The Westerby Sisters (Changing Fortunes Series)

by M C Beaton

  "We shall sit here in the sun for a few moments," said the Duke, "until your stockings are dry."

  Betty nodded dumbly and went to spread her silk stockings on a bush. Then she sat down in the sun as far away from the Duke as she could and leaned her weary back against the trunk of a tree.

  She kept her eyes politely averted from the half-naked Duke and tried to think of something else, anything else. She hoped Simon was not worried about her. What on earth did the other guests think when they saw them ridding off in that dramatic manner. What . . . ?

  Betty fell neatly and instantly asleep, like a young cat.

  When she awoke, the sun was very low in the sky. "You should not have let me sleep so long," began Betty and then exclaimed in surprise. "Your hair!"

  "What is up with my hair?" said the Duke, pulling on his coat and looking moodily down at the mud stains.

  "It's red," said Betty.

  "Obviously," said the Duke testily.

  "It's very red."

  "Are you going to gabble on about the colour of my hair all night?"

  Betty flushed and went to fetch her stockings and put them on.

  The Duke's hair, free of powder and dried in the sun, was indeed a startling fiery red. It curled down his back to the middle of his shoulders. His face free of paint had a slight tan and he looked somehow slightly more human, Betty decided.

  The Duke took the black silk ribbon of his solitaire and tied his hair back neatly at the nape of his neck.

  Betty groaned as they set out on the road again. Her feet seemed more sore than ever. She felt sympathy for the horse who patiently limped behind them. "A cast shoe should not cause the horse to limp so," she said to the Duke who was striding on ahead.

  "He has no doubt got a stone lodged in his hoof," said the Duke. "Can you walk any faster? The light is failing."

  Betty walked as quickly as she could. Her feet throbbed and burned in their thin silk slippers. A light wind had sprung up and the Duke's hair burned like fire in the last rays of the setting sun.

  "Are you Scotch?" asked Betty, breaking the silence.

  "My mother was," he said, glancing at her in surprise. "I inherited her hair," he added with a smile as he realised the reason for the question.

  Again they moved along in silence until the creaking of chains heralded the nearness of the gibbet. Betty averted her eyes from the swinging, rotting bodies.

  "Turn left, the man said," commented the Duke. "Ah, here is the road. Do not stumble. Concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. You are not nearly so tired as you believe."

  "My shoes are not made for walking," said Betty. "The soles are nearly worn through."

  "We shall soon be there," said the Duke callously. "I am anxious to have this poor horse rubbed down, watered and fed."

  "Is your sympathy all for the horse? Have you none for me?" demanded Betty angrily.

  "You will live," said the Duke indifferently. "But this animal is not mine. It is a valuable beast and I must return it to its owner in proper condition."

  "Mayhap you might be interested in returning me to my family in proper condition?"

  "I have no interest in altering your . . . er . . . condition," he mocked. "Unless, like your sister, your condition has already been altered by some enterprising gentleman."

  Betty swung her closed fist and struck him a stinging blow on the cheek and then burst into tears.

  "I am sorry," he said with great and obvious effort. "I should not have said that. But do not strike me again, madam, or I shall not be answerable for my actions."

  A pheasant, startled by their voices, rocketed up from the long grass at the side of the road and Betty, her nerves already overset, gave a cry and threw herself into the Duke's arms.

  "A bird, that is all," he said in a gentle voice, holding her to him. "Come, do not cry any more. There is another turning up ahead." He tilted her tear-stained face up to his, overcome with a longing to kiss her. But he kept a firm rein on his emotions. He was not going to become embroiled in such a disgraceful family or with a female who seemed to have a talent for making him appear ridiculous.

  Only look at his present position. Nonetheless, he put a strong arm about her waist and Betty, feeling too weak to resist him, allowed herself to be led along the road which was beginning to gleam chalky white in the gathering gloom.

  An owl hooted mournfully from the blackness of the trees and swallows screeched overhead, swooping and diving against the purple sky.

  They turned right and there were the gateposts, mossy and crumbling, each surmounted by a griffin holding a worn coat of arms.

