The Fire of Love Page 5

  “Carina – Warner,” Carina replied, conscious that the Dowager had noticed the little pause between her first and second names and annoyed with herself for being always off her guard whenever she had to answer that particular question.

  “Well, Miss Warner, who are your parents?”

  “My parents are both dead.”

  “Your relations?”

  “I have very few, I-I did not exactly see eye-to-eye with them.”

  “So that is why you are earning your own living, because you don’t like your relations and you want to be independent?”

  Carina inclined her head.

  “Good! So you need money. Nobody works unless they need money. Well, we are prepared to pay you a good deal more than you have received in the past. Will that satisfy you?”

  “It still depends on what you want me to do,” Carina said again.

  “We want you to look after the child, of course,” the Dowager snapped. “That should be obvious. But we want you also to keep your mouth shut!”

  Carina glanced out of the corners of her eyes at Lord Lynche.

  He was looking cynical and imperturbable as he stood listening to his mother.

  ‘He is despicable!’ Carina thought to herself.

  “You and the child will live in this house,” the Dowager went on, “and no one – you understand that? – no one must ever know who he is or who his parents are supposed to be.”

  “Mama, really!” Lord Lynche interrupted, only to be silenced by an imperious gesture of his mother’s hand.

  “Don’t be a fool, Justin, it’s the only possible course. We cannot send the child away. He has to stay here and the one thing that is imperative is that no one shall know who he is. And if, indeed, he is who he pretends to be. Well, personally, I shall never believe it.”

  As she spoke, the Dowager put out her claw-like hands towards the Certificates that lay on the white ermine bedcover.

  It was obvious what she intended to do, but Lord Lynche was too quick for her.

  “No, no, Mama!” he said, picking up the Certificates before she could destroy them. “They must be kept and I will put them in a safe place.”

  “Burn them!” the Dowager commanded him. “Do as I tell you and burn them! Put them on the fire here and now!”

  Lord Lynche shook his head.

  “No, Mama, I shall keep them.”

  Mother and son glared at each other but now, to Carina’s surprise, it was the Dowager who looked away first.

  “Very well,” she conceded. “What difference does it make? What is important is that we must have some explanation as to why the child is here. What did you tell Sir Percy?”

  “I told him merely that they were visitors for you.”

  “Good, good, you have some intelligence,” the Dowager admitted. “That is exactly what they are. Many years ago, when I was travelling with your father, we visited the King of Singora. This can be one of his grandchildren, paying a return visit to Lynche Castle. I shall announce to the household that he is a Prince and is to be addressed as ‘Your Highness’.”

  “But, Mama, the child is Javanese or rather half-Javanese.”

  “Who is to know the difference?” the Dowager asked brusquely. “To the ignorant, all yellow men are Chinese and the servants are not likely to know the difference between a Singorese, a Javanese, or a Chinese laundryman!”

  “It’s an impossible scheme!” Lord Lynche protested.

  “Why is it so impossible?” the Dowager asked. “Who is going to question what we say or be interested in a small child of six who happens to be staying here? I, for one, am certainly not interested.”

  She glared at Carina.

  “You keep him away from me, do you hear? I don’t want to set eyes on the little bastard!”

  “Mama, he is legitimate,” Lord Lynche said quietly.

  “So that remarkable little piece of paper says,” the Dowager answered. “I told you I do not believe that he is my grandson and nothing will ever make me believe it. A Lynche – a line going back to Norman times! Oh, God! If it was not so tragic, it would be funny.”

  “That is exactly what I thought,” Lord Lynche said.

  “Keep your thoughts to yourself. Go back to your guests,” the Dowager retorted. “And be very very careful that no suspicion of this reaches Percy Rockley or any other of those club gossips. What a stir they would make of it at White’s!”

  Again her eyes met her son’s and something passed between them that, without words, they both understood. Almost violently, Lord Lynche turned away from her.

  “Why not tell the truth, Mama, and say who the child is?” he asked.

