Love and the Cheetah Read online

  “What happened,” Doreen was saying, “and you can hardly believe that I could have such bad luck, was that at dawn this morning when I was still asleep, a man whom I know and whose name is Sir Mortimer Jackson, burst into my bedroom!”

  She paused for a moment as if to make the story even more dramatic.

  “‘The hotel is on fire!’ he shouted out. ‘Get up quickly or you will be burnt to death’!”

  Ilesa gave a little cry of horror.

  “The hotel was on fire, Doreen? How terrible! How did you escape?”

  “As it turned out, it was a false alarm,” Doreen replied, “but, of course, I was extremely frightened.”

  “Naturally,” Ilesa murmured.

  “Hugo Randall got up – ” Doreen continued.

  “From – your – bed?” Ilesa stammered.

  “Yes, yes, from my bed!” Doreen answered testily. “He would have gone back to his own room in just a few minutes. That is why it was such bad luck for me that the ghastly Sir Mortimer should burst in on us!”

  She spoke very angrily and there was a frown between her beautiful eyes.

  “And you – say there was – not really – a fire?” Ilesa murmured.

  “Hugo Randall went to see what all the fuss was about and found that one of the servants had upset some hot fat or something combustible on the stove.”

  Doreen’s voice was seething as she continued,

  “It caused a dense cloud of smoke to rise up past Sir Mortimer’s window. I always thought that he was a stupid idiotic man, but unfortunately he is also dangerous.”

  “You – mean,” Ilesa queried her, trying to understand the extraordinary scenario, “he recognised you.”

  “Of course he did and, because I have always disliked him and made my feelings very clear, he will undoubtedly tell the Duke in graphic detail all that he saw this morning.”

  At last Ilesa grasped the problem and why Doreen was plainly so upset.

  If the Duke learned of the way she had behaved with Lord Randall, he was not likely to ask her to become his wife.

  She looked at her sister helplessly, thinking how could she possibly help her to find a way out of such a predicament?

  “I have thought it out carefully,” Doreen now said in a practical manner. “What I have to do is to make the Duke propose to me before he returns to London where Sir Mortimer will be waiting for him.”

  “Are you – are you quite – certain that is – what he will do?” Ilesa asked. “It sounds very ungentlemanly. Papa has always said – that a gentleman never mentions a woman’s name – disparagingly in public ‒ or he would be thrown out of his Clubs.”

  “Men like Sir Mortimer do not behave like gentlemen!” Doreen said scathingly. “He ingratiates himself with the Nobility by giving them information that they find amusing or else in some way helpful.”

  “Then how can you prevent him from telling the Duke about you?” Ilesa asked.

  “I am making sure,” Doreen replied, “as I have just said, that I see the Duke first. That is why I sent a note immediately by my footman asking him to come here this afternoon.”

  Ilesa stared at her in sheer astonishment.

  “To come here?” she repeated, “but why? And how? Where is he?”

  Doreen was about to answer her questions.

  And then she gave an exclamation.

  “The servants!” she cried. “I never thought of the servants.”

  She jumped abruptly out of the chair where she had been sitting and Ilesa then heard her running across the hall towards the front door.

  She supposed that Mrs. Briggs would not invite the coachman in for his luncheon until it was ready. He would therefore be with the carriage outside waiting for his instructions.

  She could hear Doreen’s voice in the distance although she could not hear what she was saying.

  There came the sound of rolling wheels and she reckoned that Doreen’s carriage was being turned round.

  She did not move, but one of the spaniels curled up beside her and she stroked the soft fur of its head.

  She found it hard to believe what her sister had told her and even harder to understand her reprehensible behaviour.

  How was it possible that Doreen could go to an inn and share a bed with a man who she was not married to?

  Ilesa had never been to The Three Feathers, but she had heard that it was thought to be the best inn in the County.

  In fact it was used by gentlemen from London when they took part in the local Point-to-Points and Steeplechases.

  Vaguely at the back of her mind she remembered her grandfather recommending friends to stay there for the Hunt Ball or some other important function when The Hall would be full.

  People from London then had to be accommodated wherever they could find a bed in the locality.

  But Ilesa had never imagined that her own sister would stay there much less behave in a way that would have completely horrified her mother and would deeply distress her father.

  Doreen then came back into the room.

  “It slipped my mind,” she said as she walked back to the chair that she had been sitting on, “that if the Duke comes here, his servants will talk to my coachman. And he might tell them where I was staying last night.”

  “But – but how do – you know that the Duke – will come here?” Ilesa asked her.

  “I remembered,” Doreen explained, “that Papa has those two pictures by Stubbs, which you both made such a fuss about.”

  Ilesa looked at her sister questioningly and Doreen went on,

  “The Duke himself owns a very special collection of Stubbs’s pictures and they are all kept at his country house.”

  She gave a little sigh of satisfaction.

  “It suddenly occurred to me that, as he was staying in the neighbourhood, he would be thrilled to see Papa’s pictures and, of course, I shall be here waiting for him.”

  “You say he is in the neighbourhood?” Ilesa asked. “Where is he staying?”

