Only a Dream Page 5

  It all happened very quickly and, by the time they drove away and her father sat back with a sigh of relief in the carriage, Isla could hardly believe that it was true.

  She had been on the stage, she had waltzed with her father, she had received some of the rapturous applause that she knew now always greeted him.

  Only as the horses moved slowly through the traffic in Oxford Street did her father say,

  “This must never happen again!”

  “Oh, why, Papa? We were a great success!”

  “Your mother would be horrified!”

  “I think Mama would – understand,” Isla said softly, “but – please, Papa give me your benefit.”

  He had thrust it into his pocket and she had not missed hearing the number of people outside the theatre who had called out,

  “Well done, Kenway! Come and have a drink to celebrate!”

  She felt certain that if her father had accepted, as he would normally have done, he would have listened to half-a-dozen hard luck stories and practically all the benefit would have disappeared.

  Now she held out her hand and she thought that it was with reluctance that he drew it from his pocket and gave it to her.

  “You had better let me have a few pounds to spend for the rest of the evening,” he said.

  “No, Papa!” Isla answered. “I love you and I think you are marvellous, but we are deeply in debt and not even the benefit will pay off all our bills.”

  There was silence and then her father said,

  “I can hardly go to Lord Polegate’s party empty-handed.”

  “Then let him pay for you,” Isla asserted. “He wants you there because you are a success and because he knows you will make everybody laugh and feel happy. He should be prepared to pay for that!”

  Her father gave an exasperated grunt and then he laughed.

  “I never expected to be nagged by my daughter,” he said. “A mother, yes, or a wife, yes, but not one’s small offspring!”

  “‘Needs must when the Devil drives!” Isla replied. “The Devil, as far as we are concerned, is the fishmonger, the butcher, and your tailor. There is Bessy too, who has not been paid for three weeks.”

  She paused before she went on,

  “And there are a whole lot of other bills, which will soon grow into big ones!”

  She saw her father shrug his shoulders before he said good-humouredly,

  “Very well, have it your own way! But if I have to walk home, I shall certainly be very disagreeable tomorrow.”

  “I am sure that Lord Polegate will give you a lift,” Isla replied.

  The horses drew up outside their small house and, as her father unlocked the door, Isla said,

  “I wish you would stay at home with me, Papa, and not go to this party.”

  “That would be exceedingly rude,” her father answered. “Besides, I feel like celebrating the success we have both had tonight.”

  He helped her from the carriage and, when they reached the small hall, he put his arms around her and said,

  “It was very good of you, dearest, but I know it was something you should not have done and your mother would not have approved.”

  “I think that Mama would feel that we should pay what we owe.”

  There was a silence and she had a feeling that her father was once again going to ask her for the benefit money. She therefore kissed him quickly and said,

  “Go to your party, Papa, but try not to be very late. And, as tomorrow is Saturday, don’t forget that you have an afternoon performance.”

  “Oh, my God! So I have!” Keegan Kenway said as if it had just come to his mind. “You are right, I will not be late.”

  He went out through the front door, shutting it behind him.

  *

  In the silent house Isla was wishing that she could have gone with him.

  She had no idea what sort of party Lord Polegate would give, but she felt sure that it would be exciting.

  There would be a great number of interesting people, besides some delicious things to eat.

  Then she remembered there would also be a lot of drinking and she wished that she had cautioned her father once again not to drink too much.

  She had, in fact, been horrified at the amount of brandy he had drunk before going on the stage.

  She knew that if he drank a great deal at the supper, especially if it was red wine, he would begin to slur his words.

  And perhaps, as she had done on several other occasions, she would have to help him upstairs.

  She turned the oil lamp she had left burning in the hall down low and, lighting a candle, carried it upstairs to her bedroom on the second floor.

  She took off her mother’s gown and, as she did so, she could smell the sweet fragrance of the perfume her mother had always used and it brought her memory back even more vividly than the gown did.

  When she climbed into bed, Isla prayed that her father would come home early and that he would not drink too much.

  If, moreover, she impressed on him that they must not get into debt again, perhaps he would be less generous every week with his salary.

  There seemed to be a whole list of things she had to pray about and it was a long time before she fell asleep.

  *

  Isla awoke with a start, looked at the clock by her bed, and saw with surprise that it was nearly nine o’clock.

  She was used to rising at seven.

  But she realised that the excitement of the night before and the anxiety she had felt in case she made a mistake had made her very tired.

  Now she jumped out of bed and, ten minutes later, was hurrying down the stairs, moving very softly so as not to wake her father.

  As she reached the first floor, she saw that the door of his bedroom was ajar and she wondered whether he had left his clothes on the floor.

  Perhaps if he was very late, he had slept in them.

  Very gently, holding her breath, she opened the door a few inches so that she could look inside.