  The drive was more like a dry river bed than a road. A great tangle of undergrowth and trees shut out the sky. Long grass sprouted in the middle of the drive and, with a sinking heart, the Duke began to think that the Earl of Hudleigh was dead and his home abandoned.

  The drive seemed to go on forever and Betty was about to cry out that she could not go on farther when they rounded a bend and there was the Earl of Hudleigh's home in front of them.

  It was a mock castle, a Gothic revival, turreted and pinnacled and battlemented and arrow-slitted, all black against the rising moon.

  To the Duke's relief, the faint flickering light of a candle shone from one of the upper rooms. He tethered the horse to a tree after taking his arm from around Betty's waist. He then stood and looked up at the great pile, his hands on his hips.

  "Hallo!" he called. "Anyone at home?"

  His voice echoed away among the quiet woods. There was a long silence. Betty gave a weary little sigh and sat down on the top step.

  The Duke gave a muttered exclamation of impatience and went forward and seized a bell pull beside the door and rang it vigorously.

  There was another long silence after the echoes of the bell had died away and then above their heads a casement window opened and a head attired in a greasy nightcap came poking out.

  "There ain't no use of you a-ringing and a-shouting, my lord," quavered an elderly voice. "Back to your grave where you belong. I ain't a-coming down."

  Betty looked at the Duke in amazement,

  "We are two wayfarers in need of a roof over our heads for the night," shouted the Duke. "My name is Collingham. Where is the earl?"

  "Should be in his grave," said the voice.

  "He's dead!" exclaimed the Duke.

  "Dead these past ten year but he do roam about."

  "I don't know who you are or what you are talking about," shouted the Duke. "Do let us in."

  "Oh, very well," said the voice unexpectedly and the head withdrew.

  There was a long silence and then the rattle of many bolts being drawn back. A small old man stood on the doostep holding up a lantern. His hair under his nightcap was long and unkempt. He wore a long, gray, flannel night shirt and a dressing gown. His eyes were bright and innocent, like the eyes of a child.

  He held the lantern as high as he could and surveyed his visitors. Then, "Come in, come along," he quavered. "I must bar the door or he might decide to come in as well. Won't stay in his grave, that's the problem."

  "I gather the earl haunts you," said the Duke testily.

  "That he does," answered the old man solemnly, leading the way into the blackness of a cold hall where tattered banners floated high above their heads in the gloom. He pushed open the door of a room and ushered them in and then scurried about lighting candles. Family portraits seemed to spring to life against the walls, their painted eyes staring down curiously at the intruders.

  "Who are you?" asked the Duke, stooping to light the fire by thrusting a lighted candle into the hearth.

  "I'm Bertram Russell, your honour."

  "Russell?" said the Duke, turning around from the leaping flames of the now crackling fire. "You must be related to the Hudleighs."

  "A second cousin, as it were," said Mr. Russell gloomily. "My mother married beneath her and the Hudleighs didn't have no truck with us. But when the old earl died, there was no on
e left. I don't inherit the title cause that only goes to a direct heir which there ain't. So here I am, left in charge of this mort great place and that there ghost wandering around."

  Betty stared around at the leaping shadows and shivered.

  "Living alone here is enough to make anyone fancy they see ghosts," said the Duke bracingly. "Now, Mr. Russell, perhaps you have a groom who can attend to my horse . . .?"

  "No servants," said Mr. Russell, cracking his knuckles. "But there's stables and you're welcome to what you can find."

  "Can you at least supply us with some refreshment?"

  "I got a bite o' victuals in the kitchen," said Mr. Russell. "Help yourselves." He picked up a candle and headed for the door.

  "My dear man," said the Duke crossly, "you are surely not going to leave us alone to fend for ourselves?"

  "I'm going to my bed and I'm a-staying there till dawn," said Mr. Russell, "when the earl don't walk."

  "Oh, for Heaven's sake!" burst out the Duke, but Mr. Russell had neatly edged around the door and was gone.

  "You must wait here," said the Duke to Betty. "It appears I must see to that animal myself."

