The Prisoner of Love Read online

  Then he pounced on her from behind the door and taking her in his arms kissed her until she had to struggle to free herself.

  “You be’ave yourself, Jim Travel,” she cried in a voice that tried vainly to be fierce and only succeeded in being rather breathless. “Get me the sack, that’s what you’ll do. S’posin’ someone came in and found us?”

  “No one did, and I can’t wait till Friday,” Jim said.

  He spoke with so much feeling in his voice that Betsy gave him a little smile knowing how much he loved her and had done so ever since they had first grown up together.

  As he reached out towards her again, she said,

  “I ’ear’s ’is Grace be a-goin’ away tomorrow.”

  “First I’ve ’eard,” Jim queried. “How do you know?”

  “Will he be a-goin’ to London?”

  “I expects so.’Er Majesty can’t do without ’im from all I ’ears.”

  “I thought ’er ’ad Prince Albert?”

  “She ’as!” Jim replied, “but like all women ’er’s ready to ’ave any number of men on a string!”

  He spoke casually, before adding fiercely,

  “Not that I wouldn’t murder anyone as tried to ’ang around you and mind you remembers it!”

  “There’s no need for you to be jealous,” Betsy said. “Will ’is Grace be stayin’ at Nuneaton House?”

  “Where else?” Jim asked, “and very fine it be too, as I’ve told you afore, though there ain’t as much room in the stables as I’d like.”

  Betsy did not reply.

  She was thinking and it required all her concentration to contemplate the extraordinary idea that seemed to have presented itself to her from out of the blue.

  *

  Riding home after seeing the Earl on the Long Gallop, Sorilda thought it a pity that he would not be coming to dinner as her step-aunt had suggested he might.

  She supposed that the invitation had been in the note she had carried to the stables for Huxley to send to Winsford House.

  When Jim brought back a reply and she had carried it upstairs to her step-aunt, the Duchess had taken it from her and waited for her to leave the room before she opened it.

  ‘I shall, not be allowed to attend the dinner party anyway,’ Sorilda told herself.

  But she thought she would certainly peep at the Earl from over the banisters or from the Minstrels’ Gallery that overhung the big Banqueting Hall that was used when there were guests.

  The front of the Minstrels’ Gallery was thickly carved and Sorilda had discovered that it was possible for her to watch the party below through holes in the intricate wooden pattern without anyone realising that she was there.

  It would be interesting, she thought, to see the Earl at close quarters – although if she had the choice she would rather see his horses.

  That night at dinner when she was dining with her uncle and step-aunt the Duke said,

  “As I am going to London, I might as well take the necklace with me that you want repaired. It will save having to send it up by Courier.”

  “Are you going to London, Uncle Lionel?” Sorilda asked, surprised.

  “Yes, I have to see Her Majesty,” the Duke replied. “It’s a nuisance, as I was at Buckingham Palace only last week. However I received a letter yesterday morning informing me that Her Majesty was relying on me to support her at a meeting of the Society for the Improvement of the Conditions of the Labouring Classes.”

  As her uncle spoke, Sorilda began thinking that the Duchess must have been aware of his trip to London before sending the note to the Earl asking him to dinner.

  It would be impossible for her not to know, Sorilda reasoned.

  Letters arrived early in the morning and were always taken up to the bedrooms before the Duke and Duchess came down to breakfast.

  Therefore, if Iris had known that her husband was to be away, what was the point of inviting the Earl to dinner?

  She could hardly expect to give a party on her own.

  Then it suddenly struck Sorilda that her step-aunt might have asked the Earl to dinner, intending that there should be nobody else present.

  That was quite impossible!

  However much one could trust the servants they were, although sometimes people tended to forget the fact, human beings and they would talk, not only inside The Castle, but also in the village and in the inn where they drank their ale.

  For the Duchess of Nuneaton to dine alone with the Earl of Winsford would be a juicy morsel of gossip that would fly round the County with the speed of a forest fire.

  No, Sorilda told herself, her step-aunt would be more discreet than to cause a scandal of that sort.

  Then why the note?

  She found herself thinking of it before she went to bed after listening to Iris telling her uncle in dulcet tones, which sounded completely sincere, that she would miss him desperately and he was to hurry back as soon as possible.

  “Now that you are a married man, dearest, the Queen should realise that she cannot rely on you as much as she has done in the past.”

  “I agree,” the Duke replied, “and I can assure you that it is no wish of mine to leave you or to be in London without you.”

  As if the idea suddenly struck him, he added,

  “Why do you not come with me? We could stay an extra night and attend the opera.”

  “That would be most enjoyable,” the Duchess replied, shaking her head ruefully, “but I cannot undertake the journey at such short notice. I am not as mobile as you are and anyway we shall soon have to be in London for the opening of the Exhibition.”

  The Duke’s face darkened.

  “Of course, that is hanging over our heads,” he said, “and I could not endure the misery of seeing public money wasted in such an outrageous manner unless you were with me.”

  “Of course I shall be with you, my dearest husband,” the Duchess answered.

