The Fire of Love Page 4

  She looked up at the man who was standing facing them.

  Her first impression was that he was the best-looking man she had ever seen – and then she saw that there was something dissolute about the lines under his eyes and something hard and cynical in the twist of his lips.

  “What is it, Newman?” he asked sharply.

  “A lady, my Lord. She has just arrived and says it’s important that she should see you.”

  “At this hour of the night?”

  The man stared across the intervening space between himself and Carina with such a look of hostility that it gave her quite a shock. Then his eyes travelled from her face down to the child standing at her side. His voice was sharp as he addressed her.

  “Who are you and what do you want?”

  Carina drew in a deep breath.

  “Perhaps it would be best if I could speak to you alone,” she suggested a little nervously.

  “Why? I am engaged,” Lord Lynche replied. “Call in the morning if you must and make an appointment. Newman will know when I am free.”

  He would have turned away, but Carina put out her hand.

  “I am sorry,” she said, “I realise it is an inconvenient time to arrive, but it was unavoidable. I have to see you – it is something that concerns you personally.”

  “Concerns me? What the devil – !” Lord Lynche retorted.

  She realised that, although he was not drunk, he had been drinking. There was a slight unsteadiness in his gait and a slight thickening of his vowels that told her all too clearly that he was not entirely sober.

  “Look here,” he went on before she could speak, “if you are begging, I will settle with you now so that I can have a little peace. What will you take, a fiver? That’s a good deal more than I have won tonight, I can promise you that!”

  “No, no – ” Carina replied. “I am not begging. Please let me see you alone for a moment and I will explain.”

  “Look here, my dear young woman,” Lord Lynche said, “I am in the middle of entertaining my guests. I have no time to listen to your story however pitiful and however worthy it may be. Besides, such things bore me. Take what I offer you or go away empty-handed. You cannot say I am anything but generous.”

  His eyes searched her face and she felt that if she had not been attractive he would not have wasted as much time on her as he had done already.

  There was a little smile now at the corner of his lips and she felt that there was an insult in the look in his eyes although she could not name it.

  “You will not see me alone?” she asked, her voice quiet and steady, despite the rising colour that gave a pale glow to her cheeks.

  “No, he answered,” holding out the five-pound note in what was obviously intended to be a tantalising way.

  “Very well,” Carina replied. “I have done my best to be discreet about this, but I have come here – because your wife asked me to.”

  “My wife! God damn it! What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean – ” Carina faltered, finding it hard to choose the right word, “that your wife has sent you your child. She is dying, so she could not come herself – but this is your son and I have papers in my bag to prove it.”

  For a moment Lord Lynche stared at Carina as though she had taken leave of her senses and then, in a strangled voice, he managed to ejaculate,

  “My son!”

  “Yes, Carina answered, opening her handbag. “I have here his Birth Certificate. He was born in Java seven months after you left there, but you will see both his mother’s name and yours are recorded on the Certificate.

  She held it out to him and he took the piece of paper, staring at it incredulously.

  “My son!” he repeated to himself.

  And then, suddenly, he threw back his head and began to laugh.

  His laughter echoed horribly round the hall, peal upon peal of it, while Carina stared at him wide-eyed and Dipa, not understanding what it was all about, began to laugh too!

  Chapter 3

  Carina gazed at Lord Lynche as if she thought that he had gone mad.

  And then, sharply, because she was shocked, she said,

  “I don’t think you understand that your wife is dying!”

  The tone of her voice wiped the laughter from his lips and he stared back at her, an expression on his face that she could not fathom.

  “Come upstairs,” he said.

  It was such a strange request that Carina was for the moment speechless, merely looking up at him with wondering eyes, conscious as she did so that he was taking in her appearance, detail by detail.

  And then, before she could speak, the door through which Lord Lynche had entered the hall opened and a man’s voice called,

  “Justin, what the devil are you doing? We are waiting for you!”

  The newcomer had spoken before he saw that Lord Lynche was actually in the hall.

  Now, with his hand still on the handle of the door, he ejaculated,

  “Oh, there you are! What’s keeping you?”

  “There are visitors, Percy,” Lord Lynche answered, and then, after a pause, added, “for my mother.”

  “At this time of night!”

  The man he called Percy sauntered towards them. He was middle-aged with his hair going grey at the temples. He was elegantly dressed, but the effect was spoiled by the hunch of his shoulders, which gave his figure a sinister silhouette.

  Carina, glancing at him, thought that she had never seen a more dissipated face or, as he caught sight of her, a more lecherous expression in any man’s eyes.

  He reached where they were standing and she found herself looking at the two big pearls surrounded by diamonds in his white shirt-front and the cufflinks that glittered as he moved in his stiff white cuffs. And with the colour rising in her face she realised that she was avoiding his eyes because of the way that he was staring at her.

  “Will you not you introduce me?”

  There was something thick and slimy about his voice that Carina found odious.

  “No, Percy,” Lord Lynche said sharply. “Go back to your cards. I will be with you in a moment.”

  He turned his back on his friend and with a gesture indicated the stairs to Carina.

