This Way to Heaven (6 page)

He had wandered all round the castle in the dark as sure-footed as a young goat, discovering all sorts of hidden doorways and passages, but he had never seen the famous ghost.

‘All these years and I thought it was make-believe,' he chuckled to himself.

Then the laughter died from his eyes.

In the glow from his candle he could see that this was no ghost!

A young woman in a lace nightgown was walking slowly towards him and what was more terrifying towards the very place in the East Turret where the banister rails were broken!

He could see bright golden hair cascading down her back and although her bare feet were hesitant in their steps, they were leading her slowly but surely towards her doom.

The Earl dropped the candle which blew out and hurled himself forwards.

“Stop! Wait! Do not move!”

Through the swirling heat of her fever, Jasmina was only aware of the dark all around her.

Then just as she was about to step out into nothing but space, she was swept off her feet into two strong arms.

The Earl fell to the floor, clutching the girl with all his strength, his face buried in tresses of gold hair.

He felt his heart racing.

She had been within inches of
death
!

“Mary! Pardew! Hey, there! Someone! Come at once. I need help here! Mary!”

His clear voice rang out urgently through the silent castle.

Just at that moment there was a break in the snow clouds and the moon shone through a high window, its rays illuminating the couple locked in each other's arms.

Carefully he pushed the golden hair back from the girl's face as hurrying feet sounded from below.

Mrs. Rush appeared, scurrying along the corridor just as Mary came running from the direction of the West wing where the servants' living-quarters were situated.

“What the – ” the Earl swore under his breath in astonishment, because he recognised the beautiful pale face beneath his questing fingers.

In the fitful moonlight he could see that lying in his arms was the very same young American girl he had last seen riding away on that great black horse!

Mary arrived carrying an oil lamp.

“My Lord, I can explain – ”

“Oh, my dear Heavens, I must have fallen asleep,” stammered Mrs. Rush, fanning her red face with her apron. “The poor child. Oh, thank goodness you stopped her, my Lord. She could have fallen to her death!”

The Earl climbed to his feet still holding Jasmina in his arms.

“Explanations will have to wait. I take it from her attire that you have had this lady ensconced in a bedroom somewhere, Mary?”

The young housekeeper flinched at the tone of his voice and Mrs. Rush fell silent and backed away from the anger on her employer's face.

“Yes, my Lord,” replied Mary quietly, refusing to show just how scared and upset she was. “George Radford found her lying injured in the snow and there was no way we could – ”

“Which room?” the Earl interrupted walking back along the corridor.

Mary hurried after him, the oil lamp swaying in her grasp.

“The Peacock room, my Lord.”

The Earl felt his breath catch in his throat.

They had dared to give this stranger his dead wife's room!

When Millicent had been alive, the door between the Peacock room and the big Master bedroom had always stood open.

Since her accident the Earl had moved to another part of the castle and had never been inside her room since the day of the funeral.

Without another word he strode into the room and placed the girl gently onto the bed.

By the light of the oil lamps he could see that she was very pale, but when he touched her forehead it was hot and damp.

“She is running a fever,” he said shortly. “We must call a doctor.”

“But my Lord – ”

“Pardew is still drunk and unconscious, I take it!”

“I – I – yes, my Lord, but George Radford is now sleeping in the scullery.”

“Wake him and tell him to travel to the village and bring Doctor Meade here at once.”

“But the snow – ”

“The road from here to the village will be passable with care. We must get a doctor for this girl. Now go!”

Mary fled from the room.

The Earl spun round to Mrs. Rush.

“Tell one of the footmen to bring more coal up here immediately. We need a very good fire. She is desperately cold. And hot soup, Mrs. Rush. Chicken or beef stock and at once!”

The cook curtsied to him briefly and hurried away. She had not seen the Master so animated in years.

‘Goodness, he looks incredibly like his father with his tousled hair and standing there in his shirtsleeves,' she thought, as she climbed down the steps to the servants' hall.

The Earl turned back to the still figure on the bed. He picked up her hand and chafed at the pale fingers.

A lady's hand, that was obvious, but he could feel calluses made from leather reins. Indeed he had the same patches on his own fingers.

He reached across and smoothed the blonde tresses away from her face.

How big his hand looked against her cheek!

Suddenly he became aware that the girl's eyes were opening and she stared up at him, panic flaring.

“Don't worry about anything. Everything is quite all right. You are safe and I have sent for a doctor.”

“I – I – I am scared.
Please
, do not leave me!”

The pale fingers tightened over his.

The Earl realised that she was almost delirious. He would have to humour her.

But his voice sounded deep and sincere as he told her,

“I will never leave you. Sleep now. You are quite safe here in my castle.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Doctor Meade strode briskly into the Earl's study, pulling on his long black jacket over white shirtsleeves and a sombre mustard waistcoat.

Tall and thin with a neat grey beard and side-whiskers, he accepted gratefully the glass of whisky the Earl handed him.

“Thank you, my Lord. Much appreciated on such a cold night – or should I say morning, because I believe dawn is now breaking.”

“It was so good of you to come out, doctor. I have arranged for breakfast to be served to you immediately.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

It would hardly have been possible for him to have refused George's insistent demand earlier that night.

“And the young lady? What of your patient?”

The Earl turned away as he enquired and stood, one hand resting on the white marble mantelpiece, gazing at the embers of the fire as if the answer was of no consequence to him whatsoever.

“Luckily her fever has abated somewhat, my Lord. Your housekeeper dealt with the situation most promptly it seems. The young lady is very strong with a most robust constitution and as long as she takes things easily for a few days, stays in bed and has plenty of nourishing food, then I see no reason why she should not make a full recovery.”

“So in your opinion she should not travel?”

The doctor looked up sharply at the shadowed dark face.

