The one over the fireplace was a Van Dyke and she had admired it every time she came into the room.
The one they were lifting down at that moment was a very beautiful flower picture, painted by Ambrosius Bosschaurt and she was certain that it would be a terrible loss to Harry.
One of the servants had told her that his mother had loved flowers.
She not only filled the house and the greenhouses with them but collected flower pictures.
‘Oh, save it Harry – save it! Hear what I am telling you and, even though you are still weak, come downstairs.’
He had been tired when he went up after watching the horses, but he had enjoyed a long rest by now and she knew that he was getting stronger all the time.
It might be only a question of days before he felt he could go back to London and find Camille Clyde!
When she thought about it, it was as if a cold hand was squeezing her heart and she wanted to cry out at the pain of it.
Perhaps she told herself, this might persuade him to stay in the country.
His home had been burgled and the room his mother had loved defaced!
The man who had been collecting the snuffboxes must have joined the others, because she heard him say,
“These be worth a pretty penny and the sooner us gets ’em out of ’ere and up to London, the better.”
“You be right,” one of the other men replied, “and I thinks we’ll take that other picture with us, old Isaac’ll fancy that one.”
The other man chuckled.
“There’s nothing old Isaac don’t fancy if he can turn a pretty penny on it.”
“He’ll get more than a penny on that one,” one of them replied. “Come on.”
They were just about to pass where Teresa was lying on the sofa, when suddenly she heard the door open.
Her heart leapt as she heard Harry call out, “What the hell is going on here?”
She realised that the men who were almost opposite the sofa stopped dead.
It shot through her mind that perhaps Harry was unarmed and they would treat him as they had treated her.
Then, as she wanted to cry out and warn him, she heard him say,
“Put your hands up above your heads.” It was an order.
It was given so sharply that she thought one of the men had been going to draw a revolver from his waist.
Then, as she was still trembling because Harry sounded alone with three men against him, he said,
“Tie them up.”
As he spoke, to her relief there was the sound of footsteps behind him.
Now with a superhuman effort she managed to roll over on one side.
The Chinese shawl fell off her face.
Now she could see.
In front of her as she had known, were the two men who had been taking down the pictures.
They were standing with their arms above their heads.
The third man, standing a little way from them had one arm up. With the other he was holding a huge sack.
Teresa knew it contained the snuffboxes he had taken from the cabinet.
Facing them was Harry just inside the door.
Two footmen with rope in their hands were advancing towards the men who had taken down the pictures.
It was then the man with the bag of snuffboxes made a run for the window.
It was a large window and the burglars had forced it wide open.
The man had actually reached it still holding tightly onto his sack.
Harry fired.
The bullet hit the man in his arm above the elbow.
He gave a shriek, dropped the sack and collapsed on the floor holding tightly onto his arm.
As if Harry thought that he must take every precaution, he approached the two men who were being tied up by the footmen.
He drew from the belt of one man a pistol and from the other a long shiny knife that made Teresa shudder.
As he turned away from the last man, Harry looked towards the sofa and saw Teresa. For a second he just stared at her.
Then he moved quickly and putting his hand behind her head undid the gag.
As it fell off and she made a little sigh of relief, he said,
“Are you alright, they have not hurt you?”
“No, they only tied me up,” Teresa answered. “I was trying – desperately to tell you what was – happening and now you – have come. How could you have – known that you were – wanted?”
Harry smiled.
“I heard you,” he said.
He turned his attention to the men who were by now roped up with their arms behind their backs and their wrists tied so that it was impossible for them to move.
The two footmen, their eyes shining with excitement were waiting for the next order.
“Take these two men,” Harry said, “and lock them up in the scullery or any place they cannot escape from until the police get here.”
He paused and then continued,
“Then come back here and I will tell you what to do with the wounded man.”
He glanced at him as he spoke.
He was writhing in agony and the blood was already running over his hand.
“Wake up someone who will go for the doctor,” Harry went on, “and wake Nanny. Tell her she has another invalid on her hands.”
“Hers won’t be too pleased to have someone like him,” one of the footmen remarked.
“I know that,” Harry agreed, “but we can hardly allow the man, foul as he is, to bleed to death. Put him on the sofa in the servants’ hall and see that he makes as little mess as possible.”
The footmen had their orders.
They marched the two burglars ahead of them out of the room and Teresa could hear them going down the passage.
She knew that it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to either of them and she was sure they were enjoying every minute of it.
Harry came back to her.
He started to undo the rope, which was tied at the back.
When her hands were free, she moved her fingers so that the blood could come back into them.
“How could this happen to you,” he asked, “and what were you doing down here in the middle of the night?”