  "Oh, no," shuddered Betty. "I'm coming with you."

  "As you will," he said indifferently.

  Picking up the lantern which Mr. Russell had abandoned, he led the way back outside, Betty keeping close beside him and peering fearfully into the darkness of every bush as if expecting to see the ghost of the earl rattling his chains.

  They found the stables a little way from the house, the white face of the stable clock set permanently at twelve o'clock. Attached to the rectangular block of the stables was a small forge. The Duke led the horse toward it. He appeared to have forgotten completely about Betty as he set about kindling the forge, plying the bellows and hunting along the various rusty horseshoes on the wall until he found the right size.

  Warmed by the roar of the fire, Betty would have fallen asleep were she not so hungry. So instead, she sat on a musty bale of hay and watched the Duke competently shoeing the horse.

  "I am surprised you are able to do that," she ventured at last, watching the play of firelight on the Duke's hair as he bent over the horse's hoof.

  "My father," he mumbled through the nails which he held in his mouth, "he thought I should learn to do everything my servants did. I cursed him for it at the time, but it appears to come in useful, after all. Odd's Fish!" he said with a sudden, charming smile after he had driven home the last nail. "I feel quite proud of myself." And Betty, who had been feeling quite proud of him, all at once thought sourly that he sounded a trifle vain. Furthermore, he was downright inconsiderate, for it appeared that the animal still had to be rubbed down and watered and fed before the humans could see to their own comforts. But anger and self-pity managed to keep her awake—as well as hunger—and when they were finally walking toward the house all these churning, mixed feelings had the effect of banishing any fear of the earl's ghost.

  "Now to find some food—and the kitchens," said the Duke. Betty stumbled in the dark and he put an arm round her waist, supporting her, and saying with sudden quick sympathy, "Poor Lady Betty. You must be exhausted. You have behaved with great fortitude. We shall soon have you comfortable." And Betty felt the prick of tears behind her eyelids at the unexpected warmth in his voice.

  After blundering about the darkness of the hall, they found a door which led down to the kitchens. Betty surveyed the great, cavernous room with dismay, but the Duke observed that Mr. Russell must have a girl to clean for him, for the kitchen was tolerably clean. He foraged in the pantry and produced a side of ham and half a dozen eggs and a quarter of a loaf and several dusty bottles of wine. Then he sank down in a chair and smiled at her wearily. "Now it is your turn, Lady Betty," he said. "The kitchen is a woman's domain."

  Betty looked around, irresolute. In the old days, her mother had done all the cooking and after they had moved to Eppington Chase there had been enough servants to see to their every need. Betty realized she had never been inside the kitchens at Eppington Chase. Still, ham only needed to be cut, bread sliced and eggs fried. She attempted to light the kitchen fire by piling kindling on top of the dead ash and then tried again as the fire kept fizzling out.

  "Oh, sit down," said the Duke, getting to his feet.

  Feeling useless, Betty watched him as he raked out the old ashes and reset the fire and lit it. Then he hung a large pan on the idleback and swung it over the flames, put a little butter in it, and then cracked the eggs into the pan. With deft, economical movements, he set the kitchen table with plates and knives and forks and opened a bottle of the wine.

  "Eat," he said, shoveling eggs onto a plate, "and you will feel better."

  Betty did as she was bid and drank several glasses of wine which went immediately to her head, as she was so very tired.

  She smiled sleepily at the Duke. "You would make someone a good wife," she said.

  His eyes were suddenly hooded and she could not read the expression in them. Without replying, he rose to his feet and picked up a wooden bucket and went out to the pump. After some minutes he returned with it full and filled a large black iron pot and hung it over the fire.

  "Washing water," he said, and then sat down again at the kitchen table and refilled his glass, a crease of worry between his brows.

  "What ails you, sir?" asked Betty.

  "You."

  "What . . .?" began Betty, when there came a horrendous rattling of chains from the hall above and then Mr. Russell's old voice, sharp with fury, "Get out! Out! Out!" There was a further rattling of chains and then Mr. Russell's voice changed to pleading, "Do go on, sir. Do go on. Can't a body get a bit of sleep? Shooo."

