The Mountain of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “Take me to England, Mama?” Kayla questioned.

  “I am now sending you to your grandfather. He has refused to recognise me, but you are his grandchild and his son’s daughter. Surely he cannot reject you.”

  She gave a deep sigh and went on,

  “You will not find him easy and it will be a very different world from the one you have lived in up to now.”

  She paused to draw in her breath.

  “It is your rightful place, my darling, and it is what your father would wish you to do.”

  “I will not leave you, Mama.” “No, of course not. Stay until I die. Then, after I am buried, do as I say. You will find in an envelope the name of the Courier, who I wish to travel with you, because he is very reliable, and the money to pay him and the money for your fare.”

  “You have – thought of – everything,” Kayla said in a broken voice. “Except, my dearest Mama, that I cannot bear to be – without you.”

  “You know I shall always be near you and thinking of you. Just as I have been sure that your father has helped and guided me during the time when I have worked for the money we needed and have been more successful than I ever dared to hope.”

  “You have been – wonderful, Mama. No one could have – done more than you have. It does not seem fair that now when – we could have been together – you are going away.”

  “I think maybe it was all planned by someone greater than ourselves. It would have been very difficult for me to go on working and at the same time give you the Social life to which, as your father’s daughter, you are entitled.”

  “I don’t want a Social – life. I want to be – with you and it was such fun – when we were all together.”

  “I know, my darling, but God knows best and it’s not for us to argue against what we can never understand.”

  Kayla felt hot tears begin running down her cheeks and she rubbed them away.

  “I love you – Mama. You have been so wonderful to me. And you have been very very brave since we lost Papa.”

  “I lost him, but I always knew he was with me and now I shall see him again and be as close to him as we were when he was alive.”

  There was a lilt in her voice that had not been there before.

  Kayla felt she spoke as if she could actually see the husband she loved with all her heart and soul.

  Grace died that night.

  Kayla, helped of her mother’s old friend, Monsieur Alpen, had her buried in the churchyard near where they had lived in Montmartre.

  Then she packed up everything they possessed to take with her to England. It really amounted to very little, but there was one trunk filled with her father’s paintings.

  These were, of course, those pictures he had painted because he wanted to paint them and had never been for sale.

  So many people had laughed at the Impressionists and ridiculed them, but Alastair had paid no attention to what they said. Nor to the scathing comments from the museums and art galleries.

  He painted only what he felt and saw. The strong wind blowing through the trees, the lights reflected on the Seine at night or a glimpse of a wild storm gathering over the desert sand.

  They were, Kayla reflected, all that she had left of her beloved father.

  Wherever she went, she would take them with her and never ever lose them.

  Monsieur Alpen saw her off at the Gare du Nord.

  “Take good care of yourself, my dear,” he said. “You are very lovely, as a great many men will tell you in your life. But just remember how happy your father and mother were together and do not be deceived by a man who cannot give you the same love that was always theirs.”

  “That is what I hope I will find,” replied Kayla, “and thank you more than I can say for all your kindness and help, not only to me but to Mama.”

  “Your mother was a very wonderful person,” the old man sighed, “and her voice was as pure and beautiful as she was herself. But those whom the Gods love, we cannot keep with us – ”

  He spoke very movingly.

  There were tears in Kayla’s eyes as she kissed him goodbye and then she climbed into the train.

  The Courier was a man of about seventy, who had undertaken the journey to England a hundred times.

  He travelled in the same carriage with Kayla. He was too tactful to talk as the train moved off and looked out of the window while Kayla wiped her eyes.

  Monsieur Alpen waved until she was out of sight.

  Kayla realised that she was leaving behind a world she knew and understood and stepping into another world that would be very different.

  A world that seemed very frightening.

  A world that might not even accept her.

  She felt almost paralysed with fear at the thought of meeting her grandfather for the first time.

  The rest of her father’s relatives were only names of whom she knew little or nothing.

  Then she remembered how her father and mother had survived after they had been exiled from England.

  If her mother could have managed all alone after her father’s death, then she must be brave whatever the future held.

  ‘I suppose, if the worst comes to the worst and if they are too terrifying and hostile to accept me, I shall just have to run away.’

  The idea made her laugh.

  And there were still tears in her eyes, as the thought struck her that without her father and mother she had no one to run to.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Courier had arranged that when they arrived at Dover a fast carriage should meet them.

  Because it was summer the hood was down and it was easy for Kayla to enjoy the countryside.

  Her father had specifically taught her on their many journeys abroad to be observant and, as it was the first time she had ever been in England, she took particular notice of everything they were passing.

  She had expected the thatched cottages and the little black and white houses and the narrow lanes with hedgerows thick with blossom as well as the small square-hedged fields that were so unlike the large ones in France.

  Kayla really appreciated the seemingly endless spired Churches that were to be seen in every village.

