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  She had a quick glance at the two other maids in the railway carriage and realised they were both very much older than her and, she was quite certain, of more importance.

  She was to learn as the journey began that Lady Holcombe’s maid was Miss Briggs and Lady Barnard’s Miss Smith.

  They apparently knew each other well, but there was obviously no love lost between them. Miss Briggs took precedence over Miss Smith, and they both relegated Tempera to a very subsidiary position.

  She realised however that they were both pleased that she had not been to the South of France before, which enabled them to patronise her with their superior knowledge. She would be forced to rely on them for certain information which only they could impart.

  As the train started however they became quite relaxed, accepting a glass of champagne from the footmen carrying it into the next compartment and expressing their preference for paté de foie gras sandwiches rather than those made with caviar.

  “I’ll say one thing for His Grace,” Miss Briggs remarked, as she accepted her second glass of champagne, “he does things in style. You’d hardly believe when we went to stay with the Marquis of Tenby last year that I was expected to travel 2nd Class in an ordinary compartment in which there was a stranger!”

  She spoke with such indignation in her voice that Tempera found it hard to restrain herself from laughing.

  “I hope you told your Lady what you thought of such treatment,” Miss Smith remarked.

  “In no uncertain terms!” Miss Briggs replied. “In fact I had her almost crying when I said that owing to the discomfort of the journey I would find it impossible to press her gown before the important party she was to attend on the night of our arrival.”

  “That’s the way to teach them!” Miss Smith said with satisfaction. “I don’t see why we should put up with anything, considering as how it’s impossible for our Ladies to do without us.”

  She realised that Tempera was listening wide-eyed.

  “You’re very young, Miss Riley,” she said disparagingly. “I suppose you’ve not had much experience?”

  “Not much,” Tempera agreed.

  “Well, let me give you a word of advice,” Miss Smith said,

  “You stand up for your rights and insist on having them. There’s them, even these days, as thinks as how anything’ll do for servants, but in our position we can soon teach them they’re wrong!”

  “We can indeed!” Miss Briggs agreed with a faint smile. “But there’ll be no discomfort at the Chateau Bellevue, that’s one consolation for our having to make this tiresome journey.”

  “I’ve not stayed there before,” Miss Smith remarked.

  “There’s every luxury,” Miss Briggs said with satisfaction. “And I don’t mind telling you, Miss Smith, I think it’s due to the fact that the Duke’s unmarried. I’ve always found there’s far more comfort in a house where there’s no nosey, bossy mistress.”

  “I agree with you,” Miss Smith said. “But it’s strange, seeing how handsome he is, that His Grace has never been caught – although there’s been plenty who have tried, take my word for it!”

  “You can’t tell me anything about that,” Miss Briggs remarked. “Last year there were two ladies in the party making a dead set for him. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even Mr. Bates, the Butler, said he was astonished and it surpassed anything he had seen in all his years!”

  “But they didn’t succeed?”

  “I should hope not!” Miss Briggs answered. “If you ask me, His Grace has no intention of marrying anybody. Dedicated to bachelorhood, that’s what he is, and who shall blame him? With his looks and his money he can have any woman he wants without the trouble of giving her a wedding ring.”

  “That’s true enough,” Miss Smith agreed.

  The two women sniggered a little over their glasses of champagne and Tempera felt her heart sink.

  If this was true, then the sale of the drawing and the money they had spent on her stepmother’s clothes had been for nothing!

  Chapter Two

  The journey across France even for the lady’s maids was more comfortable than Tempera had ever known or expected. She had visited Paris when she was ten with her father and mother, and once after her mother’s death her father had taken her with him to Brussels when he had no wish to leave her alone in London.

  Otherwise she had little or no experience, but she had thought of French trains as noisy and uncomfortable.

  It was quite different to be travelling in the Duke’s private coaches which consisted not only of a Drawing Room, Dining and Sleeping Cars for his guests, but also sleeping accommodation for the staff.

  To Tempera’s joy she had a small compartment to herself, and very early in the morning she raised the blind from her window to look out on the passing countryside.

  The fields in the sunshine were very beautiful, and then almost before she expected it there was the vivid blue of the Mediterranean as the train arrived at St. Raphael.

  She would have been content to sit at the window for the rest of the journey, but she remembered her position and having enjoyed a cup of coffee and fresh croissants with the other lady’s maids she moved with them into the Sleeping Car to attend each to her mistress.

  Tempera had seen the Drawing Room last night when she had unpacked for her stepmother. The walls were hung with silk and the chairs and sofa were covered in pale green brocade.

  The curtains were green and white and a colourful Indian carpet covered the floor.

  She was much impressed by it and also with the bedroom occupied by Lady Rothley, which was larger and more impressive than usual sleeping compartments.

  Dark red Moroccan leather covered the washstand and the basin which were made, as were all the items in the toilet service, of white metal.

  Even in the morning, Tempera thought as she entered, Lady Rothley looked beautiful.

  Her eyes were sleepy, but her golden-red hair hung over her plump shoulders and Tempera thought any man who looked at her would find her extremely desirable.

