The Ghost Who Fell in Love

by Barbara Cartland

  She was particularly interested to see the new Royal Box when it was filled with spectators, the most important of course being the King.

  It had been started in May and had only just been finished last week in time for the races.

  The King had employed as his architect the famous John Nash who was responsible for the improvements to Buckingham Palace, the design of Regent Street and what were called the ‘Nash Terraces’ in Regent’s Park.

  Immediately opposite the winning post, the Royal Box was built in imitation of a Greek portico with fluted pilasters supporting the roof.

  It had two storeys of which the upper part only was used by the King. During its construction Demelza had visited it and saw that it had been divided into two rooms which at the last moment had been fitted out with white muslin curtains.

  Today it would have been impossible for her to get in, as round the Royal Stand there was a small enclosure guarded by Police Officers and gatemen and only those invited by the King were admitted.

  On either side of the Royal Box were nine other stands of various sizes and they appeared already to be crammed to bursting. Demelza and Nattie looked at them with interest as they drove along the other side of the course.

  “I thinks we’d be best off ’ere, miss,” Abbot said, drawing the gig to a standstill beyond a number of other carriages, coaches and waggons.

  “I think so too,” Nattie said before Demelza could speak. “If we cross to the other side, we’ll not be able to get away quickly and it’s important we leave before the last race.” Demelza knew Nattie was worrying about getting home before the Earl and his party returned.

  So she accepted that they should stay where they were, although she knew she might not be able to see the saddling in which she had always been so interested in the past.

  They were no sooner in place than there were cheers at the other end of the course which they knew announced the arrival of the King.

  Abbot had heard earlier in the week that His Majesty might not appear as he was suffering from a ‘severe and dangerous attack of gout’.

  However, he had undoubtedly arrived, but did not drive along the course as his father had always done. Instead he proceeded along the rear of the booths.

  Demelza could hear the cheers all the way to the Royal Box, then the King appeared at the window and the gentlemen in the enclosure below all raised their hats to him.

  He stood for some moments acknowledging the cheers which were not very effusive and Demelza could see that he was clad in the Windsor uniform with a single diamond star on his breast.

  She wondered if the Earl was with him.

  Nattie, who had always showed an intense interest in the Royal Party, recognised the Duke of York and the Duke of Wellington.

  “Who is the lady beside the King?” Demelza asked. “Lady Conyngham,” Nattie replied in a repressed voice which told Demelza she did not approve of her Ladyship. As soon as the King arrived the first race was run, after which racing was interrupted by a one-hour interval for luncheon.

  Nattie produced sandwiches, but Demelza looked rather longingly at the magnificent picnics that were laid out either in the carriages or on the grass.

  There were cold viands of every sort and bottles of hock and champagne were being opened on every side.

  It was very hot, but the roar of cheers which went up as Trance, as was expected won the Grafton Sweep, was full-throated and uninhibited.

  “That be three hundred guineas for His Royal Highness’s pocket,” Abbot remarked.

  He had previously told Demelza that the Duke of York had backed Trance in the sweep against a horse called The Duke.

  Abbot had left Demelza and Nattie alone in the gig for some time before the race and Demelza was quite certain that he also had backed Trance.

  After one of the Earl’s horses had won the third race of the day, Nattie insisted on their leaving, although Demelza longed to stay for the fourth and last race.

  She tried to protest, but Nattie said firmly,

  “Five days of racing’s enough for anyone and we’re taking no risks. Come along, Miss Demelza, there’s work for me to do at home, as you well know.”

  Because no one else was leaving so early and the roads were clear they got back to The Manor far more quickly than might have been expected.

  “Thank you, Abbot,” Demelza said as they drove into the yard. “It was very exciting and I loved every moment of it!”

  “We’ll see some fine racin’ tomorrow and Thursday,” Abbot answered, “and if Moses don’t win the Albany Stakes – I’ll eat me ’at!”

  “I am sure he will,” Demelza smiled.

  Then she was hurried by Nattie around the side of the house to the garden door.

  In the passage she opened the secret panel while Nattie went off towards the kitchen quarters.

  It had all been very exciting, Demelza thought, as she began to climb the narrow staircase, but she was hot from the burning sun and stopped for a moment to take off her bonnet.

  As she did so, to her surprise she heard a woman’s voice say,

  “As his Lordship is not at home, I would like to leave a note for him.”

  “Of course, my Lady, there’s a writing desk in here,” a servant answered.

  Astonished that anyone should expect to find the Earl at home at such an hour in the afternoon before the racing was finished, Demelza moved a few steps until, by using the peephole, she could see into the drawing room.

  Moving into the room from the hall she saw the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her life.

  Wearing a gown of periwinkle blue which matched the colour of her eyes, her golden hair framed by a high-crowned bonnet covered in blue ostrich feathers, she was breath-taking.

  There were diamonds round her neck and over the short gloves that covered her wrists.

  She moved with a sinuous grace that struck Demelza as having something almost feline about it.

  She reached the centre of the room where Demelza could see her clearly. Then, as the servant following her closed the door, she turned round to say in a different tone,

  “Have you anything to report to me, Hayes?”