  They had travelled for almost three hours before they stopped for tea.

  Kayla was thirsty by this time and she felt that the horses must be too and, as they drove on, the Courier told her that her destination was not much further ahead.

  Now she had to think of what she would find when she arrived.

  She was growing exceedingly nervous.

  Her mother had left her enough money to pay for the Courier and the carriage, but Kayla was well aware that she would have very little left after paying them.

  She could not, however, believe that her grandfather would turn her away.

  If he did, she had no idea what she would do.

  Next the carriage turned in at a pair of great gates surmounted on each side with heraldic arms carved in marble.

  Kayla realised that the frightening moment had now come.

  There was a long drive lined with ancient oak trees.

  Then she saw the massive and impressive house. It seemed to her almost too big to be a home. The coachman drew up with a flourish outside a front door with a number of stone steps leading up to it.

  A footman ran towards them and opened the carriage door and Kayla stepped out.

  Waiting inside the front door was, as she expected, a butler with white hair, who she thought was looking at her with surprise.

  “I would like, please” she said in a small voice that sounded frightened even to herself, “to see His Grace the Duke of Barningforde.”

  “I’ll find out, madam, if His Grace is available,” the butler replied. “What name shall I say?”

  Kayla drew in her breath.

  “Lady Kayla Forde,” she answered.

  For a moment the butler stared at her as if he thought that she had made a mistake.

  Then, in what seemed to her a rather
strange voice, he intoned,

  “Will you please follow me, my Lady?”

  She did as she was told.

  They walked from the lofty hall into a high-ceilinged passage, where the walls were hung with many gold-framed portraits.

  Kayla felt they must be portraits of her ancestors and was longing to stop and look at them.

  The butler, however, was walking steadily on and she could do nothing but follow him.

  They had almost reached the end of the passage when he stopped at a door.

  “You did say Lady Kayla Forde, my Lady?” Kayla managed to smile at him.

  “Yes,” she replied, “and I expect that you knew my father.” The butler seemed to relax his tension.

  “I thinks then that your Ladyship be Lord Alastair’s daughter.”

  Kayla nodded.

  “It’s so nice to see you here, my Lady,” the butler managed to add.

  Kayla smiled at him and he opened the door.

  Then, in what she thought was a somewhat stentorian tone, he announced,

  “Lady Kayla Forde, Your Grace.”

  He stood to one side and Kayla walked in.

  She realised immediately that she was now in what her father had told her was the study and she recalled him describing to her the pictures by Stubbs on the walls.

  And the enormous marquetry cabinet of books that he had said all concerned horses and racing.

  She took it in with only a swift glance.

  Then she was acutely aware of a man sitting at a flat-topped writing-desk near the window.

  He had looked up in surprise when he heard the butler announce her and now he was staring at her as she walked towards him.

  She dropped him a small curtsy and said in a voice that shook a little,

  “I have a letter – here, Your Grace, that my mother wrote – before she died.”

  For a moment the Duke did not answer.

  Then he exclaimed in a hard voice,

  “Your mother is dead?”

  “Yes, she died ten days ago,” Kayla replied, “and she told me that, when the funeral was over, I was to come here to you.”

  She had taken an envelope from her handbag before she left the carriage and now she held it out to the Duke.

  For a second she thought he was going to refuse it and then quite obviously with no wish to do so, he took the letter from her hand.

  He stared at it as if it was something unclean before he picked up a letter-opener and slit the top of the envelope.

  He did not ask Kayla to sit down.

  She stood in front of the desk feeling that it would be a mistake to do so. At the same time she was beginning to feel as if her legs would no longer support her.

  Slowly the Duke took the letter from the envelope and spread it out in front of him.

  As he started to read what her mother had written, Kayla, who had read it, could follow every word.

  Although she was ill, her handwriting was still very elegant and well-formed.

  “Your Grace,” it began,

  “When you read this, I shall be dead. I am sending to you Alastair’s daughter because there is nowhere else she can go nor does she have any money.

  Because I knew it was what Alastair would want, I have sent her for the last two years to the Convent of Santa Maria Magdalena in Florence, which, as I am sure you are aware, is the most exclusive and celebrated Finishing School in Europe and incidentally the most expensive.

  After I became Alastair’s wife, I never sang again except to him until I realised that Kayla must be properly educated.

  Also I have never used my title and neither has Kayla except to gain acceptance as a pupil in this most exclusive Convent.

  She proved her very considerable intelligence by becoming the Head Girl at the Convent and has returned home with a large number of prizes.

  When I am dead, I can only ask you to look after her as Alastair would have wanted you to do.”

  It was here that Kayla’s mother had paused and then, with an undoubted twist to her lips, she wrote on,

  “If you will not accept Kayla in your house and treat her as your granddaughter, I have provided her with a list of Alastair’s other relatives.

