A Duke in Danger Read online

Then abruptly, as if he had no wish to be fanciful or poetical at the moment, his mind came back to Lady Alvina and her perfidy in daring to damage anything so precious as the traditions of the Harlings, all of which were centred in this one great building.

  As he drew nearer he noticed, again with a little surge of anger, that there were weeds in the gravel sweep in front of the great flight of grey stone steps which led up to the front door.

  He pulled his horses to a standstill and said to his groom:

  “The stables are round to the right of the house. Take the horses there. You will find grooms to help you.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  The Duke handed him the reins, saying as he did so:

  “I will send someone from the house to help take the luggage in through the back door.”

  The groom touched the brim of his crested top hat. The Duke alighted from the Phaeton and walked up the steps towards the front door.

  This was the moment for which he had been longing and waiting. But now that he was here, he half-regretted that he had not informed Lady Alvina of his arrival.

  Because Gerald had notified them at Berkeley Square that he was coming home, Bateson had been waiting in the Hall, and two footmen had run the red carpet down the steps and across the pavement the very moment the carriage which had brought him from Dover had pulled up outside.

  But here there was no red carpet, and as he reached the door he saw that it was open and for the first time wondered what he would do if Lady Alvina was away.

  He then told himself that it would not constitute any problem, because the servants would obviously still be there.

  He walked into the huge marble Hall and saw that the stone statues of gods and goddesses were still in the niches, and the wide staircase with its carved golden balustrade was just as impressive as it had always been.

  He felt he was being welcomed home.

  He stood still for a moment, looking at the tattered flags hanging beside the beautifully carved mantelpiece.

  They had all been won by Harlings in battle, and he remembered as a small boy being told where each one had been captured.

  Agincourt especially had remained in his mind. He looked at the French flag captured then as if to reassure himself that it was still there.

  He walked on through the quiet house, remembering well where each room was and what it was called.

  At the top of the long flight of stairs there was on the left the Picture-Gallery, which ran the whole length of the house, and on the right were the State bedrooms.

  These included Queen Elizabeth’s room, Charles II’s, and Queen Anne’s, and at the end of the corridor was the Duke and Duchess’s Suite, in which so many of his forebears, with the exception of himself, had been born and died.

  He remembered that to the right on the ground floor was the very large Dining-Hall in which he had last eaten at Richard’s twenty-first-birthday party.

  Beside it was a smaller private Dining-Room which had been designed by William Kent, where the family ate when they were alone.

  To the left, where he was moving now, was the Library with its first editions of Shakespeare and books that had been collected for centuries, making it one of the finest and most valuable Libraries in the country.

  Successively on that side of the house were the Rubens Room, the Library, the Red Drawing-Room, the Green Drawing-Room, and the Blue Drawing-Room.

  The Duke’s eyes darkened with the thought of the last as he remembered that that was where the miniatures were.

  He wondered why the place was so quiet, with no-one about.

  He came to the first door, which opened into the Rubens Room, and found that the furniture was covered in Hollands, the shutters were closed, and the darkness smelt musty.

  He closed the door and moved to the next one, which was the door to the Library.

  Here there was a light because the windows were not shuttered, and as he walked into the room he had the impression, but he could not be certain, that everything looked shabby and, although it seemed incredible, somewhat dusty.

  It was then that he was aware of another human being.

  It was a servant, and she had her back to him and was dusting somewhat ineffectively with a feather brush the books on one of the higher shelves.

  He watched her for a moment and realised that the feather brush, light though it was, was dislodging a great deal of dust.

  He suddenly felt he needed an explanation and asked sharply:

  “Where is everybody? Why is there no-one in attendance in the Hall?”

  Although he had not intended it, his voice sounded in the room almost unnaturally harsh and loud, and the woman at the far end of it jumped as if she was startled and turned round.

  She had a duster over her hair and was wearing an apron.

  The Duke, walking towards her, said:

  “Is Lady Alvina at home? I wish to speak to her.”

  It was then, as two very blue eyes stared up at him, he had a sudden idea, although it seemed most improbable, that this was not a servant.

  When she did not speak, he felt he should introduce himself and said:

  “I am the Duke of Harlington.”

  The woman facing him gave a little gasp and then said in a voice that was barely audible:

  “I thought ... you were ... in France.”

  The Duke smiled.

  “On the contrary. I have arrived back today.”

  There was silence, and the woman stared at him as if she could hardly believe what she had heard.

  Then at last, finding her voice with difficulty, she said:

  “Why did you not let us ... know, and how ... could you have ... stayed away so ... long?”

  It was then that the Duke realised to whom he was speaking, and he said:

  “I think perhaps we should introduce ourselves properly. I am sure you are my cousin Alvina.”

  “Yes, I am,” the woman answered, “and I have waited and waited for you until I had given up ... hope that you would ... ever return.”

