The Goddess and the Gaiety Girl Read online

  Then as she stood looking up at him he knew, incredibly, unbelievably, that he was seeing hair the colour of the Goddess Diana’s, that he had last looked at in the Comte’s house in Paris.

  Because he did not speak the woman facing him seemed to feel she must say something, and in a voice that was soft, musical and at the same time nervous she said quickly,

  “I – I must apologise for – arriving so – late – but the train was d – delayed – and I did not – know where else I could – go.”

  Larentia knew she could not explain to this overwhelming man that she had found to her consternation that she did not have enough money to stay at an inn, even if there had been one available.

  The station to which Harry Carrington had sent her, which he had told her was only six or seven miles from the Castle, was situated in what appeared to be only a small village and it had, in fact, been difficult to hire a carriage to bring her to the Castle.

  When Larentia had started her journey and had travelled for some way in the second-class compartment where Harry Carrington had put her she found that her ticket would only take her to her destination and he had not bought her a return.

  She had the feeling, although it might be unjust, that he was deliberately making sure that she would strive in every way she could to obtain the money they needed.

  It also frightened her to realise that she had not only no return fare, but very little other money to expend on anything she required.

  She had no idea what it would cost for a carriage to take her the six or seven miles from the station to the Castle, and although the country inn might be cheap, she could not imagine what it would be like.

  She was really afraid to stay in an inn even if they would accept, which she thought might be unlikely, a woman travelling alone.

  She was aware how horrified her father would be of her making the journey in the first place, and the idea of her hiring a room in a public place where men of every class could buy drinks, was something he would not have contemplated, even for one instant.

  She had therefore, late though it was, known that she must come on to the Castle and hope that the Marchioness would be kind enough to let her stay the night.

  It was when they arrived that the cabman, instead of waiting as Larentia hoped he would, in case the Marchioness would not see her, had said in a surly tone,

  “Oi got t’get back!”

  “Will you please wait for a few minutes?” Larentia enquired.

  He had shaken his head.

  “Oi wants me money.”

  Because she felt it was uncomfortable to make a scene in front of the footman, she had paid him and he dumped her small trunk down on the step for the flunkey to carry inside.

  Then he had driven off without even thanking her for the tip she gave him.

  This had made her even more nervous than she was already and now when the Duke did not speak, she felt she must explain her presence before her voice died on her, from sheer fright.

  “The trains are often late in this part of the world,” the Duke said at length, “but anyway my aunt has retired for the night, so perhaps you will tell me why you are so anxious to see her.”

  It was the last thing she wanted to do, Larentia thought. She had planned all the way on her journey to the Castle what she would say to the Marchioness, thinking that an elderly lady would be sympathetic towards a secret marriage.

  Harry Carrington had found out a great deal about the Marchioness.

  He had discovered from reference books in the public library, how many charities she sponsored, and told Larentia that he also had friends who had spoken of her generosity. He said that she was sympathetic to the work the Prime Minister, Mr. Gladstone, was doing amongst ‘fallen women’.

  For a moment Larentia had not known what he meant by the expression. Then, as a suspicion of what it might be came to her mind, the colour deepened in her cheeks.

  “I’m not suggesting for a moment,” Harry had said quickly, “that that is what you are pretending to be. The Duke married Katie because she was good and wouldn’t accept any other position in his life save that of his wife. I am only explaining to you how understanding the Marchioness is likely to be.”

  “Yes – Yes – of course,” Larentia had said, feeling this was a very embarrassing conversation to be having with a man.

  It had never struck her for one moment that she might not be able to talk to the Marchioness, but would be confronted instead by the Duke.

  He was so tall and he seemed, even in the most enormous Castle she had ever imagined, to be overpowering, and, in fact, terrifying.

  Also the way he was looking at her made her feel that he penetrated her disguise and knew in fact that she was not Katie King or the Duchess of Tregaron, but just the daughter of an impoverished professor.

  Then she reminded herself that it was not her own fears that mattered.

  At this very moment her father and Katie were having their lives saved because money had been paid for their operations.

  This had only been lent on the supposition that she would be clever enough to extract it from the Garon family.

  She had disliked Mr. Isaac Levy whom Harry Carrington had brought to meet her one afternoon when her father was asleep.

  He was an elderly man with a large hooked nose and greasy black hair, and he stared at her with his dark eyes in a way that made her feel uncomfortable.

  She thought he was inspecting her as a man might inspect a racehorse on which he is going to stake his money in a race, and he had then rubbed his long thin fingers together.

  Although he had said nothing she had known by the expression on Harry’s face that Isaac Levy would lend them the money and her father’s life would be saved.

  Even so it had been difficult to thank him and even more difficult to shake his hand before he left.

  When he had gone she told herself that whatever Mr. Levy loaned them must be returned because she could not bear to be under an obligation to him.

