The Keys of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  He gave his horse a reassuring pat on the neck and then stood drawing off his gloves.

  In the deepening shadows Henrietta could not make out his features, which were hidden under his hat.

  He was tall and somewhat dishevelled, as if he had ridden at full pelt over very rough ground. His boots were muddy and his breeches were spattered all over.

  He took off his hat to wipe his brow with the back of his hand and Henrietta glimpsed his muddy face.

  It was obvious that he was a groom who was late returning from some errand he had been sent on.

  Tossing damp strands of hair back from his eyes, the groom clamped his hat back on and turned to his horse.

  He led the horse to the stone trough, but it was dry. Shaking his head, he looked round the courtyard.

  “Where’s that boy ” he began and then his eyes alighted on Henrietta.

  “Ah, you’ll do,” he called. “Will you please hold my horse for a moment while I fetch him some water?”

  Despite his status as groom, he had such command that Henrietta instantly obeyed.

  She stepped forward and took the reins. The horse turned its head and nuzzled her waist.

  “Aha!” he laughed. “Mercy the laundry maid gives him sugar, so he thinks anyone in a dress will do.”

  He stalked away towards the stables.

  Henrietta wondered at the assurance of his gait, as if he was lord not only of the stables but also of the whole courtyard.

  It was too late to walk out now, thought Henrietta. She put her hand up and stroked the horse entrusted to her.

  It was a grey with a proud fierce eye obviously a thoroughbred and she wondered that the groom had been allowed to ride him.

  The groom was returning, his boots almost striking sparks from the cobbles.

  Water slopped from the large bucket he carried, but he did not seem to care. He deposited the bucket on the ground and the horse lowered his head eagerly.

  Henrietta and he stood silently as the horse drank.

  “He was thirsty,” said the groom as his steed at last lifted its head from the bucket.

  “No wonder,” remarked Henrietta a little tartly, “it seems you rode him too hard.”

  The groom regarded her from under the brim of his hat. It was too dark for Henrietta to read his expression but she detected amusement in his voice when he replied,

  “Over hill and dale, through wood and vale,” he intoned, “for many a weary mile. But in my defence, I know this noble creature well and there’s nothing he enjoys more than a long and challenging gallop.”

  “Is he the Duke’s horse?” she asked carefully.

  There was a pause before the groom replied, again in an amused tone.

  “He is.”

  “But you exercise him?”

  Another pause.

  “No one but I.”

  “And the Duke is he a good Master?”

  The groom lifted his hat and scratched his head as if in deliberation.

  “Well now,” he said slowly, “he has been known to whip the cook if the pastry is too tough, but other than that there are no complaints.”

  “Whip the cook?” repeated Henrietta in horror.

  Was she about to be thoroughly disillusioned with regard to the character of the Duke?

  The groom registered her dismay and gave a laugh.

  “Don’t let me discourage you from applying for a post at Merebury, if that’s why you’re here. It’s a generally happy environment and the servants rarely leave.”

  Henrietta drew herself up, somewhat piqued that she should be mistaken for someone seeking employment at Merebury. She had forgotten that she was wearing Nanny’s distinctly old and tattered shawl.

  “I’m not seeking work,” she retorted a little stiffly. “I am a guest of the Duke.”

  The toss of her head that accompanied these words dislodged the shawl it slipped to reveal her blushing face.

  The groom stared a second and then gave a whistle.

  “A guest, eh? Lucky Duke, to have such a pretty visitor all to himself.”

  Henrietta blushed a deeper red.

  “Oh, I’m not the only guest,” she admitted quickly.

  “You’re not?” responded the groom softly, his eyes lingering on her features, seeming to drink them in. “No, of course not. You didn’t travel all this way alone.”

  “Indeed not. There are lots of us.”

  “Lots of us?”

  “The orchestra.”

  She heard him sharply draw in a breath. He seemed disconcerted for a moment and then he breathed out.

  “I see. So you are not ?”

  Henrietta regarded him questioningly.

