A Victory for Love Read online

  Later that night when she went to bed, she thought it very strange that if Viscount Brooke was dead, as everybody thought, he was not laid to rest with his ancestors in the village Church.

  It held a Brooke who had fought at the Battle of Agincourt, others who had been killed in the campaigns of the Duke of Marlborough and some who had died in the Royalist cause in the Civil War.

  If Ivan was dead, she reasoned, he would want to be with his own people.

  She wished that she had asked the question earlier as to why he was the exception to other members of his family.

  When she was finally undressed, she found it difficult to sleep.

  She kept seeing the Earl sitting in his uncle’s place at the head of the table in the tall carved chair that looked like a throne and was emblazoned with the family Coat of Arms.

  Then she could see again, as clearly as if she was still looking at it, the twinkling eyes and smiling lips of the Viscount Brooke in the portrait hidden in the secret cupboard where Annie had put it.

  ‘Why should the Earl have wanted to get rid of that particular portrait?’ she asked herself and was sure she would not have to search for the answer.

  *

  Finally just before dawn she fell into a fitful slumber until she was awoken by the maids pulling back the curtains. She knew that it would be impossible to wait for the afternoon to see John and tell him what she had discovered.

  All the time she was dressing she was feverishly trying to think of some excuse for sending a note to The Fox and Goose.

  Then, almost as if Fate was on her side, there was a sudden thump on the window as a small bird crashed against it.

  He was knocked unconscious for a moment and he would have fallen onto the sill if he had not caught his leg on a creeper and hung suspended swinging with the force of his fall.

  With an exclamation Farica opened the window wide and caught the bird in her hands.

  He was dazed but not dead and she thought that his leg had been strained from the way it had been caught by the creeper.

  Only as she held it gently, thinking that it was very young and had perhaps fallen from a nest higher up on the house, did she realise that it was the answer to the problem that had been perplexing her.

  “Is it hurt, miss?” one of the maids asked.

  “I think it may be,” Farica replied, “and if I put it on the ground it might not be able to fly and the dogs will catch it.”

  She paused before she added, as if she had just thought of it,

  “I will tell you what I will do! I will take it to old Abe at The Fox and Goose. You know how wonderful he is with birds and animals that are injured.”

  “Yes, indeed, miss. When my grandmother’s cat was ’urt in a fight he got it back on its feet quicker than she ever expected.”

  “Find me a little box to put the bird in,” Farica said, “and make some air holes in the top so he can breathe. I will take it to the village as soon as I have had breakfast.”

  *

  Not many minutes later Farica carried the little bird downstairs and put it in the hall before she went to breakfast with her father.

  She told him what had happened and he agreed that it would be wise to take the bird to Abe.

  “That man certainly has a magic way with everything in the animal world,” he said. “I often think the village would not be the same without him. I hear that people come from all parts of the County to ask his help when their animals are ill.”

  “I think he is a dear little man,” Farica sighed.

  She ordered her pony cart to be brought to the front door. It was the one she used to drive in with her Governess when she was a small child, but now she often drove it herself round the grounds.

  She put the box containing the bird on the seat beside her and picking up the reins she set off, telling the groom that she had no need of his services as she was only going to the inn.

  It took her less than ten minutes to get there and she jumped out eagerly, carrying the box to where she expected to find Abe in the yard at the back.

  She was not mistaken. Abe was there and John was with him.

  They were having difficulty in persuading a cygnet to keep still while Abe put a splint on its leg. Farica did not interrupt, but watched them until they had finished, although she was well aware that John kept glancing up at her.

  Then, as the cygnet was put into a small cage to prevent it from walking on the leg until it was set, Abe said,

  “And now, Miss Farica, I sees you’ve brought me another little visitor.”

  “It’s a small bird that fell out of its nest and hurt its leg,” Farica answered. “He banged his head against my window and then was caught in the creeper. I don’t think his leg is broken, but perhaps you would take a look at him.”

  Abe took the box from her and setting it down on his knee lifted the lid.

  Then she looked at John and said not out loud, but just mouthing the words,

  “I must see you!”

  He understood, nodded his head, and walking across the small yard opened a roughly carpeted stall.

  “Come and look at the puppies that arrived during the night, Miss Farica. I am sure they will interest you.”

  Farica moved quickly to his side.

  A Dalmatian bitch had given birth to six puppies and, as she looked down at them, she said barely above a whisper,

  “I must talk to you immediately.”

  Then aloud, so that Abe could hear, she said,

  “How sweet they are. I know they belong to Farmer Johnson and I must find out if I can buy one from him. Papa’s Dalmatians are getting very old now.”

  “I will tell him what you want if he comes in later during the day,” John replied.

  “You’re unexpected visitor isn’t hurt bad,” Abe said, “but I think, Miss Farica, he should stay with me for a few days till he’s old enough to look after hisself.”

