73. A Tangled Web Read online

  “As you know,” Peter went on, “Broxburne has never been able to open The Hall, although he has wanted to do so.”

  “You did not tell me that,” Carola said. “I always imagined he was not interested in it and thought it dull to live in the country.”

  “That is the reason he gave because he was too proud to admit that it was far too expensive for him to keep up the house and the estate.”

  Peter paused before he added,

  “Unless he gave up his house in London and the horses he keeps at Newmarket.”

  Carola thought that she could understand the difficulty.

  At the same time, she felt that it was sad that anyone who owned such an historic house should leave it empty and also let the estate go to rack and ruin.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, Peter said,

  “I think Broxburne has always dreamed that one day things would come right and now at last he has the opportunity.”

  “How?” Carola enquired.

  “I think I told you that he went out to America soon after Christmas,” Peter answered.

  He had not done so, but Carola did not interrupt.

  “When he was there he met a man called Alton Westwood who is going into motor car production in a big way. ‘Automobiles’, as they call them in America.”

  “Motor cars? Automobiles?” Carola murmured.

  She had only seen two motor cars in the whole of her life and it seemed very strange to her that people should be planning to produce them in great numbers.

  Of course she had read what had been written about motor cars being built in England and in France.

  But she could not imagine anyone she knew having one.

  “To cut a long story short,” Peter went on, “Alton Westwood wants his cars sold worldwide and to make sure they do so in England he is forming a Company of which Broxburne hopes to be the Chairman.”

  He smiled at her and then continued,

  “He will then ask several of his more important titled friends to be on the Board of Directors.”

  “And this American thinks that they will be able to sell his motor cars?” Carola remarked, trying to understand.

  “Of course they will!” Peter said sharply, “and naturally the press will write about something that is being sponsored by people like Broxburne.”

  “Yes, of course, I can see that,” Carola replied, wondering where she fitted into all this.

  “Broxburne has asked me to be on the Board,” Peter said proudly, “and, of course, I was delighted to accept!”

  There was excitement in his voice as he added,

  “Only yesterday he persuaded a Duke and two Peers who are very close friends of the Prince of Wales to join. They will certainly arouse Royal interest in the Company.”

  “It sounds very exciting,” Carola agreed, “and I am absolutely delighted, Peter, that the Marquis has asked you to be on the Board.”

  “I would have felt hurt if I had been excluded,” Peter admitted.

  “And does it really mean,” Carola asked, “that the Marquis will have so much money that he will be able to open up his house?”

  “Of course it does,” Peter said. “Alton Westwood is already a multi-millionaire because he owns a large number of shares in an American railway. I believe also that he has found oil on his ranch in Texas.”

  Carola drew in her breath.

  She had heard about the enormously wealthy Americans.

  It had seemed slightly unfair that England, which was a much older country, should have so many great families who were hard up.

  “What Alton Westwood intends to do,” her brother went on, “is to break the news to the press about his Company and in a few months’ time have an exhibition of his motor cars in London.”

  “That sounds thrilling,” Carola exclaimed.

  “It is,” Peter agreed, “but there is a slight snag.”

  “What is that?” Carola quizzed him.

  “When he was in America fixing all this up,” Peter answered, “Westwood said that he had heard about Brox Hall and would like to visit it. He also suggested that it would be a good idea for the Marquis to invite his friends to meet him there.”

  Carola stared at her brother.

  “You mean bring them down – here?”

  “Yes!” Peter replied. “Westwood thinks that just to have luncheon or dinner in London is very different from spending a weekend at Brox Hall where he can work them up into an enthusiasm about the motor car so that they can talk about it and, of course, sell the idea to their friends.”

  ‘I can see his reasoning,’ Carola said to herself.

  At the same time she could appreciate that the American was a sharp salesman whom the English would find it hard to understand.

  She had read of their methods in the books that had come from London.

  She thought then that the English were a little old-fashioned in their methods and she was also aware that people like her father and mother thought it impossible for a gentleman to be ‘in trade’.

  Her mother had told her that it was the Prince of Wales who had accepted bankers and financiers for the first time in the history of Society.

  “It will certainly be very exciting,” she said aloud, “for you to see Brox Hall in all its glory.”

  She spoke a little wistfully, thinking it was something she would like to do herself.

  “That is what you will be seeing,” Peter said quietly.

  She stared at him in astonishment.

  “Me? What – are you – saying?”

  “I am saying that when Brox Hall is open and the party they are talking about is taking place, you will be the hostess!”

  There was silence before Carola cried,

  “I don’t – believe you! Why – should the Marquis want – me?”

  “That is what I am going to tell you,” Peter said. “When he went out to America, he realised as soon as he arrived that the American women looked on him as a ‘prize catch’ because of his title.”

  “I have heard that the Americans are impressed by titles,” Carola murmured, “which is why some of our Dukes and Peers have already married American girls with huge fortunes.”

  Peter nodded.

