“If you asks me, it’s a cryin’ shame! She’s too young!”
Isla slowed her step.
She wanted to go back to ask the housemaid what she meant, but, as the housekeeper was there, she doubted if she would tell her.
As she went down the stairs, she was puzzling over what she had heard and also about the young ladies who had worn the gown she was wearing in the past and been so rough with it.
It certainly seemed in perfect condition and she thought that perhaps the housekeeper was just exaggerating and disliked having to lend it to her.
Lord Polegate was waiting in the same room they had drunk champagne in when they arrived.
He was wearing evening dress, but he did not look as smart or as dashing as her father and she thought that it made him look even older than he did in the daytime.
He stood watching her as she came towards him.
When she reached him and dropped him a curtsey, he put out his hand to take hers, saying as he did so,
“That is how I wanted you to look and that is how you are going to look in the future.”
She made no comment and he went on,
“I have a surprise for you. We are not going to dine in the large dining room, but in the smaller one, which I use sometimes when I am alone. Come! I will show it to you.”
He slipped her hand through his arm and drew her away from the salon down a long passage at the end of which there was a small dining room.
Isla thought it far more comfortable and congenial than the one where they had eaten at luncheon. There was a small round table in the centre decorated with flowers and there were candles that lit the room.
There was something intimate and at the same time attractive about it.
It looked, she thought, rather like a stage-set she had seen in one of the plays her mother had taken her.
Lord Polegate insisted on her having a glass of champagne, but she did not really want it and he drank several glasses himself before they sat down at the table.
Dinner was brought in with only two servants instead of the four there had been at luncheon.
“Now, as I shall ring the bell between the courses, we can talk to each other,” Lord Polegate said. “It is impossible to talk with servants listening to every word.”
“What does it matter if they do hear what we say?” Isla asked.
“When I make love to you, I have no wish for an audience,” Lord Polegate replied.
She looked at him in surprise and, when she saw the expression in his eyes, she said quickly,
“That is – something you – must not – do!”
“Why not?”
“B-because – we have only just met – and – ”
She was about to say,
‘You are too old,’ and she then realised that it would seem rude.
Instead, she changed it to,
“You know – nothing about me.”
“I know everything I want to know,” Lord Polegate said. “You are not only the most beautiful person I have ever seen but also the most enchanting!”
His voice deepened as he went on,
“You have captivated me and I am going to make you very happy and very comfortable in the future.”
“I am very – happy with – Papa.”
“But your father is ill – in fact, he may be laid up for a long time, so naturally I have to look after you.”
It flashed through Isla’s mind that if her father was ill for a long time, there would be no money coming in.
Although the benefit might pay off a number of outstanding bills, there were still others and she had left herself only a few pounds for everyday expenses.
“We can talk about that later,” Lord Polegate said. “Now I want you to enjoy your dinner.”
It was an excellent meal, but Isla was beginning to feel frightened.
She was very innocent and unaware of the danger she was in.
At the same time she did not like the way Lord Polegate spoke to her or looked at her and she was becoming increasingly worried by his compliments.
When friends of her father’s had come to the house, they had paid her mother exaggerated compliments.
Yet they had not spoken to her in the same way as Lord Polegate did, nor did they look at her until she felt almost as if she must cover her breasts with her hands.
Because he had no wish to frighten her, he talked to her, as he had at luncheon, on other subjects.
Nevertheless, all the time she was aware that he was watching and appraising her.
She felt her fear growing so that it seemed to move through her body until it reached her throat.
When dinner was finished, Lord Polegate drank his glass of port and said,
“Now I have a surprise for you! I am sure it is something that is quite unique to this house, which you will never see anywhere else.”
“What is it?” Isla asked uncomfortably.
He rose from his seat and, going to the panelled wall beside him, he pressed his fingers against a piece of the carving.
To her astonishment, a panel flew open to reveal a small staircase twisting upwards.
“A secret staircase!” she exclaimed. “How exciting! I have often heard about them, especially in houses that belonged to the Royalists when they were fleeing from the Cromwellian troops.”
“This house was unfortunately not built in that period,” Lord Polegate replied. “This is a little innovation of my own. And now I want you to climb up and see what you will find at the top.”
Because she was interested and it was certainly better than listening to the strange compliments Lord Polegate paid her, Isla negotiated the narrow staircase.
He followed and, as she had the uncomfortable feeling that he might be looking at her ankles, she hurried.
At the top she found that there was another panelled door, which was open.
She slipped through it and found herself, to her astonishment, in her own bedroom.
It was the last thing she had expected and yet there was no mistaking the ornate furniture, the draped bed and the cupids round the mirror.
“Does that surprise you?” Lord Polegate asked behind her.
