From Hell to Heaven Read online

  The Earl, however, was so supremely confident of his own importance that, when he had finally driven away, the Marquis was quite sure that he had never for one moment thought either that his suit would be rejected or that his future bride and her Guardian were not delighted at the idea of such an advantageous marriage.

  “Blast him!” the Marquis exclaimed to Peregrine as they turned away from the front door. “I dislike him more every time I see him! All I can say is that, if the King can put up with Branscombe, he certainly should not jibe at the Reform Bill.”

  This was a point of bitter controversy in the Houses of Parliament and over the whole country with the King making every possible excuse not to approve any of the reforms that were long overdue.

  Peregrine, however, was not listening.

  “What did Kistna think of him?” he asked.

  “I have no idea as she did not speak.”

  The Marquis had thought that it was rather a good thing that she appeared so shy. Equally he thought that it was unlike her as she had too much character to behave in such a hesitant fashion.

  “Where is she now?” Peregrine asked.

  “Upstairs, I suppose,” the Marquis replied. “I will send a servant to find her.”

  “If she is upset, perhaps it would be best for me to go and look for her,” Peregrine suggested.

  Then he hesitated and said,

  “No, I think you should go. It will be you she wants to see.”

  The Marquis did not argue.

  He merely said,

  “She will be in her sitting room, I suppose, but I need a drink first. I cannot tell you how intolerable the Earl was, harping continually on his position at Court and, of course, his own importance.”

  “What have you done about Kistna’s future?” Peregrine asked. “When he knows the truth, I am quite certain he will treat her as he treated Dulcie and chuck her out without a penny.”

  “I have thought of that,” the Marquis said, “and I have only given my consent on condition that he settles a capital sum on her to bring in seven hundred and fifty pounds a year.”

  His lips twisted before he added,

  “I tried for a thousand pounds, but Branscombe informed me that he was extremely short of money and I even had to suggest that he borrow the money to provide the seven hundred and fifty pounds which we finally agreed on.”

  “Why should he be so hard up?” Peregrine asked. “I always thought that he was warm in the pocket.”

  “So did I,” the Marquis agreed, “but apparently his grandfather, who was as big a snob as he is, settled a large sum on his aunt because she was to marry Prince Frederick of Melderstein. But she disappeared before the Wedding and, although Branscombe is convinced that she was murdered, they have never been able to find the body.”

  “Now you mention it,” Peregrine said, “I remember my father telling me about that scandal. Apparently there was a tremendous commotion at the time because as it was a Royal Wedding and Crowned Heads had arrived from all over Europe.”

  He laughed.

  “So not only was the bride lost but so was the money that was settled on her! Can you imagine how much it must irk Branscombe not to be able to get his hands on it?”

  “Now I know why he was so mad-keen to win the Derby,” the Marquis said. “Apart from the honour and glory, two thousand eight hundred pounds is not to be sneezed at!”

  “No, of course not,” Peregrine agreed, “and he will try even harder for the Gold Cup. You will have to watch him, especially if he employs Jake Smith again.”

  “He had better not try any tricks at Ascot,” the Marquis said. “If he does, I swear I will have both his horse and his jockey disqualified. I only wish that I could disqualify him as well!”

  “You will have punished him quite enough when he realises that Kistna has not a penny to her name.”

  “That, as I have now found out, will hurt even more than I thought it would,” the Marquis said with satisfaction.

  Then, as if speaking of Kistna, brought her to his mind, he burst out angrily,

  “What the hell is she waiting for? Branscombe has gone and I want to talk to her!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Dinner is served, my Lord!”

  The Marquis looked round at the butler from the hearthrug where he was standing talking to Peregrine.

  “Miss Kistna is not down yet,” he asked sharply.

  “Mrs. Dawes asked me to tell your Lordship that Miss Kistna will not be coming down for dinner.”

  The Marquis did not reply, but there was a definite scowl between his eyes as he put down his glass and walked with Peregrine towards the dining room.

  When he had gone upstairs to speak to Kistna after the Earl had left, he had knocked on her door and it had been opened by Mrs. Dawes.

  To the Marquis’s surprise she had stepped out into the passage closing the door of the boudoir behind her.

  “I want to see Miss Kistna,” the Marquis said harshly.

  “I think, my Lord, it’d be wise if your Lordship’ll excuse me saying so, to leave her be,” Mrs. Dawes answered. “She’s upset at the moment and I’m trying to persuade her to lie down.”

  The Marquis’s lips tightened.

  There were several things he wanted to say, but not to Mrs. Dawes.

  “Then tell Miss Kistna I shall be looking forward to seeing her at dinner,” he replied.

  Now, when she refused to appear, he found himself feeling annoyed, although there was another emotion involved that he did not wish to put a name to.

  Dinner as usual was excellent, but the Marquis helped himself absent-mindedly to the dishes he was offered and his conversation with Peregrine was spasmodic, there being moments when they both sat in silence.