  “Not who?”

  The groom hesitated, then turned away and began to loosen the horse’s bridle.

  “No great matter. It’s just I thought you might be another young lady that the Duke is expecting.”

  ‘He means Romany Foss,’ thought Henrietta with a plunge in her heart.

  She put out her hand to the horse, finding comfort in the velvety flesh of his neck.

  “Well, I’m Hen Harrietta Reed, and the Duke was not expecting me at all.”

  “No?” murmured the groom.

  Henrietta waited to see if the groom would divulge his name, but it was not forthcoming so she decided to ask.

  “Sir we have spoken for some minutes and I do not know what name you go by.”

  “Me? Oh, I’m er Joe. Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Reed, I must get Gawain to his stable.”

  “Gawain,” whispered Henrietta.

  He heard her and hesitated.

  “You like horses?”

  “Yes. But I have not ridden in a long while.”

  He seemed to consider carefully before he spoke.

  “Well, perhaps I might be allowed to remedy that.

  Would you like to ride out early tomorrow?”

  Henrietta drew in her breath.

  “Yes, oh, yes. I would. Only ”

  “Only what?” Joe asked her gently.

  “Only would the Duke approve?”

  Joe looked at her gravely.

  “The Duke would be delighted. Come at seven in the morning and I shall make sure there is a mount saddled and waiting for you.”

  Turning then on his heel, Joe strode off towards the stables, Gawain lifting his head high as he trotted behind.

  Henrietta watched for a moment and then turned back to the house.

  For some reason, she felt suddenly elated by this encounter.

  Whatever else might happen, she had made a kind of contact with the Duke.

  Even if it was just with his groom and a grey horse!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nanny was awake and was groping for her shawl as Henrietta slipped into her room.

  The old lady did not seem to notice Henrietta take the shawl from her own shoulders before handing it over.

  “Have you ever seen such luxury as this?” Nanny asked her excitedly. “No wonder that Lady Butterclere has such airs, if she’s to be hostess here. And no wonder that Miss Foss is so determined to marry the Duke.”

  Henrietta made no reply and her elation began to evaporate at Nanny’s words.

  Her heart sank so heavily every time she thought of the Duke wooing Miss Foss that she was now beginning to wonder if she had pursued the right course in agreeing to come to Merebury.

  She had wanted to set eyes on the Duke if only to assuage her burning curiosity about him, but already she felt too much pain whenever her thoughts strayed his way.

  There was a rumble of wheels below her window and someone called out a bold “hallooo!”

  Henrietta looked out.

  Three or four figures, holding lanterns aloft, were gathered around a wagon. Another figure was unhitching the two cart horses while yet another had leaped onto the wagon and was pushing a large trunk to the edge.

  “Tom, take the other end of this!” called the figure on the wagon.

  Tom o
bliged and between them they hoisted the trunk to the ground.

  “Beyond me why the Duke needed so much for just a week away,” panted Tom taking out a large kerchief.

  “He’s a Duke, Tom,” cried the man on the wagon. “And he’s been suppin’ with the Prince of Wales for seven days. He needs more than a pair of garters to do that!”

  Henrietta drew back from the window, trembling.

  The Duke’s luggage had returned. The Duke must be close behind, although she could not understand why his luggage had not travelled with him in his coach.

  “What’s all that commotion below?” asked Nanny.

  “It’s the Duke’s luggage,” explained Henrietta.

  “Oh,” said Nanny with interest. “Does that mean he’s on his way back tonight and not tomorrow? Will we see him at supper, I wonder? My goodness me, what am I going to wear, Henrietta? Oh, what a worry all this is. I shall be glad to get back to just being myself, that I will! It’s all very well playing the lady, but it’s a strain!”

  ‘I shall be very glad to get back to being my real self, too,’ thought Henrietta as Nanny prattled on.

  She and Nanny could easily have taken the train to London leaving Harrietta Reed and Mrs. Poody to vanish with the sea mist.

