Stars in the Sky

by Barbara Cartland

  Sylvia said nothing in reply, only indicated that Polly unhook her dress for her.

  Polly hummed to herself as she helped Sylvia out of her dress and into the shift, after which Sylvia went to sit at the dressing table.

  "Please unpin my hair," said Sylvia.

  Still humming, Polly came over and started to roughly pull out the pins that held up Sylvia's hair, until it fell in a golden mass on to her shoulders.

  Sylvia picked up a brush and then turned her head, as there came the distant sound of pounding at the front door below.

  "Someone's carriage has just arrived," commented Polly with a shrug.

  Sylvia turned back to the mirror. Her face was pale as alabaster. As the memory of that night at Endecott flooded her mind again, she thought of what it portended for the night to come. With a small cry she dropped the brush and covered her face with her hands.

  Polly seemed not to hear. She had wandered towards the doors and opened them. "There's a bit of a ruction going on down below. I'm going to see!"

  Sylvia raised her face from her hands. As the double doors closed behind Polly the dressing room door opened and the Count emerged, in a royal blue dressing gown.

  He padded over to Sylvia and stood behind her, gazing at her in the mirror.

  "This is a distraction," he mused, almost as if she were not there, "but none the less pleasurable for all that." He was so preoccupied he seemed not to hear the loud voices issuing from below. With a sudden move he grasped Sylvia's hair in his hand and leaned over with a leer to kiss her lips.

  There was the sound of feet pounding up the stairs –

  voices of alarm – and the double doors burst open.

  "Unhand her, sir!" came a fierce and commanding voice.

  Sylvia almost cried out with joy to see, in the mirror, the figure of Lord Farron advancing on the Count.

  Behind him, in the doorway, loomed the bewildered faces of her family and the wedding guests.

  The Count swung round with a curse. "What the deuce – how dare you, sir, enter my room like this!"

  "Thank God I am not too late!" cried Lord Farron, as his eyes settled on the trembling form of Sylvia at the dressing table.

  "Too – late, sir!" spluttered the Count. Too late for what?"

  "Too late to prevent a terrible injustice!" proclaimed Lord Farron grimly.

  "What injustice? What is going on?" asked the Duke, hobbling forward on the arm of Edith.

  "I do not know what the fool is talking about," snarled the Count, "but he will answer for this outrage."

  "And you will answer for an even greater outrage!" cried Lord Farron. "Perhaps you would care to explain to the assembled company why you married Lady Sylvia when you were not in a position to do so?"

  The Count blenched but quickly recovered himself. He gave a wild laugh. "You are mad! You have concocted some fairy tale in order to prevent the – the consummation of my marriage."

  In the shocked silence that followed, a voice was heard murmuring softly from the doorway.

  "So I am a fairy tale, monsieur?"

  The company gasped – the Count turned white as death – as a woman with a veil over her face glided into the room.

  "Who is this lady?" asked the Duke in bewilderment.

  Lord Farron took the woman's hand and bowed to the Duke.

  "Your Grace," he said, "allow me to present Helen Chagnon Brauer, wife to the present Count von Brauer of Bavaria."

  For a second no-one moved. Then all eyes turned in horror to the Count.

  "Damn you, Farron, damn you," he snarled, his lips drawn back from his teeth.

  "No, damn you ,sir," said the Duke brokenly. "You will be brought to justice for this!"

  "Never!" cried the Count.

  Sylvia's hand flew to her mouth as the Count rushed to the half open window that led on to the balcony and dived through. She saw him hesitate for a second on the balcony balustrade and then, as Lord Farron and Braider raced to reach him, he leaped wildly out into the air.

  "No!" cried Sylvia and Charity as Lord Farron vaulted onto the balustrade to follow him.

  "Good God, sir," said the Duke. "Don't attempt it. It's a twenty foot drop."

  At this, certain her husband had been killed, the Countess fell in a swoon.

  Lord Farron peered over the balustrade. "The Count has survived," he said dryly. "He's up and making for the woods. I can just make him out in the moonlight."

