The Glittering Lights (Bantam Series No. 12) Read online

  She slipped through it and then passing the unlocked door which led into the passage opened the outer door on the other side of the room.

  She could see her way by the light of a fire burning low in the grate and beyond the Boudoir she found a Dressing-Room.

  It was in darkness but she sped across it, being just able to discern a door facing the one by which she had entered. She realised that this opened not on to the main corridor but on to a side passage, and desperately she pulled it open.

  Opposite she saw by the faint light of a gas-bracket “The Red Room.”

  Without thinking, without knocking, she turned the handle and went in ...

  The Duke had found his Valet waiting for him when he went upstairs to bed.

  The man had been in his service for a long time; in fact he had been with the Alchester family since he was a boy.

  “Your Grace’s early. I wasn’t expecting you for some hours,” he remarked as the Duke entered the bed-room.

  “You need not have stayed up, Hawkins.”

  “I always wait up for Your Grace.”

  “You have had to put up with a lot of discomforts in the past year,” the Duke remarked, “but this need not be one of them.”

  “I know m’duties, Your Grace!”

  “And you have carried them out magnificently, despite the difficulties.”

  “I’ve not minded that, Your Grace,” Hawkins said. “ ’Tis only we’ve all of us hated to see the house being run on a skeleton staff and the young ones having to leave the Estate.”

  “I know,” the Duke said with a deep sigh, “but there was nothing I could do about it at the time.”

  “And now, Your Grace?”

  “Things may get better—I am not certain.”

  “That’s just what I says to the others, Your Grace, when they grumbles,” Hawkins said. “ ‘Things’ll get better,’ I tell ‘em, ‘you mark my words. Master Varro won’t let us down’.”

  “I wish I could be sure of that,” the Duke remarked in a strange tone.

  He watched the Valet open a cupboard in the panelling and put his shoes inside. Then the man went to the large wardrobe and hung up his evening-jacket.

  “Well, there’s money to burn in this place,” Hawkins remarked. “But it’s not a happy house, Your Grace.”

  “Why not?” the Duke enquired.

  “I’ve always said, Your Grace, for a house to be a home, it needs a lady to run it. From what I hears, Her Ladyship’s never here, and His Lordship fills the place with all sorts and kinds. Not that I intend to be disrespectful, if you take my meaning.”

  “I take your meaning, Hawkins. You always were one to call a spade a spade!”

  “Yes, indeed, Your Grace. At what time do you wish to be called?”

  “At about eight o’clock,” the Duke replied.

  “Very good, Your Grace,” Hawkins said. “Good-night to you.”

  “Good-night, Hawkins.”

  The Duke, wearing a long robe of heavy silk frogged with braid, picked up the Times which was lying on a side-table and sat down in an arm-chair by the fire.

  He opened the newspaper but he did not in fact read it. Instead he laid it on his lap and sat staring into the flames.

  He was thinking of what Hawkins had said. He knew the man was speaking the truth when he said that the employees at Alchester Park were relying on him to restore to them the comfort and security they had known all their lives.

  No one resented more than the servants that the house was in a dilapidated state, repairs were not done, damp was coming in, and the whole place looked shabby and unkempt.

  There had been a reason for Hawkins saying Lord Carwen’s house needed a mistress to look after it and his meaning had not escaped the Duke.

  He sighed again, a deep sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his being.

  Then, almost as if he forced himself away from his own thoughts, he opened the Times again to read the leading article.

  He was almost half-way through it when the door opened.

  He glanced up casually thinking that Hawkins must have returned and saw Cassandra!

  She stood for a moment looking at him. Then hastily she shut the door behind her and he saw that her hands were trembling.

  She wore only her night-gown which was of very fine lawn trimmed with lace.

  It was the type of night-gown she had worn all her life, buttoned demurely to the neck, with a small flat collar, and long sleeves which ended in lace-trimmed frills that fell over her hands.

  Her hair was loose and fell in red-gold waves over her shoulders. She looked very young, little more than a child, and her face was white with fear.

  The Duke rose to his feet.

  “What is it? What has upset you?” he asked.

  He realised she was finding it difficult to reply.

  “L ... Lord Carwen ... he is t ... trying ... to get into ... my b ... bed-room!” she stammered breathlessly.

  Then with a little cry she turned towards the door.

  “He will r ... realise I have c ... come ... here. I ... left the door of the ... Dressing-Room o ... open.”

  For a moment they looked at each other. Then Cassandra whispered:

  “Hide me ... he must not ... find me...!”

  “No, of course not,” the Duke said, and his voice was calm and matter-of-fact.

  “Shall I g ... get into ... the w ... wardrobe?”

  Even as she spoke they heard footsteps, and swiftly the Duke opened the cupboard in the panelling into which Hawkins had put his shoes.

  Without making a sound, Cassandra slipped past him and he closed the door behind her.

  He hardly had time to take the few steps back to the hearth before the door of the room opened and Lord Carwen stood there.

  He too was wearing a long robe over his night-shirt. The dark red of it seemed to echo the flush on his heavy face, and to accentuate the suspicion in his eyes.

