Love Is the Reason For Living

by Barbara Cartland

  But a shock awaited her when she entered the room.

  ‘The piano! It’s gone.’ she cried, running over to the spot where it had stood.

  The shawl and candelabra that used to adorn it were now on the mantelpiece, looking shabby and unloved.

  Casting her eyes around the room, Novella could see that the walls were in need of repair. Damp patches were springing up underneath the cornicing and around the windowsill and the carpet was so worn in places that it was dangerous.

  Novella hurried out of the room and made a tour of the whole house. What she found exhausted and dismayed her. In each room she entered, there were pieces missing and in their place, inferior articles had been substituted.

  Going downstairs into the kitchen, it seemed a very empty place indeed now that most of the servants who had previously worked there had gone. A red-faced woman with a rough voice and even rougher hands stood by the range, which itself looked as if it had not seen a lick of grate-black for many months.

  “My Lady,” said the cook, bobbing a curtsy while wiping her hands on her grubby apron.

  “I am sorry but I do not know your name,” began Novella.

  “Higgins, my Lady.”

  “How many staff do you have?”

  “His Lordship is most particular, my Lady. There is just me and the girl. Mrs. Armitage helps out if it gets busy or I gets meself behind.”

  “What can we expect for dinner?”

  “Lamb chops, potatoes and a selection of vegetables, my Lady, with a choice of puddings. His Lordship has the sweetest tooth I swear I have ever come across.”

  “Thank you, Higgins.”

  Novella was fuming as she walked back upstairs towards the West wing. Although she guessed it was now little used, it was where the family would entertain for large dinner parties and also housed several guest suites. Her father had filled it with friends during the hunting season. What awaited her there made her cry.

  “Goodness! There has been a fire and nothing has been done to restore it!” she said aloud, as the acrid smell of old, burnt wood hit her nostrils.

  Tears filled her eyes as she fingered the charred remains of silk curtains and fine hangings. Everywhere there was dirt and debris. At the far end of the wing, the roof was open to the sky and everywhere was wet and mouldy.

  ‘Why did Mama not say there had been a fire in one of her letters?’ she thought, as she hastily retreated from the awful scene.

  ‘I shall go and see Charles in the stables. Even though Salamander is no longer there, it will give me comfort to be amongst old friends and animals.’

  She turned the corridor which ended at one of the many exit doors that led out onto the rear gardens. In a few moments, she was heading towards the stable block.

  ‘I fear the worst!’ she whispered, for the stables seemed strangely quiet.

  Peeping into the stalls, she found that there were still a few steeds left behind – her mother’s nag, Bluebell, although now an old lady herself, was chewing contentedly on some hay.

  “Hello, old girl,” exclaimed Novella, in delight. It pleased her to see at least one familiar animal.

  “Miss Novella.”

  She turned round to see the gnarled figure of Charles, the old groom, standing there holding a sack of hay.

  “It does these old eyes good to see you again!”

  Novella ran up to him and took his weather-beaten hand, squeezing it hard.

  “And I you! But Charles, I am devastated that my stepfather has seen fit to sell all the best horses – Papa would have been seething!”

  “Right you are, my Lady,” he said, nodding sagely, “ain’t been the same since old Salamander left – my only comfort is that he went to a good home, he did. Sir Edward is a fine horseman and loves his beasts almost as much as your father did.”

  “Well, that is some reassurance indeed to hear you say that, Charles. Who is left in the stables, apart from Bluebell?”

  “There’s Folly and Mabel – poor old nag – all she’s fit for is poking around the fields. And Jasper is still here – but he’s an old one too now.”

  Novella shook her head in dismay.

  “I cannot believe that after father had put together the best collection of horses in the County that they have now all gone. It does not seem right.”

  “That it doesn’t, my Lady.”

  “And are you quite alone now?”

  “Apart from a young boy, Ned, who comes up from the village when I need him. He’s a good lad, but he doesn’t live in like what I does.”

