He was then going to visit a farmer on the outskirts of the Harlestone Estate whose wife was expecting a baby in two months’ time.
“I hope to be back for luncheon,” he had said to Ilesa before he left, “but if I am late, don’t wait for me. You know how long-winded Farmer Johnson can be!”
Ilesa had laughed.
She knew that because her father was so sympathetic and understanding people were inclined to talk to him for far too long and so use up his time which could be better spent elsewhere.
He knew, however, that ‘getting it off their chests’, as he frequently called it, was often a great help.
He was therefore patient and stayed when he visited people for much longer than he had intended, listening to all sorts of tales of woe and obscure ailments.
‘I wonder who it is who wants him?’ Ilesa puzzled.
She reached the front door and took another quick look at the two horses that were drawing the carriage
They were certainly outstanding stallions, but she did not recognise the livery that the coachman on the box was wearing.
The front door was open and she walked up the steps and inside.
She entered the drawing room, which was on the other side of the house looking onto the garden.
Standing by the window she saw a slender figure and it was most certainly someone very smart, wearing a hat with long feathers and an elegant bustle.
As she hesitated in the doorway, the woman turned round.
Ilesa gave a cry of pleasure.
“Doreen! I did not expect you! Where have you come from?”
She ran across the room to kiss her half-sister.
Doreen accepted the embrace, but made no attempt to return it.
“I found the house empty,” she began. “Where were you?”
“I was arranging the flowers in the Church,” Ilesa explained. “You know it is Saturday today.”
Doreen gave a little laugh that had no humour in it.
“Of course it never occurred to me for a moment and you certainly look somewhat untidy.”
Ilesa pulled off her hat.
“I know,” she admitted. “I went up to The Hall to pick some of the flowers there, but the place is so overgrown that it’s virtually impossible not to be almost torn to bits by bushes of brambles.”
“It’s ridiculous to let it go to rack and ruin,” Doreen pointed out sharply.
Ilesa knew that it would be useless to try to explain to her that their uncle could not afford to do anything else.
Instead she said,
“It’s lovely to see you. Can I fetch you a cup of coffee? Are you staying for luncheon with us today?”
“I suppose so if there is anything to eat!” Doreen replied somewhat sarcastically.
“Of course there is,” Ilesa answered, “and Mrs. Briggs will certainly do her best if she knows you are here.”
“Good Heavens! Is that old woman still with you?” Doreen exclaimed.
“She looks older than she really is,” Ilesa said quickly, “and we could not do without her. You know that she has been with us ever since we were children.”
Doreen’s mind was obviously on something different.
And after a moment she suggested,
“Well, go and tell Mrs. Briggs that I shall be here for luncheon. Then I want to talk to you.”
“What about your coachman?” Ilesa asked her.
Doreen hesitated for a moment.
Then she said,
“He can eat here if you can feed him. If not, he will have to go to the nearest inn.”
“Of course he must have something to eat here,” Ilesa murmured.
She ran from the room.
In the kitchen Mrs. Briggs was kneading a basinful of dough for their pudding tomorrow.
They always had a pie on Sunday because it was the Vicar’s favourite.
“Mrs. Briggs,” Ilesa said, raising her voice because the old woman was growing deaf, “Miss Doreen is here and is staying for luncheon.”
“’Er Ladyship?” Mrs. Briggs exclaimed. “God bless my soul! She’s not been ’ere for nigh on three years!”
“I know,” Ilesa replied, “but she is here now and her coachman would like something to eat too. I am sure you can manage it.”
“Aye, I can manage right enough,” Mrs. Briggs agreed, “and it’s lucky it be that I bought that leg of lamb for luncheon today. It was to ’ave lasted most of the week, but not with two extras gnawin’ away at it!”
Mrs. Briggs was talking more to herself than to Ilesa, who left the kitchen to hurry back to the drawing room.
On the way she did her best to tidy her hair and straiten her old muslin dress as she knew that she must look a mess compared to Doreen in her impeccable outfit.
Ilesa was wishing that she had had time to put on one of her better gowns before her sister had arrived.
And then she told herself philosophically that nothing she possessed could compare with what Doreen was wearing.
Doreen was now exceedingly rich since her elderly husband had died from a heart attack three years ago and she had only come home to see her family once and that was shortly after her bereavement.
Occasionally Ilesa and her father had heard of what a success she was being in London and they read in the social columns of the newspapers of parties she gave that were attended by all the most important people in the Social world.
Their neighbours always talked enthusiastically about Doreen whenever Ilesa and her father visited them.
“Your sister is one of the most beautiful women in London!” Ilesa had been told a hundred times. “I have heard that she is constantly at Marlborough House being entertained by the Prince of Wales in great style.”
Although she lived in the country, Ilesa was well aware of what the ambition of every woman was. It was to be invited by the Prince of Wales and his beautiful Danish wife, Princess Alexandra.
‘The Marlborough House Set was whispered about, gossiped about and was an inevitable part of every conversation and Ilesa felt sometimes that she could write a book on all that she had heard about it.
She was, however, not particularly interested and recognised that she was never likely to be invited to Marlborough House.
Her half-sister had never once asked her to stay with her in London at her smart and beautiful apartment in Half Moon Street.
Now, astoundingly, she had appeared at their house without any warning at all.
Ilesa was wise enough to realise that there would be some ulterior motive for Doreen’s coming home all of a sudden.
It was such a strange thing for her to do that for a moment Ilesa had been afraid that some tragedy had occurred that could bring anguish to the family.
Doreen, however, certainly looked as if nothing on earth could perturb her in any way.
Ilesa did not miss the diamond and pearl earrings and the three strands of pearls at her throat and there was a diamond brooch in the shape of a colourful butterfly on the shoulder of her gown.
She could not help thinking that just one of Doreen’s jewels could support a dozen families in the village for many years and it would undoubtedly make her father very happy.
And then she told herself that her always vivid imagination was clearly running away with her.
Doreen only ever communicated with her father and herself at Christmas and completely ignored their birthdays and Ilesa had been concerned that her father would feel hurt.
Then she thought it all over very carefully.
From the moment Doreen had been sent to an elite school and then on to Florence, she had made it more or less obvious that she despised her family and would have as little to do with them as she could possibly get away with.
She had intimated that she wished to live a very different sort of life.
It was certainly what she had achieved with Lord Barker and only occasionally did Ilesa think it unkind.
Now that Doreen was a rich widow, she would not wan
t to spend time with her relatives in the country.
‘I cannot think why she is here now!’ Ilesa thought as she walked into the drawing room.
While she had been away talking to Mrs. Briggs, Doreen had made herself comfortable. She had taken off her feathered hat and was lying back languidly in an armchair with her feet on a footstool.
As Ilesa reached her, she ordered Ilesa,
“Now sit down and listen to what I have to tell you. You have to help me because there is no one else I can trust.”
“Are you in – some sort of trouble, Doreen?” Ilesa enquired a little timidly.
“Of course I am!” Doreen snapped. “Otherwise I would not be here.”
“I am so sorry to hear it,” Ilesa said gently, “and, of course, Papa and I will help you if it is at all possible.”
As she spoke, she could not imagine how either of them could possibly help Doreen in any way.
She could not be needing money of that Ilesa was certain.
Because it seemed friendlier, she knelt down at her sister’s feet and looked up at her.
“Now tell me, Doreen,” she asked softly, “what is worrying you?”
Doreen gave a sigh that was really more one of exasperation than of distress.
“You have to help me simply because there is no one else who can and what I want, needless to say, is very very important to me.”
“What do you want?” Ilesa asked curiously.
“To put it bluntly,” Doreen replied, “I want to marry the Duke of Mountheron.”
Ilesa gave a little gasp.
“The Duke of Mountheron? But – does he want to – marry you?”
The questions seemed to tumble out of her mouth simply because she was so surprised by Doreen unlikely revelation.
She had naturally somehow expected that sooner or later Doreen would marry again and she felt sure that it would be to someone just as significant as Lord Barker had been and a brilliant match.
But even that was hardly on the same level as marrying a Duke!
As it so happened, Ilesa had heard of the Duke of Mountheron because he owned some successful racehorses.
Her father, who was an exceptionally good rider, took The Racing Times every week.
It always carried graphic descriptions of the horses that were running in every race that week and went into considerable details regarding their breeding and there were also articles about their owners.
The Duke of Mountheron had won the Derby last year and his horse had come in second the year before.
He had in the last few years won nearly all the Classic races at Ascot and Newmarket.
Ilesa and her father had often discussed his stable and had decided that the Duke was undoubtedly the finest racehorse owner in the whole country.
“I have heard that he has recently bought some mares from Syria,” the Vicar said, “or it might have been his brother. Anyway the horses have an Arab strain in them that makes them exceptional at the Racecourse.”
“I would love to see them,” Ilesa had exclaimed.
“So would I,” the Vicar smiled, “and if there is any chance of his having runners in any of the races near here, then, of course, we must try to attend the meeting.”
He gave a sigh.
“Unfortunately Newmarket is too long a journey and we would have to stay the night which would be expensive.”
“If we left very early, I daresay we could find our way back if there was a moon,” Ilesa suggested.
The Vicar smiled.
“That is an idea and we will certainly think about it. In the meantime we have to decide which horses we are going to ride in the Point-to-Point next week. I am also hoping that Red Rufus will be strong enough for me to hunt with him next autumn.”
Red Rufus had hurt one of his legs jumping a high hedge and Ilesa was tending it with her usual tender loving care.
She had bandaged his leg and massaged it each day and the groom who looked after the horses was quite certain that she prayed every night on her knees for Red Rufus to get well and become robust again.
Now she declared,
“I can assure you that Red Rufus will be perfectly well in a month’s time. He will have to be ridden carefully and slowly at first, but I am certain that he will be well enough to hunt for you in the autumn, Papa.”
The Vicar patted her arm.
“That is what I want to do and I know, my dearest child, that it is all due to you that he is not completely crippled.”
He smiled again.
“In Medieval times you would have surely been burned as a witch, so just be careful!”
“If I am a witch, then I am like Mama, who was a white one,” Ilesa replied. “You know that is what they used to say about her in the village. They never sent for the doctor, but always for Mama. Her herbs healed them far quicker than anything that the doctor could have prescribed.”
“That is true,” the Vicar agreed, “and, when I had a headache, she used to massage my forehead and it always disappeared immediately.”
Ilesa did not answer.
The pain in her father’s voice when he spoke of his beloved wife who he had loved so deeply and lost was very poignant.
She knew that there was nothing she could say or do to comfort him.
Now she looked at her half-sister in some surprise.
It flashed through her mind that only her mother would have been able to cope with a difficult situation like Doreen wanting to marry a Duke.
There was a little pause as she cleared her throat.
And then Doreen asserted strongly,
“I must marry him! I will marry him! I am determined to marry him! But at this moment only you and Papa can help me.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ilesa was just going to answer when there was a barking and scratching at the door.
She jumped up.
“It’s the dogs,” she said unnecessarily. “They have been shut up all the time that I was in the Church. Now they know I am back.”
“Don’t let them come anywhere near me!” Doreen shouted out. “They will leave hairs on my skirt.”
Ilesa was not listening to her.
She hurried across the room to open the door and then the dogs burst in, jumping and barking with delight at seeing her.
They were two cocker spaniels and they always went everywhere with her. Ilesa loved them as much as they loved her.
If she was away, even for an hour or so, they behaved as if she had come back from a long voyage.
She now patted them lovingly and calmed them down.
Then she sat down again on the floor beside her sister.
“I am sorry, Doreen. I know that you dislike dogs, but they will be no trouble now.”
The dogs had settled down quietly near to Ilesa and were no longer making a noise.
Doreen did not speak and after a moment Ilesa said gently,
“You were saying that you needed us to help you.”
She heard her sister take a deep breath before she began,
“I met the Duke just two months ago and I knew at once that he was bowled over by my beauty.”
There was a note of distinct satisfaction in her voice that Ilesa did not miss.
“He is, of course, very sought after in London,” Doreen went on, “and that he attaches himself to me at parties and that the hostesses seat us next to each other at dinners is most flattering for me.”
“I can understand his being bowled over by your beauty,” Ilesa commented. “You are much more beautiful now than you have ever been, Doreen.”
“I realise that,” her sister replied, “but, as you well know, I am now nearly twenty-six and I want to be married again.”
“I am sure lots of men have already asked you to be their wife,” Ilesa pointed out loyally.
“That is true,” Doreen agreed. “At the same time the Duke of Mountheron is unique and, as I have already said, I intend to marry him.”
There was a pause in the
conversation.
Then Ilesa said, almost as if she was speaking to herself,
“But he has not yet – asked you?”
“He has been very close to doing so,” Doreen replied. “In fact the last time we were together, I felt instinctively that the words were trembling on his lips.”
She gave a little sigh and Ilesa asked,
“Then what – happened?”
“That is what I am going to tell you,” Doreen went on in a different voice. “The Duke had to leave London for a short time and, because I was feeling lonely, I went out with Lord Randall, who fell in love with me more than two years ago.”
Ilesa was listening to her sister attentively, realising that somebody else had now come on the scene.
“He persuaded me against my better judgement,” Doreen continued, “to stay with him last night at a hotel called The Three Feathers, which is about ten miles from here.”
Ilesa stared at her sister in amazement.
“Stay – with you?” she questioned. “Alone?”
“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, Ilesa!” Doreen said crossly. “You may live here among the turnips and cabbages, but you must be aware that in London every pretty married woman has affaires de coeur. As I have already told you, Hugo Randall has been in love with me for some time.”
“But – you are in – love with the Duke!”
Ilesa was so surprised and shocked that she found the words difficult to utter and they were almost incoherent.
There was a little pause before Doreen answered her,
“I intend to marry the Duke, which is a very different thing.”
Ilesa felt bewildered.
She had vaguely known, as Doreen had said, that people in London, especially those in the Marlborough House Set, had wildly promiscuous love affairs.
These were talked about sotto voce by some of the people at parties she had attended with her father and mother, but somehow she had never thought of any of her own friends or certainly not her relations being so involved.
It was an incredible shock to learn that her sister, who was in love with one man, should have an affaire de coeur with another.
She could not understand it and she could not accept it as something ever happening in her own experience.
Her father and mother had been so completely devoted to each other and they had never discussed or gossiped about such matters.
Love and the Cheetah Page 2