The Trail to Love Read online

  She paused for a moment in her beating of the rugs and watched the dust drifting away on the breeze.

  Her father had been a lion of man, over six feet tall and well built. He had a thick mane of golden hair, just the same colour as hers, and a long beard.

  Many people became alarmed at Leo Valentine’s unconventional appearance, as he liked to wear smoking jackets of bright purple and green velvet and when he was painting, a blue smock covered in daubs of paint.

  But Elissa knew he was the kindest and gentlest of men, who had always loved her dearly and wanted nothing more than her happiness.

  Over the last two years they had grown especially close, for her Papa’s heart had grown unreliable and he had been unable to leave the house.

  It was an effort for him even to climb the stairs to his bedroom without Elissa’s arm to lean on.

  There was little money in the Valentine household and just one servant worked there – a little maid called Kitty, who laid the fires and peeled the vegetables and did the heavy cleaning that was too much for Elissa.

  And Elissa did everything else.

  She cooked and dusted and waited on her Papa and when he became ill, she looked after him.

  If her Mama had still been alive, it would have been very different. Her Papa would then have had two devoted women to care for him.

  Lady Helena Hartwell, the most famous beauty of her day, had scandalised Society by marrying for love, and a poor artist to boot, but she had never regretted what she had done.

  “I have been so happy with your Papa, my darling,” Elissa could remember her saying some years before, as they sat cuddled up together on one of the Persian rugs in front of a blazing fire.

  “I love him so very much and if I had not run away with him – why, I would never have had you, my lovely daughter!”

  Elissa had asked her why her own mother and the rest of the family no longer spoke to her.

  “Because they do not understand, sweetheart. They wanted me to marry a man with a title and fortune, because that was what all girls like me were expected to do. They could not see that without the love of your Papa I could never be happy. We may not have very much money, but we are together and we have you!”

  That was one of the times after a painting had been sold, when there was a bit more prosperity in the Valentine household. There was money to pay for logs and coal and to buy a joint of meat for dinner on Sundays.

  Elissa’s mother was very beautiful with thick dark hair and lovely brown eyes that glowed like dark sherry.

  She was slim and elegant, always full of life and fun, laughing and joking with everyone as she struggled to make ends meet.

  But Lady Helena Hartwell’s aristocratic sheltered upbringing had not prepared her for the hardships of being a struggling artist’s wife, and for the long cold winters and the weeks when all the available money went to pay the rent and there was none left to put food on the table.

  When Elissa was just twelve years old, her Mama caught a bad cold.

  Then too it was bitter January weather and the rich folk who like to buy pictures to hang on their walls were staying inside their snug homes to keep warm, so there was little money coming in.

  Lady Helena just could not summon the strength to recover and when finally the doctor came, he told Leo that she was gravely ill with pneumonia.

  Leo was beside himself with grief and worry, but Lady Helena bore no resentment against her husband for the fact that he had no money to light a fire in her room or to call the doctor out more often.

  “One day,” she whispered to Elissa, smiling as she lay back on her snowy pillows, “your Papa will be very famous. His genius will be discovered and everyone will want one of his marvellous paintings. It is just a question of time – ”

  Not long after she said this, she took her last breath, held closely in her husband’s arms.

  *

  The artist clung very tightly to his little girl, Elissa, in the years that followed.

  He worked harder than ever to sell his work, for he felt that if he had been more successful and earned more money perhaps he would not have lost his beloved wife.

  And Elissa then most gladly stepped into the role of housekeeper and companion to her father, for to her he was the most wonderful man in the world, who brought beauty and joy and excitement to whatever he did.

  But after a while the artist grew ill and weak with a heart condition and his bright mane of hair began to turn grey.

  He still painted, but Elissa recognised that it was a tremendous effort for him to keep standing up for long hours in front of his easel.

  One morning after he had been unwell for several months, Elissa woke very early.

  The winter sky was still dark over St. John’s Wood as the sun had not yet risen.

  She jumped quickly out of bed, suddenly anxious for her Papa and ran to his room to check that all was well with him.

  “Papa?” she called from the door, but he was fast asleep, a mound of quilts and blankets piled over him and he was breathing deeply and peacefully.

  Elissa went back to her bed and almost at once, she found herself dreaming.

  In her dream she was sitting in a green woodland glade, where long bars of sunlight shone down through the leaves, making pools of golden light on the grass.

  Someone was walking towards Elissa.

  A slim woman in a long white dress with a fine lace veil over her face.

  She looked strangely familiar and as she drew near, Elissa saw that she was carrying a large book.

  “Mama – is it you?” Elissa asked, trying to see the woman’s face.

  The woman approached her and laid the book in Elissa’s lap.

  “It is you, isn’t it?” cried Elissa, for now she saw that the woman’s beautiful slender hands were just like her mother’s.

  Now the woman laid one of her hands on Elissa’s head just as Mama used to do.

  Then she spoke in a soft voice,

  “My darling – a time of great happiness is coming to you. However long the road may be, you must always remember I have told you this.”

