This Way to Heaven (7 page)

Mary bit her lip.

She knew only too well that there was no way the farm would be in any better state in a twelve-month.

She was already twenty-five, a confirmed spinster in most people's book.

“Don't you
want
us to marry, George?”

The young farmer turned and frowned at Mary, his hazel eyes bright with emotion under the thick thatch of his red hair.

“You know I do! I love you, Mary. But I'm not a-sellin' my land to that Earl and I 'ope he 'asn't been puttin' you up to talkin' to me about it again. I've said my final word on it. That piece of land has been in my family for generations!”

“But it's worthless – except to the Earl,” declared Mary. “Two scrubby little fields which are under water for three months each year plus half an acre of woodland and a run down house. The Earl will surely offer you a good sum, far more than all that is worth!”

George sighed.

He loved Mary dearly, but she did not understand. It was a matter of principle and the land belonged to him. Money was no use to him, he needed a home and a job.

In addition he knew he was angered by the fact that a man only a year older than he had so much privilege and wealth.

And why? Just because he had been born in the castle and not in a ramshackle farmhouse.

George had listened to several disturbing lectures recently by people who wanted to lessen the power of the upper classes.

He felt confused by all he had been told, but knew in his heart of hearts that a lot of the old ways were wrong and should be changed.

Mary watched him set off across the smooth snow- covered field and her heart went with him.

Then she sighed.

Her problems would have to wait.

She must return quickly to the castle and the young lady lying ill upstairs in the Peacock bedroom.

As she entered the warm kitchen, she was amazed to find Mr. Pardew, dressed in his overcoat and bowler hat heading for the door with a big suitcase in his hand.

“Mr. Pardew? Where are you off to?”

The butler glared at her.

“I've just been a-given my marching orders, Miss Landrey. That's what's happened! After all the years of service I've given to this family. It's a real disgrace, that's what it is!”

“You mean you've been given notice? But why?” asked Mary, although she had a good idea of the answer to that question.

Even now she could smell stale drink on the man's breath.

“Not in so many words. But I have been accused of drinking all the Master's brandy! Accused of being asleep when I should have been working. All lies, that's what it is. I don't think that young man is right in the head. So I'm not staying to be insulted like that.”

“Mr. Pardew!”

The butler pushed past her.

“I told him so! ‘Grief has turned your mind', I said. He told me to take a month's notice. Well, I'd like to see who he'll get to be butler up here in the wilds of nowhere. I won't even stay and work out my notice! I'm off and he can manage with you and that useless valet of his, Fergus. Now I'll bid you good day!”

And he stormed out of the castle kitchen, banging the door loudly behind him.

*

The day slipped past, dull and dark.

Jasmina slept, woke and sipped the nourishing soup Mrs. Rush provided and then slept again.

Around seven in the evening, Mary dimmed the oil lamps in the bedroom and went downstairs for her supper.

The click of the door latch closing behind her woke Jasmina from dreams of snow and clutching hands.

But she was overjoyed to realise that she felt much stronger and wide-awake.

She tried closing her eyes again, but now her strong constitution refused to allow another few hours' slumber it did not need.

‘I cannot just lie here for another twenty-four hours pretending to be an invalid! I will go mad,' she thought to herself.

She pushed back the covers and pulled on a cream silk and lace dressing gown that had been laid on a chair next to her bed.

Then she padded across to the window and peered out into the night.

The moon was beginning to rise, gleaming on the snow-covered fields, hills and the moors rising up behind them, illuminating the countryside that would have been in total darkness without the blizzard.

‘What a beautiful place,' sighed Jasmina. ‘Oh, how I long to explore outside, but I suppose the doctor has told all of them to make me stay indoors in case my health is damaged. What rubbish. I feel quite strong now.

‘Goodness, if I had a dollar for every time I fell off my horse back home in Missouri, I would now be a very rich girl!

‘Well, at least I can explore the castle and stretch my legs a little. As long as I don't wander near the Earl's study, then I am sure that will be acceptable. After all, as he said himself, this is an extremely large castle!'

She hunted for some slippers, but could find none, so bare-footed she left her room and walked slowly along the corridor heading for the staircase.

At the very top of the circular stairway, Jasmina hesitated.

She was certain the Earl's study would be on the ground floor, so perhaps it would be much safer for her to explore the first floor of the castle.

She could see that the corridor heading towards the East Turret had now been barricaded to prevent some poor unfortunate servant girl from falling through the gaps in the banisters.

Jasmina turned, walked past the door to the South Turret where her bedroom lay and along the corridor that led to the West Turret.

Halfway there she paused.

A door was standing ajar and she could now see the flickering light from candles throwing shadows around the room.

She pushed the door open and stopped with a little gasp of surprise.

She was in a huge library where shelves contained books reaching up from floor to ceiling, the light gleaming off the gold lettering on the spines and jackets.

‘What an amazing place!' whispered Jasmina as she glided over a large red Turkish carpet to inspect some of the treasures on oak shelves that had turned grey with age.

Obviously someone had been using the library quite recently because a large leather-bound book had been left open on a small reading table.

Jasmina picked it up, running her fingers over the fine leather cover.

She glanced at the title – it was an academic work on the history of the Ottoman Empire – before replacing it carefully on the table once more.

She pushed the lamp further away from the book.

The flame was secure enough inside the glass, but with all the draughts and strange little currents of air that swirled round these ancient buildings, she knew you could not be too careful.

A fire in such a huge library would be disastrous.

Just as she was about to leave, her gaze fell on a piano in the corner of the room.

‘Heavens! I have never in my entire life seen such a beautiful thing.'

She sat down on the piano stool and carefully lifted the heavily inlaid walnut piano lid.

