The Shadow of Sin (Bantam Series No. 19)

  THE SHADOW OF SIN

  Barbara Cartland

  Celesta was terrified. Parentless and alone save for the companionship of her old nurse, she had just learned that her brother Giles had lost their family home at the gambling tables. Celesta couldn’t stay in her tiny cottage at the edge of the estate without the permission of the new owner, the Earl of Meltham.

  But as soon as he saw his pretty new tenant, the Earl had other plans for her. He offered her his “protection,” convinced that the destitute girl would jump at the chance to become a wealthy man’s mistress. Celesta was horrified by the idea. But where could she turn for help to resist the Earl’s unwanted advances?

  AUTHORS NOTE

  The description of the Coronation of George IV, His Majesty’s clothes, and the Banquet are all authentic. Queen Caroline died on August 8th, exactly twenty-one days after she was refused entry to the Abbey.

  On the day of the Queen’s death, the yacht Royal George had arrived off Holyhead. The King had all the masts of the squadron lowered as a sign of mourning. On August 12th, His Majesty’s fifty-ninth birthday, he crossed the Irish Sea “in great spirits.” The State Visit, the first few days of which the King remained quietly “in seclusion” as a mark of respect to his wife, was a triumphant success.

  “The King was always fond of children,” Lord Melbourne told Queen Victoria.

  His Majesty bought an enormous amount of children’s playthings to give away as presents. His accounts in the Royal Archives show bills for dolls and lead soldiers, boxes of ninepins, miniature farm yards, play houses, mechanical animals, rocking horses, games and toys of every description.

  Chapter One

  1821

  Celesta, picking the peaches, was humming to herself.

  The sunshine coming through the peach-house which had been built against one of the old red-brick Elizabethan walls shone on her fair hair and turned it gold.

  The peaches were small because they had not been thinned in the Spring.

  Celesta could remember when four peaches with one on top would fill the beautiful Sevres dessert dishes which they had always used at the Priory.

  Her father with a gold dessert knife would peel the rosy velvet skin from a peach and as he did so would say:

  “I suppose all the large ones are being kept for the Show?”

  “Of course they are!” her mother would say from the other end of the table. “You know that it would break old Bloss’s heart if he did not win a prize.”

  It was a conversation which was repeated every year until her mother was no longer there...

  Celesta pulled herself together with a little jerk.

  She would not think of that.

  Instead as she picked the small but deliciously sweet peaches and placed them carefully in her basket she decided to whom she would give them.

  There would be Mrs. Oakes, aged seventy-eight and crippled with arthritis, who would be delighted to have six, and little Billy Ives, who had broken his leg two weeks ago, should have another half a dozen.

  And old Bloss’s wife, who lived in a Cottage at the end of the village, would not only be thrilled to have the peaches but also the chance of a talk.

  She had been very lonely since her husband had died.

  And the rest, Celesta thought, when she and Nana had eaten as many as they could manage would be made into the delicious peach jam which was Nana’s speciality.

  Unfortunately they still had a few pots left over from last year, but it would be a pity to let the fruit go to waste.

  She reached a little higher to where above her head there were three almost over-ripe peaches, and as she did so a deep voice from the broken doorway said:

  “A very pretty thief, but nevertheless a thief!”

  Celesta turned round in astonishment.

  Standing just inside the peach-house was the most elegant Gentleman she had ever seen in her life!

  Dressed in the very height of fashion with a high cravat and smart cut-away coat over tightly fitting champagne-coloured pantaloons, he seemed almost over-poweringly big in the low-roofed peach-house.

  He was carrying his tall hat in his hand, his hair, cut in the wind-swept manner made fashionable by the King when he was Regent, was dark, and his eyes, strangely penetrating, seemed dark too.

  Never, Celesta thought, had she seen a man who looked so handsome, so raffish and at the same time so cynical.

  She was surprised into silence and the stranger with a mocking note in his voice continued:

  “You must admit that I have caught you red-handed, but it would be a pity if someone as attractive as you should be prosecuted for crime.”

  He paused and his eyes seemed to flicker over Celesta’s white skin, her deep blue eyes seeming too large for her small heart-shaped face, her tiny straight nose and sweetly curved red lips, before he went on:

  “You can of course be hanged for stealing over five shillings worth of goods and if you escape the hangman, you still might be transported to New South Wales, a very unsavoury fate for such an alluring young woman!”

  “Who ... who are ... you?” Celesta tried to say, but before she could enunciate the words he went on:

  “On reflection I think it would be kinder if I were to be my own Judge and Jury. I therefore sentence you, my entrancing little intruder, to pay for the fruit you have so shamelessly taken from me.”

  “Who a-are you? What are y-you saying?” Celesta stammered.

  “I think those are the questions I should be asking you,” the stranger said.

  He took a step nearer to her and then, almost before she could realise what was happening, before she could cry out or move, he put one arm round her and with his other hand lifted her face up to his.

