Stars in the Sky Page 3

  The Duke looked uncomfortable. "I just have to sort out a few accounts, m'dear."

  The Duchess went on grumbling all through dinner and Sylvia was glad when it was time to retire.

  That night, she fell asleep quickly, and was soon dreaming of meadows covered in star-like flowers.

  When she awoke the following morning a faint, fairylike mist still lingered over the grass. Her heart thrilled to the song of a lark ascending the sky. She dressed hurriedly and tripped down to breakfast. Her father sat alone at table looking glum. He lit up however when he saw his daughter.

  "Cook was up before dawn and baked a delicious loaf for us," he said. "There are fresh eggs too, and porridge."

  "Where is Mama?" asked Sylvia as she buttered her toast. She was fond of the Duchess and called her 'Mama' even though she was not her real mother.

  "She is still in bed. I told the maid to take her up some tea."

  "It's such a beautiful morning," sighed Sylvia.

  "It is," agreed her father. "What would you say to taking a ride?"

  Sylvia's eyes widened. "There are still horses to ride here?"

  "There are," nodded the Duke. "The stables are much depleted, alas, but, besides the coach horses, I still own two of the finest hunters in the county. Their sire was my old horse, Lancer."

  "Then let's go!" cried Sylvia, jumping to her feet.

  Her father laughed. "Aren't you eating that toast?"

  "No, no. I'll have a better appetite when I come back."

  Her father rose. "Well then, let's find some riding boots, shall we? I expect there's a heap of them in the tack room."

  Half an hour later Sylvia and her father were riding away from the castle.

  They skirted the woods and urged their horses over a fence onto open ground. Once the horses were warmed up they took to a gallop. Sylvia adored the feel of the wind in her hair.

  "From the top of that hill we shall glimpse the sea," shouted the Duke over his shoulder.

  The land thereabouts was flat and the hill was no more than a gentle incline. Yet it was true that from the top they were able to see the grey mass of the North Sea.

  They rode down the other side of the incline to where a stream bubbled between mossy stones. Here they sat while their horses dipped their heads to drink. There was a deep silence around them, broken only by the chit-chit of a moorhen.

  "Not too miserable at having to live in the country, are you?" the Duke asked his daughter after a moment.

  "Oh, Papa , how can you even think that? You know that I love the countryside. It was all very well going to the Riviera every year, but I would have much preferred coming here."

  "Hmmn," grunted the Duke. "Would certainly have been better for me." He sat stroking his beard for a moment. "You know, my dear, I – I have not told your step-mother and you the worst of it."

  Sylvia looked at him in alarm. "What do you mean, Papa?"

  The Duke looked ashamed as he told her. "I lost a great deal more than anyone knows at the casinos. On the Riviera, in Paris, in London – night after night I played and night after night I lost. I seemed to have – no luck. No luck at all. I may have to sell our London house to pay off the debts."

  "Oh, Papa," murmured Sylvia. "That would be terrible. Mama is convinced that we will be able to return there one day."

  The Duke sighed miserably. "Might even have to – sell Castle Belham if things get any worse."

  "Sell the castle?" exclaimed Sylvia in horror.

  "I'm hoping it won't come to that," said the Duke hastily. "But I simply do not have a penny to attend to all the repairs that need doing. Let alone throw you a coming-out party! Just to get us through the next year, I'm having to sell some of the paintings in the London house. I have a dealer going in there next week and he will report to me on what price he thinks he might get. But Sylvia, not a word to your step-mother, eh? I have no wish to alarm her until it is absolutely necessary. Do you promise?"

  "Not a word," said Sylvia quietly.

  The Duchess was at breakfast when they returned. They removed their boots and capes and went in to say good morning.

  "Oh, so you've been off enjoying yourselves," she said sourly.

  "My dear, I thought after the long journey yesterday, you would like a longer rest than usual," said the Duke. "Besides, you don't care for riding."

  "Riding? You've been riding? On the coach horses?"

  "Of course not ," said the Duke.

