A Shaft of Sunlight Read online

  She was too afraid of what would happen to her when the Duke left her, as she knew he intended to do.

  She found herself wondering frantically if it would not be best after all, to go off on her own and hide somewhere where Sir Jarvis could not find her, so she would not be an encumbrance or a danger to the Duke.

  But she had not a penny piece in her possession and she certainly had nothing she could sell.

  She had been almost too astounded to protest, when Sir Jarvis had brought her home from Italy to Stamford Towers, her clothes were taken from her.

  Instead she had been provided with the ugly grey cotton gowns that were made by the seamstress in the house.

  “Why should I have to dress like this?” she had asked, being able in those days to show some spirit even though she was already aware that her uncle disliked her.

  “You will wear what I tell you to!” he replied sharply. “As a bastard whom your father and mother have foisted on the world you are fortunate I do not send you to the workhouse or make you an assistant in an orphanage to look after the unfortunates in the same position as yourself.”

  “I will not have you telling such lies about my father and mother,” Giona replied hotly. “They were married – I know they were married! Do you imagine that Mama, who was the daughter of a Parson and believed in God, would ever have done anything so – wicked?”

  Sir Jarvis had not argued, he had merely beaten her.

  Only after innumerable beatings, which had left her humiliated and in agonising pain, had Giona realised there was no use trying to defend her father and mother who were dead.

  Now she thought perhaps that when the Duke had gone his grandmother would despise her and once again she would be little more than a servant in a different household.

  The door opened and Giona thought that Mrs. Meadows, who had left her alone to enjoy her tea, had come to collect the tray, but it was the Duke.

  She jumped to her feet with a little cry.

  “I was afraid you had forgotten me!”

  “I am sorry if it seemed a long time,” he said, “but my grandmother was very interested in all I had to tell her, and now I want you to come and meet her.”

  “I – I was thinking perhaps – ” Giona began in a hesitating little voice.

  Because the Duke knew by the expression in her eyes exactly what she was thinking he interrupted to say,

  “I told you to trust me. You also promised to do everything I wanted. I hold you to that promise, Giona.”

  She raised her chin and he liked the pride which made her do so.

  She had taken off his elegant evening cape and he thought, despite the ugly grey gown she wore with her hair falling over her shoulders, she looked very lovely.

  At the same time he was aware that his grandmother would not miss the sharpness of Giona’s chin, the way her cheekbones were too prominent, and the dark shadows under her eyes.

  He held out his hand saying as he did so with a smile that was irresistible,

  “Come along. Once you meet my grandmother, you will know that she is not so frightening as she may at first appear.”

  Giona wished she could believe him.

  He thought as they walked along the corridor that she was probably telling herself that nothing could be worse than what she had suffered at Stamford Towers.

  The Duke opened a door and for a moment Giona could only see the golden sunlight and smell the fragrance of flowers.

  Then she was able to focus her eyes on the elderly woman with white hair.

  The Duchess held out her hand.

  “My Grandson has been telling me about you, Giona,” she said, “and I hope you will enjoy staying here with me.”

  Giona curtsied.

  Then as her fingers touched the Duchess’s she knew that they gave her the same feeling of safety and security that she had felt with the Duke.

  “I am afraid of – being a – nuisance to you, Ma’am,” she replied in a nervous little voice.

  “I think actually you are going to bring me a new excitement,” the Duchess said. “I am already intrigued and at the same time very compassionate about what I have heard of you, and my Grandson has given me very strict instructions about what we are to do in the next few weeks.”

  Giona looked at the Duke enquiringly and he said,

  “First of, all, although it may not interest you, I have suggested that my grandmother and you choose the gowns which you should be wearing as your father’s daughter.”

  He was quite certain as he spoke that no woman, young or old, could resist the idea of a whole new wardrobe of fashionable gowns, and he waited for the excitement to light Giona’s eyes and he was not disappointed.

  “New – gowns?”

  “Dozens of them!” the Duchess said firmly. “And as my Grandson is footing the bill we need not spare any expense!”

  The light in Giona’s eyes dimmed for a moment.

  “But, Ma’am – I do not think I can – ”

  “You will be able to pay me back,” the Duke said quietly, “when I prove as I intend to do that all the money your father left is yours, and I have made sure it is refunded to you.”

  For a moment Giona was speechless.

  She knew the Duke was telling her she would not only receive her father’s money, but the assurance that she was legitimately born, and her voice trembled and broke as she cried,

  “I know now you are not – Perseus or St. Michael – but Apollo bringing light and healing to the world as he drives his chariot across the sky.”

  Before she could prevent them the tears of happiness that filled her eyes ran down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Duke sitting down at his desk in the Library after breakfast found a pile of letters awaiting him.

  Mr. Middleton had already opened some of them, which were official documents and invitations, but those that were private and personal were always placed in a separate pile.

  He saw the top two were from ladies who were endeavouring to engage his interest, but for whom at the moment he had little time.

  He picked up the one beneath, and realising it was in his grandmother’s handwriting he opened it with an eagerness that was unusual.