  Now as if the Duke was suddenly aware that she was standing waiting for him to speak, he said,

  “Will you sit down, Miss King? And perhaps after such a long journey you would care for some refreshment. May I offer you a glass of wine?”

  “No – thank you,” Larentia answered. “But perhaps I could have a – a glass of water?”

  It was something she needed because her lips were dry, but in fact she was both hungry and thirsty.

  Because she had so little money she had not dared to buy anything at the stations at which the train had stopped on the journey, and she was also nervous of going to the overcrowded, noisy bars where drinks were served to travellers besides food, which looked extremely unappetising.

  “Of course you may have some water, if that is what you prefer,” the Duke was saying, “but if you do not care for wine, I am sure you would like coffee.”

  It suddenly struck him that she looked very pale and he added,

  “When did you last have something to eat? I know it is often difficult at stations to procure anything edible.”

  “I – I am – all right, thank you,” Larentia said hastily.

  “That is not what I asked you.”

  “N – nothing – since I left – London.”

  He looked at her in astonishment. Then he rang the bell, which hung at the side of the mantelpiece.

  A footman who was on duty outside in the passage opened the door almost immediately.

  “You rang, my Lord?”

  “Yes. Ask the Chef to prepare something quickly for Miss King. Soup and perhaps an omelette should not take long.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  As the footman shut the door, Larentia said,

  “I am – sorry to be such a – nuisance. I was sure that I would – get here much earlier in the evening – and be able to see her Ladyship – ”

  “I hope I may take her place adequately,” the Duke said dryly. “Perhaps I might suggest, Miss King, that you
would be more comfortable without your cloak and your bonnet?”

  He could not resist the opportunity of seeing the rest of her hair.

  Although he kept looking at it, he could hardly believe that he was not being tricked into believing that it was as beautiful as it appeared to be.

  Obediently, as if she was a child who had been given an order, Larentia rose and undid her cape where it fastened at the neck.

  The Duke took it from her and crossed the room to lay it on a chair near the door.

  When he turned back he saw that Larentia had untied the ribbons of her bonnet and taken it from her head, and now the light glinted on the gold touching it with fire.

  He would have staked his fortune and his newly inherited title that the colour was completely genuine and owed nothing to artifice.

  Never had he seen such hair except in a picture, and now when he looked at Larentia again he realised she was, incredible though it seemed, a living replica of Diana as Boucher had visualised her, all those years ago.

  Larentia put her bonnet down on a chair next to the one on which she was sitting, then she put her hands in her lap and stared at the Duke as if she was suddenly at a loss as to what she should do and how she was to proceed.

  He wondered what could make her so nervous, and to put her at her ease sat down on the other side of the hearth.

  “Now tell me, Miss King,” he said, “why you have come here. It must be of importance for you to have come such a long way.”

  “Y – yes – it is very important,” Larentia agreed.

  She knew he was waiting, but she had to force herself to open her handbag and take out the two pieces of paper it contained.

  What she really wanted to do was to run away, to say it was all a terrible mistake, and go back to London to her house, which was the only secure thing in her life.

  Then she told herself she must not be afraid but think of her father and the pain that had contorted his handsome face even when they were on their way to the nursing home.

  In a very small voice she said,

  “I – I have – brought these – for you – to see.”

  She held out the two pieces of paper as she spoke towards the Duke, feeling she should perhaps rise and go over to him, but felt, if she did so, her legs would not support her.

  He reached across the hearthrug to take them from her. Then he sat back, crossing his legs and very much at his ease opened the first one.

  It was the Marriage Certificate.

  As he read it, Larentia felt she could not look at him, but clasped her hands, squeezing her fingers together until they hurt.

  Slowly and deliberately the Duke opened the letter and read it. Then there was a silence that Larentia found unbearable until he asked,

  “How old are you?”

  “I am – twenty-three – nearly twenty-four.”

  Larentia had expected this question and was ready for it and the only hesitation was because she thought she had lost her voice and no sound seemed to come from her throat.

  “So you were seventeen when you were married to my uncle?”

  “Y – yes.”

  “I presume your father or mother gave permission for the marriage?”

  This was another question Harry Carrington had warned her to expect.

  “They are – both dead.”

  “I see as you are described as an ‘actress’, and that you were earning your living on the stage.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “At the – Olympic – Music Hall.”

  The Duke nodded as if he had heard of it, and then he looked again at the letter and the Marriage Certificate before he asked,

  “Were you surprised that anyone so important as the Duke of Tregaron should wish to marry you?”

  “He took me out to supper many times before he – actually suggested it.”

  Harry had told her to say this and had added,

  “Katie was a good girl, and as I explained to you, the Duke made a suggestion that she should occupy a very different position in his life. Of course she refused!”

