A Heart of Stone

by Barbara Cartland

  But then how could they forget what had happened when Killdona Castle was only a few miles away?

  She gave a deep sigh.

  “Very well, Ewen,” she said. “I will do what you want me to do. But I can only pray with all my heart that it will not make matters worse than they are already.”

  She knew by the expression on her brother’s face that he was delighted he had won the battle between them.

  Feeling she could bear it no more, she went from the room and upstairs to the bedroom she had always slept in.

  Her luggage had already been carried up by one of the servants and there was a maid whom she recognised, who had looked after her in the past.

  “It is Bessie!” she exclaimed.

  “And it be yourself, Miss Vanora,” Bessie cried.

  She put her arms round the old woman and kissed her. She had been like a nurse to her after her old Nanny had left and had looked after her mother before she died.

  “It be real nice to see you back here, Miss Vanora,” Bessie said. “You’ve been away far too long and we’ve all missed you.”

  “And I have missed you, but I have enjoyed being in London and Uncle Angus has been very kind to me.”

  “So he should be,” Bessie said, “and very pretty you be lookin’ now you be dressed up and a young lady.”

  Vanora laughed.

  “Is that what I seem to you? At the moment I feel very young, very helpless and, if you want the truth Bessie, rather foolish.”

  “Now what’s been upsettin’ you?” Bessie asked. “To be sure the Laird can make us all angry at times, but we listen to him just as we listened to your father.”

  “Is Ewen successful as a Chieftain?” Vanora asked.

  She knew it was a question she could ask Bessie without being indiscreet, as dear Bessie had always been one of the family and nothing she said to her would go any further.

  “It be like this, Miss Vanora,” Bessie said. “Your father bullied them and expected whatever he wanted the moment he asked it and your brother be much the same. He were always a difficult child, as your mother would tell you, but he has his soft spots. They be hard to find, so us has to take him as he be, so to speak.”

  Vanora smiled.

  “That sounds so like you, Bessie. It’s worth coming back home just to hear you making me see things as they are and not as I want them to be.”

  “Now lookin’ as you do,” Bessie said, “you ought to have everythin’ your own way. If a pretty woman can’t have ’em, then who can?”

  Bessie had always had something different to say to what anyone expected and her mother had loved her just as she loved her.

  She gave the old woman a hug and said,

  “I am going down to the river. I feel a little upset at present and I know that, if I walk beside it, it will soothe me as it always did. I almost feel it is alive and listens to what I have to say.”

  “You can be certain of that, Miss Vanora, so you go down and tell it your troubles. They’ll sink to the bottom just like a stone and you’ll soon forget ’em.”

  She ran downstairs and through the front door.

  As she passed through the garden, she knew that it was not as well tended or as full of flowers as it had been when her mother was alive.

  ‘I suppose,’ she reflected, ‘I ought really to come home and look after Ewen as he has no wife and make things as they always used to be.’

  Then she realised that it was no use making plans until she had been to the interview that Ewen had arranged for her.

  She felt herself shiver at the thought of it.

  She could not really pretend to be someone she was not and, if she found the Stone, what would happen if she was caught carrying it out into the garden or even being concerned with it in any way?

  She reached the river and stood looking at the water moving slowly towards the sea.

  A salmon rose a little to the left of her and then it splashed and disappeared behind a stone.

  It was all so familiar and so lovely and she felt as if a healing hand was placed on her forehead.

  It took away her worries and the questions she kept asking herself.

  It was almost as if the beauty of the river told her that everything would be all right.

  She must trust in God and let things happen without trying to prevent them from doing so.

  She walked along the river for a long time and then she realised that the sun was now sinking behind the hills and there was a faint mist coming up from the sea.

  She went back slowly and by the time she reached the castle the sun had gone, yet the sky was still clear.

  She looked up and thought that she saw the first twinkle of an evening star.

  It was a sign, she told herself, of good luck and that was something she would surely need in the future.

  ‘Help me, please help me, God,’ she prayed.

  She watched the river flowing away from her and saw the shadows deepen.

  She had the strangest feeling that she was moving, not into something which was wrong and frightening, but into a Fairyland.

  The gates were just opening for her and she could not understand it, but the feeling was there.

  This was something new.

  Although it seemed to her totally impossible, she knew that she need not be afraid.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Neil MacFile, the Viscount File, had been pursued by women ever since he had left school.

  He was the heir to one of the oldest Earldoms in Scotland and he was exceedingly rich.

  He was very handsome and extremely intelligent.

  His reports from the school that he had attended in Edinburgh were so complimentary that his father would query them.

  He received a first class degree with honours at Oxford University without any difficulty.

  And it was inevitable that he should find the Social world that surrounded the Prince Regent, soon to become King George IV, amusing and fascinating.

  He was warned by all his contemporaries to have nothing to do with debutantes. They pointed out to him that he was a most marriageable catch and that ambitious mothers would have him at the top of their list.

