“Oh, miss – ’e’s very ’andsome!”
Elissa laughed.
Clearly that was why Ellen was blushing so much.
“And – ’e likes to just turn up sometimes without any notice.”
“How impulsive of him,” said Elissa. “But perhaps that is a gentleman’s prerogative.”
“’Er Ladyship will be very pleased, she is always so ’appy to see ’im.”
It was time for Elissa to go downstairs, but before she did, she remembered to tell Ellen not to be afraid if she heard a strange scratching noise at the door.
“It will only be Marmalade,” she explained. “He is a dear cat and he likes to spend the night up here in my bedroom. I hope you don’t mind?”
“It will be company, miss. For I expect you will be late comin’ back, if ’is Lordship is at ’ome tonight.”
And once again Elissa felt strangely excited at the prospect of meeting her cousin.
She sped down the staircase into the hall and then paused as she saw two people standing in front of the fire.
As always in the evenings, the hall was gloomy and the staircase was veiled in shadows, so they did not see her as she stood to watch them.
One, in long flowing skirts was Lady Hartwell and once again, Elissa thought how youthful she looked as she leaned towards the man who was bending to kiss her hand.
“Why must you stay away from us so long?” her grandmother was saying in a soft low tone that Elissa had never heard her use before.
“I wish you would not be always in London. Why must you spend all your time with gambling men and fancy ill-bred women?”
The man laughed and whispered something in the old woman’s ear, almost as if he was her lover and not her grandson.
“Oh, my dearest, you do flatter me!” Lady Hartwell answered him. “But why must you come so unexpectedly? I should have liked to have cook prepare a special dinner for tonight.”
The man laughed and kissed her hand again.
“I come only to see you, my darling. It is you that brings me back to The Towers every time.”
Elissa saw that Mrs. Nantwich was hovering a few feet away from them.
Dinner must be ready and yet the couple who stood in front of the fire showed no signs of moving.
As Elissa stepped forward to join them, the man turned to look at her, his dark eyes gleaming like polished stones in the firelight.
“Who is this? You didn’t tell me you had hired a new Governess, dearest,” he exclaimed, “surely I am too old for such attention, but I think she would be quite pretty if she was more smartly dressed. Perhaps I might like to take some lessons from her – after all!”
Then he laughed heartily and Elissa felt a shock of confusion run through her heart because his expression, the shape of his dark brows and the way that he threw his head back, reminded her vividly of her Mama’s beautiful face.
Lady Hartwell shook her head, looking flustered.
“Did I not tell you I had taken in Helena’s daughter to be my companion? I am very lonely, here, dearest, for you are so often away.”
The man’s dark brows flew up in arcs of surprise and once again, Elissa saw her Mama’s face in his.
“What? Wicked Aunt Helena’s little chicken come home to roost! Well I never. Let me look at you.”
He held out a hand, enticing Elissa to come to him.
“You are fooling with me, Grandmama,” he said, staring into Elissa’s face, “it’s only a Governess after all.”
“I – am Helena’s daughter – ” Elissa stammered.
“How can you be?” he said and he reached up and teased a strand of hair away from behind her ear, playing with it between his fingers.
“Look at you – how can you be one of us – you are fair-haired!”
“It is true,” Elissa told him, wishing he was not so close to her as she could smell the tang of whisky on his breath.
“I am Lady Helena’s daughter, my name is Elissa.”
He dropped the strand of hair and turned to Lady Hartwell.
“Is this correct?”
“Why should I lie to you, Falcon?” the old woman replied. “I need a companion and since she is a relation, there is no need for me to pay her.”
He clicked his teeth and looked at Elissa again.
“I cannot believe it,” he said, and he reached for her again and pulled the silk wrap away from her shoulders, so that he could see the plain black dress beneath it.
“Her apparel is not even fit for a Governess – why, she might be a girl you have hired to do the mending.”
“My Lord,” Mrs. Nantwich stepped anxiously into the circle of firelight. “Dinner is served!”
“It must wait,” he snapped. “I am not ready.”
He spun round and walked to a small table where decanters of sherry and whisky stood, glowing richly in the light of the flickering flames.
He poured out a glass of sherry.
“Here, cousin,” he called out. “Drink up. I cannot have a sad face at my table.”
Elissa wanted to tell him she was still in mourning for her father and it did not seem right to drink, especially sherry, which she did not much like the taste of, but Lady Hartwell was sighing impatiently and peering at the little watch pinned to the front of her dress.
“Hurry up, Elissa. The soup will be ruined.”
Elissa sipped the strong sweet sherry and almost at once felt her face grow hot and her head spun a little.
“Elissa,” Lord Hartwell was saying to her now.
“A pretty name for my young cousin. And what an interesting childhood you must have had. For your father was an artist, was he not?”
Elissa nodded.
“Come, finish your sherry, don’t keep us waiting, the excellent amontillado will soon raise your spirits and put roses in your cheeks to boot!”
Reluctantly she then took another sip of the sticky sweet stuff.
“I daresay you will have some lively tales to tell of your Bohemian life in London,” he smiled at her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable and again his expression reminded her of her Mama.