  “Of course,” Larentia had said, and again she had blushed.

  “I suppose you realise,” the Duke said, after what seemed to Larentia a long pause, “that if you are as you say you are, the Duchess of Tregaron, you are, on my uncle’s death, in a very advantageous position.”

  “I do not – want to be a Duchess,” Larentia said quickly. “Why I am here is simply because I have not – received the – money that he has been – paying me these past six years, to keep our – marriage a – secret.”

  “He has been paying you?” the Duke asked, and it struck Larentia that she had told her story very badly. Harry had explained to her exactly what she must say, but because she had been so frightened by the lateness of the hour, the size of the Castle and by the Duke himself, she had really started at the wrong end of her explanation instead of at the beginning.

  After drawing a deep breath she said quickly,

  “What I wanted to tell you was that after we had been married and I did not give His Grace the son he wanted, he told me that he would give me enough money for me to be comfortable as long as I told nobody that we – were married.”

  She felt her voice falter, then by sheer will power continued,

  “I – I gave him my – sacred promise, which I have kept, that I would never tell a soul what had occurred – but for the last six months the money has not come – and I need it.”

  “How much was it?” the Duke asked. “And how did you receive it?”

  “He gave me fifteen pounds a month – and it came by post.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, it was quite enough – especially as I was – working.”

  “Where are you acting now?”

  “I was at the Gaiety until two months ago when I fell ill. I had a – fever that would not go away – and that is why I need the money – so badly– as I was not earning anything.”

  “Of course, I understand that,” the Duke said, “and when you learnt that the Duke was dead you realised there would be no more money unless the family provided it.”

  “‘That is – what I – hoped you would do,” Larentia answered, “and I – promise to go on keeping the secret forever if you will be kind enough not to give it to me by the month, but as a lump sum – that would – last me for the – rest of my life.”

  Harry’s words in which he had rehearsed her, seemed to tumble out a little incoherently, but they were said, and now for a moment she felt as if the room swung around her and she felt dizzy.

  The Duke spoke again, but she could not hear what he said. He seemed to have gone very far away. Then she was aware that he was speaking to somebody, but it was too difficult to think of him or even to understand the words he was saying.

  The next thing Larentia knew was that somebody was holding a glass to her lips.

  “Take a sip!” a voice ordered, and she obeyed. “And another!”

  She thought it was not water she was drinking, but something very much stronger. Then as she felt almost as if there was something fiery running down her throat, she opened her eyes and realised that the Duke was bending over her.

  “I – I am – sorry,” she tried to say.

  “Drink a little more,” he suggested, but she shook her head.

  “I am all right – please – forgive me.”

  “Where is the food? It is taking a long time!”

  The Duke was not speaking to her but to the man who was standing behind him, the butler, who was holding a tray on which there was a decanter.

  “I will see to it, Your Grace.”

  “Tell them to bring the soup first. That could not take so long.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  With her head against a silk cushion Larentia thought she should sit upright but it was too much effort to move.

  The brandy, which she realised she had drunk, began to move away the mist before her
eyes and she could think more clearly.

  The Duke did not speak but only stood waiting and after a few minutes the door opened and the butler reappeared with two footmen behind him.

  He put a small table covered by a lace cloth in front of Larentia, then set down a tray on which there was a small silver tureen and a soup plate of such exquisite china that, weak as she was, she found herself admiring it.

  There was a white linen napkin to put over her knees, and the butler ladled the soup onto the china plate and, without asking her, filled a glass with wine.

  Because she knew it would be polite when they had taken so much trouble Larentia made herself sit up and start to drink the soup.

  It was clear, warm and delicious, and she found unexpectedly that she was hungry and finished what was on her plate without even looking at the Duke who was sitting watching her.

  Then the footman appeared with another dish containing an omelette filled with creamy mushrooms and slightly browned on top which Larentia, who was in fact a good cook, knew meant it was done to perfection.

  Again she ate without speaking, and then feeling very much stronger she drank a little of the wine and without it being an effort, she managed to smile at the Duke.

  “Now do you feel better?” he asked.

  “I am – ashamed of behaving in such a foolish manner.”

  “It was quite understandable,” he said. “You have had a very long journey, and as you say, you have not been well.”

  The butler came forward to remove the tray from the table.

  “Is there anything else you would like?” the Duke asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  The butler and the footman walked to the door and when it had shut behind them the Duke asked,

  “Do you feel strong enough to renew our conversation, or shall we leave it until tomorrow?”

  “P – perhaps you would like to – think over what I have – said.”

  “I understand that you will promise to go on keeping your marriage to my uncle a secret, provided we look after you financially. You would prefer to receive a lump sum rather than be paid monthly as you have been up until now?”

  “Yes – I thought it was a better – arrangement.”

  “What sum do you think would ensure your silence, presumably for the rest of your life?”