  Novella took a handful of hay out of the sack that Charles held and walked over to Folly’s stall.

  “At least we still have one half-decent horse. Why did they not take her?”

  “Sommat about keepin’ her for his Lordship’s sister to ride when she came. But I’ve not seen hide nor hair of her yet.”

  “Then, in future, I shall ride Folly,” decided Novella, “now, Charles, can you tell me what has happened to the West wing?”

  “Don’t know if I should say, my Lady. It is only hearsay after all.”

  Novella looked at the old groom with her huge, brown eyes in the way that she had so often used when she was a little girl.

  “You can tell me, Charles, I will not think ill of you, whatever it is you have to say.”

  “Well, I heard that it was a party of his Lordship’s that got out of hand. Grown men playing silly fire games. But that ain’t the worst of it.”

  Novella raised a delicate eyebrow.

  “There is more?”

  “I assume my Lady has not seen the Tower, then?”

  Charles put down his sack of hay and crossed his arms. His whole demeanour was that of outrage.

  “No, I have not.”

  “Struck by lightning the week after her Ladyship got wed. All the fancy carvings tumbled down into the garden and there they lay still. Cryin’ shame, I call it, cryin’ shame. Will you be able to do something about it, my Lady? I am so glad you’re home at last.”

  Novella listened to the old man’s outpourings and her heart sank into her boots.

  “Thank you, Charles. Your candour has been much appreciated. I intend to go and visit this Sir Edward and tell him just what I think of a man who would snatch a dead man’s horses from under the family’s nose!”

  “He be a good man, my Lady, not like most of his Lordship’s friends – ”

  “Then I trust he will be a reasonable man too when I ask him to return my Papa’s horses.”

  “He bought them fair and square, my Lady. He did not know that he was going to be treading on toes.”

  “You like Sir Edward?”

  “Yes, I do, my Lady. He spent many hours with the horses and me before he took them away, finding out their little ways and what they liked to eat and when.”

  “Nevertheless, he is still a friend of my stepfather’s, so I shall reserve judgment until I have met him myself. Rest assured, Charles, I will have Salamander back at Crownley Hall! I will! Even if I have to pay double what Sir Edward paid for him!”

  With that, Novella bid Charles one last farewell and returned to the house.

  *

  At eight o’clock on the dot, the dinner gong sounded.

  ‘At least I shall have a decent meal as my stepfather is at home,’ Novella said to herself, as she smoothed back her heavy, dark hair and fastened her diamond necklace, that her uncle had given her for her last birthday, around her neck.

  She was not looking forward to another interview with her stepfather – she felt that inevitably, it would turn into an unpleasant discourse about the state of their finances.

  ‘I do hope that Mama is feeling better,’ she mused, as she opened the door of the dining room. ‘I shall ask her about her health and will not allow her to distract me with idle chatter.’

  Taking a deep breath, Novella entered the dining room. Sure enough, her stepfather was already seated, while her mother flitted nervously around the room.

&n
bsp; “Novella, darling.”

  “How is your headache, Mama?”

  “Quite gone now, thank you.”

  “I saw Charles this afternoon and he mentioned that he thought you had not been too well of late.”

  The Countess looked a trifle flustered and coughed,

  “It is nothing, dearest, a sore throat that is proving most persistent. Charles is a silly old fusspot who behaves towards us all like we were still children.”

  Novella laughed,

  “That is true enough and most refreshing it is too. I would not change him for anything,”

  “Such impertinence should not be tolerated in servants!” barked her stepfather, looking up from his glass of claret. Novella noticed that it was already half-empty.

  “Charles has been with the Crownley family since the old Earl was alive,” replied the Countess meekly, “he came to the Hall as a boy and has always spoken his mind.”

  “Then perhaps it is time we found another groom,” snapped Lord Buckton.

  “Anthony, darling, I beg of you, he is the only one left – he is without equal when it comes to handling horses.”

  Lord Buckton grunted and took another slurp from his glass.

