Revenge Is Sweet Page 3

  “Now, eat while I talk to you.”

  There was nowhere for him to sit and he perched rather gingerly on the side of the table, fully aware that one of the legs was supported by a brick.

  He seemed to have taken over and, as the sandwiches looked like ambrosia from the Gods, Valessa tentatively ate one.

  It was filled with a pâté, which she thought was the most delicious food that she had tasted in a very long time.

  Without even thinking about it, she put out her hand and took another one.

  Then, feeling that she was behaving in a somewhat unrestrained manner, she looked up at Harry apprehensively.

  “Now, let’s start at the very beginning,” he suggested, “and introduce ourselves. My name is Sir Harold Grantham, but everybody calls me ‘Harry’.”

  “I am Valessa Chester!”

  “A very pretty name!” Harry remarked. “Now, Miss Chester, we want your help.”

  “My – help?” Valessa exclaimed in surprise.

  She could not imagine that there was any way in which she could help the gentleman who was talking to her or indeed Lady Barton.

  “It’s really quite simple,” he said. “Lady Barton is planning a special charade to amuse her guests after dinner and wants you to take part in it.”

  Valessa looked at him in complete astonishment.

  “I-I don’t – understand.”

  “Go on eating while I explain.”

  Valessa looked down at her plate and found to her surprise that she had eaten a whole sandwich without being aware of it.

  She then picked up another one.

  “I expect, as you live in the neighbourhood,” Harry was saying, “you have heard how lavishly her Ladyship entertains.”

  “I have,” Valessa murmured.

  “She always tries to think of something new and original for every party she gives.”

  He made a gesture with his hand before he continued,

  “It’s not easy, especially when the guests all know each other and guess what is coming next.”

  Valessa could understand that.

  “Her Ladyship has just thought,” Harry said, “that you would be someone new who they have not seen before and it will make them curious and also interested.”

  He looked at her to see if she was following what he was saying.

  Valessa took a sip of the brandy before she replied,

  “I understand – but I cannot think of – anything I could do that would – amuse anybody!”

  “I will tell you what to do.”

  “But – what could it be?”

  He smiled.

  “I think it would be more fun if it was a surprise to you as well as to everybody else. All you have to do is to come back with us to The Towers.”

  Valessa put what was left of the sandwich she was eating down on the plate.

  “Come – back with – you?”

  Then she realised that she was being very stupid.

  “Of course – I cannot do – that!”

  “Why not?”

  She glanced down at her shabby gown and there was no need for words.

  “I understand,” Harry went on as if she had spoken, “that, as you are going away, your luggage may have gone on ahead. Therefore Lady Barton will provide you with everything you need.”

  “Do – you mean – clothes?” Valessa asked rather stupidly.

  “I mean very attractive, very glamorous and very fashionable gowns!” Harry stipulated firmly.

  He thought that Valessa’s eyes would light up as any other woman’s would have done, but she merely stared at him.

  Then she asked,

  “Is this a – joke?”

  “No, no, of course not,” he said. “How can you imagine that, after you have been so kind and bandaged Lady Barton’s arm, she would not be very grateful?”

  He thought that Valessa was not convinced and continued,

  “She wants to express her gratitude by having you as her guest and she asked me to tell you something else.”

  “What is that?” Valessa asked.

  “If you will take part in this charade, which will amuse her friends, she will give you two hundred pounds.”

  “Two hundred pounds?” Valessa repeated incredulously.

  She told herself that there was something very wrong! What Lady Barton was expecting her to do must be either wicked or outrageous for her to pay so much.

  Besides, how could she go to stay at The Towers looking as she did?

  Perhaps Lady Barton and her friends wanted to make fun of her?

  Then she suddenly realised that two hundred pounds would save her from having to drown herself!

  It would enable her to go to London where she might be able to find work, perhaps as a Governess or a companion.

  At least there would be no immediate hurry, and she would have time to think and – live.

  It all passed through her mind.

  Then she was aware that Harry, watching her, seemed to understand.

  “It may seem a strange request to you,” he said quietly, “but do you not think in a way it’s a sort of adventure? Without adventures, think how dull life would be!”

  “But – suppose I cannot carry out – what you want – and I am a failure?” Valessa stammered.

  Harry smiled.

  “Even if you are, you will still have two hundred pounds in your pocket and new clothes to wear, which I can assure you, are made by the best and most expensive dressmakers in Bond Street.”

  “I just cannot – believe it!”

  “Oh, yes, you can!” Harry insisted. “You are a clever girl and you know as well as I do that anything would be better than sitting alone in this empty house. And I am sure the roof leaks!”

  The way he spoke made it sound so funny that Valessa gave a little laugh.

  It was the first time she had laughed for a long time and it seemed odd even to herself.

  “Then that is settled,” Harry said. “All you have to do is to leave everything to me and I will ‘stage manage’ you so that you will be the star of the show.”