  Immediately and because in some inexplicable way she wanted to turn her back as quickly as possible on the man with the heavy bags of evil-living beneath his leering eyes, she hurried towards the stairs, pulling Dipa by the hand.

  “Where we go? Velly big stairs!” Dipa chattered.

  Carina did not answer him, and Lord Lynche, after allowing her to go first, suddenly walked ahead of them, striding two or three steps in advance so that he reached the top long before they did.

  ‘We are going to see his mother,’ Carina told herself consolingly and knew that it was with a sense of relief she had learned that there was another woman in the house.

  *

  She began to see now what perils she might have encountered, arriving at a strange house in the middle of the night to seek out a man who was living as a bachelor.

  She had kept her eyes staring resolutely ahead of her, watching the tail of Lord Lynche’s coat. But now, as she reached the top of the stairs, she could not prevent herself from looking back.

  As she had anticipated, the man to whom she had taken such an instantaneous dislike was still there, standing in the centre of the hall staring after them.

  It was only a quick glance and she turned away immediately. But she knew that he had seen her face and felt angry with herself that she should have looked back.

  Lord Lynche, still without speaking, was leading them down a broad corridor.

  The windows on either side were heavily draped with dark red velvet curtains and where they were not completely closed Carina could see that each window had heavy wooden shutters with iron bars.

  She knew now why she had seen no light from the front of The Castle.

  They had reached the end of the corridor and Lord Lynche knocked on a high mah
ogany door.

  “Come in!”

  It was a woman’s voice that answered, sharp and authoritative.

  Lord Lynche opened the door and walked in ahead, leaving Carina and Dipa to follow.

  It was an enormous room and at the far end of it was the largest and most imposing bed Carina had ever seen. It was a four-poster, hung with peacock-blue brocade, which had been exquisitely embroidered.

  The posts were carved with gilt angels and on the canopy were huge ostrich feather fronds in blue and crimson, which fluttered nearly to the ceiling. But it was not the bed that commanded Carina’s attention after the first second.

  It was the woman who was sitting bolt upright in the centre of it, her back supported by a mountain of pillows.

  She was small, old and incredibly wrinkled and yet she gave an impression of majesty and power that was almost indescribable.

  Her hair, or it might have been a wig, was piled high upon her head. Round her yellow throat were row upon row of magnificent pearls and on her claw-like fingers there were rings of every description, emeralds, rubies and diamonds, all sparkling is the light of the huge gold candelabrum that stood beside her on a bedside table.

  “What a surprise to see you, Justin, at this time of night!” the old lady remarked in a cynical sarcastic voice, which was strong and resonant enough to belie the frailty of her appearance.

  “We have visitors, Mama. I knew you would not like to miss the excitement of seeing them.”

  “Visitors?”

  The old lady stared at Carina and Dipa and then after a moment looked up at her son who stood by her side.

  “Who are they? And why have they come here at this hour?”

  “I was sure you would be curious.”

  To Carina’s astonishment, Lord Lynche was mocking his mother. There was something unpleasantly cynical and at the same time taunting in his voice.

  “Who are they?” the Dowager questioned. “Answer me at once!”

  Carina felt her anger rising that any man should dare to keep his mother in suspense after deliberately inciting her curiosity.

  Dipa pulled himself free of her hand and ran to the hearthrug where a big black and white spaniel was lying in front of the fire.

  “Doggie! Doggie!” Dipa called excitedly.

  Carina moved nearer to the bed.

  “I was asked by Lady Lynche to bring this little boy here to his father,” she said clearly. “Lady Lynche herself is dying.”

  “Lady Lynche! Who is Lady Lynche?” the old woman enquired in a voice of fury.

  “I thought you would be interested, Mama,” Lord Lynche said and he threw down on the bedspread in front of her the two Certificates that Carina had given him.

  The Dowager picked up a lorgnette and, as the sleeve of her bed jacket fell back from her wrist, Carina saw that she wore a number of diamond bracelets, which jangled and glittered as she moved.

  She read the Certificates and there was silence in the room.

  Then, with a violent gesture of unbridled anger, she thrust them from her.

  “It’s not true! It’s a plot! These are nothing but lies – ”

  “No, Mama, what you read there is the truth,” Lord Lynche contradicted. “The question is, of course, what do you suggest we do about it – or rather, him?”

  Again there was that mocking taunting note in his voice, which made Carina feel hot and ashamed.

  But the Dowager seemed hardly to hear it.

  Instead, she looked at Carina.

  “Who are you? And where have you come from?” she asked in a hostile voice.

  “I have been engaged by Lady Lynche as a Governess. This is Dipa, her little boy. He is six years old and speaks a little English.”

  “Speaks English, I should hope so! And you have the effrontery to pretend that he is a Lynche!”

  “I only know what I have been told,” Carina replied, “that Dipa is the son of Lord Lynche – and someone who is dying.”

  “Dying! Who is she?” the Dowager enquired. “And why does the child look like he does?”

  “It appears,” Lord Lynche said, picking up the Marriage Certificate, “that the mother of the child is Javanese.”

