A Perfect Way to Heaven Read online

  Serge seemed particularly incensed, turning round on the gravel and raising his fist in the air. The Prince hissed replies, looked away and kicked at one of the posts supporting a washing line.

  Then, to Elvira’s absolute shock, Serge caught hold of the Prince by his collar.

  Her hands flew to her mouth.

  The scene before her was incomprehensible. How could a servant address his Master in such a manner? How could a Prince allow it? Surely Serge would be sent on his way tomorrow without a penny and no references?

  The Prince extricated himself from Serge’s grip. He stood for a moment glaring at his servant. He then gave what looked like a reluctant nod and, turning on his heels, stormed off towards the garden gate.

  Elvira shrank back, grateful that he was not coming her way. Peeping out after a moment, she saw Serge standing with head bowed as if lost in thought.

  Elvira slipped away and back in her room she spread out her meal, but she could not eat.

  All that was on her mind was the scene in the garden. What could have been the disagreement? Was it the betrothal announced that very evening?

  Whatever the cause of the quarrel, Elvira realised one thing with a certain degree of surprise.

  She would be most upset if Serge was dismissed from the Prince’s service!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sound of barking dogs rang out in the frosty morning air. Elvira threw aside her bedclothes and ran to the window.

  Far below stood two grooms each holding two horses by the bridle. Three spaniels sported about a gamekeeper, excited beyond measure at the sight of the shotguns slung on his shoulder.

  Lord Baseheart and the Prince emerged from the house, followed by an elderly Duke who had stayed on at Baseheart after last night’s ball.

  There was no sign of Serge.

  The Prince cut a distinguished figure, but was evidently ill at ease. He paced to and fro, tugging at his gloves as if unaccustomed to such thick leather.

  Lord Baseheart, the Duke and the gamekeeper mounted their steeds without aid. One of the grooms then knelt and, hands cupped, helped the Prince on to his horse and the party set off.

  “Come away from there, miss, before you freeze,” came Beth’s voice behind Elvira.

  She closed the window and sat down before the breakfast that Beth had brought her.

  “Have you seen Serge about this morning?” she asked her maid carefully.

  “Serge? Can’t say as I have, Miss. I’d have thought he’d gone out on the shoot.”

  Elvira considered. If Serge had been dismissed, then it was not as yet common knowledge.

  Why should she care if Serge stayed at Baseheart? He was nothing to her! And yet – she and he shared a history.

  He had rescued her from peril, cared for her when she was fevered and danced with her when she had no partner but her dreams. Like her, he nursed a secret love for someone out of his reach.

  If he was gone, she would feel quite alone in her misery.

  After breakfast, she dressed and went to Delphine’s room, where she found her cousin still in her peignoir and looking petulant.

  “The Prince did not send me greetings before he set out this morning,” she complained. “He could have sent a note or a rose – anything. Indeed, now we are formally engaged, he could have come to my room to bid me adieu.”

  “That would not have been correct and it is as well that he knew it,” remarked Elvira quietly.

  Delphine threw her a sly look.

  “Oh, he’s not one for such outmoded concerns! He’s always trying to get me alone, you know.”

  “He should not do so,” commented Elvira shocked. Surely the Prince would not be so importunate?

  Delphine gave a great bray of laughter.

  “What could you possibly know of such matters, cousin? You’ve never been courted in your life. Unless you were courted the night you were alone with the valet at that cottage?”

  Elvira blushed so deeply that Delphine felt she had quite hit the mark.

  “He kissed you, Elvira, admit it!” she squealed.

  “He did not!” riposted Elvira stoutly.

  “Don’t believe you,” said Delphine, but she had already lost interest in a subject that did not directly involve her. Desultorily she picked up a powder puff and began to apply it to her nose.

  “My nose shines so in the morning,” she sighed. “What am I going to do, when I wake up beside the Prince? I daresay I shall have to keep a puff beneath my pillow.”

  An image of Delphine and the Prince lying together in a lavish bed with gold curtains rose so vividly in Elvira’s mind that she turned away to the window.

