Love Finds the Way Read online

  "Now that you are the Duke you have the Royal Apartment. Though it seems absurd to call it Royal now that it's little better than a pigsty."

  "Mama!" he protested. His gloom was overcoming him again.

  "You will see for yourself," said Lady Evelyn, like the Prophet of Doom.

  "Why did you not stay in our own house until the castle can be repaired?"

  His mother smiled.

  "We moved, dearest boy, not because we wanted to be important, but simply because it was the one chance of having the walls at home repapered. In another week or so I will return."

  "That is most sensible of you."

  "Of course it is. But you will have to stay in this mausoleum, because you are the HEAD OF THE FAMILY."

  When Lady Evelyn spoke in that portentous tone it was clear that she was thinking in capitals.

  Then she dropped her tone to add,

  "But if you ask me, the place is in such an appalling condition that it would be dangerous for you to stay here for long."

  "Are things really as bad as that?" John asked.

  "Look at this room. As you can see, the walls are peeling and two windows are damaged which have not been repaired. Your uncle put up with it, but that was for the sake of his lost sheep."

  "What became of the lost sheep?"

  "Oh, they are still here."

  He turned sharply.

  "What?"

  "Well, my dear, what else was to be done with them? I could hardly turn them out into the snow."

  "It's May."

  "Well, it will snow in December, I dare say," she responded vaguely. "Besides, I have known snow in May."

  "Mama," he said in a ragged voice, "can we keep to the point?"

  "But they are the point. I mean they are here and they have nowhere to go. So what is to be done? The family lawyer says they must not stay in case they steal something, but since there is nothing worth stealing in the whole place it hardly seems to matter."

  "Are there many of them?"

  "Oh, yes – well – several. I have never really counted."

  John was bereft of speech. He put the thought aside, feeling that he could not cope with the problem just now.

  "Has anything happened since I have been away?" he enquired.

  "Yes, I believe one of the walls at the front has fallen in, but they are waiting for you to return to see what should be done about it."

  John drew in his breath, trying to believe that it was not happening.

  Clearly he must have a good look at the castle before he could do anything else.

  "Go to bed, my dear," suggested his mother. "I will have some refreshments sent up to the Royal Apartment."

  "Mama, I wish you wouldn't speak of it like that. The very idea of me in a Royal Apartment is absurd. Why not just say 'your room'?"

  "Because you are the Duke of Chesterton and it is incumbent on you to keep up the proper style."

  "Even though I sleep in a pigsty, according to you?"

  "Even a sty can have style," said Lady Evelyn unanswerably. "Never forget that you are the Duke and that is a fine position to be in!"

  "Why Mama, I do believe you are overcome with Ducal importance. I thought you didn't care for it."

  "Don't be silly. How can anyone not care for a coronet?"

  "But you could have worn one if you had married my uncle. Everyone knows that."

  "I know," she agreed with a sigh. "But I happened to fall in love with your Papa. It was most inconvenient."

  "Was Uncle Rupert in love with you?"

  "Oh, yes. He and your father fought a duel. It was very exciting."

  "You didn't worry in case one of them was killed?" John asked, fascinated.

  "Of course not. They only fought with their fists, so I suppose strictly speaking it wasn't a duel, but that was what we all called it."

  "What happened?"

  "Your Papa aimed a punch at Rupert and missed. Then Rupert punched back and hit him more by luck than judgement. Papa staggered back and tripped over a duck that had wandered from the pond nearby, which made him sit down very suddenly. Rupert declared that honour was satisfied and that was that. He was best man at our wedding. He and your Papa were very fond of each other."

  "I'll wager you enjoyed every minute of it," John said with a grin.

  "Certainly I did. There wasn't another girl in London who had such turmoil over her. The others were green with envy."

  "Good for you, Mama!"

  "Well, these things are sent to us to be enjoyed. I don't see what other purpose they could have."

  "Did Uncle Rupert ever get over you?"

