Call of the Heart Read online

  “I understand!” Lalitha murmured. “And it was . . . honest not to take the money.”

  “I am glad my behaviour meets with your approval,” Lord Rothwyn said with a faint smile.

  “At the same time,” Lalitha went on, “the . . . damage is done as far as . . . Your Lordship is . . . concerned.”

  “The damage?”

  “You are ... married to ... me!”

  “It is hardly the manner in which I would describe our union.” “You said we would not . . . pretend,” Lalitha said. “Then let us speak . . . frankly. You loved Sophie because she is the most beautiful girl in England. No-one could be more lovely! I am therefore a wife you do not love and whom you cannot even admire! The best thing you can possibly do is to be ... rid of me.”

  “I really believe you mean it,” Lord Rothwyn said slowly.

  “I am thinking of you,” Lalitha said.

  “And what about yourself?”

  “I shall be all right,” Lalitha answered, “if you will help me.” “In what way?”

  “I was thinking if you could give me a little money . . . only a .

  . . little,” she said hastily, “just enough to rent a cottage in the country ... I could go where no-one has ever . . . heard of me and you need ... never see me again.”

  She thought that he was looking critical and added:

  “I have an old Nurse rather like Nattie. My Ste— my mother retired her when we left Norfolk and I know she is unhappy. She would look after me.”

  “What do you think this would cost?” Lord Rothwyn asked. Lalitha looked at him uncomfortably and then looked away again.

  “If it was not... too much,” she said in a low voice, “I am sure we could manage quite well on ... one hundred pounds a year.”

  “And for this large sum,” he said, “you are prepared to go out of my life forever?”

  “I would never speak to . . . anyone about what has happened,” Lalitha promised, “and then you could marry ... someone who would . . . love you as you loved them.” “Do you realise that I am a very wealthy man?” Lord Rothwyn asked.

  “Sophie said you were,” Lalitha answered.

  “And knowing that, you still think that one hundred pounds a year would be enough recompense for your service to me?”

  “I am not... extravagant.”

  “Then you are very unlike most young women of your age.” Lalitha gave him a faint smile.

  “Happiness does not depend upon ... money.”

  She thought of how happy she had been at home with her father and mother, who could not afford to be extravagant, but they had all three of them known a happiness that could never have been expressed in gold, however many millions of it there might have been. Lord Rothwyn’s voice broke in on her thoughts. “Again let me say, Lalitha, you are very different from most young women.”

  “That is not really ... a compliment,” Lalitha said. He was silent for a moment before he asked:

  “Have you any other plans for the future?”

  She turned towards him and now he saw that her eyes when she was moved or afraid were almost purple.

  “Y-you . . . would not . . . tell my . . . Step-mother or . . . Sophie where ... I had . . . gone? They might ... find me and then . . . ”

  Lord Rothwyn sat up and bent forward.

  Without thinking as she pleaded with him Lalitha had stretched out her hand towards him.

  Now he covered it with his own.

  “Do you really imagine,” he asked, “that I would do anything which might force you to suffer again such bestial cruelty?”

  He felt her fingers flutter in his as if he had captured a bird.

  “I think,” Lalitha said slowly, “my . . . Step-mother wanted me to die. You could . . . tell her I was ... dead?”

  “But you are very much alive,” Lord Rothwyn said firmly, “and although I am interested in your ideas, Lalitha, I have plans of my own.”

  “What are they?” she asked.

  He released her hand and again sat back in the chair. “Did Sophie ever tell you,” he asked, “what is my main hobby?” “No,” Lalitha answered.

  “I have been absorbed for some years now in restoring to their former glory ancient buildings that have been forgotten and neglected.”

  “That must be very interesting!”

  “I find it so,” Lord Rothwyn replied.

  “I remember now,” Lalitha said, “Sophie did tell me that the Regent consulted you about his building schemes.”