  “You – might be – very angry with – me!” Valessa said.

  “I promise you that I will not be as long as you do as I tell you.”

  He stood up.

  “Now get yourself ready,” he said. “I will tell the others you have agreed and I know that Lady Barton will be very grateful.”

  He walked towards the door.

  “When do – you want – me to leave?” Valessa asked.

  “As soon as the carriage arrives. I sent a groom to collect one as soon as Lady Barton had her fall and it should be here at any time now.”

  Valessa stood up.

  “I must – go and fetch my coat.”

  “Take the sandwiches with you and drink the rest of the brandy!”

  It was an order and Valessa sensed that he was testing her.

  “I will,” she said meekly.

  She heard Harry cross the hall, go into the drawing room and close the door after him.

  Picking up the sandwiches and the glass in which there was quite a lot of the brandy left, she walked up the stairs.

  She thought that she had stepped into a dream and it could not be true.

  When she reached her bedroom, she saw her coat lying on the bed and remembered that she had intended to wear it so that she would drown more quickly than if she went into the water without it.

  ‘This – cannot be – true!’ she said to herself again.

  She put the plate down beside her coat and ate another sandwich quickly, as if she was afraid that they also were part of the dream and might vanish.

  Because she was aware that the weakness that had overcome her in the kitchen might return, she ate yet another sandwich and drank the rest of the brandy before she put on her coat.

  Now she felt a warmth inside her that had not been there for a very long time and, when she looked in the mirror, her cheeks were flushed.

  Th
ere was only one bonnet left, which had belonged to her mother.

  Valessa, her father and her mother had gone to the nearby market town where a Horse Fair was taking place.

  Her father had bought two horses, which they could not really afford, and the bonnet for his wife.

  Elizabeth Chester had protested at the unnecessary extravagance, but her husband had insisted.

  “I want you to look beautiful, my darling,” he said, “and make every other woman who looks at you jealous.”

  Elizabeth laughed and then she replied,

  “They are much more likely to be jealous because I have you.”

  “Now and for ever!” her husband answered.

  Valessa thought that no one could look lovelier than her mother, especially when her father said things that made her lips smile and her eyes shine.

  As she put the bonnet on in front of the mirror she thought,

  ‘If I – die before anyone – speaks to me like that, I shall miss – something that is very wonderful in life.’

  Then she looked at the old-fashioned shape of her coat and the shabby gown beneath it and knew she was asking too much!

  By a miracle she had been saved from drowning herself. It would be greedy to ask for more.

  ‘Two hundred pounds!’ she whispered to herself. ‘But suppose I am so – incompetent they will not – give it to me?’

  Then she thought that, if nothing else, she would see Ridgeley Towers and undoubtedly would have a few good meals while she was there.

  Perhaps, if she was polite and pleasant to Lady Barton, she might even find her a job. Even to be a housemaid would be better than nothing.

  Then below she heard the drawing room door open and there was the sound of voices before Harry called up the stairs,

  “Are you ready, Valessa? The carriage is here!”

  “Yes – I am ready,” Valessa replied.

  She looked round her bedroom. It seemed incredible that she should go away without taking anything with her.

  But what was the point?

  She had sold everything except what was too worn to be of any use or torn beyond repair.

  Hastily because she did not want to think about it, she left the room and went down the stairs.

  Lady Barton, leaning heavily on the arm of the man called Roland, was coming out of the drawing room.

  She was laughing and she looked very pretty as she did so.

  Her deep gold hair, which Valessa was too ignorant to know owed a great deal to the dye pot, seemed to light up the dingy hall.

  Cyril was walking beside her and, as he saw Valessa, he said,

  “Here is our heroine!”

  “Now you are not to go upsetting her,” Harry said quickly. “She is afraid that she will be a failure and you have all to be very kind to her.”

  “But of course!” Lady Barton said. “And I am looking forward to showing you my house.”

  Valessa had reached the bottom of the stairs and now she was facing Lady Barton.

  “Are you – quite sure – you really – want me?” she asked hesitatingly.

  “Of course I want you!” Lady Barton said.

  Harry stepped forward.

  “Now you two girls climb into the carriage,” he ordered. “We will ride cross-country, which will be quicker, and we will be there when you arrive.”

  “That’s a good idea!” Lady Barton commented.

  Roland helped her through the front door and into the luxurious carriage waiting outside. It was drawn by two horses and there was a footman on the box.

  Lady Barton sat in the centre of the back seat, so that there would be plenty of room for her injured arm.

  Valessa squeezed in on her other side and she hoped that the movement of the carriage would not be painful for Lady Barton.

  “See you later, Sarah!” Harry called out. “And remember what I said to you.”

  He closed the door before Lady Barton could reply and the horses moved off.

  Valessa looked back at her home and felt that this could not really be happening.

  She was sure that, if anybody from the village saw her driving with Lady Barton, they would think that their eyes were deceiving them.

