The Keys of Love Read online

  “Hmn,” mumbled Kitty as she looked at Henrietta more closely. “Honey, are you feeling ill? Do you need food? You don’t look too great.”

  Henrietta, pale, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, shook her head.

  “I’m not hungry and I’m not ill. I’m just tired.”

  She was praying for her visitors to go.

  Kitty slid off the window seat.

  “Oh, ho, I can take a hint,” she whistled at Eddie. “Come on. We gotta let Harrietta here get her beauty sleep for tomorrow.”

  Henrietta waited until their voices faded along the corridor. Then she turned down the wick of her bedside lamp and slipped under the covers.

  She longed for sleep and the ending of her troubled thoughts, but sleep did not come. She tossed and turned, imagining herself half naked under the Duke’s gaze.

  For that was just how she must have looked on the stairs half naked!

  Ha ha ha harlot, ha ha ha harlot.

  Even the owl outside seemed to be taunting her.

  The moon rose, an icy face in the dark heavens.

  Henrietta at last slept, a crease on her brow.

  *

  When she awoke, it was to the sound of a horse stepping carefully over cobbles.

  The room was light and a bird chirped on the sill.

  She climbed out of bed and crossed to the window.

  A chestnut mare stood saddled in the courtyard.

  She pressed her forehead against the glass, staring. Was this the horse the groom had promised her?

  After a moment, she turned and dressed quietly and tiptoed into the next room to find Nanny awake but in poor humour, suffering the effects of more wine than her wont.

  The courtyard was silent and empty.

  The mare turned her head at Henrietta’s approach. She took the reins and then softly stroked the mare’s nose.

  “Do I have you all to myself?” she marvelled.

  “Not quite,” came a voice from behind.

  It was Joe, his hat jammed low on his head and his face swathed in a great scarf against the frosty dawn.

  “I hope you do not mind if I accompany you on the ride, Miss Reed?”

  “I would be delighted,” rejoined Henrietta. “To tell you the truth, I was feeling nervous at the idea of setting out alone, for I am not acquainted with the terrain.”

  Joe stepped forward to help her into the saddle, but held back when she was determined to mount by herself.

  He looked rather startled as she settled herself with legs akimbo, her skirt trailing on either side of the mare.

  Henrietta noticed his gaze and flushed.

  She had forgotten the English customs of riding. In Texas she had ridden bareback, skirt hiked up into her belt.

  “This is how I rode in Texas,” she explained.

  How very glad she was that the Duke was not there to see her once again behaving in a questionable manner!

  Joe bowed his head, seeming amused, and mounted Gawain.

  With a clatter of hooves, they set out.

  Once free of the house and garden Joe set his horse to gallop and the chestnut mare took up the pace eagerly.

  She felt the wind tug at her veil and skirts. For the first time since yesterday afternoon her heart lightened.

  After a good mile or so they drew up at the edge of a sparkling stream and the horses bent their heads to drink.

  Joe eyed Henrietta from under the brim of his hat.

  “You did not accept the Duke’s invitation to tea yesterday,” he queried.

  “How do you know?” she asked, astonished

  “A country house is like an echo chamber. You hear everything in the end.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, reddening as she wondered if Joe had also heard the story of her unhooked dress.

  “Well you see it turned out that the invitation wasn’t for me at all. It was for that other lady the Duke was expecting Miss Foss.”

  Joe leaned down to pat his horse’s neck.

  “Miss Foss, was it? How was that discovered in time?”

  “Lady Butterclere told me. D-did the Duke enjoy taking tea with M-Miss Foss?”

  “I believe that he was somewhat bemused when she arrived in your place, but he found her uniquely charming.”

  Henrietta fell silent as Joe glanced sideways at her.

  “You did not join the Duke for supper either,” he remarked after a moment.

  Henrietta was becoming uneasy.

  “Are you the D-Duke’s official spokesman that you interrogate me so?”