  Then, by the light of the sunshine seeping through the sides of the curtains, she saw quite clearly that the bed had not been slept in.

  The sheets which she had folded back before they left for the theatre were exactly as she had left them.

  She opened the door as wide as it would go and realised that her father had not come home last night.

  It was the first time since her mother’s death that he had stayed out all night, even though he had often returned in the small hours of the morning.

  Now there was no sign of him, and it gave her a shock.

  What could have happened? Why had he stayed away without letting her know?

  She would find no answer to her questions as she went slowly down the stairs.

  The only thing she could think was that he must have drunk far too much and his host, Lord Polegate, had no idea where he lived.

  He would surely, if he had known, have taken him back to his house, as he would hardly have left him in the restaurant.

  Isla felt helpless and very much alone.

  She forced herself to go into the kitchen, light the stove and start to prepare breakfast, so that when her father did come home he would not have to wait too long for it.

  She did not eat anything herself, but poured out a cup of coffee and drank it slowly.

  She was expecting every minute to hear the sound of wheels outside the front door and know her father had returned.

  It was unfortunately not the morning that Bessy came in.

  She had been yesterday and Isla felt that even her constant complaining about her rheumatism would be better than having no one to talk to.

  An hour later when there was still no sign of her father, she fetched his benefit money, which she had taken upstairs with her.

  Sitting down at the desk in the sitting room, she found the bills that she had put tidily in a drawer and apportioned the money out amongst them.

  She could not pay the whole of her father’s account with his tailor
, but she knew that if the tailor took the largest amount of the benefit, he would be satisfied for at least a month or two.

  She put the money into envelopes and sealed them down.

  She decided that as soon as her father returned and was in bed, she would hurry to the butcher, the fishmonger and the grocer and she was sure that they would be pleased with what she had to give them.

  By eleven o’clock she was growing worried and every few minutes went to the window to look out and see if there was a carriage of any sort coming down the narrow road.

  But there was only a man with a hurdy-gurdy and a poor miserable-looking monkey sitting on top of it and two or three errand boys whistling Champagne Charlie.

  It made her feel more anxious than she was already.

  Then, as she could not bear to go on waiting, but felt that she must do something, she put on her bonnet and ran to the shops.

  She gave the tradesmen the envelopes with the money inside and hardly waited to hear their thanks in case her father had arrived home while she was out.

  The tailor was in another part of London altogether and she planned that, if her father was taking a carriage to the theatre for the afternoon performance, she could go with him.

  He could drop her off as near as possible to Savile Row and, when she had given the tailor the envelope, she would take a horse-drawn bus back to Chelsea.

  It all seemed to plan itself out quite easily until when she turned towards home she realised as she looked up the street that there was no carriage outside their house.

  It was then that she began to feel really frightened not only because her father was so late but also because he obviously must have forgotten about the afternoon performance.

  ‘Surely somebody will remind him?’ she asked herself.

  She let herself into the house, took off her bonnet and wondered what she should do or where she could turn for help.

  It seemed extraordinary that she had no idea who her father’s friends were or where they lived.

  She went into the kitchen to see if the fire was still burning in the stove and, when she was there, she heard a knock on the front door.

  She gave a little cry of delight, thinking that it must be her father and ran across the small hall to fling open the door.

  She had a quick impression of a man with a top hat on his head standing outside and exclaimed,

  “Papa!”

  Even as she spoke, she realised that it was not her father who stood there.

  The gentleman facing her was very smartly dressed and behind him she saw an extremely elegant carriage drawn by two well-bred horses.

  There was a coachman on the box and a footman standing by the carriage door.

  Then the gentleman said,

  “I am not mistaken! And you are even more beautiful in the daytime than you were last night!”

  Isla looked at him in surprise and he continued,

  “My name is Polegate, Lord Polegate, and I cannot tell you how disappointed I was that you did not come to my party.”

  Isla drew in her breath to ask what had happened to her father, but before she could speak, Lord Polegate went on,

  “May I come in? I have something to tell you.”

  He took off his hat and entered the house and she saw him look round the small hall as if he despised it.

  She lifted her chin a little higher and, opening the door of the sitting room, suggested,

  “You had better come in, my Lord. Can you tell me what has happened to my father? He went to your party last night and I have not seen him since.”

  “That is the reason I have called on you,” Lord Polegate replied.

  “He is – ill?”

  The words were a cry.

  Lord Polegate moved across the sitting room and seated himself in an armchair by the window.

  He had put his top hat on a table in the hall and Isla realised that his hair was flecked with grey and he appeared to be quite elderly.

  At the same time he had an air of consequence about him that she found rather awe-inspiring.

  “I have been very very – worried about Papa,” she said quickly. “Please tell me what has – happened.”

