A Dream from the Night Read online

  Felix Hanson came down the stairs whistling.

  He was feeling in exceptionally good temper, because he had beaten the professional who had come from Derby to play tennis with him.

  This was the first time he had done so after many strenuous battles.

  He was also happy because he knew that on Monday morning the Dowager Countess’s cheque for eight thousand pounds would pass into his bank account and he could then begin to plan how he could return to London.

  He had spent most of the night contemplating his assets and thinking that once his outstanding bills were settled he would be in a comparatively sound financial position.

  There should be well over two thousand pounds left over from the cheque, on top of which he had quite a number of expensive presents the Dowager Countess had given him.

  They included cufflinks, tiepins, a gold watch and chain, a signet ring and various other items of jewellery, all of which were cashable should the necessity arise.

  He had also three racehorses that were registered under his name and, although he intended to try to sell them, he felt that it might be difficult to do so as they were in the Kelvedon stables.

  He was well aware how bitter and vindictive Roseline Kelvedon would be when she finally realised that he intended to leave her and was in fact no longer interested in her as a woman.

  There was, however, Felix told himself, little she could do except to be spiteful.

  She would try to prevent him from claiming his racehorses, his motor car and any other gifts over which there might be disputed ownership.

  At the same time his prospects and the future looked fair and, as he reached the hall and glanced at the large grandfather clock standing against one wall, he realised that he had dressed early and there was another twenty minutes before dinner would be announced.

  As he walked towards the library, he saw that the footman on duty was Henry, a young man who had an obsession for motor cars and whom Felix Hanson had found useful on several occasions.

  “Good evening, Henry,” he said.

  “Good evening, sir,” Henry replied respectfully.

  “Is her Ladyship downstairs yet?”

  “No, sir. I understand that her Ladyship has a headache and has been resting. But Mr. Burrows believes she will be coming down to dinner.”

  Felix Hanson smiled to himself.

  ‘That lets me off the hook,’ he thought. ‘Roseline will go to bed early and I’ll have a chance of seeing ‘little grey eyes’.’

  “There is something you can do for me, Henry,” he said in a low voice. “If I give you a note, will you slip it under Miss Selwyn’s door as you did the other one I gave you?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Then I will have it ready in a couple of minutes,” Felix Hanson said.

  He hurried into the library and sat down at the desk.

  He pulled a piece of writing paper onto the blotter and wrote,

  “I have to see you and it’s very urgent. I’ll come to

  your sitting room at about ten o’clock. Leave the door

  unlocked.”

  He folded the writing paper, went to the door of the library and signalled to Henry who was waiting in the hall.

  He put the note in the footman’s hand and walked across the room to stand looking into the garden, whistling softly to himself.

  He had no intention of leaving Kelvedon before he had kissed the pretty embroiderer. He had promised himself that pleasure and he had no intention of forgoing it.

  The library door was flung open suddenly and he turned round to face the Dowager Countess. A glance at her face was enough to tell him that she was in one of her rages.

  She walked into the centre of the room.

  Then she said, her voice low and yet the mere fact that she was controlling it making it sound more ominous,

  “How dare you! How dare you intrigue with a woman in my house behind my back!”

  Felix Hanson walked slowly towards her.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about, Roseline.”

  “You know perfectly well what I am saying,” the Dowager Countess said, “and don’t bother to lie. I have just taken this from the footman who was carrying it upstairs.”

  She held out his note as she spoke.

  As Felix Hanson stared at it wondering what he should say, the Dowager Countess continued,

  “The flunkey will be sacked just as I am sacking you. You can get out of my house and I never want to see you again!”

  “Now, Roseline,” Felix Hanson said soothingly, “this is ridiculous!”

  “I warned you the last time,” the Dowager Countess said her voice rising. “I warned you then that I would not stand for your philandering or seducing other women while you belong to me. Well, you have made your choice. Now you can get out!”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Felix Hanson expostulated. “You know I love you. As a matter of fact I wanted to speak to the girl about making you a present for your birthday.”

  “You lie! You lie!” the Dowager Countess shrieked. “I was a fool ever to have believed in you, ever to have thought you cared for anything but my money and what you can squeeze out of me.”

  She paused to draw in her breath and her green eyes were blazing as she went on,

  “Money is what you have been after and now you are going to be disappointed in that, if in nothing else. I will stop the cheque I gave you. It will not be presented until Monday and I can assure you that from this moment it’s not worth the paper it’s written on!”

  She waited and, as he did not speak, she continued,

  “When you go, leave behind all the presents I have given you, otherwise I will sue you for them!”

  “You have entirely the wrong idea!” Felix Hanson answered her feebly. “Let me explain – ”

  “There is nothing you can say that I am willing to hear,” the Dowager Countess raged. “I have listened to you for too long. You have deceived me over and over again, but I was such a fool I did not realise it! Now get out of my house before I have you thrown out!”

  She walked across the room as she spoke. She pulled open the library door and turned round to say,

  “I don’t want to hear from you or see you again – ever! Is that clear?”

  Her voice rang out and she walked across the hall towards the salon, her whole body trembling with fury.

