This Way to Heaven (2 page)

At long last the car drove away down the drive, the Duchess waving her handkerchief from the window until it passed out of sight.

Jasmina looked relieved.

She was extremely fond of the lady she called Aunt Margaret, although she was not really her aunt, of course, but a distant cousin on her father's side.

Jasmina was born and bred in America, but all her life she had longed to visit England. She had read every book and travel guide she could find and asked her long-suffering parents many questions about their family in that distant country.

At long last when she reached the age of twenty-one, her father had given in to her pestering and arranged for her to cross the Atlantic to stay with his relations, the Duke and Duchess of Harley and their family.

To Jasmina, tall and fair, with sparkling blue eyes and a determined expression, London had been everything she had ever imagined.

She had enjoyed the shops, the ancient buildings, the parties and balls. She had loved visiting the historical places she had only read about, learning the manners and traditions of a different world.

But it was not until she travelled up to the family's ancestral home in Yorkshire on the edge of the moors that she felt her spirits lift with unexpected joy.

Jasmina had never seen such beautiful countryside and she knew with all her soul that even when she returned home, part of her heart would stay here.

Now she ran nimbly up the stone steps and into the huge echoing hall with its superb black and white marble floor and graceful Grecian statues brought back to England by one of the Duke's ancestors.

She would be very sad to leave Harley Grange, but was sensible enough to know it would be inadvisable to stay there on her own.

Back home in Missouri she would not have given it another thought. But even though they were now in a new century, Jasmina was aware that many of her family's acquaintances still adhered to the old ways of manners and decorum.

So she would depart for the Parsonage to the other cousins who lived in the village of Debbingford twenty miles away in the next valley.

She had assured Aunt Margaret that she would be perfectly safe travelling there on her own.

‘Goodness', she thought to herself, ‘at home in Missouri most friends live more than twenty miles away and I often went to their houses just for lunch or an afternoon visit!'

“Miss Winfield – ”

It was Reid, the elderly butler.

“Yes, Reid. Can I help you?”

“Just to inform you, miss, that the horse His Grace purchased recently has just arrived. It has been stabled and cared for, but I thought it best that you knew.”

“Oh, yes, Reid. Thank you! The Duke told me in London before he left for Scotland that this is the mount he wants me to ride while I was here at Harley Grange.

“It is vastly annoying that the dealer has delayed in sending the animal. I am so looking forward to seeing him. I must go down to the stables. Perhaps I could take him out for just a short ride before I leave.”

Reid's mouth tightened.

This young American lady was certainly pleasant, but surely she should know that it was not suitable for her to ride around the countryside on a strange horse. Well, maybe in America things were handled differently, but this was Harley Grange in England.

“Perhaps it would not be advisable, Miss Winfield. The Head Groom is away on estate business and I believe the animal is extremely highly strung.”

Jasmina was about to inform the butler that she had been riding since she was three and could handle any horse given her.

But she hesitated, as she was well aware that there were differences in the way Society worked over here in England and although it was irritating, well, there was no reason to antagonise the staff.

No, what the eye did not see, the heart would not grieve over – that was what her old Nanny would have said and at the moment Jasmina thought this was very good advice.

She ran up to her room and began to sort out the clothes she would need for the following day.

Because she had just had the most marvellous idea – a wonderful plan.

She would ride the new horse across country to her cousins in Debbingford!

She knew these cousins were not as wealthy as the Duke and Duchess and so she was not sure if they would have a mount for her. It seemed such a shame to leave the animal in the stables when he had been purchased just for her.

The casement window now rattled violently and she hurried across to close it.

Gazing out she could see on a far distant hill the brooding turreted outline of Somerton Castle.

Jasmina realised that the immense Somerton estate bordered on the Duke's land and was intrigued by the story the Duchess had told her over supper the night before.

“Oh, my dear, it is so sad. Richard, the present Earl of Somerton, is a tragic figure. A real recluse. He sees no one!”

Jasmina had gazed at the Duchess across the candle flames, her sapphire eyes sparkling.

“No one at all? My word, what would he do if you called?”

“I would be told firmly that he is not at home. My dear Albert meets him occasionally on estate business and I believe he undertakes various work for the Government so he does travel down to London. But apart from that he never appears in Society.”

“But why? Is he perhaps – ” Jasmina hesitated, searching for the right words, “disfigured in some way?”

“Oh, no, my dear, Richard was always the best-looking young man and even now at thirty he is most distinguished. But – ” she leant dramatically across the table – “he lost Millicent, his wife, two years ago in a tragic accident. Dreadful. She was so young, so pretty. He has never been the same since.”

Now from her bedroom window, Jasmina gazed out at the distant castle.

She would have loved to have met the Earl.

He sounded such a romantic, tragic figure. Like a character in a novel.

But now she was leaving the district, even though temporarily, so there would be no immediate opportunity for their paths to cross.

*

The next day dawned cold and dull and the sullen sky hung grey over the Yorkshire countryside threatening snow later in the day.

Richard, the Earl of Somerton, sat drinking coffee in the dismal breakfast room of Somerton Castle.

He had told his staff not to bother lighting the fire this morning, because he was going to be away from home in London for a few days.

But now he shivered in the chilly room.

“More coffee, my Lord?”

His housekeeper, Mary Landrey, was at his shoulder.

“No, thank you, Mary. And you can clear away the food as well.”

She bit her lip as she could see that he had eaten nothing. The hot dishes of crispy bacon, succulent local sausages and scrambled egg remained untouched.

“Shall I ask cook for more toast, my Lord? We do have some new plum preserve and – ”

“Nothing, thank you, Mary. I shall be leaving for London within minutes. But do make sure this food does not go to waste. I am sure the staff will enjoy it.”

She bent her head in exasperated acknowledgement and signalled to Gladys, the maid, to clear away.

The breakfast would all go to waste. The servants would be appalled to be offered cold eggs and bacon!

Mary watched from the door as the Earl stirred his coffee. She could tell he was in one of his black moods, those great bouts of depression that came down on him like thunder clouds.

She sighed and twisted her hands together under her white starched apron.

She had wanted to speak to her Master today about George Radford, but this was obviously not a good time.

Mary was slim and dark-haired with worried grey eyes. At twenty-five years old, she was rather young for her position as housekeeper to a great castle and family, but in reality her job was very simple as the Earl no longer entertained or had visitors.

It had all been so different some years ago, when she had been appointed lady's maid to Millicent, the late Lady Somerton.

Millicent had only been thirteen when her parents died in a tragic boating accident on the River Thames in London and she had been left as ward to the then Earl of Somerton.

People had felt pity for a young girl going to live with such a brusque military man, but as it turned out he had doted on the child, giving her everything she desired and never saying no to whatever fancy she asked for.

Then three years ago, when Millicent was sixteen, the old Earl had died and his son Richard, who had been away in India in the Army, had inherited the title.

On his return to England, he had married the young Millicent and Mary had been promoted from parlourmaid to lady's maid.

It was difficult looking at the Earl's serious dark eyes and frowning expression to recall those happier days. There had been parties, dinners, dancing and music.

Privately Mary had never reckoned the Earl to be deeply in love with his young wife, but, like his father before him, he had indulged her every whim and that some whispered had cost her life.

And when pretty silly Lady Somerton died in that dreadful accident, the Earl had shut up most of the castle and shunned the world.

Mary had thought she would be out of a job, but to her great surprise the Earl had offered her the position of housekeeper.

Why had she accepted his offer? Life at the castle was bleakly quiet these days.

The Earl had a very uncertain temper and the black moods that descended on him made him a difficult employer.

But if she was honest, she knew why.

Mary had given her heart to a young local farmer, George Radford, and although he told her he could not afford to marry her, she knew she would never willingly move from Somerton to a place where she might never see George again.

“I shall be away for two or three days in London, Mary,” the Earl said, standing up abruptly. “You can, of course, reach me at the Knightsbridge house if there are any emergencies.”

“Yes, my Lord. Shall I ask Mills to bring the car round at once?”

“Yes, please do so. I have told Fergus he need not accompany me and tell Mills I will drive myself.”

Mary sighed.

It seemed that the Earl no longer even wished for the company of his valet or chauffeur when he travelled to London.

He was withdrawing himself more and more from the world. It was exceedingly worrying, but there was no one she could talk to about the problem.

She made her way back along the stone passage, through the baize door that led to the kitchen and told Mills to bring the car to the castle courtyard.

Mrs. Rush, the cook, gave her a sharpish look and poured her out a large mug of tea.

“Driving himself again, is he?”

Mary nodded.

“Not even taking Fergus with him.”

Mrs. Rush pursed her lips in annoyance and pushed down the sleeves of the black dress she wore under her voluminous white apron.

She was a stout jolly Yorkshire woman with a mop of grey curls she kept bundled up under a big white frilly cap. Her round face was red with the heat from the stove.

“It b'aint right, the Lord goin' to London without any servants to attend him. What will the Knightsbridge staff think of us? They'll reckon we're no better than poor savages who know no better how to behave!”

“I know, Mrs. Rush, but what can we do? He even told Fergus to tell the Reverend Parker he was not at home when the vicar called! And Doctor Meade was very put out when he rode over from Debbingford just to call on his Lordship and was told he could not be seen.”

“From what young Gladys brought downstairs, his Lordship has only had one cup of coffee this mornin' and no breakfast at all. Not even a small spoonful of my lovely porridge. And him travellin' all the way to London!”

She banged down the mixing bowl she was holding on the table and began to pummel the dough inside it.

“It b'aint right, Mary. I'd hoped he would begin to come out of his grief this year, but he seems to be gettin' worse. All callers are turned away, even the Duchess of Harley was told he was not at home!

“And there's to be no Christmas party for the staff, I hear. And no Christmas tree! That's shameful, so it is!”

The dough was given another fierce pummelling.

“I blame that silly girl gettin' herself killed!”

“Mrs. Rush! You must not speak ill of the dead. She was my Lady and a nice little thing, even if she was a scatterbrain.”

Cook sniffed disdainfully. She had been in service at the castle since the Earl was a baby. All her loyalty lay with him.

And like most of the old family retainers, she was well aware that there was no direct heir at the moment.

If anything, God forbid, should happen to the Earl, then the title would pass to a very distant cousin who kept sheep out in Australia.

She glanced at Mary's drawn and worried face.

“Did you get a chance to mention that George Radford to his Lordship?”

Mary shook her head.

“It didn't seem to be the right time. Oh, Mrs. Rush, if only George would sell his little plot of land to the Earl! It's not large enough to support a family and the Earl has offered George a good sum for it, especially as it separates those two big woods he's so fond of riding in. If George had the money, we could afford to get married.”

“Ah, it's all about his pride with George Radford,” cook said darkly. “He says that there piece of damp old ground has been in his family for as long as the Somerton estate has been in theirs!”

Mary nodded and returned to her tea.

The elderly cook was quite right. She loved George Radford with her whole heart, but he just could not see that giving in and selling his land would mean they could buy a little farm somewhere else and get married.

The Earl was just as determined that he should sell. And the bad feeling between the two of them had made her position very difficult.

She shivered even though the kitchen was warm.