  “Now you must tell me all about yourself,” Lady Barton said charmingly. “Harry tells me that your name is Valessa.”

  “Valessa Chester, my Lady.”

  “As you are going to help me, there is no need for us to be formal with each other,” Lady Barton said, “so I will call you ‘Valessa’ and you must call me ‘Sarah’.”

  Valessa’s eyes widened, but she did not say anything.

  Lady Barton went on,

  “I expect Harry has told you who he is and the other two are Roland, who is Lord Freeman and Cyril, who is Lord Cyril Fane.”

  Valessa thought that they all sounded very grand, but she definitely liked Harry, although nervous as to what he would order her to do.

  “I have a particularly large house party,” Lady Barton was continuing, “because we are having a steeplechase. I know it’s rather late in the year, but I arranged it as a challenge to the Marquis of Wyndonbury.”

  Her voice sharpened as she said,

  “He thinks that he has the best jumpers in the country, whilst I am quite certain that mine will beat his!”

  Valessa noted the name and thought that this must be the Marquis they had been talking about when they were in the drawing room.

  He had obviously made Lady Barton angry and she thought that he must be very stuck-up.

  She was, however, more interested in the horses and said,

  “I have always heard that your horses were outstanding and my father used to admire those he saw you out hunting on.”

  “It was my father who made my stables famous,” Lady Barton said complacently, “and also made sure my racehorses won a great number of the Classic races.”

  She did not explain to Valessa that her father had been born in Liverpool and had made his fortune there.

  Frederick Wicket had then realised that the only way he could be accepted socially was to beat the sportsmen at their own game.

  His father was an unimportant Solicitor, who had provided him with a good education and he had won a scholarship to University and gained a degree with an iron determination that he would become a millionaire.

  He had fought his way into the shipping industry and ingratiated himself with one of the owners who had no son.

  He had, on his patron’s death, been left two ships with enough money to run them.

  Nothing short of an earthquake could have stopped Fred Wicket after that.

  By sheer willpower, as well as his brains, he bought out his opponents or made them bankrupt until he owned the biggest fleet anywhere in the North of England.

  It did not matter to him what he carried, whether it was slaves, coal or cotton and, as long as it paid, his ships were ready.

  He was forty before he had time to think of taking a wife and he then chose the daughter of an impoverished Squire who could hardly believe his good fortune in having such a rich son-in-law.

  Fred Wicket then bought a house in Lancashire and attempted to become a country gentleman.

  Strangely enough, his wife grew to love him and furthered his ambitions socially by advising him on what to do.

  It was through her that quite a number of people who had dismissed him as an outsider accepted him.

  This was because she had made him become a racehorse owner and just as he had determined to own more ships than anybody else, so now Fred Wicket knew he must have better and faster horses.

  It was soon impossible for anyone who raced not to know him and it was only a question of time before he became accepted by those who had previously passed him by with their noses in the air.

  He was equally determined that his daughter should marry well.

  As she was his only child, it was obvious that she was going to be enormously rich.

  Lionel Barton had been the eldest son o
f a Baronet whose ancestry went back to the reign of James I, but he was not as important as Fred Wicket might have wished.

  But Sarah, who was only seventeen, fell very much in love with Lionel and her father wanted her to be happy.

  Her husband came into the title just a week before he was killed in an accident and to Sarah it was a terrible tragedy.

  Fred Wicket thought philosophically that at least she had gained a title out of her marriage and he was already planning who her next husband should be.

  Then, quite unexpectedly, a year after his wife had died of what the doctor had called ‘the wasting disease’, he had a fatal heart attack. It was a culmination of working without ever taking a holiday.

  He had concentrated fanatically on making himself an Emperor of Finance and a King of Sport at the same time.

  Sarah had enough of her father’s determination and indomitable willpower not to mourn for too long.

  As soon as she was out of black, she sold the house in Lancashire that she had never thought was smart enough for her friends in the Beau Monde.

  First she bought a house in Berkeley Square, where she could entertain in London.

  Then, after searching the countryside for something really spectacular, she chose Ridgeley Towers not only because it was the size of a Palace but also because it was in Leicestershire.

  Within five years she had made herself indispensable to the Social world, who thought that racing and hunting were the only sports that mattered.

  Her father’s horses were already famous and she improved their breeding and their performance.

  The best hunts were in Leicestershire and she financed lavishly the one nearest The Towers and contributed to several others as well.

  It was impossible to ignore someone who had the largest ballroom, a private Racecourse and one hundred bedrooms in which to accommodate her guests.

  Fred Wicket was conveniently forgotten and, when Sarah talked about her family, it was always of her mother’s relations.

  Naturally she took a number of lovers.

  She had grown exceedingly pretty before she married and afterwards she developed into a beauty.

  She was not only a most attractive young woman but she could have the smartest and the most elegant clothes and the finest and most expensive jewellery.

  She could also buy every other adjunct that contributed to a woman’s attraction.