The Goddess and the Gaiety Girl Page 5

  “I must say,” Katie remarked, “he’s been a sport in taking a chance on our pulling it off.”

  “He’ll get his ‘pound of flesh’ all right,” Harry answered dryly. “There’s not going to be much left after he’s had his pickings.”

  “There’ll be enough when I can get back to the theatre,” Katie cried. “I know – I know it in my bones, Harry, that I’m going to have my name in gas-lights over the Gaiety door, just like you promised me.”

  She had been at first incredulous when Harry had to confess to her that without the operation she had not a chance of living, but with Larentia Braintree’s help they would get the money from the Duke’s family, and she would live.

  “You’re really going to say that he married me?” she asked.

  At first the comic side of it had not struck her, then, when it did, she laughed until the tears came into her eyes.

  “Can you see him, the stuck-up old Devil, marrying a common chorus girl, or rather a ballet dancer with a three minute solo?”

  “Who knows? If you had given him a son he might have done,” Harry said.

  “I suppose so,” Katie answered. “Funny old world, ain’t it? Think of all the trouble I’ve taken not to have one with you.”

  “God forbid! Two mouths to feed is bad enough, and I’m damned if I’d spend my time at home nursing the baby while you’re swinging your legs in the Strand!”

  Katie laughed again at the idea, and so did Harry.

  Then they sat down seriously to compile a list of things Larentia had to know when she was pretending to be a Gaiety girl.

  “We don’t need to be too fussy,” Katie said. “After all, the Garon family, especially the Marchioness, are not going to know what it’s like behind stage of a Music Hall.”

  “It’s not the sort of place she would be likely to visit at any time,” Harry agreed.

  “Nevertheless the girl’ll have to know what she’s talking about.”

  Harry knew she was right.

  He wrote down in his slightly flamboyant, but educated, handwriting the things Larentia was to remember, then begged her to destroy the list as soon as she had learned it off by heart.

  “You don’t want to leave anything lying about,” he said, “and remember that after the initial shock of learning who you are, they are going to try and find out how much you knew about the Duke, and doubtless about them.”

  “Why should they want to know that?” Larentia asked.

  “Because they will want to make certain that he really married you. No man would get married without telling his wife something about his family background.”

  “No – I can understand – that,” Larentia said.

  She was so intent on getting her father into the Nursing Home and finding a plausible explanation to convince him that he could be operated on by a private surgeon, that she did not think a great deal about herself.

  Harry had come forward with the idea that an admirer of her father’s who did not wish his name to be known had approached her and said he had heard of his illness through Dr. Medwin and was putting down the money for the operation anonymously.

  As Harry had almost the same story to tell about Katie, Dr. Medwin was clearly incredulous.

  “Now what is all this about?” he asked. “First Miss Braintree, then you, Carrington, have come up with £200 when it is the last thing I expected to happen.”

  “There is no reason why we should give you any explanation,” Harry said, “except that we ask you to believe what Miss Braintree has told you.”

  “If there is any ‘hokey-pokey’ going on, Carrington, which will involve her in trouble, I will murder you with my own hands!” Dr. Medwin said.

  “I am saving her father’s life,” Harry replied defiantly.

  “That is not what I asked you,” Dr. Medwin retorted, “and quite frankly, I am suspicious that you are up to something, though I cannot think what.”

  “Give me the benefit of the doubt, please,” Harry said, “and just be thankful that two of your patients will live to bless you because you are friendly enough with Curtis to get them in quickly.”

  “I still cannot imagine where this money has come from,” Dr. Medwin murmured.

  “Perhaps one day we’ll tell you,” Harry replied, “but for the moment look on it as manna from Heaven and be grateful.”

  Unexpectedly Dr. Medwin laughed.

  “I do not trust you any further than I can see you, Carrington. At the same time I have to hand it to you. There is clearly something going on under the counter, but at least it is benefiting two worthwhile people, and I am content with that.”

  “Stop harassing me, Doctor!” Harry cried.

  At the same time he was smiling.

  It was only after Larentia had left her father at the Nursing Home that she thought about herself and said to Harry,

  “I have suddenly thought of something.”

  “What is it?” Harry asked.

  “I have packed everything I possess, but I know I shall look very – shabby and out of place at Tregaron Castle.”

  “You will look beautiful,” he said with a note of sincerity in his voice, “and if your clothes are shabby, remember the Duke has not been at all generous to you all these years while you have kept his secret, and because he is ill you’ve not had a penny from him this last six months.”

  His eyes narrowed before he added,

  “Let them realise you have been hungry and cold during the winter because you could not afford the fuel! It will do them good to learn the facts of life for a change. The rich have no idea how the poor live!”

  There was so much bitterness in his tone that Larentia knew it meant something personal to him.

  She had often wondered what his background was, but had been too shy to ask questions.

  It was obvious that he was a gentleman by birth, that he had been well educated, and that he must have once lived a very different life from the one he was leading now.