  For two weeks now he had had no news of what was happening at the Dower House, and he deliberately refrained from sending a groom with a note or asking his secretary to make enquiries on his behalf.

  He told himself it was most important that there should be as little connection as possible between him and Giona until he was ready to expose her uncle.

  Although he was sure he could trust his own servants, there was always the chance that some careless remark or an inquisitive underling would start the ball of gossip rolling.

  He was, in fact, extremely anxious that Sir Jarvis should not be suspicious that he was aware of Giona’s whereabouts.

  He knew that Sir Jarvis was perturbed and bewildered by the behaviour of the Viscount.

  Lucien had informed his Guardian that he had been receiving invitation after invitation to Stamford House in Grosvenor Square, and he had also had several notes from Claribel which, although he did not say so, were obviously of a passionate nature.

  The Duke thought with satisfaction that, if nothing else, he and Lucien had Sir Jarvis and his disreputable daughter puzzled and perhaps more than a little apprehensive as to what had gone wrong.

  Now he drew out the thick parchment paper which was engraved with the Alverstode crest on which his grandmother had written to him in her spidery, but always legible hand-writing, and read,

  “My dearest Grandson,

  I think it is time you paid me a visit, and I have something to show you which I am sure you will find interesting and in fact intriguing.

  May I suggest that it might be a good idea to bring Lucien with you. I understand he is behaving as might be expected, which at the same time is good neither for his reputation nor for his health.

  Come as soon as you can, and I sha
ll welcome you with the deepest delight.

  I remain,

  Your most affectionate Grandmother,

  Charlotte Alverstode.”

  The Duke smiled as he finished the letter and thought it was so typical of his grandmother that she was aware of what was happening in London and was in consequence as concerned about Lucien as he was himself.

  As she had said, it was to be expected that after the shock of Claribel’s perfidy he should repair his broken heart in an orgy of riotous living.

  His friends had regaled the Duke and a number of interfering well-wishers with an almost daily account of what Lucien was doing.

  There was nothing particularly reprehensible about it except that riotous behaviour in public places, even though they were only low dance halls and brothels, was never desirable.

  He was also drinking too heavily and as usual not taking enough exercise, which resulted in his having a ‘Byronesque’ pallor with lines of dissipation clearly visible under his eyes.

  It then struck the Duke that the reason his grandmother had asked him especially to bring Lucien to the Dower House was not perhaps the obvious one.

  He had often heard her say in her worldly-wise manner that the ‘antidote for one love-affair is another’ and he thought now that what she was suggesting, while being too discreet to put it on paper, was that Giona would erase the memory of Claribel’s beauty from his mind.

  It occurred to the Duke that it was something he should have thought of himself.

  Lucien and Giona were the right age for each other, and what could be a better punishment for Claribel than that her despised cousin should marry the man on whom she had set her own ambitious sights?

  There was a smile of satisfaction on the Duke’s lips as he put down his grandmother’s letter and rang the gold bell that was on his desk.

  The door opened almost immediately and Mr. Middleton came into the Library.

  “Send a groom to his Lordship’s lodgings, Middleton,” he said, “with a note asking him to accompany me to the country this afternoon. Tell his Lordship we will have a light luncheon here first, and beg him not to be late.”

  “I will do that, Your Grace,” Mr. Middleton replied.

  “Get the groom off as quickly as possible,” the Duke ordered, “then we must settle down to these letters.”

  The letters did not take as long as he had anticipated, and the Duke had time to think further on his grandmother’s idea as he supposed, that Lucien should fall in love with Giona.

  He imagined it would not be difficult as Lucien was invariably enamoured of any outstandingly beautiful young woman.

  The Duke vaguely remembered that in the past he had appeared to have a penchant for fair-haired charmers but that might just have been a coincidence.

  He was, however, certain that as a connoisseur of beauty he was not mistaken in thinking that once she had put on a little weight and was well dressed, Giona would look sensational.

  He was far too diplomatic to make any suggestions to Lucien of anything more than that he thought it important they should both visit his grandmother and talk to Giona.

  “Have you learnt anything of importance about that swine Stamford?” Lucien asked aggressively.

  He had arrived looking as usual a ‘Tulip of Fashion’ but one glance at him was enough to tell the Duke that he had obviously been drinking heavily the night before and had doubtless had little sleep.

  He ate practically nothing of the delicious luncheon the Chef had prepared, and the Duke made no comment when instead he drank several glasses of brandy.

  Then as they were finishing luncheon Mr. Middleton came hurrying into the dining room.

  The servants had served the coffee and withdrawn but nevertheless as it was unusual for him to be disturbed at mealtimes, the Duke looked up in surprise as his secretary walked quickly across the floor.

  “I thought you would want to know at once, Your Grace,” Mr. Middleton said, “that our enquiries in the Dover area have been successful!”

  “You mean they have discovered where the marriage of James Stamford and Elizabeth Hamilton took place?”

  “Exactly, Your Grace! Here are the papers.”

  Mr. Middleton held out several papers to the Duke which he took and read, thinking as he did so how thrilled Giona would be.

