Theirs to Eternity

by Barbara Cartland

  Lord Shelford groaned in despair. “Trapped? Then I must try to reach her.”

  Regine clung to his arm. “You can’t, Papa!” she wailed. “The Duke – my dear Duke – tried to get to her along the corridor, but he was overcome by smoke.”

  “The Duke was indeed driven back,” confirmed Parfitt. “Then we brought a ladder, but the ground floor rooms have such high ceilings the ladder wasn’t long enough to reach the first storey windows.”

  “By God,” roared Lord Shelford, “do you expect me to stand here and watch my daughter die!”

  “You will not have to endure that,” came Charles’s strained but resolute voice.

  He had been scanning the house and was now removing his jacket.

  “Do you see that parapet running under the first floor windows? If I can get Davina there, she will at least be out of the way of the flames. I can secure a rope to that low chimney on the left and – try to bring her down that way.”

  Lord Shelford clutched his brow, staring upwards at the glowing windows. “But how will you get up there when the ladder is too short?”

  “That tree over there.” He threw his jacket to the ground and began to roll up his sleeves. “There are two or three branches that extend towards the house.”

  “Surely they are too thin to walk along – ” began Parfitt but a look from Charles silenced him.

  The Duke of Bedley was now making his way across the grass, leaning heavily on the arm of Aunt Sarah. “What is happening here?” he called out.

  “Lord Delverton – is attempting to reach Davina!” cried Regine.

  “If only I were younger I’d try it myself!” moaned Lord Shelford, tears welling in his eyes.

  Jess, who had long since taken the shawl from her head to stare dazedly at the proceedings, began to cry loudly.

  “Oh, do save Miss Davina, do!”

  “I need no urging,” Charles murmured, moving off quickly towards the tree. Parfitt, shaking his head mournfully, hurried away to find a rope.

  Charles leapt for the lower part of the tree. He managed to grasp a branch and haul himself up, painfully aware that the wrist injured when he was attacked was not as strong as it might be. Below, anxious, upturned faces watched his progress. He climbed swiftly to the middle of the tree, where some of the branches most nearly met the walls of the house.

  On closer view, these branches were even more slender than he had supposed. He tested each with his foot, realising with growing despair that it was unlikely that any of them would bear his weight. Yet he needed to walk out along one of them if he was to reach the parapet.

  With steely nerve he began to edge out along what he hoped was the toughest branch. He could feel it bend beneath him. He hesitated, wondering if he should drop to all fours, and then heard an ominous cracking sound.

  As the branch split under his feet he hurled himself backwards, towards the trunk.

  His body caught amid the boughs and he began to slither. He thrust out a hand to grasp for support but missed. It was only on the lowest bough that he managed to break his fall and drop to the ground with no great injury.

  He was on his feet in an instant and ready to begin the ascent again, but a familiar voice restrained him.

  “Stop! You must let me go.”

  He turned, his breast heaving, a lock of hair lank over his brow. His gaze widened as Esmé stepped forward, gold bracelets tinkling about her ankles.

  “You!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, I,” replied Esmé.

  The onlookers regarded each other each other in confusion. Who was this gypsy woman whom Lord Delverton seemed to know? Only Regine gave a start of possible recognition, for she remembered Davina’s anxiety about just such a creature as this who now stood before them.

  Charles passed a bewildered hand across his brow.

  “I do not know what you are doing here, but – I cannot allow you for one moment to endanger yourself in the manner you are suggesting.”

  “There is little time to lose,” said Esmé softly. “Let Esmé go in your place.”

  “Madam!” cried Charles. “There is not a gentleman on earth who would allow such a thing.”

  “But there is,” came another familiar voice, and Howard stepped into view. White as a sheet, his features drawn, he nevertheless spoke with resolution. “I would let her do it because she can. She is as light as a feather on her feet and she has trained – on the tightrope.”

  His voice fell away as he and Charles stared at each other. The question of how Howard knew anything at all about Esmé passed through Charles’s mind but he put it quickly aside.

