Love Is the Reason For Living

by Barbara Cartland

  Turning back towards the station entrance, Novella could see that the porter was still locking up the rear gate. Seeing her coming towards him in a state of high agitation, he dropped the lock and ran to meet her.

  “Miss! miss! Are you hurt?”

  Novella broke into sobs – she felt so alone standing there and so vulnerable.

  “I – I’ve had my bag stolen and my carriage has not arrived,” she stammered, “I do not even have a handkerchief as that was in the bag.”

  “Here, miss,” offered the kindly porter, handing over his large one, “don’t you go worrying yourself. I have my horse and trap around the corner as I live outside the town. Let me take you to the Police Station where you can report the devil who stole your bag.”

  Novella wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “This is not an auspicious start to my homecoming,” she exclaimed. “I live at Crownley Hall and have not been home since Christmas.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, my Lady. I did not know that her Ladyship had a daughter. I have not been here long – ”

  “That is quite all right – ” She looked at him, questioningly, not knowing his name.

  “Jenkins, my Lady.”

  “Thank you very much, Jenkins. We should proceed to the Police Station at once and then I must make haste home. I cannot think what has detained my carriage, perhaps there has been an accident on the way.”

  *

  And so Novella found herself spending her first hours back in Surrey, ensconced in the local Police Station. The Officer was most sympathetic and offered to take her home in the station carriage after they had completed the formalities.

  “I would be glad to accompany you back to the Hall,” he said. “for it is late and the road is dark.”

  Novella thanked Jenkins the porter and made a mental note to recompense him for his trouble. It was nearly midnight by the time that the rickety black carriage pulled up outside Crownley Hall.

  Knocking on the heavy door, Novella was suddenly overcome with exhaustion.

  “I do hope Wargrave has not gone to bed yet,” she said aloud, as the door swung open.

  But it was not Wargrave who stood there, but a strange woman!

  “Yes?” she said, irritably.

  “I am Lady Novella, the Countess’s daughter,” replied Novella a little put out. “Why was the carriage not sent to the station to pick me up? I have had a terrible time. My bag was stolen by some ruffian and I was forced to beg a ride home.”

  “Sorry, my Lady, but I was not given any such instructions.”

  “Where is Wargrave?”

  “Who?”

  “The butler!”

  “I am sorry, my Lady, but he no longer works here.”

  Novella looked at the woman with surprise. She did not care for her one bit. Novella thought that she had a somewhat sour look about her.

  “What about Harry and Gerald?”

  “Were they the footmen? I am not sure, my Lady, of their whereabouts.”

  “And you are?” queried Novella, a trifle irritated at the woman’s overweening attitude.

  “Mrs. Armitage. I am the new housekeeper.”

  “Very well, Mrs. Armitage, I shall not disturb Mama at this time of night, I will proceed straight to my room. I had intended visiting the stables to see Salamander, but it is too late now. Is he well?”

  Mrs. Armitage looked at her blankly and, after a nervous cough, evaded the question.

  “You will find, my Lady, that you have had your things moved to the blue room. Her Ladyship will explain it to you in the morning,”

  ‘What is this?’ thought Novella, most unhappy that she had been relegated to what had once been a guest room.

  ‘Half of the staff seemed to have disappeared since Christmas and I am moved into another room?’

  Mrs. Armitage led Novella upstairs and along the third landing to her room.

  “I have had the room aired and the bed-warmer was put in many hours ago, so I cannot vouchsafe for it still being warm,” she snapped.

  Novella, remembering her manners, thanked the woman and then closed the door behind her.

  The blue room was pleasant enough, but it was not hers. It did not have the wonderful view over the park like her old bedroom and it smelled a trifle unused.

  ‘At least all my furniture and belongings are here,’ sniffed Novella to herself, looking up at her carved wooden bed with the huge corona bearing acorns, leaves and the family coat of arms.

  ‘I would have been most upset had I been forced to sleep in another bed!’

  It had a special significance for her as her father had ordered it made for her as soon as she was old enough to leave the nursery. She loved it all the more as her parents had identical beds in each of their rooms.

  Novella did not waste any time – she undressed quickly and slid into bed. The sheets were still warm and she quickly fell asleep, all the trials of the day soon forgotten.

  *

  So exhausted was Novella that she slept right through until the gong sounded for breakfast.

  ‘Goodness, it is late!’ she cried, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Where is Sally? Why has she not come to help me dress? No matter, I will have to do the best I can on my own.’

  Running downstairs, Novella’s first thought was the joy she would derive from seeing her dear Mama again.

  ‘I will run straight up to her and embrace her,’ she told herself, as she raced downstairs.

  She was quite out of breath by the time that she entered the dining room. Her mother was already seated, spooning fruit into her mouth. Her eyes lit up when she saw Novella and swallowing her grapefruit, she cried aloud,

  “Darling! You are home! We were so worried when you did not arrive before bedtime.”

  “Mama! Dearest. replied Novella, fervently kissing her mother on the cheek, “I am so sorry but there was no carriage to meet me and then I was robbed at the station.”

  “Are you hurt, my dearest?”

