The Trail to Love Read online

  “Was very pretty, I’d expect!” interrupted Monty. “Stay away from her, Richard. Find yourself a nice little heiress!”

  “I’ll probably never see her again, Monty. She’s leaving London and I am such a fool, I didn’t think to ask her where she was going.”

  Monty gave a sigh of relief and took his arm.

  “Thank goodness for that, Richard. Come on, let’s crack open a bottle of champagne!”

  And he gently steered Richard towards the lighted windows of one of Piccadilly’s finest restaurants.

  If his old friend was going to be wandering all over the country, sitting out in all weathers painting mountains and ruins and staying in uncomfortable local inns, Monty was determined that his last night in London should be one to remember.

  But even several bottles of champagne and a bevy of pretty dancers who all flirted with him madly, could not erase Elissa’s lovely face from Richard’s mind.

  He would see her again.

  He had to see her again.

  She would come back into his life he was sure.

  *

  It was eleven o’clock in the morning and the sun was streaming in through the windows of Lady Hartwell’s parlour.

  Elissa had been sitting there for a couple of hours in this stuffy room waiting for her Grandmama, who seemed to be taking a long time to rise from her bed.

  A fat white pug dog was patrolling the parlour on bandy little legs and Elissa held her hand out to it, but it growled at her and backed away.

  Then it barked loudly and ran to the door as Lady Hartwell dressed in purple velvet swept into the room.

  Elissa jumped to her feet.

  Her grandmother frowned at her with an expression of extreme disapproval.

  “That dress is a disgrace,” she said in her loud clear voice. “The least of my parlour maids would be instantly dismissed if I found her in such a garment.”

  “I am sorry, but this is the only black dress I have.”

  “Such an unsuitable colour!”

  “I am in mourning for my father.”

  The old woman sniffed haughtily.

  “Duties of remembrance to that unspeakable man have surely been carried out by now!”

  “But Papa has been dead only a few weeks.”

  Elissa was determined to stand her ground and she raised her eyes to meet the old woman’s fierce dark gaze.

  “Well. If you insist on prolonging this nonsense, I shall ask Mrs. Nantwich to look out a spare black gown for you from the servants’ outfits. And your hair is hanging round your face like a schoolgirl’s. Did you not bring your maid with you to dress it?”

  “I don’t have a maid. I have always done my own hair.”

  Lady Hartwell sniffed.

  “I suppose then it falls to me to provide you with a maid. I simply cannot endure to have you looking such a fright. Ring the bell! I now require a cup of hot chocolate immediately.”

  Elissa looked around her for a bell, but could see nothing that resembled one.

  Then she realised that there was a long embroidered panel of material hanging by the fireplace with a tassel on the end of it.

  She walked to it, pulled it cautiously and a distant peal sounded from somewhere below.

  Lady Hartwell sat down on the sofa in front of the fire and the little dog ran barking up to her.

  “Get away, Nelson,” the old woman said, pushing the little creature away with her foot. “I have a dreadful headache and I really cannot be bothered with you now.”

  Elissa wondered what she should do now.

  She felt like the dog, for her grandmother obviously could not be bothered with her either. She had been rude about Elissa’s appearance and now she was ignoring her completely.

  “Lady Hartwell, would you like me to take the pug outside for a walk?” she asked.

  The old woman’s fierce black eyes stared at her in surprise.

  “A walk? Whatever for? Nelson is a lap dog. He stays with me in the parlour.”

  “I just thought that perhaps his barking might make your head feel worse – ”

  Lady Hartwell frowned and put her fingers to her temples.

  “Go on then, you take him! At least I won’t have to suffer the sight of you looking so disreputable. Make sure that you bring him back safely.”

  “Of course, Lady Hartwell.”

  The pug growled at Elissa and ran under the sofa, hiding behind his Mistress’s purple skirts.

  “Whatever are you doing, grovelling on the floor in that ridiculous way?” asked Lady Hartwell, as Elissa went down on all fours and tried to catch him.