“I saw from my window that there was a – light from the – drawing room and I – thought I must have – forgotten to blow a candle out.” As Harry did not speak, she went on,
“I was so frightened they would go away with the pictures and your mother’s collection of snuff boxes before anyone could stop them. How could you come simply because – I prayed you would?”
Harry smiled.
“I must admit we should be very grateful to Rufus.”
Teresa’s eyes widened.
“You heard him?”
“He was whining as if he thought you were in danger and, when he woke me, I was certain that something was wrong.”
“I left him behind so that he would not wake you,” Teresa said.
“A good thing too,” Harry answered. “Otherwise they might have killed him.”
Teresa gave a cry of horror and he went on,
“Instead of which he was clever enough to wake me and then I knew, I really did know that you wanted me.”
“I was trying thought transference that Papa told me is used so much in India.”
“I was convinced that something was wrong, that was why I brought a revolver with me.”
“You saved your treasures by doing so.” Harry had undone her ankles and now she put her feet down on the floor.
“I was very – very – frightened,” she said, “but now you are entitled to another – medal at least.”
“I think that should be yours,” Harry said. Teresa looked at him as he spoke.
She felt as if he was saying something to her that she did not understand.
Then Nanny suddenly came through the doorway.
She was wearing a dressing gown, which made her seem a little strange, but her hair was pinned back tidily i
n her usual bun.
As she came into the room with an angry expression on her face, Teresa felt exactly as if she and Harry were both back in the nursery and they had done something that had turned out wrong and they were therefore in trouble.
“Now what is all this, my Lord?” Nanny asked, “and what are you doing out of bed?”
“I am just saving my house from being burgled, Nanny,” Harry replied, “and they might even have taken Teresa with them as well as the pictures!”
“I have never known such goings on,” Nanny said. “I always believed the house was properly guarded.”
“So did I,” Harry said.
Then he walked across the room to the man groaning on the floor.
“He is one of the burglars I suppose?” Nanny questioned.
“He has all the snuff boxes in that bag,” Teresa cried. “Do be careful that they are not broken or damaged in any way.”
As if Harry thought that this was likely, he walked across the room and picked up the bag.
It was heavier than he had anticipated and, as he moved it away from the wounded man, he staggered.
“Now go straight back to bed, my Lord,” Nanny said sharply, “or we shall have you down with a temperature again.”
Harry put the bag against the wall where it was unlikely that anyone would stumble over it. Then he said meekly,
“Very good, Nanny, I have sent someone for the doctor and I have told the footmen to put this man on the sofa in the servants’ hall.”
“That place is too good for him if you ask me,” Nanny replied. “But I suppose we cannot let him die, as he deserves.”
The man of whom she was speaking gave a groan.
“Help me,” he said. “Help me, I’m in pain.”
“You’ll have to wait your turn,” Nanny said as if he was a child. “You’re very fortunate that anyone will take the trouble over the likes of you.”
The way she spoke in her sharp tone when anyone behaved badly, made Teresa want to laugh.
Harry’s eyes were twinkling.
He put his arm around her.
“I think you and I had better go back to bed. We can leave everything in Nanny’s capable hands and we must certainly do what we are told!”
“Of course we must,” Teresa agreed, laughing.
They went out of the drawing room.
Outside she realised that Harry was swaying a little.
“It has been too much for you,” she said. “Hold on to me and I will help you upstairs.”
“I was going to help you,” he countered.
“You saved me,” Teresa answered, “that is all that matters.”
By this time they had reached the bottom of the stairs.
She saw Harry grasp the banister as if it was a lifeline.
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” she said, “and stop being proud, you have had a very exhausting day and nothing could be more upsetting than being burgled.”
“I think the truth is,” Harry said rather breathlessly as he moved up the stairs, “you should be crying on my shoulder and I should be comforting you.”
“I can do that when you are feeling stronger,” Teresa said, “but at the moment I am not the soft weak female you want me to be.”
Harry gave a chuckle.
At the same time she knew it was an effort for him to reach the top of the stairs.
They went down the corridor in silence and, as they passed Teresa’s door, Rufus started barking and scratching.
“I shut him in,” Harry admitted weakly, “just in case there were burglars as I suspected and he attacked them.”
“I am sure he would have done so if he thought they were hurting me,” Teresa answered. “He is a very brave little dog.”
“And he has a very brave Mistress,” Harry replied.
By this time they had reached the door of his room.
When Teresa opened it, she saw there was a candle alight by the bed.
“I expect Nanny will come up to see if we have carried out her orders,” she said. “So you had better hurry into bed.”
“And you must do the same,” Harry answered. “Thank you for saving the things I value. That is another thing for which I have to be grateful to you.”
“We will talk about it tomorrow,” Teresa suggested.