  She had been right, and her odious uncle had deliberately, the Duke was sure, called her a bastard just to make her unhappy.

  Her parents had been married in a small village on the outskirts of Dover on the 9th August 1799, as a copy of the Church Register attested.

  “Good!” he exclaimed with satisfaction. “Thank you, Middleton. This is certainly one step in the right direction.”

  “What else have you unearthed?” Lucien asked. “Surely by now you have ferreted out something tangible about that blaggard!”

  “I must ask you, my Lord, to be patient for a little while longer,” Mr. Middleton replied. “I have three of the best men obtainable in Liverpool at the present moment.”

  “Liverpool!” the Duke exclaimed.

  “My informants tell me that the scandal which Your Grace thought you remembered took place in Liverpool.”

  “Why there?” Lucien enquired.

  “Because, my Lord, it was connected with the slave trade and a great number of the slave-ships were sent out from and returned to Liverpool.”

  The Duke sat upright.

  “Are you telling me, Middleton, that Sir Jarvis’s huge fortune comes from slavery?”

  “That is so, Your Grace, and while his father made a fortune before him Sir Jarvis increased it a hundredfold!”

  “I might have guessed it!” the Duke said contemptuously.

  ‘There was nothing criminal in the traffic at the time,” Mr. Middleton said respectfully, “not if it was straight and above-board.”

  Lucien was listening intently.

  “So what he did, and what Cousin Valerian thinks he remembers,” he said, as if he was working it out for himself, “was something criminal.”

  “That is what we have to prove,” Mr. Middleton replied, “but I think, my Lord, in just a few more days I will be able to put in front of His Grace a statement proving that Sir Jarvis acted in both a shameful and an illegal manner.”

  The Duke pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his legs.

  “I want the details now, Middleton!”

  “No, please, Your Grace!” Mr. Middleton pleaded, “I have no wish to raise Your Grace’s hopes only to be unable at the last moment, to produce any evidence.”

  He looked pleadingly at the Duke and went on,

  “We have, as Your Grace well knows, a wily and cunning man to deal with, who will use every means, fair or foul, to wriggle out of any trap we set for him unless it is one made of cast-iron.”

  “I understand,” the Duke said. “Have it your own way, Middleton, but quite frankly I am eager to go ahead. I find it very frustrating to be obliged to see Sir Jarvis on every race-course and sporting it in a number of decent Clubs.”

  “I hope when you have finished with him he will never again be able to show his face in any place which is patronised by gentlemen!” Lucien said vehemently.

  He was speaking against Sir Jarvis, but the Duke was aware that he hated Claribel with the violence of a man who has been betrayed.

  At the same time he thought sympathetically that he was sure Lucien was still hurt and scarred by a love that in its own way had been idealistic and therefore did not die so easily.

  He rose to his feet.

  “Come along, Lucien,” he said, “let us go to the country. At least there the air is clean and the sun is shining.”

  The Viscount did not seem particularly enthusiastic at the thought of encountering such pleasures.

  At the same time he obediently followed his Guardian from the dining room and ten minutes later they were on their way.

  *

  The Duke was driving his chestnuts and as usual they gave h
im so much pleasure that he forgot for a little while the unhappy young man sitting beside him.

  Then he was sure that his grandmother in her wisdom had been right to send for him.

  The drive to Alverstode took a little more than two hours at the rate at which the Duke travelled.

  He knew as he swung into the drive of his grandmother’s Dower House, that if he had not broken his own record, he had certainly been only a few seconds outside it.

  The mellow redbrick Queen Anne house was very lovely in the afternoon sunshine and the Duke appreciating its perfect symmetry thought he might say the same about Giona’s features, especially her straight little nose.

  He drew up his horses outside the front door and as he and Lucien stepped down from the Phaeton a groom appeared from the stables and Simpson was standing at the top of the steps to welcome them.

  “I hardly dared hope that Your Grace’d be here afore tomorrow,” Simpson said.

  “I hoped to surprise Her Grace,” the Duke replied. “Where is she?”

  The Duke thought the butler would say she was upstairs but instead Simpson answered,

  “In the drawing room, Your Grace, and Miss Giona is with her.”

  That was all the Duke wished to know and he strode across the hall too quickly for Simpson to keep up with him and opened the door of the drawing room himself.

  He stood still for a moment dramatically in the doorway and waited for the cry of welcome he expected from his grandmother.

  She was sitting in the sunlight at the open window with Giona beside her and exclaimed,

  “Oh, Valerian, I am so glad to see you!”

  The Duke moved forward and as he did so Giona ran to him.

  He had a quick glimpse of eyes that were shining as if the sun had been caught in them, of strange coloured hair arranged in a fashionable manner, and a white gown decorated with frills and flowers.

  Then her hands were holding onto his and she was saying with a lilt in her voice that sounded like the song of the birds,

  “You have – come! I have so – longed to see you – and now you are here!”

  She made it sound like a paean of joy and the Duke smiled as he said,

  “Can this really be Giona, or am I being introduced to a strange young woman?”