  “I would like Papa to meet him and tell me what he thinks,” she told herself.

  But she knew it would be a mistake for the Professor to come in contact with Harry Carrington until everything was over, and perhaps then she could be honest about what had occurred.

  ‘Papa would be shocked at my acting a lie and trying to extract money from the Duke, even if his wife was treated badly,’ Larentia thought.

  Then as she said a little prayer that she might be forgiven, she could only remember that whatever she was doing, and however reprehensible it might be, she was saving her father’s life.

  She loved him and he must live, nothing else was of any consequence.

  Chapter Three

  The servants withdrew and the Dowager Marchioness of Humber was left alone with her nephew, the 5th Duke of Tregaron.

  They appeared to be sitting in a small lighted island in the middle of the huge dining room that could easily hold a hundred people, and it had already come to the new Duke’s mind that in future, except when there was a party, he would dine in what had once been called the private dining room.

  But now the great pointed Gothic ceiling with its carved stone capitals seemed full of dark shadows, while the candles on the table glittered on the gold ornaments, which were part of the history of the Garon family.

  “You must be tired, Aunt Muriel,” the Duke said, as the Marchioness sipped her coffee.

  “I am a little,” she confessed, “and if you will excuse me, Justin, I will go to bed as soon as we have finished dinner. It has been an exhausting three days having so many people in the house.”

  The Duke smiled a little cynically.

  “I could not help being amused by the number of family who turned up to pay their respects to Uncle Murdoch when he was dead, when none of them had a good word to say for him when he was alive.”

  “And not without reason,” the Marchioness replied. “You were told his last words were that you would make a better Duke than he has been, and that is what
we expect of you, Justin. It should not be difficult.”

  “I never expected to inherit,” the Duke replied. “In fact, I was sure that with three wives and his women following one after the other, Uncle Murdoch sooner or later would produce a son or have one foisted on him.”

  “That is what we have always been afraid of,” the Marchioness said frankly.

  There was a note in her voice that told the Duke it had been a very real fear.

  Then she said briskly,

  “What you have to do now, Justin is to settle down and have a large family. It has been a Garon tradition for hundreds of years, and it always puzzled me why my brother was unable to produce a son.”

  Justin could not make the obvious reply and after a moment he said,

  “Before I think of marriage there are a great many things to be done. The estate, I am quite certain, needs new ideas and perhaps new people to administer it, and I cannot help feeling that with Uncle Murdoch oblivious to what has been going on there has been a great deal of unnecessary extravagance or perhaps even thieving.”

  “I am sure you will prove yourself to be a very good organiser,” the Marchioness said, “and that reminds me, I think it is time you retired the Chaplain and replaced him with a younger man.”

  “I have already thought that myself.”

  He met his aunt’s eyes and they were both thinking that the Chaplain, who had had an easy time of it for so many years, had relieved his boredom in drink.

  They were also aware that the services which should have taken place regularly in the private Chapel for the staff and anyone else on the estate who wished to attend, had been reduced to only one a month.

  The Duke started thinking of that and many other things that required his attention.

  It was true that he had never expected to inherit the Dukedom, nor had he thought it at all likely that his uncle would die at such a comparatively early age.

  The Garon family had a tradition of longevity and he had been sensible enough not to waste his time waiting for ‘dead men’s shoes’.

  He had, instead, filled his life with the activities at which he excelled, and this had led to some interesting experiences arising from his exceptional ability to speak several languages besides his own.

  He had travelled frequently to far off parts of the world at other people’s expense, and he wondered now if he would find what his aunt called ‘settling down’ rather dull after the many adventures which had come his way in the last few years.

  Then he told himself that besides his responsibility for and the reorganisation of the Garon estates, he would also find a place waiting for him in the House of Lords. Politics had always interested him, especially when they concerned Foreign Affairs.

  The Marchioness finished her coffee and put down her cup.

  “I will leave you to your port, Justin,” she said, “and tomorrow I must make plans for returning home.”

  “Do not hurry to do so, Aunt Muriel,” the Duke replied. “You know I like having you here and your advice on family matters has been of tremendous value to me. After all, I have been out of touch for a number of years.”

  “There are plenty of other relatives eager to tell you anything you want to know,” the Marchioness said with a smile, “but you know I am always there if you want me. In fact, I am flattered that you should do so.”

  She rose as she spoke and the Duke crossed the room ahead of her to open the door.

  The Marchioness paused beside it.

  “Goodnight, dear boy,” she said. “It makes me very happy to see you in my father’s place. He was a fine man and I am sure that he would be very proud of his grandson.”

  “Thank you,” the Duke said simply.

  He bent as he spoke and kissed his aunt’s cheek, then walking with her head high and her back stiff in her usual regal fashion the Marchioness started down the corridor towards the Great Hall.

  The Duke went back to his place at the head of the table and poured himself a very small glass of port from the cut-glass decanter.