She watched him move a little unsteadily towards the bed and then she closed the door and ran to her own room.
Rufus was almost breaking down the door by this time.
She picked him up in her arms and he wriggled with joy that she was back.
“It’s alright,” she told him, “quite alright. You have saved me, you clever dog. It was you who woke the Earl and really you who saved the pictures and snuff boxes.”
She hugged him then put him down as she took off her dressing gown.
Then, as she got into bed, he sprang up so that he could lie beside her.
‘There is always something unusual happening when one least expects it,’ Teresa thought, ‘and Harry heard me when I wanted him to.’
She thought as she put her head down on the pillow that it was wonderful.
She could get in touch with Harry through her thoughts and he realised it.
Then she told herself that he would certainly not be strong enough to go to London for several days after this had happened.
Perhaps in a way it was a blessing in disguise. ‘Thank you, God – thank you,’ she prayed, ‘for saving the pictures and the snuff boxes. And please make Harry stay in the country – please – please.”
She was still praying when she fell asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two days later Harry came down to luncheon and announced that he would take a rest during the afternoon.
Then he would have dinner downstairs. Mrs. Dawson was in a flurry over the idea. She was determined to tempt him with every delicacy he had enjoyed when he was a boy. Because the staff were so delighted, Teresa forced herself to put on one of her prettiest gowns.
It was the special one the Countess had chosen for her to be presented in at Court.
She told herself as she went downstairs that perhaps this was the last time she would dine alone with Harry and she had the feeling that tomorrow he intended to go to London.
She did not know why she thought this because he had not said anything.
She just had a feeling that he was planning something and she was sure it concerned Camille Clyde.
She found him waiting for her in the drawing room wearing his evening clothes.
She thought no man could look more handsome or more irresistibly attractive.
As she walked towards him, her heart turned over several somersaults.
“This is a very particular occasion, Teresa,” Harry said.
“Because you are downstairs?” Teresa asked.
“Because I am well,” he answered, “and after dinner I will tell you what I am going to do.”
Teresa looked at him apprehensively, but did not ask any questions.
When Dawson announced that dinner was served, Harry offered her his arm.
In the dining room the candles were all lit and Dawson had laid out the best gold and silver plate.
As the footmen in their smart livery served them, Teresa thought that nothing could be more romantic.
If this really was to be the last time she would ever dine alone with Harry, she would remember every second of it.
He certainly made an effort to be entertaining.
He told Teresa endless amusing stories about the Army of Occupation which made her laugh.
When the meal was finished, he accepted a small glass of brandy before Dawson and the footmen withdrew.
“I suppose really I should leave you to your port, which you are not drinking!” Teresa suggested.
“It will be more comfortable if I bring my brandy with me into the drawing room,” Harry replied.
They walked together down the corridor. In the drawing room the chandeliers were lit and the
y shone on everything that had been cleaned and polished so superbly.
Teresa was just about to suggest that Harry sat in a high-backed chair by the fireplace when Dawson came hurrying into the room.
He was carrying a silver salver in his hand and on it was a letter.
“This has just arrived from London, my Lady,” he said, “and I thinks the groom should stay the night.”
Teresa recognised her father’s handwriting as she answered,
“Yes, of course, but tell the man not to hurry away tomorrow as I may have an answer for him to take back to my father.”
“Very good, my Lady,” Dawson replied. Teresa opened the letter.
“I wonder why Papa has sent this by a groom?” she said. “He usually posts his letters.”
Harry made no reply and she read the letter,
“My darling daughter,
I have had the greatest difficulty in writing you this letter because I feel you will be as upset as I am.
The Marquis went to London yesterday to find out what has happened to Camille Clyde and as that was good news he was at first very pleased.
She has a new protector in the shape of Lord Durham, who is old and very rich, but very generous where someone like Camille Clyde is concerned.
The Marquis, however, went on to the Garrick Club so that he could thank the actor who played the part of the Priest in the false marriage that took place between you and Harry.
He found the young man and then learned to his horror that, as the actor could not take the part as he intended, he had in fact sent in his place the Reverend from the Mayfair Chapel.
I can hardly bear to put this into words to you, my dearest, but this means that as the Marquis had taken so much trouble in getting a Special Licence, the marriage which took place between you and Harry when he was drugged is completely legal and you are therefore, in the eyes of the law, man and wife.
I cannot express how sorry I am that this should happen and the Marquis is completely overcome, but there is nothing he can say or do which will be of any help.
We can only beg for your forgiveness, as I hope Harry will forgive us. Our only excuse is that we were doing it for what we believed was for his own good.”
As if she thought she had misunderstood what her father had written, Teresa read the letter through again.
She got to her feet, hardly knowing what she was doing.
Love, Lies and Marriage Page 10
