Call of the Heart Read online

  In fact she found herself thrilled by everything she

  saw, and to have the history of such treasures explained to her

  by Lord Rothwyn was a delight she had never known.

  Engraved in stone over the front door were the words:

  This house has been built by Inigo the first Lord Rothwyn not only with bricks and timbers but with his mind, imagination, and heart Erected in the year of Our Lord, a.d. 1678.

  “I can understand him saying that,” Lalitha cried.

  “So can I!” Lord Rothwyn agreed.

  “Is that how ... you build?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause and Lalitha longed to ask if in restoring her, as he had said he was doing, he gave her his mind, imagination, and heart.

  But she was too shy!

  In any case the last was impossible where she was concerned. Then Lord Rothwyn took her into his enormous Library.

  When she saw its beautiful painted ceiling and thousands of books giving the walls a patch-work effect of colour she had felt breathless with excitement.

  “Would I . . . would I ... be allowed to . . . read some of these?” she asked, eagerly looking up at him.

  With his hand he made a gesture which embraced the room. “They are all yours!”

  “I can hardly believe it!” she said beneath her breath. “I have felt these last years . . . starved because I was not allowed to read.”

  “Books are not the only thing of which you were starved,” he said.

  She blushed and then said anxiously:

  “I am better! I am not as ugly as I was.”

  “You were never ugly,” he answered in his deep voice, “but you did look somewhat neglected.”

  “I am trying very hard to eat everything I should. I drink literally gallons of milk!”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “It is an effort, because I do not like milk.”

  “Neither do I,” Lord Rothwyn confessed. “But Nattie always insisted on my finishing my mug, so you must do as she tells you.”

  Lalitha laughed.

  “She is so kind and yet she is very firm.”

  “That is why I was so well brought up!”

  He was speaking jokingly but Lalitha answered seriously: “She is exceedingly proud of you. She thinks all the good qualities you have are due entirely to her.”

  “And so they are,” Lord Rothwyn agreed loyally, “but what about the bad?”

  He looked at Lalitha with a cynical smile on his lips as he spoke, and she knew that he was referring to his bad temper the night he had forced her to marry him. “I think,” she said slowly, “that perhaps you are rather too . . . proud of being like your famous ancestor.”

  “You mean Sir Hengist?” Lord Rothwyn asked. “What do you know about him?”

  “I read about him,” Lalitha answered, “and the verse that was written about his anger.”

  “So that is why you told me that to curse Sophie was unlucky. Did you mean it would be unlucky for her or unlucky for

  me?”

  “For both of you,” Lalitha answered, “because I believe anger or hatred can harm those who feel it.”

  “I see that I shall have to be careful when I am angry in front of you!” Lord Rothwyn said.

  He noticed that Lalitha glanced at him a little nervously.

  He realised that while she was undoubtedly much better in health and looked very different from the beaten, half-starved girl he had carried up the stairs the first night they had been married, beneath the surface she was still afraid. She was like an animal who has been cruelly treated and from every raised hand expected a blow.

  There were other things he thought that had contributed to Lalitha’s new-found happiness; the chief one being that one of his dogs, a small King Charles Spaniel, had attached itself to her.

  Lord Rothwyn had several Spaniels and white spotted Dalmatians which followed him wherever he went, moving towards him with wagging tails as soon as he entered the room, always alert in case he felt inclined to take them off for a walk.

  The King Charles Spaniel had gone to Lalitha’s side the first day she had come downstairs.

  She had felt its cool nose against her hand and bent down to pat it.

  “I see Royal is making you welcome!” Lord Rothwyn remarked.

  “Why do you call him that?” Lalitha asked.

  “He was named ‘Royalist’ because of his Royal patron,” Lord Rothwyn answered, “but we shorten it to ‘Royal.’ ”

  “He is very sweet!” Lalitha said. “I once had a dog of my own which I loved... very deeply, but...”

  She did not finish the sentence and Lord Rothwyn knew by the expression in her eyes that the dog had been taken away from her—just another of the miseries which she suffered after the woman she now called her “mother” had come into her life.

  Lalitha did not realise it, but without questioning her, because he knew that to do so brought that terrible look of fear to her eyes, he was compiling a picture of what had happened in her life before he had met her.

  She so often forgot the part that she had been forced to play.

  “Before Mama died we read so many books together,” she said, and did not realise that the sentence was of significance.

  “There was a man in Norwich who grew roses like those,” was another piece of the jig-saw which Lord Rothwyn was gradually fitting together.

  This morning as she came down the stairs Lalitha was excited because His Lordship had promised her that if she felt well enough he would after luncheon drive her over to see the Elizabethan house he had renovated.

  He showed her a sketch of the house as it had been when he first found it, crumbling into disrepair, the holes in the roof mended with sacks.

  The windows were stuffed with rags, the beautiful

  Elizabethan red bricks utilised for pig-houses or to replace those that had crumbled away from adjoining walls.

  “That was how it was,” Lord Rothwyn explained, “and here are the plans of what we visualised the house had been from what foundations remained.”