  There were, however, as he had heard whispered in London, a good number of lovely and exotic married ladies who enjoyed the company of young men like himself more than that of their busy or dull husbands.

  He found this to be all too true.

  He had enjoyed some delicious affaires-de-coeur with famous beauties whose husbands were either too busy in Parliament or preferred the ‘Sport of Kings’ which kept them in the countryside.

  The Viscount was only too well aware of his duty to his Clan in Scotland and he had ideas of how he could improve his heritage once it came into his hands.

  For the present time his father was very much in command and, although he consulted his son, he rejected ideas that were unusual or had not been tested in the past.

  Because life was going so smoothly for Neil, it was inevitable that sooner or later he would become a little disillusioned.

  He had been captivated by a very attractive beauty, who was only too willing to fall into his arms when he held them out.

  She was lovely in an unusual manner with dark hair and huge eyes with a soft touch of green in them and she sported, he thought, the most perfect body that any woman could hope to have.

  Lady Seymour had an attractive house in Mayfair and it was so easy for Neil to visit her late at night when returning from a Regimental dinner or some bachelor party given by his friends.

  He began to think that he was really falling in love with her because Sybil seemed so helpless in many ways.

  It appealed to him to have a woman ask his advice on every possible matter and she looked on him as if he was superior not only in strength but in intellect.

  “How can you be so clever, darling?” she asked. “I love listening to you and you are so kind to help me with all my difficulties.”

  These difficulties of
hers consisted mainly of lack of money and she confided in him that her husband had left her very little when he died.

  She was therefore living on her capital, which she realised would eventually end in disaster.

  She did not ask for money, but the Viscount was very generous. When he saw her bills at the end of the month, he paid them because he could well afford to do so.

  Naturally he gave her the usual presents that every woman expects – flowers, scent and a number of jewels. These thrilled her so much he felt that he had been more generous than he actually was.

  He began to think as time passed and he spent all the time that he could with Sybil when he was not in the Officers’ Mess or on the Parade Ground that he was falling in love with her.

  He did not ask why it was so different from what he had felt before, except that because she was so helpless he felt that he must protect her.

  The bills seemed to increase, but it was of no great significance and he genuinely wanted her to be happy.

  Then one afternoon he was leaving early, as the Colonel had asked him to dinner and he could not refuse.

  The maid who showed him to the door said when he tipped her as he usually did,

  “This’ll be the last time you’ll be a-seein’ me, my Lord.”

  The Viscount, who was about to cross the pavement to step into his phaeton, stopped.

  “You are leaving, Emily?” he enquired.

  “Yes, my Lord. I just can’t stand no more of ’er Ladyship’s temper and the ’arsh things she says to me.”

  The Viscount was astonished.

  He thought Emily an excellent servant and he could not believe that Sybil could be guilty of either of Emily’s accusations.

  “Now what has upset you?” he asked. “I am sure that your Mistress does not wish to lose you.”

  “I’ve stood all I can,” Emily replied, “and I can’t take no more. Screamin’ and yellin’ at me this mornin’ she was, as if I were some guttersnipe! Hurtin’ me with ’er ’airbrush ’cos I forgot with all I ’as to do to order the wine she offers your Lordship which you pays for.”

  The Viscount drew in his breath.

  He could not believe what he was hearing and, as it seemed so incredible, he thought that he should persuade Emily to change her mind and stay with her Mistress.

  He was aware that she was the only servant living in the house, which was a very small one.

  When he dined there alone with Sybil, he invariably brought with him some delicacy such as pâté de foie gras or caviar.

  “Now listen to me, Emily,” he said in a conciliatory voice, “I am quite certain that, if Lady Seymour has upset you, it is just a mistake and she would be very sorry if she lost you.”

  “Don’t you believe it, my Lord, she don’t care for anyone but ’erself and never ’as. You’ve always been a gentleman to me and I thinks you should know the truth.”

  She fumbled in the pocket of her apron and brought out a crumpled letter.

  “Just read this, my Lord, and you’ll understand that what I’ve been a-tellin’ you be the truth and not a lie. You’re too trustin’, that’s what you be.”

  She pressed the piece of paper into his hand.

  Then, as he added two more guineas to the two he had already given her, she dropped him a curtsey.

  “God Bless you, my Lord,” she said, “and I prays that one day you’ll find a woman who be worthy of you.”

  She stepped and then the Viscount heard the door close behind him.

  He climbed into his high phaeton and drove to his father’s house in Berkeley Square.

  It had been opened specially for him as the Earl never came to England if he could help it. The house had been in the family for two generations and it would be his on his father’s death.

  He went upstairs to change for the dinner party and, as he was in a hurry and dared not be late for the Colonel, he pushed the letter into a drawer, intending to read it when he returned.

