Gift Of the Gods

by Barbara Cartland

  Then, as Madame rubbed the cream into her cheeks and powdered them, she asked,

  “How much is zat charlatan, Mrs. Lulworth, expecting me to pay for this? I am quite certain ’twill be somethin’ extraordinaire!”

  Alisa drew in her breath, but before she could speak, Madame Vestris went on,

  “I’m quite aware that if I use zem by tomorrow all London will follow my example, so really I should be paid for introducin’ a new fashion and not ’ave to put my ’and into my own pocket!”

  Alisa felt with a sudden stab of horror that if Madame refused to pay, Mrs. Lulworth would certainly not buy them from her.

  Then the drawling voice spoke up,

  “I suggest you leave that to me. As you are well aware, Lucy, I am quite prepared to be your Banker.”

  Madame Vestris laughed.

  “It would certainly be an original present and very much cheaper than a diamond bracelet!”

  “Is that what you want?”

  Madame Vestris shrugged her shoulders in a typically French gesture.

  “What woman ever has enough diamonds?” she asked softly.

  “I will not forget,” the gentleman said. “Now, regrettably, I must leave you, but tonight I will collect you after the show – and I promise you will not be disappointed with the party that has been arranged in your honour.”

  “In which case I must certainly use your latest present, my Lord.”

  The gentleman walked to the dressing table and Alisa was aware that he was tall and broad-shouldered.

  He was also extremely elegantly dressed and she appreciated the high polish on his Hessian boots and the intricate way in which his crisp white cravat was tied.

  She knew only too well how difficult it was to achieve such perfection, for she had helped her father with his cravats. He was always too impatient and kept saying, “that will do! That will do!” long before she was satisfied.

  She moved her eyes from the gentleman’s cravat to his face and she thought that he was extremely handsome if somewhat overpowering.

  Something in his firm features, strongly marked eyebrows and square chin made Alisa aware that he had a dominating character and perhaps even an aggressive one.

  At the same time she looked at him curiously, thinking that perhaps he was the type of gentleman whom Penelope might meet in London.

  Then she told herself that he was too old for Penelope and anyway she had no wish for her sister to be pursued by the type of men who were enamoured of actresses and opera singers.

  Although they lived very quietly in the country, reports of the excesses introduced by the Prince Regent had gradually percolated through to the village and they talked with bated breath of the Prince of Wales’s association with Mrs. Fitzherbert and then with Lady Jersey, who was followed in turn by Lady Hertford.

  They were only names to Alisa, but when she listened to the conversation of her father and some of his friends, they kept cropping up and Eloise and her mother, Mrs. Kingston, were always full of the latest gossip whenever they returned from a visit to London.

  The bucks and beaux, Alisa learnt, pursued pretty actresses and women whom no lady would condescend to know.

  Now, as the gentleman raised Madame Vestris’ hand to his lips, Alisa told herself that she would have to take great care that Penelope did not become involved in any way with rakes or the sort of men who would flirt with her without intending to offer marriage.

  “Until tonight,” the gentleman murmured.

  Then, looking at Alisa, he said,

  “Come with me, I will settle your account.”

  Alisa was just about to ask why she should go with him when there was a sudden loud knock on the door and a voice called,

  “On stage, madame!”

  Madame Vestris gave a little cry and, snatching up a plumed hat that was lying on a chair near some flowers, said,

  “Au revoir, my Lord, I look forward to – tonight.”

  She accentuated the last word and gave him what Alisa felt was a very intimate glance from under her mascaraed eyelashes.

  Then she was gone and they could hear her footsteps hurrying along the passage towards the stage.

  Alisa looked up and found that the gentleman was staring at her in a penetrating manner that made her feel shy.

  “As I imagine you have no carriage,” he said in the dry somewhat drawling manner in which apparently he always spoke, “I will convey you wherever you wish to go.”

  “There is no need,” Alisa said quickly. “I walked here – and I can walk back.”

  “From where?”

  “From Bond Street.”

  “As I live in Berkeley Square, we go in the same direction and I think that you will find my phaeton quicker than your feet.”

  It seemed rather foolish to protest and Alisa therefore said quietly,

  “Thank you.”

  She walked out through the door first and, as she did so, she was conscious that beside the gentleman’s elegant appearance she must look very shabby and insignificant.

  They reached the old man who was seated once more in his glass box and, as they passed him, Alisa thought that he smiled at her.

  “Thank you very much!” she said and then she and the gentleman went out through the door.

  Outside the stage door, which was in a side street, there was a magnificent pair of horses and a phaeton that was higher and more splendid than any vehicle Alisa had ever seen before in her life.

  Yellow and black, it seemed to shine like its owner’s Hessian boots.

  She stood staring first at the horses, then at the phaeton, until the gentleman said with a slight smile,

  “I am waiting to help you!”

  “I am sorry,” she said humbly and put her hand in his.

  He helped her up onto the seat and then went round to the other side to take the reins from his groom, who climbed into the small seat at the back behind the hood.

