The Glittering Lights (Bantam Series No. 12) (17 page)

She was not really afraid. She could hear the voices of the other guests as they crowded round the tables in the Gambling-Room, and she knew Lord Carwen would not risk her calling out or making a scene.

“Let me go!” she said firmly but quietly.

“I cannot credit you are serious in refusing my presents,” Lord Carwen answered making no motion to release her.

“You do not appear to listen to what I say.”

“You are entrancing! You attract me more than any woman I have seen for years. It is not only that enticing red hair of yours, but the curl of your lips, the way your eyes glint under those long dark lashes.”

“I do not wish you to say such things to me,” Cassandra said. “I am here as your guest and I must ask you to treat me with courtesy.”

Lord Carwen laughed.

“I have no desire to be courteous to you, Sandra. I want to make love to you; to kiss you; to awaken a response in that perfect little body of yours!”

He paused before he added:

“I cannot believe that anyone with hair the colour of yours would not be passionate in response to the desire you arouse in me.”

“Again you are mistaken,” Cassandra said, holding her chin high. “How can I make it clearer to Your Lordship? You simply do not attract me.”

“But you attract me!” Lord Carwen retorted. “And as far as I am concerned, that is all that matters!”

“I see I made a mistake in accepting your hospitality,” Cassandra said. “It would clearly be best if I asked His Grace to take me away tomorrow morning.”

“You fascinate me by the challenge in your voice,” Lord Carwen said, apparently quite unabashed. “You bewitch me with every word you say and every movement you make! You are adorable and very exciting, little Sandra!”

Once again Cassandra tried to free herself from the tight hold he had on her wrist.

“Shall I tell you something?” he asked.

She did not reply and he went on:

“Women always change their minds and I will make you change yours. I want you, Sandra, and I intend to have you! And let me tell you I am a very determined fighter.”

“Then I am afraid, My Lord, that on this occasion you have met your Waterloo!” Cassandra answered coolly.

She twisted her arm unexpectedly and was free. Without another word she turned her back on him and walked away across the room.

She knew he was watching her and heard him laugh very softly beneath his breath.

‘Why should I be frightened of him?’ she asked herself. ‘At the same time, I shall leave tomorrow morning.’

She found the Duke talking to Mr. De Veet in a corner of the Card-Room. They were both looking cross, Cassandra thought, and the Duke’s eyes lit up when he saw her.

She went to his side, resisting an impulse to hold on to him as if she needed his protection.

“I think it is time I went to bed.”

“I quite agree,” the Duke answered. “You have had a long day.” He turned towards Mr. De Veet.

“You must excuse me, De Veet. There is really no point in discussing it any further.”

“Let me try to persuade Your Grace,” Mr. De Veet answered in a guttural voice.

“It will be a waste of time!” the Duke said quietly.

He took Cassandra’s arm and led her towards the door into the Hall; but before they had reached it they encountered Mrs. Langtry.

“I have lost a lot of Freddy’s money,” she said to the Duke, “and so the sooner I retire, the better. I never was a good gambler!”

“I dislike gambling in private houses,” the Duke answered.

“I quite agree with you,” Freddy Gebhard said, “and we are both tired. It must be very late.”

The first move having been made, it appeared that most of the other people in the party were ready to do the same, and Cassandra walked up the stairs with Mrs. Langtry and most of the other ladies in the party.

It was impossible for her to have a last word with the Duke or even to say good-night to him with everyone listening.

She wanted to tell him how Lord Carwen had behaved, but there was no opportunity.

The same maid came to her room to undo her gown, and when she was alone she brushed her hair and finally was ready to get into bed.

It was then a thought struck her and she walked to the door to turn the key in the lock. But there was no key!

She stared in perplexity remembering distinctly that she had noticed the key before she went down to dinner because it had been gold.

Gold keys and gold locks to the door, she had thought, were ostentatiously opulent! She had never in fact seen them before in any house in which she had stayed.

Now the key had gone!

She looked around apprehensively and went into the Boudoir next door.

‘Perhaps,’ she thought hopefully, ‘the key for that door will fit the one in the bed-room.’

But once again there was no key!

Cassandra tried to tell herself:

‘I must have been mistaken in thinking I saw a key before dinner.’

Yet she knew she had definitely noticed it because it had been ornate and in rather an attractive design.

She looked around the bed-room. There were two upright chairs that appeared to be fairly substantial despite the fact that they were covered in pale blue damask, with their frames carved and gilded.

She placed the back of one of the chairs under the handle of the door which led to the corridor, the other against the door which led into the Boudoir.

She remembered her Nanny doing the same years ago because she had always been afraid of burglars. At the same time the chairs Nanny used had always been heavy and of solid wood.

Cassandra hoped that the gold frames of these chairs would be just as effective.