  The Dowager thumped with both hands on the bed in front of her.

  “Are you demented?” she shrieked. “I will have you put in a strait-jacket and bury you as I buried your poor father, before I will listen to your insane suggestions. Get out, go back to your cards! Gambling and drink is all you are fit for anyway.”

  To Carina’s astonishment. Lord Lynche seemed not a whit abashed by his mother’s abuse.

  He laughed, picked up her hand and raised it to his lips.

  “As I have always said, Mama, you have been born in the wrong century. You are the last of the Regency ladies. Your language, your insufferable pride and, above all, your courage have nothing whatsoever to do with Victorian England.”

  The Dowager snatched her hand away from his lips. But Carina could see by the little twist of her mouth that she was amused and rather flattered by his backhanded compliment.

  “Away with you,” she said less violently, “and leave me to deal with this.”

  Lord Lynche turned on his heel, gave a stiff bow to Carina as he passed her, glanced across to the hearthrug to where Dipa had his arms round the black and white spaniel and looked quickly away as though the sight hurt him.

  He went through the door, closing it behind him.

  “Now, Miss Warner,” the Dowager said, with a tone of one addressing a refractory scullery maid, “you understand what is expected of you?”

  For just one moment Carina was tempted to reply that she was leaving this madhouse here and now and that she had no intention of being mixed up in their shoddy intrigues. She thought to herself what satisfaction there would be to listen to the Dowager’s anger and know it could not hurt her.

  Then she knew that this was only a dream and was something she could not do, not only for her own sake because she needed the job so desperately but also for Dipa’s. The Dowager hated him and Lord Lynche’s feelings, she reckoned, were inscrutable, but certainly not those of affection.

  With an air of bravery, which was an effort because the Dowager was so overpowering, she said,

  “I will accept the position, if that is what you are asking of me, but only because I already have an affection for the little boy and I would not like –anything to happen to him.”

  She thought, even as she spoke, that the Dowager would be furious.

  Instead she chuckled,

  “Are you suggesting that I would murder the brat?” she asked. “Well, maybe you are not far wrong.”

  Carina, who had spoken at random, gave a little gasp of horror.

  “You will find I always speak the truth,” the Dowager said. “I wish that he had never been born and I would like him dead. But still, as he is here, I suppose I have to do something about him. But how he is treated and what happens to him depends on you. You have appointed yourself as his Guardian. See that you guard him well. If it ever leaks out who he really is, I will not be responsible for what happens to him.”

  Carina almost choked. It seemed to her incredible that she should be hearing such things said in what she believed to be a modern civilised world.

  Then she looked up to meet the Dowager’s eyes.

  “You are too young and too pretty to be a Governess,” the old lady said suddenly. “Was there not anything else you could do?”

  “No, nothing,” Carina answered, surprised at t
he sudden change in her voice.

  “You look a lady,” the Dowager said, almost as if she was speaking to herself, “and your clothes and the fur you have round your neck, make me think you have seen better times. Can you imagine what the life of a Governess is like? You will stand, as it were, between Heaven and hell in that you are neither at home with your employers nor with the servants.”

  “What else can a girl of my age do?” Carina asked. “I have been comparatively well educated – but that does not help me in any way to earn money. There are only two possible positions for someone like myself, a Governess to a child or companion to an old lady.”

  “And you prefer to be a Governess?” the Dowager asked with a wry smile. “Well, you are employed, although Lord knows how you will teach that child anything. I know these Easterners, superficially they are quick-brained, but fundamentally they are stupid. Anyhow, what does it matter?”

  “It may matter to Dipa,” Carina said.

  “Will it?” the Dowager asked. “I wonder.”

  There was something in her tone that made Carina think that it was a threat. She longed in that moment to pick up Dipa and run away from The Castle and from these eccentric incomprehensible people and, above all, from this horrible old woman who wished him dead.

