The Fire of Love Page 8

  He had only been halfway down the flight of stairs and, when in a few seconds, Carina reached the spot where she had last seen him, she thought almost with a sense of terror that she must have seen a ghost.

  The man had completely vanished!

  “I did see him. I know I saw him,” Carina whispered beneath her breath.

  Then the sunshine coming through the window made her almost laugh at her own fantasy. Of course she had seen him! There were no such things as ghosts.

  Had she not been certain of that when the legendary ‘Grey Lady’ of Claverly Court never appeared to her, but only to hysterical housemaids or menservants who were to all intents and purposes simpletons?

  She stood and stared at the panelling and the memory of secret passages, of priest holes and all the tales she had heard of Royalists being concealed from the Roundheads came rushing to her mind. Of course carved panelling was the perfect place for a concealed door that no one could find unless they knew the exact place to look!

  Almost as if she was a child again, Carina felt excited. Supposing she pressed one of the Tudor roses and the panel slipped back, should she enter, or should she hurry away?

  It was a fascinating question and, as she stood there wondering what she should do, her fingers itching to see if she could find the concealed spring, she heard someone approaching and round the bend of the stairs appeared Lord Lynche.

  “What are you doing here, Miss Warner?”

  The question was abrupt and she knew not only from the tone of his voice but also from the expression on his face that he was disconcerted.

  She felt herself colour because she knew that she had been inquisitive, but she replied demurely,

  “I am trying to find Mrs. Barnstaple.”

  “You will not find her in this part of the building,” Lord Lynche said sharply. “Come with me and I will escort you to the staircase that leads to Mrs. Barnstaple’s apartment.”

  Feeling rather like a child who had been rebuked by the Headmaster, Carina followed him downstairs, her skirt making a slight silken sound against the thick carpet, her hand outstretched to touch the banister to give herself support.

  They reached the landing on the next floor and Lord Lynche stopped.

  “I think, Miss Warner,” he said uncertainly, “that I should apologise to you for my rudeness this morning. I was, in fact, deeply perturbed and worried or I would not have spoken to you in the way I did.”

  Although she told herself that she despised Lord Lynche more than any man she had ever met, Carina could not help being a little disarmed by his apology.

  She glanced up at him and found his grey eyes on hers.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “It was impertinent of me to say what I did, although, indeed, I meant it for the best.”

  “I know you did,” Lord Lynche replied, “and my rudeness was inexcusable, but believe me. Miss Warner, things are not always as easy for me as they appear to you.”

  There was a frown between his eyes and a worried note in his voice that made Carina say quickly without thinking,

  “I am sorry – I am indeed sorry if I added to your troubles. It is just that I did not think you cared.”

  “Care! My God, if you only knew!” Lord Lynche exclaimed.

  The ejaculation seemed to burst from him and then to Carina’s surprise he drew a step nearer to her and said in a low voice so that there was no possibility of anyone hearing,

  “Miss Warner, please don’t misunderstand me if I suggest that you go away. This post is not for you.”

  “Why do you say that?” Carina enquired.

  “Because,” he answered, “I have a deep respect for you. You are honest and straightforward. It is not right that you should be mixed up in our affairs or indeed in the intrigues and machinations of my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Carina could not help her surprise, it was something she had not expected him to say.

  “Yes, my mother,” Lord Lynche replied. “As you see, she is a very remarkable personality, a woman of great character, but she has grown old and is sometimes rather strange in her ways. I would not be disloyal, but, believe me, I am speaking in your best interests and I beg you to go from here and to go quickly.”

  Carina’s chin went up.

  “Run away, in fact,” she challenged.

  “No, no, no!” Lord Lynche answered. “You don’t understand, how could you? It is not that the post is too difficult for you personally, it is just that you don’t want to be mixed up with this lying and deception over the child.”

  “And what are you suggesting should happen to him?” Carina asked. “Would you like me to take him with me, as your mother suggested?”

