A Kiss from the Heart (2 page)

“
Look at me
! Miranda!”

Robert's face flushed as he now jumped onto the toboggan and next started his long descent down the steep meadow. He quickly gathered speed and was soon flying down the slope.

As he did so, the wind sprang up once more, but this time it was stronger. Robert pulled on the rope to guide the toboggan, but it would not respond.

To his horror he could see that he was heading straight for the derelict barn!

Try as he might, he could not turn the toboggan. He was on a collision course with the rickety structure.

“Pull at the rope! Pull at the rope!” cried Miranda, as she stood and watched, feeling utterly helpless.

“I can't!” he shrieked with a look of terror on his face.

With a sickening thud he hurtled into the side of the barn and was immediately showered with snow.

Miranda thought the snow would never stop falling down on his head and remained rooted to the spot.

As the final load tumbled over all him, a deathly hush descended.

“I must get him out!” screamed Miranda firmly as she cast aside her fears and ran over to the mound of snow where her friend was now buried.

There was no sound as she scrabbled with her bare hands and worked steadily to free him.

“Robert! Robert! I will save you!” she screeched, clawing great handfuls of snow aside.

Finally when her arms were aching and she was on the point of exhaustion, she uncovered Robert's woollen cap. Feeling down through the freezing ice, she discovered a warm head underneath –

“Hold on! I will free you!” she panted, burrowing like a demon around his head.

She gasped as his pale face came in to view.

His lips were turning dark blue and his eyelashes were encrusted with snowflakes.

“Robert! Robert! Can you hear me?”

The eyes flickered and Miranda dug ever faster.

“You must move your arms otherwise I will not be able to pull you out!” she puffed, as she cleared the snow around the boy's torso.

Eventually she managed to pull him free.

The toboggan had been sturdy enough to withstand the impact it had suffered and was lying a few feet away, tipped up on its side and Miranda quickly retrieved it.

“Curl up on the toboggan and I will drag you back to the stables,” she urged him. She did not notice her soaking gloves or that she had no feeling in her hands.

Just over half an hour later, she hobbled, panting and exhausted through the stable block with the toboggan and its sad frozen cargo.

“Help!” she called feebly before fainting onto the cobbles.

One of the young grooms came forward and gasped when he saw what lay before him.

With all the power that his lungs could muster, he hollered for help, whilst furiously rubbing Lord Robert's frozen frame.

One of the stable boys next picked up Miranda and carried her towards The Grange. He was no more than six years older than she, but his tough work had given him strength beyond his years.

The whole stable block became alive with shouts and men running to and fro.

“Get to the big house and tell his Lordship what has happened,” ordered the Head Groom, as he threw the boy over his shoulder and made for the warmth of the Grange. “Thank heavens Lady Whitby is at home. She will tend to him while I go for the doctor.”

An hour later Robert opened his eyes to find that he was in a strange bed with the doctor bending over him.

As he focused he could see his mother standing by his side and Miranda was at the foot of the bed, wrapped in a blanket.

“There, I told you he would be all right!” exclaimed Miranda, as he tried to sit up in bed.

“Darling!” cried Robert's mother. “We were just so worried when Sir George's groom came to the house and told us there had been an accident.”

“Mama – ” he began weakly.

“Hush, darling. We shall not speak of this until you are well again. Sir George has kindly said that you might stay here until you are fit enough to be moved back to the Hall. You are fortunate that your father is in London – he might not have been so lenient over how you disobeyed his wishes and ran away from your tutoring!”

Robert looked thoroughly ashamed of himself. He sank lower in the bed and pulled the fine cotton covers up to his chin.

Lady Templeton kissed him and then with a rustle of her full skirts she left the room with the doctor.

Miranda came forward and stared hard at her sick friend in the bed.

“My Mama is so angry with you,” she pronounced, pulling the blanket around her. “She says that you are a bad influence – whatever that is.”

“It means I get you into trouble,” whispered Robert. “I thought I was going to die,” he added. “You were very brave.”

Miranda shrugged.

“It was very cold,” she said. “The doctor says I am a heroine and I have frostbite.”

She held up her bandaged hands.

“See?”

“You saved my life,” muttered Robert, as he stared at the swaddled appendages thrust in front of him. “I will never forget what you did for me.
One day I will marry you
!”

Lord Robert Templeton now threw his head into his hands as Stringer, their butler, walked towards him with a sepulchral air.

“My father?” he cried, knowing the answer even before Stringer had uttered a word.

“He passed away ten minutes ago,” whispered the butler, bowing his head.

Robert did not even take off his dusty overcoat or think about his long military boots that still bore the scars from the bitter campaign he had just fought in India.

He tore up the magnificent staircase, two steps at a time. This was not the homecoming that he had envisaged on the long sea journey back from India.

With his duties fulfilled, he had longed to be home at Ledbury Hall once more and to see his family.

Long years had passed since he had first been sent out to India to fight in the Second Afghan War.

He had stayed on in India after the initial battles to maintain peace and patrol the borders that were constantly under threat from the Russians, who clung to the notion, like a terrier hangs on to a bone, that India would one day be theirs.

Many bloody battles had been fought and now an uneasy peace reigned, so he had happily set off for home.

It was only when he reached London and was told by Hiscock, their London butler, that the Earl, his father, was at death's door that his buoyant mood had changed from one of excitement at seeing his family again to utter anguish.

“Why on earth was I not told my father was so ill?” he barked, as he waited for his carriage.

“My Lord, her Ladyship wrote to you, but the post takes so very long to India. It is quite possible that it is still in transit.”

And now with a thumping heart he was making his way along the familiar corridor to his father's bedroom.

