondered if she resented Lord Polegate having guests because they gave her extra work.

  She was, however, not so troubled about the housekeeper as about herself.

  ‘How can I stay here with not even a nightgown to wear?’ she asked herself.

  She thought that it was really very inconsiderate of Lord Polegate not to have given her time to pack what was necessary.

  Equally she had the uncomfortable feeling that she should have stayed in London to be near her father.

  ‘If he regains consciousness and I am not there, he will think it strange,’ she told herself.

  She decided that she must try to persuade Lord Polegate to take her back to London that afternoon.

  When, however, she tried to broach the subject to him downstairs, he replied,

  “How can you be so foolish, my dear, as to want to stay alone in your house?”

  “But – supposing Papa recovers consciousness? I could never forgive myself, knowing that I had left him to face the situation with nobody to turn to.”

  “You could, of course, have stayed at my house in London,” Lord Polegate said as if he had just thought of it, “but, as the doctor assured me there was no chance of your father regaining consciousness before tomorrow, I was sure that a little fresh air will do you good.”

  It all sounded quite plausible, but Isla still felt uncomfortable, especially from the way Lord Polegate looked at her.

  When she had come downstairs, worrying as to how she should approach him to take her home, he had taken her hand in his.

  Once again, to her surprise, he had kissed it.

  “You are entrancing!” he said. “I have never seen anybody quite so lovely, so spring-like and that is why, my dear, I know that this is the right frame for you rather than the one you sat in last night!”

  Isla tried to laugh, but it was rather difficult when he was still holding her hand and his face seemed uncomfortably near to hers.

  He, however, released her and persuaded her to drink a little champagne.

  “Now we are going to enjoy ourselves,” he said. “You are going to be a very brave girl and not worry about your father, who is in the hands of the finest physician in England. Instead you must be a little grateful to me because I am looking after you.”

  “I am very – grateful,” Isla muttered.

  He made her feel as if she had been rude and she therefore said quickly,

  “If I have not thanked you, it is because I feel a little bewildered at everything happening at once, but I am indeed very very grateful.”

  “You can show me how grateful you are later,” Lord Polegate said.

  She did not know what he meant by this, but then luncheon was announced and he took her into a large dining room.

  They sat at a table that could easily have accommodated twenty or thirty guests and in consequence made Isla feel small and insignificant.

  But Lord Polegate was very much at his ease.

  The food, which was excellent, was served to them on silver dishes and they talked about the theatre and the brilliant success of The Oxford.

  “Charles Morton has made a great deal of money out of it,” he said. “I expect you know that it was originally an old Posting house dating back to the sixteenth century.”

  Isla was instantly interested.

  “Papa never told me that,” she remarked, “but then, he seldom talks about the Music Hall.”

  “I expect he wants to keep you away from the stage,” Lord Polegate said, “and who shall blame him? You are too pretty to get mixed up with all that froth and glitter!”

  “I thought – last night,” Isla said in a hesitating little voice, “that it was – not as – glamorous as I had expected.”

  “That is because you were on the stage and not in front of it,” Lord Polegate replied, “but to those like myself in the audience you looked so beautiful that I could not at first believe that you were real.”

  Isla laughed.

  “Did you think I was really a picture?”

  “It was one I have always wanted to own,” Lord Polegate said. “But if I cannot hang you on the wall, I have done the next best thing in bringing you here!”

  She thought that he was trying to be funny, but the way he spoke seemed serious and she said quickly,

  “It is very kind of you and I se
e that you have some exceedingly fine pictures in this room and on the stairs.”

  “They cost a great deal of money, but I don’t suppose that you are interested in pictures as much as in jewels.”

  “Mama and I went to see the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London once,” Isla said.

  “Did you wish you could try on a crown?”

  “They looked rather heavy,” Isla replied. “Mama said that she felt sorry for the Queen when she had to wear one and for the ladies who wear tiaras in the evening.”

  Once again Isla was thinking of the pictures she had seen in the magazines.