  “That is true and Broxburne told me that Alton Westwood was no different from the rest. He wants a title for his daughter.”

  “So he is married!” Carola said.

  “He is married, divorced and has a daughter a little younger than you.”

  “But if the Marquis marries her,” Carola reasoned, “he will have that immense fortune without having to sell any of his motor cars.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Peter said sharply, “of course Broxburne does not want to marry an American. We were talking about it the other day and he thinks that men of our age who go posting off to America to find an heiress are bounders!”

  Carola was still for a moment.

  Then she said,

  “Of course you are right! It is absolutely wrong to marry someone either for their money or their title.”

  “Exactly!” Peter agreed, “and as it happens, Broxburne has no intention of marrying anybody for years. He is in love with Lady Lucas.”

  He saw that the name meant nothing to his sister and exclaimed,

  “Surely you have heard of Lilac Lucas? She is reputed to be the most beautiful woman in the whole of England, and her pictures are in every magazine as well as practically every shop window.”

  “Yes – of course – now that I think about it,” Carola said quickly, “I have heard of her. Is she very lovely?”

  “Stunningly beautiful!” Peter replied, “and you can imagine that, being in love with somebody like her, Broxburne has no intention of being caught up with some brash American girl with a heavy nasal accent.”

  Carola laughed.

  “Is that what she is like?”

  “I have not seen her,” Peter admitted, “but Broxburne told me he was not attracted by any of the women h
e saw in New York and he had to fight them off when he realised that they were all after him.”

  Carola thought that the Marquis sounded a rather conceited man.

  As she said nothing, her brother went on,

  “Then Broxburne met Alton Westwood and found that he had the same idea as everybody else.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Carola asked.

  “Quite simply that his daughter could be a Marchioness. Naturally he would have preferred a Duke, but, as there was not one about, he was prepared to accept a Marquis.”

  “The Marquis must have been somewhat surprised by that,” Carola smiled. “I suppose he was afraid that, if he did not oblige, Mr. Westwood might not allow him to become Chairman of his Company.”

  “I always knew you were quick-brained!” Peter said, “and, of course, you are right. He was beginning to feel that it was a choice between giving in to Westwood’s very broad hints or returning to England empty-handed!”

  “So what did he do?” Carola asked.

  “He had a sudden inspiration,” her brother replied. “He told Westwood that he already had a wife.”

  Carola laughed.

  “That was very clever of him! But did not that upset the apple cart?”

  “No, apparently Westwood took it quite calmly, and there was no more pressure on Broxburne to take his ‘Li’l Gal’, as Westwood called her, up the aisle.”

  Carola laughed again.

  “I hope you congratulated him on being quick-witted!”

  “I did,” Peter replied, “until I realised that now his pigeons are coming home to roost and he is up to his neck in trouble.”

  Carola looked at her brother with a perplexed expression in her eyes.

  “Why? What has happened?” she asked.

  “What is going to happen,” Peter said, “is that Alton Westwood is arriving in a week’s time and, unless Broxburne plays it very cleverly, Westwood is going to find out that he is not really married!”

  “I never thought of that!” Carola said. “I do see he has a problem.”

  “Well, I have thought of a solution,” Peter said, “and that is where you come in.”

  Carola looked at her brother.

  She realised that for the first time since they had been talking, he was frowning and obviously considering his words.

  She waited and at last Peter said,

  “I suggested and Broxburne agreed that you should pretend to be his wife while Westwood is here!”

  Carola sat bolt upright on the sofa.

  “I am to – pretend to be the – Marquis’s – wife?” she repeated. “H-how can I – possibly do – that?”

  “I have been thinking about it,” Peter said, “and it is quite easy really. Broxburne is going to say that his wife has not been well and that is why she has not been seen in London but has been in the country.”

  He looked at Carola to see that she was listening and went on,

  “The people who are asked to Brox Hall will be as few as possible, in fact only Broxburne’s special friends whom he knows he can trust with his secret.”

  He paused and then emphasised his next words,

  “You will play hostess just for the three nights they are there and after that Westwood will, I hope, go back to America.”

  “And if he does – not?”

  “There is no reason while he is in London that he should mention the Marquis of Broxburne’s wife and anyway all he wants to talk about is motor cars.”

  “It sounds rather dangerous!” Carola commented.

  “It will be a damned sight more dangerous if Westwood learns that Broxburne has lied to him!” Peter replied.

  “Could he not explain that he did so simply to keep the American girls from trying to marry him?”

  “That might be all right if Westwood did not have a daughter,” Peter said. “He was keener than anybody else to have Broxburne as his son-in-law.”

  “Do you really believe that the Marquis’s friends will not talk to him when they return to London?”

  “As they will all be offered shares in the Company together with a nice fat fee for being on the board,” Peter answered, “they are not likely to do anything that will upset any apple cart and of that I can assure you!”

  There was silence until Carola asked,

  “S-suppose I – make a mess – of it?”