  Finally when both gentlemen refused port and the servants left the room, the Marquis said,

  “I have been thinking that my revenge on Branscombe will be even more effective than I expected. If he has to borrow the money I require for Kistna, he will doubtless have to pay a high rate of interest.”

  Peregrine did not reply and after a moment the Marquis quizzed him,

  “You don’t seem very elated. I thought you disliked Branscombe.”

  “I do,” Peregrine replied, “but I don’t like what your hatred of him is doing to you.”

  “Doing to me?” the Marquis asked in surprise. Peregrine felt for words.

  “My mother used to say that hatred is a boomerang that will come back to hurt the person who hates more than their victim.”

  “I understand what you are trying to tell me in a somewhat garbled manner,” the Marquis said in a lofty tone. “At the same time you can hardly expect me to let Branscombe get off scot-free considering the way he behaved at the Derby.”

  Peregrine did not answer and the Marquis went on,

  “I consider that my plan to avenge myself is very subtle and what is more, it will not only humiliate him but hurt him where he will mind it most. In his pocket!”

  “I am sick of talking about him,” Peregrine exclaimed irritably. “The whole thing is turning you into a monster and I would rather Branscombe cheated his way to victory in a dozen Derbys than watch you plotting and intriguing away in what I consider an extremely undignified manner.”

  The Marquis was astounded.

  In all the years he had known Peregrine, when he often thought they were as close in their friendship as if they were brothers, he had never been spoken to in such a manner.

  He was just about to reply aggressively when he realised that the servants would be waiting for them to leave the dining room and might conceivably overhear what they were saying.

  Instead he rose to his feet and, as he did so, rang the gold hand bell that stood on the table in front of him.

  The door to the pantry opened immediately.

  “You rang, my Lord?” the butler enquired.

  “Bring the decanter of brandy into the library.”

  The Marquis walked from the dining
room considering as he went how he could refute Peregrine’s accusations and show him that he was being exceedingly unfair and to all intents and purposes championing the Earl.

  They reached the library where the Marquis preferred to sit if he was alone or had only masculine company.

  Although it was not yet dusk, the candles were lit and the colourful leather-bound volumes decorating the walls up to the exquisitely painted ceiling showed to their best advantage in the soft light.

  The Marquis was, however, intent on his own thoughts and, as the butler set down the cut-glass decanter on the table beside the armchair having first proffered a glass to Peregrine, the Marquis asked,

  “I presume you have sent Miss Kistna her dinner upstairs?”

  “I sent up the first course, my Lord,” the butler replied, “but it was returned untouched with a message that the young lady did not require any dinner.”

  He left the library as he finished speaking and the Marquis burst out angrily,

  “I have never heard such nonsense! Of course she wants dinner when she is still weak from years of starvation!”

  “She is obviously upset.”

  “Upset?” the Marquis questioned. “What has she to be upset about? I thought when I looked at Branscombe, obnoxious though we know him to be, he is quite a fine figure of a man from a woman’s point of view.”

  “Presumably Kistna does not think so.”

  “Why should you say that?” the Marquis asked Peregrine.

  “I should have thought the answer to that question was obvious.”

  “Because she is sulking upstairs? What is the matter with the girl? God in Heaven, she has the chance of making the most brilliant marriage any woman could desire! She certainly has a better future than the one she had in mind for earning her own living.”

  “Is that what she suggested she should do?”

  “She said something about it,” the Marquis said vaguely. “Of course I told her the only qualifications she had were for working in an orphanage and I should have thought that she had had enough of that.”

  “Really, Linden, such a remark was needlessly brutal!” Peregrine said scathingly.

  Once again the Marquis looked at him in astonishment.

  “I was attempting to make Kistna understand how fortunate she is. After all she knows nothing about Branscombe. Why should she not want to marry him?”

  There was silence.

  Then, as the Marquis was obviously waiting for an answer Peregrine, as if he was goaded into a reply, said,

  “Why should she want to, when she loves – someone else?”

  The Marquis’s lips parted as if to question such a statement. Then the expression on his face changed and for a moment he just stood staring at Peregrine as if he had never seen him before.

  Then abruptly without another word he stormed out the library slamming the door behind him.

  He walked along the corridor, through the hall and up the Grand Staircase.

  He moved forcefully and determinedly until he reached Kistna’s boudoir, where he stood still as if he was considering what he should say or perhaps questioning his own feelings.

  Then he knocked.

  There was no answer and he thought that she must have gone to bed as Mrs. Dawes had wished her to do.

  He went to the next door and knocked again. He heard a movement and then the door was opened and it was Mrs. Dawes who stood there.

  When she saw the Marquis, there was an expression of surprise on her face.

  “I came to enquire how Miss Kistna is,” he said. “I was worried when I heard that she had refused to have any dinner.”

  “I thought Miss Kistna was with you, my Lord.”

  The Marquis shook his head.

  “I cannot understand it!” Mrs. Dawes exclaimed. “I was told downstairs that she had refused her dinner and I thought she must be poorly, so I came up as soon as I’d finished my own meal, only to find the room empty.”

  As if he would see with his own eyes, the Marquis moved past the housekeeper into the bedroom.