  "He's limping badly, though," squinted Braider.

  "I'll go after him," said Lord Farron grimly.

  "And I," cried Braider. "By God, I'd no idea the fellow was such a cad."

  "Go after him by all means," said the Duke hoarsely. "If I were not such a feeble old man I'd go with you. There's some pistols in the cabinet in my study. Take the stable boy along too – he knows the woods."

  Lord Farron and Braider hurried from the room.

  Edith and Charlotte meanwhile had raised the Countess's veil and were fanning her face with their hands.

  "I think she is coming round," said Edith, as the Countess's eyes fluttered open. She gazed around in a daze.

  "My…husband?" she asked tremulously.

  "He is alive, madame," said the Duke carefully.

  "Oh, thank God!" cried the Countess.

  The Duke looked grave as he continued. "But I'm afraid I have to tell you that your husband ran into the woods and Lord Farron and Braider are pursuing him. He must be brought to justice."

  The Countess nodded wearily. "I accept zis, monsieur. All I want is that he lives."

  "You are tired, madame," said the Duchess. "I hope you will accept our hospitality tonight?"

  "I shall be so glad," whispered the Countess.

  "The story of how Lord Farron tracked you down," said the Duke, "and what led him to suspect the Count in the first place – must wait until his return."

  Jeannie was summoned to show the Countess to one of the guest rooms.

  "How can such a – genteel lady – be under the spell of that monster?" burst out the Duchess as the door closed behind her.

  "We were all under his spell for a while," sighed the Duke. His eyes sought Sylvia's and she started as she saw the sorrow in them.

  She had been so flooded with relief at her narrow escape, that she had momentarily forgotten what the whole debacle meant for her family. Now she remembered. There would be no money after all. The future was uncertain again.

  At the same time it was clear that the Duke felt ashamed of the way in which he had allowed his wife and other daughters to pressurise Sylvia into marriage with a man who had turned out to be such a villain.

  "I do declare," said the Duchess tearfully, "had I had the faintest inkling of his true character, I should never have encouraged our poor Sylvia to accept him."

  The Duke regarded his wife in silence for a moment and then turned to Charity. "You will stay here tonight too, I hope?" he asked. "It is too late to journey home."

  "Thank you, I should be glad to stay," accepted Charity gratefully.

  "I suggest that you all retire," said the Duke. "I must wait up for Lord Farron. We will have to lock the Count in somewhere, until I can summon the authorities."

  "If they catch him!" exclaimed the Duchess.

  At these words, a chill wind seemed to enter the room and everyone in it shivered.

  *

  Sylvia went to her own room, where the emotions of the day so overwhelmed her that she fell asleep almost despite herself.

  She had no idea how much time had passed, when she was awakened by a soft tapping at the door.

  She sat up in alarm. "Come in!" she called.

  She was relieved to see it was Charity.

  "Has…your brother returned?" asked Sylvia tremulously.

  Charity looked grim. "Yes, but without the Count. He and Braider decided to split up in the woods. The stable boy went with Braider but then – wanting I suppose to play the man – crept off on his own. Braider heard a cry and turned back
.

  "The boy had encountered the Count, who struck him a blow that made him fall. When my brother met up with Braider and the boy, they were on their way back to the castle. The boy was crying because he had dropped his pistol in the struggle."

  Sylvia was silent for a moment and then sighed. "What I cannot understand, Charity, is why the Count was so determined to marry me. We have no money and he certainly wasn't in love with me. So why?"

  "I know the answer to that," said Charity carefully. "But it is my brother who has the full story. Will you allow him to enter and speak to you?"

  "Of…course," replied Sylvia wonderingly. "Please help me into a dress and then I will receive him."

  Charity complied and then went to the door.

  It seemed Lord Farron had been waiting outside, for he entered immediately.

  "I believe…you can throw some light on this…sorry affair," said Sylvia.

  "Indeed I can!" said Lord Farron. "The story commences that night at the Count's lodgings. Do you remember a piece of cloth that lay on an open book of astronomy?"