  "You mean you have some thoroughbreds here still?" The Duchess's eyes gleamed. "Why, we can sell them! They must be worth a great deal. I could buy curtain material and order some new carpets."

  Sylvia and her father exchanged a glance.

  "They're worth more in the long run as breeding stock," said the Duke.

  "But we need to redecorate the castle! That's the most important thing!"

  Sylvia slipped quietly from the room.

  Over the next week, the Duchess kept up her litany of complaints. She seemed determined to find nothing good about the castle. She went everywhere with a notebook, and she would regale the Duke with lists of what needed to be done. The Duke looked more and more strained and Sylvia began to worry about him. Some mornings he came down unshaven to breakfast. He spent a great deal of time in his study, where he sat rolling a glass of whiskey in his hand and staring into the fire.

  He never again rode out with his daughter in the morning.

  Sylvia began to think of her hours riding alone as a time of escape.

  She loved the castle but the atmosphere between the Duke and his wife had become oppressive. They seemed to do little but quarrel about money.

  Galloping over the heath-land on her mare, Columbine, Sylvia could forget all about her father's gambling and her step-mother's extravagance.

  Each day, she ventured farther afield. One day she even rode as far north as the mouth of the estuary. A large stone manor with square towers stood amidst wind-swept trees close to the water's edge. It looked an interesting house and Sylvia wondered who lived there. She rode down on to the road and examined the gates of the manor. FARRON TOWERS was inscribed on the pillars.

  On the way back from the estuary she passed another pair of iron gates set in an archway. Over the archway was engraved the name ENDECOTT. A driveway disappeared along an avenue of elms.

  Both Farron Towers and Endecott seemed to be the only houses of importance in that area to the north of Belham. The countryside around was sparsely populated. Sylvia was sure most people would call it bleak, but she loved the wild acres of heather and gorse.

  To the south of Belham, the land was more undulating. There were rises and hollows where smoke rose from the chimneys of little cross-timbered cottages. Sylvia enjoyed riding here as well.

  She rarely encountered another human being and yet sometimes she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. Once she saw a horse and rider at the top of an escarpment, the rider seemingly staring her way. Another time, pausing to get her bearings in the wood that bordered the heath, she heard the cracking of twigs amidst the trees. She peered about her but saw nothing.

  One grey morning a mist descended as Sylvia was riding near the estuary. She could not see a yard in front of her. She guided Columbine carefully over the rocky ground. The mist curled around horse and rider, tasting of the sea. After a while Sylvia realised that she had no idea of whether or not she was still moving in the right direction. She reined in Columbine and listened for the wash of the estuary water, which should be close to her on the right. She heard not a sound.

  She was worried because she knew there was an area of quick sand near the estuary in which, it was rumoured, many had become trapped. The sun had been shining half an hour before, but now the air was chill and Sylvia wished she had brought her cape. Then she saw Columbine's ears prick up. She listened. Was something or somebody coming their way?

  Suddenly a swathe of mist cleared and she gave a gasp. There ahead stood a horse and rider. The rider wore a th
ick muffler above which two piercing eyes seemed already fixed on Sylvia, as if they had been watching her for some time. She shivered under their cold gaze. Then the mist shifted once again and the image before her disappeared.

  "Hello? Hello?" cried Sylvia.

  There was no answer.

  She sat and waited, too anxious to advance or retreat, until at last the mist cleared.

  Whoever had appeared on the path ahead had gone.

  Sylvia rode quickly home. In the past she would have mentioned such an experience to her father, but these days she had no wish to add to his concerns. After that however she never rode out without the two, fierce stable dogs as company. At least they could always lead her home if she got lost.

  One day she stayed out until late afternoon. She came home via the road. The gates to the estate were now left propped open, which was just as well, as the gatekeeper was no-where to be seen. The dogs loped off well ahead of her, knowing they were now very near their bowls and baskets.

  Sylvia trotted happily along between the trees. In the soft earth of the roadway she noticed fresh hoof marks leading towards the castle. Someone else on horseback had preceded her that day. She wondered who it might be.