  She was just about to give up when a maid arrived with a heavy tray of hot chocolate, and as Nelson emerged his nose twitching at the aroma, Elissa caught him by his jewelled collar.

  She slipped out of the parlour and down the wide stairs into the hall.

  It looked so different in daylight and she could see an array of portraits of her dark-haired Hartwell ancestors gazing down at her from high up on the walls.

  Nelson began shivering as soon as they stepped out of the front door and Elissa picked him up and held him close to her to keep him warm.

  Stretching all around her was an intricate pattern of flowerbeds lined by neatly trimmed box hedges and in the distance endless bushes clipped into geometric shapes.

  ‘Papa would have hated this garden,’ she reflected. ‘There are no colours, it’s far too formal and nothing wild anywhere to be seen.’

  The pug wriggled in her arms and Elissa put him down on the garden path and let him run about among the flowerbeds.

  No wonder he was so fat if he had to stay indoors all the time in the hot stuffy parlour.

  After a few minutes he trotted back to her panting and she picked up him again.

  Then she looked up at the sunlight shining over the hills beyond the garden, picking up bright flashes of green and yellow.

  And crossing the hill was a path leading away into the distance and looking almost golden in the bright light.

  “I wonder where that leads to?” she asked the little dog. “Don’t you think it looks intriguing? It’s far too cold today, but we shall go there, Nelson, as soon as we can.”

  And a thrill of excitement passed through her body as she spoke.

  However tough life at Fellbrook Towers might be, the hills and moors beyond the house were full of beauty and promise just waiting to be discovered.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Richard squeezed a little more yellow from the tube of paint onto his palette.

  He was so completely lost in the thrill of his latest painting that he hardly noticed that his fingers were quite numb with cold.

  The shade of green was not quite right yet – and he wanted to capture exactly the colour of the lonely Sussex Downs that rose up into the clear blue winter sky in front of him.

  Once he had perfected the faded tint of the wintry grass that covered the Downs, then he could add the details of the leafless thorn trees and the shepherd’s wooden hut that would bring life and interest to the picture.

  “Cold work, my lad,” came a voice from over his shoulder.

  Richard jumped with surprise.

  He had not noticed that the old shepherd who lived in the hut had come up behind him and was watching him at his work.

  “Yes – it is!”

  “I shall be lightin’ the stove and brewin’ up, young man, if you’d like to come and join me,” said the shepherd, leaning on his crook as he surveyed the rough outlines on Richard’s canvas.

  “Thank you, but I shall need to finish this before the light goes.”

  “Tis a fine thing, devotion!” the shepherd muttered and patted Richard on the shoulder. “It will reap you great rewards, young sir.”

  He ambled off down the winding sheep track that led to his hut.

  Now that he had mixed the perfect green, Richard’s brush flew across the canvas filling in the gentle curves of the Downs.

  A plume of smoke rose
up from the chimney on the wooden hut as the shepherd now lit his stove and Richard sighed with satisfaction, as he watched it drift up into the clear sky as it would make a perfect finishing touch to his composition.

  He worked swiftly away adding the trail of smoke to his canvas and as the shepherd emerged from the hut and walked back up the path, he put the old man in the painting too with few quick strokes of paint.

  “’ere, young sir, this’ll warm you a little,” the old man said and held out a tin mug of scalding hot tea.

  Richard wrapped his scarf around the mug, so it did not burn his hands and sipped the tea gratefully.

  “I’m almost done. I’ve the colours down and that’s most important as they change incredibly quickly when the sun begins to set.”

  “You’ve caught the scene to the very life!” the old shepherd exclaimed, bending down to peer at the painting. “Why – there I am, comin’ up the path just now. ’ow you can do it, young sir, I dinna know!”

  “I’m glad you think it looks lifelike, for you know this place better than anyone else. If I can please you, I must be doing something right! But – forgive me, I don’t know your name?”

  “Old Newman, they call me,” he chuckled. “I shall not be offended if you laughs, sir, as most folk do!”