  Lord Lynche looked startled.

  “My mother suggested that?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Carina replied. “She wanted me to take Dipa back to Java – to hide him there, I suppose.”

  Lord Lynche put his hand up to his forehead with what seemed to be a gesture of helplessness.

  “My mother has strange ideas,” he murmured almost beneath his breath. “It’s very difficult to deal with her. Take my advice. Miss Warner, and don’t try. Go home and – ”

  “I have no home,” Carina interrupted. “I have taken this position and, unless I am sacked, I intend to do my best to look after this child.”

  She took a deep breath and her dislike of the man to whom she was talking came back with so much force that she said impulsively what she should not have said.

  “In fact,” she went on, “I am afraid to leave here for fear of what you might do to him.”

  For the first time since their conversation began Lord Lynche’s face curled in a smile.

  “Do you really credit me with being a murderer?” he asked.

  “I think murder was in your mind and in your mother’s last night,” Carina replied.

  “You are very brave, you know,” Lord Lynche said. “How do you know, having guessed my guilty secret, that I shall not drop you down a well or shoot you through the head? It could appear to be an accident and who would suspect me of wanting to do away with a child’s Governess?”

  “If you try, I warn you I shall be a difficult corpse,” Carina retorted, speaking half seriously but with a hint of humour in her voice because she had realised how incredible the whole conversation was. “I might come back and haunt you.”

  “I doubt it,” Lord Lynche replied. “The ghosts in The Castle were all exorcised with bell, book and candle by my great-grandfather.”

  “But I – ” Carina began impetuously and then shut her lips together. Lord Lynche had obviously thought that she was frightened. If she told him what she had seen, he would be sure of it.

  She looked up at him a little uncertainly. Their repartee had been so quick and so spontaneous, that she could not make up her mind for the moment whether he was being wholly serious or laughing at her.

  As if he guessed her perplexity, he put out his hand and touched hers lightly as it lay on the banister.

  “Believe me, I am speaking for your own good.”

  “Which means that anything more you have to say will certainly be unpleasant,” Carina replied. “When my Nanny said that, it nearly always meant I was going to get a smack.”

  “Personally, I doubt if she smacked you hard enough,” Lord Lynche added and there was no doubt now that there was a smile not only on his lips but in his eyes.

  There came a moment of silence between them that seemed to be poignant with meaning – and yet what meaning Carina had no idea.

  “Who are you? Tell me about yourself?”

  His voice, low and deep, seemed to startle her as nothing he had said before had done.

  She moved away from him quickly.

  “We were going to Mrs. Barnstaple,” she said and her voice was cold and distant. “I need a thermometer for Dipa. He seems a little feverish.”

  “I am sorry to have delayed you,” Lord Lynche replied formally.

  He led the way d
own a passage, which Carina guessed led back to the centre of The Castle.

  Lord Lynche stopped at the bottom of the narrow staircase and said,

  “Mrs. Barnstaple’s apartment is at the top of this stairway.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Carina answered.

  He gave her a slight bow and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he had tried to be kind and she had snubbed his efforts. But there was no time for introspection. She lifted her skirts with one hand and ran up the staircase, finding, as Lord Lynche had directed, Mrs. Barnstaple’s room was directly opposite the head of the stairs.

  The door was open and Mrs. Barnstaple was scolding one of the housemaids. She looked up in surprise when she saw Carina in the doorway.

  “Oh, Miss Warner,” she exclaimed, “I had not expected to see you!”

  “I came to ask if you have a thermometer,” Carina said breathlessly as the housemaid slipped past her, glad to get off so lightly.

  “Yes, I am sure I have,” Mrs. Barnstaple answered. “Are you feeling ill?”

  “Oh no, it’s not for me, it’s for D – it’s for the little Prince. He seems rather flushed and I think he may have caught a slight chill this morning in the garden. It was colder than I thought.”

  “More likely he ate too much luncheon,” Mrs. Barnstaple said. “I never did think those big luncheons were good for children.”