  Sylvia's eyes grew wide. "I..I do. It had…some kind of riddle written on it."

  "Correct," asserted Lord Farron. "When I also read the name Belham on it, I was immediately suspicious of the Count. I decided to try and find out more about the cloth. Since it was almost certainly connected to the book of astronomy – the riddle contained astronomical allusions – the first step was to trace the owner of the book. The name on the bookplate, as you may remember, was Chagnon and the address Paris."

  Sylvia gasped. "The Count's wife?"

  Lord Farron nodded. "I went to Paris. I visited the house in the Rue Vieux Tolbiac and I found there – the Countess. She told me an interesting story.

  "When your ancestor, James Duke of Belham, fled England during the Civil War, he enlisted with the French King's army, as you know. What you do not know is that his regiment was under the command of a certain – Louis de Chagnon."

  Sylvia was speechless.

  "The Duke was mortally wounded," continued Lord Farron, "during a skirmish with the King's protestant enemies led by the Prince de Condé. He lingered on in delirium for some days. Chagnon, who had become a friend, often visited him. One day the Duke pressed something into his hand. It was the cloth that had bound his head wound and the Duke had written on it in his own blood. He had written the very riddle I quoted to you.

  "No doubt he intended to ask Chagnon to make sure this piece of cloth reached his family, but he died that very hour in Chagnon's arms. Chagnon thought the writing on the cloth was simply the result of delirium. Nevertheless he kept it, folded between the pages of an ancient astronomy book that the Duke had carried with him everywhere and which he also left with Chagnon.

  "This book was deposited in the Chagnon library and the story of this unlikely friendship and its end entered Chagnon family legend, although knowledge of the actual whereabouts of the cloth faded from memory."

  "And…how did it come into the possession of the Count?" asked Sylvia, perplexed.

  "The Countess was married before," explained Lord Farron, "to a Chagnon. He was the last of the line. When he died his widow found herself reasonably well provided for, but even so, there were debts to be paid. She decided to sell part of the extensive Chagnon library and asked a friend if he knew of anyone desiring employment, who would help catalogue the books for her.

  "Her friend suggested a gentleman he had recently encountered who was – shall we say – in embarrassed circumstances. The gentleman in question had inherited an estate but had gambled most of it away. He was at that moment in Paris and he needed money.

  "That gentleman was Count von Brauer and he accepted Madame Chagnon's offer."

  "And then he…married her?" cried Sylvia.

  Lord Farron nodded grimly. "She had property, and an annual income, and he had nothing. He continued his work on the library after the marriage. Then suddenly, without a word to his new wife, he disappeared. Taking with him the astronomy book that the Duke had left to Louis de Chagnon all those years ago and, of course, the cloth that was folded between its pages."

  "And…he knew what it was?" asked Sylvia faintly.

  "Yes," said Lord Farron. "I believe he became acquainted with the history of the Belham family – and the legend of the treasure – at the gaming clubs on the Riviera."

  "My father often tells the story," nodded Sylvia sadly.

  "When the Count found the cloth," continued Lord Farron, "he knew exactly what it signified. He remembered that the present Duke of Belham had an unmarried daughter and decided to abandon his wife to pursue a greater fortune. He stole money belonging to his wife. He then travelled to England with the sole intention of marrying you and gaining access to the castle. You know the rest yourself."

  "He used my poor father's gambling addiction to secure me," said Sylvia weakly.

  Lord Farron looked at her sympathetically. "I'm afraid so. And no doubt when the Count had the treasure in his grasp, he would have disappeared again!"

  "Why have you come to me and not my father with all this?" asked Sylvia.

  "I did not wish to raise his expectations when his health is not sound," said Lord Farron. "If the treasure exists, then all may be revealed to your family. If it does not, there is no disappointment. Except – except for you."

  Sylvia drew herself up. "I could easily bear that," she said.

  Lord Farron regarded her admiringly. "Good. So shall we start?"