  “No, Mama, I am fine.”

  It was then that she noticed that they were not alone in the room. Novella’s first thought was that it was a new butler, but when she looked again she saw that he was far from a servant – although elderly, his clothes were expensive and tasteful and he wore a large diamond ring on his little finger.

  Seeing Novella staring at him, he bowed, and then continued to help himself from the buffet.

  “Mama?” she asked questioningly, “you did not say that we had a weekend guest.”

  The Countess coloured deeply and bade Novella to sit down.

  “Darling, I have some news for you.”

  Novella could not take her eyes off the man – taking in every last detail. She could feel her blood rising, she did not like the look of him one bit!

  “Darling, I did not wish to tell you in a letter as I wanted to tell you face-to-face. The fact is that I have remarried and this is Lord Buckton, your new stepfather.”

  Novella fell back into her chair and gasped,

  “Mama! Why did you not tell me sooner?”

  “Darling, I was so lonely after your dear Papa died that I thought that I too, would follow him into his grave. Anthony was here for me, right from the day of the funeral and stayed on to keep me company. I have never been alone in my life, darling, I could not bear it! So when Anthony proposed, I accepted.”

  Novella’s eyes were fast filling up. She wanted to shout and rage at her mother – how dare she fill her father’s shoes so quickly!

  But, being a good daughter, she held her tongue.

  “Darling, please do not look at me with those reproachful eyes, I cannot bear it,” said the Countess, knowing only too well what her daughter was thinking.

  Then she started to cry and Novella thought it only a matter of time before the bottle of smelling salts was called for.

  “I want you to be happy and now with two parents once more, you can be,” spluttered the Countess, “Anthony has
been indispensable in helping me sort out your father’s estate and I could not have done it without him.”

  “Mama, why have I been moved into the blue room and what has happened to Wargrave – and Harry and Gerald?

  Why did Sally not attend me this morning? I was forced to dress myself!”

  “You are going to have to get used to doing for yourself,” interrupted her stepfather, brusquely. “Staff cost money and it’s money we do not have, so I dismissed them all. Wargrave was no more than a tottering old fool and was ready to be put out to grass. With just your mother and myself here, there was no need of such luxuries as footmen and lady’s maids. As for the room, well, I fancied yours for myself. You were not around and I saw no point in letting such a marvellous view go to waste.”

  “But Wargrave has been here since before mother and father married,” protested Novella, rising to her feet.

  “And he ran the house into the ground keeping up such ludicrous appearances,” countered Lord Buckton. “I stepped in just in time to stop the whole family sliding into the workhouse!”

  “How can that be?” stammered Novella, “Father left provision for both the house and Mama. There were thousands of pounds in the account.”

  Lord Buckton moved over to Novella and stared at her long and hard,

  “Young ladies should not be troubling their pretty, little heads with such affairs. Money is for men to rule over, not women. Your mother lets me have free rein here and I trust I will not encounter any opposition from you on this matter?”

  Novella glared back at Lord Buckton, despising the rich, well-fed face, lined with dissolution and recklessness. It was not, she thought, the face of a man of noble character.

  She bit her lip and sat back down.

  The maid who was now attending the table looked as if she should be in the scullery, rather than waiting at table, but Novella tried not to think about it.

  “You will have met Mrs. Armitage?” asked Lord Buckton, as he sat down at the table with a plate overflowing with fish and meats.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Fine woman. She served in my father’s house for many years. Of course, when I came here, she had nowhere to go.”

  “Have you sold your own house and estate, then?” asked Novella, straining to be as polite as possible.

  The Countess coughed loudly and Novella sensed that she had posed an awkward question.

  Lord Buckton, however, seemed unperturbed,

  “It was a costly pile sitting there doing nothing,” he began, carving up the bacon on his plate, “I do not believe in keeping on things for sentimentality’s sake, and I needed to realise my assets in order to pay some outstanding debts, so yes, I sold the house.”

  “Was that before or after you married Mama?” asked Novella, as coolly as she could. Deep inside, however, her heart was thumping wildly. Cold indignation was growing by the second within her bosom.

  “Oh, I do not recall exactly,” demurred her stepfather, “sadly, Crownley Hall is even more of a drain on the coffers than my own home.”

  “I trust, my Lord, that you are not thinking of taking Crownley Hall down the same path as your own estates.” replied Novella, daringly.

  “Darling,” interrupted the Countess, sensing that the subject was far too touchy to be discussed, “you know that your father left ample provision for the house and for you. It was made quite clear in his will.”

  “Ha!” cried Lord Buckton, to the astonishment of Novella, “there is not a will in this land that my lawyer could not challenge if I set him to it.”

  “What is mine is mine, my Lord,” replied Novella, firmly. However, she was inwardly seething. “Father’s lawyers were the best and he would not have wanted Mama or me to be in want.”

  “I am now your stepfather and I think you will find that in law, what is your mother’s is mine and likewise, what is yours is mine also.”

  “Anthony, we should not discuss such unpleasant subjects around the breakfast table,” cried the Countess, looking quite pale. “Novella, darling, tell me what you intend to do on your first morning here. The garden, sadly, is not what it should be as we had to let the gardeners go just as it was time for them to start their hardest work.”