  There was the sound of the hall door slamming and then the shuffling sound of Mr. Russell's slippers as he ascended once more to his bedchamber.

  Betty's face was as white as paper. "Saints preserve us!" she said in a trembling voice.

  "This is utterly ridiculous," said the Duke. "If we sit here much longer, we shall become as mad as old Russell."

  "But the chains, the clanking chains," wailed Betty. "You heard them."

  "I'm tired," snapped the Duke, "and ghost, if ghost there be, is none of my kin. Let us find a bed and we shall wash in the morning."

  "I'm not going up there," squeaked Betty.

  "Then stay," said the Duke, making for the door. But the thought of staying down in the kitchen alone was even more alarming and Betty ran after him. Hanging onto his arm and pressing as close to his tall figure as she could, Betty crept up the stone stairs, the Duke holding a branch of candles.

  But no awful phantom appeared to stop their progress across the hall or up the stairs to the upper chambers. "This place must be very old," whispered Betty.

  "No," replied the Duke. "It was built about thirty years ago, as I remember. It is a folly." He pushed open door after door until he found a bedchamber with a great fourposter bed. The hangings were musty but there were blankets on the bed and in a linen chest the Duke found sheets.

  "I trust you can make your own bed, Lady Betty," he said dryly. "I feel I have played housekeeper enough for one night. I shall find a bedchamber quite near."

  Betty nodded dumbly.

  He hesitated, looking at her in a strange way, and then he said quite abruptly, "Lady Betty, will you do me the very great honour of giving me your hand in marriage?"

  Betty stared at him in a dazed way as slowly his words sank into her brain. She was all at once engulfed with a feeling of intense happiness. He loved her after all. She swept him a low curtsy, smiling up at him. "With all my heart, my lord Duke," she said.

  She arose and waited shyly for him to take her in his arms, but he only gave her a curt little nod and turned on his heel and left the room.

  A thousand ghostly earls and their chains could have paraded through the bedroom without disturbing Betty. She was bathed in a great glow of love, immune to the troubles of this world or the next.

  D
reamily she put the sheets on the bed and then pulled off her muddy and stained clothes. She removed the twisted ropes of pearls from her hair and drew out the bone pegs which held her hair atop her head. Then she fell into bed, her last waking thoughts about the Duke. He was not stuffy and proud. He was merely a man deeply in love. She could not wait to tell Hester. . . .

  She awoke late the next morning and lay there for several seconds, wondering at her feeling of gladness, of excitement, of anticipation. And then she remembered. He loved her and he wanted to marry her. Two cans of warm water were standing on a washstand in the corner of the room and she saw that some attempt had been made to clean her dress. She smiled and thought she must learn more of the arts of housewifery if she were to compete with her enterprising future husband!

  Betty climbed down from the high bed and hurriedly washed and donned her clothes. She ran lightly downstairs and hesitated in the hall which was now flooded with sunlight. There was a faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen and she tripped lightly down the back stairs to find her love moodily brewing tea.

  He gave her a curt nod, said, "Eggs again, I am afraid," and clattered busily among the pots.

  Betty surveyed his broad back with dismay. There had been nothing of the lover in his greeting. Perhaps she had dreamt the whole thing.

  Breakfast was a miserable, silent affair, the Duke exuding an air of cold preoccupation to damp even the liveliest spirits.

  At last she said, "I cannot find mine host, but I do recall a posting house a few miles from here where I am known. We may partake of something more edible there and I shall send to Town for my servants."

  All Betty's natural timidity came rushing back. He looked so stern, so . . . well, accusing.

  There was no sign of Mr. Russell as they left the castle and the Duke saddled up the horse in the stables. As they clattered down the castle drive, Betty sitting up in front of the Duke, something made her twist her head and look back. She let out a cry of alarm. "There is a tall, dark figure watching us from the battlements!"

  The Duke refused to turn his head. "Then it must be Mr. Russell," he said in a flat voice. "If you remember, the ghost does not walk after dawn."