  Demelza remembered that Hayes was the under-butler who Nattie had spoken about.

  “No, my Lady, we only arrived yesterday and there’re only gentlemen here. No ladies of any sort.”

  “Not living in the house?”

  “No, my Lady, only an old nurse and another servant.” “Lady Plymworth has not called?”

  “No, my Lady.”

  The elegant visitor stood for a moment, her gloved finger against her chin as if she was thinking, then she said,

  “His Lordship is dining out this evening?”

  “So I believe, my Lady.”

  “Is it with Lord Dysart?”

  “I heard his Lordship’s valet mention that name, my Lady.”

  “That is what I thought,” the visitor murmured almost beneath her breath.

  Then to the under-butler she added in a commanding tone,

  “Now listen to me carefully, Hayes. His Lordship always has a glass of wine when he is dressing for dinner. I wish you to decant a bottle yourself and put into it before you take it upstairs the contents of this.”

  She drew from her reticule as she spoke a small bottle about three inches high and held it out to the under-butler. He hesitated.

  “I wouldn’t wish, my Lady, to do anything – ”

  “It will not hurt him badly, you fool!” the lady said firmly. “His Lordship will just be unable to attend the party this evening and doubtless have a headache in the morning.”

  She looked at the expression on Hayes’s face and laughed. “Don’t worry yourself. You will not swing on Tyburn, that I promise you!”

  “I’m – afraid, my Lady! Suppose the wine was drunk by the wrong person?”

  “If it is, you will suffer for it!” the lady snapped. “I got you this position and I have paid you well. You can expect furth
er recompense if what you do is successful.”

  “Thank you, my Lady. It’s only that I likes the post and don’t want to leave it.”

  ”You will leave it when it suits me!” the lady retorted. “Now you understand exactly what you have to do?” “Yes, my Lady.”

  “So carry out your orders.”

  “I’ll do my best, my Lady.”

  “You had better do so.”

  The visitor walked towards the door and, as Hayes opened it, she said,

  “On second thoughts, as I may see his Lordship tonight I will not leave a note for him. What I have to tell him will be a surprise, so please don’t inform him that I was here.”

  Demelza realised that these words were intended for the ears of the footmen on duty in the hall.

  The Lady went from the drawing room and Hayes followed her, leaving the door open behind him.

  Demelza waited.

  After a little while she heard the sound of wheels and knew that a carriage was driving away from the front door.

  She drew in her breath with a gasp, realising that she had held her breath for most of the time she had been listening.

  How was it possible? How could such an exceedingly beautiful person as this lady intend to harm the Earl? And in order to do so was intriguing with one of his own servants against him?

  Dazed and bewildered, Demelza climbed up the stairs to the Priests’ Room and sat down on the bed to think.

  It was nothing new, she remembered, for women to use drugs or medicines of some sort to hurt someone they either disliked or – loved.

  It struck Demelza that that was the explanation why the beautiful lady who had come to The Manor wished to prevent the Earl from dining this evening with Lord Dysart – she loved him.

  That was why she was jealous of Lady Plymworth of whom she had spoken.

  But to drug the Earl! That was surely carrying jealousy to extremes!

  Demelza could remember hearing her father discussing years ago the behaviour of Lady Jersey when Princess Caroline of Braganza had married the Prince of Wales.

  Lady Jersey, who had apparently been in love with the Prince, had been one of the people he sent to meet his bride when she arrived in England.

  Everybody knew later that Lady Jersey had put a strong emetic in the Princess’s food to spoil the first night of the honeymoon.

  Although Demelza had not been born at the time it had happened, she always felt it was what Gerard would have called a ‘dirty trick’. In fact she herself had felt it was despicable and beneath the dignity of any woman who called herself a lady to sink to such tactics.

  And yet here was someone so beautiful that she felt any man who saw her must be infatuated with such a lovely face, behaving in very much the same way towards the Earl.

  Demelza felt she could not bear to think of the Earl’s suffering or of him lying unconscious on his bed.

  He was so strong, so athletic and as Gerard had said ‘a Corinthian of Corinthians’ that it would be like seeing the fall of a great oak tree to imagine him prostrate through the treacherous hand of a woman.

  What was more she had said that it might give him a headache tomorrow.

  Suppose he was too ill to see Moses run? Or, more important, his own horse who was entered for another race?

  ‘It must not happen,’ Demelza said to herself positively. ‘I must stop it! – I must!’

  Her first thought was that she must tell Gerard, but this would present a number of difficulties.

  First was that Gerard’s bedroom was one of the few rooms in the house where there was not a secret entrance.

  This was because one of the previous owners of the manor had removed the oak panelling and had instead papered the walls with a very attractive rice-paper he had brought back from China.

  It was certainly very effective, at the same time it prevented Demelza from being able to reach her brother unless she entered his room from the passage, which would be unthinkable.

  Apart from that, she had a feeling that Gerard would not wish to be involved in such an explosive situation which centred round a beautiful lady who loved the Earl and who had bribed one of his chief servants.