  “I cannot permit it,” he said firmly, turning to the tree.

  “For God’s sake, brother, let her do what she can to save Davina,” muttered Howard. “It is only your pride that is preventing her.”

  Lord Shelford wrung his hands. “You cannot make it out along the branch, Delverton. Let this woman try.”

  “Trust me,” asserted Esmé.

  Charles looked into her eyes for a moment and then nodded reluctantly.

  “Very well,” he said gruffly. “Here comes Parfitt with a rope. He’s made one end into a noose. Is that knot tight, Parfitt? Good.

  “Now Esmé, you can see that low chimney to the left – it’s the smoking room chimney. Once you get Davina out onto the parapet – attach the noose end of the rope to that chimney and I will climb up and bring Davina down. Can you carry the rope now or shall I throw it up to you?”

  “I will take it with me,” breathed Esmé. “Loop it about my neck.”

  Charles did so, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “God go with you,” he murmured.

  Esmé gave a brief, reassuring smile and ran to the tree. She climbed swiftly and within seconds was opposite the first storey parapet of the house. She scrutinised each bough carefully before making her choice.

  Arms outstretched on either side to maintain her balance, she stepped forward as lightly as a gazelle. She slid first one foot forward, then the other, testing each move as if she was on a tightrope. The bough dipped beneath her as she went, but held.

  “She’s made it!” Lord Shelford gasped as Esmé paused, measured the distance, and leapt from bough to parapet in one fleet move.

  All eyes were fixed on Esmé, as she edged along the parapet towards Davina’s window. All hands were clasped in the same prayer.

  Let rescue not be too late!

  *

  Davina lay as still as if in a tomb.

  Smoke eddied about her, drifting like wraiths in the breeze from the half open window. She sensed nothing. Already the oily fumes mingled with her breath and were seeping into her lungs with deadly intent.

  The hand that reached for her shoulder had to shake her hard. Yet Davina barely stirred. The voice that urged her to rise did not penetrate her deep, unhealthy sleep. Only when she was dragged from her bed towards the window did she begin to respond, her breast heaving as she gasped for air.

  “Wake up! You must wake!” Esmé shook Davina as if she was a rag doll. “I cannot carry you out. You must wake up!”

  Davina’s eyes fluttered but did not open. Glancing round, Esmé picked up a pitcher of water that stood nearby and dashed its contents into Davina’s face. Davina gasped, spluttered and looked about her in bewilderment.

  “Come with me” ordered Esmé.

  Seeing who commanded her, Davina drew back. “No – no,” she muttered. Esmé crushed Davina against her, her lips to Davina’s ear.

  “Obey Esmé or die,” she hissed.

  Davina’s gaze widened. “D-die?”

  “Do you not see the smoke? Do you not hear the flames? There is not a moment to lose.”

  Davina turned to look at the room behind her. The smoke had gathered in a louring cloud, filling the room. She staggered back against Esmé, who spun her round and thrust her at the window.

  “Out,” called Esmé, “out.”

  Davina clambered unsteadily out onto the para
pet, teetering back with terror as she beheld the drop. Esmé scrambled up beside her, the rope that had been around her neck now in her hands.

  “We must go this way, to the right,” she urged. “Lord Delverton pointed out a chimney – ”

  “L-Lord Delverton?” Bewildered and apprehensive as she was, Davina nevertheless caught at the name wildly. “He – is down there?”

  “Yes. Your fiancé too and your father.” Davina pressed her back to the wall and closed her eyes. She was utterly humiliated at the idea that Lord Delverton had sent Esmé, his lover, to her rescue.

  “Follow me,” came Esmé’s voice.

  Davina opened her eyes. Esmé was edging away along the parapet, her back to the wall, feeling her way with her feet. Davina swallowed. Her legs trembled but she knew that all eyes below were on her. She was determined not to seem to lack courage, especially when her rival was so fearless.

  Palms flat against the stone behind her, she began to inch her way after Esmé.