  “In a way, yes,” he replied. “The Duke would like me to discover why you appear to harbour such apparent distaste for his company.”

  “Distaste? Oh, no,” she cried, shocked. “That was not the reason I stayed away at all!”

  She could not be sure if Joe heard these last words for something on the far bank had caught his attention and he now reared up in the saddle, staring into the distance.

  Henrietta followed his eye.

  A man was running across the skyline, right to left, and he was hunched over under the weight of a large sack.

  As if he sensed their presence, the man stopped and turned his head their way. Then he was running off again, at greater speed than before, making for some woods.

  “Wait here,” commanded Joe, digging his heels into Gawain’s grey flank as he set out in pursuit.

  The man glanced back and ran away faster. Within seconds he had plunged through a wall of briars and was in the woods.

  Joe reached the woods, but Gawain baulked at the thorny briar that barred the way.

  Faintly over the field, Henrietta heard Joe attempt to urge Gawain on, but to no avail. He finally leaped from the saddle and pushed through the briars without his horse.

  A few minutes later Joe emerged carrying the sack, but there was no sign of the man he had been pursuing.

  Joe cantered back towards Henrietta.

  “Who was that man, Joe, and why did you chase after him?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I have no idea who he was,” said Joe grimly, “but I have a good idea what he was. Someone broke into the house late last night. Cook discovered many items missing

  a large ham, some chickens, bread, silver cutlery and a sum of money kept in a desk for provisions. Quite a large sum of money, as the ball is imminent.”

  Here Joe gave the sack a shake.

  “The fellow dropped this when he realised it would hinder his escape. I think we’ll find most of the items in here bar the money.”

  Henrietta stared towards the dark woods, her heart suddenly chilled with fear.

  “A p-prisoner escaped yesterday, while we were en route to Merebury,” she whispered. “And when we arrived a servant found a hat left behind a trunk. He said we had had a stowaway.”

  “No doubt it was our thief.”

  Joe looked at her pale face and his gaze softened.

  “But do not worry. I think we have seen the last of him now.”

  Henrietta wondered why he was so sure.

  “I-I should like to return to the house,” she said.

  Joe nodded and wheeled his horse around.

  The household was fully astir as he and Henrietta clattered back under the arch and into the courtyard.

  A stable boy ran out and held the reins while they dismounted.

  Henrietta had lifted her skirt and turned towards the house when the boy’s voice made her spin round in shock.

  “Cook has been asking for you, Your Grace.”

  Your Grace!

  She looked wildly round, but there was no one else the boy could have addressed but Joe.

  Joe now swept off his hat and shook his dark locks.

  Locks as black as raven’s wings.

  Her stunned eyes met his.

  “Who who are you?” she whispered.

  He unwound the scarf and swept to an elegant bow.

  “Joeseph, Duke of Merebury, at your service, Miss Reed.”

  She thought she
would faint.

  She stepped back, and back again, and then turned with a cry and took to her heels.

  As if she had disturbed his sleep, a black raven rose screeching from the eaves above her and flapped angrily away over the roof.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Did you have a good ride out, dear?”

  Nanny stood in the doorway of Henrietta’s room, her old shawl draped about her and her hair unpinned.

  Henrietta leaned down quickly to unhook her boots. She had been crouched broodingly in the armchair for over an hour, weeping tears of frustration, and she did not want Nanny to see her stained cheeks.

  “It was fine, Nanny,” she murmured. “Fine.”

  Nanny looked perplexed. She had been expecting Henrietta to return rosy with health and eyes sparkling with pleasure. Instead of which her charge seemed subdued.

  “Who accompanied you on the ride?”

  Henrietta started on the other boot.

  “The the Duke’s groom Joe,” she replied in as light a tone as she could muster.

  Nanny was not deceived. Something was troubling the girl.

  “Did anything improper occur?”

  Henrietta looked up in alarm. She really must not let Nanny get ideas like that into her head.