  “No, I cannot tell Gerard,” Demelza decided.

  But what else could she do?

  She sat thinking for a long time, and finally made a decision.

  *

  The Earl came back from the races in extremely good humour.

  He had enjoyed an excellent luncheon with the other members of the Jockey Club and had been entrusted by the King with the placing of his bets.

  This had resulted in his handing over to His Majesty a quite considerable sum at the end of the day, while he himself had backed three winners out of four which was certainly a good percentage.

  He was also looking forward to the dinner party tonight when he would see Charis Plymworth again.

  They had met in the Royal Box and she had intimated very clearly that she was as anxious to be with him as he was with her.

  She was looking extremely beautiful and the slant of her green eyes intrigued him as did the Sphinx-like smile that curved her red lips.

  He had known as they talked together that he was being watched by Sydel, but it was difficult for her to make a scene in the King’s presence as the Earl was quite certain she wanted to do.

  “Jealous women are a damned bore!” he said to Lord Chirn as they drove away from the racecourse.

  “All women are jealous!” his friend answered, “but some more so than others!”

  The Earl did not reply and Lord Chirn went on,

  “Beware of Sydel Blackford! It is rumoured that she practises black magic and murmurs incantations over a dead cockerel – or whatever it is they do!”

  The Earl laughed.

  “That might have been possible in the Middle Ages, but I cannot believe any woman would go as far as that these days.”

  Lord Chirn smiled. He did not bother to tell the Earl that he had had a short but fiery affair with Lady Sydel himself and knew that she was capable of anything and everything to gain her own ends.

  He thought, as so many of the Earl’s friends had thought before, that it was a pity he could not settle down and have a family.

  Most men wanted an heir and the Earl had so many possessions that it seemed a crime against nature that he should not have a son to inherit them.

  Whatever Lord Chirn thought, he was, however, not prepared to voice such sentiments aloud and when they reached The Manor they were talking about the racing.

  There were champagne and sandwiches waiting in the drawing room, but the Earl had already drunk enough in the Royal Box. After talking to his friends for a short time he went upstairs to dress.

  He knew that his valet, Dawson, would have a bath ready for him. He was looking forward to cooling off after the heat of the day and getting rid of the dust which, as he had anticipated, had been worse than usual owing to the long spell of dry weather.

  His valet helped him out of his tight-fitting and well-cut coat, which had been the envy of the King.

  “I cannot think why Weston cuts so well for you and so badly for me!” he had grumbled.

  The real answer, the Earl knew, was that the King had grown so extraordinarily fat in the last few years that it was impossible for any tailor to give him the elegant figure he craved. But aloud he had said,

  “I thought how admirably your uniform became you today, Sire.”

  His Majesty had smiled and preened himself.

  “A very good day’s racing, Dawson,” the Earl remarked now as he untied his cravat.

  “Excellent, my Lord!”

  The Earl threw his discarded cravat down on the dressing table and as he did so he saw a very small note propped against his gold-backed hairbrushes.

  It was addressed to him and marked Urgent in a handwriting he had never seen before.

  “Who left this, Dawson?” he enquired.

  The valet turned to look at what he held in his h
and. “I’ve no idea, my Lord. I’ve not seen it before.”

  “It was here – on my dressing table!”

  “No one’s brought it in while I’ve been here, my Lord.” The Earl opened the note.

  There were only a few lines written in the same elegant but unfamiliar writing.

  “Do not drink the wine you will be offered while you are dressing for dinner. It will make you ill!”

  The Earl stared at what he had read and as he did so there was a knock on the door.

  Dawson went to it.

  He came back carrying a salver on which was a cut-glass decanter and a single glass.

  “Will you have some wine before or after your bath, my Lord?” he enquired.

  The Earl looked at the wine.

  “I wish to speak to Hunt,” he said. “Before he comes upstairs, ask him to find out who called here today and who left a note for me.”

  Dawson looked surprised, but setting down the silver salver he obediently left the room.

  The Earl picked up the decanter and sniffed the wine. There appeared to be nothing unusual about it. Perhaps, he thought, the note was a joke, a trick played on him by one of his friends.

  But he was sure the handwriting did not resemble that of anyone staying in the house.

  He was almost certain it had been inscribed by a woman. Even as he thought about it, he was conscious of a subtle fragrance he had noticed before.

  He held the note to his nose and found that it smelt very faintly of some flower he could not put a name to.

  Now it struck him that he had been aware of the same perfume in his bedroom and in other parts of the house.

  He had thought that it came from the bowls and vases of flowers that were arranged in every room, but there were only pink roses here in his bedroom and the fragrance on the note was not that of a rose.

  It was all rather intriguing and he felt in some way that it was a part of the mystery that was exemplified by the house itself.

  There was a knock on the door and the Major Domo stood there.

  “You sent for me, my Lord?”

  “I wish to know who called here today and who left a note for me.”

  “I’ve learnt, my Lord, that Lady Sydel Blackford called late this afternoon, but at her request this was not reported to me until I made enquiries a few seconds ago.”