“It is – my bedroom.”
“Of course it is,” he answered. “Is it not clever of me to think of such an amusing way of going to bed?”
He had closed the secret panel behind him and he came towards her, saying,
“You must admit, Isla, I have been very patient, but now I want to kiss you and to teach you, my beautiful little Lady of the Picture, about love.”
As he spoke, Isla suddenly realised that this was what she might have anticipated and she had been very stupid.
She backed away from him, saying,
“No – please – you must not do that!”
“Why not?”
“Because, as I have already told you, we do not – know each – other.”
“I know everything I want to know and, as I find you the most fascinating person I have seen for a very long time, I cannot allow you to escape me!”
Isla gave a little cry and ran away from him to the other side of the bed.
“Please – ” she said, “you must not – look like that and you – should not be – here in my bedroom – I know that Papa would not – approve.”
“As your father is incapable of looking after you at the moment,” Lord Polegate answered, “you must allow me to take his place.”
There was silence while Isla stood with the bed between them as if it was a protection, her eyes on his face.
She did not quite understand what he intended, but she was frightened – very frightened.
“You have to trust me,” Lord Polegate said, “to look after you and it is something I shall enjoy doing.”
He walked a little nearer to her as he said,
“You shall have the most beautiful gowns that are obtainable. I shall cover you with jewels and you shall have your own carriage and the finest horses I can
buy. What is more, Isla, when I have finished teaching you about love, you will find it very enjoyable.”
“I-I don’t know what – you are saying,” Isla said desperately, “and I don’t – want these things – from you! I know it is – wrong of you to – offer them to me.”
“Wrong? It is never wrong for a woman to be dressed as befits her beauty or to be housed in a fitting frame.”
He sat down on the bed and leaned towards her as he said,
“I refuse to allow you to live in that pokey little house I collected you from. I have one in St. John’s Wood, which is infinitely preferable and where you shall have your own maids. Come along, Isla! Be sensible and realise what I am offering you!”
There was a little silence while with a courage which seemed to come from without rather than within her, because she was so afraid, she replied,
“I think what you are – offering me, my Lord, is – something wicked – and which would – shock Mama and Papa – if they knew about it.”
Lord Polegate’s lips twisted as if he was amused at what she had said before he replied,
“I think you have forgotten that if, as I suspect, your father is in debt, and what actor is not, and will not be working for some months, you will find it difficult to live without food.”
He had a smirk on his face as he continued,
“And, as he has kept you a secret for so long, I doubt if you have many friends.”
“I can – look after – myself,” Isla asserted bravely.
“I think that is very unlikely and anyway I intend to look after you!”
He rose from the bed and came slowly round to where she was standing on the other side of it.
“Now, be sensible, my dear.”
He put out his hands to catch hold of her and she gave a little scream of horror and pulled herself away from him.
He hung on to her bertha and she heard it tear as she ran to the other side of the room.
It was then, as if the mists that had covered her mind had cleared, she understood what the housekeeper had meant when she had told her that the gowns had been torn.
She knew that the stockings and the pink garters were what ‘his Lordship liked’.
She knew too why the housemaid had said that it was a ‘crying shame and she was too young’.
As it came into her mind, she wanted to scream and go on screaming.
Then, as he came slowly towards her, she realised, and it accentuated her horror, that he was enjoying her resistance.
He was stalking her as a man might stalk a wild animal, certain in his mind that his prey’ would not elude him.
He was in no hurry and there was a smile on his thick lips that told her he was very sure of victory and that she could not escape him.
She tried to scream, but now she felt that she must faint because it was impossible to breathe.
Then she told herself that she would not give in so easily. She must fight, fight him until she died of horror.
He had now come nearer and instinctively she backed towards the wall behind her.
As she did so, she pressed against something hard and realised that it was the doorknob.
She was trembling so violently that it was difficult to think and yet, as she stared at him and her eyes seemed to fill her face, he stopped.
“I want you, Isla!” he cried. “And I intend to have you! You may fight me, but I shall win!”
His voice seemed to ring out and then he said in a quiet almost hypnotic tone,
“Come to me, I will make you come to me. It would be a pity to spoil that very pretty gown.”
From the way he spoke, Isla was certain that it was something he had said before.
Now, facing him, with only a few feet between them, she thought frantically of what she could do and how she could save herself.
‘Help me – Mama! Help – me!’
She felt that her prayer was a desperate cry for help and, if it failed, she would have to go to him as he commanded.
Then in a voice that did not sound like her own, she said,
“Y-you make me – shy because you are – looking at me. Turn round – and perhaps I will – obey you.”
He gave a little laugh and it was the sound of a man who had attained his objective.
“Very well,” he agreed, “come to me of your own free will and you will never regret it.”