  “We have the same ideas on many things,” Lord Rothwyn said. “I have advised His Royal Highness about his buildings in Regents Park and at Brighton. He often honours me by approving of a house I have reconstructed or renovated from what was often nothing more than a pile of rubble.”

  “I would love to see one,” Lalitha said impulsively. “And you shall,” Lord Rothwyn promised. “Quite near here there is a house which was originally built for one of the Statesmen at the Court of Queen Elizabeth.” Lalitha’s eyes were on his as

  she listened intently.

  “It had fallen into a lamentable state of disrepair,” he went on, “and the Great Hall where the Queen herself had often dined had become a stable. The timbers had been stolen or used for farm buildings, the carvings chipped away or employed for fire-wood. Today it is nearly complete.”

  There was a ring in his voice, Lalitha noticed, when he spoke of the house he had been restoring, and then he went on: “I also discovered quite by chance near St. Albans, which was at one time a Roman town, a small Villa forgotten and over-grown in what is now a wood. I cleared away the trees, dug beneath the surface, and found exquisite mosaics, marble tiles, and pillars of almost unsurpassed beauty.”

  “How clever of you!” Lalitha exclaimed. “I do see it must be a tremendous satisfaction!”

  “I pride myself,” Lord Rothwyn continued, “on having an instinct where these things are concerned. The Regent says he feels the same when he sees a precious antique or a picture that needs restoring and knows that underneath the dirt of ages there is the work of a Master Artist.”

  “You are never mistaken?”

  “Practically never!” Lord Rothwyn said. “That is why I know I am right about you!”

  “About... me?”

  “I feel you need quite a lot of restoration!” he said, smiling. Lalitha thought for a moment and then she said: “What you have found has been exceptionally fine or beautiful in the first place. Where I am concerned your restoration will only be to ... me.”

  “You are very modest!” he said. “Do you resemble your father?”

  “No, I am like my mother,” Lalitha answered, “but only a poor reflection of her, just a few characteristics. She was very beautiful!”

  She spoke without thinking and once again Lord Rothwyn saw the fear in her eyes and a sudden tremor go through her.

  “Of . . . course,” she said, not looking at him, “she has... altered a great deal as she has grown ... older!” “I thought we agreed,” Lord Rothwyn answered, “that we would not lie to each other.”

  “I gave my... word,” Lalitha answered, “and ...”

  She paused.

  “What were the threats if you broke it?” he asked. “S-She .. . really . . . will ... kill me!” Lalitha murmured almost beneath her breath.

  “That is something that will never happen,” he said, “but because I do not wish you to be worried by anything you might say to me, because I want you to forget all the horrors of the past, I will not press you.” He saw a little light of gratitude in Lalitha’s expression.

  “I want you to think of nothing but getting well,” he said, “and then you can walk in the garden with me, and when you are strong enough I want to drive you to see the Spa near St. Albans and the Elizabethan house before I find a tenant for it.” He rose to his feet.

  “Promise me you will not worry about the future?”

  “I will... try!” Lalitha answered.

  “We will discuss it again
when you are strong enough, but think now only that I shall be very disappointed by a restoration of a building called ‘Lalitha’ if it does not come up to my expectations!”

  Lalitha gave him a little smile.

  “Please do not expect too much.”

  “I am afraid I am a perfectionist,” he answered.

  He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

  “Sleep well, Lalitha. I will come and see you again tomorrow.”

  He turned towards the door, then stopped as she said:

  “Why are you here in the country? You should be in London. It is still the Season.”

  “Very nearly the end of it,” he replied, “and I really cannot trust anyone but myself where my buildings are concerned.” He smiled at her and then he was gone from the room.

  Lalitha leant back against the pillows.

  Her heart was beating fast and yet she was no longer frightened, as she had been when he’d first entered.

  ‘How kind he has been,’ she thought, and yet she felt that she should have pressed him further to be rid of her.

  He was obviously being gallant, but she was well aware what sort of impression she would make on his friends.