  “That is what I hoped you would say, but I feel it rather tiresome of me to add to your already large number of patients.”

  “They’re never too many for me!”

  Abe looked around the yard with a happy smile on his old face.

  “Papa sends you his good wishes,” Farica said, “and I was to tell you that he will call in to see you sometime, but at the moment he is very busy.”

  “Your father’s a good man and a good landlord,” Abe remarked. “Folks be happy on his estate.”

  He did not say anything more, but Farica knew what he was thinking and she asked quickly,

  “May I take John away from you for a few minutes? I want him to move a branch that has fallen across the path where I drove into the wood. It might be dangerous if it was caught in the wheels of a passing vehicle.”

  “Now you take care of yourself, Miss Farica,” Abe said. “John be strong enough to remove anything that’s required.”

  “I am sure he is,” Farica answered.

  She went outside the inn and John helped her into the pony cart.

  Then he asked a little doubtfully,

  “Do you think I am too heavy?”

  “I don’t think so and we have not far to go.”

  He climbed into the cart somewhat gingerly and sat on the edge of the seat almost as if he was afraid that the cart would collapse under them.

  Then, as Farica drove off, the old pony not exerting himself in any way, they did not speak until they passed the village green and were in the lane that led towards The Priory’s gates.

  Neither of them said anything until Farica drove off the lane and through an opening in the hedge that led her into the Park.

  It was not a proper pathway across the grass, but was used by people on the estate who wished to reach the village and cut off a corner by not going through the main gates.

  Farica drove until she stopped in the shade of some trees and then she put down the reins and said,

  “Are you all right at The Fox and Goose?”

  “That is not what you came t
o ask me,” John replied.

  As she spoke, her eyes had been searching his face, looking at the scar on his forehead and at his features that were unchanged, even though he looked very much older than his portrait.

  As the pony put down his head to crop the grass, the only sound was the wind in the trees and the song of the birds.

  Then Farica said slowly,

  “I do not think that you have been completely – frank and honest – with me,”

  “What do you mean by that?” John asked.

  “Last night Papa and I dined at The Castle.”

  She saw his lips tighten for a moment, but he did not speak and she went on,

  “It was a large, very noisy and in fact rowdy party and the Earl’s friends who came down from London were not the sort of people I expected to find staying at Lyde!”

  “Nor, I am sure,” John said, “were they the sort of people you should be associating with. Why did your father take you there?”

  “The Earl invited us, and Papa, as you are aware, is very anxious for the Earl and me to get to know each other.”

  She did not look up at him, but she guessed that John’s lips were set in a hard line as he said,

  “I told you not to make up your mind in a hurry.”

  “I am not at the moment thinking of myself, but of my father’s ambitions for me to marry the Earl of Lydbrooke.”

  John did not speak and, as Farica just sat looking at him, after a moment, almost as if she goaded him into it, he asked,

  “What has that to do with me?”

  “Quite a lot, I think,” Farica replied, “because I may be wrong, but I think you are the only person who could tell my father that if he marries me to the man we were dining with last night, I would not be marrying the Earl of Lydbrooke!”

  She saw John stiffen and stare at her in astonishment.

  Then he said and his voice was harsh,

  “What are you talking about? I don’t understand what you are saying.”

  “I think you do,” Farica responded softly. “Last night the old maid, Annie, who loved you very much and has never forgotten you, showed me your portrait which she had hidden away in a secret cupboard in your father’s sitting room. Your cousin had told her to dispose of it.”

  John did not speak and Farica went on,

  “That included the portraits of your mother and your grandparents.”

  “Damn him!” John said beneath his breath. “I suppose he is destroying anything that might be used as evidence against him.”

  “Then you are the Earl of Lydbrooke!”

  “For what it is worth!” John replied bitterly. “But if other people are as perceptive as you, Farica, I shall not live long enough to boast about it.”

  Farica stared at him before she said,

  “Why are you in hiding? Why do you not come back openly and tell everybody that you are alive and not dead as they all thought?”

  He did not reply and she carried on,

  “It is really quite simple. If you tell Papa who you are, I know he will arrange everything for you without there being too much unpleasantness.”

  “If you tell your father who I am, you will sign his death warrant!”

  “What are you – saying?” Farica enquired. “I don’t understand.”

  “Three men have already died on my account,” John replied, “and I have no wish to add to their number.”

  Farica drew in her breath.

  Then she bent forward, clasping her hands together, and begged,

  “Explain to me! Tell me what has happened. I must know.”

  John looked around and then he said,

  “As it is dangerous for you to be seen with me, I suggest that you leave the pony here and go into the wood.”

  He climbed out of the pony cart as he spoke and then helped Farica to do the same.

  They walked through the trees until they found, almost as if it was arranged for them, several large tree trunks that had fallen down during the winter months and had not yet been collected.

  Farica sat down on one of them and pulled off her bonnet.

