A Paradise On Earth Read online

  There were plenty of young men casting wistful eyes at her, attracted by her shining honey-blonde hair, elegant figure and large blue eyes. But her father dismissed them all.

  “They are only after your money, my dear,” he assured her. “They know I will leave you a large fortune.”

  “Oh, Papa, I am sure you are wrong,” she riposted, remembering one young man who had held her hand for just a little longer than was proper, and another who had gazed longingly into her eyes.

  Not that she mentioned these incidents to her father. She had a feeling that he would not see them in the same blissful light as herself.

  “You leave these matters to me, my dear,” Papa had asserted, patting her hand. “Rely on your father to choose the perfect husband for you.”

  But his idea of the perfect husband turned out to be Sir Stewart. When Cecilia heard the news, she laughed out loud. Surely Papa was joking. But, to her horror, he was serious.

  “You will bear a title,” he urged. “Lady Paxton. Her Ladyship. Just think of that!”

  “Thinking about it makes me feel ill,” she had replied.

  Papa had been angry with her for one of the few times that she could remember. He had stormed off and Cecilia had fled the house, seeking refuge with Mrs. Alice Baines.

  Alice had been her nurse for several years. When she had left, five years earlier, to marry George Baines, a butcher, she had moved only a few miles away and Cecilia had continued to visit her. After Sir Stewart began pestering her, Cecilia called more often.

  Mrs. Baines calmed her down, gave her good advice on how to deal with Papa, and sent her home ever more determined to hold out. And Mrs. Baines’s advice had been so good that when Cecilia’s father died, she was still unmarried.

  But her relief was short-lived. In his will, made a few days before his death, Mr. Reynolds had appointed Sir Stewart as her guardian. In a week she had found herself forcibly moved into Sir Stewart’s London house, so that there was no escape from his unceasing importunities.

  “No escape,” Cecilia murmured to herself now. “I am a prisoner here. Oh, what shall I do?”

  She listened at the door, terrified in case Sir Stewart came after her. But to her relief she heard him leaving by the front door. A moment later there was the sound of a carriage driving away.

  Instantly she sprang to life, seizing her bonnet, throwing on a cloak and slipping out of the door. In the corridor she heard footsteps approaching from an upper floor, and hurried down the stairs to avoid being seen. She slipped out of a side door and hurried until she reached the street. To her relief she found a cab quickly, and gave Mrs. Baines’s address.

  Cecilia reached the shop to find Mr. Baines serving behind the counter. He waved when he saw her.

  “Go right along to the back,” he called. “She’ll be so pleased to see you and tell you our good news.”

  Mrs. Baines greeted her with ecstasy and immediately confided that she and Mr. Baines were expecting their third child.

  “Motherhood really suits you!” Cecilia exclaimed in delight.

  “I look forward to seeing you with little ones of your own, my pretty, when you’ve found the right husband. Is that monster still tormenting you?”

  “Oh, Alice, it’s terrible. He gets worse and worse. How could Papa have brought himself to leave me in his clutches?”

  “Your father was a good man in many ways,” Alice sighed. “But give him the sniff of a title and he became a bit cracked in the head. But I’m really glad to see you. I thought Sir Stewart would stop you visiting me.”

  “He tries to. I slip out secretly. I even have to avoid my maid because she’s a spy for him. He dismissed my faithful Jane and forced me to have a maid of his choosing. Her name is Harriet and she’s always watching me and then sneaking off to him.

  “He says she is a ‘high class maid’ and I shall need her for when I am ‘moving in court circles’ as he puts it. But actually she’s useless. It’s lucky that you and Jane taught me to do everything for myself.

  “Oh, Alice, my life is a nightmare. I am a virtual prisoner in the house. That horrible man says it’s because we are in mourning for Papa, but he just doesn’t want me to meet anyone else. I have to escape. But how? And where would I go?”

  “Why, you could come to us,” Alice said at once.

  “You are a darling, but I couldn’t impose on you.”

  “You wouldn’t be imposing at all,” said Mr. Baines, coming in from the shop. “It wouldn’t be a good idea for you to stay for long, because he might find you. But if you do escape, you must come to us first and we’ll see what’s to be done next.”

  “You are both so kind,” Cecilia sighed. “It means so much to me to know that I can throw myself on your mercy, but I am sure – that is, I hope – that I won’t need to run away. Sir Stewart will see sense. I just have to be firm.”

  She continued to try and convince herself of this all the way home and even managed to find a little reassurance in it. She was lucky in managing to slip into the house unseen, but when she was half way up the stairs, her luck ended.

  “Where have you been?”

  Sir Stewart’s voice was like the crack of a whip. She turned to see him standing at the foot of the stairs, scowling.

  ”I said where have you been?” he repeated nastily.

  “Anywhere as long as it’s out of this house,” she told him defiantly.

  “Do not bandy words with me, girl. I demand to know where you’ve been.”

  “And I refuse to tell you.”

  He climbed the stairs until they were face to face.

  “Have you been meeting some man?” he demanded.

  “No. And that is all I am going to tell you.”

  “I don’t believe you. You are arranging secret assignations, aren’t you? Admit it.”