  From the expression on her face, Carina guessed that for some reason she disapproved of their having lunched in the dining room.

  “I agree with you,” she said quickly. “And I think it would be best if, in future, the Prince and I had luncheon upstairs. I did suggest it this morning, but I was told that it was correct for the Prince to eat downstairs.”

  “Who told you that?” Mrs. Barnstaple asked.

  “Well, actually, I think it was Sir Percy Rockley’s idea,’ Carina replied.

  “Oh, him,” Mrs. Barnstaple said with a sniff. “Now, I hope, Miss Warner, you won’t take offence if I say to you that the less you see of that gentleman the better.”

  “I thought that myself,” Carina answered.

  Mrs. Barnstaple glanced towards the open door and lowered her voice.

  “He’s bad. Miss Warner. I heard of him before he came to stay here and the moment he appeared I took all the young housemaids off his floor.”

  “I should say that you were undoubtedly very wise,” Carina said.

  “I know his sort,” Mrs. Barnstaple continued darkly, “and it isn’t only where women are concerned that he is dangerous either.”

  “What do you mean?” Carina asked.

  “Oh, you will learn a lot of things if you stay here long enough,” Mrs. Barnstaple said enigmatically. “I could tell you – ”

  She stopped suddenly and Carina realised that one of the footmen had appeared in the doorway.

  “Now where did I put that thermometer?” Mrs. Barnstaple cried. “Oh, I remember. Miss Matthews borrowed it for her Ladyship. Come along, Miss Warner, we will go and ask for it back. It’s always the same in this place, I can never keep a thing of my own. Borrow, borrow, borrow and nobody ever thinks of returning anything!”

  She bustled towards the door like a ship in full sail and then appeared to see the footman for the first time.

  “Well, James, what do you want?”

  “Her Ladyship said to tell you that Mrs. Featherstonehaugh will be leavin’ by the afternoon train.”

  “There, there’s a surprise,” Mrs. Barnstaple exclaimed. “I will tell Mildred to have her packing done at once.”

  The footman went down the passage whistling. Mrs. Barnstaple waited until he was out of earshot and then turned to Carina.

  “I did hear as how they were having words just after luncheon,” she said, “but I had no idea it would mean that she would have her boxes packed and get out. I thought she had her claws deep into his Lordship.”

  There was no need for Mrs. Barnstaple to explain what she meant. Carina knew only too well. She had seen Mrs. Featherstonehaugh at luncheon flirting outrageously with Lord Lynche and making it clear to everyone at the table that he was her property.

  Carina had no idea whether the lady in question was married or a widow, but despite the sheltered life she had led, she was well aware that Mrs. Featherstonehaugh was the type of woman that her mother would not have had in the house. Apart from anything else, the paint and powder that she wore on her face proclaimed her to be fast and what Nanny would have called ‘no better than she ought to be’.

  The luncheon downstairs had been such a nightmare that she could hardly bear to think of it. She had been ignored completely by the two ladies present, while the men had looked at her with a mixture of familiarity and speculation that had made her long to insult them just as they were insulting her.

  They were all, she thought, the type of roistering, rakish, men-about-town that her mother had most abominated and with whom she had only come in contact occasionally in her father’s company.

  Sir Percy Rockley was indeed the worst of them and he had done everything to make the luncheon uncomfortable and almost intolerable.

  At first he had invited her to sit beside him, but Lord Lynche had saved her from that and pointed to the places at the end of the table for Dipa and herself.

  In this way Sir Percy was opposite her, although a little further up the table, and she had known from the way he looked at her that everything he said and did was in some way a performance for her benefit. He was, she was sure, watching her reactions to his stories with their double entendres and to the cynical manner in which he referred to women.

  With an effort Carina had kept her eyes downcast, sitting in silence except when she addressed Dipa, helping him to his food and showing him how to use his knife and fork.