  She put it on the ground beside her and was aware as she did so that John was watching her.

  “You are very lovely,” he said in a low voice, “and very young. I have no right to involve you in this.”

  “But I am involved,” Farica insisted, “and because I already know so much, I must know the rest.”

  “I can understand your feeling like that,” John said, “but if I had any sense I would go away immediately so that you would not be associated with something that might so easily end in tragedy.”

  “I am not afraid and also I think it was not chance but perhaps Fate that made me find you yesterday in a place where I always go when I want to think. Having been brought so far, how can we be so feeble as to turn back?”

  John smiled and it seemed for the moment to make him look younger and happier.

  “Like all women,” he said, “you can turn anything, however difficult, to your own advantage. Very well, Farica, I will tell you the truth, although every instinct tells me that it is wrong of me to do so.”

  “I have to know,” Farica persisted.

  “I am Ivan Brooke,” John began, “and for what it is worth, I became on my father’s death, the sixth Earl of Lydbrooke.”

  “Having admitted that to me, you only have to prove it.” Farica said, as if she could not keep silent.

  “I was wounded at Waterloo,” John went on as if she had not spoken, “and from what I learnt later, I was knocked out of the saddle by a bullet that passed along my forehead, as you can see from the scar, and was dragged by my horse for some distance beyond the field of battle.”

  Farica was listening intently as he continued,

  “That would account for my not being found immediately, as other casualties in my Regiment were. The scavengers that haunt every battlefield like ghouls stole my uniform and, of course, everything else I possessed while I was still unconscious and left for dead.”

  Farica gave a deep sigh, but she did not interrupt again and after a little pause John went on,

  “When I first opened my eyes, I found myself in a Convent some distance from Waterloo, being nursed by nuns. They were very kind, gentle and understanding and it took me a little while to realise that I had lost my memory.”

  “You could not remember anything?”

  “I could not remember who I was, in which Regiment I had been serving and whether I was an Officer or a Trooper.”

  “I can hardly believe it.”

  John gave her a smile before he explained,

  “The wound on my forehead had gone deep. The doctors, and I can understand their diagnosis, thought that it was quite natural that after all I had suffered, and at times the pain was very bad, that it should affect my memory. Because I was English, they called me ‘John’.”

  He paused and gave a little laugh.

  “Actually I think they must have been clairvoyant because, as I expect you are aware, Ivan is only a variant of John, as are ‘Ian’ and ‘Sean’.”

  “I did not know that,” Farica said, “but I find it very interesting. Do go on.”

  “I should have been discharged from the Convent, but because they thought that I was not well enough to go out into the world, they kept me there when the other English patients had all been sent home. There were, in fact, only Frenchmen left who were very badly wounded and seemed likely never to recover.”

  He smiled again before he added,

  “I think the nuns also found me useful because I am big and strong and could carry things for them, move patients who could not walk and help in a number of other small ways.”

  “Then what happened?” Farica asked.

  “The doctors were still insistent that I must take things quietly and rest and give my memory a chance to return. Then suddenly I began to remember things.”

  “What did you remember first?”

  “The lake. I cou
ld not remember where it was, but I could see it very clearly with the swans moving under the bridge near the place on the bank where I used to fish for trout.”

  “What came next?”

  “The next thing, not surprisingly, were the stables and especially the stall where my stallion was kept and when I could remember his name it was a ‘red letter day’ for the whole of the Convent.”

  Farica laughed.

  “What was his name?”

  “‘Twister’.” John replied and they both laughed together.

  “It took a long time,” he continued, “because I kept seeing in my mind little bits of places where I had been and which I supposed meant something special to me.”

  “You did not see people?”

  “Not at first, until one day in my mind I saw the portrait of my mother and knew who she was.”

  “The portrait I saw last night hidden away in the secret cupboard!”

  “That is the one,” John agreed. “There are other portraits of her in The Castle, but that was always my favourite.”

  “And did you know then who you were?”

  “It took me four more days to remember that I was a Viscount, my name was Ivan Brooke and I had been serving in the Life Guards.”

  “That must have been very exciting!”

  “It proved to be too exciting,” John replied. “My temperature soared, I was put to bed and made to keep very quiet. I suppose in a way I had a sort of brainstorm. Anyway I don’t remember much of the next week or so.”

  “And when you were better?”

  “When I was better I talked to the Priest in charge of the Convent, an old man and a very kind and sympathetic one. I asked him to write to my father telling him that I was alive and to explain to him why I had been unable to get in touch with him before.”

  “You did not think of going home yourself?” Farica asked,

  “Of course I thought of it,” John replied, “but they would not let me. The doctor said that I was not well enough to face the rigours of the journey and, because I was still having blinding headaches that left me weak and listless, I listened to him.”

  “I am sure that was wise.”

  “Actually I think perhaps not. The Priest wrote the letter to my father and addressed it to the Earl of Lydebrooke.”