  She can therefore ask them to save her from having to beg in the streets if you do not give her a roof over her head.”

  As the Duke read the last lines, watching him, Kayla saw his lips tighten.

  There was an angry expression in his eyes.

  He had been a good-looking man when he was young, in fact very handsome like his son, but in old age there was a sharpness in his expression.

  The lines on his face told Kayla that he was a bully, as she had always imagined he must be.

  Now he looked up at her and said harshly,

  “So you wish to come and live here with me?” Kayla made a graceful gesture with her hands. “I have nowhere else to go, Your Grace.”

  “And no money, I understand – ” “After my father’s death, the allowance you gave him ceased. Mama and I had to struggle to remain alive.”

  The Duke looked down again at the letter.

  “Am I to understand from this that your mother went back on the stage?”

  “My mother had never been on the stage when she married Papa,” Kayla replied to him quietly, “but it was very difficult for her to earn enough money for my fees at the Convent and to keep on the small rooms we rented in Paris when Papa was alive.”

  The Duke made a sound that did not exactly denote his feelings and, after an uncomfortable pause, he growled,

  “I suppose I shall have to take you into my house. But let me make it quite clear that, if I do so, I don’t wish you to ever speak again of your mother and even to our relatives you will behave as if she never existed.”

  Kayla did not reply and after a moment he stipulated in the same harsh tone,

  “You will not speak again of your life abroad. You are now in England, you are my granddaughter and you will behave as if you have always lived here and known no other part of the world. Is that understood?”

  “I will try to do so,” Kayla stammered, “but, as you must be aware it will be rather difficult as I know nothing about England and even less about my relatives.”

  As if the Duke thought that she was opposing him, he responded angrily,

  “You will do as you are told. You will obey me or you can go back to where you have come from.”

  “That is impossible, Grandfather, as I have no money and nowhere to go. But as Mama suggested, I can if you wish, approach my father’s other relatives.”

  “You will stay here in this house with me,” the Duke bellowed, “and keep your mouth shut.”

  As he spoke, he reached out his hand and rang the gold bell that was standing on his writing table.

  The door opened almost instantly and Kayla realised that the butler had been waiting outside.

  “Bring in her Ladyship’s luggage,” the Duke ordered sharply, “and tell Mrs. Shepherd to find her a bedroom in the West wing.”

  “Very good, Your Grace,” said the butler.

  “I must say goodbye to the Courier who brought me here,” Kayla murmured, “and of course pay him.”

  “Carlton can do that,” the Duke snapped, “and you can come with me.”

  Kayla felt it was somewhat rude and unkind, as the Courier had looked after her so well ever since they had left France.

  But there was nothing she could do.

  She merely followed the Duke as he walked along the passage in the other direction from the way she had come.

  He opened the door of a room.

  When they went into it, she saw that there was a lady seated in the window, embroidering petit point on a piece of satin.

  She looked up as the Duke entered and Kayla thought that she seemed surprised at seeing him.

  She was a small woman and must have been very pretty when she was young, but now there were copious lines on her face.

  Strangely enough, Kayl
a thought that they did not come from age, but from something deeper within herself.

  She did not know why she thought this, but she had, however, always been good at judging people at first sight and both her mother and father had often told her that she was seldom mistaken.

  “What is it, John?” the lady in the window asked.

  The Duke walked across the drawing room floor with heavy footsteps.

  “This is Alastair’s daughter, Margaret,” he blurted out. “Apparently she is now orphaned and has come to us for shelter. You had better make the best you can of her.”

  He did not wait for his wife’s reply, but turned and walked back towards the door.

  He passed Kayla without even looking at her.

  As the door closed behind him, the Duchess held out her hand.

  “I often wondered,” she began, “what had happened to you, but no one could tell me.”

  Kayla took her hand and dropped a little curtsy.

  “For the last seventeen months I have been educated in a Convent. Now my mother is dead and I have nowhere to go except to come here.”

  As she spoke of her mother, she almost instinctively glanced over her shoulder in case the Duke had not left the room and was listening, and then she saw that the door had closed behind him.

  “You poor dear,” said the Duchess. “It must be very sad for you to have lost both your father and mother.”

  “And to be wanted – by no one,” Kayla added.

  “I only hope we can make you happy here, my dear, but you will find that your grandfather can be a somewhat difficult man.”

  “I know, but I must be grateful that he has accepted me.”

  “I expect,” the Duchess said rather limply, as if she was trying to think what she should do, “you would like to see the house or perhaps you are feeling tired after a long journey.”

  “Papa used to talk about the house and there are so many things I would like to see, especially the library. But maybe I ought to unpack my clothes first.”

  “A maid will do that for you. If you would like to see the library, I will show it to you now.”

  Kayla realised that she was trying to be kind, but at the same time she thought the Duchess had a vague way of speaking. It was as if she was not particularly interested in anything she was saying.