“I have often wondered what my beautiful aunt got up to once she had escaped from The Towers.”
“Falcon! Let us proceed to the dining room,” Lady Hartwell insisted, her voice rising.
He leaned close to Elissa and whispered,
“I look forward to hearing everything about it when Grandmama is out of the way.”
Then he nudged the sherry glass up to Elissa’s lips, and held it there until she had sipped it all down and the glass was empty.
“There,” he crowed, “that’s so much better. You’re quite presentable now you have some colour.”
A tall vase of white flowers – lilies and camellias, stood by the fireplace, a little away from the heat.
He went over to it and pulled off one of the delicate camellias.
“I hate to see a young girl in black,” he sighed. “It is a sin against beauty. I cannot spend the whole of dinner looking at such a sight. Here!”
He tucked the flower into Elissa’s hair.
“Ah, that’s better. A touch of loveliness to bring you to full life. Look, Grandmama, how the yellow at the centre of the flower picks up the colour of her hair! I am quite an artist myself tonight, aren’t I?”
Elissa felt herself grow even warmer than she had already become from the sherry.
But her cousin had turned away and was offering his arm to Lady Hartwell, and Elissa, greatly relieved she was no longer the focus of his attention, followed behind as they walked into dinner.
She was scarcely able to touch any of the fine food that was laid before her through the long evening, for she expected every moment that young Lord Hartwell would turn to her again and started quizzing her about her life in St. John’s Wood.
But aside from insisting that her glass was refilled constantly with champagne, which he insisted she drink up, he did not speak to her and all his chatter wa
s addressed to Lady Hartwell who he talked endlessly to of his aristocratic friends in London.
So once again, it seemed Elissa must sit in silence through dinner.
But she did not mind tonight, for the fact that they both ignored her gave her the opportunity to look at him and marvel at just how much, despite his strong masculine features, he resembled her Mama.
When, unsteady on her feet and with the beginnings of a headache hovering above her eyes, she reached her bedroom, Ellen was sitting by the fire with Marmalade in her lap.
“Oh, miss. I’ve been thinkin’ about you for every minute! Didn’t you think ’im very ’andsome?”
Elissa sat down on the bed.
“I suppose so. Yes – he must be handsome. For he looks in his own way so very like my mother and she was an extremely beautiful woman.”
“The Hartwells are a good-lookin’ family, miss.”
“I have drunk far too much champagne, would you bring me some water, Ellen?”
The little maid looked quite disappointed as if she would have liked to hear more gossip about Lord Hartwell, but she fetched a jug of water and helped Elissa into bed.
“Leave the curtains,” asked Elissa, as she lay back with Marmalade on her feet.
Outside in the cold crisp night air, she could see the stars twinkling against the blackness of the sky.
‘I must go out tomorrow,’ she mused, ‘and let the fresh air blow away this headache. And perhaps – maybe I will be able to leave the garden and climb up the hill – ’
And so with the tantalising image of the green path stretching away into the horizon over the moors, she then fell deeply asleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I have a bad migraine coming on,” Lady Hartwell sighed, as she lay on the sofa in her parlour next morning, looking very unwell. Her thin face was ashy pale.
“Why must my grandson be so restless?” she was moaning. “He has only just arrived back home and now he is away again. Why can he not stay here with me?”
“I did not realise he had left,” remarked Elissa, very surprised.
“Oh, he went off before breakfast. He has gone to York to look at some racehorse which is for sale. He has no thought for my feelings whatsoever.”
She continued to complain about her headache and seemed distressed and Elissa remembered something that her Mama had always done for her, when she was ill as a child.
She sent the parlour maid to bring her clean linen, cloths and lavender water and then knelt down beside her grandmother and gently sponged her forehead.
“I am sure Lord Hartwell will be home very soon,” she commented as she smoothed the old woman’s brow.
“Oh, do you think so?” Lady Hartwell gave a little snort of amusement. “You clearly do not know him. He is just as likely to go on to London from York, as come back here. I may not see him now for a month.”
Elissa did not know what she should say to this, but she thought it seemed rude and inconsiderate of her cousin not at least to say farewell to his grandmother, if he was going to be away for such a long time.
“Lord Hartwell seems very fond of you,” she said after a few moments. “I am sure he does not mean to cause you distress.”
Lady Hartwell’s dark eyes stared up at her.
“He is everything to me, all that’s left of my family. His father, my darling son, died on a foolish jaunt to the West Indies. I told him he should not go, that the climate would not agree with him, but he would not listen. And as for your mother – ”
The old woman paused and then she suddenly took hold of Elissa’s hand, something she had not done before.
“What do I do wrong?” she asked. “Tell me – am I too indulgent? Should I keep a tighter rein on him? Should I have kept your mother always with me and not let her roam free about the hillsides, as she always loved to do?”
Elissa’s heart turned over at the thought of Mama years before escaping to the fresh air and the open moors, just as she herself loved to do now.
Maybe this was why she felt so happy in the garden as she must be stepping in her mother’s own footsteps.
Lady Hartwell’s hand was gripping hers tightly as if she was waiting for an answer.