  There was a desperate note in her voice that the Duke did not miss, and after a moment, and because he knew it was expected of him, he said:

  “I must apologise if I have seemed somewhat remiss, but I had urgent duties in France, and the Duke of Wellington would not release me.”

  He almost despised himself for making apologies, and yet he had the feeling they were necessary.

  As if he was determined not to remain on the defensive, he said:

  “If you wanted me back urgently, why did you not write to me?”

  “I did write to you when Papa died, but there was no answer.”

  “I never received your letter.”

  “I did not ... think that was the ... explanation.”

  “Then what did you think?”

  “I did not know. I thought ... perhaps you were not ... interested. It was ... stupid of me ... not to write ... again.”

  “I apologise not only for not receiving your letter but also because I should have written to you. I realise that now.”

  She did not reply, and he smiled.

  “My only excuse is that I had really forgotten you had grown up, and I was thinking of you as the little girl I had last seen when I was here at Richard’s twenty-first-birthday celebration.”

  As he spoke he thought it was tactless to remind Alvina of her brother’s death, but she said:

  “It was kind of you to write to Papa after Richard was killed, but he would not read ... any of the letters he ... received or allow me to ... reply to them.”

  The Duke did not quite know what to say to this, so, feeling it might be somewhat embarrassing, he walked away from Alvina towards the window, saying as he did so: “It was impossible for me to return before now. Now that I am here, I realise there is a lot for me to see and a great deal for me to learn.”

  “A great ... deal,” she said, and her voice seemed to falter.

  The Duke told himself that she wa
s afraid because of her behaviour in pawning the family treasures.

  When he thought of them, his anger rose in him again, almost like a crimson streak in front of his eyes.

  Yet, because he had disciplined himself to have complete control outwardly over his feelings, he merely said in a cold, icy voice:

  “What I need to have explained, Cousin Alvina, is why you have dared to pawn some of the treasures in this house, which I thought any Harling would regard as sacred.”

  As he spoke he thought he heard a little gasp and told himself she was surprised that he had learnt so soon what she had done.

  He turned round and saw that she had taken off the duster which had protected her hair and also the apron she had been wearing.

  She was very slim, and now he could see that her hair was fair and somewhat untidy. But she looked very young, little more than a child, and certainly not the age he knew her to be.

  She was standing very still, holding the apron and the duster in her hand, and she stared at him with an expression in her eyes which he knew was one of fear.

  “I cannot imagine,” he said sharply, “what your reason could be for behaving in such a dishonourable manner. And I want you, Cousin Alvina, to tell me the truth as to why you were in need of money and for what purpose!

  Once again his voice seemed to ring out a little louder than he had intended.

  As she still stared at him, apparently finding it difficult to answer his question, his anger suddenly boiled over so that he said furiously:

  “Were you trying to trick me because you had no wish to see me in your brother’s place? Or were you providing for some man who had taken your fancy and of whom your father did not approve?”

  He paused to say even more furiously:

  “The pawn-broker, Pinchbeck, tells me this has been going on for nearly three years, ever since your father died, and I cannot imagine anything more underhand and deceitful than that you should behave in a manner which undoubtedly would have hurt and dismayed him had he been aware of it! It has certainly disgusted me!” He finished speaking and waited, and then in a voice he could barely hear Alvina faltered:

  “I ... I can ... explain.”

  “So I should hope,” the Duke interrupted, “and it had better be a good explanation!”

  Again he waited, and Alvina began to say in a choked voice:

  “It was ... because ... Papa ...” she stopped. He then realised that she was trembling as if she could say no more and was unable to hold back the tears that had come to her eyes.

  She then turned and ran away from him down the Library and disappeared through the door.

  The Duke gave an exclamation which was one of exasperation and frustration.

  “Dammit!” he said to himself. “Is that not exactly like a woman? They always resort to tears when they are caught out!”

  He did not really know what to do now that Alvina had left him, but he thought he would have no difficulty in finding someone else he could talk to.

  He looked for a bell, but there appeared not to be one. So he walked slowly back down the Library, thinking as he did so how badly kept it was and that there was undoubtedly a great deal of dust on all of the books.

  The silver grate was almost black and obviously had not been polished for a long time.

  He went out again into the passage which led to the Hall. There was still no-one to be seen.

  He opened the door of the Blue Drawing-Room, only to see that, like the first room he had entered, it was shuttered and there were covers over the furniture, and again there was that musty smell.

  “What the Devil is happening?” he asked himself.

  He was just about to walk on farther when he saw a man coming slowly towards him from beyond the Dining-Hall.

  The Duke turned and walked back, realising as he drew closer that the man had white hair and was moving slowly because he was old. He thought, although he was not sure, that he recognised his face.

  Then, as they met halfway down the corridor, the man peered up at him as if he found it hard to see him.

  “Good-day, Your Grace.”

  “What is your name?” the Duke asked. “I seem to remember you.”

  “Walton, Your Grace.”

  “Yes, of course. You were the Butler here when I was a small boy.”