  “You woke me up!” Lady Rothley said reproachfully.

  “I am sorry, Belle-mère, but we shall arrive in about an hour and you know how long you take to dress.”

  Then realising that she had spoken without thinking Tempera said quickly “You must get up, my Lady. The train will not wait for long at Villefranche where we alight before it goes on to Monte Carlo.”

  “We can talk ordinarily,” Lady Rothley said. “I cannot believe anyone is listening at the keyhole.”

  “One never knows,” Tempera replied, “and you must get in the way of addressing me as Riley.”

  “I am sleepy,” Lady Rothley complained. “I can never sleep well in a train.”

  This Tempera was sure was untrue, but she was not prepared to argue.

  She herself had been so entranced with the scenery she had seen since the train left St. Raphael that it was hard to think of anything but the beauty which had taken her breath away.

  Her father had described it often enough, but that was very different from seeing it for herself.

  She had resented the hours of darkness when she had been unable to see the land of France or the foothills of the Alps.

  It was quite difficult to get Lady Rothley out of bed and into an elegant pale blue gown in which they had decided she should arrive.

  As Tempera packed away her stepmother’s travelling dress and fur-lined cloak and brought out a shady hat trimmed with cornflowers which matched her gown, she felt as if she was packing away the difficulties and problems of the past and opening the door to something new.

  The train stopped at Nice for quite a time and Tempera longed to be able to explore the town of which Smollett had written and the Promenade des Anglais where her father told her the roués sat scrutinising the ladies with experienced eyes as they walked past.

  But there was little time for reflection because Lady Rothley was only just ready when the train, a few minutes after l
eaving Nice, steamed into Villefranche.

  It was then that Tempera was to see the efficiency and the well-planned organisation with which the Duke surrounded his guests.

  There were two carriages to convey them and a landau for the staff.

  This had seats facing each other behind the horses, but it had also, a considerate touch, a linen canopy with a fringe to protect the occupants from the sun.

  There were other vehicles to convey the mountain of luggage which the Duke’s guests had brought with them, but before this was sorted out and identified by their personal servants the ladies and gentlemen had left in the carriages, Lady Rothley looking very lovely, her face shaded by a blue sunshade which matched her gown.

  When finally the landau set off and Tempera had made sure that every leather trunk and round hat box belonging to her stepmother was safely deposited in the baggage wagon, she had time to look round her.

  She had a glimpse of the port of Villefranche filled with high-masted merchant ships and gleaming white steam yachts.

  She imagined that one of them would belong to the Duke but she did not like to appear inquisitive by asking questions and contented herself with enjoying the semi-tropical vegetation as the horses drawing them began to climb a hill.

  There were olive groves, palm trees and lovely dells bright with wild flowers on either side of the road.

  Although Tempera was disappointed that they were not driving along the shore, she was delighted when between the trees she could see views of snow-capped mountains far away in the distance.

  The maids were gossiping and at any other time Tempera would have listened to them, feeling she might learn something which could be useful.

  But now she could only look at the wild orchids and yellow fritillaries, the white and violet crocuses, purple soldanelles and other alpine flowers.

  They travelled higher and higher until suddenly ahead of them, high above the sea and a promontory which Tempera was certain was St. Hospice, she saw silhouetted against the blue sky what appeared to be a Castle.

  “What is that?” she asked the maid next to her.

  Miss Briggs interrupted her conversation to glance up indifferently.

  “That’s the Chateau Bellevue, where we’re going.”

  “Is that the Duke’s house?” Tempera asked in amazement.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Miss Briggs remarked.

  It certainly was that and a great deal more.

  It looked so like a mediaeval Castle standing sentinel over the whole countryside that Tempera expected it to be a modernised fortress.

  But she found in fact that it had been built by the Duke’s father at the beginning of the 1880s at the same time that the Prime Minister, the Marquess of Salisbury, was building his Villa.

  Perhaps determined to out-do everyone else, the 6th Duke of Chevingham had employed an Italian architect who had copied one of the famous Castles in Italy.

  Together he and the Duke had chosen as a situation the most commanding site along the whole coast.

  Perched on the very top of the cliff overlooking the small village of Beaulieu and the promontory of St. Hospice, on one side of the Chateau Bellevue there was a sheer drop of a thousand feet.

  It looked almost as if it stood on the very brink of disaster and that a high wind might blow it down the steep rocks to destruction.

  But it was very secure on the other side. Here the windows looked out over the valley and further heights to where far away in the distance there was a glimpse of mountain peaks.

  The gardens running along the top of the cliff and descending behind the Chateau were, Tempera was to learn later, some of the most exotic and certainly the most exquisite in the whole neighbourhood.

  Her first impression, as they rode through an arched gateway, was of a profusion of colour which made her heart leap.

  Never had she imagined that bougainvillaea could be so glowingly purple or the climbing scented geraniums show so many shades of pink.