  She had one convulsive moment of fear as his lips came down on hers; then when she should have struggled and fought against him to be free she was unable to do so.

  Celesta had never been kissed before and she did not know that a man’s lips could hold a woman completely captive.

  She was only conscious that his arm round her was strong and that his mouth, firm and demanding, was something beyond comprehension, beyond thought.

  Her lips were very soft beneath his, and for a moment his arm round her tightened and the pressure of his mouth became more insistent.

  Then as unexpectedly as he had taken her he set her free.

  She made an inarticulate little sound which should have been a cry of fear but which died away in her throat.

  Then, as her eyes met his, she stood for a moment spellbound before she turned and ran away. She picked up the skirts of her cotton dress and ran with a swiftness that had something of panic in it through an opening in the walls.

  It led from the lower garden into the upper one and Celesta ran on past the gooseberry bushes and the raspberry canes and through the gate which led into the shrubbery.

  Still running, she passed through the high rhododendron bushes which only a month before had been a blaze of glory, then down the small path which led to the Garden Cottage.

  She pulled open the door and shut it behind her to stand with her back against it breathing quickly and feeling that she had shut out something which menaced her.

  “Is that you, dearie?”

  It was Nana calling from the kitchen and her warm, calm voice was somehow consoling.

  “Y-yes!” Celesta managed to say a little unsteadily.

  “Luncheon will be ready in a few minutes.”

  “I will go and ... wash.”

  Celesta spoke automatically and as if in a dream she walked slowly up the narrow oak staircase to her bed-room on the floor above.

  It w
as a small room and the diamond-paned window was open, so that there was the scent of the roses climbing up the house and the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle.

  Celesta sat down on a stool in front of the dressing-table and stared at herself in the mirror.

  “How could it have happened?”

  How was it possible she should have been kissed by a complete stranger and done nothing to prevent it?

  Then as she looked at her reflection in the mirror she realised that he had of course mistaken her for a girl from the village.

  It was not surprising since with her fair hair uncovered and blown by the summer breeze she had been working in the garden all morning.

  She was wearing a very old cotton dress which had shrunk and faded from frequent washing. No lady could be expected to look like that or even be found unaccompanied in a garden as vast as the seven acres of vegetable gardens which were part of the Priory grounds.

  Nevertheless, she told herself, he had no right, no right at all!

  At the same time some part of her mind was saying:

  “So that is what a kiss is like!”

  She had no idea that a man could seem so strong, so over-powering, or that his mouth could be so possessive. Then as she thought of it Celesta tried to be angry.

  “How dare he?” she wanted to storm, but her anger turned only to shame.

  How could she have been so weak, so spineless as to stand there and let it happen?

  He was not really to blame. Men, she had always been told, did behave like that!

  But for a lady to submit to such an intimacy without screaming, without attempting to fight against her assailant, showed a very reprehensible character.

  Who was he and what was he doing there?

  There seemed to be so many questions with no answers to what had occurred, and finally having washed her hands in the china basin which stood on the washing-stand, Celesta tidied her hair and went downstairs.

  The table was laid for her in the small Dining-Room which until she and Nana had gone to live in the Garden Cottage had only been a large store-room attached to the kitchen.

  Now furnished with a sideboard, a small walnut table, and four velvet-seated chairs it looked very elegant.

  “Do we really need a Dining-Room?” Celesta had asked Nana when they had moved to the Garden Cottage.

  “I’m not having you eating in the kitchen, Miss Celesta,” Nana had said firmly. “We may be poor—poverty-stricken some would say—but you’ll behave like a lady as long as I’m with you, and that indeed is what your father would have wished.”

  “I only thought it would make more work for you,” Celesta said quietly.

  “You’re a lady, bred and born, and you’ll behave like one and there’s no arguing against that!”

  Now as Celesta seated herself so that she could look out of the small window onto the garden which she and Nana had made at the back of the Cottage she realised that something was wrong.

  “What has happened, Nana?” she asked.

  She was too close to her old Nurse, who had looked after her since she was a child, not to be aware of every mood, every changing intonation of her voice, and the tell-tale frown which appeared between her kindly eyes whenever she was worried.

  “Eat your luncheon!” Nana said gruffly.

  Celesta knew that this meant that something was really wrong.

  Nana had a theory that no-one should eat when they were upset because it caused indigestion.

  When Celesta was a child Nana would never scold her at meal-times or tell her anything that was unpleasant before she went to bed.

  The dish set down in front of her while very simple was well-cooked and there were fresh vegetables from the garden which Celesta had herself brought into the Cottage earlier in the morning.

  “Tell me, Nana!” she coaxed.

  “You eat what I’ve put before you,” Nana answered. “There’s plenty of time for worrying after it’s inside.”

  She went from the room as she spoke and Celesta smiled as she helped herself from a silver dish onto a plate of Crown Derby china.