  “Hello, Carwen,” the Duke exclaimed in a surprised tone. “Is anything wrong?”

  Lord Carwen looked around the room.

  Then as if he spoke deliberately choosing his words with care he replied:

  “I came to see if you were quite comfortable, Varro. I hope you are being properly looked after?”

  “I have my Valet with me.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Carwen said. “But my staff are often extremely careless about details. I suppose there are hangers in your wardrobe?”

  As he spoke he pulled open the door and glanced inside. Then he shut it again and moving across the room looked behind the heavy damask curtains which covered the window.

  “I am always finding sash-cords broken and—blinds which do not work,” he muttered.

  “I have always thought that everything in your house was perfection,” the Duke remarked.

  Lord Carwen came and stood beside him in front of the fire.

  “If there is any—suggestion of your leaving tomorrow,” he said, “I hope you will remember that I particularly want you here for dinner.”

  “But of course,” the Duke answered. “I thought Sandra and I were staying until Monday.”

  “You are!” Lord Carwen said positively.

  He looked at the Duke for a moment. Then he said:

  “By the way, Varro, I rather fancy little Sandra, and quite frankly, my dear boy, you cannot afford her!”

  The Duke did not answer and after a moment Lord Carwen went on:

  “Soiled doves of her type prove very expensive, as I am sure you know. I am prepared to offer her a house of mine which has recently become vacant in St. Johns Wood, and of course her own carriage.”

  “Have you suggested to Sandra that she should become your mistress?” the Duke asked and there was a steely note in his voice.

  “She is at the moment showing a provocative reluctance,” Lord Carwen admitted, “which, needless to say, has exactly the effect she intends! It increases my ardour and my determination to possess her in
the end!”

  He laughed and it was not a pleasant sound.

  “Women are all the same, Varro. They all believe that to play ‘hard-to-get’ increases their price, and in the majority of cases it does!”

  “You sound very sure of yourself,” the Duke said. He spoke slowly with an intentional lack of expression.

  “I am sorry to cut you out, dear boy,” Lord Carwen smiled, “but I can assure you that your interest in this little butterfly was bound to be short-lived.”

  He paused to say impressively:

  “Diamonds are expensive, but very rewarding, as our friend Lily knows! Sandra is well aware on which side her bread is buttered and I feel quite certain you will not put any obstacles in my way.”

  “Are you so certain of that?” the Duke asked.

  “Quite certain!” Lord Carwen replied positively. “I could make things very difficult for you, Varro. Like the villain in a melodrama, I can always foreclose on the mortgage, or refuse to extend your loan!”

  He laughed again.

  “But I do not think there need be any dramatics between us. Just fade out of the picture where Sandra is concerned! I shall take your place very ably and with an expertise which at your age you undoubtedly lack.”

  “Perhaps the lady in question might have something to say about it,” the Duke suggested.

  “She may prevaricate a little,” Lord Carwen replied. “She was astute enough this evening to refuse a diamond bracelet I offered her —doubtless holding out for the necklace, the ear-rings and the brooch to go with it! However, I consider it to be worth my while to pursue the matter. So as far as you are concerned, Varro, it is good-bye.”

  “You have made yourself very clear,” the Duke said.

  There was an ice in his voice that Lord Carwen did not pretend to misunderstand.

  “Look elsewhere,” he said putting his hand on the Dukes shoulder, “and you will find me as accommodating in the future as I have been in the past. I am a good friend, Varro, but a bad enemy! Good-night!”

  He walked across the room as he spoke, opened the door and closed it behind him.

  The Duke waited. Then, as he saw the door in the panelling open, he held his fingers to his lips.

  He stood quite still until some seconds later he heard footsteps going down the passage.

  Only then did he cross to the door and turn the key in the lock.

  He turned round to see Cassandra, having come from her hiding-place, standing white-faced and trembling, her eyes on his.

  Then she moved towards him and hid her face against his shoulder.

  “Take me ... away! Take me away now ... at once!” she pleaded.

  The fear in her voice was very obvious and the Duke could feel her body trembling beneath the fine lawn of her night-gown.

  He put his arms round her and heard her whisper, her voice muffled against his shoulder: “I did not... know ... I did not ... understand ... that anyone could be ... like that ... could say such ... things!”

  The Duke reached out towards the bed and pulled off the silk coverlet.

  Wrapping it round Cassandra’s shoulders like a shawl, he moved her towards the fire and sat her down, almost as if she were a child or a doll, in the wing-backed arm-chair.

  She looked at him wide-eyed, her face very pale, and her hands which had clasped the bed-spread around her were shaking.

  “Take me ... away!”

  “I will do that,” the Duke answered, speaking for the first time. “But there are some questions I want to ask you.”

  “Q ... questions?”

  Her eyes were dark with fear.

  “Yes, and I want the truth, Sandra.”

  She did not answer, surprised by the sternness of his face and the manner in which his eyes looked into hers. He seemed to be seeking, searching into the very depths of her heart.

  “What is ... it?” she asked, more frightened than she had been before.