  The Duke gratified by her tone, raised her hand to his lips.

  *

  After her uncle had departed early the next morning to a flurry of last minute instructions, forgotten despatch cases and endless consultations over which coat would be the most suitable for the time of the year, Sorilda thought it even stranger than she had done yesterday that her step-aunt had no wish to accompany him.

  The Duchess had moaned over and over again since they had come down to the country two weeks ago that she wanted to be in London, for they were missing balls and receptions she would wish to attend.

  Sorilda knew that, since she had become a Duchess, Iris appreciated the fact that every door that had been closed to her previously was now open and, as the wife of one of the Premier Dukes of Great Britain, her Social position was unassailable.

  It must also, Sorilda knew, be frustrating to have as the viewers of her new gowns only two people – her husband and her step-niece – whereas in London she could listen to the plaudits of a crowd every time she entered a ballroom.

  The Duchess found plenty of tasks for Sorilda during the day and it was late in the afternoon before she said,

  “We shall dine at seven o’clock tonight as I wish to retire early. I am, in fact, feeling somewhat exhausted as there seems to have been so much to do recently.”

  She certainly did not look tired, Sorilda thought, but was looking especially lovely with her hair arranged in a new fashion Harriet had copied from The Ladies’ Journal.

  They dined downstairs in the small dining room and instead of complaining about the food and anything else that came to her notice as was usual when she and Sorilda were alone, the Duchess seemed to be preoccupied by her thoughts.

  Sorilda was afraid to speak in case she should change the trend of them and bring down retribution on her own head.

  As soon as dinner was over, the Duchess went up the stairs towards her boudoir, giving instructions as she did so to the servants to shut up and extinguish unnecessary lights, as was usual.

  This meant, Sorilda knew, that the footmen would all retire to their own end of the house and there would only be two old nightwatchmen who went round regularly once an hour inspecting the windows and the doors to see that none of them had been left open.

  The Duke and Duchess’s rooms were in the West side of The Castle next to one of two ancient Towers which flanked either side of what was known as ‘the modern part’ of the building.

  It had, in fact, been rebuilt two hundred years ago and the architect employed at the time had determined to keep it looking as much as possible like the original castle.

  This meant that, instead of indulging in large rooms, they were for the most part, small and low with arrow-slit windows that did not let in sufficient light.

  The Duke’s father had, however, made renovations that had improved the facilities considerably.

  He had knocked together a number of the small rooms and made two large bedrooms for himself and his wife with a boudoir between them. He had created one large drawing room on the ground floor, which like his bedrooms overlooked the gardens at the back of The Castle.

  This was unsatisfactory from the point of view that, facing South, these rooms were filled with sunshine.

  Sorilda’s bedroom, on the other hand, was over the front door and looked out onto the Park.

  As it looked due North, virtually no sunshine percolated through the two long narrow windows and Sorilda had often thought that she would like to ask if she could change her bedroom, even if it meant going up to another floor.

  Until the arrival of the Duchess everything at The Castle was unchangeable and had to be as it had always been.

  Sorilda had therefore continued to sleep in the room she had occupied when she had first come to The Castle after her father’s and mother’s death and she imagined if she
asked for any change now the Duchess would feel justified in putting her in the servants’ quarters.

  Worse still the alternative might be in a part of The Castle that was even colder than her present room, which could be literally freezing in the winter months.

  It was a relief to know that tonight at any rate it was warm enough to have the windows open and also to see laying on the small table by the windows a book that she was looking forward to reading.

  Although her Tutors had been taken away from her, the Duke’s Comptroller had not revealed to her step-aunt that he purchased for Sorilda any book she wished to own.

  As he was mostly in London, in his office in Nuneaton House, where he looked after the whole of the Duke’s properties as well as dealing with his private correspondence, Sorilda had grown into the way of writing almost weekly to Mr. Burnham.

  He was always so prompt in supplying anything she asked for that she thought perhaps he understood what she was suffering since her uncle’s marriage.

  He certainly must have thought it strange how often he was told to replace servants at The Castle when in the past those who were employed there came when they were young and only left when they died.

  Sorilda undressed and put on her dressing gown before she opened the book.

  She had no intention of going to bed because it was far more comfortable to sit in an armchair by the window, put her feet on a stool and read first in the fading light of the sunset, then later by the light of several candles.

  The Duke had installed gas lighting in some parts of The Castle.

  The only bedrooms to have it were his own and the Duchess’s and, as it had been installed before Sorilda’s arrival, there was no question of her being accorded such a privilege.

  She did not mind. She actually preferred the candles, thinking that when those on the chandeliers and the sconces were lit, they gave The Castle a romantic atmosphere that was sadly lacking at other times.

  To make sure that she was really comfortable, Sorilda took a pillow from the bed and placed it on the chair behind her, then opening her book she leant back and prepared to enjoy herself.

  Yet somehow the words did not grip her as she had expected them to do.

  Instead she found herself looking out of the window, seeing the sky change from the crimson and gold of the sunset to the first darkness of the night.