  Elissa found tears welling up into her eyes as she recognised her Mama’s voice.

  “But – Papa is not well – I am frightened for him, Mama – every day I pray for him and I hope that he will be better – but the doctors say it is his heart and there is no cure.”

  “Do not be afraid, my darling,” her Mama replied, and she bent and opened the book, which she had placed in Elissa’s lap. “Your Papa is deeply loved. All will be well with him and he will soon be home.”

  Elissa’s dream-self struggled to comprehend what was happening.

  She half-remembered that just a moment ago, she had seen her father sleeping in his bedroom.

  Of course he was at home!

  Now the white-clad figure was leaving her, walking away from her across the sunlit grass.

  “Mama! Wait!”

  Elissa struggled to get up, but in the peculiar way that sometimes happens in dreams, her legs would not obey her and she fell back onto the soft grass.

  She looked down at the book and saw that it was some kind of calendar. It lay open at the page for the 24th of December, Christmas Eve.

  And beneath the date was written her Papa’s name, Leo Valentine.

  Now just four months later standing out in the cold garden with no coat on, Elissa shivered.

  How strange it was to think that her Papa had really died on Christmas Eve.

  And why had she had that dream, which had felt both sad and joyful at the same time?

  She must stop dithering.

  It was cold and time to finish beating dust out of the old rugs and take them back inside.

  “Miss Elissa, will you no ’ave a cup of tea?” Kitty asked her as they spread the rugs out over the wooden floor in the hall. “It’s right perishin’ out ’ere.”

  “Thank you, dear Kitty. I would love one.”

  “You’re workin’ far too
’ard, miss,” said Kitty, a frown on her thin face. “Take the weight off your feet for five minutes.”

  Elissa laughed.

  It was so touching the way that the young maid was being so motherly towards her.

  She ran in and went into the drawing room and sat on the battered old sofa, where she could look up at the portrait of her Mama that Papa had painted many years ago before they were married.

  Helena’s aristocratic family, the owners of a vast estate in East Yorkshire, had commissioned the promising young local artist to paint the beautiful girl, who was just about to travel to London for her coming-out Season.

  But when Helena went to London, it was as Leo’s bride because she had fallen deeply in love with the artist.

  Her family refused to pay Leo for his work and the portrait stayed with him and his young wife.

  And they never spoke to Helena again.

  Elissa looked up wistfully at the pretty smiling face and glowing dark eyes and thought that for as long as the portrait existed, a little bit of her Mama would always be alive in the world.

  “Lovely, weren’t she, miss?” Kitty smiled, coming into the room and placing a piping hot cup of tea on the little table next to Elissa.

  “I never knew ’er, but I can just tell from the way she looks in that there picture, she was somethin’ special. It don’t seem right, miss, that you should lose ’er and then Mr. Valentine too.”

  Elissa sighed, remembering Christmas Eve, just a few weeks ago, when she had been sitting here in just the same place, staring into the red embers of the fire and Kitty had come to tell her that her Papa had died.

  “I don’t know ’ow I got the words out, miss, when I ’ad to come down and break the news to you.”

  Papa had asked Elissa to help him upstairs to his room so that so that he could take a short nap before they had supper together, as he was feeling tired and weak.

  “I am so much looking forward to my Christmas Day with you, my darling daughter,” he had told Elissa, as she helped him to lie down on his bed.

  He had smiled at her, squeezed her hand and that was the last time she saw him alive.

  When Kitty went upstairs to tell him that supper was ready, she found him lying peacefully, still smiling, so that it took her a few moments to realise that he was no longer breathing.

  “Miss, it was such a shock, I don’t know ’ow you bore it,” she wailed.

  “Sit down, a minute, Kitty, and take the weight of your feet.”

  Elissa suddenly felt that she had to tell somebody about her strange dream.

  The little maid’s eyes were as big as saucers as she listened to the story of her Mama, all dressed in white and the book with the date written in it.

  “Oh, miss, you must have them powers!”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “My great-auntie Gertrude, she ’ad them all right. She always knew when somethin’ real bad was a-goin’ to ’appen.”

  Elissa laughed.

  “Oh Kitty, I’m sure it was just a one-off event! Perhaps – I don’t know – Mama looked down from Heaven and thought she would help me face Papa’s death.”

  Kitty shook her head and looked doubtful.

  “And it wasn’t something bad, Kitty, my Papa died happy and peaceful in his own home, looking forward to Christmas Day. And maybe he has gone to be with Mama, which will make them both very happy.”

  “And what about you, Miss Elissa?”

  Elissa felt a little chill of fear run through her.

  What about her?

  Where could she go when the house was let out to strangers and she had no home any more?

  “Everything will be fine, Kitty. Mama told me in the dream that there was a great happiness coming to me.”

  “Miss – you could always come back to our ’ouse with me when we ’ave to leave – you’d ’ave to share a bed with our Susan in the little box room, but my Ma wouldn’t turn you away, if you ’ad nowhere else to go.”

  “Kitty – you are too kind!”

  Elissa smiled at the thought of having to squash into the tiny house in Mile End with all of Kitty’s brothers and sisters.