  “With the Lord Lieutenant, of course, the Marquis of Exford!”

  Doreen spoke as if her sister had asked her a particularly silly question and Ilesa knew that she was right.

  Of course the Duke of Mountheron would be staying with the Marquis of Exford.

  He was a very distinguished man with a notably fine stable. His house was some distance from Littlestone, but the Vicar and his wife had often been invited to dine.

  They also went to the Garden Party that the Marquis and his wife gave every year for all the most distinguished ladies and gentlemen of the County.

  “If the Duke is staying with the Lord Lieutenant,” Ilesa said reflectively, “do you really think that he will come here because you have asked him to?”

  “I have told you, it is only a question of time before he asks me to marry him,” Doreen snapped, “and I cannot risk losing everything by letting that rat Sir Mortimer blacken my character!”

  Ilesa thought for a moment.

  Then she quizzed her sister,

  “What will you do if he informs the Duke after he has proposed to you?”

  “That is where you have to help me,” Doreen answered. “I stayed here last night. In fact I have been here ever since the Duke left London, which was two days ago.”

  Ilesa stared at her sister.

  “You mean – you are going to – tell him a – complete lie?”

  “Of course,” Doreen admitted, “and you are going to substantiate it and make it very clear that I have been staying in my old home for a while, enjoying myself by being with you and Papa.”

  Ilesa drew in her breath.

  “You know that – Papa will not – lie,” she said quickly.

  “Then we will talk to him about it very carefully and you must say to the Duke, ‘it has been lovely to have Doreen here at the Vicarage with us these last few days’.”

  It was with difficulty that Ilesa did not reply that she too disliked telling lies under any circumstances.


  Her father and mother had been very insistent that she should always in her life tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  Yet she knew now that she had to do what Doreen wished.

  Otherwise her sister would go into one of her tantrums, which had always frightened her when she was a child.

  Because she was so much younger and smaller, Doreen had bullied her and she had made Ilesa do what she wanted even if it meant pulling her hair or slapping her face.

  Ilesa doubted if she would use actual violence, but she was well aware of what a scene there would be if she told Doreen that she would not support her in telling shameless lies.

  Doreen characteristically assumed that Ilesa had immediately acquiesced in doing as she wanted.

  “Now we have not much time,” she said briskly, “so you had better go and tidy yourself. I have no wish for the Duke to think that my sister is a country bumpkin!”

  Ilesa felt the colour come into her cheeks.

  It had always been the same whenever she was with Doreen and she was always made to feel awkward and out of place and definitely inferior.

  “I will put on the best dress I have,” she nodded rising to her feet. “At the same time, Doreen, as you are well aware, there has been very little money to spend on clothes. Papa has to help the people who have been unemployed ever since Uncle Robert closed up The Hall and went off to India.”

  “If you had any sense,” Doreen retorted, “you would not allow Papa to throw his money away on a lot of ne’er-do-wells!”

  She rose as well and added,

  “I had better come upstairs with you and see how I can make you look at least decent!”

  “I think,” Ilesa said in a small voice, “we should have luncheon first. It looks as if Papa will not be back in time. It will be ready by now and Mrs. Briggs will be upset ‒ if we let it get cold.”

  “Oh, very well,” Doreen replied with bad grace, “and for Goodness sake see if there is something decent to eat in the house in case, although I think it is unlikely, the Duke stays for dinner.”

  Ilesa’s eyes widened.

  She knew that without any warning that this would be a catastrophe.

  It was then that old Briggs, who acted as butler when required, opened the door.

  He had been at the Vicarage for as long as his wife and he had, however, never been a butler in the proper sense of the word, but, because he loved his Master and his Mistress, when she had been alive, he had done his best.

  Now, like Nanny and his wife, he was really one of the family.

  “Luncheon be ready, Miss Ilesa,” he announced, “and Mrs. Briggs says she’s done her best, but she can’t do no miracles at a moment’s notice and that’s the truth!”

  Doreen did not speak and Ilesa said,

  “I am sure that Mrs. Briggs has worked miracles as she always does!”

  Briggs smiled at her before he hobbled rather than walked because of his rheumatism down the passage and into the dining room.

  Doreen moved elegantly across the room.

  “We need not waste too much time in eating when we have so much else to do,” she propounded.

  Ilesa did not answer. She was thinking how disappointed Mrs. Briggs would be if Doreen did not say something nice to her when luncheon was finished.

  They walked into the dining room.

  It was a pretty room and, as with the drawing room, the windows overlooked the garden and what had been beautifully tended flower beds.

  The silver on the table shone brightly in the sunlight and, if there was one thing that Briggs enjoyed, it was cleaning the silver and he also carved the lamb as well as the Vicar might have done himself.

  When he served it, Ilesa thought it so well cooked that it would be difficult for Doreen to find fault or indeed anyone else for that matter.

  All the same luncheon was an uncomfortable meal with Doreen saying very little and Ilesa was feeling nervous about what was going to happen.

  She was wondering, if the Duke really did arrive, as Doreen was so confident that he would, how she could leave the two of them alone without it appearing contrived.

  It might turn out to be most embarrassing if the Duke guessed what was expected of him.