  The Colonel’s party was a bachelor one and turned out to be more amusing than the Viscount expected. He greatly enjoyed himself and drank a good deal of excellent wine.

  It was very late when he returned home and it was only the next morning that he remembered the letter that Emily had given him.

  Once again, however, he was running against time. He had an appointment at the War Office he dared not be late for.

  It was not until that evening when he came back to Berkeley Square that he remembered Emily’s letter.

  He went up to change before dining with Sybil and it then occurred to him that, if Emily was not there, there would be no one to wait on them.

  And he then remembered he had not read the letter that she had given him.

  He had his bath aided by his batman who had come from the Barracks.

  He was holding out his shirt to help him into it.

  “Wait a moment,” the Viscount said. “There is a letter I must read, I have put it off for too long.”

  He took it out of the drawer and, wrapped in a large Turkish towel, he sat down in a chair.

  He saw to his surprise from the address at the top of the paper that it was from Paris.

  Emily was not likely to have friends who lived in France and so he realised that it must be one of Sybil’s letters that she had purloined.

  He was not mistaken.

  As he looked further down the paper, he saw that it was written to her and started,

  “My dearest lovely Sybil,

  Thank you for your letter and it was clever of you to get the Lord to pay that last bill that was long overdue.

  I think by this time you have him completely in the bag and we should strike before he is sent on some mission by the War Office or decides to go back to Scotland.

  We will do exactly the same as we did with such success with Dawlish.

  I will burst in when you are in bed together and threaten to divorce you for being unfaithful to me.

  You will then say, as you did before, that you have always loved me more than anyone else, and reluctantly for the sum of at least thirty thousand pounds from the Lord, I will agree to forgive you and not start divorce proceedings citing him as co-respondent.

  You acted so perfectly last time and I know you will be just as convincing on this occasion. I suggest that you leave a note at the usual place to tell me which night he will be dining with you.

  Longing to see you, ‘ma petite,’ as the French say, and we will have that long and luxurious holiday I have promised you on the proceeds of our little game.

  Yours devoted husband,

  Edward.”

  The Viscount stared at the letter as if he could not believe his eyes.

  How could it be possible that Sybil, whom he had believed to be a widow, was actually married?

  And that she was contriving, with a husband he did not know existed, to take such a huge sum of money from him?

  He was well aware that he would be forced to pay it and his father would not tolerate any scandal that would affect the family name.

  To be cited as a co-respondent would be looked on with distaste by his Regiment as well.

  He could only draw in his breath and thank God that Emily had saved him at almost the last moment.

  He was pretty certain, as the letter was written well over a week ago, that tonight was planned to be the night for the proposed drama.

  He was not only angry with Sybil for deceiving him but with himself for being foolish enough to be duped.

  She had often spoken to him pathetically of how she missed her husband and how lonely it was on her own and, as a Scot, he should have been fey enough to realise that she was lying.

  In fact he was not in the slightest suspicious of her from the moment they met.

  He had always prided himself on being able to tell a man’s character without a written reference and he had in the past identified a rogue in the Regimental Squadron over which he was in command.

  Yet Sybil, with all her softness
and her helplessness and pathetic reliance on him, had taken him in completely and, he told himself angrily, had made a fool of him.

  He did not sent a message to Sybil to say that he would not be dining with her.

  He had gone instead to White’s Club and gambled for much higher stakes than he had ever done before and, instead of pleasing him, it rather annoyed him that he had been a substantial winner, when all the cards turned up for him as if by magic.

  He was not surprised when he did not have, as he might have expected, a pleading note from Sybil.

  He thought that she was bound to ask him why he had deserted her and then guessed she had been shrewd enough to realise when Emily left her that she would have made trouble before doing so.

  A week later when he passed the house, the shutters were closed and it looked deserted.

  He thought that Sybil had gone to join her husband in Paris or to some other European City where they could practise the same trick on another young man, doubtless as credulous as he had been.

  *

  The next month or so the Viscount devoted himself to his duties. He was commended by the War Office for the help he had given in working out new plans for the Barracks and he had also produced fresh ideas for sports for the soldiers now they were not on active service.

  The Colonel congratulated him in a long speech at a dinner party and everyone present drank his health.

  It was, however, impossible for him not to accept some of the many invitations he received from the Beau Monde.

  Almost before he was aware of it, he found himself attracted by another beauty.

  She had just been acclaimed by the King as one of the most beautiful women that he had ever seen and the Viscount had to admit that he thought the same.

  The Countess Walton was indeed extremely lovely and the exact opposite to Sybil. She had fair hair and blue eyes and was a perfect English beauty with just a little extra that made her somehow unique.

  It seemed surprising to the Viscount that he had not met her before and then he learned that she had been in mourning for her husband who had died in an accident.

  She had stayed in the country where she had a large and comfortable house and her friends told her that she was wasting her looks and that London was waiting for her.