  “Oh, it’s not at all what you think, Nanny. It’s just that the D Joe tried to apprehend a thief, who got away though Joe managed to retrieve the items he had stolen. The whole incident unsettled me rather.

  “I am sure the thief is the villain from The Boston Queen, the prisoner who escaped on the road and probably hid on one of the coaches bringing us here to Merebury.”

  “My goodness!” breathed Nanny. “To think that you were in such danger while I was all tucked up in bed!”

  “Oh, I was quite safe. I was in good hands.”

  Good hands indeed!

  That the Duke had courage and command could not be denied, but he had played her just like like a fish on a hook. Allowed her to believe he was a groom, someone with whom she could feel completely at ease.

  She had even ridden full saddle in his presence!

  This, added to the fact that he had witnessed her in a state of semi-undress the day before, made her redden with shame and indignation.

  What must he think of her? Was she a source of entertainment for him?

  She had heard of the merry licence of the Prince of Wales and his retinue. Was she now to be the subject of merriment at some future royal supper?

  Her head ached as she imagined him recounting his morning’s sojourn not just to the Prince, but also to Lady Butterclere and Miss Foss. How they would snigger at the thought of her gullibility. How they would enjoy the idea of her discomfiture.

  Why did he do it, why?

  She now cast her mind back to that first encounter.

  Henrietta had to be honest and admit to herself that he had not deliberately misled her until he realised that she took him for the groom.

  Then he had announced himself to be simply ‘Joe’.

  He had clearly mistaken her for Romany.

  Perhaps initially he had been merely teasing the girl he thought to be his prospective fiancée, amused that she did not recognise him from the photographs she had seen.

  But why did he not reveal himself when he realised his mistake? And why had he then compounded his error by inviting her to ride out with him the following morning?

  It could only be that he wanted to arm himself with an amusing episode to recount to his Royal friend!

  Henrietta started at a hand on her forehead.

  “You’re somewhat feverish,” frowned Nanny. “We can’t have you taking ill, not with the ball this evening.”

  “Yes, and rehearsals are at midday.”

  “Well, it’s not nine o’clock yet. I tell you what. I’ll ring for your breakfast to be brought up here and then you go back to bed for a couple of hours. A little more sleep will do you the world of good.”

  Henrietta felt a surge of relief at this suggestion.

  She felt weary and helpless, and just in the mood to be pampered!

  She was about to undress when there was a knock on the door and a pageboy staggered in with an enormous vase of flowers.

  “More flowers?” she queried in surprise as there was already a winter bouquet in the room from her arrival.

  “All grown in the glasshouse,” said the pageboy. “But but who has sent them up?” asked Henrietta.

  “Lady Butterclere?”

  “Oh lord, no! It were the Duke what ordered them. Anything more, miss?”

  “N-no, thank you,” murmured Henrietta.

  The page boy withdrew as she stared at the flowers.

  They were by way of an apology, she felt at last.

  This gesture of the Duke’s in no way assuaged her sense of humiliation.

  Her silly fantasies about the Duke were truly over.

  She had to go through with the performance tonight but after that she hoped she never, never had to set eyes on this house and its illustrious occupant again!

  *

  Rehearsals did not, at first, go well.

  Lady Butterclere insisted on sitting in with Romany and made loud comments throughout every number. She was particularly voluble whenever Henrietta played solo.

  “It’s a great shame the real piano player missed the boat at Boston,” she remarked cattily. “Miss Reed is only a pale imitation, I should imagine.”

  Eddie gestured to Henrietta to stop playing. Laying down his baton, he turned to Lady Butterclere.

  “Lady, you are not helping,” he muttered wearily. “I would sure appreciate it if you would take yourself and Lizzie there somewhere else.”

  Lady Butterclere drew herself up her lips quivering.

  “You seem to forget, young man, I am the reason you are here at all. If I wish to be certain of the quality of your work, I will. And Miss Foss’s name is not Lizzie.”