  As the horses moved away, Alisa thought that never again in her whole life would she drive in anything so smart and so impressive.

  ‘Penelope will be very envious!’ she thought.

  “I am interested to know what you are thinking,” a voice said beside her.

  “I was thinking how magnificent your horses are,” Alisa replied, “and your phaeton is finer than any vehicle I have ever seen!”

  She wondered if she should add that she had never before driven behind horses that wore a harness of real silver.

  “I am gratified by your appreciation,” the gentleman said, “but at the same time I am mortified that you have not referred to the driver of such a turn-out.”

  For a moment Alisa did not know what he meant.

  Then quickly, without thinking, she replied,

  “Mama always said it was very rude to make personal remarks.”

  The gentleman laughed.

  “You are not as demure as you appear.”

  “I hope not,” Alisa replied, thinking how shabby and nondescript she looked.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  For a moment she wondered if she should tell him the truth and then decided that there was no reason not to do so.

  “I had to come to London – alone and I had no wish to be – noticed.”

  There was just a little tremor on the last word, as she remembered the man who had tried to speak to her in Bond Street.

  “That was certainly wise,” the gentleman replied. “I gather you live in the country, where you make these miraculous products to sell to famous actresses.”

  He made it sound rather a dreary pursuit, Alisa thought, and she decided it would be a mistake to answer, so she merely looked ahead of her, holding her chin a little higher than she had done before.

  “I was just thinking,” the gentleman went on, “that, as I have to drive first to my house to write a cheque to pay you for your wares, perhaps you would like to join me for luncheon before you continue your sales or return to the country.”

  As
he finished speaking, Alisa was aware that she was in fact very hungry.

  She was quite certain that by now it was past noon, which was the hour Mrs. Brigstock usually gave them luncheon and it was a long time since she had eaten an egg for her breakfast.

  She had in fact been too excited and too afraid of missing the stagecoach to eat any more even if it had been provided.

  Now she was conscious of what was an emptiness inside her and the idea of luncheon of any sort seemed very attractive.

  “It is very kind of you to suggest it,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t – wish to be a – bother in any way.”

  “You will certainly not be that,” the gentleman answered. “And I imagine that you would not wish to spend much of the money I am paying you on food, which in London is quite expensive.”

  “No, indeed not!’ Alisa said quickly “The money is for – something very – special. But perhaps it would be – best for me to wait to eat until I arrive home. ”

  As she spoke, she thought that if she had to do that she would be ravenously hungry.

  But she had no idea where she could buy anything to eat and she was sure that her father would be very angry at the idea of her eating alone in a public place.

  “You will have luncheon with me,” the gentleman said firmly, “and you can tell me about yourself. I am interested in how you make your creams and why.”

  It flashed through Alisa’s mind that he might he thinking of buying some himself. Then she thought that a ridiculous idea.

  There was a great deal of traffic about and the gentleman did not speak again until they were driving down Albemarle Street.

  “Do you often come to London?” he then asked.

  Alisa shook her head.

  “I have not been here for two years,” she replied, “and there appear to be more carriages on the roads than there were then. But, of course, it is Coronation Year.”

  “That is undoubtedly the explanation,” the gentleman replied, “and at this rate of increase, the whole of the traffic in London will inevitably come to a standstill!”

  Alisa laughed, for it seemed a funny idea.

  Then the horses were drawn up outside a very large and impressive house at the end of the square.

  She remembered seeing it once before and thinking how attractive it looked.

  Over the front door was a portico supported by two pillars and the moment the horses came to a stop, footmen in powdered wigs laid down a red carpet so that Alisa stepped from the phaeton onto it.

  She waited until the gentleman had walked round from the other side of the phaeton to join her.

  Then they walked into a large cool hall in which there was an impressive staircase and a number of paintings in gilded frames.

  “We have a guest for luncheon, Dawkins,” the gentleman said to the butler, “and I expect the young lady would like to go upstairs.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  A gesture of the butler’s hand made a footman come to Alisa s side to say,

  “Will you please follow me, miss?”

  Obediently she went up the staircase, feeling that because the carpet was so thick and soft her feet sank into it.

  ‘This is an adventure!’ she thought. ‘I must notice and remember everything so that I can tell Penelope.’

  She was shown into a bedroom on the first floor that was more magnificent than any other room she had ever seen.

  There was brocade on the walls, a draped bed, fringed curtains and a dressing table with a muslin flounce trimmed with lace. She looked round wide- eyed until a housemaid came hurrying into the room.

  “I’ve come to ’elp you, miss,” she said.

  Alisa took off her cloak and then sat down at the pretty dressing table to remove her bonnet.

  There were gold-backed hairbrushes and a comb, also edged with gold, to tidy her hair with.

  She was glad that she had washed it only yesterday, so that its natural wave fell gracefully on each side of her face and she knew that while she might not look smart, she was certainly tidy.