  Ilesa knew very little about men and yet she was sure that a man like the Duke would resent being pressurised into doing anything he did not want to do.

  In fact he might very well manage to avoid being put in a compromising situation.

  In which case Doreen would obviously be extremely angry and complain that it was all Ilesa’s fault.

  When they had finished the lamb, which was delicately tender, and the new potatoes that went with it there was a dish of fresh strawberries.

  Fortunately Ilesa had picked them only yesterday in the overgrown Kitchen Garden at The Hall and she knew that Mrs. Briggs had been keeping them aside as a treat for her father.

  They were served at luncheon with a junket that she had made originally just for Ilesa.

  Doreen refused both dishes.

  “I don’t like strawberries,” she grumbled, “and as for junket, I have not seen it since I left the nursery!”

  Because it was possible that what she said might be overheard in the kitchen, Ilesa felt embarrassed.

  She gave a warning glance at her sister as she said,

  “I am sure you remember that Mrs. Briggs’s junket is quite different from anyone else’s and we always think of it as a speciality of the Vicarage.”

  “Oh, very well,” Doreen moaned.

  She took a spoonful and looked at the junket disdainfully before she tasted it and then, because it was impossible to find fault with it, she ate quite a large helping.

  Then there was coffee and afterwards the two sisters went upstairs to Ilesa’s bedroom.

  Without waiting for Ilesa to do so, Doreen pulled open the wardrobe door.

  There were not many gowns hanging there and Ilesa knew all too well that most of them were well-worn and one or two were becoming threadbare.

  “Surely you have something better than these?” Doreen asked disapprovingly.

  “I-I am afraid – not,” Ilesa answered. “I was going to ask Papa to give me a new gown, but there have been so – many other things ‒ to do.”

  She hesitated over the last words as the truth was that her father spent all the money he had on other people.

  “Then I suppose I shall have to lend you something.”

  Ilesa looked at her half-sister in surprise.

  “I thought you had sent your carriage away?”

  “I am not half-witted,” Doreen answered. “I told my coachman to leave my luggage, which I had taken with me for the night, at the back door. I suppose you have somebody who can carry it upstairs?”

  “I will go and tell Briggs to fetch one of the gardeners to do it,” Ilesa said. “As you can see, he is too old and his rheumatism is too bad for him to carry anything heavy.”

  Doreen did not answer and Ilesa ran from the room and down the backstairs.

  She found Briggs in the kitchen and told him what Doreen wanted.

  “Are you sayin’,” Mrs. Briggs asked, “that ’er Ladyship be stayin’ ’ere tonight?”

  “I am not sure,” Ilesa answered.

  It suddenly struck her that her sister would try to make the Duke take her with him to wherever he intended to go.

  Doreen had not said so but she had sent her carriage away and there would be no way for her to leave the Vicarage unless the Duke conveyed her in his own carriage.

  ‘Doreen is clever,’ she told herself. ‘I would – never have thought of that.’

  It was some time before Doreen’s very expensive leather trunk was brought up to her bedroom.

  After the gardeners had set it down and left them alone, Ilesa undid the straps.

  Doreen simply sat in a comfortable chair giving instructions.

  “There is a gown I packed at the last minute,” she said, “just in case I sta
yed for two nights at The Three Feathers. It is pale blue with a little muslin collar.”

  Ilesa found the gown, it was exceedingly pretty, but she thought far too grand to wear at an inn or for that matter in the country.

  However Doreen condescended,

  “I suppose I shall have to give it to you.”

  “Oh, you – cannot do that!” Ilesa cried. “I am sure you will want to keep anything ‒ so beautiful.”

  “I have always thought that it did not suit me particularly well and was not really smart enough. But it is certainly an improvement on anything you possess.”

  “Thank you – thank you – very much!” Ilesa exclaimed. “It is a – lovely gown and I am – thrilled to have it.”

  She put it on while her sister sat in a chair criticising her appearance in every way that she could think of.

  “Why can you not do your hair in a more fashionable manner?” she enquired. “The way you do it now went out at least five years ago!”

  Ilesa smiled.

  “There are not many people in Littlestone who know what fashion is,” she said. “While the dogs and horses I spend most of my time with are not really very particular.”

  Doreen was not amused.

  “You must think of your position,” she lectured her, “for after all you are my sister.”

  “Yes – of course,” Ilesa agreed, “but we have not seen anything of you lately.”

  “I am such a sensation in London,” Doreen affirmed, “that I really have no time to go anywhere else!”

  Then, as if she could not resist being boastful, she started to describe to Ilesa exactly what a success she really was.

  She told her as well how many men had laid their hearts at her feet.

  Ignorant of the Social world as Ilesa was, she realised that a great number of the men who paid Doreen such extravagant compliments were already married.

  Because she read the racing newspapers, she knew that a number of Doreen’s admirers were racehorse owners.

  Her sister talked and carried on talking.

  Ilesa tried to tell herself that she must not judge Doreen by the same standards and the same principles as her father upheld in the village of Littlestone.

  ‘Hers is a different world,’ she reflected, ‘so different that I must not be stupid enough to compare the two.’