  “It is big!” Lalitha exclaimed.

  “A lot of the houses round here,” he said, “were built not only by the Noblemen of the time but by the Burghers of the City of London, who found it a convenient coach-drive when they wished to visit the country.”

  “But this house belonged to a Nobleman?”

  “Yes,” he answered, “he was a great Aristocrat and must have looked down his nose at my roistering, buccaneering ancestors!”

  “I wonder if he knows that any insults Sir Hengist endured are now forgiven and forgotten by you?” Lalitha smiled.

  “Let us hope he approves of what I have done,” Lord Rothwyn said a little dryly. “There is however one thing that remains unfinished. Would you like to help me?” “Could I do anything to help you?” Lalitha asked. “You know I would like to above

  all things.”

  ‘I was going to wait until you had seen the house,” he said, “but I will give it to you now. You will find it a difficult task.”

  Lalitha wondered what it could be. Then Lord Rothwyn took from a drawer a silver box.

  When he opened it she saw that it was filled with scraps of paper.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “We found these in a secret cupboard behind some old panelling,” Lord Rothwyn said. “They had been chewed by mice and I thought at first they might have been State papers.”

  “Oh, what a pity!” Lalitha cried.

  “When I looked at them closely,” Lord Rothwyn continued, “I found what I think is part of a poem. History relates that Lord Hadley, for that was the Statesman’s name, also wrote sonnets.”

  Lalitha looked surprised and he explained.

  “All the gentlemen of Queen Elizabeth’s Court fancied themselves as romantics and therefore expressed themselves in verse to Her Majesty or to the lady of their fancy.”

  He laughed.

  �
�Most of their efforts were certainly not great literature but doubtless they gave pleasure at the time.” “Especially to the person to whom they were addressed,” Lalitha said.

  As she spoke she thought a little wistfully how much she would like someone to write a poem for her, then thought that it was never likely to happen.

  “What I want you to do,” Lord Rothwyn went on, “is to try to piece these fragments together. Too much may have been destroyed for you to be able to make any sense out of them, but it would be interesting to see what he wrote.”

  “May I really do that?” Lalitha asked. “I am very proud and honoured that you should entrust me with anything so precious.”

  “You are not to tire yourself,” he said. “If you feel your eyes are beginning to hurt you are to stop at once!” He paused and added:

  “They are very different from when I first saw them. “I had been sewing late every night and I had only one candle,” Lalitha explained. “When Nattie allows me to do so, I will

  embroider your monogram on your handkerchiefs. I am quite

  skillful at it.”

  Even as she spoke she wondered if she would be with him long enough. Then her doubts were swept away when he replied:

  “I too should be honoured, but you will not attempt it until you are quite well. Do you promise me?”

  “I promise,” Lalitha answered, “but you and Nattie are spoiling me. I shall get fat and lazy, and quite useless for anything except lying about on silk cushions.” “That is what I would like to see you doing,” Lord Rothwyn said.

  She glanced up at him.

  As his eyes met hers she felt a sudden breathlessness and a constriction in her throat which she could not explain even to herself.

  Then he looked away and put the silver box into her hand.

  “I shall be waiting patiently to see what Lord Hadley wrote to some Elizabethan beauty,” he said.

  Lalitha was consumed with curiosity to see what she would discover and this morning she had wished to sit down at the table in her bed-room, but Nattie had shooed her downstairs.

  “It’s a lovely day, M’Lady. You go out in the sunshine and keep such tasks for a rainy day. Besides, I expect His Lordship will be waiting for you.”

  This was enough to galvanise Lalitha into hurrying.

  She had put on a new dress of very pale orchid pink. It was a colour she had never worn before and she was wondering a little shyly what Lord Rothwyn would think of it.

  “I am just like one of the houses he is re-building,” she thought. “As he chooses the right carpets and curtains for the rooms, so he chooses my gowns.”

  There was something impersonal about the idea and yet it was a pleasure she could hardly express to herself to know that anyone, especially Lord Rothwyn, was interested enough to expend time and thought upon her.

  She reached the Hall and turned to walk down one of the corridors which led to Lord Rothwyn’s Study, where she was sure he would be at this time of the morning.

  It was a room some distance from the State apartments where he dealt with Estate matters and where the plans and sketches of his buildings were kept.

  Lalitha had nearly reached the door when it opened and a young man came out.

  He shut the door behind him to stand for a moment in the passage staring blindly ahead of him before he put his hands up to his face.

  Then crossing to the opposite wall, he stood supporting himself against it as if otherwise he might collapse. Lalitha thought he was ill and moved quickly towards him..

  Then to her surprise and horror she realised that he was crying.

  For a moment she did not know what to do but because he evoked her pity she asked in a low voice:

  “Can I help you?”

  “No-one can—help me!” he answered through his tears There was something pathetic and at the same time disturbing at seeing a man cry.

  “What has happened?” Lalitha asked.

  “It was my fault,” he answered. “I thought it was—wrong but I was too—frightened to say so.”

  There was an open door near to where they were standing and through it Lalitha could see an empty Sitting-Room. “Come in here,” she said gently, and taking the young man by the arm, his face still covered by his hands, she led him into the room.