  “That’s true, Master Ivar ... I mean Your Grace,” the old man said. “I were first footman when you came as a child, and then Butler when you stayed ’ere with your mother and father. A fine, upstanding lad you was, too.”

  He spoke with warmth in his voice as old people do when they reminisce over the past, and the Duke said:

  “I am glad to meet you again, Walton, but you must tell me what is happening. There was no-one in the Hall when I arrived.”

  There was just a faint note of rebuke in his voice, and Walton replied:

  “We weren’t expecting Your Grace.”

  “Yes, I know that,” the Duke said. “And I know the war has made a great difference to everything in England, but I did not anticipate finding all the rooms shut up.”

  “There were nothing else we could do, Your Grace.”

  “Why not?” the Duke enquired. “Surely you have servants enough to clean them?”

  “No, Your Grace.”

  The Duke stared at the old man and then said: “Perhaps it would be best for me to have an explanation from whoever is in charge here. I imagine that is Lady Alvina.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Lady Alvina’s been looking after everything since His Grace died.”

  The Duke now regretted having caused her to run away so hastily, and he said:

  “Well, Walton, as Lady Alvina seems to have disappeared for the moment, perhaps you had better tell me what I should know.”

  As he spoke he realised that he could hardly stand talking in the passage, so he said:

  “Which rooms is Her Ladyship using besides the Library?”

  “The Library’s usually shut, Your Grace,” Walton said slowly. “Her Ladyship was dusting it as she was trying to find a book she wanted.”

  The Duke thought that would account for the dust and the way his cousin had been dressed.

  “Where can I sit?” he asked.

  His voice sharpened a little because he was feeling frustrated by the way every question he asked seemed to lead him nowhere.

  “Her Ladyship’s using the Breakfast-Room, Your Grace,” the Butler replied. “It’s the only room we’ve open at the moment.”

  The old man preceded him very slowly to the small room which faced South where the Duke remembered breakfasting last time he had stayed at the Castle.

  Only the gentlemen used to come down to breakfast, while the ladies had preferred to stay in the bedrooms or their Boudoirs and had not appeared until much later in the morning.

  As Walton opened the door, he recognised the attractive squared room that overlooked the lake.

  He remembered that the early-morning rays of the sun used to shine through the windows on the long sideboard laden with silver entree-dishes kept warm with a lighted candle beneath each.

  There had been at least a dozen different foods to choose from.

  There had been a large circular table in the centre of the room, and the Duke could recall the big silver racks containing toast and a cottage loaf baked that morning in the kitchen ovens.

  There had been scones and rolls fresh and warm, together with a huge comb of golden honey and jams and marmalades made in the Still-Room.

  There was everything that a man’s body could require early in the morning, and for his mind there were the newspapers, freshly ironed in the Butler’s Pantry, set on silver stands opposite each place at the table.

  He had been fascinated by all the luxury, and he knew vaguely at the back of his mind that he had expected on his return to England to find everything as it had been then.

  But the furniture of the room was entirely changed: there was now only one small round table in the window and a sofa an
d an armchair standing in front of the fireplace.

  The long side-table on which the silver breakfast-dishes had been laid had been removed to leave room for a bookcase.

  It was a very fine Chippendale piece, yet somehow it seemed out-of-place in this particular room, with its walls covered with paintings by English artists of the Seventeenth Century.

  The Duke had noticed with a quick glance that had been trained to be observant that there was a work-box of English marquetry and a Secretaire which was covered with papers and with what he thought looked like bills.

  There were some small portraits on the mantelpiece and on the side-tables, and there was also a larger one of Richard, painted by Lawrence, over the fireplace.

  He had the feeling as he and the Butler entered the room that they were intruding, although he told himself that it was absurd to feel like that.

  After all, the place was now his, and Cousin Alvina was certainly not welcoming him with any enthusiasm.

  Almost as if he wished to assert himself, he sat down in the armchair beside the fireplace and said:

  “Now, Walton, tell me what all this is about. Why is the house shut up? Why are there no footmen in the Hall? And why is Lady Alvina using only this room instead of one of the Drawing-Rooms?”

  The old man drew in his breath, and then with a voice which seemed to tremble he said:

  “I’m afraid Your Grace doesn’t understand.”

  “I certainly do not!” the Duke said. “And while I think of it, there is one special question to which I want an answer. Why did you allow Lady Alvina to take the silver Germain bowl out of the safe and take it to London, with, I gather, a number of other valuable things?” There was silence. Then the Duke realised that Walton’s hands were shaking in the same way as Alvina’s had.

  As he could feel his anger rising, the Duke said:

  “Tell me the truth. I shall find out sooner or later, and I want to hear it now.”

  “It’s quite simple, Your Grace,” Walton said in a quavering voice. “Her Ladyship had no money.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THERE was silence for a moment before the Duke said in surprise:

  “What do you mean, no money?”

  Walton cleared his throat before he answered: