From Hell to Heaven Page 5

  “What you are implying is that it is my turn,” Peregrine replied.

  He handed over the reins, looking with some surprise at the loaves the Marquis held in his arms.

  Then he found himself carrying the milk churn up the path and into the kitchen of the orphanage.

  On reflection it struck both the Earl and Peregrine how efficiently Kistna managed to get the older children to put out plates and cups on the kitchen table and help her cut the loaves into small pieces and soak them in the milk for the youngest of the orphans.

  There were six of them, including the little girl with the injured back and Daisy, who seemed still half-conscious from the beating she had received at the hands of Mrs. Moore.

  They were all fed while Peregrine and the Marquis cut up the hams that Jason had produced from the back of the phaeton and there was also a cooked chicken, which the farmer’s wife had provided.

  A man fortunately appeared from the village to take care of the horses and Jason was invaluable in keeping the older boys from snatching the food from the younger ones.

  By the time everything was distributed evenly and the greediest of them were unable to eat any more, the Marquis had gone in search of Mrs. Owen and brought her back in triumph.

  She was just the type of woman who he thought should be in charge of children and she even wept a little as she told the Marquis how upset she had been at the way they had been treated.

  She also related that everybody in the village had been scandalised at Mrs. Moore’s behaviour, but had realised that, as she was a very close personal friend of Mr. Harboard, there was nothing they could do.

  “You could have written to me,” the Marquis suggested.

  “I thought of it, my Lord,” Mrs. Owen said simply, “but we knew that Mr. Harboard was in charge of the estate and, with you away so much in London, we thought perhaps you would never receive the letter.”

  The Marquis told himself angrily that never again would he neglect his responsibilities on his estate or delegate them to people who were not worthy of his trust.

  He seemed to remember far back in his childhood his Nanny saying,

  “If you want something done properly, do it yourself!” and that, he told himself bitterly, was the truth.

  “What I am asking, Mrs. Owen,” he said, “is for you to put things right for me and see that the children have everything they need. I assure you that at the moment no expense need be spared in having things exactly as you think they should be.”

  He felt that no woman in the circumstances could resist such an opportunity and he was right.

  Mrs. Owen drove back with him in his phaeton, saying that she would send for her personal belongings later and the children, now they were fed and looking quite different from what they had before, greeted her with undeniable pleasure.

  “Have there been no new children here since I left?” Mrs. Owen enquired of Kistna.

  She shook her head.

  “I think Mrs. Moore was offered some more,” she replied, “but she always said we were full up, which was not true. There are two empty bedrooms.”

  She gave a little glance at the Marquis as she spoke, which told him without her elaborating the point, that Mr. Harboard had undoubtedly collected the money for children who were not there and for the same reason he had not reported that any of them had died.

  By the time he and Peregrine were ready to leave, he was in a towering rage at the behaviour of his Agent and was determined to sack him as soon as he returned to the Abbey.

  He shook hands with Mrs. Owen, promised her that he would send more food as soon as possible and was just about to depart when Peregrine drew him to one side.

  “Have you not forgotten something, Linden?” he enquired.

  “I hope not,” the Marquis replied.

  He and Mrs. Owen had discussed the children’s clothes, the furnishings and the women who were to come back to clean and cook as they had always done.

  He had agreed to the re-employment of the gardeners who, like the other servants, had been sacked by Mr. Harboard so that he could take their wages for himself.

  “The reason we came here,” Peregrine prompted him.

  The Marquis looked at him uncomprehendingly and he went on,

  “Surely the girl, Kistna, is just what we are looking for?”

  For a moment the Marquis was astonished.

  Then he looked back down the passage through the open door of the kitchen where he could see Kistna still at the table, trying to coax Daisy to swallow a few mouthfuls of bread and milk.

  She had the child on her lap and, as the Marquis watched her, Daisy too exhausted to eat hid her face against her shoulder.

  Kistna smiled and kissed her hair.

  Then, holding the under-nourished child close in her arms as if she was a baby, she came walking down the corridor.

  “I am putting Daisy to bed,” she explained to the Marquis as she reached him, “and, if she is no better in the morning – do you think we might send for – the doctor?”

  She spoke a little anxiously as if it was an unheard of extravagance.

  The Marquis knew without being told that however ill any of the children had been, Mrs. Moore had never allowed a doctor to be called in.

  Their sufferings had meant nothing to her and, if they died, it was just more money in her lover’s pocket.

  “Of course send for the doctor, and tonight, if it is necessary,” he answered.

  He saw a sudden light come into Kistna’s eyes and realised, because she was so thin, that they had sunk into her face.

  Then, as she gave him a smile and started to walk up the stairs, he realised that Peregrine was waiting for his answer.

  “You are right,” he said. “She is quick-witted and, if we feed her, she may look more prepossessing. We will collect her tomorrow morning.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I don’t understand,” Kistna murmured.

  The Marquis paused as if he was choosing his words carefully before he replied,

  “It is quite simple. Because I feel responsible that you have suffered so much these last three years, I intend that you shall become my Ward.”

  “Your – Ward?”

  He saw that she did not understand exactly what that entailed and he said slowly,

  “It means that I, as your Guardian, will look after you, provide you with clothes and, when you are restored to health and feel that you can face it, I will introduce you to Society.”

  For a moment Kistna stared at him incredulously.

  Then she said in a voice that trembled,

  “D-do you – really mean – that?”

  “I assure you that when I make a promise I always carry it through,” the Marquis replied.

  “Then it is the most – wonderful thing I can possibly – imagine could – happen to me,” Kistna said, “and I only wish that Papa and Mama could thank you. It is – difficult for me to find the – right words.”

  “I don’t want to hear them,” the Marquis said.

  Peregrine, who was listening, felt that he was a little embarrassed.

  They had discussed last night what they should say to Kistna and they had agreed that she must be convinced that she really was the Marquis’s Ward.

  “The less acting and pretence there is about the whole plan the better,” he said. “We must not forget that Branscombe in his own way is intelligent.”

  Peregrine had agreed that the Marquis’s idea of making Kistna in actual fact his Ward was a good one.

  They had sat up late discussing the whole idea and Peregrine had wondered what Kistna’s reaction would be. He thought now that her gratitude was touching.

  There had been many things to do after they had left the orphanage yesterday. First the Marquis, on his arrival back at the Abbey, had sent for his Agent and told the man to leave his employment immediately and adding,

  “You know as well as I do what are the penalties for theft and the lightest sentence you wou
ld receive would be one of transportation. Because, however, I don’t wish your appalling behaviour to be known to the outside world, I am letting you go free.”

  He thought there was an expression of hope in the man’s eyes and he went on,

  “But you will leave with nothing, not even your personal belongings which have doubtless been purchased with the money you have stolen from me. You will go only with what you stand up in.”

  “I have to live, my Lord,” the Agent said in a surly tone.

  “If you are hungry, it will give you some idea of what those wretched children felt when you refused to feed them,” the Marquis said sharply. “Now, get out! If I ever see you again, I will have you arrested!”

  When the Agent, white-faced and shaking, had left the Abbey the Marquis sent for his housekeeper.

  Mrs. Dawes had been at the Abbey for over twenty years. She had a kindly nature, but her department of the house was run with a rod of iron.

  She came into the study in her rustling black silk dress with her long silver chatelaine hanging from her waist.

  She dropped the Marquis a respectful curtsey and he said,

  “Good evening, Mrs. Dawes. I need your help.”

  He guessed that by now Jason’s story of what had happened at the orphanage would have reached the servants in the Abbey and he knew by the expression on Mrs. Dawes’s face that she was wondering in what way he would expect her to help the orphans.

  “You may have learned,” he began, “that the orphanage in Westbury village is a disgrace and the conditions I found there must never be repeated.”

  “It’s something that wouldn’t have happened, my Lord, if people, who shall be nameless, had been trustworthy.”

  “Things are being put right by the previous Matron,” the Marquis explained. “But, while I was there, I found that through a most regrettable error my Ward, who had come from India had been sent to the orphanage rather than to me here at the Abbey.”

  This was something Mrs. Dawes obviously had not anticipated and the Marquis was aware that he had aroused her interest.

  He had already decided that Kistna should always be known by her Christian name. It would not make the change when it came to deceiving Branscombe too difficult.

  “’Tis a terrible thing to have happened, my Lord.”

  “It is indeed and that is why we must make reparation in every way we can, Mrs. Dawes, for the years Miss Kistna has suffered and quite unnecessarily.”

  “What does your Lordship wish me to do?”

  “First thing in the morning I shall send a carriage to London,” the Marquis replied, “to bring back a dressmaker who I know will be able to provide the right type of clothing, but she will naturally require Miss Kistna’s measurements.”

  Mrs. Dawes nodded, but she did not speak and the Marquis went on,

  “One difficulty, Mrs. Dawes, is that Miss Kistna is actually in rags and I have no wish for the story of her neglect to be known outside these four walls.”

  “Of course not, my Lord!” Mrs. Dawes agreed in a shocked voice.

  “You must therefore find her something to wear when she receives the dressmaker and I also require, Mrs. Dawes, a cloak and a bonnet to convey her from the orphanage to the Abbey in.”

  “I understand, my Lord,” Mrs. Dawes said, “and it should not be too difficult. Your Lordship’s guests have often left behind gowns for which they had no further use and which I have kept in case they should come in useful. Mrs. Barnes, the sewing woman, is at the moment in the Abbey and can alter anything as soon as the young lady arrives.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Dawes,” the Marquis smiled.

  When the following morning he and Peregrine set off for the orphanage, he saw that one of the servants had placed a small trunk and a hat box at the back of the phaeton.

  He was therefore prepared that Kistna should look a little different when they drove back to the Abbey, after there had been a touching farewell to the rest of the children.