  She had only just reached it when from the opposite direction down the broad corridor the Earl appeared, moving so swiftly that he seemed almost to be running.

  “Mama!” he exclaimed. “I wish to speak with you.”

  “What about?” the Dowager Countess asked.

  She walked into the salon trying to catch her breath, determined that for the moment her son should not know what had upset her.

  She knew it would give him great pleasure to learn that she had finished with Felix Hanson and she had no wish to give anyone pleasure. She hated all men, even her own son!

  The Earl followed her into the salon to say furiously,

  “What the devil do you think you have been doing to the Chapel?”

  “The Chapel?” the Dowager Countess repeated blankly.

  For the moment she could not force herself to comprehend what he was saying.

  “Yes, to the Chapel,” the Earl repeated. “That perfect example of seventeenth century architecture that has hardly been touched since its completion in 1680. I say ‘hardly’ – because God knows what you have done to it now!”

  “Oh, of course. I remember,” the Dowager Countess replied. “Felix wanted to use it as a gymnasium and as it had the best light and was in fact exactly the right shape, he assured me that the equipment would not damage the murals.”

  “Have you no respect – no reverence for anything?” the Earl demanded and she realised how angry he was.

  “After all, the Chapel was never used,” she replied defensively.

  “And whose fault was that?” the Earl enquired. “It was
used when my father was alive and my grandfather and my ancestors before them. But a House of God was never intended to be a gymnasium for some pimp who took your fancy!”

  The Dowager Countess did not speak and, after a moment, he added,

  “Can you really care so little for Kelvedon? Can it mean so little to you that you would deface and destroy one of the most perfect parts of the house?”

  He spoke with a bitterness that vibrated through him and his words seemed to sweep away the last vestige of his mother’s self-control.

  “Kelvedon! Kelvedon! Always Kelvedon!” she screamed. “Nothing counts for you, for your father or for anyone else except this house! This monstrous museum full of souvenirs of dead people!”

  She paused and, because she had been hurt by Felix Hanson, she was determined to hurt her son.

  “I have had enough of Kelvedon!” she raged. “I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to close the house! I am going to sack all those doddering old servants you insist upon retaining! I am going to live in London or abroad and I will spend every penny I can lay my hands on in enjoying myself!”

  She moved towards the door.

  “They can start putting up the shutters tomorrow!”

  “Mama, you cannot mean that!” the Earl exclaimed.

  “I mean it!” the Countess answered. “I mean every word of it!”

  She walked across the hall as she spoke and started to climb the stairs.

  The Earl followed her.

  “Mama, let’s talk this over sensibly.”

  For a moment the Countess did not answer him, but continued up the stairs.

  “Mama!” the Earl said pleadingly.

  She turned her head to look over the banister.

  “I mean exactly what I say,” she answered. “This house will be closed and the servants dismissed. If you want to keep it going, you can, of course, sell the pictures off the walls, one by one!”

  There was a vindictive spite in her voice that was unmistakable.

  For a moment the Earl glared at her.

  Then he replied furiously,

  “I will see you dead first!”

  Neither mother nor son moved.

  Then with an insolent laugh the Dowager Countess continued up the stairs and the Earl with a muttered oath rushed out of the front door and down the steps.

  Old Burrows, who had come into the hall to announce dinner, stood staring after him with consternation on his face.

  It was ten minutes later that Lucy carried to Olinda the news of what had occurred.

  “There’s been a terrible row, miss,” she said, as she carried the first course into Olinda’s sitting room and set the tray down on a side-table.

  “A row?” Olinda enquired quickly.

  “And over you, miss, so I understands.”

  Olinda’s eyes were very large and apprehensive as she asked,

  “Did you – say it was over – me, Lucy?”

  “Yes, indeed, Miss. Mr. Hanson gave Henry a note to slip under your door, as he had told him to slip one there the first night you arrived.”

  Olinda drew in her breath.

  So it had not been Felix Hanson who had come to her locked door as she had thought, but one of the footmen.

  Somehow it seemed even more degrading that he should involve the servants in his intrigues.

  “Mr. Hanson wrote you another note tonight,” Lucy said, “and he asked Henry to bring it up to you. But Henry’s so stupid! I suppose really he’s not been here long enough to know his job.”

  “What happened?” Olinda asked faintly.

  “He comes up the front stairs, if you can imagine such a thing, miss. If Mr. Burrows had caught him, he’d have been in trouble all right, but as it was he meets her Ladyship.”

  “Her Ladyship?” Olinda repeated.

  “Yes, miss. She takes the note from him and when she reads it she goes white as a sheet, so Henry says.”

  Olinda sat at the table as if turned to stone.

  This meant, she thought, that she would be dismissed immediately and she knew that it was not only the money she would no longer earn for her mother that she minded, but also that she would have to leave the Earl.

  “What – happened?” she asked.

  “Her Ladyship goes into the library to find Mr. Hanson,” Lucy said, “and would you believe, miss, she tells him he’s to get out of the house and she never wants to see him again!”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Well, Henry was trying to listen to what was being said. Then, when she opens the door, she tells Mr. Hanson clear as clear that she never wants to hear from him or see him again!”

