This Way to Heaven

by Barbara Cartland

  “But my Lord – ”

  “Pardew is still drunk and unconscious, I take it!”

  “I – I – yes, my Lord, but George Radford is now sleeping in the scullery.”

  “Wake him and tell him to travel to the village and bring Doctor Meade here at once.”

  “But the snow – ”

  “The road from here to the village will be passable with care. We must get a doctor for this girl. Now go!”

  Mary fled from the room.

  The Earl spun round to Mrs. Rush.

  “Tell one of the footmen to bring more coal up here immediately. We need a very good fire. She is desperately cold. And hot soup, Mrs. Rush. Chicken or beef stock and at once!”

  The cook curtsied to him briefly and hurried away. She had not seen the Master so animated in years.

  ‘Goodness, he looks incredibly like his father with his tousled hair and standing there in his shirtsleeves,’ she thought, as she climbed down the steps to the servants’ hall.

  The Earl turned back to the still figure on the bed. He picked up her hand and chafed at the pale fingers.

  A lady’s hand, that was obvious, but he could feel calluses made from leather reins. Indeed he had the same patches on his own fingers.

  He reached across and smoothed the blonde tresses away from her face.

  How big his hand looked against her cheek!

  Suddenly he became aware that the girl’s eyes were opening and she stared up at him, panic flaring.

  “Don’t worry about anything. Everything is quite all right. You are safe and I have sent for a doctor.”

  “I – I – I am scared. Please, do not leave me!”

  The pale fingers tightened over his.

  The Earl realised that she was almost delirious. He would have to humour her.

  But his voice sounded deep and sincere as he told her,

  “I will never leave you. Sleep now. You are quite safe here in my castle.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Doctor Meade strode briskly into the Earl’s study, pulling on his long black jacket over white shirtsleeves and a sombre mustard waistcoat.

  Tall and thin with a neat grey beard and side-whiskers, he accepted gratefully the glass of whisky the Earl handed him.

  “Thank you, my Lord. Much appreciated on such a cold night – or should I say morning, because I believe dawn is now breaking.”

  “It was so good of you to come out, doctor. I have arranged for breakfast to be served to you immediately.”

  The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

  It would hardly have been possible for him to have refused George’s insistent demand earlier that night.

  “And the young lady? What of your patient?”

  The Earl turned away as he enquired and stood, one hand resting on the white marble mantelpiece, gazing at the embers of the fire as if the answer was of no consequence to him whatsoever.

  “Luckily her fever has abated somewhat, my Lord. Your housekeeper dealt with the situation most promptly it seems. The young lady is very strong with a most robust constitution and as long as she takes things easily for a few days, stays in bed and has plenty of nourishing food, then I see no reason why she should not make a full recovery.”

  “So in your opinion she should not travel?”

  The doctor looked up sharply at the shadowed dark face.

  “Certainly not, my Lord! That would be extremely unwise.”

  “Does she have a name?”

  “It transpires that she is a Miss Jasmina Winfield, an American relation of the Duke and Duchess of Harley. She was on her way to visit other relations in Debbingford when misfortune overtook her.”

  The Earl frowned.

  “Then surely I can arrange for her to be transported back to Harley Grange as soon as the blizzard stops? They will be most concerned for her safety.”

  The doctor shook his head.

  “She was apparently travelling from Harley Grange to stay with these relations when the accident happened. The Duchess has gone to London – a grandson has arrived prematurely into this cold world, so it seems.

  “So Harley Grange is empty and in my considered opinion, it would be unwise for Miss Winfield to continue her journey to the Parsonage at Debbingford, which I know to be extremely damp.”

  The Earl crossed impatiently to his desk.

  “All right, Doctor Meade. You have indeed made your point. Miss Winfield must stay here at the castle. I will make sure she has every attention from my staff until she is fit to travel.

  “Now I will ring for someone to escort you to the dining room. I am sure you will be glad of some hot bacon and eggs before you have to venture out into the snow once more.”

  The doctor bowed, recognising that he was being dismissed.

  “Thank you, my Lord, most kind of you. Oh, and Miss Winfield is asking to speak to you. I said you would be up to see her directly. She should not be allowed to fret over anything at the moment.”

  *

  Jasmina was dreaming she was running frantically through a blinding blizzard, her feet being held down by the soft clinging snow.

  She could not see, could not hear – she was calling out for help, reaching out – desperately –

  “Hush! I am here.”

  Her flailing fingers were grasped in strong hands and she sighed as she opened her eyes.

  In the dim light coming through the open curtains, she could see a tall dark figure standing over her.

  Immediately she knew who it was and why she was so disturbed.

  “My Lord – forgive me – I should not be here. I must go at once.”

  “Miss Winfield! Please do calm yourself. What is this nonsense are you talking?”

  Jasmina struggled to sit upright.

  Mary stepped forward out of the shadows and slid her arm round the girl’s slender shoulders.

  “There, madam. Let me place this pillow behind your head.” She glanced up at the Earl. “She is worried about being an unwelcome guest, my Lord.”

  “Thank you, Mary. Perhaps you should now go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Rush for some hot soup.”