“Certainly not, my Lord! That would be extremely unwise.”

“Does she have a name?”

“It transpires that she is a Miss Jasmina Winfield, an American relation of the Duke and Duchess of Harley. She was on her way to visit other relations in Debbingford when misfortune overtook her.”

The Earl frowned.

“Then surely I can arrange for her to be transported back to Harley Grange as soon as the blizzard stops? They will be most concerned for her safety.”

The doctor shook his head.

“She was apparently travelling from Harley Grange to stay with these relations when the accident happened. The Duchess has gone to London – a grandson has arrived prematurely into this cold world, so it seems.

“So Harley Grange is empty and in my considered opinion, it would be unwise for Miss Winfield to continue her journey to the Parsonage at Debbingford, which I know to be extremely damp.”

The Earl crossed impatiently to his desk.

“All right, Doctor Meade. You have indeed made your point. Miss Winfield must stay here at the castle. I will make sure she has every attention from my staff until she is fit to travel.

“Now I will ring for someone to escort you to the dining room. I am sure you will be glad of some hot bacon and eggs before you have to venture out into the snow once more.”

The doctor bowed, recognising that he was being dismissed.

“Thank you, my Lord, most kind of you. Oh, and Miss Winfield is asking to speak to you. I said you would be up to see her directly. She should not be allowed to fret over anything at the moment.”

*

Jasmina was dreaming she was running frantically through a blinding blizzard, her feet being held down by the soft clinging snow.

She could not see, could not hear – she was calling out for help, reaching out – desperately –

“Hush! I am here.”

Her flailing fingers were grasped in strong hands and she sighed as she opened her eyes.

In the dim light coming through the open curtains, she could see a tall dark figure standing over her.

Immediately she knew who it was and why she was so disturbed.

“My Lord – forgive me – I should not be here. I must go at once.”

“Miss Winfield! Please do calm yourself. What is this nonsense are you talking?”

Jasmina struggled to sit upright.

Mary stepped forward out of the shadows and slid her arm round the girl's slender shoulders.

“There, madam. Let me place this pillow behind your head.” She glanced up at the Earl. “She is worried about being an unwelcome guest, my Lord.”

“Thank you, Mary. Perhaps you should now go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Rush for some hot soup.”

Mary hesitated, then dropped a curtsy and left the room. The Earl loosened his grip on Jasmina's hands but stayed close to the bed.

“Miss Winfield, we do find ourselves in a very odd situation, don't we? We have not even been introduced, although I know the Duke and Duchess, of course.”

“My Lord, I am so sorry to foist myself on your hospitality in this way. I now feel perfectly well enough to travel on to my relations in Debbingford.”

The Earl frowned.

“Miss Winfield, that is not possible, I am afraid. The road out of the valley is closed because of the snow, and I do assure you, although I do not normally entertain houseguests, you cannot surely think that a stranger in my country would be turned away?

“I have heard that Americans shower their visitors with hospitality. Although I just cannot offer you any great excitement, you are welcome to the shelter of my castle until you are fully recovered. I have an extensive library should you wish to read.”

Jasmina's big blue eyes glistened for a moment.

Yes, she was indeed a stranger and in the moments of fever when she had come round during the night, she had longed to be at home in Missouri in her own little bed.

But she now refused to show her aristocratic host her fears.

She raised her chin and faced him squarely without flinching.

“My Lord, I am well aware that you do not receive visitors here at the castle. Thus I do feel I am imposing on you.”

The Earl suddenly wanted to smile at her and say that she was welcome to stay as long as she liked.

But that would be foolish.

He had no time for such social niceties, especially with stubborn hot-headed young women.

“Not at all,” he responded. “It is an extremely large castle, Miss Winfield, and there is no need for us to meet at all. Now I will leave you to rest in peace to recover your strength.”

He bowed and left the room.

Jasmina stared hard at the closing door, a frisson of anger buzzing through her veins.

No need to meet at all! Well! She certainly had no need to speak to him again either.

Richard, the Earl of Somerton's ideas of courtesy and her own were clearly miles apart.

*

By lunchtime the raging blizzard had stopped, but the temperature had dropped and the snow was sculpted into weird and wonderful shapes, blown into peaks by the wind and frozen into fantastic ice mountains that looked like illustrations for some old book of children's fairy tales.

Mary, a heavy red shawl draped around her head and ears, slipped and skidded across the icy cobbled stable yard, a small wicker basket clutched to her chest. Inside wrapped in a cloth were two hot meat pasties and slices of cheese.

George Radford, the red-headed farmer she loved so much, was standing gazing moodily out from the stable entrance.

“I've brought you something to eat, George.”

“Mary! You shouldn't be out in this cold, lass. But thank you kindly for the food. That'll go down a treat. I'm just about to head for 'ome. My old dog will think I'm not comin' back, so I'll leave the pony 'ere. If I wear these snow shoes I found in the stables, I can cross the paddock and down through the woods. Snow'll not lie so 'eavy under the trees.”

“The path to the village is clear, isn't it?”

“Well, it's passable with care. But no one's gettin' out of the valley over the pass just yet and that's a fact!”

“This heavy snow won't have done your old out-buildings much good,” said Mary hesitantly, knowing how dilapidated George's farm was.

He worked every hour of the day to eke out a living from the poor land. There was never enough time to make improvements to the barns and sheds. And the farmhouse itself had a roof that leaked like an old bucket.

George was now strapping on his homemade snow shoes, round circles woven with cane that made odd shapes in the snow, but they would prevent him from sinking into the drifts.

He pulled his collar up round his ears that were already reddened by the cold.

“Aye, it's just what I have said to you many a time before, Mary. The farm's not in a fit state for a lass to live in. You'll just have to bide here awhile until I can do some repairs. Maybe next year – ”