Call of the Heart Read online

  “What is the time?” Sophie asked from the dressing- table. “Half after seven,” Lalitha replied.

  “Why have you not brought me something to eat?” Sophie asked. “You might realise I would be hungry by now.”

  “I will go and get you a meal at once!”

  “Mind it is something palatable,” Sophie admonished. “I shall need something sustaining for what I have to do this evening.” “At what time are you meeting His Lordship?” Lalitha asked as she moved toward the door.

  “He will be at the Church at nine-thirty,” Sophie replied, “and I intend to keep him waiting. It will be good for him to be a little apprehensive in case I cry off at the last moment.”

  She laughed and Lalitha went from the room.

  As she shut the door Sophie called her back.

  “You might as well send the groom now,” she said. “It will take well over an hour to get to Wimbledon. The note is on my desk.”

  “I will find it,” Lalitha answered.

  Again she shut the door and went down the stairs.

  She found the note addressed in Sophie’s untidy, scrawling writing and stood looking at it for a moment.

  She had the feeling that Sophie was doing something irrevocable that she might regret. Then she told herself that it was none of her business.

  With the note in her hand she walked down the dark, narrow stairs which led to the basement.

  There were few servants in the house and those there were were badly trained and often neglectful of their duties; for every penny that Lady Studley had, and a great deal she had not, had been expended on the rent of the house and on Sophie’s clothes.

  It had all been a deliberately baited trap to lure rich or important young men into marriage and it had succeeded.

  The person who had suffered had been Lalitha.

  While they were in the country, even after her father’s death, there had been a number of old servants who had continued to work in the house because they had done so for years.

  In London she had found herself being alternately cook, house-maid, lady’s-maid, and errand-boy from first thing in the morning until last thing at night.

  Her Step-mother had always hated her and after her father’s death had made no pretence of treating her with anything except contempt.

  In her own home and amongst the servants who had known

  Lalitha since she was a baby, Lady Studley had to a certain extent tempered her dislike with discretion.

  In London these restrictions disappeared.

  Lalitha became the slave, someone who could be forced to perform the most menial of tasks and punished viciously if she protested.

  Sometimes Lalitha thought that her Step-mother was pushing her so hard that she hoped it would kill her and faced the fact that it was not unlikely.

  Only she knew the truth; only she knew the secrets on which Lady Studley had built a new life for herself and her daughter, and her death would be a relief to them.

  Then Lalitha told herself that such ideas were morbid and came to her mind merely because she had felt so weak since her illness.

  She had been forced out of bed long before she knew it was wise for her to rise, simply because while she was in her bedroom she received no food.

  On Lady Studley’s instructions, what servants there were in the house made no attempt to wait on her.

  After days of growing weaker because she had literally nothing to eat, Lalitha had forced herself downstairs in order to avoid dying of starvation.

  “If you are well enough to eat you are well enough to work!” her Step-mother had told her, and she found herself back in the familiar routine of doing everything in the house which no-one else would do.

  Walking along the cold, stone-flagged passage to the kitchen, Lalitha perceived automatically that it was dirty and needed scrubbing.

  But there was no-one who could be ordered to clean it except herself and she hoped that her Step-mother would not notice. She opened the door of the kitchen, which was a cheerless room, badly in need of decoration, with little light coming from the window high up in the wall but below pavement level.

  The groom, who was also a Jack-of-all-trades, was sitting at the table drinking a glass of ale.

  A slatternly woman with grey hair straggling from under a mob-cap was cooking something which smelt unpleasant over the stove.

  She was an incompetent Irish immigrant who had been engaged only three days previously as the Employment Agency had no-one else who would accept the meagre wages offered by Lady Studley.

  “Would you please take this note to the Dowager Duchess of Yelverton House?” Lalitha asked the groom. “It is, I believe, at the far end of Wimbledon Common.”

  “O’ll go when O’ve afinished me ale,” the groom answered in a surly tone.