  “Serge did not accompany the Prince on the shoot this morning,” she said as casually as she could.

  Delphine stared from amid a cloud of powder, the puff arrested mid-air.

  “He didn’t? That’s strange.”

  “Isn’t it!” agreed Elvira. She began to trace the letters of a name on the window. Prince Charles de Courel it would have read, if visible.

  “What are you doing there?” asked Delphine irritably. “Come away. I need to send you on an errand. I’ve a great desire for some preserved figs.”

  “Figs?” repeated Elvira.

  “Yes. You’ll find some in the pantry, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  Happy to escape the overpowering scent of powder, Elvira departed.

  She found the figs and a little wicker basket. Then feeling a headache coming on, she decided to take a quick turn in the garden before returning to her cousin.

  Basket on her arm, she circled the kitchen garden slowly, drawing in great gulps of fresh air.

  Next she saw Serge piling logs into a wheelbarrow. He glanced up, wiped his forehead with his arm and returned to his task without acknowledging her.

  It was as if all memory of their dance by moonlight had vanished from his mind.

  Elvira drew near and stood, swinging the basket of figs to and fro. She could hardly say she was glad to see Serge still at Baseheart without revealing that she had overheard the heated exchange the night before.

  “I was surprised – you did not ride out with the Prince,” she ventured at last.

  “Were you? Why?” grunted Serge.

  “You are – always with him.”

  “Like a shadow?” Serge gave a wry laugh

  “Not a shadow, exactly. More like – his other self.”

  Serge glanced at her sharply.

  “How could a valet be the other self of a Prince?”

  Elvira’s confidence grew even less sure.

  “Well – you are his voice. We understand him through you. Without you, he is an enigma.”

  Serge threw down a log heavily.

  “You take a great interest in the Prince. Are you in love with the blackguard?”

  Elvira recoiled in shock.

  “B-blackguard? How can you refer to your Master in such a manner?”

  Serge reached out and caught at her wrist.

  “Answer me. Are you in love with him?”

  “It’s n-not your business!”

  She tried hard to pull her wrist away, but his grip tightened. His eyes were angry, his breast heaving with some inner conflict as he placed his free hand about the nape of her neck and forced her head towards him.

  The next moment his lips were pressed harshly, yet heatedly, to hers.

  Her breast rose in a tumult and the basket fell from her grasp.

  She struggled, relented, struggled again and only when she felt close to swooning did he release her. She stood, heart pounding, blood drumming in her ears.

  She wanted to castigate him but could not.

  Through a mist she saw him lift a shovel, strike its blade into the earth and lean on the handle.

  “Go,” he muttered. “Before I can no longer answer for myself.”

  Turning, Elvira stumbled back along the path. She slammed the kitchen door and leaned panting against it.

  ‘What a nerve, t
o kiss me,’ she thought, ‘just because he could not kiss my cousin!’

  He’s a brute, a common oaf, she decided, while yet her hand rose wonderingly to touch her lips and relive his kisses.

  *

  The shooting party did not return until late afternoon and Elvira was descending the stairs on her way to the library to find a book, when she saw Lord Baseheart. He threw a cursory glance at her before striding over to the fire blazing in the large marble hearth.

  “The fellow’s surprisingly inept in the field,” he muttered to the air.

  Wondering who Lord Baseheart meant by ‘fellow’, Elvira hurried on.

  That evening, Delphine and Elvira walked down together to supper. Elvira trembled as she entered the dining room, aware that Serge was already present. To her relief he did not even glance her way.

  Delphine, however, was bitterly disappointed when the Prince barely acknowledged her entrance. After all, they had not seen each other since the night before.

  Throughout supper, it became obvious that the Prince was doing everything in his power to avoid his valet’s eye. He played with his cutlery and ran his finger over the pattern on the table cloth.

  Elvira surmised that this chill between the two men was connected to the argument in the garden and they had clearly not spoken since.

  Over dessert Lady Cruddock began to expound on her plans for the nuptials. She would take Delphine to Gloucester to purchase silk for the wedding dress, hire an orchestra for the wedding breakfast and order a four-tiered cake from a French baker. This was to please the Prince, but he seemed not to have heard.