  He took it in his hand and looked up to where over the stone mantelpiece there was a picture of one of the first Garons to live in the Castle, Sir Justin Garon, after whom he was named.

  “To the Garons!” he said. “And may I be worthy of you, Sir Justin, and all those who followed you to embellish our name in the history of England! “

  He drank his port, then sat back in his chair, a smile of amusement on his lips.

  He had felt very conscious of the Castle’s magnificence when he had come home, and of the part it had played in shaping his character when he was a small boy.

  Because he had disliked his uncle and his appalling reputation he had, as soon as he was old enough to know his own mind, never stayed in the Castle.

  He had, however, spent a great deal of time there as a child because his father loved it and his grandfather liked having his family permanently around him.

  Yet although he no longer said it, it had always been in his mind, and he knew that when he dreamed at night it was not of a woman but of the turrets and towers that were imbued with a spiritual quality that he could never find in any female.

  He was just thinking that he would leave the dining room when the door opened and the Butler came towards him.

  “Excuse me, Your Grace. There’s a young lady here asking for her Ladyship, but as she’s retired to bed I don’t like to disturb her.”

  “No, of course not, Dalton,” the Duke replied. “But surely it is rather late for anybody to be calling?”

  “I don’t think it is a social call, my Lord. The young lady, as I understand it, has come from London specially to see her Ladyship on a private matter.”

  “From London, at this hour of the night?”

  “Yes, my Lord, and she’s very insistent that she must speak to her Ladyship, and I don’t think she will go away until she has done so.”

  The Duke was just about to say that his uncle’s secretary and comptroller who had run the Castle for years could see the caller, when he remembered that he had sent Mr. Arran to London immediately after the funeral.

  This was because following the announcement of the Duke’s death there would inevitably be demands for money, and perhaps even suggestions of blackmail from the women with whom the late Duke had associated indiscriminately.

  To himself Justin described them as the ‘sweepings of Piccadilly’, and he was quite certain that they would do everything in their power to extort money from the estate now that the man who had spent so much on them, for so many years, had gone to his grave.

  “We must have no scandals, Arran,” he said. “At the same time, if we are over generous with one, the next day there will be a dozen to take her place.”

  “I am well aware of that, Your Grace,” Mr. Arran replied, “and I have been horrified these past years, to know how much money has been expended on such trash!”

  “It is something which will not occur in the future,” the Duke said and his voice was hard.

  Now, unfortunately, Arran was not there to cope in a way in which he was undoubtedly expert, and the Duke said with a touch of irritation in his voice,

  “I presume I shall have to see this woman. I suppose she has a conveyance to take her away when I have finished with her?”

  The Butler looked embarrassed.

  “I’m afraid not, my Lord.”

  He saw the question in the Duke’s eyes and explained quickly,

  “I was having my supper downstairs, my Lord, and there was only a footman on duty. She came here in a hackney carriage from the station and the coachman had unloaded her trunk and driven away without James insisting he should wait.”

  The Duke’s lips tightened.

  It was really an intolerable imposition, he thought, for somebody to arrive so late and automatically expect to be housed.

  “Where have you put this importunate visitor?” he asked rising to his feet.

  “I have shown her into the writing room
, my Lord, being the nearest room to the front door. Would your Lordship prefer to see her elsewhere?”

  “Yes, in the library,” the Duke answered.

  He left the dining room and proceeded down the corridor towards the library, which was on the other side of the Great Hall.

  He thought how annoying it was when he had looked forward to a quiet evening, thinking over his plans for the future, that he should be interrupted by a stranger, who had doubtless come to ask for money.

  His uncle’s acquaintances of the female sex were not interested in anything else.

  It would doubtless be a hard-luck story, and the woman had been astute enough to ask for the Marchioness because his aunt was known for her good works and her generosity to a number of charities, which also had the blessing of the Queen.

  “She will find I am not so soft,” the Duke told himself.

  When he entered the huge library, which was one of the features of the Castle, he stood with his back to the carved mediaeval fireplace with its brilliantly painted heraldic coat-of-arms.

  The books, which had been accumulated over the centuries, stretched from floor to ceiling, and there was a balcony on one side of the library that could be reached by a small twisting stairway, which the Duke remembered he had found an exciting plaything when he was a child.

  Now he thought with satisfaction that he would have room to house his own collection of books, which was smaller than he would have wished merely because he was continually on the move.

  The door opened and the butler announced,

  “Miss Katie King, my Lord!”

  The Duke watched a slight figure come into the room. For a moment, as she was beyond the light of the oil lamps, he could only see that she was wearing a long, dark cloak and she moved towards him very slowly as if she was nervous.

  Then as she drew nearer he saw a thin face with a small pointed chin dominated by two very large eyes that were looking at him apprehensively.

  It flashed through his mind that she was unexpectedly lovely, and then beneath the small plain bonnet trimmed with cheap ribbons he saw her hair and drew in his breath.

  At first he thought he must be imagining the colour of it, then secondly that it must be dyed.