Love Is the Reason For Living

by Barbara Cartland

  “I hear tell that her Ladyship, the Countess, was distraught. Wanted to go away for a long holiday, but Lord Buckton would not. And then he goes and decides that they don’t need so many servants – too costly, he said.

  “In the space of two hours, my Lady, Wargrave, Sally, Gerald and Harry were all sent packing without any notice. When Wargrave tried to protest, he had his reference ripped up right in front of his eyes by Lord Buckton.”

  “But, he would not be able to find another position without a reference. That is shocking!” cried Novella, almost dropping her teacup. “What has happened to him?”

  “Last I heard he had gone to live with his sister in Chichester – but he’s a broken man, my Lady, you mark my words.”

  There was a long silence as the two women finished their tea.

  Novella felt an incredible sadness upon hearing about the way their faithful servants had been treated. Her father would have been outraged.

  And what of her stepfather? Novella knew that newcomers were always viewed with suspicion until they proved themselves worthy, and she was anxious to know what kind of impression Lord Buckton had created in the village – but did she dare ask?

  As if she had read her mind, Mrs. Cruickshank took a deep breath and said,

  “My Lady, can I speak my mind?”

  “Mrs. Cruickshank, I have already said that you may, so pray, continue.”

  “It is just that I worry for you and your dear mother. The Countess is a good lady and does not deserve the lack of respect that this man has shown her.”

  “You can rest assured that whatever you say will not go further than these walls.”

  “My Lady, there is talk in the village that Lord Buckton visits a lady – if you understand my meaning – when he goes to London. I would not tell you but for the sake of the Countess – we still all love her in the village.”

  “I had guessed as much,” replied Novella, quietly.

  “My Lady, I do not wish to upset you – ” said the old lady, dabbing at her eyes.

  “Be still, Mrs. Cruickshank, I thank you for your honesty with me. Now, I must take my leave as I have much to do. How much do I owe you for the postage?”

  “Nothing, my Lady. Just promise me that you will save the Countess and Crownley Hall from destruction!”

  Novella hugged her close saying,

  “There is one more thing I would ask of you.”

  “Anything, my Lady, you just name it.”

  “I wish to find Sally, my old maid. Do you know where I might find her?”

  Mrs. Cruickshank quickly walked to the counter and took up a pencil and a piece of card.

  She scribbled down an address and handed it to Novella.

  “Here, my Lady. Tell her that I gave it to you with my best wishes.”

  “Willow Cottage, Bell Lane. Is that not the cottage that the old school teacher lived in until she died?”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “But I had thought that it had been knocked down.”

  “It is Sally’s address, of that I am certain.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cruickshank, goodbye, I hope I see you again soon.”

  “You will, my Lady, you will.”

  And with that, Novella found herself back out on the street. She untethered Bluebell and clambered back into the buggy.

  Flicking the reins, Bluebell started off down the road towards the edge of the village.

  ‘I hope that Sally is at home,’ thought Novella as they approached the top of Bell Lane.

  She was travelling for some time before the cottage came into view.

  Stopping outside, Novella was dismayed to see that it was even more run down than she remembered it. One of the front windows was broken and boarded up roughly with planks of wood and the garden path was so overgrown that she was forced to beat her way to the front door.

  ‘Surely Sally cannot be living here,’ she murmured, rapping hard on the door, for the knocker had long since disappeared.

  But sure enough, the head that peeped out from behind the door was that of her old maid.

  “My Lady! You are back. Praise the Heavens!”

  Sally flung the door wide open and grabbed both of Novella’s hands, warmly.

  “Yes, Sally, I am back.”

  “You will come in, of course?” invited Sally, pulling her over the threshold.

  Inside, the room was as homely as it could be given that the wallpaper was peeling off the walls and threadbare curtains hung at the broken window.

  “You will excuse the mess, my Lady,” said Sally, bobbing a curtsy.

  “Sally, you no longer have to curtsy to me.”

  “It does not seem right, my Lady, but I am so glad, so very glad, that you have returned to Crownley Hall. Oh, it vexes me so – the devilry that has been going on there. His Lordship, the Earl, must be spinning in his grave like a top!”

  “Sally?”

  The girl bowed her head,

  “My Lady, it is not for me to say – ”

  Novella grabbed the girl’s hand and stared straight into her eyes. There were tears there that were threatening to spill down her once lovely cheeks.

  “I implore you, Sally, you must tell me.”

  Sally took a deep breath and then spoke urgently, her bottom lip trembling all the while.

  “My Lady, you and her Ladyship are in terrible danger – I would not say this if I did not know that it were true. My Lady,” she said, pausing dramatically, “there is something I need to tell you – ”

  And with that, she rose to close the curtains before beginning her tale.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  An hour later, Novella left Sally’s cottage, her mind reeling. What Sally had told her had both shocked and appalled her.

  Even though she had suspected that her new stepfather was a little unscrupulous, and, in the light of what Mrs. Cruickshank had told her, immoral, but she now also believed him to be utterly evil.

  She had not wanted to believe what the trembling, former servant had told her – the conversation that she had overheard when she was cleaning the fender in the library and crouched behind a chair – the strange men who were shown around the Hall who seemed to be taking measurements.