  “Who was with you in your flat last night?”

  “My ... maid.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “Yes ... Hannah was with me ... she is always with me ... when I am in the ... flat.”

  “Have you ever had a lover?” The Duke’s words seemed to vibrate through the air.

  For a moment Cassandra did not comprehend what he meant. Then the colour flooded over her pale face, rising from her chin up to her forehead to recede again, leaving her paler than she had been before.

  “N ... no ...of course not ... how c ... could you think such a ... how c ... could you ... imagine ...?”

  The words came brokenly between her lips. It seemed to her that he thought of her as if she were Nancy.

  There was an expression on the Duke’s face which she did not understand. Then he said, although now his tone was not so fierce: “Where did you get your jewellery? Who gave it to you?”

  “My father ... except for the pearls ... they belong to my ... mother.”

  The Duke looked at her for a long moment and then he said quietly: “I believe you! Oh, my darling, you do not realise what I have been imagining, how much it has tortured me!”

  He saw that she was so bemused by what had occurred that she did not really take in what he was saying. Then in a tone of voice which was now land and comforting, he said:

  “I will take you away, but not tonight. We will leave first thing tomorrow morning. Have you brought a riding-habit with you?”

  “Y ... yes.”

  “Then we will rise early, borrow two horses from His Lordship without asking his permission, and ride across country. There is something I wish to show you.”

  “Could we go ... now?”

  The Duke shook his head.

  “It is too late and might cause comment amongst the servants. But I promise you we will leave before anyone else in the house-party is awake.”

  He saw a light come into Cassandra’s eyes. Then like a child who was still frightened of the dark, she said frantically:

  “I cannot ... go back to my ... room ... I cannot ... sleep ... there.”

  “No, of course not,” the Duke answered. “Wait here a moment.” He walked to the side of the bed, lit a candle and carrying it in his hand opened another door.

  He was gone only a moment or two. When he returned he said: “Come with me!”

  She rose to her feet, still clutching the bed-spread around her. The silk of it rustled as she walked towards him.

  Without touching her he led the way across the Sitting-Room which she had suspected was next to his through another door which led into a Dressing-Room.

  There was a large comfortable bed, but it was not so impressive as the one in the room which the Duke was using.

  The Duke set the candle down on a bed-side table, then walked across the room to turn the key in the door which opened onto the corridor.

  “Now listen, Sandra,” he said. “When I have gone, lock the door behind me. Do you understand? You will be quite safe here and no-one can possibly disturb you until the morning.”

  Cassandra glanced around as if to convince herself that he was speaking the truth. Then she said nervously:

  “Will you ... leave the door of your ... room open, just in ... case I am ... frightened?”

  “It will be open,” the Duke promised with a faint smile.

  He looked at her.

  In the candle-light she was very young and very vulnerable.

  “You will be quite safe,” he said reassuringly. “Tomorrow morning I will knock on the door at about half-past six. When you are dressed, we will go down to the stables, get our horses and be away long before anyone else has been called.”

  “Can we ... really do ... that?”

  “We will do it!” he promised. “But we have a long ride ahead of us, so try to sleep. For I do not want you to collapse on the way!”

  “I will not do that,” Cassandra answered.

  “Then good-night,” the Duke said, “and lock the door behind me.”

  Fo
r a moment they looked into each other’s eyes. Then abruptly he turned away and without saying another word left the room.

  In the Sitting-Room he stood listening until he heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.

  With a sigh he walked on into his own bed-room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘We have escaped!’ Cassandra told herself triumphantly as she and the Duke rode their horses away from the Stables, and, keeping out of sight of the house, moved into the Park.

  The morning was sunny and fresh and the horses were frisky, so for the time being there was no chance for conversation.

  But Cassandra was exultant to know that she was again alone with the Duke and free from the menace of Lord Carwen.

  She had thought it would be impossible to sleep last night. But she had been already very tired when she went to bed, and the shock of what occurred later naturally had taken its toll of her strength.

  Instead therefore of lying awake as she had expected, fearful and apprehensive, she had slept dreamlessly until she was awakened by a knock at the door.

  For one second her fears came flooding back over her, and then she realised that day-light was coming through the sides of the curtains.

  “Are you awake, Sandra?” she heard the Duke ask softly.

  She got out of bed and picked up the silk counterpane in which he had wrapped her the night before. She put it once again round her shoulders and going to the door unlocked it.

  He was standing in the Sitting-Room fully dressed and wearing riding-breeches.

  “It is half past six.”

  She smiled at him and he wondered how many other women of his acquaintance would have been quite unselfconscious about their looks at that hour of the morning.

  Cassandra’s red hair was tumbled; her eyes were still sleepy; and there was a faint flush on her cheeks.

  “I have looked into your bed-room,” the Duke said quietly, “and you can feel quite safe. Will it take you long to get dressed?”

  “I will be as quick as I can,” she answered breathlessly.

  The Duke opened the door of the Sitting-Room and she saw that it led into the same passage that she had crossed the night before from her Dressing-Room to his bed-room.