  But she had known all the time that her body was tingling with the humility of it. Were all Governesses subject to such misery?

  She knew the answer was that she was too young and far too attractive to be a Governess in a household like this.

  If, in fact, she had been one of those poor put-on women she could doubtless have suffered it more easily. But as it was she was seething with anger by the time luncheon came to an end and it was with a feeling of thankfulness that she was able to hurry Dipa upstairs to the nurseries, which seemed in contrast the very haven of peace and security.

  ‘I will say that it was the luncheon that upset Dipa,’ Carina thought to herself now. ‘If I am clever about it, they will believe me and then we need not go down again.’

  They reached the first floor and the broad high corridor that led to the Dowager’s apartments.

  Mrs. Barnstaple knocked on the door and, because the latch had not been securely fastened by the person who had last entered, the slight pressure caused the door to open two or three inches.

  Standing outside, Mrs. Barnstaple and Carina could hear quite clearly Lady Lynche’s voice raised in anger.

  “Are you crazed? Cannot you see that he is trying to ruin you as he has ruined dozens of other fools? I hear you lost five thousand to him last night.”

  “I don’t know where you get your information,” Carina heard Lord Lynche reply, “but it happens to be the truth.”

  “Of course it’s the truth!” his mother shrieked at him. “Don’t you realise yet that I know everything that goes on? I may be tied to my bed, but I am not an imbecile. I am well aware that you are behaving like a drunken sot and letting this adventurer suck you dry. Well, I won’t have it, dye hear me?”

  “I would hardly refer to Sir Percy as an adventurer, Mama,” Lord Lynche remonstrated. “He is a gambler, I admit that – ”

  “He is a reprobate who lives by his wits and on the money he extorts from young nitwits like yourself and I won’t have it, do you understand? I won’t have it! It’s not your money to chuck away.”

  “I think there is someone at the door,” Lord Lynche said suavely.

  He must have crossed the room quickly because, before Mrs. Barnstapl
e and Carina, almost mesmerised by what they were hearing, could collect their wits, the door was flung open and he stood facing them.

  “Come in, Mrs. Barnstaple,” he said. “You will hear much better if you are inside the room.”

  Mrs. Barnstaple seemed unperturbed by his rudeness.

  “There is no call for you to speak to me like that, your Lordship,” she replied. “I had just that very moment brought Miss Warner here in search of a thermometer for the poor little Prince who has been taken poorly.”

  “You have no thermometer of your own?” Lord Lynche enquired.

  “Indeed, I have, my Lord, but Miss Matthews borrowed it for her Ladyship several days ago and has not returned it.”

  “Come in, come in,” the Dowager said sharply from the bed. “Don’t stand there yapping in the doorway. What’s wrong with the child?”

  Mrs. Barnstaple moved a few paces into the room and Carina, following her, spoke quickly,

  “I think he has been upset by too rich a luncheon. With your permission, I think it would be best for him – to have plainer food in the schoolroom.”

  “And who invited you downstairs in the first place?” Lady Lynche enquired.

  “I gave the order,” Lord Lynche explained. “Actually, Sir Percy told me it was the correct thing and that someone of Royal blood, however young, might feel slighted at not being allowed to consort with his equals.”

  There was heavy sarcasm in Lord Lynche’s voice as he said the last sentence.

  His mother shot him an almost murderous glance as she said sharply,

  “Sir Percy again! I can well understand it is not the child he wanted to see at luncheon. Miss Warner and her charge will in future lunch upstairs.”

  “Thank you, my Lady,” Carina said gratefully.

  “And now you can all go,” Lady Lynche informed them abruptly. “I am tired and want my sleep before tea. Send Matthews to me and I will tell her to give you back your thermometer, Mrs. Barnstaple. It seems ridiculous to me that in a place this size there is only one thermometer to be shared around as if we are orphans with a charity cup.”

  “I agree, my Lady,” Mrs. Barnstaple said. “It would be much more convenient if Miss Matthews had one of her own.”