  “Javanese!”

  The Dowager almost gasped the words, leaning back against her pillows as if for support.

  “For the moment, Mama, I am afraid that you have to accept these Certificates as valid.”

  “I will not! I will never accept them!” the Dowager stormed. “They lie. Get lawyers to prove it! Send for the woman, bring her here and we will force the truth out of her.”

  “I think there is every likelihood that Lady Lynche is dead by now,” Carina said gently. “Anyway she is far too ill to be moved.”

  “Will you be quiet!” snapped the Dowager. “When I want your opinion, girl, I will ask for it.”

  She glared at Carina, who dropped her eyes, feeling that she had, in fact, overstepped her position in saying so much.

  “You must face facts, Mama,” Lord Lynche said. “I see no reason to doubt these Certificates. They are, I should think, completely and absolutely genuine.”

  “Tear them up and throw them in the fire!” the Dowager stormed.

  “What good will that do?” Lord Lynche asked. “Besides, don’t you think, Mama, you are giving a very uncivil welcome to your grandson?”

  “Grandson!” The Dowager shrieked the word. “Don’t you dare to say that my grandson is that yellow brat!”

  “As I said, you would find it difficult not to accept the Certificates of Birth and of Marriage,” Lord Lynche said.

  “You mean that he really is – ”

  The Dowager spoke slowly and stopped at the last word. She looked up at her son.

  It was almost as if some secret understanding passed between them. He nodded his head and, as if she could not bear what she had been told, the Dowager closed her eyes.

  “What can we do?” she said after a moment, in a very different tone. “This house – our name. I have believed in it all my life. I have worked for it – no, I have lived for it – and now this – ”

  “There is nothing we can do, Mama,” Lord Lynche said. “As you know, I shall not be sorry.”

  The Dowager seemed to recover her energy.

  “Quiet!” she roared at him. “Don’t you dare say such things! Do you think I am defeated? I am not!”

  She turned to Carina.

  “Bring that little horror here! Let me have a look at him.”

  Biting back the words that rose to her lips, Carina distracted Dipa’s attention from the dog and lifting him in her arms carried him to the side of the bed.

  He was instantly enraptured by the Dowager’s jewels.

  “Pretty! Pretty!” he gurgled, leaning forward trying to grasp at her bracelets.

  She looked him over rather, Carina thought, as though he was an animal in the stockyard.

  “Yellow!” she exclaimed. “And if there is a drop of English blood in him it does not show. Who is his mother?”

  “Her name is Chi-Yun,” Lord Lynche said.

  “That tells me nothing!” the Dowager snapped. “What is she like, then?”

  Carina, realising that she was being addressed again, answered carefully,

  “Lady Lynche? She was very ill when I saw her, but she had obviously once been very beautiful. I was told that she had been a dancer.”

  “A dancer!” the Dowager snorted. “A prostitute more likely.”

  “Really, Mama,” Lord Lynche expostulated, “you will shock our guest.”

  “Then she must be shocked,” the Dowager retorted. “Come on, what else do you know?”

  “I understand from the landlady who was looking after her,” Carina said, “that her mother was Javanese and her father was a Dutchman.”

  “An explanation of illegitimacy that she doubtless got out of The Ladies’ Journal or a yellow-backed novelette from the quaysides of Marseilles!” the Dowager ejaculated. “What else?”

/>   Nothing, I am afraid,” Carina said. “I was only engaged this morning to bring the child here. I have done what I was paid to do. If you wish me to leave him and go, I am quite prepared to do so.”

  Then, as she spoke, she felt that she was betraying her promise to the dying woman that she would look after the boy.

  Yet she felt, at the same time, that Dipa would be best served if she showed spirit rather than humility and subservience, which, she was certain, these overpowering and odious people expected of her.

  “Go? Why should you go and spread tales of what you have seen here all over the countryside?” the Dowager snapped.

  “Mama! Mama! You are going too far!” Lord Lynche protested.

  “And what help do you think you are being?” the Dowager asked. “But then, you always were spineless. You had better leave this to me. Whom have they seen since they arrived?”

  “Newman, who let them in and Percy Rockley, who came out into the hall while I was talking to them.”

  “So that man has seen them!” the Dowager remarked acidly. “In which case the child cannot be kept hidden.”

  She looked Carina straight in the eyes and said,

  “Put the child down, I want to talk to you.”

  Carina put Dipa down on the ground, where he instantly darted away from her towards the dog on the hearthrug.

  “Doggie, doggie!” they heard him calling in his high sing-song voice. “Doggie play with Dipa?”

  Carina turned to find the Dowager looking full at her and there was something formidable in the dark sunken eyes, which made her feel instinctively that she must be on her guard.

  “Are you trustworthy?” the Dowager asked.

  Carina’s chin went up. This was something that touched her personally.

  “I am,” she answered.

  “Can we trust you? That is the question,” the Dowager said.

  “It depends what you are going to ask of me,” Carina answered.

  “So you have spirit, have you?” the Dowager said with a sudden chuckle. “I like girls with spirit. What is your name?”