  One glance told him that, although the bed had been used, it was empty.

  “When I came in a few minutes ago,” Mrs. Dawes was saying, “I felt certain that Miss Kistna had changed her mind and gone downstairs to your Lordship. The wardrobe door was open, as your Lordship can see, and I thought that she must have put on one of her pretty gowns and done it up herself.”

  “She is not in the library,” the Marquis said, “and I can hardly imagine that she would be sitting alone in the salon.”

  “No, of course not, my Lord,” Mrs. Dawes replied. “But now I thinks of it, that could have been Miss Kistna!”

  “What could?”

  “I never thought it at the time,” Mrs. Dawes said, “but, when I came into the bedroom a short time ago, I realised that the curtains had not been pulled and went to the window. As I did so, I thinks I sees someone in white crossing the lawn towards the lake.”

  “I cannot believe Miss Kistna would want to go there at this time of the night,” the Marquis commented.

  “She might have thought that she needed a little fresh air,” Mrs. Dawes answered. “She was upset, very upset, my Lord, and it’s not good for her to be in such a state when she’s still so weak from what she went through in that terrible orphanage.”

  “No, of course not,” the Marquis agreed.

  “I’ve not known her so unhappy, my Lord. It broke my heart to see her. It was almost as if she’d had bad news.”

  The Marquis was aware that Mrs. Dawes was consumed with curiosity.

  Then as he did not reply, she said,

  “If I was you, my Lord, I’d see if I could find her. It’s not right for her to be walking about in the dark and in the state she’s in. Accidents can happen at night.”

  The Marquis looked sharply at the housekeeper.

  Then, without saying a word, he went from the bedroom.

  He did not return the way he had come down the Grand Staircase where footmen were on duty in the hall, but instead went very quickly down the corridor to where there was a secondary staircase.

  This led to the East wing of the great house where there was a door that opened directly onto the garden.

  It was locked, but it took the Marquis only a few moments to turn the key and pull back two bolts.

  Then he was out on the lawn that stretched from the house down to the lake.

  He realised from what Mrs. Dawes had said, that the person she thought might be Kistna had been moving towards the end of the lake, which was obscured from the house by trees and shrubs.

  It was strange, he thought, that she should be going in that particular direction.

  Then a sudden idea came to him that made him quicken his pace.

  It came back to his mind how, as they were crossing the bridge that spanned the lake, Kistna had looked down at the sunshine playing on the water and asked,

  “Do you ever swim here? I am sure that you must have done so when you were a boy.”

  “Very often,” the Marquis had replied with a smile, “but only in this part. The other end is dangerous.”

  “Why?” Kistna enquired.

  “It has what the gardeners call ‘shifting sands’,” the Marquis replied. “There are certain undercurrents as well and a man was drowned there many years ago. My father put it out of bounds to me and to everybody else.”

  “I am sure you obeyed him,” Kistna said laughingly.

  “Of course,” the Marquis replied. “I was a model child!”

  Now the light-hearted conversation came back to him in a sinister way, but he told himself that even to entertain such an idea was quite ridiculous.

  At the same time he began to move faster and now as he reached first the banks of shrubs and then the almond and cherry trees, which covered in blossom were very beautiful, he began to move even quicker.

  He tried to tell himself that the white figure that Mrs. Dawes thought she had seen was undoubtedly the w
hite lilac or perhaps, as it was growing dusk, merely the petals lying on the ground that had given the illusion of there being a figure.

  Yet because he was afraid he began to run.

  He had forgotten what a long way it was to the end of the lake and how thick the lilac and syringa had grown in the past years.

  Then when he was feeling breathless and despite being extremely fit, his heart seemed to be pounding in his breast, he emerged through a thick belt of trees to see the end of the lake. And Kistna.

  He was relieved that she was there and was almost embarrassed by his own fears that he came to a standstill and in the shelter of the trees stood looking at her.

  He saw that she was standing where the bank was high above a pool at the spot which was considered dangerous and where the man had been drowned.

  Kistna appeared to be bending over.

  The Marquis was unable to see what she was doing and thought that she must be picking flowers, which seemed odd at this time of the evening.

  Then he saw that on the bank beside her was something large and bulky.

  He stared, wondering what it could be, and in the faint light coming from the last of the sunset, he realised that it was a brown linen bag.

  He recognised it as being one of the laundry bags in which the housemaids collected the sheets and towels that were to be taken downstairs to be washed.

  The Marquis wondered why Kistna had brought the bag with her.

  Then he saw that now she was bending down to tie something round her ankles.

  He stared as she knotted it several times before he saw that there was a cord attached to the bag.

  Kistna straightened herself and turned to look at the water beneath her.

  With a shock of sheer horror the Marquis realised what she intended to do.

  He reached her in a few strides and, when he was beside her and his hands went out to take hold of her, she gave a little cry.

  “No – no! Go – away! Leave me alone – you are not to – stop me!”

  She tried to struggle with him as she spoke and he knew that she was standing on the very edge of the pool and that with one unwary movement she would topple over and into the water.