Theirs to Eternity

by Barbara Cartland

  Charles was taken aback at these words and was about to contest them when Jed spat a wad of tobacco onto the doorstep and held up his closed fist.

  “By the by, Esmé, I found this on the stone by the stream. Very careless of you, my beauty.”

  Jed threw something to Esmé. An object that turned and turned and glinted like a red spark in the air.

  Before it fell into Esmé’s outstretched hands, Charles saw what it was.

  A ruby ring.

  Esmé clutched the ring to her breast and a sob rose from her throat. Charles, concerned, made a move to go to her side, but she waved him away.

  “No, please, go from here. Go,” she choked.

  Jed regarded Charles with grim satisfaction. “Marching orders, Delverton. I’ll stay. She and I – we have some history to discuss. I have important information to impart, I have.”

  Charles hesitated. “Is this what you want?” he asked Esmé softly.

  Esmé nodded wordlessly.

  He mounted his steed with a heavy heart. He could not fathom the sudden turn of events, the depths of unhappiness Jed’s words had engendered and the fact that nonetheless it was Jed who Esmé permitted to stay.

  He rode away, Esmé’s sobs ringing in his ear.

  Was she weeping because she had discovered that he, Charles, loved another? It must be so and yet – what was the significance of the ring? What had Jed to do with it all? Why had he assumed a sudden air of malign confidence and what had he meant by those enigmatic words?

  He never had no right to her anywise, no more than has his brother?

  *

  Later that afternoon, Aunt Sarah Delverton and Davina sat together in the drawing room at Priory Park.

  Aunt Sarah insisted Davina call her aunt, since they would so soon be related by marriage. Her eyes filled with tears every time she looked at Davina.

  Davina found the old lady somewhat absurd, but she was humbly grateful for the company.

  Howard came often to Priory Park, but after kissing his fiancée’s hand and enquiring after her health, he was as likely to disappear into the library to smoke with her father as stay to chat with her.

  This afternoon Aunt Sarah had arrived and launched straight into a long dissertation on her own engagement – sadly brought to an abrupt end by the death of her fiancé in a hunting accident. Now and then she drew an enormous handkerchief from her reticule and blew her nose.

  “We would have been very happy together, if he hadn’t been gored to death,” she sighed.

  “What was the animal that killed him, exactly?” asked Davina politely.

  “A wild boar,” replied Aunt Sarah in disgust.

  “Oh.” Davina looked uncomfortable. “I do believe that’s – what we’re eating tonight.” Aunt Sarah patted her mouth with her handkerchief.

  “Well. Never mind. It won’t be the same one, will it?”

  Davina was silent for a moment, her eyes on the fire.

  “Will – Lord Delverton be coming too?” she ventured.

  “If he is not too fatigued,” sniffed Aunt Sarah, “after his woodland jaunt.”

  Davina tried to keep her voice steady. “W-woodland jaunt? What do you mean, Aunt Sarah?”

  Aunt Sarah held up her spectacles to regard Davina. “Why, you’ve gone rather pink, my dear. Is it the fire? Shall I move the screen to your side?”

  Davina shook her head. “No. I am really quite all right.”

  “Hmm.” Aunt Sarah lowered her spectacles. “What was I saying? Oh, yes. The woodland jaunt. Well, you know that Jed was sent on a commission to the gypsy camp?”

  “Yes. Has he returned?”

  “Oh, yes, my dear! That’s what your father and Howard are discussing in the library now. It seems Jed found nothing to suggest the gypsies have anything to do with all these horrid attacks. Well, I was always convinced of that.

  “Anyway, he returned this morning, and Lord Delverton asked Howard to convey the information to your father. He could not come himself because he had – something to deliver that would not wait. And do you know what that ‘something’ was?”

  Davina shook her head.

  “A horse!” cried Aunt Sarah. “A horse, my dear. The purchase of it had been Jed’s excuse for visiting the gypsies. No common cart horse, either. No. This had to be a thoroughbred.”