  “I don’t think a tiara would suit you,” Lord Polegate replied, “but a necklace of pearls would be very appropriate or perhaps you would prefer diamonds.”

  “As I am unlikely to own either,” Isla smiled, “that is something I have not considered.”

  “Then consider it now,” Lord Polegate answered, “because, when we return to London, I shall choose you a necklace and bracelets to match the sparkle in your eyes.”

  Isla stared at him, thinking that he must be joking.

  Then, as she realised that he was speaking as if that were what he wanted to do, she said swiftly,

  “I know you are teasing me and what I would like to look at is your beautiful garden.”

  “And I would rather look at you!” Lord Polegate said.

  Now there was a note in his voice and an expression on his face that made her feel frightened.

  When they finished luncheon, there was coffee and a glass of port was put in front of Lord Polegate.

  The servants had now withdrawn and quite suddenly Isla felt lost.

  She was alone in this big room with an elderly man who said such strange things that she did not really understand.

  She was sure that he was only teasing her, but at the same time he seemed serious and it was difficult to know how to reply to the comments he was making.

  As if he sensed that he was going too quickly, he said,

  “What would you like to do? I feel that it would be rather hot in the garden and perhaps you would rather come to the stables and see my horses.”

  “I would love to do that!” Isla answered him eagerly.

  Lord Polegate looked at the clock.

  “I think it’s too late to ride today after we have had such a long drive. We will choose the horses we will ride tomorrow. I am sure that Mrs. Blowfeld, the housekeeper, can find you a habit.”

  “I think I ought to go back to London tomorrow,” Isla said in a small voice. “I would not want Papa to wake up and miss me.”

  “We will talk about that tomorrow morning,” Lord Polegate promised.

  As she followed him from the dining room, she had the uncomfortable feeling that it was going to be difficult to get back to London.

  How she wished with all her heart that she had insisted on staying there.

  She, however, forgot everything but the horses when they reached the stables.

  They were certainly a very impressive display of well-bred perfectly trained horseflesh.

  Whenever Isla had been able to ride in Hyde Park, she had always envied the spirited mounts of the elegant ladies, who were usually attended by smartly dressed gentlemen, parading up and down Rotten Row.

  They would stop only to talk to their friends who were driving in open carriages or walking along the paths.

  She had never said so to her mother, but she had often longed to be one of the girls in the carriages whose parents seemed to know everybody who was riding or driving.

  They made Hyde Park seem like an intimate reception room, but she and her mother never met anybody they knew.

  Isla thought her mother looked just as beautiful as, in fact more beautiful than, most of the Ladies of Fashion and it seemed unfair that they should have so many friends and her mother so few.

  Isla and Lord Polegate went from stall to stall until at last he said it was time to return to the house because he wanted her to rest before dinner.

  “We are going to dine early, my dear,” he said, “then I want to talk to you about yourself.”

  “I am afraid that is a very dull subject,” Isla replied. “It would be much more interesting to talk about you.”

  Then, because it had been worrying her, she said,

  “I thought you would have – friends staying with you. Will they not be – arriving in time for – dinner?”

  “The only person staying is yourself,” Lord Polegate replied, “and that is exactly as I like it. One day I will give a party for you, but for the moment I want you all to myself.”

  She looked at him in surprise, but thought that she could hardly question what he meant by that.

  Instead, she hurried ahead of him towards the house.

  “I have already sent a message to Mrs. Blowfeld,” he said when they reached the hall, “to find you something appropriate to wear tonight and which will make you look even lovelier than you do at the moment.”

  “Thank – you,” Isla said shyly.

  Then, because she thought that he was going to kiss her hand again, she hurried up the stairs and along the wide corridor that led to her room.

  There was a maid she had not seen before to help her out of her gown and, as it was obviously expected that she would lie down, she was not surprised when she was provided with a pretty lace-trimmed nightgown.

  She put it on and climbed into the bed.

  Because she was tired after all the excitement of the night before and her anxiety about her father, she fell sleep.