  He made no effort to rise and Lalitha realised that the servants always learnt very quickly that she was of no importance in the house-hold and warranted less consideration than they themselves received.

  “Thank you,” she answered quietly.

  Turning to the cook, she said:

  “Miss Studley would like something to eat.”

  “There ain’t much,” the cook replied. “I’ve got a stew ’ere for us, but it ain’t ready yet.”

  “Then perhaps there are some eggs and she can have an omelette,” Lalitha suggested.

  “I can’t stop wot I’m adoing,” the woman replied.

  “I will make it,” Lalitha said.

  She had expected to have to do so anyway.

  After finding a pan, but having to clean it first, she cooked Sophie a mushroom omelette.

  She put some pieces of toast in a rack, added a dish of butter to the tray, and finally a pot of hot coffee before she carried it upstairs.

  The groom left grudgingly a few minutes before Lalitha went from the kitchen.

  “It be too late for goin’ all the way t’Wimbledon,” he grumbled. “Can’t it wait ’til tomorrer mornin’?”

  “You know the answer to that!” Lalitha replied.

  “Yeah—Oi knows,” he replied, “but Oi don’t fancy bein’ outside London after dark with ’em footpads and ’ighwaymen about.”

  “It’s little enough they’ll get out of the likes of ye!” the cook said with a shriek of laughter. “Get on with ye, an’ when ye gets back I’ll have some supper waitin’ for ye.”

  “Ye’d better!” he replied, “or Oi’ll drag ye out o’bed t’cook it for me!”

  As Lalitha went up the stairs from the basement carrying Sophie’s tray she wondered what her mother would have said if she’d heard the servants talking in such a manner in her presence.

  Even to think of her mother brought tears to her eyes and resolutely she told herself to concentrate on what she was doing.

  She was feeling very tired. There had been such a lot to do all day.

  Besides cleaning most of the house and making the beds, there had been innumerable commands from Sophie to fetch this and to do that.

  Her legs ached and she longed just for a moment to be able to sit down and rest.

  This was a privilege seldom accorded to her until after everyone had retired for the night.

  She opened the door of Sophie’s bed-room and carried in the tray.

  “You have been a long time!” Sophie said disagreeably.

  “I am sorry,” Lalitha replied, “but there was nothing ready and the stew which is being prepared does not smell very appetising.”

  “What have you brought me?” Sophie asked.

  “I made you an omelette,” Lalitha replied. “There was nothing else.”

  “I cannot think why you cannot order enough food so that there is some there when we want it,” Sophie said. “You really are hopelessly incompetent!”

  “The butcher we have been patronising will leave nothing more until we have paid his bill,” Lalitha said apologetically, “and when the fish-man called this morning your mother was out and he would not even give us cred
it on a piece of cod.” “You always have a lot of glib excuses,” Sophie said crossly. “Give me the omelette.”

  She ate it and Lalitha had the impression that she was longing to find fault, but actually found it delicious.

  “Pour me out some coffee,” she said sharply, but Lalitha was listening.

  “I think there is someone at the front door,” she said, “I heard the knocker. Jim has gone to Yelverton House with your note and I am sure the cook will not answer it.”

  “Then you had better condescend to do so,” Sophie said in a sarcastic tone.

  Lalitha went from the room and down the stairs again.

  She opened the front door.

  Outside was a liveried groom who handed her a note.

  “For Miss Sophie Studley, Ma’am!”

  “Thank you!” Lalitha said.

  The groom, raising his hat, turned away and she shut the door.

  Looking at the note Lalitha thought it must be another love-letter. They arrived for Sophie at all hours of the day.

  Lifting the hem of her dress, she started up the stairs.

  As she reached the landing there was a cry from the back room.

  Lady Studley slept in a small bed-chamber on the first floor because she disliked stairs.

  Sophie’s bed-room was on the second floor, as were all the other bed-rooms.