  “How could he have – written to – me?” Olinda asked beneath her breath.

  “That’s not all, miss.”

  “What else?” Olinda asked, feeling that nothing worse could happen.

  “Her Ladyship goes into the salon and his Lordship comes from the Chapel in a terrible rage!”

  “The Chapel?” Olinda exclaimed.

  “Yes, miss. He had Mr. Lanceworth along there at about six o’clock and you could hear his anger all down the corridors.”

  “But why? Why the Chapel?” Olinda enquired.

  “Mr. Hanson had it turned into a gymnasium, miss, and his Lordship didn’t like it.”

  “I am not surprised.”

  “Anyway,” Lucy continued with relish, “he comes straight to speak about it to her Ladyship and he’d have been late for dinner as he wasn’t changed.”

  Olinda made no comment as Lucy went on,

  “They was shoutin’ at each other in the salon. Then her Ladyship comes out and says that she’s goin’ to close the house and dismiss all the staff. His Lordship tries to plead with her, but she says that if he wants to keep the house open he can sell the pictures one by one.”

  Lucy paused dramatically before she finished,

  “And his Lordship says, ‘I’ll see you dead first!’”

  Olinda rose from the table to walk across the room to the window.

  She found it hard to believe that this had really happened and hard to credit that the Dowager Countess should have made such an appalling decision!

  How could she, just at this moment when the Earl had decided to stay at home and take his rightful place in the County?

  “Your dinner’s getting’ cold, miss,” Lucy remarked from behind her.

  “I don’t want anything to eat, thank you, Lucy.”

  “Oh, miss, Chef’ll be ever so upset!” Lucy replied. “His Lordship’s stalked out of the house and it don’t look as if he’ll come back for dinner. Her Ladyship’s locked herself in her bedroom and won’t even let in Miss Heyman, her lady’s maid,”

  Lucy picked up the dish to carry it back to the side-table.

  “That just leaves Mr. Hanson in the dining room,” she said. “I bet he’s eatin’ his head off and enjoyin’ it though it’s all his fault!”

  Yes, it was all Felix Hanson’s fault, Olinda thought to herself.

  How could he have written a note to her that the Dowager Countess could intercept?

  She had no idea what was in the note, but she guessed he was trying to arrange for her to meet him as he had done before.

  ‘It is all his fault,’ she repeated and thought of the Earl.

  She knew exactly where he would have gone, where he would be trying to find some sort of peace in his despair.

  She was aware what a blow this would be to him.

  That his mother should close Kelvedon would inflict a mortal wound on her son! Even while he had exiled himself from his home, he had thought of it, dreamt of it and imagined it as it always had been.

  “Are you sure there’s nothin’ more I can get you, miss?” Lucy asked. “There’s a nice dish of guinea fowl here. You’d enjoy it – you would really!”

  “I am sorry, Lucy,” Olinda said. “I am rather upset by what you have told me and I would like to be alone.”

  “I understand, miss. We�
��re all upset, if it comes to that!”

  Lucy paused to say,

  “I suppose I’ll get another job, but Mr. Burrows was sayin’ he’s too old, and Mr. Higson, that’s his Lordship’s valet, was so happy he was not to be retired that he seemed like a young man again. I suppose now he’ll be in tears.”

  Olinda did not answer and Lucy went from the room.

  For some minutes Olinda sat looking out of the window with unseeing eyes. Then she knew what she must do.

  She opened the door of her sitting room and found, as she had expected, that the passage was empty.

  Lucy would have gone downstairs and she could imagine all too vividly the consternation being felt by the staff.

  She slipped down the back staircase and let herself out through the garden door.

  Keeping to the shrubbery so that she was out of sight of anyone looking through the windows, she found her way through the yew hedges and the walled garden and orchard towards the lake.

  The Greek Temple was gleaming white against the brilliance of the setting sun.

  It was earlier in the day than when Olinda had been there before and she thought as she crossed the Chinese bridge that it was even lovelier than it had been at dusk.

  Now she could see the golden kingcups lining the banks of the lake, the swans like graceful galleons reflected in its smooth surface and a profusion of red damask roses climbing over the sides of the balustrade.

  As she had expected, the Earl was there.

  He was sitting on the seat bending forward, his head in his hands.

  She stood looking at him and he knew without looking up that she had come.

  “I have failed, Olinda!” he began.

  At the sound of his voice she moved forward to sit down beside him.

  “No! No!” Olinda asserted. “This is not your fault – you must not blame yourself.”

  “I should not have raged at her,” he said, “but I could not bear to find that the Chapel had been desecrated in such a way, the place where my father lay when he was dead, where I was Christened, a place which has been a part of my life and that of my ancestors all down the centuries.”

  “I understand,” Olinda whispered.

  “I was angry, so very angry!” the Earl said, almost like a child confessing a sin to someone in authority.

  “Your mother was already upset by something else before you spoke to her,” Olinda said. “I think perhaps she may change her mind.”