The Importance of Love Read online

  He quickened his pace as he approached Grosvenor Place.

  ‘I do hope that Grandfather will be able to give me the funds I require,’ he thought, striding swiftly along Grosvenor Crescent to the imposing house in the far corner of Belgrave Square. He was soon ringing the ornate brass doorbell and waiting for Bates, his grandfather’s butler, to open the door.

  The heavy door swung open and Bates greeted him robustly.

  “My Lord! His Grace will be delighted to see you. He is in the dining room having his breakfast. Shall I set out another place for you?”

  “That would be excellent, Bates. Thank you.” He walked towards the dining room and entered without waiting for Bates to announce him. The Marquis of Alderberry was busy taking the top off his egg and sighing over a headline in the newspaper.

  “David. How nice to see you,” he exclaimed. “Bally nonsense, this Boer War,” he added, indicating the newspaper in front of him. “It’s all boiling up again.”

  The Viscount sighed,

  “I have no interest in military matters. Some of my Cambridge chums are out there and they write to me saying the whole affair is beastly.”

  He sat down in the chair that Bates had pulled out for him.

  His grandfather was fond of a large breakfast and as usual there was a tasty selection of dishes keeping hot on the buffet.

  “What will you have, my Lord?”

  “Kedgeree and toast, please, Bates.”

  “Now, to what do I owe this honour, young man? You do not usually grace me with your presence so early. I suspect that something, or someone, has precipitated this visit.”

  The Viscount laughed fondly.

  “You are as sharp as ever, Grandfather. Yes, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”

  “Well, ask away,” said the old man with a smile.

  “Grandfather, I will be blunt. I need a considerable sum of money to invest in a derelict property that I have been tipped off has just become available. My thoughts are that this is a project I could really throw myself into.”

  “You are thinking of putting to good use all your learning at Cambridge?”

  “Yes, I have grown tired of my life and think it is time that I revived my interest in architecture. Teddy Chalmers says that the location is wonderful and there is a great deal of potential for a man with an entrepreneurial spirit.”

  “That is to be admired, David, and I am glad that you are keen to engage yourself on such a worthy project, but I am afraid that your father has tied my hands when it comes to releasing funds to you.”

  “I know he has said not to give me anything, but surely he cannot tell you what to do with your own money?” asked the Viscount forking over his kedgeree.

  “My son is a very wilful and stubborn man. He has tied up my liquid assets and there is nowhere near the amount of cash available that you would need. I am sorry, David, if I could help you, I would. Your father is still very angry with you over that dashed Merriott girl.”

  The Viscount put down his fork, having lost all his appetite.

  “Father,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “He complains that I live a wasted life and then, when I seek to knuckle down and make a name for myself, he puts obstacles in my path.”

  “He will not bend, David, and I am so sorry I cannot help you. Is there anyone else you can ask?”

  “Not for such a large sum, Grandfather. It would not be right. And the bank is under Father’s sway and will not loan me such an amount. He has effectively handcuffed me until I agree to marry.”

  “That is a pity, David,” sighed the Marquis. “I shall speak with him on your behalf, but I would not hold out a great deal of hope that he might change his mind. Once set, even the Almighty himself could not budge him from his path!”

  The Viscount drained his cup of coffee and threw down his napkin.

  “It is such a shame and it will be a great opportunity missed,” he said. “And now, I should leave you in peace. Is Grandmama in?”

  “No, she is staying at friends in Brighton and will not be returning until later today.”

  “Then send her my love. I shall detain you no longer.”

  He rose and shook his grandfather’s hand solemnly and Bates was ready waiting for him with his hat.

  The Viscount decided to go for a stroll in Green Park and began to make his way towards Buckingham Palace, but he had not gone far when he saw none other than his father striding towards him.

  Taking a deep breath, the Viscount prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation. Relations were very strained between father and son and he knew it would not be an easy encounter.

  The Earl halted for a moment as he caught sight of his son coming towards him. He rolled up his newspaper with a decisive gesture and walked forwards with a grim expression upon his face.

  “David,” he said halting by him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have been to see Grandfather,” he answered, waiting for the inevitable burst of anger. His father did not disappoint him.

  “You did what?” he raged, turning red in the face. “I told you to keep away from him with your begging bowl, you ingrate!”

  “But, Father, I had hoped to resurrect my career as an architect and had found a property to show off my abilities to everyone – ”

  The Earl grabbed his son by the arm and began to frogmarch him back in the direction of Belgrave Square.

  “Now you will come with me and apologise for bothering him.”

  “Father, I do wish you would not treat me like a child,” pleaded the Viscount, as he shrugged off his father’s grip.

  He would be thirty at his next birthday, yet his father still behaved as if he was a ten-year-old. And, being an only child, he bore the brunt of his father’s expectations and plans for the Kennington family.

  ‘I wish Mama was still alive,’ he thought, as he was led back to his grandfather’s house. ‘She always used to stand up for me.’

  But his mother had died not long after he had graduated from Cambridge. She had fallen ill with typhoid after working with the poor in the East End of London and not being very strong, she succumbed to death within weeks of being infected.