  Lalitha put the note on a table on the landing and went along the short passage which led to her Stepmother’s room.

  Lady Studley was standing by the bed, dressed for a Reception that she was attending in half an hour’s time.

  She was a large woman who had been good-looking in her youth, but her features had coarsened with middle-age and her figure had expanded.

  It was hard to realise that she could be the mother of the lovely Sophie, and yet she could look attractive if she wished.

  For Social occasions she also had an ingratiating manner which made many people find her quite a pleasant companion.

  Only those who lived with her knew how hard, how parsimonious, and how cruel she could be.

  She had a temper which she made no attempt to control unless it suited her and Lalitha saw now with a little tremor of fear that she was in a rage.

  “Come here, Lalitha!” she said as her Step-daughter entered the room.

  Timidly she did as she was told and Lady Studley held out towards her a lace dress on which the bottom flounce had been torn.

  “I told you,” she said, “the day before yesterday to mend this.”

  “I know,” Lalitha answered, “but honestly, I have not had time, and I cannot do it at night. My eyes hurt and it is impossible to see the delicate lace except in the day-light.”

  “You are making excuses for incompetence and laziness as you always do!” Lady Studley said scathingly.

  She looked at Lalitha, and as if the girl’s appearance made her lose her temper she suddenly stormed at her:

  “You lazy little slut! You waste your time and my money when you should be working. I have told you not once but a thousand times I will not put up with it and when I tell you to do a thing you will do it at once!”

  She threw the lace dress on the floor at Lalitha’s feet.

  “Pick it up!” she shouted, “and in case you forget what I am telling you I will teach you a lesson you will not forget in a hurry!”

  She walked across the room as she spoke to pick up a cane which was standing in one corner.

  She came back with it in her hand and Lalitha, who had bent down to pick up the dress, realised what her Step-mother was about to do.

  She tried to avoid the blow but it was too late. It caught her across the shoulders and as she gave a piteous cry her Stepmother hit her again and again, forcing her down on her knees, raining blow upon blow upon her.

  Lalitha was wearing a dress that had once belonged to Sophie. It was far too big for her, and when she had tried to alter it the only thing she could do was to lift it in the front so that it was decent but it still remained low at the back.

  It had become even lower in the last week or so, as she had lost even more weight.

  Now the cane was cutting into her bare flesh, drawing blood and re-opening wounds that remained from other beatings. “Damn you!” Lady Studley cursed. “I will teach you your rightful place in this house -hold! I will teach you to obey me!” After her first cry Lalitha said nothing.

  The pain was so intense and the horror of what was happening, as it had done before, left her feeling as if she could not breathe.

  She was almost fainting and yet the agony she was enduring prevented her from reaching unconsciousness.

  Still the blows fell until as Lalitha felt a darkness sweeping over her mind, a darkness that seemed interspersed with red fire as each blow tortured her body, the door was suddenly flung open.

  “Mama! Mama!”

  Sophie’s voice was so imperative, so shrill, that Lady Studley’s arm was checked in mid-air.

  “What do you think has happened?” Sophie asked.

  “What is the matter? What have you heard?” Lady Studley asked.

  Ignoring Lalitha’s body sprawling on the floor, Sophie held out to her mother the note which Lalitha had left on the landing.

  “The Duke of Yelverton is dying!” she exclaimed. “Dying?” Lady Studley echoed. “How do you know?” “Someone has

  written for Julius to explain that he has had to leave immediately for Hampshire and had no time to see me himself.”

  “Let me look,” Lady Studley said, snatching the paper from her daughter’s hand.

  She walked across the room to hold it near one of the candles on the dressing-table.

  She read aloud:

  “Mr. Julius Verton has asked me to convey to you, Madam, his most sincere regrets that he cannot present himself as he intended at your house this evening.

  “He has been called to the bedside of his Uncle, His Grace the Duke of Yelverton, and has proceeded with all speed to Hampshire. It is regretfully expected that His Grace will not last the night.