  Delphine regarded her fiancé miserably. Was he not interested in their forthcoming wedding?

  At last Serge gave a gesture of impatience and leaned to speak to the Prince. An expression of alarm crossed the Prince’s features before he gave a reluctant nod.

  Serge looked at Lord Baseheart and cleared his throat.

  “Your Lordship.”

  Lord Baseheart looked up and Serge continued.

  “The Prince requests a private meeting with you. Tonight.”

  All eyes turned towards the Prince, who looked uncomfortable at being suddenly the focus of attention. Lord Baseheart, meanwhile, gave a slight bow to his future son-in-law.

  “Alas, I have arranged to visit my lawyer at his house in Chidford this evening. Perhaps the Prince and I might converse tomorrow morning? If that is acceptable to His Highness.”

  Serge hesitated before conveying this message to his Master. The Prince, seeming relieved, inclined his head towards Lord Baseheart.

  Elvira supposed his visit to his lawyer was to discuss the details of Delphine’s dowry. If that was what the Prince also wished to discuss, it was indeed better to wait until tomorrow.

  After supper, Delphine and Elvira were making their way gloomily upstairs when a maid ran after them with a note addressed to Miss Baseheart. Delphine waved the maid away and opened the note. Her eyes grew wide with relief and excitement as she read its contents.

  “The Prince has asked me to meet him in the garden – alone!”

  “That is an improper request, cousin,” commented Elvira.

  Delphine pressed her hands to her ears.

  “Tra la, tra la! I’m not listening to you, Elvira. I was so unhappy at supper when he barely looked my way, but this makes up for it. I must go to him!”

  “I am supposed to be your chaperone,” pleaded Elvira. “If you go you will compromise me as well as yourself.”

  “It was precisely not to be lectured to like this that I employed you in the first place,” responded Delphine with sudden iciness and next minute she was off down the stairs.

  Elvira continued on her way to bed.

  Doubts about the Prince were beginning to trouble her mind. Surely a gentleman would not seek to so compromise the lady he loved by asking her to meet him unchaperoned in the middle of the night?

  A little after the castle clock struck one she heard footsteps in the passage that stopped outside her door.

  “Come in,” she called in answer to three soft raps.

  Delphine opened the door and tiptoed to the bed.

  “How do I look, cousin?”

  “How do you look?” echoed Elvira, leaning on her elbows and peering at her cousin in the moonlight. “Why, what can you mean?”

  Delphine swung round to the pier glass.

  “I can’t tell – it’s too dark, but do I look – different? Like someone who has been kissed and kissed until she could barely draw breath?”

  “Kissed and kissed?”

  Elvira closed her eyes at this evidence of the Prince’s passion for his fiancée. She knew she should remonstrate with her cousin but, remembering Serge’s lips on hers, she felt she was in no position to do so.

  Delphine sank on her knees by the bed.

  “There’s more – but I can’t tell you. All I can tell you is that the Prince is unbelievably romantic and impetuous. He says he is dying with desire for me.”

  “I s-see,” stammered Elvira, wishing Delphine did not feel compelled to tell her all this.

  “I don’t know anything anymore. I can’t go against my father’s wishes, can I? Yet how can I refuse the blandishments of my future husband? Oh, love, love! How sharp is thy sting! But how could you be expected to understand it, cousin?”

  “How, indeed!” sighed Elvira, rubbing her eyes.

  Delpine squeezed her hand.

  “Tell me what to do. What can I do?”

  Elvira laid her head against her pillows. This great outpouring of emotion from her cousin made her feel dispirited.

  “I suppose,” she said at last, “I suppose you must follow your heart.”

  Delphine sprang to her feet.

  “Follow my heart. Yes! You are right. That is what I shall do. Tra la la!”

  She raced to the door, opened it, turned with a wave and darted out.

  ‘Tra la la, indeed,’ thought Elvira, pulling the quilt up over her shoulders.