Reverentially she ran her fingers over the black and white keys, delighting to find that the instrument seemed to be perfectly tuned.

Jasmina, like all American girls who had benefited from a good education, had learned to play the piano at an early age, but she had never been given the chance to try such a magnificent instrument.

Now as her fingers drifted softly over the keys, she was amazed at the beautiful sound it made.

‘I wonder if the Earl plays. He did not strike me as the type of man who would have much time for music, but someone keeps this piano in tip-top shape.'

She let her thoughts drift away, back to her home in the United States, their big house in St. Louis, the music room leading out onto the shaded veranda and her Mama pouring iced tea for neighbours, who sat on the cushioned swing gossiping.

Jasmina recalled a very jolly American folk song her dear Mama particularly loved and was about halfway through playing it, when –

“You play extremely well, Miss Winfield!”

Startled, Jasmina's fingers slipped on the keys and she looked up alarmed.

The Earl was standing right behind her, leaning on the back of a chair watching her.

“My Lord – I am so sorry. Have I disturbed you? Oh, no, I suppose you have come to continue your reading. I will return to my room.”

The Earl crossed to the piano.

“There is no need to. And please, will you stop apologising, Miss Winfield. Every time I see you, the first words out of your mouth seem to be ‘I'm sorry'!”

Jasmina looked up at him her eyes bright blue in the flickering candlelight.

“How incredibly boring of me! Well then, I will have to keep that phrase for an occasion when I may very well need to say it!”

The Earl smiled.

There was something refreshing about this girl. It was tempting to tease her just to see how she reacted.

“Do you play, my Lord?”

“I have no time for games, Miss Winfield!”

Jasmina tossed her head, her golden curls tumbling across the cream lace dressing gown.

“I think you know, as well as I, my Lord, that I meant ‘do you play the pianoforte'?”

The Earl's smile faded and he reached across to pick up a small oil-painting standing in a frame on a side table.

“No, the piano was my wife's. I bought it for her – from Berlin. I hoped it would amuse her, but Millicent was such a carefree and energetic person. She always wished to be out-of-doors and on the go.

“She had no time for music, but I am certain that as she grew older, she would have loved music as much as I do.”

“I believe your late wife was very young when she died so tragically, my Lord,” Jasmina whispered.

The Earl sighed, the pain of his memories clear on his face.

“Yes, indeed. Millicent lived here from the age of thirteen. She was my father's ward and when I inherited the title three years ago, we were married. She was just seventeen.”

He stood gazing down at the painting and silence fell in the room.

Slowly and carefully Jasmina closed the piano lid.

“I am very well aware that the loss of a wife leaves a terrible scar, my Lord, and you have all my sincerest sympathies.”

Abruptly the Earl put the little oil painting back on its silver easel.

Jasmina could see it clearly – a young girl with a cloud of dark curls, not pretty, but she had a charming and interesting face. If she had lived, she would have been an attractive woman.

But the artist had added a stubborn expression to her eyes and she wondered just how much resemblance the picture bore to the original girl.

The Earl pulled his mind away from many unhappy memories of a wife he had never understood.

It had been sensible to marry Millicent.

Indeed he had thought he loved her, but knew now that it had only been affection he had felt.

One of his biggest regrets was that his heart had not been broken at her death.

He had been horrified at the waste, but more than anything consumed with guilt that it had been his fault.

It had been most alarming for him to hear the piano music drifting down the stairways into his study.

Millicent had never had time to learn more than the few baby tunes she had mastered when a child, but this girl from America played quite beautifully and took full value from the piano that was still tuned regularly.

“I will leave you to your reading, my Lord.”

Jasmina stood pulling the cream lace gown tightly round her slender figure.

The Earl frowned and she wondered what strange English rule of manners or behaviour she had broken now.

Perhaps the robe was too flimsy to be worn outside her bedroom? But the silk was fairly heavy and the long lace sleeves and high neckline made it extremely decorous.

“You seem determined to injure your health, Miss Winfield,” said the Earl, nodding towards the bare feet that peeped out from beneath the hem.

“Nonsense, the carpet is quite warm and soft, my Lord. I will come to no harm.”

His dark eyes flashed with impatience.

“Good Heavens! If all girls from your country are as independent as you, then I pity your men folk! Listen, you have walked along a stone passageway to get here and unless you can manage to discover the secret of flight in the next few minutes, I expect that you intend to walk back again. You have had a severe chill and been extremely ill. Cold stones under your feet will do you nothing but harm.”

“That, my Lord, if you do not mind my saying so is –
Oh
!”

She gasped as he stepped forward and swung her up into his arms.

Without another word he carried her out of the library and back to her room.

Jasmina felt her world spin around her.

Her ear was pressed against his chest and she could hear the thump, thump, thump of his heart underneath his thin shirt.

Was it beating faster than hers?

She doubted it.

She had never felt so safe or secure in all her life as in the minutes she was held tightly by the Earl of Somerton before he placed her gently on her bed, bowed and walked away without a backward glance.

CHAPTER FIVE

During the night the snow clouds had vanished over the frozen Yorkshire countryside and the moon swam up into the midnight sky as the temperature fell fast to below zero.

Jasmina awoke to a world hanging in a multitude of icicles, glittering brilliant white outside her window.

She could hear dogs barking and the sound of sheep in the clear crystal air.

A knock at the door heralded a little maid with big brown eyes wearing a bright blue dress and white apron.

The pleated cap on her frizzy brown hair looked as if it was perched precariously on her head with the use of many hairgrips. She could have been no more than twelve years of age.

She was carrying a heavy brass coal-scuttle almost as big as herself and her face was scarlet from the effort.