  Mary hesitated, then dropped a curtsy and left the room. The Earl loosened his grip on Jasmina’s hands but stayed close to the bed.

  “Miss Winfield, we do find ourselves in a very odd situation, don’t we? We have not even been introduced, although I know the Duke and Duchess, of course.”

  “My Lord, I am so sorry to foist myself on your hospitality in this way. I now feel perfectly well enough to travel on to my relations in Debbingford.”

  The Earl frowned.

  “Miss Winfield, that is not possible, I am afraid. The road out of the valley is closed because of the snow, and I do assure you, although I do not normally entertain houseguests, you cannot surely think that a stranger in my country would be turned away?

  “I have heard that Americans shower their visitors with hospitality. Although I just cannot offer you any great excitement, you are welcome to the shelter of my castle until you are fully recovered. I have an extensive library should you wish to read.”

  Jasmina’s big blue eyes glistened for a moment.

  Yes, she was indeed a stranger and in the moments of fever when she had come round during the night, she had longed to be at home in Missouri in her own little bed.

  But she now refused to show her aristocratic host her fears.

  She raised her chin and faced him squarely without flinching.

  “My Lord, I am well aware that you do not receive visitors here at the castle. Thus I do feel I am imposing on you.”

  The Earl suddenly wanted to smile at her and say that she was welcome to stay as long as she liked.

  But that would be foolish.

  He had no time for such social niceties, especially with stubborn hot-headed young women.

  “Not at all,” he responded. “It is an extremely large castle, Miss Winfield, and there is no need for us to meet at all. Now I will leave you to rest in peace t
o recover your strength.”

  He bowed and left the room.

  Jasmina stared hard at the closing door, a frisson of anger buzzing through her veins.

  No need to meet at all! Well! She certainly had no need to speak to him again either.

  Richard, the Earl of Somerton’s ideas of courtesy and her own were clearly miles apart.

  *

  By lunchtime the raging blizzard had stopped, but the temperature had dropped and the snow was sculpted into weird and wonderful shapes, blown into peaks by the wind and frozen into fantastic ice mountains that looked like illustrations for some old book of children’s fairy tales.

  Mary, a heavy red shawl draped around her head and ears, slipped and skidded across the icy cobbled stable yard, a small wicker basket clutched to her chest. Inside wrapped in a cloth were two hot meat pasties and slices of cheese.

  George Radford, the red-headed farmer she loved so much, was standing gazing moodily out from the stable entrance.

  “I’ve brought you something to eat, George.”

  “Mary! You shouldn’t be out in this cold, lass. But thank you kindly for the food. That’ll go down a treat. I’m just about to head for ’ome. My old dog will think I’m not comin’ back, so I’ll leave the pony ’ere. If I wear these snow shoes I found in the stables, I can cross the paddock and down through the woods. Snow’ll not lie so ’eavy under the trees.”

  “The path to the village is clear, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it’s passable with care. But no one’s gettin’ out of the valley over the pass just yet and that’s a fact!”

  “This heavy snow won’t have done your old out-buildings much good,” said Mary hesitantly, knowing how dilapidated George’s farm was.

  He worked every hour of the day to eke out a living from the poor land. There was never enough time to make improvements to the barns and sheds. And the farmhouse itself had a roof that leaked like an old bucket.

  George was now strapping on his homemade snow shoes, round circles woven with cane that made odd shapes in the snow, but they would prevent him from sinking into the drifts.

  He pulled his collar up round his ears that were already reddened by the cold.

  “Aye, it’s just what I have said to you many a time before, Mary. The farm’s not in a fit state for a lass to live in. You’ll just have to bide here awhile until I can do some repairs. Maybe next year – ”

  Mary bit her lip.

  She knew only too well that there was no way the farm would be in any better state in a twelve-month.

  She was already twenty-five, a confirmed spinster in most people’s book.

  “Don’t you want us to marry, George?”

  The young farmer turned and frowned at Mary, his hazel eyes bright with emotion under the thick thatch of his red hair.

  “You know I do! I love you, Mary. But I’m not a-sellin’ my land to that Earl and I ’ope he ’asn’t been puttin’ you up to talkin’ to me about it again. I’ve said my final word on it. That piece of land has been in my family for generations!”

  “But it’s worthless – except to the Earl,” declared Mary. “Two scrubby little fields which are under water for three months each year plus half an acre of woodland and a run down house. The Earl will surely offer you a good sum, far more than all that is worth!”

  George sighed.

  He loved Mary dearly, but she did not understand. It was a matter of principle and the land belonged to him. Money was no use to him, he needed a home and a job.

  In addition he knew he was angered by the fact that a man only a year older than he had so much privilege and wealth.

  And why? Just because he had been born in the castle and not in a ramshackle farmhouse.

  George had listened to several disturbing lectures recently by people who wanted to lessen the power of the upper classes.

  He felt confused by all he had been told, but knew in his heart of hearts that a lot of the old ways were wrong and should be changed.

  Mary watched him set off across the smooth snow- covered field and her heart went with him.

  Then she sighed.

  Her problems would have to wait.

  She must return quickly to the castle and the young lady lying ill upstairs in the Peacock bedroom.