  “I have nothing to admit.”

  “Then why do you creep out alone. A decent woman takes her maid with her.”

  “That nasty creature you set to spy on me? I detest her almost as much as I detest you. I refuse to answer any more questions. What I do is none of your affair?”

  “You are my promised wife –” he shouted.

  “That is a lie. The only promise I ever made was to be rid of you as soon as possible and that will be very soon. I shall be twenty-one before long, and then I will leave this house, and you will have to account for what you have done with my money. I do not think you will find that very easy, but you won’t cheat me as you cheated my father.”

  For a moment she thought he would hit her. His face became purple with rage and he drew a sharp breath.

  Then he seemed to force himself to be calm.

  “I will deal with you later,” he said hoarsely. “For now, go and prepare for dinner. We are entertaining.”

  “And who will the guests be this time? More of your drinking friends?”

  “The Reverend Shotton will be our guest, so please behave yourself.”

  Cecilia ran the rest of the way upstairs. It was no relief to her to find that the guest was a clergyman, for the Reverend Shotton was a man cut from the same cloth as Sir Stewart. Beneath the trappings of his vocation he was vulgar and coarse, both of which qualities he made worse by assuming an air of unctuous piety.

  Harriet appeared, ready to help her dress for dinner.

  “I have put out two dresses that would be suitable, miss” she announced primly.

  Cecilia looked at the two gowns and immediately rejected them both.

  “They are too low-cut,” she said. “It would not be proper for me to wear them while I am in mourning for my father.”

  “It is Sir Stewart’s wish that you look your best tonight,” Harriet replied in a harsh voice.

  Cecilia’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “Do not try to dictate to me!” she cried. “I will decide what is proper for me to wear. Not you and certainly not Sir Stewart.”

  Crossing to her wardrobe, she sorted through her gowns until she found
one of dark blue silk, cut high in the bosom.

  Harriet’s mouth hardened.

  “That is not what Sir Stewart wishes you to wear,” she said coldly.

  Cecilia was now in control of her temper and answered with deceptive sweetness,

  “But Harriet, Mr. Shotton would wish me to dress demurely. He is a man of stern, moral rectitude.”

  Since Harriet knew that this was untrue, but could hardly say so, she was left floundering, while Cecilia proceeded to don the austere garment. The only decoration she permitted herself was a pair of jet ear-rings that had belonged to her mother.

  Then she walked slowly downstairs to sit in the library until the evening should begin.

  Sir Stewart found her and scowled when he saw how she was attired.

  “Harriet tells me that you are being difficult about this evening.”

  “On the contrary, I am behaving very properly in dressing with restraint,” she informed him coolly.

  He appeared to be struggling with his temper. At last he managed to control himself and assumed a smile that sickened her with its falsity.

  “Let us not argue,” he said. “I have brought you a gift and I merely wanted you to be able to display it properly.”

  Cecilia said nothing.

  “Don’t you want to know what the gift is?” he asked in a wheedling tone.

  “I do not wish to receive anything from you,” she said firmly.

  “Come now, every girl likes presents.”

  “That depends on who gives them. I want nothing from you.”

  He seemed to speak through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t you think you might make an effort to be a little pleasant?”

  “I shall be perfectly pleasant to our guest when he arrives, but I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Not even for this?” he asked with a sickening smile, bringing a black velvet box out from behind his back.

  He opened it with a flourish, revealing a diamond necklace.

  Cecilia regarded him coolly. Obviously she was supposed to be overcome with gratitude, but all she could feel was a cynical suspicion that he had paid for the necklace with her money.

  “I told you that I want nothing from you,” she repeated. “And I meant it.”

  She turned away from him, but he was after her in a flash, wrapping the necklace around her throat.

  “Don’t spurn me when I am being so good to you,” he squealed angrily.

  “Get away from me,” she cried, trying to struggle free.

  But he was stronger and grasped her with rough hands, turning her to face him and trying to plant a kiss on her face. She almost fainted with disgust. Earlier that day she had merely pushed him off. Now she drew her arm back and landed him a hefty slap on the face, managing at the same time to rake his cheek with her nails, so that the scratches were visible.

  “Why you little – !”

  But before he could say any more, they heard the sound of the doorbell ringing. The Reverend Shotton had arrived.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” Sir Stewart snarled and pushed past her into the hall to greet his guest.

  Cecilia took a deep breath and prepared to endure the evening.

  It was a strain, but somehow she survived. Mr. Shotton’s gaze fixed at once on the scratches on Sir Stewart’s cheek and then to her, in a manner that showed he understood everything.

  She suspected that Sir Stewart had enlisted him as an ally and knew it for sure when the clergyman dropped a hint about ‘setting the date’. She braced herself for an argument but it did not come. Sir Stewart hastily dismissed the subject with a remark about Cecilia being in mourning.

  From which she concluded that he was unwilling to provoke her into open defiance. She felt a twinge of satisfaction at having alarmed him into silence. But she knew it was only for the moment. She could not afford to relax.

  As soon as possible she bade them goodnight and left them to their port. Upstairs she paced the floor, unable to go to bed. She knew she would not be able to sleep. Suddenly everything was more serious than she had imagined.