  “I don’t see why you should,” Peter said quickly. “After all, you have seen Mama entertaining her guests in the old days and you know how to behave. I can assure you, no American is going to be critical of anything you do.”

  “N-no – I should imagine not,” Carola agreed, “but – what if the Marquis is – angry and – thinks I have let him down?”

  “As he is delighted at the idea, he will be excessively grateful if you can save him from what at the moment is a threat that could destroy the whole campaign.”

  Because he was agitated by the thought, Peter walked backwards and forwards across the floor before he stated,

  “Look Carola, I am going to make a great deal of money out of this and I promise you it will make a difference not only to me but also to you.”

  Carola did not ask how.

  She merely looked at her brother as he went on,

  “I know it’s something I should have done before, but I just could not afford it and that is to provide you with a chaperone who would present you to the Social world.”

  “Provide me with a chaperone!” Carola exclaimed.

  “I only learnt the other day,” Peter replied, “that there are ladies of title who are hard up and want to make a little money, who will take a debutante under their wings and see that she has a very exciting time.”

  He drew in his breath before he continued,

  “It means, of course, giving a ball, which can be very expensive, having some beautiful gowns and also the chaperone’s fee, which can run into four figures. However, now I will be able to afford it.”

  “It sounds wonderful!” Carola said. “I would love to go to balls if only for a short time to see what they are like.”

  “Then all you have to do,” Peter said, “is to pretend for three days and nights that you are the wife of the Marquis of Broxburne, who is, incidentally, a very decent chap.”

  He looked at her searchingly before he finished,

  “I have already told you that he is in love with somebody else, so he is not likely to make a nuisance of himself.”

  “No – of course not,” Carola said. “I was not thinking of that – I was only wondering if I – can do it.”

  “Then you agree?” Peter asked.

  “Very reluctantly, dearest,” Carola admitted. “But you know that I want to help you and it will be wonderful to have a little money to spend on the house. I was going to tell you that there are several repairs that need to be done.”

  “If this deal comes off,” Peter said. “We shall not only have the repairs done to the house, but new curtains, carpets and anything you wish.”

  Carola gave a cry of delight.

  “That is the best news I have ever heard! But, Peter, if I am to pretend I am the Marquis’s wife, you will have to help me.”

  “Everybody will help you,” Peter said, “especially the Marquis. He has more to lose than any of us.”

  “I expect he will want to do up the house,” Carola said softly.

  “Of course he does! What man would not? But don’t forget, it all has to be done in a week!”

  “But – that’s impossible!”

  Peter shook his head.

  “Nothing is impossible if you can afford it and because I was quite certain you would be sensible about this, Broxburne is already engaging a firm who will fill his house with servants.”

  Peter paused for breath and went on,

  “I have already found out the names of local tradesmen who will clean the rooms, polish the windows and put the whole house in order before the staff arrive.”

  “You are taking my breath a
way!” Carola exclaimed.

  “I have always thought of myself as an organiser,” Peter said proudly, “and this, Carola, is organisation on the grand scale. And there is a big ‘jackpot’ at the end of it!”

  Carola rose from the sofa.

  “Whatever happens,” she said quietly, “we must not make any mistakes.”

  “That would be disastrous!” Peter agreed, “besides having large bills to meet which none of us, including Broxburne, can afford.”

  Carola looked at her brother.

  “I expect by now Newman has your bath ready,” she said, “so I will go to change. I feel rather as if I am in a whirlpool and it is very difficult to find my way out!”

  Peter put his arm around her shoulders.

  “You are a real sport, old girl! I assure you, Broxburne and all the rest of us will be exceedingly grateful.”

  “I am already feeling as if I have a hundred butterflies fluttering inside me!” Carola said.

  “All you have to do,” her brother answered, “is to look pretty and say as little as possible.”

  “It sounds easy, but don’t forget, I must have some decent gowns. I have bought nothing new since I came out of mourning and my other clothes are too short and too tight!”

  “I thought you would say that,” Peter laughed, “and I therefore brought one hundred pounds in cash for you to spend on clothes.”

  “One hundred pounds?” Carola gasped. “But that is far too much!”

  “Don’t forget you are a Marchioness and Westwood will expect all the pomp and ceremony possible for a real live Peeress!”

  Carola laughed.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Peter added. “Broxburne says that he will bring with him his mother’s jewellery which at the moment is in the Bank for safe-keeping. You will need a tiara and, of course, necklaces, bracelets, etcetera, galore.”

  Carola did not answer.

  She knew from what she had read in the Social columns that a Lady of Quality always wore a tiara at dinner and on important occasions.

  In fact, the Prince of Wales insisted upon it.

  “Now I know,” she said aloud, “that the Marquis is my Fairy Godfather and with a wave of his magic wand I shall be correctly attired for the ball! At the same time don’t forget that at midnight, like Cinderella, it all vanishes and I will be back in my rags!”