  “I will look after Dipa,” she said and her voice shook a little. “I will teach him and I will protect him against – everything and everyone.”

  “Very well,” the Dowager answered, apparently unimpressed by her defiance, “but mind you remember who he is supposed to be. We will call him ‘Dipa’ because he answers to that name. But he is ‘Prince Dipa of Singora’, grandson of the present King and he is paying an indefinite visit to this country for the good of his health.”

  When she had finished speaking, she reached out and, taking a small silver bell from her bedside table, rang it vigorously. Almost immediately the door was opened and a maid with white hair came hurrying into the room.

  “You rang, my Lady?”

  “What did you think that noise was you heard?” the Dowager replied.

  The maid, who must have been nearly sixty, looked at Carina and then at Dipa with surprise.

  “I didn’t hear anyone come upstairs, my Lady.”

  “Asleep, as usual, Matthews?” the Dowager said with a tone of triumph. “Why can’t you be like me and do with four hours a night? It would give you more time for your duties.”

  “I am indeed sorry, my Lady,” Matthews apologised. “I must have dozed off for a moment, but I’ve had one of my headaches all day.”

  “Never mind your headaches,” the Dowager snapped. “I can’t listen to your ailments now. Go and fetch Mrs. Barnstaple.”

  “Yes, my Lady,” Matthews replied.

  She dropped a little curtsey and left the room.

  “She has been with me forty years,” the Dowager said, as the door closed behind her, “and she is bursting with curiosity to know who you are and why you are here. Be careful of Matthews, she would worm the truth out of a deaf mute.”

  Carina said nothing, because there was nothing to say.

  Dipa broke the silence by running up to the bed, not a bit shy and quite unabashed by the awe-inspiring occupant of it.

  “Doggie’s name?” he asked. “Tell Dipa doggie’s name. Dipa love him. Dipa want doggie like that.”

  The Dowager looked down at him.

  “The dog’s name is ‘Bracken’,” she said in a strange voice.

  She bent forward to look at Dipa and then it seemed to Carina as if her face tightened almost as if she was about to have a seizure.

  Then she shut her eyes to blot out the sight of him.

  “My grandson!” Carina heard her mutter incredulously beneath her breath and knew that the old woman was suffering an agony that was almost beyond words.

  For the first time Carina felt almost sorry for her.

  An elderly woman in rustling black silk with a bunch of keys on a chatelaine hanging from her waist came hurrying into the room.

  “You sent for me, your Ladyship?”

  She gave a little bob. Carina remembered how her mother had told her that it was traditional years ago in the great houses amongst the properly trained servants.

  “Yes, Mrs. Barnstaple,” the Dowager answered. “We have been honoured by a visit of Prince Dipa of Singora. You will remember I have spoken to you of how his Lordship and I once visited that charming country many years ago when we were on our world tour. Well, the King has asked me to have his grandson here for a long stay, as the doctors think it would be best for his health if he spent some time away from the sunshine. Unfortunately, owing to our most inefficient mail, the ship bringing His Highness and his Governess, Miss Warner, arrived before the letter from His Majesty telling me that they had already left.”

  “It is indeed unfortunate, your Ladyship,” Mrs. Barnstaple remarked.

  “I have already explained to Miss Warner,” the Dowager continued, “why the carriage was not at the station or indeed why his Lordship had not gone to Southampton to greet them as they stepped off the boat. But Miss Warner is gracious enough to understand. Now, Mrs. Barnstaple, have you any rooms prepared where we can put His Highness?”

  “It would not take us more than a few minutes, your Ladyship, to have the nurseries ready,” Mrs. Barnstaple replied. “Strangely enough the housemaids were turning them out only this week. You know I always insist on every room being turned out once a month, even though they are never in use. The beds are aired and it will only be a case of taking off the dust sheets. I was only thinking to myself, your Ladyship, it’s a pity those lovely nurseries are not in use. Now if his Lordship – ”

  The Dowager interrupted.