  Aunt Sarah pursed her lips in disapproval. “I ask you of what use is a thoroughbred to a woodsman’s daughter? The girl probably can’t even ride!”

  “It was for – the – woodsman’s daughter?” asked Davina in a low voice.

  “That’s right. But I would have thought a sack of flour or a side of ham more appropriate.”

  Davina felt as if there was no breath in her body. Lord Delverton had purchased a horse to give to the gypsy girl! He must think a great deal of her indeed.

  “Anyway, what must my nephew Charles do,” continued Aunt Sarah, “but take immediately to the woods to deliver the creature. As if the woodsman’s daughter couldn’t wait.”

  ‘It was Lord Delverton who couldn’t wait,’ thought Davina miserably. ‘Couldn’t wait to see his gypsy again!’ The door opened and Lord Shelford appeared with Howard.

  “Well, ladies,” he announced, rubbing his hands together. “It seems we must look elsewhere for the answer to these robberies.”

  “I was always sure of that,” said Howard. He sauntered to the sofa opposite Davina and flung himself into its depths.

  “Well, I was not convinced either,” admitted Lord Shelford. “And now of course with this latest occurrence – ”

  Aunt Sarah clutched at her breast in terror. “Another attack, Lord Shelford?”

  “Yes,” replied Lord Shelford, with an almost cheerful air. “In the early hours of yesterday morning. I have just told Howard the story. A gentleman, Squire Rutherford, was held up by four men on the road to Withyam.

  “He tussled with them and managed to tear the mask from one of the assailant’s faces. To his astonishment he recognised a stable hand who had been discharged from his service some weeks before.”

  “One of his own servants? But – what does this mean?” asked Aunt Sarah in bewilderment.

  “It means, aunt,” explained Howard, taking an apple from a bowl on the small table beside him and polishing it on his sleeve, “it means that the gypsies most certainly are not involved. They would never work with outsiders.”

  “It is most likely, therefore, to be an outfit of local men,” said Lord Shelford. “Men who bear a grudge, men who are disaffected. But there has to be someone who’s the brains of the operation. Finding him is the key.”

  “And – Squire Rutherford?” asked Aunt Sarah tremulously. “Is he – badly injured?”

  “He was in great danger when they realised he had recognised one of them,” said Lord Shelford. “Luckily, at that moment, one of the patrols we set up recently appeared on the road and the assailants all fled.”

  “It’s a pity they weren’t nearby when my poor brother was attacked!” remarked Howard. “It would have saved him the eventual expense of a horse.” He took a bite of apple and leaned back contentedly.

  “W-what sort of horse is it?” asked Davina.

  “A grey mare,” mumbled Howard, his mouth full of apple. “Pretty. A good trot on her. This woodsman’s daughter must be a good looker.”

  Lord Shelford looked displeased at this casual mode of expression in front of his daughter. Davina meanwhile felt her eyes fill with tears and lowered her head quickly.

  “I believe your brother delivered the horse today?” said Lord Shelford.

  “He did,” said Howard. “He came home at mid-day in a black mood. Couldn’t get a word out of him.”

  He finished the apple and aimed the core at the fireplace. It landed amid the coals with a hiss. Howard then leapt to his feet and stretched his arms.

  “Think I’ll take a ride before supper,” he said.

  There was a pause. Lord Shelford jutted out his jaw and stared into the
fire. Davina kept her head lowered. Howard, sensing what was required, twitched his lips a moment and then held out his hand to Davina.

  “Won’t you – accompany me?” he asked. “We could ride round the lake together, if you like.”

  Davina had no desire to ride out with Howard. She wanted to retreat to the solitude of her room where her every blush would not be scrutinised by Aunt Sarah, her every expression not mulled over by her father. She knew that both of them were of the opinion that the engaged couple did not spend enough time in each other’s company.

  How could she explain to them that every minute spent with Howard further convinced her that she had made a terrible mistake? A mistake she could not rectify. A mistake she must nurse in her bosom and never disclose to anyone in the world.

  Not looking up, she shook her head. “There are some letters that require my attention,” she murmured.