  But no, here they both were, still characters in this strange shadow play a play in which her foolish romantic heart might be well and truly broken.

  “Nanny, I have absolutely the right dress for you, but it’s in my trunk,” answered Henrietta at last.

  “You’re very good to old Mrs. Poody. I hope you achieve your heart’s desire one day, for you deserve it.”

  Henrietta smiled wanly as she patted Nanny’s hand.

  Her heart’s desire! That was something she was never going to have!

  She wandered back to her own room where a maid was busy unpacking one of her trunks.

  “You are with the orchestra, miss?” asked the maid.

  “Why yes, I am,” replied Henrietta faintly.

  The maid closed the trunk and turned for the door.

  “Oh, by the way, miss. I nearly forgot. There’s a note for you, miss. There, on the dressing table.”

  “A note? For me?” echoed Henrietta, but the maid was gone.

  The note lay on a silver platter and was sealed with the Merebury crest.

  Was it some order from Lady Butterclere, flexing her muscles of authority as soon as she might?

  She broke off the seal and unfolded the paper.

  “The Duke invites you to take tea with him in the library at five o’clock.”

  Henrietta blinked in disbelief and read again.

  “The Duke invites you to take tea ”

  He must have arrived before his luggage, then!

  “The Duke invites you ”

  She clasped the note to her beating breast, almost giddy as the blood thrilled in her veins.

  The Duke! She was going to meet the Duke at last!

  The chime of a distant clock broke in on her reverie and a cry of alarm escaped her lips.

  A quarter to the hour!

  She was going to be late.

  Her mind in a whirl, she ran into Nanny’s room to ask if Mrs. Poody had also been invited to tea as well, but there was no sign of the old lady.

  Racing back to her own room she began to struggle out of her travelling gown.

  She supposed the rest of the orchestra were invited too and hoped to catch Kitty before she left so that the two of them could go down together.

  She grabbed the deep blue dress she had bought in Boston, stepped into it and as she did so she caught sight of herself in the pier glass.

  Her cheeks were flushed and blonde curls strayed over her brow, but there was no time to powder her face or fix her hair.

  She would be late late!

  She thrust her arms into the sleeves and then froze.

  Who would hook it up for her? It was too late to ring for the maid.

  Then she thought of Kitty.

  She hastened to the room where Kitty was lodged.

  Kitty looked up in astonishment as Henrietta rushed in, barely knocking to announce herself.

  “What’s up, honey?”

  Kitty was lolling on a chair, still in a loose peignoir and painting her nails.

  “Y-you won’t be ready!” she cried incredulously.

  “Ready for what?”

  “Why, tea with the Duke.”

  “Honey, what makes you think I’m taking tea with the Duke?”

  “Well, I-I received an invitation and I-I thought we all had.”

  “Not Kitty,” was the amused reply.

  “Oh.”

  Was she alone summoned then?

  Greatly confused, she backed out of the room.

  At the door she then wheeled around and took to her heels.

  Her feet twinkled under her as she heard the clock chime, louder now and nearer the hour of five.

  She was flying down the great staircase when an all too familiar voice brought her to an instant halt.

  “Stop at once, young lady. Just where do you think you are going?”

  Lady Butterclere stood rigid at the top of the stairs, gazing furiously down. Romany Foss lurked behind, her lips twitching with some secret amusement.

  “I-I’m on my way to the library for tea with the D- Duke,” stammered Henrietta.

  Lady Butterclere descended the stairs in a vapour of wrath.

  “I have been given carte blanche by the Duke to exert my authority throughout this house,” she thundered, her eyes black as billiard cues. “And believe me, I will. I order you this instant to return to your room.”

  “B-but I can’t. It is the Duke himself who has summoned me,” stammered Henrietta. “L-look.”

  Lady Butterclere now snatched the note from her outstretched hand and examined it through her lorgnettes.

  “There has been a mistake,” she said coldly. “This invitation was obviously intended for Romany.”

  “B-but it was delivered to my room.”