  Esmé reached the low roof of the smoking room. Near the apex, the brick chimney rose some five foot into the air. Leaning out from the wall, Esmé flung up the rope. The first throw fell short. She tried again and this time the rope slithered down over the chimney and caught.

  There were cheers from below. Esmé now let go of the loose end of the rope. It slid down the roof and over the edge, to dangle a foot or so from the ground. Charles rushed forward and tested his weight on it.

  “It’s holding well,” he shouted.

  Esmé turned to Davina, who had reached the edge of the parapet and stood gazing out over the smoking room roof.

  “He will climb up and carry you down,” she said. “I will follow.”

  Davina stiffened. “No!” she said firmly. “No. I will climb down by myself.”

  Esmé raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think he will agree.”

  “I do not care if he agrees or not,” retorted Davina. “Besides, the rope may be strong enough for one, but how do we know if it is strong enough for two?”

  Esmé shrugged. “You may be right. But can you do it?”

  “I used to climb ropes as a little girl,” replied Davina. She called to the anxious group below. “I am going to climb down myself.”

  “No,” cried Lord Shelford. “I forbid you!”

  In answer, Davina caught at the rope where it hung from the chimney and, gripping it in her hands, used it to lower herself down the smoking room roof. She reached the guttering and rested for a moment, flat against the tiles.

  Then she pushed off again.

  She had indeed climbed ropes as a girl – ropes that hung from low branches, with her mother ready to catch her. This was different. She swung in the air, shocked at the sudden drag on her arms.

  She had a vision of a sack of flour she had once seen lowered out of a mill window. Bump, bump, bump all the way to the bottom. She flushed as she thought of Lord Delverton watching her. Did she look like a sack of flour? She was sure she weighed more. Her arms ached already and she had not even begun the descent.

  Esmé’s voice called softly to her. “Put one hand above the other. Wrap your ankles about the rope. That will help.”

  Shame engulfed Davina, but she followed Esmé’s instructions and immediately felt she had more control of the rope. Hand over hand, she made her way down. It seemed to take an eternity. Blood pounded in her ears so that she barely heard the words of encouragement from below.

  More than once she was tempted to let herself fall. Perhaps she would merely float to the ground, like gossamer! Anything, anything rather than this strain! Her arms would surely be pulled out of their sockets!

  Exhausted, she paused, releasing one hand to wipe her brow. The other hand, red and stinging from the coarse rope, was not strong enough to hold her. With a cry, she fell, with no idea of how much space was left between herself and the ground.

  Strong arms caught her. Strong arms crushed her to a powerful breast.

  “Thank God. Thank God, my darling. You are safe,” a voice murmured against her hair.

  Before she had even opened her eyes to see who it was, she felt herself wrested away. Now her father’s beard tickled her face as he covered her with kisses. Regine meanwhile plucked at her sleeve, squealing with undisguised delight.

  “I’m so happy, dear sister, I’m so happy.”

  Davina wriggled free of her father’s ardent embrace.

  Her mind was in a turmoil.

  “Papa, the fire – how did it start?”

  Lord Shelford frowned uneasily. “It seems – the east wing corridor was – drenched with oil from one of the lamps.”

  Davina paled. “By accident?”

  Lord Shelford and the Duke exchanged a glance. “We – do not know, my dear.”

  “But someone must have then set a match to it!” cried Davina. “That could not have been an accident.”

  “Hush now, hush,” urged her father. “What does it matter! You are safe, thanks to that – that gypsy woman.”

  Davina raised her eyes to the smoking room roof, where Esmé had began her descent. She almost drifted down the rope, Davina noted ruefully.

  Lowering her gaze, Davina caught sight of Lord Delverton. There he stood, watching Esmé avidly. Beside him – Howard – his eyes feverish as he too watched the descent of the beautiful gypsy.

  Esmé reached the ground and the two brothers rushed to her.

  Davina bit her lip.

  Had she been wrong? Was her fiancé as enamoured of Esmé as Lord Delverton? She might have dwelt longer on this thought, but an agitated cry arose around her.

  “Look there – on the roof – look there!”