  “Tell me what has happened?” she asked.

  He took his hands from his face and drawing a linen handkerchief from his pocket wiped his eyes.

  “I am ashamed of myself, Ma’am,” he said. “Please forget that you have seen me.”

  “There is no reason for me to do that,” Lalitha answered. “I wish to help you, if I can.”

  “But I have already said,” he replied in a choked voice, “no-one can help.”

  “What have you done?”

  “His Lordship is incensed with me and no wonder.” Lalitha knew that she had been expecting this answer. “Why is His Lordship angry?”

  There was a pause before the young man replied: “I have built one of the buttresses in the wrong position. I misread the plans. Whilst I felt it was not quite right I was afraid that His Lordship might be annoyed if I questioned him.”

  “And now he has discovered what you have done?”

  Lalitha asked.

  “He has dismissed me.”

  The tears came to his eyes again but he wiped them away fiercely.

  “I was so proud, so overwhelmed with gratitude, at being given the chance to work for him and I wanted to please. I tried. God knows I tried, but I was afraid of failing—so I failed!”

  “I can understand that,” Lalitha murmured.

  She stood thinking for a moment and then she said:

  “Will you wait here for me? Promise me you will not leave until I return.”

  As if he suddenly realised the unconventional manner in which he was behaving, the young man rose to his feet. “Forgive me, Ma’am. I should not have worried you with all this, but now you have been kind I will leave, I hope with— more dignity!”

  “No,” Lalitha answered, “I am asking you to wait here until I return. Have I your promise?”

  “If it pleases you,” he replied, “although I do not understand.” “Just wait!” Lalitha said.

  She turned and went from the room closing the door behind her. Then, drawing a deep breath, she crossed the corridor to open the door to the Study.

  As she had expected, Lord Rothwyn was alone.

  He was sitting at his big, leather-topped desk and there were a number of plans spread out in front of him.

  With a sinking of her heart Lalitha saw that he was scowling and angry.

  She had not seen that look on his face since the night they were married.

  Then as she stood in the doorway, her grey eyes wide in her small face, Lord Rothwyn looked up.

  “Oh, it is you, Lalitha!” he exclaimed.

  The scowl on his face lightened and he rose slowly to his feet. Lalitha shut the door behind her and walked to the desk.

  She stood in front of him without speaking. After a moment he realised that she was twisting her fingers together and said sharply: “What has upset you?”

  “I have . . . something to say,” Lalitha answered, “but I do not... wish you to think it. . . impertinent.” There was a little tremor in her voice.

  “Nothing you could say to me, Lalitha, would ever be impertinent,” Lord Rothwyn answered. “Will you not sit down?”

  He noticed that Lalitha sat on the very edge of a chair and he seated himself at his desk.

  “I am waiting,” he said, his tone gentle.

  “As you...know,” Lalitha began, “I am a ... coward and frightened of so many things. When one is frightened one often does what is ... wrong simply because ... one is numb or stupefied by... fear.”

  Lord Rothwyn was still and then he said:

  “I imagine that you have been talking to young Jameson, whom I have just dismissed.”

  “I know what he is . . . feeling.” Lalitha said, “because
Your Lordship is very . . . intimidating.”

  “Are you blaming me for this young man’s incompetence?” He seemed to be waiting for an answer, and after a moment Lalitha said in a very small voice:

  “He was ... afraid to ... argue with you, as ... I was.”

  There was silence and then Lord Rothwyn said:

  “Are you not being rather brave in telling me this?”

  “I am . . . sorry for him,” Lalitha explained, “because when people are strong and self-confident they do not understand how ... weak and ... stupid others like ... myself can be.”

  “Do you really think that is an excuse for bad workmanship?” “I thought in this case it was an error of judgment,” Lalitha said. “Everyone ... whoever they may be ... can make a mistake!”

  A faint smile twisted Lord Rothwyn’s lips.

  “As I made one,” he said. “All right, Lalitha, I am saying it for you. That is what you are thinking, is it not?”

  She looked down. Her eye-lashes which had grown thick and long since her illness were dark against her cheeks.

  “I told you that... you might ... deem it an ... impertinence!” she said hardly above a whisper.

  “I think perhaps you are not as fearful as you think you are,” he said, “but as I have no wish to upset you, Lalitha, I will speak to Jameson. Where is he?”

  Lalitha’s eyes were raised to his and he saw a sudden light in them.

  “In the room opposite.”

  “Stay here!”

  He went out, closing the door behind him, and Lalitha found herself praying in her heart that he would be kind to the young man.

  No-one understood, she thought, the horrible, insidious, snake-like fear which could run through one’s body, sapping one’s will to the point when one behaved foolishly simply because one could not think clearly.

  Even now, she thought, she could hardly believe that she would wake in the morning without having to anticipate receiving blows and abuse all through the day.

  She remembered how she was always alert, listening for the sound of her Step-mother’s voice, feeling a sudden sickness inside her at the thought that she might have done something wrong and would be punished for it.