  “There has been a mistake, I tell you,” she hissed, thrusting the invitation at Romany, who took it greedily.

  “It’s obviously meant for me,” smirked Romany as she stuffed it into her bodice. “I mean, why on earth should the Duke want to take tea with a mere piano player, eh?”

  Henrietta lowered her eyes unhappily. “I-I don’t know,” she confessed.

  “Go on, Romany.” Lady Butterclere waved at her protégée. “The Duke is waiting.”

  Henrietta stared miserably at the hem of Romany’s dark green skirt as it trailed on past her down the stairs.

  As soon as Romany was well out of earshot, Lady Butterclere leaned menacingly towards Henrietta.

  “Now you just take heed, Miss Reed. I know your sort only too well. You intercepted that note. You aim to set your cap at the Duke and distract him from Romany.”

  “I c-can assure you, such a thought was n-never on my mind.”

  “Was it not?” asked Lady Butterclere sarcastically. “Then would you explain to me why you were on your way to see the Duke in that provocative condition?”

  For a moment, she was horribly confused. What did Lady Butterclere mean in that provocative condition?

  With dawning horror, she remembered that she had not been able to hook up her dress she had rushed out of Kitty’s room without asking for help.

  Now she glanced into the mirror on the stairs and almost burst into tears at the sight that met her eyes.

  Her hair had come loose and now fell over her face untidily. Her dress had slipped off, exposing an alabaster shoulder and the tip of a heaving breast.

  What was more, she had forgotten to put on any stockings or shoes and was standing there in her bare feet.

  “Oh. Oh. Oh,” she cried.

  “I should think so too,” said Lady Butterclere with grim satisfaction. “You look like a a common harlot!”

  Henrietta turned to stumble away and as she did so she noticed Lady Butterclere�
��s demeanour rapidly change.

  The woman’s lips now puckered into a tight little smile as she and her skirts sank in an obsequious curtsy.

  “Your Grace,” she twittered.

  Henrietta understood in an instant. He was there, the Duke, somewhere in the hall below gazing up.

  Gazing up at her and her unhooked dress with her corset and slim white back exposed to all and sundry.

  ‘Oh,’ she cried again, before taking to her heels.

  Back in her room she flung herself into a chair and buried her face in her hands.

  She had never felt so foolish and so humiliated.

  She had welcomed Eddie’s ploy to get her here.

  She had felt very drawn to Merebury, drawn to its handsome, raven-haired Master. He would meet her as a social inferior, but at least she would set eyes on him.

  At least she would know if this burgeoning passion was more than a mere surge of emotion.

  All was now lost.

  The Duke himself had witnessed her confrontation with Lady Butterclere. He had seen her in that condition upon the stairs and heard her called ‘a common harlot’.

  She must perform with the orchestra as promised, but there was no way that she could be presented to him at supper or anywhere else.

  It was all over for her.

  Never, not in a million years could Harrietta Reed or Henrietta Radford, for that matter, meet the handsome Duke of Merebury face to face.

  *

  Eddie Bragg perched on the edge of the armchair in Henrietta’s room and poured himself a glass of wine.

  “That Duke keeps a good cellar,” he pronounced.

  Kitty, lounging on the window seat, gave a snort.

  “I don’t expect he ever supposed half of it would end up wetting Eddie Bragg’s whistle!”

  Henrietta listened dully. Her visitors had dropped in after supper, wondering why she had not attended.

  The Duke himself had commented on the fact that not all the orchestra were present, but Lady Butterclere had commented snootily that nobody special was missing.

  “I’d like to have beaten her about the head with my salmon,” muttered Eddie.

  “She’s surely got it in for you, honey,” said Kitty, turning to look at Henrietta where she sat on the bed in her nightdress, knees under her chin.

  “Yeah,” agreed Eddie, staring at the ceiling. “And boy, does the old gorgon eat. She put away half a pound of mackerel, four lamb chops, a side of ham and a duck! That skinny Lizzie shovelled it in too! I’m sure the Duke was shocked, but he didn’t show it.”