  Everyone turned. Above the rooms where the fire raged, brandishing one of the torches that had earlier marked out the route to Priory Park, stood a wild and dishevelled figure. Shirt torn and scorched, teeth and eyes gleaming in a face blackened with soot, it was a few moments before anyone recognised him. Then, with one accord, an astonished cry ran through the watching crowd.

  “It’s Jed up there. It’s Jed Barker.”

  “Good God, man, come down!” shouted Lord Shelford. “You’ll be killed!”

  Jed ran along the apex of the roof, as lithe as a cat, until he was directly above the crowd. He leered down at their incredulous faces.

  “How do you like my handiwork, eh?” he screeched. “It don’t do to underestimate Jed, you know.”

  “What have you done, man?” cried Lord Shelford with a horrified groan. “And why? Why destroy my house?”

  “Why? Why? Because it’s not your house, Shelford. It’s mine. Mine by right, mine by blood.”

  “How can it be yours?” cried the bewildered Lord Shelford. “I bought it fair and square from the Felk estate.”

  “But they had no right to sell it!” screamed Jed. “Not while Jed Barker breathed! They had no right. It were mine. And if I couldn’t have it the right way, I might have had it through your daughter, but that Delverton got in the way. Now no one shall have it and no one shall have your lovely daughter either!”

  “That is one triumph you shall not have, Jed Barker,” trumpeted Lord Shelford in utter relief. “Can’t you see she is safe here at my side?”

  Jed squinted. When he recognised Davina, pale but composed, staring up at him, he howled like an injured dog.

  “Barker, come down!” commanded Charles. “Don’t be a fool.”

  In answer Jed flung the burning torch into the air. The crowd scattered as it dropped flaming into their midst.

  “Boy, pretty boy, come down.” A quavering voice, barely audible, rose into the air. Davina heard it and turned.

  An old woman in a cloak, hair white as ash, stretched a claw-like hand towards the fire.

  “Boy, pretty boy, come down,” the old woman repeated. She was distracted for a moment only as Esmé moved to her side and gently put an arm about her shoulders. Then her milky eyes turned once again to the roof.

  The crowd gasped as flames shot up through
the roof just below Jed, who seeing them, threw back his head and roared.

  There was a scream from the old woman as the roof beneath Jed collapsed. With another roar he disappeared into a raging hell of flame.

  The air before Davina seemed to blur. Blood rushed from her cheeks. She swayed once on her feet and then fell.

  The bright flames, the noise, the mad cries of Jed were gone. In their place was silence and a darkness beyond measure.

  *

  “You’re awake at last, miss,” said Jess, peering down at Davina.

  Davina, her eyes barely open, stared up at Jess and then above her to the fringes of a scarlet canopy.

  “This – this isn’t my bed, Jess. Where am I?”

  “You’re at Lark House, miss,” replied Jess, drawing open the curtains. “After you fainted, Lord Delverton carried you to his carriage and ordered the coachman to bring you here.”

  “L-Lord Delverton?”

  “Yes, miss. Your sister and Lady Sarah are here too.

  And that awful Mr Crouch. Your father stayed behind with the other men to help put out the fire.” Davina fell back against the pillow as the full memory of last night flooded back to her.

  “Jed Barker! Why did he do it, Jess?”

  “I can tell you that, miss. The Duke of Bedley came by this morning with all the news. It’s quite flown round the house.”

  Davina struggled upright on her pillow again. “Then please let me hear it, Jess,” she pleaded.

  With just a hint of self-importance, Jess drew a chair up to the bedside and began to recount events as she had heard them.

  “The men had struggled for hours to contain the fire, but if it had not started to rain heavily, Priory Park would have been razed to the ground. As it was, the east wing was entirely destroyed. Meanwhile, the old woman who had appeared out of nowhere was taken aside and questioned. Her words came out all topsy-turvey, but gradually her story was pieced together.

  “The wonder was, it seemed Jed did have a claim of sorts on Priory Park for, as the old woman soon revealed, he was the illegitimate son of Evelyn Felk!”

  Davina gasped with astonishment.