  "He said not. According to him he remained unmarried so that my son could inherit his title."

  "No?"

  "His exact words were, 'then you and I will have a share in the next Duke, Evelyn, and that is all the comfort I can have on this earth'."

  "He actually said that?" John demanded, revolted.

  "I am afraid he did. I don't know how I kept a straight face."

  John roared with laughter.

  "And he actually meant it?" he quizzed, when he had recovered himself enough to speak.

  "Oh, my dear, of course not. Once he had recovered from his so-called passion for me, he enjoyed being a bachelor, and it was his way of getting out of having to marry. But it sounded very affecting and of course it was very flattering for me. Most enjoyable.

  "In the end he was glad I wasn't around to interfere with his plans to fill the castle with his strange friends. You will meet them tomorrow."

  "Yes, I suppose I must."

  "And you will also meet Ambrose Faber."

  An odd note in her voice that he had not heard before, made John turn and ask suspiciously,

  "Tell me the worst, Mama. Just who is Ambrose Faber?"

  "Who is Ambrose Faber?" Lady Evelyn echoed. "My dear boy, how can you be so absurd as not to know that the Fabers are related to us? Somewhat distantly, it's true, but Rupert believed we should help poor relations."

  "You mean he is a lost sheep?"

  "Certainly not. He is a very educated and cultured man and Rupert engaged him as his secretary. You will find him very useful."

  "What will I do with a secretary?" John demanded. "Ask him to take notes about which part of the castle falls down first?"

  He sighed.

  "Ah well, it's too much to think about now. I'll go up to my room –"

  "You mean the Royal Apartment," she corrected him gently. "Remember your Ducal dignity."

  "For Heavens sake, Mama! You are as bad as Gina."

  "And who is Gina?"

  "Miss Gina Wilton is a young lady I met at Portsmouth. She lives near here and I conveyed her in the carriage for part of the journey."

  "Is she pretty?" asked Lady Evelyn.

  "She is a school marm," John said firmly. "And extremely bossy."

  "Oh, dear! Then she wouldn't suit you, I do see that."

  "Suit me?" John echoed, appalled. "Let me assure you Mama, that nothing is further from my mind than to ally myself with a young woman who cannot open her mouth without giving orders about something that is none of her concern."

  "She sounds very strong-minded," Lady Evelyn remarked dubiously. "Perhaps she is one of those New Women we hear about these days with ideas about emancipation."

  "That sounds just like her."

  "What a dreadful female. Never mind, my dear, you showed her courtesy and now you need not see her again, which I am sure must be a great relief to you."

  He hesitated.

  "Actually Mama, she is coming here tomorrow."

  "Oh, my dear, what a terrible encroaching female! Couldn't you have put her off?"

  "I am afraid not. I invited her."

  "But you said you do not like her."

  "I didn't precisely say that."

  "Bossy, you said."

  "And so she is."

  "Then she must have forced you to invite her."

  "Not exactly. It was my own i
dea, and I am sending a carriage to collect her," John replied, growing more awkward by the moment as he saw his mother staring at him as if he had gone out of his mind.

  There was a silence, during which a variety of thoughts passed across Lady Evelyn's face. But she was far too clever to let her son suspect which one had made the most lasting impression on her.

  "Very well, my dear," she said at last. "I suppose you know your own business best."

  John shook his head.

  "Oh, no. I am beginning to think I am the very last person who knows my business best," he said, beginning to feel light-headed. "Perhaps I should ask Miss Wilton. She knows all about it, far better than I do."

  He did not wait long enough for his astonished mother to ask any more questions, but kissed her and hurried away.

  When he reached his bedroom he was horrified at how dilapidated it was. The four-poster bed had been magnificent when it was first built, with splendid gold ornamentation and crimson brocade hangings that were echoed in the curtains.

  Now the hangings were threadbare and in some places actually in tatters.