  “But I am sure it will not come to that. And now I suppose we must get on with our work or we will never be ready for the prospective tenants who are coming to look at the house.”

  There was so much to do, she realised, as she went into the hall and took down her Papa’s old fur hat from the hat stand.

  So much to sort out, to be sold or given away.

  She had left all his things just as they were up until now and she could not bear to think of anyone else wearing his hat.

  As she stood there a shadow darkened the glass in the front door and the letterbox rattled.

  The afternoon post had come.

  There was just one envelope lying on the doormat.

  Elissa bent to pick it up. It was addressed to her in an unfamiliar spidery handwriting.

  She opened it, took out the letter inside and read it,

  “Fellbrook Towers

  Fellbrook

  Yorkshire17th January, 1903

  Dear Elissa,

  It has come to my attention that you have recently suffered an unfortunate bereavement. I assume that your wastrel of a father will not have made any provision for your future, and I should like to offer you a roof over your head and such meals as are necessary in exchange for your services as a companion.

  I am old and infirm and am in need of someone to run errands and help me with my day-to-day affairs.

  You will not know who I am, but I am the mother of Helena Hartwell, your mother. I would not like to see my granddaughter suffer unduly for the foolishness of her silly mother, which is why I am writing to make this offer.

  Unless I hear from you to the contrary, I shall send the carriage to meet the five o’clock train at Fellbrook Station on the 25th of January.

  Yours,

  Mabel Hartwell.”

  Elissa took a deep breath and tried to steady her shaking hands.

  Her grandmother had written to her!

  And wanted to offer her a home!

  She looked down at the letter again.

  Something about those cold words and the angular spiky handwriting made her feel uncomfortable, as if the writer was perhaps not such a pleasant person.

  But – what choice did Elissa have?

  And had not her Mama told her in her dream that there was great happiness coming to her?

  Perhaps it might have something to do with this letter.

  “Kitty!” Elissa called out. “I have something else to tell you!”

  And in spite of her sadness, she could not help but feel excited at the thought of the journey she must make in just a few days’ time and her mysterious grandmother who would be waiting for her at the end of it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  There was a commotion in Lanchberry Close.

  Richard could hear men’s voices and a thumping noise like someone beating a clenched fist against a door.

  He pulled the covers over his head hoping that the noise would go away.

  It was not quite nine o’clock and since his return to England several days ago, he had not felt much like getting out of bed before noon.

  Each morning Travis brought him a tray of tea and toast to his bedroom and then just left him in peace.

  But all the noise did not go away and when Travis politely knocked at the bedroom door and entered, the old butler was not carrying a tray and told him apprehensively,

  “There be some gentlemen asking to see you, Mr. Richard. I told them that you are not at home, but they are very persistent.”

  Richard rolled over in bed and sat up.

  “What – you mean all that noise is outside our front door?”

  “Yes indeed, Mr. Richard, and I have asked them to leave several times, but they will not go.”

  “Then I suppose I had better go and speak to them,” sighed Richard.

  He climbed out of
bed and wrapped himself in his father’s old velvet dressing gown, which he had taken to wearing. The faint scent of Sir Julius’s cigars still clung to it, which was very comforting.

  As soon as the front door opened, a large gentleman in a long black coat placed his foot on the threshold.

  “Mr. Richard Stanfield?” he blustered. “Boustred of Boustred and Sons, Gentleman’s Outfitters.”

  Richard wished that he had taken the time to dress properly, but it was too late now.

  “And good morning to you, Mr. Boustred. Won’t you come in?”

  The large gentleman, accompanied by two others, also in black coats, followed him into the drawing room.

  “I would suppose you have come about the bill for my suits – ” began Richard.

  Mr. Boustred cleared his throat.

  “I am afraid it is a little more serious than that, Mr. Stanfield. We have a number of accounts that have not been settled, both from you and Sir Julius. I believe that even the fine dressing gown you are wearing this morning has not yet been paid for.”

  “It was my Papa’s. He has passed away – ”

  “Indeed so. We are more than aware of the difficult circumstances and we have been most lenient up until this time, as we were certain that you would contact us at your convenience to make appropriate payment.”

  “Of course. How much do you want?”

  The words stuck in his throat as he could only think about his overdrawn bank account and the few coins in his pockets that were all that remained of the fortune he had inherited.

  “The total outstanding is three hundred pounds, Mr. Stanfield.”

  Richard caught his breath with shock.

  Poor Sir Julius would be turning in his grave as he had always paid his accounts on time.

  “I don’t think I am going to be able to lay my hands on such a large sum right now,” he responded.

  “Then I have to advise you, Mr. Stanfield, that we shall have to contact our Solicitors and you will soon find that you not only have us to pay, but also them!”

  Mr. Boustred was eyeing him in a most unpleasant fashion.

  “You can have the dressing gown back if you like.”

  The gentleman’s outfitter snorted.

  Clearly he was not in the mood for a joke.

  “All right – I will see what can be done and I will get back to you next week,” added Richard.