  “It will be a fine day tomorrow,” she told herself, remembering the old adage, ‘red sky at night, shepherds’ delight’.

  That meant she would be able to ride at six o’clock and she thought that she would once again go to the Burnt Oak and watch the Earl on one of his superb horses.

  Sorilda had loved riding ever since she was a child and, because her father enjoyed hunting, they always had a stable full of first class hunters, even though her mother complained that so much was spent on them that she and Sorilda would have to go barefoot.

  Sorilda found it a joy to ride with her father and often, as she grew older, they would go on long expeditions.

  While they returned home slowly, because the horses were tired, he would talk to her and she would learn from him more in the hours they spent together than she would from a thousand books or a dozen erudite Tutors.

  ‘Papa would have admired the Earl’s horses,’ Sorilda told herself.

  She only wished that she knew more about them, for example, she would like to know the breeding of the horse the Earl had been riding yesterday morning.

  She would also think that it would be interesting to know what he paid for them, which she suspected was a question that could be answered by Huxley.

  He was an inveterate gossip and always knew what was taking place in other stables in the County.

  ‘I am quite certain that he finds the Earl’s horses more interesting than anybody else’s because he is jealous of them, just as Uncle Edmund is jealous of the Earl himself.’

  The idea was amusing and then, as she looked out onto the deepening shadows beneath the great trees in the Park, she saw far in the distance someone riding in the direction of The Castle.

  She wondered who it could be, because at this time of night she knew it would be nobody from their own stables.

  She thought perhaps it was a groom coming with a message, but even so it was late, when in the country people kept such early hours.

  She could see the horse and rider moving amongst the trees and it suddenly struck her that there was something vaguely familiar about them both.

  She watched, sitting up straight in her chair to see more clearly.

  Whoever it was, he was not coming directly to the house, but moving across her line of vision and then turning almost as if he intended to approach The Castle from a different angle.

  Because she was curious, she stood up and leaned out of the window.

  Now she could see much more clearly and, as The Castle was built on an incline, she could see for a long distance and, despite the gathering shadows and the darkening sky, she was aware that the rider was approaching The Castle from the West side.

  ‘How strange!’ Sorilda thought, ‘and why the West side? The stables are on the East.’

  She craned her neck a little further to watch him and then, as he drew nearer, it struck her that she knew who the rider and the horse were.

  ‘It’s impossible! I am being absurd!’ she told herself. ‘There are other men in the world, so why should I think of him?’

  Then she was sure, completely sure, that it was the Earl of Winsford who was riding towards The Castle.

  Then she understood and everything that had puzzled her as regards her step-aunt’s note fell into place.

  Now that her uncle was away, the Earl was visiting Iris!

  For a moment it seemed to Sorilda so incredible that she could hardly believe the whole idea was not just a figment of her imagination.

  Then she knew that it was not a fantasy, but something that was actually happening.

  Her step-aunt had known that the Duke was going to London and had conveyed the information to the Earl, pretending for her benefit that she was inviting him to a dinner party.

  The note that Jim had brought back, which she had passed to her step-aunt, had been his acceptance.

  Now, incredible though it seemed, he was calling at nine o’clock at night.

  But how could he possibly do so without the servants being aware of it?

  Even as her mind asked the question, Sorilda knew the answer.

  When she had first come to The Castle, she had been very intrigued by the two high Towers, which were all that remained of the original Norman building.

  The twisting staircases inside them, the tiny rooms and arrow-slit windows, had encouraged her to visit them not once but dozens of times, because they seemed to her redolent of all the romanticism of the Knights and the Lordly Barons who had once ruled England.

  The staircase in the West Tower had a door opening into the Duke’s bedroom and, although the door was kept bolted on the inside, her uncle had once said to her with a laugh,

  “If ever I wish to leave The Castle unnoticed, I can go down this staircase which, as you see, passes my own bedroom.”

  “It would be very useful, Uncle Edmund, if you were a Royalist escaping from Cromwell’s troops,” Sorilda had remarked.

  “I believe something like that did happen somewhere in our history,” the Duke replied. “You must ask Burnham to give you a catalogue of the books which are in the library.”

  Sorilda had searched through the history of the family, but she had found nothing about an Eaton having been persecuted at that time.

  Earlier there had been many battles that had raged around The Castle and at one time a siege had brought its inhabitants almost to the verge of starvation.

  Because it was part of her own history and her father had told her so much about the Eatons and the way they had served their country, Sorilda had tried to love The Castle and be proud of everything it stood for.

  But, since her step-aunt had come to live there, she had found it very difficult.

  Now she knew that she was shocked – shocked to the point where she was horrified – to think that a woman who had become a member of the family and was the Duchess of Nuneaton, should deceive her husband and behave in a manner that Sorilda’s mother would have thought reprehensible in a woman of the village.

  ‘Uncle Edmund loves her,’ Sorilda thought, ‘and it is a betrayal of him and of the whole family that she should break her marriage vows six months after she made them!’