  They were dusty too, John thought, brushing them down and then wishing he had not, as he began to cough.

  It was a large room with two huge windows and a vast fireplace that looked impressive, but which, John knew, was incredibly draughty.

  The paper on the walls was peeling. The woodwork needed repainting and the chairs, of which there were four, were all damaged in some way or another. The carpet was worn and torn in various places.

  He tried the mattress gingerly and it felt as though it was stuffed with turnips.

  'But then, it always did,' he mused. 'The curtains were always shabby, but now they are falling to pieces.'

  He tried not to look at the ceiling, which he knew was covered with frescoes of mythical deities and their attendants. Cherubs chased each other across impossibly blue skies as nymphs glanced flirtatiously at strapping young Gods. The vulgarity of the whole decor had always made John shudder.

  At last he gave in and glanced up. Then he shuddered again.

  The best that could be said was that the damage hid the worst of the cherubs. A fungus like growth was creeping across the ceiling, obscuring the pictures as it went.

  'And this is just one room,' he thought.

  There was a knock on the door. Opening it, he was surprised to find two elderly women, each bearing trays. As he stood back they made a stately procession into the apartment and set their trays down on two low tables. They contained tea and sandwiches and John had to admit that it all looked very appetising.

  "Good evening, Your Grace," said the first woman.

  "Good evening, Your Grace," said the second.

  Blinking, John realised that they were as alike as two peas in a pod. Not only did they have the same face, but they were dressed identically in blue dresses that looked as though they had once been expensive, but were now old and shabby.

  "Good evening," he said, somewhat at a loss. "I am the new Duke."

  "Yes, Your Grace, we know that."

  "I am very glad to meet you. Did you work for my uncle for very long?"

  "We didn't work for him," said one. "We were his friends."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "He took us in," said the other. "We were homeless, so he said we should come and live with him."

  John began to understand. These were lost sheep.

  "I am Imelda."

  "And I am Sonia."

  "How do you do – er – ladies."

  He was unsure how to address them but their voices were cultured, making a strange contrast to their appearance. So it seemed safer to assume that they were ladies.

  "Jeremiah says that he hopes you enjoy the food, Your Grace. He has done his best in the circumstances, but not knowing that Your Grace was arriving tonight –"

  "Jeremiah?" John interrupted desperately. "Wasn't my uncle's cook called Howard?"

  "Mr. Howard departed," declared Imelda. Or it might have been Sonia.

  "Why?"

  "His pay was in arrears, Your Grace," said Sonia. Or it might have been Imelda.

  "What about Jeremiah?"

  "Jeremiah does not need to be paid," said one of them.

  So Jeremiah too was a lost sheep, he deduced.

  "Well – thank you!"

  "We hope you will be very happy here, Your Grace."

  "There's no need to say 'Your Grace' every time," he said. "Just 'sir' will do."

  "Oh, no, Your Grace. That would not be proper. You are the Duke."

  "So everyone keeps reminding me. Yesterday I was simply John Chester. Now I am the ninth Duke of Chesterton."

  "Tenth," piped up one of the twins.

  "What?"

  "The late Duke was the ninth," said the other twin. "Your Grace is the tenth."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure, Your Grace."

  He did not try to argue. Clearly everyone for miles around knew his position and what was due to him far better than he did. Gina had been only the start.

  "I am sure you are right. In future, please just call me sir."

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  They gave him brief nods and, turning, made another procession out of the room.

  John tore his hair, wondering if he was in a madhouse, and if so, was it really his madhouse?

  The food, at least, was excellent, he thought, devouring it hungrily. And the tea was just as he liked it.

  But that was only one small light in the darkness. The mood that Gina had talked him into was fading. Her idea of restoring the castle was just a fairy tale.

  'An impractical dream,' he thought. 'And somehow she made me believe it.'

  Then he wondered if he was being feeble and knew that Gina would certainly think so. He remembered the excitement in her voice as she told him her ideas and the light that had shone from her eyes.