  They too, the Marquis thought, already looked different. They were cleaner and seemed to be better clothed and he gathered that they had been provided with garments by the villagers until Mrs. Owen could buy exactly what was required from the nearest town.

  One child told him with pride that they had eggs and bacon for breakfast and another added that there had been honey and hot milk.

  They spoke as if, as Peregrine said jokingly, it had been ‘manna from Heaven’.

  The Marquis noticed as he drove away with Kistna towards the Abbey that she was very silent and he guessed it was because she felt that everything that was happening was like being in a dream and she was half-afraid that if she spoke she would wake up.

  Now, looking at her in the gown provided by Mrs. Dawes, into which she had changed before she came down to luncheon, he thought that because she was so thin she was ugly, almost to the extent of being grotesque. But that was no reason to assume that with good food and freedom from worry, she might not become passable in appearance.

  He appreciated that the gown she was wearing was too old for her and, although the seamstress had obviously taken large tucks in at the waist, it was still far too big.

  But at least she was decently covered, although the bones protruding at her wrists, the hollow shadows around her eyes and the sharp lines to her chin and cheekbones were all too obvious.

  She was like a very young bird without its feathers, the Marquis thought, and, if she looked as she did now when the Earl saw her, he would refuse to marry her, however rich he might think her to be.

  Then he consoled himself with the thought that good clothes could make a difference to any woman and he had always been told that starvation was extremely disfiguring.

  Now, as he saw the tears of gratitude come into Kistna’s eyes, he felt uncomfortably that he was being a hypocrite in evoking such a response for something he was doing entirely for his own ends.

  Then he pacified his conscience by reflecting that there was hardly a woman in the length and breadth of the country who would not be only too eager to marry the Earl and occupy a position in the Social world that was second to none.

  “It is a very great – honour that I should be your – Ward,” Kistna was saying, “but – suppose I disappoint you and you become – sorry that you did not leave me to earn my own living – as I intended to do when I first came to England?”

  “At fifteen?” the Marquis enquired.

  “I thought – perhaps I could be – apprenticed to a – dressmaking shop.”

  The Marquis remembered that he had heard that apprentices had a very hard time. In fact many of them received such meagre wages that they were as hungry as Kistna had been at the orphanage.

  Aloud he said,

  “I think you will find being my Ward is far more comfortable and definitely more enjoyable.”

  “But, of course,” Kistna agreed. “It is only that – I am a little afraid.”

  She looked round the room as if she was realising for the first time how large and luxurious it was.

  Then she said in a small voice,

  “Papa and Mama were very – poor because they were – Missionaries and I am afraid that I shall make many – mistakes because – the way you live is – very grand.”

  The Marquis, however, had already noticed that at luncheon Kistna had watched which cutlery he and Peregrine used and did not pick up a knife or fork until they had set her an example.

  He thought that it was intelligent of her and he saw too that she ate delicately and from the educated way she spoke her parents had obviously been gentlefolk.

  “What I am suggesting,” he said, “is that until you feel well and have put on a little weight and have all the clothes I intend to provide you with, we stay here quietly at the Abbey so that no one sees you.”

  “I cannot imagine any – place that could be more – beautiful!” Kistna exclaimed.

  “That is what I hoped you would think,” the Marquis replied, “and Mr. Wallingham
and I will instruct you about the etiquette you will have to know when I take you to London.”

  He knew as he spoke that Peregrine looked at him a little questioningly.

  They had not really discussed any details of how they should produce the Marquis’s Ward and Peregrine had thought that it would be wiser for the Earl to hear that she was at the Abbey and invite himself to stay.

  Then he suspected that the Marquis was deliberately making Kistna realise how hard she must work if she was to be a success in the Social world with its balls and Receptions and endless other forms of entertainment.

  Watching Kistna while the Marquis talked to her, he thought that she was exceptionally sensitive and her emotions seemed to mirror themselves in her eyes.

  Like the Marquis he wondered what she would look like when she was not so pitiably thin and emaciated.

  Then the Marquis said,

  “I expect that Mrs. Dawes has told you that later this afternoon the dressmaker will be arriving from London with a number of gowns that you can wear immediately and she will make you many more. Do you think until she arrives it would be wise to rest?”

  “Yes – I will do that,” Kistna said obediently, “but please – my Lord – would it be – possible for me to have some books to read? There are many – in the library.”

  “You like reading?” the Marquis enquired.

  “It has been agonising these past three years when there was nothing I could read in the orphanage – except for my Bible.”

  She gave a shy little smile as she said,

  “It is now the only possession I own, because all the other things that came with me from India have either fallen to bits – or I have given them to the children.”

  The Marquis knew as she spoke that she would have given the children, who were suffering from hunger and cold, all the warm clothing she had.

  Because he felt that it was a mistake for her to go on thinking about the past, he said,

  “There is a large selection of books in the Abbey and you must ask my Curator to show you the shelves where you will find the latest novels, including those, I am sure, of Sir Walter Scott.”

  “There is so much – I want to read,” Kistna said in a rapt voice.