Even though it was three o'clock in the morning, the gas lamps were burning and he noticed a cluster of servants weeping by the backstairs. He could see by the dark smudges beneath their eyes that there had been little or no sleep in the Hall that night.

“My Lord!”

Mrs. Sturrock bent her grey head at his approach and quickly shooed the other servants out of the way.

“Your mother will be relieved you are here at last.”

“Is she still in Papa's room?” he enquired, his voice trembling.

“Yes, my Lord.”

He noticed a brisk new deference in her manner. It occurred to him it was because he was now the new Earl of Templeton. He was no longer simply the heir.

She opened the door for him and the first person he saw was his younger sister Alicia. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying as she creased up a linen handkerchief into a ball in her hand.

“Robert!” she cried, throwing herself at him. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are here.”

He embraced his sister warmly and then proceeded towards the bed. His father looked so peaceful as he lay still against the pillows.

His mother was kneeling by the bed, sobbing into the coverlet.

“Mama – ” whispered Alicia.

“Robert! You are here!”

His mother's face now lit up as he strode across the room towards her.

The whole family crowded around the bed – Alec, the brother who was two years younger, Emmeline, Charles and dear Alicia.

Each wore an expression of grief. Charles had his arm around Emmeline, whilst Alec stood a few paces away with his face to the wall.

“Did you receive my letter, Robert?”

“No, Mama.”

He could hardly tear his eyes away from the awful scene in front of him. The last time he had seen his father, he had been so full of life!

“Robert, we only received your letter the other day, telling us you were on your way home. We hoped that you might arrive before – oh, my dearest boy, I am so sorry!”

“I am now here, Mama, and that is all that matters,” replied the new Earl grimly.

The room fell silent apart from the sniffling of his sisters and mother.

He could not stop staring at his father.

‘Oh, Papa! My Papa! Why did I not come sooner? Damn the fact that I chose the carriage over the train from Southampton!' he thought, remonstrating with himself over what he saw as a foolish decision.

Outside the window, the sky began to lighten. Thin streaks of sunlight played behind the dark damask curtain. It was June and it would soon be a lovely day.

But the new Earl had had his fill of hot summer days – India had been one long stifling day after the other.

The doctor returned with the death certificate as the sun came up. The Countess had sent her daughters to bed and now only Alec and Charles remained in the room.

The new Earl was downstairs in the morning room when he heard the doctor's carriage pulling up. He had not changed his clothes and, as he caught the expression on a footmen's face, he realised that he must be presenting a truly dishevelled sight.

“Ah, Lord Templeton, might I offer you my sincere condolences? We must have just missed each other last night. Your father was a great man and he will be missed by us all,” said the doctor, holding out his hand.

“Thank you so much and thank you for attending on him so well. I am satisfied that everything possible was done for him.”

“It was such a massive stroke. He could not have survived.”

“Yet he appeared to be in the best of health,” sighed the Earl.

“It is often so with strokes,” remarked the doctor.

The Earl pulled himself together and led the doctor to the morning room. He declined a cup of coffee instead preferring to hand over the certificate and be on his way.

“You will excuse me if I do not linger, my Lord, as I next have to visit Sir George Whitby – his ulcer has been giving him trouble again!”

He bowed and left the room. The Earl did not see him out. Instead, he walked to the window and gazed out over the manicured garden.

‘Sir George!' he murmured to himself. ‘I should have asked the doctor not to mention Papa's death to him as it should be one of the family who breaks the news.'

He rubbed his brows and yawned. That would have to wait until later. Right now he was feeling so exhausted he could barely stand.

He was overwhelmed at the thought that he was now the Earl and responsible for not only Ledbury Hall and the estate, but also the family house in Brook Street and the castles in Ireland and Scotland.

‘I must not think about it now, otherwise I shall die!' he told himself, as he dragged himself upstairs.

He did not care to admit that even though he was now a man of the world, he was ill equipped to deal with the burden that had just fallen on his shoulders.

Monkhouse, his valet, was waiting for him with hot water and clean clothes.

“I shall sleep for a few hours,” he told him, as the valet helped him out of his filthy garments.

His head had barely hit his pillow before his eyes closed and he passed into a deep slumber, the prospect of being the new Earl pushed as far from his mind as possible.

*

The new Earl of Templeton slept much longer than he had intended.

For a moment when he was awakened, he could not remember where he was. And then, it hit him. He was back home at Ledbury Hall and his father had died.

It seemed like an utter nightmare.

It was inconceivable that his father was no longer alive. Who was going to run the estate?

The old Earl had displayed a
laissez-faire
attitude to the notion of imbuing his eldest son with a sense of the responsibility that the title carried.

“Oh, there is plenty of time for all that – you must enjoy yourself while you can,” he had often said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

In truth everyone believed that he would go on forever, not least of all himself with the result that now his father had gone, he was as helpless as a kitten.

Pushing this problem to the back of his mind once more, the Earl ran a hand through his thick black hair and swung his legs out of bed.

“My Lord?”

As if by magic, Monkhouse appeared in the door of the room.

“Would you care for luncheon?”

“Luncheon?” he exclaimed, peering at the clock on the mantelpiece.

“It's half-past one, my Lord.”

“Goodness! I had not thought to sleep for so long!”

He leapt up and allowed Monkhouse to lead him to the bathroom.

Unlike many other ancient castles and halls, the old Earl had been most progressive in his thinking and had completed a great deal of modernisation at the Hall.

Inspired by a visit to Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, he had installed the same deep baths with running water that he had seen at Queen Victoria's mansion.

Sometime later, clad only in a towel, the Earl sat in the stiff-backed armchair while Monkhouse shaved him. It felt good to be rid of his journey's filth at last.