  They had expected his wife to be Sophie, the beautiful, incomparable Sophie, with her golden hair, blue eyes, and perfect skin.

  Lalitha knew without being told that while there must have been many women in Lord Rothwyn’s life he had probably never before offered marriage to any of them.

  Sophie had said that he was one of the richest men in England, in which case every ambitious mother would have wanted him as a son-in-law.

  Any girl would fancy living at Rothwyn House in Park Lane or being the Chatelaine of Roth Park.

  Wearing the family jewels in which Lord Rothwyn’s wife would bedeck herself, she could be Hostess to all the great personalities in the land from the Regent downwards.

  Sophie had one qualification essential to such a position—a beauty that would strike anyone as soon as they saw her.

  There might be others with blue-blood, a great dowry, or perhaps an engaging personality.

  ‘I have none of those things!’ Lalitha thought.

  She turned her head against the pillows and shut her eyes.

  She had to be practical, she thought. She had to be sensible.

  For a little while until she was well she could stay here in the midst of a beauty which moved her in a manner that was inexpressible in words.

  She had always loathed ugliness, just as she had always loathed dirt, cruelty, lies, and deceit, all of which had been part of the life she had been forced to live.

  Now she had escaped!

  Yet she must not deceive herself into thinking it could last forever.

  Lord Rothwyn had been kind to her, but only because she was ill and because in his anger he had forced her to do as he wished.

  ‘At the same time,’ Lalitha thought, “he must despise me for being so feeble! If I had protested loudly enough, if I had refused to take the marriage vows, he would not be in the position he is in now. ’

  She gave a little sigh.

  ‘I must save him from himself! ’ she thought, ‘and from me! ’

  It was two days later that Lalitha was well enough to go

  downstairs, and before that she had met the Herb-Woman.

  She was not quite certain what she had expected.

  Not a strange old crone who looked as though she had been baked in the sun until her skin was like brass and her eyes were blue as forget-me-nots.

  She had been brought to Roth Park in one of His Lordship’s carriages and had been delighted to see how Lalitha’s health had improved and how there seemed to be a little more fat covering her thin bones.

  “You got a long way to go, my dear,” she said with a broad Hertfordshire accent, “but you be on the right road and all you have to do now is to follow my instructions!”

  She wagged her finger at Lalitha.

  “No cheating now!”

  There were herbs for Lalitha to take which intrigued her. She was to continue with the Bay-oil, which had healed her back and which was still necessary where there were scars.

  There were soft creams that she was to rub over herself after she had bathed and which, she learnt, contained cowslips.

  There was calamint to take, which Lalitha learnt was the herb of Mercury and was not only good for the skin but for all afflictions of the brain.

  “You sound as if you thought I was mad!” she expostulated.

  “You starved your brain as you starved your body!” the Herb-Woman answered. “It needs feeding for it to be as strong as it should be. Calamint will help you. I will leave you a bottle. Let me know when it is finished.”

  There were so many other things that Lalitha, afraid that she would forget her instructions when the old woman had gone, wrote them all down.

  One thing which was easy for her to remember was that she was now to change the lotion for her hair to one made of peach-kernels.

  “Boil them in vinegar,” the Herb-Woman ordered Nattie. “Fortunately peaches are easy to come by at this time of the year. They make the hair grow even upon bald patches and give it a lustre and a shine as beautiful as the peach itself!”

  She also brought Lalitha some of her special honey and told her that she must eat the comb because that was as important as the honey itself.

  “How did you learn all these things?” Lalitha asked. “My father was a Herbalist and his father before him. My ancestor was Nicholas Culpeper.”

  “Who was he?”

  “A very famous Astrologer-Physician,” the Herb-Woman answered. “He was the first man in this country to set down his findings where herbs were concerned.”

  She smiled at Lalitha and added:

  “A study which goes back into the very annals of time.”

  “Yes, I knew that,” Lalitha said, “but I did not know there were books about herbs.”