  Eddie regarded her for a moment and then picked up his baton. Turning back to the orchestra, he gave a nod at the brass section. There was a wicked look in his eye.

  A moment later the noise became unbearable. Lady Butterclere and Miss Foss pressed their hands to their ears.

  “Oh, stop it do!” cried Lady Butterclere.

  “Gotta practice the difficult bits,” shouted Eddie.

  Grimacing painfully she rose from her seat.

  “Come, Romany, we have things to do,” said Lady Butterclere loudly. “We must take the carriage into town and buy some attire suitable for this English weather.”

  They hurried away and with a clash of the cymbals, the orchestra ceased playing and fell into laughter.

  Even Henrietta, who had been rather withdrawn all morning, gave a wan smile.

  Rehearsals proceeded as normal after that, though Henrietta was not happy with her performance. She knew that she was slow and uninspired.

  Eddie threw her a shrewd look now and then, but he seemed to have decided not to put any pressure on her.

  She felt even more despair later that day when she stood peeping through one of the long gallery windows at the carriages rolling up in the courtyard below.

  Below were the guests who had been invited to dine before the ball. One by one the carriages disgorged their occupants and her cheeks grew more and more pale.

  She recognised Lord Oxberry, Sir Hugh Waldemar, the Duke and Duchess of Colehill she had met them all before, either at Lushwood or in the salons of London.

  Though these encounters had taken place over four years ago, she knew she had not changed much since then.

  At length she hurried along to Kitty’s room where Eddie awaited her.

  Kitty had found another gown for her to wear. It was an emerald green satin with flounces and an even more plunging neckline than the scarlet dress.

  Kitty had also unearthed elbow-length green satin gloves and a tiara studded with green rhinestones.

  Henrietta looked dubiously at the gown.

  “It’s rather like a
a ”

  “A saloon girl’s dress? Kitty supplied. “Honey, it’s just what it is. I got one of the seamstresses here to add the flounces. Just to make it a little more respectable.”

  ‘Respectable,’ thought Henrietta in despair. It was hardly that, although it was undeniably eye-catching.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Eddie, “you’re thinking that you don’t want to be recognised wearing that. But worry not. No one will recognise you for hark!”

  He jokingly put a hand to his ear as a knock on the door sounded.

  “I do believe the great Lando has arrived.”

  He then pulled open the door and a small fat man with a powdered face came mincing in, a large black case in his hand. He put the case down and turned to throw an appreciative eye over Henrietta.

  “Exquisite!” he pronounced. “It will be such a sad pleasure to hide such natural beauty!”

  Henrietta realised that he was the make-up man that Eddie had summoned from London.

  “Sit down, my dear,” invited Lando.

  Henrietta took the seat nervously and stared glumly at her reflection. The next moment Lando had tilted her head and began to apply some scented unguent to her face.

  He was hard at his task for a good half an hour.

  Henrietta had almost dozed off when Lando at last whisked away the cloth from her shoulders.

  “Finis!” he cried.

  Henrietta opened her eyes and gave a gasp of shock at the sight that confronted her.

  Her eyes were heavily lined with kohl, giving her a sleepy gaze. Her ivory skin was concealed beneath a beige paste of some sort and her cheeks were almost purple with rouge. Her lips were scarlet, heavily outlined in black.

  Before she even had time to digest her look, Lando held something sleek and black over her head and the next minute he was fitting it down over her helpless skull.

  It was a wig.

  “You look every inch the professional showgirl,” proclaimed Eddie.

  “B-but I don’t want to look like a showgirl!”

  “Harrie, I know,” Eddie soothed her. “But this way, nobody, but nobody is going to recognise you, are they?”

  Henrietta looked at herself again. Eddie was right, she scarcely recognised herself. Every trace of Henrietta Radford let alone Harrietta Reed had been eliminated. She looked older and wiser and much, much harder.