  The room seemed to be closing in on her. She had to get out. Peering into the corridor, she looked each way before heading down the stairs. If she went through the conservatory she could slip out into the garden.

  But as soon as she entered the conservatory she froze. From behind a clump of tall plants she heard the sound of Sir Stewart’s voice.

  “So you see how it is. I am in even more dire straits than I thought.”

  And Mr. Shotton replied,

  “Well, you certainly didn’t help matters by the amount you lost the other night.”

  “You are hardly in a position to lecture me,” Sir Stewart said roughly, “seeing as it was you who won most of it.”

  “Well I lost it to someone else straight afterwards,” Mr. Shotton said. “So we’re neither of us well off.”

  “And I have to do something fast. I thought I would have her safely married to me by now, but she’s an obstinate little baggage. What is more I think there’s a man she is slipping out to see. I cannot afford to lose her. She is threatening to set the law on to me when she’s twenty-one and that would ruin me, if the creditors don’t ruin me first.”

  “So what do you expect me to do about it?”

  “Marry us!”

  “But she cannot stand you, if those scratches on your face are anything to go by. She will never consent.”

  “Then I will damned well do without her consent. She’ll come to church whether she likes it or not and then you will marry us.”

  “You don’t expect her to just let you drag her off, do you?” Shotton demanded. “She has plenty of fire in her and she’ll yell the place down.”

  “Not if she is given something to quieten her down first.”

  There was a silence. Then Mr. Shotton asked,

  “Drug her, you mean?”

  “Why not? Put an end to her nonsense, once and for all.”

  “Do not tell me any more. I don’t want to hear about it”

  “But you will marry us, if you want to be paid the rest of your money.”

  “I suppose I shall have to. Make it soon.”

  Cecilia’s heart was thundering as she slowly backed out of the conservatory. She could hardly breathe as all her fears converged onto her. She had been playing for time and suddenly there was no time left. If she was to escape at all, it must be tonight.

  She forced herself to be calm and to behave normally.

  When Harriet came to her room she allowed her to undress her, brush her hair and bid her goodnight.

  She sat in darkness while the house grew silent around her. Then she lit a small lamp and took a suitcase from the wardrobe.

  Her first idea was to take only the basic necessities. But she soon realised that she did not know where she was going, or how long she might be away. So Cecilia packed as many of her good clothes as she could cram into the case, before pulling out the top drawer of her dressing table.

  Inside there was a locked box containing a good deal of money. Her father’s generous allowance had been paid to her just before his death and she had kept it, never knowing when she might need money urgently.

  Had some part of her always known that this day would come? At any rate, she blessed whichever instinct had led her to save this money, so that now she had enough to escape.

  And that was exactly what she was going to do.

  She dressed swiftly and looked out into the corridor of the dark, silent house. She resisted the temptation to run, creeping slowly downstairs and into the kitchen.

  The cat opened one eye and regarded her sleepily for a moment. Cecilia put a finger to her lips and shook her head. The cat stretched and curled up again as she let herself out of the back door. Now she was in the garden within reach of the gate.

  She reached the gate safely and out into the street. At first she kept to the back streets and side alleys, but at last she risked joining a main road, and was r
ewarded by the sight of a passing cab. She gave the cabbie the address of the Baines’s house, climbed in and sank back against the squabs.

  Luckily butchers rise early and the first lights were coming on as she arrived. A smiling Mr. Baines called his wife and Alice came flying down the stairs to greet her.

  “Now you have come to stay with us,” she said joyfully.

  “Oh, no, Alice dear. I might put you in danger. Just let me hide here for a day and tomorrow I will just slip away.”

  “But where will you go?” Alice wailed.

  “To Brighton.”

  “You cannot return to your house. It is the first place that man will look for you.”

  Cecilia raised her head proudly and her eyes gleamed with determination.

  “Not the house,” she replied. “I have just remembered somewhere else, where I will be perfectly safe. Please do not worry about me. I am going to Paradise.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  For the last stretch of the journey over the Milton estate, the sun had vanished behind dark clouds, casting a gloomy shadow over the land, in keeping with the Earl’s mood.

  When at last the carriage drew up outside the great house, John, the Earl Milton, climbed out and walked straight through the door that a footman was holding open for him. He strode through the hall and down the passage to his smoking room. Anyone, looking at his face, would have known that he was angry.

  He walked to the window to stare almost blindly at the flowers which were growing in the garden beneath him.

  “Two years,” he muttered bitterly. “Two years of working to bring this place back to its glory, only to be told that I am almost penniless. All right, I spent more than I intended, but the result is marvellous.”

  Even so, the meeting with his lawyers had brought him down to earth with a bump. He owned a great estate but no money for its upkeep.

  For a moment he almost wished he was back with his regiment fighting in the Crimea. It had been a dreadful war, but life had then held a simplicity that appealed to him now.

  In the Barrack hospital at Scutari he had contracted cholera, and for days his life had hung in the balance. At last the devoted care of Miss Florence Nightingale and her nurses had drawn him back from the brink and he had awakened to a new world.