  *

  When Isla awoke, two maids were carrying a bath into her room and, when they had filled it with hot and cold water from huge cans, she got out of bed.

  The water was scented and there were large Turkish towels that smelled of lavender to dry herself with.

  It was all very luxurious and she thought that she must remember every detail and tell her father because she knew it would amuse him.

  When her bath was finished, Mrs. Blowfeld came in carrying two gowns.

  “There’s a choice, miss,” she said in her hard frigid voice, “but I thinks his Lordship’d prefer you in white.”

  “That is very – kind of you,” Isla said in a small voice. “I do hope his Lordship’s niece – or whoever it belongs to – will not mind my borrowing it.”

  Mrs. Blowfeld did not reply, but made a sound that was suspiciously like a sniff.

  Because Isla could think of nothing more to say, she let the maid bring her a silk chemise trimmed with lace.

  It was so soft and attractive that she did not protest even though she thought that she should have worn her own.

  They then produced a pair of the finest silk stockings she had ever seen. They were so transparent that she was afraid if she wore them she might tear them and she said shyly,

  “I-I think it would be – best to wear – mine.”

  “These are what his Lordship likes,” the maid replied.

  Isla thought it was a strange remark.

  However, she did not say anything because her attention was caught by a pair of pink garters that would hold the stockings in place. Made of the most expensive satin, they were embroidered with little hearts made of diamanté.

  “They are very pretty!” she exclaimed.

  “They were all made by ’and, miss,” one of the housemaids explained.

  “It seems a lot of work for something that is never seen?” Isla laughed and did not realise that the housemaids exchanged glances.

  They then produced, instead of a whalebone crinoline as she had expected, two petticoats that had frill upon frill of expensive lace from the knee to the ground and she realised that they constituted a frame for the gown.

  When the housemaids held it out, it certainly looked very much more elaborate than anything she possessed or her mother.

  There were frills of silk edged with very expensive shadow lace and a bertha of the same lace, but very much deeper and embroidered with pearls.
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  Isla looked in the mirror and, knowing that she would never afford anything so expensive, she exclaimed involuntarily,

  “It’s beautiful and I promise I will be very very careful with it.”

  “That’d certainly make a change, miss,” Mrs. Blowfeld muttered.

  “A change?” Isla asked.

  “Some of the young ladies are extremely careless and, after one of these gowns has been worn, it takes the seamstress a long time to repair it.”

  “How could they possibly be so careless with anything so pretty?” Isla asked and did not see the expression in Mrs. Blowfeld’s eyes.

  She left the room to take away the gown that Isla had not chosen and the housemaid, a middle-aged woman who was arranging her hair, said,

  “You’re very young, miss. Does your mother know you’re stayin’ ’ere on your own?”

  “My mother is dead,” Isla replied, “and my father is very ill.”

  “And there’s nowhere else you could go?”

  “I wanted to be in London so as to be near my father,” Isla explained. “But now his Lordship wishes to stay until tomorrow.”

  She was facing the mirror and she looked up and saw the housemaid’s face behind her.

  She noticed that the woman pressed her lips together as if to prevent herself from saying something.

  Almost as if she knew what she was thinking, Isla said,

  “It does seem strange to stay without any luggage, but when his Lordship asked me to come to the country, I thought it was just for the drive. I had no idea that I would be staying here for the – night.”

  “I thinks, miss, you’d ’ave been better off in London!” the housemaid remarked.

  There was something in the way she spoke that made Isla long to ask her why, but at that moment the housekeeper came back into the room.

  “If you’re ready, miss,” she said, “I think his Lordship’s waitin’ for you downstairs.”

  Isla got to her feet.

  “Then I must not keep him waiting, must I? Thank you very much for helping me.”

  She turned to the housemaid and added,

  “And thank you for doing my hair. It was very kind of you.”

  She moved to the door and, as neither of the women spoke, she started down the corridor. As she did so, she heard the housemaid say,