  “I thought that I would take Salamander for a ride. Oh, Mama! I have so longed to ride him again and the day looks set to be fine, so I can think of nothing better than to take him out across the fields and down to the river.”

  Novella glanced over at her mother and noticed that she was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  “Darling, there is something else I need to tell you – ”

  “No, Salamander – he’s – he’s not dead, is he? Please tell me that he is not dead! I could not bear it!”

  The Countess looked at Novella and then at her husband. Without warning, she suddenly began to cry.

  “Novella! Oh, Anthony. I cannot tell her!”

  Novella’s heart was beating so hard in her chest that she felt it might jump up into her throat and choke her.

  “Mama, what is it that you cannot tell me?”

  There was a long silence, broken only by the Countess weeping softly.

  Lord Buckton did not even look up from his egg and slicing the top off it, he announced,

  “What your mother is trying to tell you – quite unsuccessfully due to her delicate constitution – is that Salamander is no longer here at Crownley Hall. He is quite well, however.”

  Novella stood up, her eyes blazing.

  “I demand to know where he is.”

  “A good daughter does not demand anything of her parents,” replied Lord Buckton, his gaze like ice. “For your information, I have sold Salamander and every last decent beast in the stable to a friend of mine. He will not want, I can promise you and I am sure that Sir Edward will allow you the privilege of visiting him occasionally should you throw a pretty smile his way.”

  Novella was incensed. She rose from the table, shaking like a leaf. Waving away the maid who was just about to place an egg in front of her, she burst out,

  “How could you allow him to sell Salamander? Mama, how could you?”

  Then she ran out of the dining room and back upstairs.

  Tears fell down her cheeks, hot and wet.

  ‘How could he?’ she cried, as she threw herself onto her bed. ‘Who does he think he is? He is not fit to warm my father’s slippers by the fire, let alone usurp him when he has not been in his grave more than two years.’

  Feeling utterly wretched, Novella wept for hours.

  ‘This is not the kind of homecoming I had expected!’ she sobbed. ‘I fear that my very wellbeing is in danger for I do not think that Lord Buckton would hesitate in taking what money I have. I have to protect myself, I have to! Mama seems under his spell and has never been the strongest of characters. Oh, Papa! I wish you were here! You would be horrified if you could see what has become of your beloved Crownley Hall and your daughter.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  By the time that luncheon was ready, Novella had decided that she must formulate a plan to safeguard her mother, herself and Crownley Hall.

  ‘I must not let my stepfather think that I am a weakling who is easily swayed like Mama,’ she said to herself as she splashed her face with cold water. ‘He is obviously used to being obeyed and I have no intention of doing so unless it is necessary – he is not my Papa.’

  Novella was cool and collected by the time she entered the dining room.

  Her mother was already there, pacing up and down by the large, picture window that overlooked the front gardens and drive.

  “Ah, Novella, dearest, are you feeling better?”

  “Quite, Mama, thank you.”

  “Darling, I am so sorry that you had such a shock about Salamander, but really, he was going to waste sitting in that draughty old stable. He is better off where he is – ”

  Novella did not reply – she had every intention of paying Sir Edward, whoever he might be, a visit in the near future
.

  ‘Probably some old crony of Lord Buckton’s,’ she thought, dismissively.

  “Is Lord Buckton not joining us for luncheon?” asked Novella.

  “No, dear, he has some business in London and will not be back until much later.”

  ‘Good, I can take a look around the house without him interfering,’ thought Novella, as she began to eat the soup that the maid had put in front of her.

  “Ugh!” she cried, after one mouthful, “what is this?”

  The Countess looked a little embarrassed as she answered,

  “It is ox-cheek soup. Your stepfather has cut the household budget since we were married and I am afraid we have to make do with cheaper fare these days.”

  Novella thought back to breakfast and the enormous pile of meats that Lord Buckton had piled upon his plate.

  ‘Obviously, when it suits him he allows the expense,’ she thought mutinously.

  “What has happened to cook?” asked Novella.

  “Cook has left, I am afraid. We have a new one.”

  “Did she work for Lord Buckton too?”

  “No, dear, she did not. Novella, I do hope that you are not going to take against him – not many would have taken on an ageing woman with an uncertain future.”

  “Mama, you know that is not true! Father would not have left us in need and I intend to find out precisely what we have, one way or the other. I wish to visit his solicitors as soon as I can.”

  “But darling, do you think that wise? We do not want to create a fuss, after all.”

  The Countess rose from the table.

  “Novella, I have quite a headache coming on, I think I shall go and lie down. My chest feels like a herd of elephants have been stamping on it – I must have caught a chill during my drive yesterday. I will leave you to your own devices this afternoon, I am certain that you will find much to amuse you.”

  Novella bent and kissed her mother and then walked over to the window.

  She left the dining room and headed for the drawing room. It had once been the scene to many a happy evening spent with her parents – her mother playing the piano and her father singing in his rich bass voice. Novella recalled the songs – some sentimental and some classical.