  “You are probably right, my dear. All my friends are highly jealous of the way he handles even the most fiery beast – he is worth his keep, otherwise I would have dismissed him along with the rest of that other hapless crew. He is cheap, too. I would struggle to replace him, offering such low wages.”

  There was a tense silence as the maid brought in the soup.

  “Excellent! Hare soup,” exclaimed Lord Buckton, picking up his spoon, a look of obvious relish on his face. “Now, tell me, Henrietta, have you managed to transfer some more money from your account into mine?”

  “I – I am afraid I was unwell this afternoon and could not travel to the bank,” stammered the Countess.

  “Henrietta, you know that I need that money quickly. I have to go to London again tomorrow and I need to have the cash. Can I not trust you to do anything right?”

  “Mama is unwell,” intervened Novella, firmly.

  Lord Buckton refrained from eating and looked at her long and hard.

  “You have a lot to say for yourself, young lady. As I am paying for your bed and board, I would advise you to keep silent unless I speak to you.”

  “I have my own money, sir, and if you wish, I will give cook some funds to cover what I am consuming. Furthermore, I had a good look around the house today and I shall likewise be funding some urgent repairs. It must have escaped your notice, with your busy calendar, that the West wing is decaying under our noses whilst the Tower is set to fall down before long.”

  Lord Buckton’s eyes bulged and his face turned red.

  “Impertinence!” he shouted, “Telling a gentleman what to do in his own house.”

  “I think you will find that the house is mine and Mama’s,” replied Novella, quietly, not shrinking from his gaze.

  Lord Buckton looked as if he were about to explode.

  “We shall soon see about that. And if you insist on frittering money away, then you can give me some. You will kindly hand over whatever cash you have on you.”

  “I am afraid I have none, sir. My bag was stolen at the station upon my arrival and it contained all I had. I have need myself to visit the bank.”

  “You will, naturally, sign over right of access to your account to me.”

  “I will do no such thing!” retorted Novella, her eyes blazing.

  “We shall see about that. We will hear no more of this folly at the table. Henrietta, be good enough to shut off the West wing so that people cannot wander in there as they please,” he demanded, his mouth set in a grim hard line.

  “Will you be repairing the Tower?” asked Novella, stubbornly.

  “And where will I find the money for that whilst I have so many mouths greedily gobbling up my assets?”

  “Novella, dear, do not upset your stepfather, he is a busy man and is trying to do his best,” put in the Countess, quietly.

  Just then, Mrs. Armitage knocked and entered the dining room.

  “Yes?”

  “My Lord, Sir Edward Moreton has arrived to see you. I have shown him into the library – ”

  “Ask cook to keep my chops warm, will you?” he replied, wiping his fat, red mouth and throwing down his napkin.

  He rose from the table leaving Novella and her mother alone.

  “Darling, you really should not vex your stepfather so,” admonished the Countess, as soon as the door was closed, “he has such a temper on him.”

  “Mama, I am so worried about you.”

  “It is nothing, as I have already told you. Just a silly, little cough.”

  “Even so, I wish you would see Doctor Jones.”

  “We cannot afford him at the moment, Novella.”

  “Money. Money. Money. That is all that is talked about in this house. Mama, Papa left us more than enough for ourselves and the upkeep of the house – I do not understand where it has all gone. Does he often ask for money from you?”

  To her surprise, her mother began to cry.

  “Darling, you do not understand,” she snuffled, “he has rather high outgoings. I confess I did not realise the extent of his profligacy with money until after we had married. You must remember, he presented himself to me as a man of independent means – ”

  “But he must have his own money – he sold his estate.”

  “It all went on gambling debts and death duties. He has so many creditors, Novella, I dread the doorbell ringing. Why, only last month, I had to hand over my emeralds to bailiffs – can you imagine the shame? The bailiffs, calling at Crownley Hall!”

  Novella stood up and ran to her mother, putting her arms around her.