  “Nicholas Culpeper,” the Herb-Woman said, “devoted his life to the study of Astrology and Medicine.” “How fortunate that he wrote it down!” Lalitha exclaimed.

  “During the Civil War he fought on the Parliamentary side and was wounded in the chest,” the Herb-Woman explained. “He cured himself and he thought if he had died his secrets would have died with him.” “That would have been a terrible loss!”

  “It would indeed! So while he treated innumerable patients in Spitalfields he still found time to describe the medicinal properties of herbs and the directions for his compounds in what he called his ‘Complete Herbal.’ ” “Please, one day could you let me see it?” Lalitha begged.

  “Certainly,” the Herb-Woman replied. “I will let you see it when you come to visit me, and as you are interested you can see the herbs growing, inspect those I have dried ready for Winter, and speak to my bees!” “Speak to your bees?” Lalitha exclaimed in astonishment.

  “They like those they heal to speak to them,” the Herb-Woman said. “I talk to them, tell them what is happening, and explain to them what their magical honey has to do.”

  She added simply:

  “They never fail me!”

  It seemed to Lalitha as if every moment she was at Roth Park there were new things to see and to learn about.

  When she dressed, with Nattie’s help, the Nurse brought from the wardrobe a gown she had never seen before.

  She had worried as to what she would wear when she went downstairs, aware that the dress she had worn to go to the Church would seem very out of place in the beauty and luxury of Roth Park.

  The gown Nattie held out for her to see was very lovely.

  It had the boat-shaped neckline which was so fashionable, and

  the huge sleeves which ended tightly at the wrist would hide the thinness of her arms.

  The skirt was full and ornamented round the hem with soft ribbons which somehow bespoke the magic word “Paris.”

  “Is that for... me?” Lalitha asked, wide-eyed.

&nbs
p; “His Lordship has had a number of gowns sent down from London,” Nattie answered. “I burnt those rags you were wearing the night I first saw you.”

  Lalitha blushed.

  “They were all I had,” she murmured.

  “Well, you have a great deal more now,” Nattie said. “But I do not wish you to tire yourself by looking at them.”

  “Can I have just one look?” Lalitha begged.

  Humouring her as if she were a child, Nattie opened the doors of the wardrobe and Lalitha saw that there were more than a dozen gowns of soft, muted colours very unlike the striking hues that had become Sophie’s brilliant pink, white, and gold beauty.

  “How did he know I would look best in the very soft shades like Mama?” Lalitha asked herself.

  She thought that he must have a fantastic instinct for such things.

  Certainly her dress of a soft shade of blue which reminded her of “love in a mist” flattered her slight body and seemed to accentuate the faint colour that had come into her face since she had taken the Herb-Woman’s mixtures.

  Nevertheless as she went down the stairs she felt apprehensive.

  Supposing after all he had done for her Lord Rothwyn was disappointed?

  A liveried footman led her across the Hall and opened the door to what Lalitha saw at a glance was not the Grand Salon she had rather dreaded but a much cosier, smaller room.

  It was filled with flowers and decorated with brocade-panelled walls and pictures of children.

  Standing in the window which opened into the garden was Lord Rothwyn.

  He turned, stood for a second looking at her, and then smiled.

  For the moment she was no longer frightened and she moved confidently towards him.

  Chapter Four

  Lalitha came down the stairs with a lilt in her step followed by a small black-and-white dog.

  Every day she had been at Roth Park had been full of discovery and delight!

  First she had been shown over the house that had been built in the reign of Charles II and added to by every succeeding generation of Rothwyns.

  She could not imagine that anything so large and imposing could still have the warmth, atmosphere, and intimacy of a home.

  There were treasures wherever she looked, fabulous pictures and tapestrys on the walls; furniture which successive owners had brought from France and Italy, all pieces which complemented each other in their fine craftmanship and made as a whole a pattern of beauty which enthralled her.