  “I shall call this picture after you, Old Newman, in gratitude for this excellent cup of tea.”

  The shepherd was quite overcome at the idea.

  “I didn’t think to be famous in me old age!”

  “Steady on!” Richard laughed. “It may not come to that! I have to find a gallery to take my paintings first!”

  Old Newman shook his head.

  “I’m no judge of art, young sir, but you have a rare talent in my opinion. I don’t doubt you’ll make your way in the world.”

  Richard felt very touched by the old man’s faith in him. It warmed him almost as much as the hot tea.

  “Thank you, Old Newman! I shall remember what you said,” he told the shepherd and then he watched the old man make his way back along the track to his little hut.

  Richard added a few final brushstrokes until the sun slipped behind the tall Downs and the sky began to darken. Soon the first stars would be coming out.

  It was time to go.

  He stretched out his stiff limbs and started to pack away his paints and brushes, trying to ignore the sadness that always fell on him when he finished work for the day, and he remembered once again that he had no home and no loved ones to care for him.

  At least he could be sure of warmth and company tonight.

  He was staying at a local inn, The Stag, and though the food was plain and the bed was narrow and hard, the landlady, Mrs. Betts, made him most welcome as she had a son the same age as Richard who was serving in the Army.

  ‘I do hope Old Newman is right,’ he mused, as he hurried down the steep lane that led to the village. ‘I don’t know if I’m any good.’

  He wished again that Leo Valentine was still alive to help him and give him advice.

  And, as always happened when he thought of the old artist, he remembered his daughter Elissa, the lovely girl with the glorious golden hair.

  Was she too feeling lonely on this icy spring night?

  He knew nothing about where she had gone, when like him she had to leave her old home.

  Richard opened the door of the inn and stepped into warmth and noise and then Mrs. Betts called out a cheerful greeting to him from behind the bar.

  ‘I’ve been so lucky,’ he thought. ‘Everyone I have met since I left London has been so kind to me.”

  As he took off his coat and prepared to sit down to a hearty meal of Mrs. Betts’ finest steak-and-kidney pie, he sent up a little prayer that Elissa, wherever she might be, and whoever she might be with, was meeting with as much kindness as he had found in this quiet corner of Sussex.

  *

  The wind caught at Elissa’s hair and pulled it loose from her earlier unsuccessful attempt to put it up.

  “Oh, Nelson, I shall be in trouble again,” she sighed as she tried to recapture it with a couple of hairpins.

  The little pug barked joyfully at her and scampered away between the box hedges enjoying his freedom.

  Elissa was happy to be in the open air too.

  It had been a long day sitting in the stuffy parlour, winding Lady Hartwell’s embroidery wool and ringing the bell endlessly for hot chocolate and smelling salts.

  She stretched her arms above her head and looked out beyond the garden at the wild green hillside, where the mysterious path stretched away into the distance.

  “I must find out where that leads soon!” she cried and the little dog heard her voice and came trotting back to her to see what she was doing.

  “What would we do without our walks?” she asked him, patting his small round head.

  “My Grandmama does not like me, Nelson,” Elissa confided in a low voice, although there was no one in the garden to hear her.

  “I look like my Papa whom she hated. And all day long I sit with her and speak politely and do everything she asks me to and yet she scarcely speaks a word to me and will not look at me at all.”

  She shivered at the thought that her Ladyship had finally found a maid for her, insisting that the girl should work alongside her own French maid, Ernestine, until she was fully satisfied that she was ready to take up her duties with Elissa.

  The thought that from now on there would always be someone with her in her bedroom, fussing around and telling her what to do struck a chill into Elissa’s heart, and made her reluctant to go back inside despite the cold wind and the darkening sky at the end of the afternoon.

  What if her maid was like grim old Ernestine, who after many long years at The Towers was just as fierce and unsmiling as her Mistress?

  But there was nothing to be done and at least Lady Hartwell’s constant complaints about the state of Elissa’s hair and clothes would come to an end.