  “I tell you, my Lady, he was up to no good!” Sally had said fiercely.

  And as Novella digested the information, she too came to the same conclusion.

  She recalled Sally’s pale face as she had recounted her stepfather’s words to one of his friends,

  “My Lady, without a word of a lie, this is what I heard. I would swear on my mother’s grave! Lord Buckton told his friend that as soon as he had ‘dealt with the problem of her Ladyship’ he intended to sell Crownley Hall to a Bradford millionaire who would probably knock it down to build a new house. He said nothing would stop him and if he had to help fate along, then he would!”

  “Surely, he could not mean – ” Novella had asked, not wishing to utter the word ‘murder’.

  “My Lady, he had such a temper on him, I would not put it past him. Nearly beat one of the stable boys to within in inch of his life, he did! I never saw a man so out of control. It were only Charles pulling the boy away that saved him. Her Ladyship paid the boy’s doctor’s bills in secret, God bless her.”

  Novella had listened to Sally with ever-growing horror. Sally was right, both she and the Countess were in danger. But how could she prove anything? A servant’s hearsay counted for naught.

  ‘I will relay my fears to Mr. Longridge – he will guide me,’ she said to herself as she climbed at last back onto the buggy.

  Novella resolved to send Sally some money, once she had visited the bank.

  ‘The poor girl – she seems so ground down by what has happened to her. I cannot think how she ekes out a living. My stepfather must have believed himself the most fortunate of men – having a wealthy, lonely widow with a massive property at his disposal. It fair makes my blood boil!’

  As she drove along, snippets of Sally’s
story kept coming back to her – how Lord Buckton had steadfastly stayed by her mother’s side after her father had died and how he told her not to bother her head with anything odious as he would take care of it.

  ‘He is a sly one,’ concluded Novella, becoming angrier at each mile. ‘And to think he also keeps a mistress in London! I had guessed as much. The man is totally without shame or scruples. Mama should be rid of him as soon as she can.’

  But in her heart, Novella knew that this was unlikely to happen. Her mother was not strong and she had always relied upon men to tell her what to do and when. Novella was so unlike her – and it was all thanks to her father who had brought her up to be strong and independent.

  ‘Papa was a rare man,’ mused Novella, as she pulled into the drive of the Hall. ‘Yet for all his encouragement, Mama let him rule the roost without question. It has certainly been her undoing.’

  *

  Novella could only count the hours until she received a reply to her letter from Mr. Longridge. She guessed that she should not expect an immediate response, as he would inevitably be a very busy man.

  ‘I must be patient,’ she reminded herself, as she paced up and down her father’s study.

  She brooded upon all she had seen and heard that day for quite some time.

  She hid in her father’s study, preferring solitude.

  Every hour or so, she would go up to her mother’s bedroom and check on her. There had been a slight change – her breathing was not so laboured and she was sitting up in bed, saying that she might get up for dinner. However, she was still experiencing the most intense chest pains.

  ‘Mama needs constant nursing and it is unfair to expect Mrs. Armitage to undertake those duties,’ thought Novella, returning to the study once more.

  ‘I will look into engaging a nurse. I am certain that Mama will improve with continual care.’

  She stayed in the study until quite late. She was just about to leave the room when she heard noises in the hallway – it was her stepfather returning from London.

  ‘No doubt refreshed from visiting his lady friend, whilst his poor wife lies ill upstairs,’ thought Novella, murderously.

  She waited until she heard his footsteps dying away up the stairs before she emerged and then she quickly made her way to her own room.

  With a resigned sigh, Novella began to dress for dinner. She wondered if her mother would appear at table and secretly hoped that she would. She hated the idea of having to dine alone with her stepfather.

  Eventually, the huge gong in the downstairs hallway sounded, so Novella braced herself and quietly left her room.

  ‘I must try not to argue with stepfather,’ she repeated to herself as she entered the dining room.

  However she was the first down for the room was empty.

  Mrs. Armitage was nowhere to be seen, but Lily, the maid, was standing there ready to serve the meal.

  “Good evening!” came a booming voice behind her.

  Novella turned around to see Lord Buckton standing there, a supercilious smile playing around his lips. He fingered the end of his moustache and gave Novella a withering look.

  “Good evening,” murmured Novella, sitting down with her back to him. “How did you find London?”

  “Hectic, as always. Dirty and noisy. I swear I could not live there in its foul air for any amount of money.”

  “Quite,” replied Novella, with just the merest hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  “But London has its advantages and many distractions,” he continued, gesturing to the maid to fill his glass.

  “I would expect it does,” she countered, feigning interest in the napkin in front of her.

  Novella sat waiting for him to enquire after the health of her mother – but instead, he chattered on about a play he had seen that afternoon at a matinee.

  She was just about to make a remark when the dining room door opened and there, looking pale and frail, stood her mother.

  “Mama!” she cried, rising from the table.

  “Don’t get up, dear, I can manage,” replied the Countess, making her way slowly to her chair.

  “How are you feeling, Mama?”

  “A little better, thank you.”