  “Well, then,” said Howard, looking round at the company. “I shall return in an hour. Lord Shelford – Davina – Aunt Sarah.” Howard bowed to all three and left the room. Lord Shelford and Aunt Sarah regarded each other gravely. Before either of them could admonish Davina, however, she had risen quickly to her feet and was curtsying her excuses.

  “I really – must retire,” she insisted, and left the room.

  “It doesn’t look good, you know,” came a voice from behind her as she made for the stairs. “You declining to ride out with me when I ask.”

  She turned. Howard stood there, drawing on his riding gloves. It was as if he had waited to accost her.

  “I – can’t help it. I want to be on my own,” replied Davina.

  Howard shrugged. He was not a cruel man and was often uncomfortable at the strategy he had pursued that had resulted in his undoubted prize. This beautiful creature, this heiress, who trembled in alarm at his most casual touch, paled at the faintest impress of his lips on hers. He had ceased to fool himself even slightly that she might be in love with him or even infatuated.

  He could not begin to guess what had made her accept him but he was determined to be a good husband, when the time came. When the time came and he had her in his life and in his bed, he had no doubt he could change her emotional tune. No woman had ever withstood his amorous attentions for long. Meanwhile, he was not offended by her apparent lack of fervour. She was going to be his, along with her fortune. He could, for once, be patient.

  “Well, as you wish,” he said.

  He watched her ascend the stairs. Her slender, graceful figure stirred him. He looked forward to his wedding night and to overcoming any – modest reluctance she might evince.

  Yet even as his thoughts ran in this vein, his brow creased.

  Another face, another love, another time, for a moment flooded his memory, struck like a dagger thrust swiftly under his heart. Then he shook himself.

  “Howard, old fellow, let the past lie. Just count your – considerable fortune,” he told himself gaily, as he picked up his riding whip and went in search of his horse.

  Davina meanwhile threw open the door of her room. She had come in search of sanctuary, but there was no sanctuary for her heart. It had no place to rest and no place to beat without pain.

  She crossed the floor to her dressing room and stared up at the portrait of Evelyn Felk. The dark, troubled eyes gazed back and suddenly Davina remembered those words that Jess had spoken on first seeing the painting.

  “That’s asking for bad luck, that is, miss.”

  “It’s you!” cried Davina wildly. “You are to blame.”

  She was hardly aware of her words, hardly aware of the irrationality behind them. Her distress flared to fury, her shame to blame. It was not she, Davina, who had brought herself to this pass. It was the malign influence of a woman who had lived and died thirty years earlier, a woman whose own love affair had not thrived and who had therefore put a curse on any passion that succeeded her in this house.

  In this state of unreasoning rage, Davina dragged the portrait from the wall. Staggering to the window, she pushed open the casement.

  She was going to eject Evelyn Felk from Priory Park and throw her to the air and the elements!

  With the portrait teetering on the sill, Davina paused and squinted into the low afternoon sun. Slowly she lowered the painting to the floor and then leaned out to stare at the faraway woods.

  Across the shimmering waters of the lake she spied a figure. Too distant to see clearly, she was yet aware of a cloak and wild, white hair blowing in the breeze. She was not sure whether she could actually make out these details or whether they had formed in her mind from a memory.

  The memory of a face pressed against a window, wild eyes staring into the room where Lord Shelford and his guests dined.

  She had the distinct impression that the figure was watching the house, watching her, willing her towards itself.

  It is the ghost, she suddenly shivered. The ghost of Evelyn Felk! The ghost had materialised at the very moment she had been about to destroy the painting. She drew back from the window, her heart beating hard.

  It seemed that the ghost had appeared to her, Davina, and no-one else. As if it had business with her.

  This last thought decided her.

  Ten minutes later, Lord Shelford glanced up in surprise as a figure on horseback galloped past the drawing room window. He supposed it was Howard and returned to his conversation about the forthcoming wedding with Aunt Sarah.