  Elissa had little time to fret over the thought of her new maid as Nelson suddenly leapt up and began barking.

  “What is it, little one?” she enquired and then she could see beyond the garden wall that someone was riding a black horse over the hilltop towards The Towers.

  “Why, well done, Nelson! Someone’s coming! He is still quite far away, but you knew. Well done!”

  The pug peered up at her with his bulging black eyes, grateful for her praise.

  Elissa watched as the horseman drew to a halt, so swiftly that his horse reared up.

  “He’s coming here,” she remarked to the dog. “He’s stopped to look at The Towers!”

  She would have liked to stay and watch as horse and rider came nearer, but a few fat drops of rain began to fall from the sky and Nelson whined unhappily and pawed at her feet.

  “Let’s go in then, little one. Perhaps there will be a guest at dinner tonight and I will not have to sit in silence and watch her Ladyship complain about the food.”

  “I’m sorry, miss, I don’t mean to ’urt you,” Ellen, her new young maid, exclaimed as she pulled a long comb through Elissa’s long tresses just before dinner. “I’m not much used to dressin’ a lady’s ’air.”

  Ellen was not in any way the person that Elissa had expected, being young and shy and nervous on her first evening on duty.

  “Please don’t worry, Ellen, it is my fault if there are tangles. The wind was blowing so hard in the garden this afternoon. I should not have gone out.”

  “You are very kind, miss,” said Ellen, wincing even more than Elissa as she caught another tangle in the teeth of the comb.

  “Not at all. I am really so glad it is you that Lady Hartwell sent to me and not another Ernestine!”

  “Oh, but Ernestine is just the perfect lady’s maid! I shall never be as clever as she is at my duties.”

  Elissa laughed.

  “I am sure Ernestine is the best of her kind, but I know she would pull my corset laces much too tight, and frown at me dreadfully if I went
out for one of my walks!”

  “There!”

  Ellen pulled the comb through the last long strand of golden hair and began to pin it up into a knot at the back of Elissa’s head.

  “Is it as good as your maid in London used to do for you?” she asked anxiously.

  “Oh Ellen – I’ve never had a maid at all! I used to always put my hair up myself when I thought about it and that wasn’t very often.”

  Ellen’s mouth fell open with surprise.

  “But you are Lady Hartwell’s granddaughter, aren’t you!”

  “Yes, I am. Though I think even she has difficulty believing it most of the time. But, Ellen, now I have you to help me, I’ll start looking a little more as she would wish!”

  Ellen fixed a final pin in Elissa’s hair and brought her an embroidered wrap made from fine black silk to wear around her shoulders.

  “There, miss. I found this among a pile of things her Ladyship was gettin’ rid of. I do wish you ’ad a lovely silk dress to wear with it tonight, but it’ll ’elp to make you look elegant.”

  Elissa adjusted the beautiful wrap to cover the plain black dress that Lady Hartwell had requisitioned for her granddaughter from the housekeeper.

  “Perhaps, if there is a guest tonight, Grandmama will actually speak to me,” commented Elissa, gazing at her unfamiliar, elegant reflection in the mirror.

  “So far if she has not been indisposed and retired to her room with a headache, she has sat all through dinner without speaking a word.”

  “A guest, miss?” asked Ellen.

  Elissa described the horseman she had seen riding towards The Towers.

  “Oh, miss!”

  Ellen was blushing a deep red.

  “Already? He was not expected so soon – ”

  “Who do you mean, Ellen?”

  The young maid was stumbling over her words.

  “Miss – Lord Hartwell. Her Ladyship’s grandson.”

  “Oh, then, he must be my cousin!”

  Elissa felt a sharp thrill of excitement run through her veins as she realised that she was about to meet another relative of her mother’s.

  “Yes, miss. Fellbrook Towers belongs to ’im. But he doesn’t like to live ’ere. He leaves it to ’er Ladyship to run the place.”

  “How strange that she has never spoken of him to me. What is he like?”