  “Novella, I fear I have been a foolish, old woman! It was just that I was so lonely after your Papa died and Lord Buckton seemed so kind and considerate. In truth, the moment we stepped out of the Church door, he turned into the man you now behold.”

  “But Papa’s money – surely it is not all gone?”

  “All but,” confessed the Countess, “Novella, you must be strong for we stand on the brink of ruin.”

  “But it cannot be! I will do something, anything, to prevent it.”

  “I fear it may be too late.”

  With that, the Countess began to sob and then her sobs turned into a wracking cough. So long and hard did she cough, that her face turned red and her eyes began to stream.

  “Mama, I will get help. Try and breathe slowly.”

  Novella ran to the servants’ bell and pulled it hard and unceasingly.

  In a flash, Mrs. Armitage was at the door, looking flustered.

  “Help me get Mama upstairs to her room.”

  “Shall I send the stable lad to fetch the doctor, my Lady,” asked Mrs. Armitage as they put the Countess to bed.

  “Let us see how she is by the morning. I will go now and find my stepfather,” said Novella, moving towards the door, “he should know that Mama is unwell.”

  It did not take Novella long to run to the library. The door was ajar as she reached it, so she knocked before entering.

  “Lord Buckton, I am sorry to interrupt, but Mama has been taken ill!”

  It was then that Novella looked at the other gentleman who sat in the room.

  She tried not to show surprise on her face for rather than the portly, elderly gentleman she supposed Sir Edward Moreton to be, there sat a young, handsome man with a fine figure and noble features.

  “I – I am sorry,” she stammered, quite overwhelmed by Sir Edward’s good looks.

  “Ah, just the young lady I was hoping to see,” he replied, rising and bowing low. “I realise that this is not the best timing, naturally, but I feel that you would wish to have this returned to you.”

  He bent down to pick up something from beside him on the sofa.

  “My bag! Where did it come from?” cried Novella, taking it from him.


  “Constable Tompkins is a friend of mine and when I informed him that I was visiting the Hall, he bade me give this to the charming young lady whom he had the honour of driving home a few days before. Apparently, it was found by the woman who cleans the waiting room at the station.”

  Sir Edward bowed again and Novella noticed that he had a merry twinkle in his eye. Try as she might to dislike him, she immediately felt drawn to him. There was something about his warmth that was quite engaging.

  “Thank you, sir, I am most grateful,” she began.

  “Now, run along, Novella, I have much to discuss with Sir Edward,” interrupted Lord Buckton.

  “But, sir, your wife is ill.”

  “And I will see to her once I have concluded my business with Sir Edward. Tending the sick is women’s work – I will come when I am good and ready. Now, please leave us.”

  Novella felt sick inside. What kind of man was this who put his own interests before the welfare of his wife?

  ‘Papa would have walked miles barefoot over red-hot coals to be with Mama, had she been taken ill!’ thought Novella angrily as she mounted the stairs.

  As she ascended, her thoughts turned to Sir Edward.

  ‘I did not expect him to be so young,’ she wondered, ‘but I must not forget that he is the man who is at least partially responsible for not having Salamander at Crownley Hall.”

  Entering her mother’s bedroom, Mrs. Armitage looked up, hopefully,

  “His Lordship, is he with you? Her Ladyship has been asking for him.”

  “He is busy, Mrs. Armitage, and says he will come presently.”

  “Tch!”

  Novella ignored the servant’s cluck of disapproval. How could she say anything when she was in complete agreement with her? It was, indeed, a sorry state of affairs.

  “Have you sent for the maid?”

  “Yes, my Lady, she has gone downstairs to mix up an embrocation. My own dear mother gave me a recipe for one that I swear by.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Armitage, I appreciate that.”

  Novella sank down on the Countess’s bed and took her hand. Her face was pale and her lips had a slightly bluish tinge that Novella knew did not bode well.

  “Mama, I am here,” she whispered, as the Countess groaned softly.

  “George, where is George?” she moaned.