  There was still no sound except that of Lord Buckton tapping his ring absent-mindedly against his plate.

  “Anthony?” said the Countess, by way of greeting.

  “Oh, yes – er – you are well?”

  “Not quite, sir, but I was so bored lying upstairs that I longed for a change of scenery.”

  “Is that wise, Mama. Would not your bed be better for you?”

  “Hush, Novella, dear. I want to be here.”

  The maid brought the first course – some cold lobster – and the three of them ate in silence.

  “Doctor Jones came this morning,” began Novella.

  “That old quack. I hope he did not charge you more than a guinea for the privilege,” countered Lord Buckton.

  Novella continued,

  “I met his costs out of my own pocket, sir, so you have no need to fret on that account. However, I am afraid that he was unable to determine what ails Mama, and so he has recommended that she see a specialist in chest complaints. His name is Doctor von Haydn and he is from London.”

  “And will cost a pretty penny, no doubt. No, it is out of the question. You are feeling better, are you not, madam?”

  Novella looked at her mother’s pale face that was breaking out in small beads of perspiration at the effort she was making to be present. It was pitiful and Novella’s tender heart surged out to her.

  “I – I am not terribly well, I must confess,” replied the Countess.

  “Stuff and nonsense! Fresh air and beef tea is all you need. And Mrs. Armitage’s embrocation.”

  Novella could not help herself but she had to intervene.

  “Doctor Jones thought it more serious than that, sir. I intend to write to Doctor von Haydn and ask him to call at the Hall to see Mama. I will not rest easy until I am assured that what ails her is not serious.”

  “And I say it is not. Your Mama has a weak constitution and as such is prone to lingering maladies and fantasies that she is seriously ill. No, such a waste of money is out of the question. Let that be the last word on it.”

  Novella bit her lip and said no more.

  ‘I do not care what he says, I will pay for Doctor von Haydn to visit Mama,’ she thought.

  Her stepfather was so often away from the Hall that by the time he found out that he had called, the specialist would have been and gone.

  “Whilst we are on the subject of money,” began Lord Buckton, as the main course arrived. “I wish to discuss the matter of that dreadful carriage.”

  He picked up a bone from his plate and began to strip it of meat.

  ‘How very apt,’ thought Novella, as she watched him. His awful table manners almost put her off her own meal.

  “What about the carriage?” asked the Countess fearfully.

  “It will not do for a gentleman of my standing to be seen in such a derelict object. When I am in London, I should have a smarter vehicle to take me around.”

  “But, sir, the expense – ” she replied, meekly.

  “Silence,” he roared, “specialists we do not need, but I have a reputation to keep up. I should like you to release some funds so that I may purchase a new carriage.”

  “But – but, I do not have any more money, Anthony, dear. You took the last hundred pounds I had to pay your tailor.”

  Lord Buckton glared at her, masticating malevolently on a piece of partridge and then tearing some more meat from a wing as he snarled,

  “So you wish me to look like a tramp on the road, do you?”

  “No, but – ”

  “What is there left that we can sell from this stinking heap of bricks?” he said, his tone tart and uncompromising.

  Novella wanted to jump in and say something, but her mother shot her a warning glance.

  “There is v
ery little, sir.”

  “Then I will have to sell some of those baubles that you never wear. That pearl necklace for instance.”

  “But that was a wedding present from you!” cried the Countess, her chest heaving with distress.

  “I gave it to you, so it is mine to sell should I wish. We will say no more and you will kindly hand it over after dinner, madam,”

  Novella watched helplessly as her mother began to cry softly. Then the tears became a cough that would not cease.

  Rushing to her mother’s side, Novella quickly rang for Mrs. Armitage.

  Her stepfather ignored the scene unfolding in front of him and simply continued eating.

  “There, there, Mama. Do not distress yourself, try and breathe deeply, it will help you.”

  “I should go back to bed,” she answered, and almost immediately was gripped by another coughing fit.

  “You shall, at once, Mama. Ah, here is Mrs. Armitage.”

  The two women helped the Countess from the table as she coughed piteously.

  Casting a backward glance at her impervious stepfather, Novella was filled with loathing.

  “No matter what he says, I will summon Doctor van Haydn, Mama,” she whispered, as they made their way upstairs.

  As soon as her mother was in bed, Novella sent Mrs. Armitage to the kitchen for some hot water, lemon and honey.

  She kissed her mother on the forehead and smoothed back her hair.

  “I shall retire now, but have Mrs. Armitage wake me if you need me.”

  “Yes, darling,” murmured her mother, drowsily.

  ‘I do hope that Mr. Longridge makes haste with his reply,’ thought Novella as she moved towards her own room. ‘Mama is seriously ill, no matter what my stepfather believes.’

  *

  Thankfully, Novella did not have to wait long, for bright and early the next morning, the postman arrived bearing a reply from Mr. Longridge.

  She tried not to look too excited as Mrs. Armitage handed it to her at the breakfast table – she did not wish to arouse her stepfather’s curiosity.

  She returned to her room and, locking the door behind her, opened the letter.

  “Thank Heavens!” she cried as she read the elegant script,

  “My dear Novella,