  They soon arrived back at the Marquis’s house. Bates was shocked to see the Earl and the Viscount standing on the doorstep.

  Without waiting for him to speak, the Earl barged his way past him with a resigned-looking Viscount following behind.

  “Father!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

  The old Marquis shuffled into the hall with his newspaper still in his hand. He looked as if he had only just finished his breakfast.

  “David,” he called, for the Earl’s name was the same as his son’s.

  “Father, I was on my way to visit you when I found this miscreant in the street, sneaking away from your house. I have told him frequently not to bother you and I am most displeased that he has disobeyed me.”

  “David, if you will only listen to the boy. He has a chance to make something of himself and bring glory to the family name.”

  “Rubbish! He came seeking money for the gaming houses. Don’t think I am such a fool that I do not know where he spends most of his time. You did not believe what he said, surely?”

  “But, Father, what Grandfather says is true. Teddy Chalmers has tipped me off about an old place that could be just right to show off my skills.”

  “What a waste of time that would be! How you scraped through Cambridge is beyond me. And I have paid the price in more ways than one.”

  “David, I don’t think we should be raking up the past again. The boy did not wish to marry the Merriott girl for good reasons.”

  “And I lost out on a great deal of money and a lucrative business partnership because he did not snap her up. The silly young fool! United our two families would have been the most powerful force in the land.”

  “But I did not wish to get married, Father.”

  “We are not put on this earth as the ruling clas
s so that we may choose when and whom we marry,” he snapped angrily. “There are more important considerations such as loyalty to one’s family. Considerations that you appear to have forgotten in your selfish life.”

  “Stop this,” cried the Marquis, quite clearly upset. “I will not have such words spoken in my house.”

  However, the Earl continued to rail against his son, becoming more and more agitated. He thrust his finger into the young man’s chest repeatedly and ugly words spilled forth from his lips.

  “Stop!” called the Marquis again weakly.

  Bates noticed that his Master was turning a peculiar colour and appeared to be having difficulty in breathing. His face turned blue and he slowly sank to his knees.

  As the Earl had his back to him, the first he realised that something was amiss was when the Viscount rushed to help Bates haul the old man to a nearby chair.

  “Send someone for the doctor,” yelled the Viscount, loosening his grandfather’s necktie. “And make haste.”

  The Earl stood horrified in the hall. He could neither move nor speak.

  “Grandfather! Can you hear me?”

  The Viscount was kneeling down by the old man and patting his hand. The Marquis let out a long sigh and then expired.

  “Grandfather. No! No! No!”

  “You – have – killed him,” muttered the Earl, falling back against the wall.

  The Viscount laid his head on his dead grandfather’s knee and stifled a sob.

  He had been brought up to believe it was not manly to cry, but how could he not shed a tear when the man he loved and respected more than any other had just died?

  “Get up, you fool!” shouted his father hoarsely. “You are making a spectacle of yourself crying like a weak girl.”

  The Viscount remained with the Marquis until the doctor arrived.

  “I am so sorry, my Lord,” he said, shaking his head. “I would suggest that you have the servants remove his body to his bedroom. I will drop in on the undertaker on the way back to my house and ask him to come at once.”

  “Thank you,” replied the Viscount, choking back his emotions. “That is very kind of you.”

  “I shall have to go home and write out the death certificate and will have it delivered as soon as possible. The undertakers will need it.”

  “Of course, thank you, doctor.”

  The Viscount walked with him to the door and past his still-stunned father. As he closed the door behind him, he turned to face the Earl.

  “Father – ”

  “Don’t speak to me and don’t look at me,” snarled the Earl in a tone of voice that sounded as hollow as it was dangerous. “You are no longer my son!”

  “Father, you are upset – you do not know what you are saying.”

  The Earl’s eyes glittered as he regarded the Viscount with a cold stare.

  “You killed him. You and your selfishness,” he screamed. “Get away from me!”

  He pushed past his son and pulled open the front door with such force that it rebounded off the wall and almost hit him as he stood in the doorway.

  “You have your grandfather’s death on your conscience. I will never forgive you! Never, do you hear?”

  With that he ran down the steps of the house and out on to the street.

  It had begun to rain and he pulled his hat down over his eyes as he rushed off, leaving the distraught Viscount feeling empty and numb as he stared after him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The passage from Calais to Dover was not a smooth one for Luella and her aunt. The sea pitched their ship mercilessly and as a result they were both seasick.

  By the time that they had docked at Dover, Luella was very worried about the Countess – she was almost delirious.

  “I think we had better stay in Dover tonight and forget about trying to make for Hastings,” she said, as two sailors helped her aunt down the gangplank.

  “No, we must press on. I am well enough to withstand a carriage ride.”

  Luella regarded her ashen face with concern. Although her aunt was hardly in her dotage, she had never seen her look so frail. It was as if she had aged overnight.

  The sailors quickly found them a carriage that sported a team of fast horses and made certain that she was comfortable before they bade farewell.