“I don’t think you could keep my cousin at home, if he did not want to be here,” Elissa commented.
Lady Hartwell’s face twisted into a smile.
“No, indeed. I have often thought the very same thing. Of course I could not make him stay, but I do try to make him happy when he comes here.”
Now the smile began to tremble and Elissa realised that her grandmother was on the verge of tears.
“Perhaps it is nothing to do with me at all, but some wildness, some wilfulness in the family that makes them want to behave so badly. Even you, Elissa, I have seen you wandering about in the garden looking out over the wall as if you should like to fly away.”
“Oh, I am just taking Nelson out for a little air and the moors are very beautiful. I have never seen anything quite like them, living in London all my life.”
It was a shock to Elissa to hear that Lady Hartwell had been watching her when she walked in the garden.
Would her grandmother decide to forbid her to go out? She could not bear it if she had to remain inside from now on.
But Lady Hartwell had become calmer.
“You do have a gentle touch, Elissa. My head still aches, but the pain is much easier. I think perhaps I may take a little nap.”
“Lavender water is very soothing,” Elissa told her.
“Indeed.”
Lady Hartwell’s eyes were closing.
“Thank you, my dear.”
Elissa knelt beside the sofa until she could tell from her grandmother’s regular breathing that she had fallen asleep.
Had she really just heard Lady Hartwell say,
‘Thank you’?
‘I have never heard her say ‘thank you’ to anybody before,’ whispered Elissa. “Did you hear it, too, Nelson?” she asked the little pug, who crept out from under the sofa and licked her hand.
He whined and wagged his little curl of a tail at her, as if to say,
“Never mind all that – isn’t it time for our walk?”
“Yes, yes, all right! We will go. Your Mistress is fast asleep and she won’t be watching us from the window today. Perhaps we might even venture a little bit outside the garden – ”
As she stepped out onto the terrace that ran around the house, Elissa caught her breath from the cold.
There were patches of whiteness here and there in the garden and for a moment she thought perhaps snow had fallen as the temperature was certainly low enough.
But when she went closer she saw that clumps of small white flowers were nodding their heads, braving the biting winds.
“Look there, Nelson!” cried Elissa. “Snowdrops! We had them in our garden in St. John’s Wood. My Mama planted them, perhaps because she loved these – the ones that blossomed where she grew up, but I have never seen quite so many before!”
The sight filled her with joy and she ran through the garden with the little dog trotting behind, past all the neat flowerbeds and clipped bushes and up to the high wall and the gate that led to the outside world.
The top of the gate had a square cut out of it, which was criss-crossed with iron bars and Elissa peered through it and saw the enticing path stretching away over the hill.
“Come on, Nelson!” she called joyfully.
She lifted the latch and stepped through the gate.
The wind seemed stronger outside and it stung her cheeks and tugged at her skirts.
‘I feel as if I could fly!’ she mused, remembering Lady Hartwell’s words and she spread out her arms and ran swiftly up the hill, following the path as it led away from The Towers.
She thought she would quickly be at the top of the hill, but the path was deceptive, for as soon as she came to what she thought was the top, yet another stretch of wild moorland revealed itself leading up towards the s
ky.
Soon Elissa had to stop and catch her breath as her lungs were aching with the cold air.
In the stormy sky she then noticed a dove, its wings pristine white against the grey clouds.
Buffeted and tossed by the strong wind, it battled on flying above the path.
Suddenly a swift shadow passed over Elissa’s head and Nelson gave a little yelp of fear.
A dark bird of prey, its wings sharp as arrows, was hurtling towards the dove. At the last moment the white bird dodged away, turning back on itself and the predator shot past, rising high in the air as the wind caught it.
“Oh, quick, quick, be careful!” Elissa cried out, her heart in her mouth, as she watched the little dove fluttering down the hillside towards the shelter of some distant trees.
Then she looked up and saw high above her head, the falcon hanging with motionless wings, looking down at her and Nelson with its fierce far-seeing eyes.
“Your luck was out today!” she shouted up to it, as the dove had by now reached the safety of the trees.
The dark bird gave a shrill scream and with a flick of its sharp wings was gone.
Elissa could not help but admire its speed and skill in the air, but something about the bird’s careless wildness reminded her of her cousin.
‘And he is called Falcon, too – ’ she whispered to herself, ‘he comes and goes, just as he pleases, just like that wild bird of prey and I don’t suppose that he cares too much who he hurts along the way.”
It was too cold to climb any further.
She should turn back and leave her adventuring for another day when the sun was shining and the wind not so strong.
As she hurried back down the path, she wondered if her cousin would return from York that night.
She could not help but feel a bit uncomfortable and a little afraid at the thought of another evening spent with his dark mocking eyes upon her.
But the snowdrops would be gone from the garden, and the sun would then be shining warmly on a multitude of golden daffodils when Lord Hartwell deigned to return to Fellbrook Towers.
*
How strange it was to be in London again, Richard reflected, as he crossed Bond Street, dodging the hansom cabs and carriages that were rushing past with a clatter of hooves and a rattle of wheels.
The Trail to Love Page 6