  “I suggest you sit down, Miss Kenway,” Lord Polegate said, “for I am afraid that the news is not at all good.”

  “Papa – is ill?”

  “Your father was taken ill,” Lord Polegate replied slowly, “very late last night or perhaps I should say early this morning.”

  “What – happened?”

  As she spoke, Isla was quite certain that her father had had too much to drink.

  Yet if that was so, by this time he should have recovered and Lord Polegate would have brought him here with him.

  “I called the doctor to your father,” his Lordship went on, “and he thinks he has had a slight heart attack. As he was not capable of telling us where he lived, I took him to my house in Park Lane and that is where he is at the moment!”

  “That was very kind of you, my Lord, and if he comes home, I can nurse him.”

  “I can assure you, he is being very well looked after and is very comfortable,” Lord Polegate replied.

  His eyes looked her over in a way that she found very embarrassing before he added,

  “I am, of course, extremely sorry that your father is unwell. But it has given me a chance to meet you – something I was very eager to do after I had seen you last night.”

  The way he spoke made Isla feel a little uncomfortable and she said quickly,

  “Would it be possible, my Lord, for me to see Papa immediately? I could then decide whether it would be best for him to come back here.”

  “I have already told you that I will look after your father,” Lord Polegate said, “but I think it would be a good idea that you should come with me to see him.”

  “Oh, thank you! Thank you very much.”

  She rose to her feet and only as she reached the door did she think that perhaps she was being rude and she turned back to say,

  “Is there anything I can get your Lordship? There is some coffee ready, if that is to your liking.”

  “Thank you, but I have already had breakfast and I promise that you and I will enjoy a delicious luncheon together after you have seen your father.”

  “I will go to fetch my bonnet,” Isla answered.

  She dropped him a small curtsey and ran up the stairs.

  She was thinking as she did so that she would have to change and must be as quick as possible.

  She had not been able to buy any new clothes for a long time, but before her mother died she had bought her a very pretty gown with a small crinoline that had a velvet coatee to wear over it.

  She quickly changed and put on the bonnet trimmed with blue ribbon that matched her gown.

  As she took her gloves from the top drawer of her dressing table, she saw the envelope for the tailor that she had put there for safety before she left the house.

  It seemed slightly impertinent, but she could not help feeling that Lord Polegate was in a way responsible for her father being ill.

  She thought, therefore, she could ask him if one of his servants could deliver a letter to the tailor.

  She hurried down the stairs with it in her hand and, as she entered the sitting room, he was still in the armchair where she had left him.

  She thought as she walked towards him that he appraised her in a manner that she felt was almost insulting.

  Then she told herself that she was being imaginative and, as one of her father’s friends, she was sure that he was very kind.

  “You have been quick, my dear,” he said with a slightly mocking note in his voice.

  “I-I did not want to keep you waiting – my Lord.”

  Slowly Lord Polegate rose to his feet.

  “Of course you are expecting me to tell you how lovely you look,” he said, “far lovelier than anyone I have seen for a very long time.”

  “Your Lordship is most gracious – but I am very an
xious to – reach my father as – speedily as possible.”

  “Yes, of course and is that a present you have for him?”

  He was looking at the envelope in her hand and Isla said,

  “I-I wondered if we could leave this on our way to your house – or if your Lordship would be – kind enough to see that it is delivered – later in the day.”

  She stammered over her words because she felt that he was looking at her in a strange manner.

  “So your billet doux,” he said, looking again at the envelope, “is not for some charming young man but for your father’s tailor.”

  “It contains money, my Lord, and that is why I have to be – careful of it. Perhaps it would be better if I – delivered it in person.”

  “I will see that it is taken safely to its destination,” Lord Polegate said. “Shall I guess that it contains money from your father’s benefit to pay an overdue bill?”

  He made what he said sound almost as if he were pleased at having solved a difficult conundrum.

  Isla, wishing she had left the money in the dressing table drawer, moved towards the door.

  Lord Polegate followed her and he did not speak until they were in the carriage.

  As the horses moved off, he said,

  “You know I am ready to give you anything you wish or, and, if it is just a question of your father’s debts, leave them to me.”

  What he said was so surprising that Isla turned to look at him, her eyes very wide in her small face.

  “Your Lordship is extremely kind,” she said after a moment, “but the – benefit that my father received last night has for the moment – swept away our worries.”

  “No one as beautiful as you should have to worry about money,” Lord Polegate remarked.

  Isla found his compliments embarrassing and turned her lead away to look out of the window on her side of the carriage.

  “I mean what I say,” Lord Polegate said, “and after luncheon you must tell me what you would like most. Diamonds? Sables? No! I think because you are so young it should be ermine!”

  Isla turned to stare at him in sheer astonishment.

  It struck her that if he was not drunk, which was unlikely at this hour of the morning, he must be a little mad.