  So many treasures from the Priory had been brought to the Garden Cottage, but as Nana said:

  “What’s the point of leaving them for the rats and mice? Master Giles appears to have no interest in them, and it’s nice for you to have your father’s belongings round you.”

  “If Giles wants them I can always give them back,” Celesta had said, feeling it salved her conscience.

  At the same time when Giles told her that she and Nana must move from the Priory because he could no longer afford to pay the servants, she had naturally assumed that she would have to furnish the Cottage where old Bloss had lived for so many years.

  Nana had complained more than Celesta.

  “It’s going down in the world to live like a labourer,” she said, “and what your father’d say I can’t imagine!”

  ‘If Papa had lived it would never have happened,’ Celesta thought.

  Who could possibly have imagined that Giles, because he had succeeded to the Baronetcy and the small fortune their father had possessed, would have gone completely crazy?

  It was all due, Celesta thought, to a man called Lord Crawthorne.

  Looking back she could remember when Giles had first talked about him.

  Her brother had come home that week with a number of his new gay London friends and the household had been rushed off its feet to offer them the sort of hospitality Giles had required.

  He had developed very grand ideas since he had been to London, Celesta found. To begin with, he wanted far more footmen than poor old Bateson, who was on his last legs, could possibly produce or manage.

  However, he brought some flunkeys down from London and very tiresome they were, treating the Priory servants with supercilious scorn and drinking far more ale than Nana thought was necessary.

  Before his guests arrived Giles had talked to Celesta.

  It was over a year ago and she was not quite seventeen. She learnt there was no question of her joining the party that evening or appearing at any other meals.

  “You are too young,” Giles explained. “Besides, it is going to be a very sophisticated party—the sort His Lordship enjoys.”

  “Who is this new friend of yours?” Celesta asked.

  “Well, he is not exactly a friend,” Giles said with a grin, “except that I like to think so. He is much older than I and very important. I cannot tell you, Celesta, how kind he has been to me.”

  “In what way?” Celesta asked.

  “Well, he has shown me the ropes, introduced me to all the right Clubs, and taught me how to gamble, for that matter.”

  “Gamble?”

  “You do not suppose I am going to lead a life like Papa’s, do you?” Giles asked. “For one thing this Estate is not big enough to keep a man occupied, and anyway I have no use for the country when I might be in London.”

  “But, Giles, you have always been so fond of the country,” Celesta protested. “You always said you would rather have a good day’s hunting than go to a hundred parties!”

  “That was before I knew what parties—real parties—were like!” Giles said with an almost ecstatic expression on his face. “You should see some of the places I have been to with His Lordship!”

  Then he laughed.

  “No, you should not. It is the last thing you should see! But I can tell you, Celesta, I felt a real greenhorn when I first arrived in London. Now I am becoming what they call a very Tulip of Fashion!”

  “Does that make you happy?” Celesta asked.

  “It makes me enjoy myself,” Giles answered. “I only wish to God I had more money! That is the only snag.”

  For a moment he was silent and then he said:

  “My luck must change and when it does...”

  “Oh, Giles, do be careful!” Celesta begged, but even as she spoke she knew he was not listening to her.

  She had peeped at the party through the banisters whe
n they arrived in the oak-panelled Hall, and she watched them for a little while from behind the oak screen in the Minstrels’ Gallery while they were at dinner.

  They had sat down thirty that night and never had Celesta imagined women could be so alluringly beautiful or wear such décolleté evening-gowns.

  She blushed when she realised how revealing the gowns were. Then she told herself that high above them in the Minstrels’ Gallery was not the right way to judge their appearance, but at ground level.

  As course succeeded course and the wine Giles had brought from London flowed very freely, it seemed to her that the party was growing very noisy.

  Then Nana had dragged her away from the Gallery.

  “It’s not a sight I want you to see, Miss Celesta,” she said. “Master Giles should be ashamed of himself bringing women like that to his home!”

  “What is wrong with them?” Celesta asked.

  But Nana had only pressed her lips together and looked so disapproving that Celesta had been awed into silence.

  She had not seen Lord Crawthorne because Giles had seated him at the end of the table so that he had his back to Celesta peeping down from the Minstrels’ Gallery.

  She did notice, however, that his hair was growing a little thin on top and even at that distance she could see there were threads of grey amongst the neatly arranged curls.

  She had hoped she might get a sight of His Lordship the following day, but he had left early, not, Giles hastened to add, because he had not enjoyed himself, but because he had a horse running at Epsom and wished to attend the Meeting.

  The rest of the party had stayed on until, before Celesta had expected them to do so, they all returned to London.

  “When will you be coming back, Giles?” she asked her brother.

  “When I have nowhere better to go,” he replied. “I am going to Newmarket next week to stay with Hubert and the week after that to York where Freddie has tremendous plans to amuse us.”

  “I am glad you are enjoying yourself,” Celesta said with all sincerity.

  “I have never had so much fun in my life!” Giles declared. “It is only...”

  He stopped.