He turned round as he spoke and then, with the swiftness of a deer, Isla turned the handle of the door.
She had a moment of fear that it might be locked, but the key was on the inside and the door opened.
She slipped through it, slamming it behind her and then she started to run.
She raced down the stairs.
There were two footmen in the hall and by the greatest good fortune the front door was open, as two more footmen were rolling up the red carpet that had been laid on the steps.
She sped out through the door almost before they realised that she was there and then she was running down the drive quicker than she had ever run before.
She thought when she had gone a little way that she heard somebody shouting behind her, but she did not stop to look.
She only ran on, knowing that if she were recaptured now, there would be no hope of escaping again.
She was breathless by the time she reached the wrought-iron gates, which were half-open and sped through them out onto the road.
She had noticed when they had arrived from London that Lord Polegate’s entrance was on the main road and not in the village as she had half-expected.
Outside she looked from right to left and saw in the distance a carriage approaching drawn by two horses.
Without thinking, she ran towards it down the middle of the road.
Chapter Five
The Marquis of Longridge, driving home, heaved a sigh of relief that dinner was over.
It was, in fact, the most boring meal he had eaten for a long time, but he thought with satisfaction that he had achieved what he had set out to do.
He had known that the Lord Lieutenant, Lord Middleborough, intended to retire at the end of the summer.
He had been extremely apprehensive in case Lord Polegate was recommended for the position rather than himself.
As the owner of the largest acreage in the County and Head of a Family that dated back for five hundred years, he was the obvious successor to represent Her Majesty.
It was well known, however, that the Queen preferred Lord Lieutenants to be married men and if possible on the way to middle age.
The Marquis did not qualify in either of these respects, but he knew that if he had the support of the present Lord Lieutenant, who had been a great friend of his father’s, it would influence the Queen.
In any case Lord Polegate was unpopular in the County.
The Marquis had played his cards very carefully and, when the ladies had left the dining room, he had quickly led the conversation round to the Lord Lieutenant’s resignation.
“We shall miss you,” he said, “although I feel that the work involved has become too much for you.”
“That is true, my boy,” the Lord Lieutenant said, “and the Queen has most graciously expressed her regret that I can no longer carry on.”
There was a pause.
Then the Lord Lieutenant said,
“You know, Welby, that as I was so devoted to your father, I would like you to take my place.”
“I should be very honoured to do so, sir,” the Marquis said respectfully.
“The difficulty is,” the Lord Lieutenant went on, speaking very slowly, “that you are not yet married and the Queen is always afraid that younger men, especially those as handsome as yourself, might become involved in a scandal in one way or another.”
The Marquis drew in his breath. This was what he had expected.
“I know I can trust you,” he said in a low voice, “not to let this go any further, except at your discretion, to the Queen, but I am, in fact, hoping to be a mar
ried man sometime next year.”
The Lord Lieutenant started.
“I had no idea of this!”
“It has to be kept a close secret,” the Marquis said, “owing to mourning, so I know you will not speak of it unnecessarily.”
“I understand, my dear boy, of course I understand,” the Lord Lieutenant answered, “and this will make things very easy. I should have been extremely upset if that damned fellow Polegate had stepped into my shoes!”
“And so should I!” the Marquis said. “He is a bounder of the first water!”
“Nevertheless, he covers his tracks very cleverly,” the Lord Lieutenant said, “and, of course, he is married, although his wife, being a sensible woman, has as little to do with him as possible.”
He gave a short laugh, which made him cough before he added,
“He excuses her absence by saying that she suffers from ill-health, which I imagine is true enough, seeing that she is married to him!”
He laughed again and repeated some rather unpleasant rumours that were circulating about Lord Polegate’s behaviour.
The Marquis was barely listening.
It was now, as he was driving home, that he wondered where he was going to find a wife by the New Year.
By that time, if he had been appointed Lord Lieutenant, there was little anybody could do if he remained a bachelor.
At the same time he disliked lying on principle and in any case he was getting to an age when he knew that it was important for him to have an heir.
Moreover, if he was to take not only the Lord Lieutenant’s place but also other positions at Court, a wife could be useful.
Unfortunately he found it impossible to think of any woman who was unmarried and the right age.
This was not surprising, considering he spent his time with the sophisticated, witty and alluring beauties who had made London the envy of Europe.
There was no doubt that the parties given for and by the beauties were extremely enjoyable.
Unfortunately, however, the ladies in question were all married.
And the Marquis could not even think of a widow who would grace the end of his table and the family jewels.
‘Where will I find a suitable wife?’ he asked himself as the horses travelled swiftly through the dusk.
He thought he would be wise to tell his oldest sister of the problem when she next came to London.
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