  Her gown of deep blue seemed to accentuate the whiteness of her skin and she thought gratefully that it was that which had really sold the pots of cream first to Mrs. Lulworth and then to Madame Vestris.

  She remembered excitedly that both these women had said there would be a demand for more and she began to calculate how many pots she and Penelope could make before they went to stay with Aunt Harriet.

  She hoped that if Madame Vestris was pleased, Mrs. Lulworth would allow them at least one gown on credit and, although Penelope might say that two of them together were more impressive than one, Penelope must go to the first parties.

  Only when they could afford a second gown would she, Alisa, be able to join her sister.

  The housemaid was carrying across the room a shining brass can filled with hot water that somebody had handed through the door.

  Now she poured the water into a basin which Alisa noticed was made of very pretty flowered china with a ewer to match that stood in the corner.

  She washed her hands and face and felt fresher and free of the dust that had blown out behind the stagecoach in a huge cloud.

  Then, as she dried her hands, she said,

  “Thank you very much for helping me. When I go downstairs, will there be somebody to show me where I am to go?”

  “Yes, of course, miss,” the maid replied. “Mr. Dawkins, the butler, will be waiting for you.”

  She spoke as if for him to fail to do so would be a social error and Alisa smiled.

  She tried to remember all the things her mother had told her about grand houses and what happened when one stayed in them.

  She hoped she would not make a lot of mistakes when, as Penelope hoped and prayed, they were invited to parties of consequence.

  She wondered if the gentleman who was being so kind as to give her luncheon would be of any help, then once again she felt certain that he was not the type of person she would wish her sister to associate with.

  The butler, waiting at the foot of the stairs, led her without speaking to a door at the end of the hall.

  When she entered the room, Alisa saw that it was a library painted a deep shade of green and picked out in gold with books set into every wall.

  There was shelf after shelf of them and she could not help giving a little exclamation of excitement before she turned her eyes to her host, who was standing in front of the fireplace waiting for her.

  “What a beautiful library!” she said. “You are lucky to have – so many books!”

  There was a faint smile on his rather hard mouth before he replied,

  “It is a possession on which I do not usually receive many congratulations.”

  “Why not?” Alisa asked in surprise, as she moved towards him.

  “I find that few people have time to read and women are certainly not among them.”

  “How extraordinary!” Alisa exclaimed.

  She was genuinely surprised. Her father was always reading and so was she and in the library at home her mother had had a whole section where she kept her favourite books,

  “I suppose from that remark I must assume that you are a reader?” the gentleman asked.

  “But of course!” Alisa replied.

  “Before we express our opinions on this or any other subject, allow me offer you a glass of champagne or would you prefer Madeira?”

  Alisa hesitated.

  She was very tempted to accept champagne, which she had drunk only a few times in her life on special occasions, such as a birthday or Christmas, but then she remembered that she had eaten nothing for a long time.

  “I think,” she said after a little pause, “I should say ‘no’.”

  “Why?”

  His monosyllabic question, spoken in a dry, abrupt manner, was, Alisa felt, almost intimidating.

  “I had breakfast a long time ago.”

  “So you are being sensible. Is that something you invariably are? Or do you jus
t consider it advisable on this particular occasion?”

  Alisa considered the question for a moment.

  “I hope I am always sensible.”

  “Then, as this is the exception rather than the rule, I suggest I give you a very little champagne just to celebrate our first meeting.”

  Alisa thought it was rather a strange thing to say.

  At the same time, because he spoke so impersonally and in the same tone of voice he had used before, she thought it was just a manner of speaking rather than that they actually had anything to celebrate,

  He then took the champagne bottle from the gold ice bucket and poured her a small glass, which he handed to her.

  As she took it she said,

  “It may seem rather a belated question – but could you please – tell me – your name?”

  “I forgot that we had not introduced ourselves. I am the Earl of Keswick. Now please inform me who you are.”

  “I am Alisa Wyn – ”

  As she spoke, Alisa suddenly remembered that, if they were to be coming to London and, as Penelope hoped, be acclaimed for their beauty, it would be a great mistake for anybody to know how they had been able to buy their gowns, least of all this cynical and imperious man.

  “ – Winter,” she finished. “Alisa Winter.”

  “The name does not really suit you,” the Earl replied, “at least not the second part of it. But Alisa is charming and I don’t think that I have ever known anybody by that name before.”

  “It is Greek.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I have always known it. I imagine because my mother was very interested in Greek Mythology.”

  She thought that the Earl raised his eyebrows, but at that moment the butler announced,

  “Luncheon is served, my Lord.”

  Alisa took another sip of the champagne, then because she thought it wise not to drink any more, she put it down on a table.

  Then she walked ahead of the Earl and, as she stepped into the hall, she saw that the maid who had looked after her upstairs was putting her cloak and bonnet on a chair, together with the black bag that contained her pots.

  It made Alisa remember that she must not take too long over luncheon. She must give herself time to go back to Bond Street to tell Mrs. Lulworth what had occurred, and then she must hurry to the Two-Headed Swan in Islington.