  "What!" exclaimed Sylvia. "N..now?"

  "What better time?" asked Lord Farron.

  Sylvia's face fell. "B..but we don't have the cloth. We don't have the riddle."

  "Ah, but we do," smiled Lord Farron. He drew a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket. "You obviously did not see me but I copied the riddle down."

  "And…can you decipher it?"

  "I believe so."

  Sylvia looked at Charity and back to Lord Farron. "Then…let us begin," she said with a determined air.

  Lord Farron bowed and unfolded the paper. "Here's the first line. 'A square within a greater O, below the one and then below.' The square is the castle, the greater O is the sky. The castle is below the sky and – below the castle are – ?"

  "The vaults!" exclaimed Sylvia. "The entrance is on the south side of the castle, near the stables."

  As quietly as possible, though brimming with excitement, Sylvia followed Charity and Lord Farron down the stairs and out of the castle's main entrance. Soon they stood before two oak doors set at a slope low in the castle wall.

  The vaults were not often entered and Lord Farron needed all his strength to heave them open by their iron rings.

  Charity had brought a lantern. Lord Farron took it and led the way down the stairs.

  At the bottom of the stairs four corridors led away in different directions.

  Lord Farron read out the next clue.

  "'The hand that's held against the sky, now directs the seeker's eye.' Well, in ancient times, people put their hands up against the stars Castor and Pollux and the span between them was used as a measuring device for the rest of the night sky. Castor and Pollux are found in the north west, so I believe we take that north west corridor."

  They set off. The beam from the lantern swung before them. The vaults had at one time been used for storage, particularly of wine and beer. Now it was empty, full of cobwebs and rotting casks.

  They arrived at a corner where two corridors led off to the left and to the right.

  "'His bootes towards the alpha's light, the path that follows must be right,'" read out Lord Farron. "Well, the 'right' might not mean right. It could be a red herring. But in fact, 'bootes' is a star of which the alpha star is Arcturus, the pathfinder, and these both rise due east. And it is indeed the passage to the right that leads east."

  Before moving off Lord Farron, noticed a rusty spade standing against the wall.

  "This might come in useful," he mused. "I shall take it."

&n
bsp; The three then walked quietly along the corridor. Set high in the wall at various intervals, under the ceiling of the vaults, were a series of small windows through which faint moonlight filtered.

  Lord Farron held up his hand and his companions halted. He read out the next clue.

  "'Pause at the pane within the maze, under the growling dancer's gaze.' The maze is the vaults, where one could indeed get lost." He looked around and then pointed.

  "The pane we want – is there. For through it we can see – the star known as the 'bear' which people once believed 'danced' around the pole star."

  Sylvia and Charity looked up in wonder. Lord Farron continued.

  "'Where an arctic glister all alone, illumines the last holy stone.' Well, the arctic glister is the pole star itself. It too is visible through that tiny window."

  He paused, his eye moving to the floor. "And see – how the light shines – straight onto that white stone there."

  Sylvia and Charity regarded the stone.

  "'And there where prayers once were said, my earthly chattels found their bed.'" read Lord Farron.

  He looked thoughtfully at the stone. "I believe under that stone we will find what is called a 'priest's hole,' where the catholic clergy often hid from their persecutors. No doubt many fervent prayers were said there! And I suppose James, Duke of Belham did see it as the 'last' stone, for the catholic royalist cause was lost. I think we will find below – James, Duke of Belham's 'earthly chattels,' or – his treasure."

  "How will we raise the stone?" asked Sylvia, trying to keep her voice steady.

  "That is where this spade will come in useful!" said Lord Farron. "The edge is sharp and thin, and there is a gap between that stone there and the next."

  Sylvia and Charity watched as he manoeuvred the spade into the gap and started to push.

  The stone creaked as it shifted. Sylvia held her breath. Suddenly she turned her head.

  What was that noise behind her in the corridor? It had sounded like a footfall.

  "What's the matter?" asked Charity.

  "I thought I heard something."