  “I leave everything in your capable hands, Mrs. Barnstaple. Put Miss Warner and the Prince in the nurseries, as you suggest. There is, I suppose, someone to light the fires and bring them up something to eat?”

  “Of course, your Ladyship, everything will be seen to,” Mrs. Barnstaple answered. “The housemaids have not gone to bed, seeing there is such a big party in the house.”

  The Dowager sank back against her pillows as though she was suddenly very tired.

  “Very good, Mrs. Barnstaple, take Miss Warner and His Highness to their rooms.”

  It seemed that she had nothing more to say.

  Carina walked across the room to take Dipa away from the dog, but, when she reached the door and looked back towards the bed, the Dowager’s eyes were still closed.

  She therefore followed Mrs. Barnstaple, who was talking volubly, up the stairs to the next floor.

  “It’ll be a real treat,” she was saying, “to have the nurseries in use again. It’s time his Lordship married, we have said that often enough. But then he never seems to think of marriage.”

  She opened the door of a large room with big windows running along one side.

  “This is the day nursery,” she said, “the night nurseries open out of it. Here’s one that will do for the little Prince and one for yourself next door.”

  They were excellent rooms, Carina could see that, and Dipa had already spied the rocking horse in one corner of the day nursery and had run towards it.

  There was the conventional nursery grate and a fireguard for airing small clothes, while the fourfold screen was covered with coloured scraps just like one Carina had had herself as a child. She could remember her mother sticking on Christmas cards and transfers that they used to buy at the village shop. She had loved her screen, seeming to find a new picture every time she looked at it.

  Mrs. Barnstaple smiled at her interest.

  “I can remember her Ladyship making that,” she said, “and I have even stuck some of the pictures on myself until Nanny stopped me. Jealous, she was, because his Lordship was so fond of me. ‘Barnie, Barnie’, he used to call me all over the house. It used to infuriate Nanny.”

  Mrs. Barnstaple spoke with self-satisfaction.

  “Nannies are often jealous, I know,” Carina
said sympathetically, remembering how her own Nanny had often resented her affection for the old cook at Claverly.

  “But I must not stop here gossiping,” Mrs. Barnstaple said. “I will fetch the housemaids and tell one of the footmen to bring you something to eat. What would you like?”

  “Oh, I think all that is necessary at this late hour is a glass of milk and a biscuit for Dipa,” Carina replied. “We had some sandwiches to eat at the Station while we were waiting for the cab. And if it is not too much trouble, I would be most grateful for a cup of tea.”

  “It will be no trouble at all,” Mrs. Barnstaple replied.

  She went from the room, leaving Carina alone with Dipa.

  “Big, big doggie,” Dipa was saying, as he played with the rocking horse pushing it backwards and forwards.

  “Not a big dog. Say ‘horse’, Dipa.”

  He repeated it after her and then said it several times to show that he had learned a new word.

  But he was really very tired and long before his milk came he was half-asleep in Carina’s arms.

  The luggage was brought upstairs. She told the footmen to put all her trunks into her bedroom and large though the room was, they seemed to fill it up. Dipa’s small box looked almost pathetic in contrast, but Carina took out his nightshirt and soon had him ready for bed.

  “Big horse,” he murmured dreamily as he put his head on the pillow and then suddenly reached up his thin little arms and clasped them round her neck.

  “Nice lady, very nice lady. Dipa like – ”

  He was asleep almost before he had finished speaking.

  Carina went back into the day nursery to find Mrs. Barnstaple waiting for her.

  “I am afraid that it is a bit late for the housemaid to unpack all your trunks tonight,” she said, “but I will send one up in the morning, if that will be all right.”

  “I shall want very little tonight,” Carina answered, “but it would be very pleasant if someone could help me tomorrow.”

  “They will be up in the morning,” Mrs. Barnstaple promised. “I ordered you some scrambled eggs, just in case you felt hungry.”

  “That was most kind of you,” Carina exclaimed.