  She could only pray that Delphine did not plan anything untoward.

  *

  Next morning, Baseheart Castle was in an uproar.

  Elvira woke to the sound of doors slamming, feet running, wails of grief, shouts of anger. She sat up in bed, wondering what the hullabaloo was all about.

  The next moment the door flew open and Lady Cruddock appeared, hair in disarray, peignoir unfastened, a thunderous expression on her face.

  “You – out of bed this instant!” she yelled.

  “W-what is the matter?” Elvira could not help but cower.

  “As if you didn’t know!” snorted Lady Cruddock. “As if you weren’t involved!”

  “But I don’t – I’m not,” Elvira countered, although she had no idea of the accusation.

  “Out of bed and follow me this instant!” shrieked Lady Cruddock.

  Elvira scrambled for her slippers and shawl for barely a second before Lady Cruddock seized her arm and hustled her out of the room.

  “W-where are we going?” she asked tremulously.

  “To the library,” came the short reply.

  Elvira was out of breath by the time Lady Cruddock flung open the library door and pushed her through. Her eyes alighted first on Serge by the window, his expression black with rage and then she saw Lord Baseheart, pacing the floor like a man possessed.

  ‘What on earth happened here last night?’ Elvira wondered.

  Lord Baseheart caught sight of Elvira and stopped.

  “You!” he snarled. “You ingrate, you vixen, what have you got to do with this?”

  Elvira was bewildered.

  “How can I tell when – I do not know – what has occurred?”

  “My daughter, madam,” Lord Baseheart’s nostrils flared. “My daughter and that – that excuse for a Prince left a letter declaring they have eloped. Eloped!”

  “E-eloped?” repeated Elvira dazed.

  With a shock her passion for the Prince was finally gone like seeds blo
wn from a dandelion. He was not the man she had imagined him to be. Her Prince would never have stooped to such behaviour. Her Prince was not a villain – a cad – a scoundrel!

  She shrank back as Lord Baseheart’s face loomed close, so close she could detect stale toilet water on his beard.

  “Confess! You aided and abetted my daughter in this folly.”

  “N-no, sir. I did not.”

  Lord Baseheart stared with uncertainty and then another wave of despair seized him and he staggered away, hands to his head.

  “My daughter is lost – lost.”

  “He will defile her,” declared Lady Cruddock grimly, eyes following her brother. “Defile her, abandon her and return to France.”

  Serge, still standing by the window, threw Lady Cruddock a contemptuous look.

  “No. He will marry her. Of that I am certain.”

  “Then why?” groaned Lord Baseheart. “Why does she humiliate me? Last night I announced their betrothal and so invited all our guests to the wedding. I shall be the laughing stock of the County. Why did my daughter do this to me?”

  “She was encouraged, brother!” screamed Lady Cruddock. “Encouraged by that creature there. I have the proof.”

  With long eager fingers she drew a letter from her sleeve and brandished it.

  “Another letter, sister?”

  She nodded with a certain unmistakable relish.

  “I found it under that traitor Elvira’s door this morning and read it. Would you like to hear what it says?”

  Lord Basheart gave a strangulated assent and his sister opened the letter.

  “Dear Elvira,

  I am following my heart, as you advised.

  Your cousin, Delphine.

  PS. Please feel free to take my green gown and my Chinese slippers. I shan’t need them.”

  Lord Baseheart snatched the letter from his sister’s hand and read it again. Then he turned glowering eyes on Elvira.

  “What more did you hope to get out of her shame, eh? Pearls – a ruby necklace – a ring or two?”

  “I had no idea – what she planned to do.”

  “Liar!” stormed Lord Baseheart. “By Heaven, I’ll beat the truth out of you!”

  He raised his hand, but was arrested in his intent by the dark voice of Serge.

  “Lord Baseheart! I doubt Miss Carrisford knows anything. The Prince would have been careful to keep his plan to himself. If you wish to save your daughter from the ignominy of a rushed marriage by a country parson, I suggest you allow me to set out after them. I will find them and, I vow, bring them back here to face the consequences of their actions.”