  Outside the castle a bay mare was tethered to a ring set in the ground. The stable boy sat on the castle steps drawing in the dirt with a twig. He leapt to his feet as Sylvia rode up.

  "Who is our visitor?" asked Sylvia as she slid from the saddle.

  "A gentl'man," sniffed the boy. "Leastwise, by his coat. I'd not say so by his manners."

  "Oh," said Sylvia. "Was he rude to you?"

  "He were!" said the boy. "He just threw the reins at me and said, 'mind my horse or I'll box your ears.' What do you think of that, Lady Sylvia?"

  "I think it's very unkind," agreed Sylvia. "I don't like him already!"

  The boy grinned happily at this token of solidarity. He loved Sylvia and would do anything for her.

  He led Columbine off to the stable while Sylvia went straight into the castle.

  Tompkins met her in the hall.

  "Her Grace said I was to catch you the minute you come in, as there's a visitor."

  Sylvia hesitated. She would like to have changed out of her riding habit. However, if the visitor should leave before she came down, she knew the Duchess would be mortified.

  "Where are they?" she asked.

  "In the drawing room, Lady Sylvia," replied Tompkins.

  Brushing aside the strand of hair that had come loose, she entered the drawing room.

  The Duke was standing with his back to the fireplace,

  regarding his wife with pleasure. The Duchess was obviously ecstatic to at last have a visitor. Her colour was high, her eyes gleamed, and she was chattering away with great animation.

  "Of course, we haven't been here long," she was saying. "We plan to do a great deal to the place, as you can imagine. I've been so busy ordering things from London, I've had no time to call on my neighbours."

  She broke off as she caught sight of her step-daughter.

  "Oh, Sylvia," she beckoned from her seat. "You must meet Count von Brauer. So kind of him to call."

  A figure rose from the depths of a wing chair that was turned away from the door through which Sylvia had entered. Two piercing eyes regarded her and for a moment she gave a start. Could this possibly be the rider she had glimpsed through the mist? The next moment she shrugged the thought away as the figure advanced and, grasping her hand, raised it warmly to his lips.

  "Charmed to meet you," said the Count.

  He was looking at Sylvia so intently that she blushed.

  "How…do you…do?" she said.

  The Count had thin eyebrows and a thin dark moustache. His nose was very fine and his lips turned down at the corners.

  "Would you believe it," beamed the Duchess, "though the Count has a vast estate in Bavaria, he has come to our part of the country to look for a property to buy!"

  "Do you…know this part of England well?" asked Sylvia.

  The Count gave a bow. "It is an area of which I am very fond. There are a lot of mountains where I live in Bavaria, but one gets bored with mountains."

  "Oh," said Sylvia, wondering how one could ever get tired of mountains. The Count still stood there regarding her, as she cast around for something else to say. "You speak…English…very well."

  The Count gave another bow. "Thank you, I was educated in England. Indeed, I have spent more time here than I have in Germany. I inherited the Bavarian estate from an unmarried great-uncle on my mother's side."

  "Count von Brauer has rented a house here – Endecott – while he is looking for a suitable property to buy," explained the Duchess.

  "I have passed it when out riding," said Sylvia. "There is a beautiful avenue of elms leading from the gate."

  "You ride a great deal," said the Count.

  Sylvia drew in her breath. How did the Count know how often she went out riding?

  As if reading her thoughts he gave a little shrug. "Your father told me that you are such a skilled horsewoman, he has no fear for you riding out alone every day."

  "I don't know that I am so skilled. I love it, that's all," said Sylvia. She was growing uncomfortable under the Count's unblinking stare.

  "You must ride over to visit me at Endecott," said the Count. "It has a splendid rose garden. The roses will soon be in bloom."

  Sylvia bobbed a curtsey and stepping round the Count, went to sit beside the Duchess. The Count followed her with his eyes.

  "Your daughter would make such a charming picture in my garden," he murmured.

  "Wouldn't she, though!" cried the Duchess. "Not in that dreary old riding habit, but in her yellow muslin and hat – the hat she wore at Ascot – she would delight your eye."