  'I cannot let her down,' he told himself.

  He wondered why it should be so important to someone he had only just met.

  'Why should it matter so much to her?' he asked himself.

  Somehow he was afraid of the answer to that question.

  *

  The following morning he was up and dressed long before the rest of his family appeared.

  He walked from his bedroom (he could not bring himself to call it the Royal Apartment) into the front of the castle where the worst damage had been to the roof and the two wings.

  One wing seemed to have almost collapsed completely. Everywhere he looked, he found more to depress him.

  'Whatever can I do?' John asked himself.

  As if in answer, he heard a crash in the distance.

  'It's a sign,' he told himself. 'Some higher power is telling me that there is nothing to be done. I won't even have to explain to Gina. She will see for herself how hopeless it is.'

  He ran downstairs and outside to get a better look. He found an elderly man staring up into the sky. At his feet was a lump of stone, which must have just missed him.

  "Are you all right?" John asked him anxiously.

  "Oh, yes, perfectly, my dear fellow," said the old man. "Just a bit of sky came down."

  "It seems to be a bit of wall."

  The man looked at him vaguely.

  "Really? Oh, dear no, I don't think so. The walls are perfectly strong and sturdy, you know. Never saw better. But sometimes the sky comes down."

  He indicated the stone at his feet.

  John regarded him warily. He was beginning to understand that this man had his own way of seeing things.

  "It's the wrong colour for sky," he pointed out. "It's grey and surely sky is blue?"

  "Oh, but it was blue when it began its journey," his companion assured him earnestly. "But travelling all that distance – it undergoes a metamorphosis."

  "I see. Yes, you may be right. By the way, how do you do? I am John Chester."

  "The new Duke. Yes, I know. I am Pharaoh."

  "Pharaoh? You mean,
a King?"

  "My dear fellow, you are too kind. I don't insist on the formalities. Pharaoh will do."

  "Then you had better call me John," he said, thankful that he had finally found someone to sympathise with his desire for informality.

  But he was disappointed again.

  "Call you John?" echoed Pharaoh, aghast. "Oh, no, I couldn't do that, Your Grace. The proprieties must be observed."

  "But you –"

  "Oh, I rise above it all. I think that's why the sky keeps trying to descend on me. It makes sense, you know."

  "Yes," John murmured, glassy eyed. "I am beginning to think it does."

  "It's almost time for breakfast, I think. Shall we go in?" Pharaoh asked graciously.

  Together they made their way to the breakfast room, where Lady Evelyn was just entering. This was John's first encounter with the strange arrangements that now prevailed at the castle. The food was cooked by Jeremiah and served by Sonia and Imelda. After which they all met at the table and sat down together.

  He began to see that there were complications. Were the lost sheep servants who had to be treated as friends or friends doing the work of servants?

  While he was still trying to work it out he found himself sitting down next to Pharaoh and accepting a plate of bacon and eggs.

  "My son is bringing a visitor to see us this morning," Lady Evelyn announced. "Miss Gina Wilton. We must all make her very welcome."

  Everybody muttered assent and kindly words with as much graciousness as courtiers.

  As soon as he decently could, John left the breakfast table. He was anxious to see more of the house before Gina arrived.

  What he discovered depressed him even more.

  Everywhere he saw decay, neglect and the desperate need of money. He knew that if he had any sense he would send a message to Gina telling her not to come here.

  But that would be unkind, he reasoned. Besides, it was better for her to see why her idea would not work. Otherwise, she would give him no peace about it.

  He went to the stables and found a lad.

  "I want someone to take the carriage to this address," he said, producing the piece of paper with Gina's address. "Who is the coachman here now?"

  "Pharaoh does that, Your Grace."

  "Of course he does," John muttered. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

  He spent the next hour on hot coals, rehearsing the speech in which he would tell Gina to forget all about their glorious, impossible plans.