  As she entered the warm kitchen, she was amazed to find Mr. Pardew, dressed in his overcoat and bowler hat heading for the door with a big suitcase in his hand.

  “Mr. Pardew? Where are you off to?”

  The butler glared at her.

  “I’ve just been a-given my marching orders, Miss Landrey. That’s what’s happened! After all the years of service I’ve given to this family. It’s a real disgrace, that’s what it is!”

  “You mean you’ve been given notice? But why?” asked Mary, although she had a good idea of the answer to that question.

  Even now she could smell stale drink on the man’s breath.

  “Not in so many words. But I have been accused of drinking all the Master’s brandy! Accused of being asleep when I should have been working. All lies, that’s what it is. I don’t think that young man is right in the head. So I’m not staying to be insulted like that.”

  “Mr. Pardew!”

  The butler pushed past her.

  “I told him so! ‘Grief has turned your mind’, I said. He told me to take a month’s notice. Well, I’d like to see who he’ll get to be butler up here in the wilds of nowhere. I won’t even stay and work out my notice! I’m off and he can manage with you and that useless valet of his, Fergus. Now I’ll bid you good day!”

  And he stormed out of the castle kitchen, banging the door loudly behind him.

  *

  The day slipped past, dull and dark.

  Jasmina slept, woke and sipped the nourishing soup Mrs. Rush provided and then slept again.

  Around seven in the evening, Mary dimmed the oil lamps in the bedroom and went downstairs for her supper.

  The click of the door latch closing behind her woke Jasmina from dreams of snow and clutching hands.

  But she was overjoyed to realise that she felt much stronger and wide-awake.

  She tried closing her eyes again, but now her strong constitution refused to allow another few hours’ slumber it did not need.

  ‘I cannot just lie here for another twenty-four hours pretending to be an invalid! I will go mad,’ she thought to herself.

  She pushed back the covers and pulled on a cream silk and lace dressing gown that had been laid on a chair next to her bed.

  Then she padded across to the window and peered out into the night.

  The moon was beginning to rise, gleaming on the snow-covered fields, hills and the moors rising up behind them, illuminating the countryside that would have been in total darkness without the blizzard.

  ‘What a beautiful place,’ sighed Jasmina. ‘Oh, how I long to explore outside, but I suppose the doctor has told all of them to make me stay indoors in case my health is damaged. What rubbish. I feel quite strong now.

  ‘Goodness, if I had a dollar for every time I fell off my horse back home in Missouri, I would now be a very rich girl!

  ‘Well, at least I can explore the castle and stretch my legs a little. As long as I don’t wander near the Earl’s study, then I am sure that will be acceptable. After all, as he said himself, this is an extremely large castle!’

  She hunted for some slippers, but could find none, so bare-footed she left her room and walked slowly along the corridor heading for the staircase.

  At the very top of the circular stairway, Jasmina hesitated.

  She was certain the Earl’s study would be on the ground floor, so perhaps it would be much safer for her to explore the first floor of the castle.

  She could see that the corridor heading towards the East Turret had now been barricaded to prevent some poor unfortunate servant girl from falling through the gaps in the banisters.

  Jasmina turned, walked past the door to the South Turret where her bedroom lay and
along the corridor that led to the West Turret.

  Halfway there she paused.

  A door was standing ajar and she could now see the flickering light from candles throwing shadows around the room.

  She pushed the door open and stopped with a little gasp of surprise.

  She was in a huge library where shelves contained books reaching up from floor to ceiling, the light gleaming off the gold lettering on the spines and jackets.

  ‘What an amazing place!’ whispered Jasmina as she glided over a large red Turkish carpet to inspect some of the treasures on oak shelves that had turned grey with age.

  Obviously someone had been using the library quite recently because a large leather-bound book had been left open on a small reading table.

  Jasmina picked it up, running her fingers over the fine leather cover.

  She glanced at the title – it was an academic work on the history of the Ottoman Empire – before replacing it carefully on the table once more.

  She pushed the lamp further away from the book.

  The flame was secure enough inside the glass, but with all the draughts and strange little currents of air that swirled round these ancient buildings, she knew you could not be too careful.

  A fire in such a huge library would be disastrous.

  Just as she was about to leave, her gaze fell on a piano in the corner of the room.

  ‘Heavens! I have never in my entire life seen such a beautiful thing.’

  She sat down on the piano stool and carefully lifted the heavily inlaid walnut piano lid.

  Reverentially she ran her fingers over the black and white keys, delighting to find that the instrument seemed to be perfectly tuned.

  Jasmina, like all American girls who had benefited from a good education, had learned to play the piano at an early age, but she had never been given the chance to try such a magnificent instrument.

  Now as her fingers drifted softly over the keys, she was amazed at the beautiful sound it made.

  ‘I wonder if the Earl plays. He did not strike me as the type of man who would have much time for music, but someone keeps this piano in tip-top shape.’

  She let her thoughts drift away, back to her home in the United States, their big house in St. Louis, the music room leading out onto the shaded veranda and her Mama pouring iced tea for neighbours, who sat on the cushioned swing gossiping.