  I remain, Madam, yours most respectfully,

  Christopher Dewar.”

  “You see what it says, Mama? You see?” Sophie asked in a voice of triumph.

  “Was there ever such a coil?” Lady Studley exclaimed. “And Lord Rothwyn will be waiting for you!” “Yes, I know,” Sophie replied, “but, Mama, I must be a Duchess!”

  There was a cry in the words and Lady Studley answered soothingly:

  “But of course you must! There is no question of your giving him up now.”

  “I shall have to tell Lord Rothwyn that I cannot marry him,” Sophie said uncertainly, “and I know he will be angry.”

  “It is his own fault!” Lady Studley snapped. “He should not have persuaded you to run away with him in the first place.”

  “I cannot leave him waiting there,” Sophie remarked. Then she gave a sudden shrill cry.

  “Mama!”

  “What is it?” Lady Studley asked.

  “My letter to Julius! I told Lalitha to send the groom with it!”

  They both turned to look at Lalitha, who was raising herself painfully from the floor.

  Her hair had come undone and was sprawling untidily over her bruised and bleeding shoulders.

  Her face was ashen and her eyes were closed. “Lalitha!

  What have you done with the note for Mr. Verton?” Lady Studley asked sharply.

  There was a pause before Lalitha could answer, then it seemed as if she forced the words from between her lips as she replied:

  “I gave it to the... groom and ... he has left!” “Left?” Sophie gave a shriek. “Someone must stop him!”

  “It is all right,” Lady Studley said soothingly. “Julius will not be at his grandmother’s house as we expected.” “Why not?” Sophie asked.

  “Because this note from Mr. Dewar, whoever he is, tells us that he has gone to Hampshire.”

  Sophie gave a sigh of relief.

  “Yes, of co
urse.”

  “What we must do,” Lady Studley went on, “is to drive to the Dowager’s house early tomorrow and collect your note. We can easily make the excuse that you have changed your mind about something you had said in it. Anyway you will be able to tear it up and forget that you ever wrote it.”

  “You are clever, Mama!” Sophie exclaimed.

  “If I were not, you would not be where you are today,” Lady Studley answered.

  “And what about Lord Rothwyn?”

  “Well, he must learn that you have changed your mind.” Lady Studley thought for a moment, then continued: “You will not, of course, give him the real reason. You must just say that you have thought it over and that you now think it would be wrong to break what is really your word of honour and you must therefore keep your promise to Julius Verton.”

  “Yes, that sounds exactly the right thing to do,” Sophie agreed. “Shall I write to him?”

  “I think that is best,” Lady Studley agreed.

  Then she gave an exclamation.

  “No! No! A note would be a mistake. Never put anything in writing! One can lie one’s way out of most difficult situations, but not if it is written down in black and white.”

  “I am not going to speak to him,” Sophie said in sudden alarm.

  “Why not?” her mother enquired.

  “Because quite frankly, Mama, he rather frightens me. I do not wish to get into an argument with him! Besides, he is very over-bearing. He might extort the truth from me. I find it difficult as it is to answer some of his questions.”

  “It does not seem to me that he was ever the right sort of husband for you,” Lady Studley said. “Well, if you will not

  go, someone else will have to.”

  “Not you, Mama!” Sophie said quickly. “I have said over and over again to him how much you would disapprove of my running away.”

  She gave a little laugh.

  “It made him all the keener.”

  “I am sure it did,” Lady Studley agreed. “There is nothing like opposition to make a man aggressively masterful.”

  “Then how shall we tell him?” Sophie asked.

  “Lalitha will have to do it,” Lady Studley replied, “although God knows she will certainly make a mess of it.”

  Lalitha was now on her feet and although a little unsteady, was moving towards the door with the lace dress in her hand. “Where are you going?” Lady Studley enquired. Lalitha did not answer but stood, hesitating, her eyes focused on her Step-mother.