  Davina urged her horse, Blanche, around the side of the house. Davina had put on her riding skirt and cape. Her veil fluttered as she rode.

  She reached the farther side of the lake and turned along its southern shore. The wood lay to her right, intruding and receding by turn on her route.

  Ahead of her, a figure turned at the sound of her approach. There was a glimpse of those wild eyes, hair streaming across a white, frightened face and then the figure vanished into the trees.

  Davina drew on the reins. As her horse halted she fell forward onto its neck and lay there for a moment, panting. She smelt the leather of the bridle, Blanche’s warm, rippling flesh beneath her hand. After a moment she raised her head.

  Her ghost may have gone, but it had stayed until she arrived. It must be urging her to follow. It had vanished just at the point where a path ran into the woods.

  Davina recognised the path as the one that led to Evelyn Felk’s grave and her heart missed a beat.

  What more proof did she need that her figure was the ghost of Evelyn Felk? She peered into the darkening web of trees.

  The low boughs and thick undergrowth decided her against taking Blanche with her. Though she would have dearly liked the company, she tied her to a tree and then set off through the trees, lifting her skirt high to avoid the roots that jutted across her route.

  She trembled at every whisper of the leaves, every shake of a bough, yet still she stumbled on. She had come too far now. It was as if her quest would enable her to change the fate she had invited upon herself.

  At last she thrust through the bushes to the clearing where the grave lay. Here, if anywhere, she expected to confront the ghost.

  The clearing was deserted. Leaves rustled on all sides of her, birds settled in branches above her head, but there was no other sound, no other movement.

  She did not know if she was disappointed or relieved. She moved nearer to the gravestone and gave a start.

  The bunch of flowers that had been there was gone. In its place was another, fresher bunch, this time of wild iris.

  Her ghost had come this way only a moment before. Yet of one thing she was certain. Ghosts do not pick flowers.

  She was no nearer knowing the identity of the figure who, deliberately or not, had lured her to this spot.

  She lifted her veil to brush strands of hair from her forehead and then froze.

  Angry voices were approaching the clearing. Two men were quarrelling. She heard the name ‘Esmé’ repeated once or twice and then, to her horror, there came the unmistakable sound of blows.<
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  She turned around blindly, seeking the exit from the clearing. She heard grunts, curses, the thud of fist on flesh.

  The bushes before her parted and Howard staggered into view. His nose streamed blood and one of his eyes was half closed.

  Davina gave a cry of horror. “W-what has happened?” she cried.

  Howard stood swaying, shocked and furious to find her here, witness to this incident.

  “This is – of no concern – to you. No concern to – a woman,” he glowered and wiped his hand under his nose. “Get out of here. Go back to the house.”

  Davina backed away from him. When she felt the bushes behind her, she turned to push her way through to the path.

  The last thing she saw as she glanced behind her was Howard, sinking to his knees in the clearing. Behind him, fist clenched, face a mask of fury, stood Jed Barker.

  Esmé, Esmé, Esmé.

  The name rang like a bell in Davina’s ears as she stumbled along the path.

  She knew in her heart who Esmé was.

  Jed and Howard had been fighting over her. Lord Delverton was ensnared by her.

  She was the gypsy in the wood and Davina was powerless before her charms.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The following morning Miss Regine Shelford and her fiancé, the Duke of Bedley, arrived from London. They were to attend the special supper planned in honour of Davina’s engagement to Howard Delverton.

  Lord Shelford met the Duke’s coach at the door. He embraced his elder daughter warmly and shook the Duke’s hand. Regine’s chaperone, meanwhile, a lady of severe mien and ample bosom, descended from the coach and stood waiting with a grimly disapproving air.

  Mr Crouch – for that was her name – had been employed by Lord Shelford in London and she had not expected her duties to bring her this far north. It might as well have been outer Mongolia, for all she knew of it! Regine was looking round impatiently. “Papa, where is Davina? I thought she would be here to greet us!”

  Lord Shelford’s brow was troubled. “She is somewhat indisposed, my dear. She came in from a ride yesterday and has barely left her room since.”