  A strange silence fell. Sylvia's eye was drawn to the Count's riding whip, which he was tapping against his boot. Tap tap tap. She wished he would stop.

  The Duke seemed to suddenly bestir himself. "We must offer you some further refreshment, Count von Brauer. Yes. A glass of sherry, perhaps?"

  "Thank you, Duke, but I must be on my way. I am expecting guests from London this evening."

  "It is really so kind of you to call," gushed the Duchess.

  The Count bowed and bade his farewell. The Duke decided not to summon Tompkins but to usher out the Count himself. He said he wished to take a look at the Count's horse.

  "Well," exclaimed the Duchess as soon as the door closed behind the two men. "Who would have thought to have found such an eligible gentleman on our doorstep?"

  "His lips are too thin," observed Sylvia. "And there's too much wax on his moustache."

  "What? Nonsense! He has all the bearings of the aristocrat that he is. And he must be very rich, my dear!"

  Sylvia felt obliged to remain seated while the Duchess continued to extol the virtues of the Count von Brauer. She glanced up in relief when her father at last re-entered the room. She was surprised at how cheerful he suddenly looked.

  "Interesting fellow," he remarked, rubbing his hands together. "You know, I kept thinking I'd seen his face before! Turns out he used to spend his summers on the Riviera."

  The Duchess frowned. "And frequented the casinos, no doubt?" The Duke gave a cough. "Yes – as a matter of fact."

  "Well, no doubt he could afford it!" sniffed the Duchess. "And no doubt he wasn't so foolish as to lose his entire fortune at the tables!"

  The Duke looked a little embarrassed. "Can't say how he fared, m'dear. Never played a game with him, you understand. Must have noted him at some point, though. An arresting visage, wouldn't you say?"

  "Indeed," said the Duchess, mollified for a moment only. "I do hope we see him again soon."

  "As a matter of fact," said the Duke, "he's, er – invited me over to Endecott to join him and his guests this evening."

  The Duchess stiffened. "Invited – you – on your own?"

  "Yes. The Count apologises that it is a gentlemen only evening, but said he h
opes to invite the ladies of Belham another time."

  "And what exactly will take place at this gentlemen only evening?" asked the Duchess.

  Sylvia held her breath. She knew what her stepmother was thinking.

  "Oh," said the Duke nonchalantly, "his guests are all members of his London club so – a lot of shop talk. Business, politics, hunting – that sort of thing."

  The Duchess tightened her lips. "No doubt 'that sort of thing' will involve a game or two of cards?"

  The Duke had turned, whistling, to the fire. "What, my dear? Cards? Oh, it's possible, no doubt. I shan't play myself, of course."

  Sylvia and the Duchess exchanged a glance.

  There was one subject on which they were both perfectly agreed.

  The Duke could no more refuse to play a game of cards than he could refuse to breathe.

  Yet they were helpless. The Duke had already accepted the Count's invitation. It would be extremely discourteous to change the arrangement.

  All they could do this evening was hope!

  CHAPTER THREE

  An owl was hooting outside Sylvia's window. Tooowhit tooowhoooo. The sound startled her awake in her armchair by the fire. As she straightened up, the book she had been reading slipped from her lap and fell heavily to the floor. She bent to retrieve it. What was the title? Oh yes…'The Folklore of Norfolk.' She had barely read the preface before she had dozed off.

  She wondered how long she had been asleep. She felt rather stiff. Cold too, despite the thick shawl over her nightdress. She glanced at the hearth and saw that the fire was out.

  Toooowhit tooowhooo. One rarely heard owls in London and the sound delighted her. Then came another muffled sound, the old clock along the corridor striking the hour. She opened her bedroom door to hear more keenly. Ting ting ting ting – four o'clock! She had been asleep in her armchair since just after midnight!

  Her father had set off at seven for his evening at Count von Brauer's house, Endecott. Sylvia had been unable to sleep, waiting for his return. At midnight she had got out of bed, stoked the fire and settled down in her armchair with a book. That was the last thing she remembered.