  “What kind gentlemen,” murmured the Countess, as Luella tucked blankets around her knees. Outside it promised to be another fine July day, but the Countess was shivering and needed the extra warmth.

  Luella sipped at the cup of water the sailors had brought for her and clutched at her stomach. She was slowly feeling a little better, unlike her aunt who groaned as the carriage bumped its way along the road to Hastings.

  It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at their destination and the Countess had been asleep for much of the journey.

  Luella had tried to make her as comfortable as possible and the coachmen had been most considerate, bringing them a water bottle and some plain bread and butter. The Countess had not touched anything apart from a few sips of water. It was left to Luella to advise the coachmen of their final destination – the George Hotel in Battle, just outside Hastings.

  It was an old coaching inn and at first Luella was concerned that it would not be to their liking. However, once inside, they were shown to a comfortable suite of rooms that overlooked Battle Abbey.

  ‘Surely Frank Connolly will not find us here?’ she said to herself, as she waited for the landlord to bring them something to eat. ‘He would not think of looking somewhere so modest.’

  The thought did occur to her that perhaps he may pass through, as most of the London-bound coaches stopped at the inn.

  ‘But he would never dream of finding us here,’ she mumbled, gazing out of the window at the Abbey. ‘Even so, I feel in my bones that he has discovered we have left Paris and is even now in hot pursuit. I hope we can outwit him as I do not know what I would do if he was to find us.’

  *

  The days after the Marquis’s undignified death were highly fraught for the Viscount. He attempted to visit his father to clear the air, only to be told by his butler that he was not at home, when the Viscount knew quite clearly that he was.

  ‘He will have to face me at the funeral,’ he told himself as he walked back to South Audley Street.

  Halfway there, he changed his mind and made for Belgrave Square instead. His grandmother had returned from her visit to Brighton to the terrible news and had been inconsolable ever since.

  It did not help that no one seemed to be able to tell her the precise circumstances that led her husband to collapse.

  The servants maintained a wall of silence, having been drilled by the Earl to keep their mouths shut on the subject and the poor Marchioness was beside herself.

  The Viscount knocked on the black-wreathed front door and waited for Bates.

  “Good afternoon, my Lord,” intoned the butler, as his sombre face appeared in the hall. The Viscount noticed that he was wearing a black armband.

  “Good afternoon, Bates. Is Grandmama at home?”

  “Yes, my Lord. She is in the library, please come this way.”

  The Marchioness was sitting in an armchair with a pile of papers on her knee. As soon as she saw her grandson, she set them down and rose to kiss him.

  “David,” she exclaimed, her red-rimmed eyes staring balefully up at him. “How nice of you to come.”

  “I hope you did not think I was deserting you, Grandmama, it is just that Father – ”

  “Yes, I know. You two are still at loggerheads.”

  “I am sorry, I have tried to see him to smooth the way, but he has instructed his servants not to let me past the front door. It is very hurtful to be kept on the step like an unwelcome visitor.”

  “Your father always was a stubborn child and he grew up to become a stubborn man. He would rather die than admit he was in the wrong and as for apologising – ”

  “I came to see how you are.”

  The
old lady sighed heavily and waved her hand at the piles of papers everywhere.

  “As you can see, your grandfather left a great deal of unfinished business. His Solicitor has promised to call and help me attend to things, but I do not know what I shall do.”

  Her lip trembled and she dabbed at her eyes with a black-edged handkerchief. After a few moments she composed herself and looked up at him.

  “David, you were here – will you tell me what happened?”

  “I am not certain I should,” replied the Viscount wearily. “If I did, then Father would use it against me and make me suffer even more.”

  “I am asking you, dearest, if there is something I should know.”

  “Very well. There was an argument between Father and me and Grandpapa became upset. The next thing we knew, he had slumped to the floor, clutching his chest.”

  The Marchioness contemplated his words for a while and then spoke,

  “Thank you, David. I had suspected as much. You do know that your grandfather always had a weak heart? It was a miracle that he survived as long as he did. His doctors told us years ago that the end was in sight.”

  “You do not blame me?”

  “For your grandfather’s death? No,” she shook her head. “The slightest amount of strain could have brought on a heart attack – one of his horses not winning the Derby, news that his investments had hit rock bottom.”

  He seized his grandmother’s hand and kissed it.

  “Thank you, Grandmama. Father blames me, of course. That is why he will not see me.”

  “He is a very stupid man, even if he is my son. You are his only child and should be comforting him at this dreadful time.”

  “As long as you do not bear me any ill will, Grandmama, I believe I can bear his ostracising me.”

  “He will come round, just give him time. He always has to have someone to lash out at and this time it is you. Stay strong, David. We shall all need you very much at the funeral tomorrow.”

  “The Solicitor says it will be held at Kensal Green and not at the family Church in Hertfordshire. That is strange, is it not?”

  The Marchioness took a deep breath and he could see that something else was troubling her.

  “They were his last wishes and being a loyal wife, I do not wish to disobey my husband, even in death. Now, if you will excuse me, David.”