  The flicker of sunlight and shadow playing upon the walls had a beauty which she knew would have thrilled her father, and she had later only to look out of one of the windows facing towards the sea to be spellbound by the vista below her.

  On her arrival she had to concern herself with finding her stepmother’s bedroom and being ready to receive and unpack the luggage as soon as it appeared.

  Lady Rothley joined her soon after she started unpacking.

  “It is so thrilling, Tempera!” she said as soon as the door was firmly closed. “There is a very small party and I am obviously paired with the Duke.”

  There was a note of excitement in her voice as she continued,

  “There is only one unattached man, Lord Eustace Yate, who is already here. I have met him before and will do my best to keep out of his way.”

  “Why?” Tempera asked.

  She was shaking out a gown which had become most unfortunately creased despite the fact that she had packed it very carefully in layer upon layer of tissue paper.

  “Lord Eustace is the son of the Duke of Tring who has to live out of England because he is an undischarged bankrupt,” Lady Rothley explained.

  “If Lord Eustace has no money, then we are certainly not interested in him,” Tempera said.

  “That is what I am telling you,” Lady Rothley answered, “but he is rather attractive and has ‘a way’ with him, as my Nurse used to say.”

  “If he is impoverished like his father, he will not be interested in you,” Tempera said.

  “Not seriously, of course,” Lady Rothley agreed. “He is looking out for a rich wife, we all know that, but he is going to find it difficult to find one.”

  “Why?” Tempera enquired as she pulled out another gown and realised with relief that it needed very little doing to it.

  “Because,” Lady Rothley explained, “word has got round that he is a ne’er-do-well, and no father of any consequence would allow his daughter to marry Lord Eustace who will not even come into the title since he has an older brother.”

  She rested her face on her bands as she said reflectively,

  “I think the Duke has asked him out of kindness. So that leaves me to pair with His Grace, while the others are all husbands and wives.”

  “There is plenty of room for more people in this enormous Chateau,” Tempera remarked.

  “That is what makes it so obvious that the Duke has invited me because he seeks my company,” Lady Rothley said complacently.

  She got up to look at herself in the mirror and said impatiently,

  “For goodness sake, Tempera, do something with my hair! I am going downstairs to join the Duke on the terrace and I look a wreck after such a sleepless night.”

  She looked nothing of the sort, as they both well knew, but Tempera rearranged her hair and Lady Rothley applied a discreet amount of powder to her pink and white skin and just a touch of red lip-salve to her mouth.

  “Not too much!” Tempera said warningly.

  “We are in France now,” her stepmother replied, “and the French women are heavily made up.”

  “I am sure they look very fast, and that is something you must avoid as an English lady,” Tempera said.

  To herself she was thinking that it would be disastrous if the Duke’s intentions towards her beautiful stepmother were not honourable, but in fact something very different.

  The more she saw of the Duke’s possessions and the more she learnt about him made her feel despairingly that it was very unlikely he was considering marriage.

  Unless of course he had been swept off his feet as her father had been and was in fact crazily in love.

  There was however no point, she thought, in letting her fears upset her stepmother, and there was no doubt as Lady Rothley turned from the mirror to go downstairs to the terrace that she was looking extremely beautiful.

  “Do not forget to ‘look and listen’, Belle-mère,” Tempera said hastily before she opened the door. “Do not make any comments about the p
ictures except to say they are wonderful, until I have seen them first and tell you what to say.”

  “I will remember,” Lady Rothley replied obediently.

  “You can admire the Villa and the view, but the less you actually say the better,” Tempera went on. “Just fix your eyes adoringly on the Duke. There are very few men who can resist that!”

  “He should be fixing his eyes on me!” Lady Rothley retorted.

  “I know that,” Tempera said, “but remember, he is a Duke and they are a race apart from other men.”

  “They must still have a heart somewhere under the strawberry leaves,” Lady Rothley replied with an unexpected sense of humour.

  With a smile she was gone and Tempera went back to the unpacking. But she could not help feeling apprehensive. Everything rested on the Duke finding her stepmother compellingly alluring, but nobody knew better than Tempera how stupid she could be when it came to any intelligent conversation.

  Then she told herself that perhaps she was unduly anxious. It was the old Duke who had made the Chevingham Collection. Perhaps his son was not interested in the treasures that hung on his walls or filled the rooms in his enormous houses.

  Ever since Lady Rothley had talked about the Duke, Tempera had been trying to remember what her father had said about him. But as far as she knew he had never met him.

  She remembered his visiting Chevingham House and when he had come home he had told her mother and herself of the outstanding collection of Van Dycks which hung in one room and many other superlative Dutch Masters in another.

  But his contact had been with the old Duke, and the present owner of Chevingham House had come into the title only four years previously.

  Tempera of course had looked him up in Debrett. It told her very little except his age and his names.

  One of them, she was amused to find, was Velde and she thought that the old Duke must have christened his son after the name of the famous Dutch Marine Artist because he had so many of his paintings in his possession.

  There had been, she remembered, no less than three Van de Velde’s and she wished after learning the Duke’s name that she had time to seek out their pictures.