‘Anyway,’ she told herself, ‘I am being unduly apprehensive. I cannot believe that anyone would try to come into my room.’
With a sense of relief she remembered the Duke was not far away in ‘The Red Room” which she had seen on the plan she had examined with Lady McDonald.

He was sleeping just around the corner from the suite she occupied and she could, if necessary, reach him quite easily.

She got into bed and realised when she put her head down on the pillow that she was in fact very tired.

It had been difficult to sleep the night before because she had lain awake thinking about poor Nancy. The night before that it had been her thoughts of the Duke which had kept her awake until it was dawn.

Now she felt the soft warm waves of slumber creeping over her and in a very short while she was unconscious.

She awoke suddenly with a start, aware that some sound had awakened her.

She heard it again—a distinct knock on the door!

She sat up in bed. The fire had burned low but there was still enough light to see across the room and to realise that the door handle was being turned and only the chair was preventing the door from opening.

The door however did open a crack and she heard a voice say:

“Sandra, let me in!”

It was hardly more than a whisper and yet there was no need for her to guess who it was that spoke.

She felt as if she was unable to move. She could only sit staring at the crack in the door; seeing the chair shake as it withstood a violent assault upon it.

Then suddenly she was terrified!

She was sure that the chair might give way at any moment.

“Sandra, let me in! I wish to talk to you.”

There was no mistaking a command in the words, even though the voice was still kept low! Cassandra knew she must get away! She must escape while she still could!

It seemed to her that the crack was getting wider. She thought the legs of the chair might break or it might slither across the carpet and be no longer an effective obstacle.

She was hardly conscious of what she was doing, but driven by a fear that was like a sword piercing through her she sprang from the bed.

Running across the room, she pulled aside the chair that she had placed in front of the door into the Boudoir.

She slipped through it and then passing the unlocked door which led into the passage opened the outer door on the other side of the room.

She could see her way by the light of a fire burning low in the grate and beyond the Boudoir she found a Dressing-Room.

It was in darkness but she sped across it, being just able to discern a door facing the one by which she had entered. She realised that this opened not on to the main corridor but on to a side passage, and desperately she pulled it open.

Opposite she saw by the faint light of a gas-bracket “The Red Room.”

Without thinking, without knocking, she turned the handle and went in ...

The Duke had found his Valet waiting for him when he went upstairs to bed.

The man had been in his service for a long time; in fact he had been with the Alchester family since he was a boy.

“Your Grace’s early. I wasn’t expecting you for some hours,” he remarked as the Duke entered the bed-room.

“You need not have stayed up, Hawkins.”

“I always wait up for Your Grace.”

“You have had to put up with a lot of discomforts in the past year,” the Duke remarked, “but this need not be one of them.”

“I know m’duties, Your Grace!”

“And you have carried them out magnificently, despite the difficulties.”

“I’ve not minded that, Your Grace,” Hawkins said. “ ’Tis only we’ve all of us hated to see the house being run on a skeleton staff and the young ones having to leave the Estate.”

“I know,” the Duke said with a deep sigh, “but there was nothing I could do about it at the time.”

“And now, Your Grace?”

“Things may get better—I am not certain.”

“That’s just what I says to the others, Your Grace, when they grumbles,” Hawkins said. “ ‘Things’ll get better,’ I tell ‘em, ‘you mark my words. Master Varro won’t let us down’.”

“I wish I could be sure of that,” the Duke remarked in a strange tone.

He watched the Valet open a cupboard in the panelling and put his shoes inside. Then the man went to the large wardrobe and hung up his evening-jacket.

“Well, there’s money to burn in this place,” Hawkins remarked. “But it’s not a happy house, Your Grace.”

“Why not?” the Duke enquired.

“I’ve always said, Your Grace, for a house to be a home, it needs a lady to run it. From what I hears, Her Ladyship’s never here, and His Lordship fills the place with all sorts and kinds. Not that I intend to be disrespectful, if you take my meaning.”

“I take your meaning, Hawkins. You always were one to call a spade a spade!”

“Yes, indeed, Your Grace. At what time do you wish to be called?”

“At about eight o’clock,” the Duke replied.

“Very good, Your Grace,” Hawkins said. “Good-night to you.”

“Good-night, Hawkins.”

The Duke, wearing a long robe of heavy silk frogged with braid, picked up the
Times
which was lying on a side-table and sat down in an arm-chair by the fire.

He opened the newspaper but he did not in fact read it. Instead he laid it on his lap and sat staring into the flames.

He was thinking of what Hawkins had said. He knew the man was speaking the truth when he said that the employees at Alchester Park were relying on him to restore to them the comfort and security they had known all their lives.

No one resented more than the servants that the house was in a dilapidated state, repairs were not done, damp was coming in, and the whole place looked shabby and unkempt.

There had been a reason for Hawkins saying Lord Carwen’s house needed a mistress to look after it and his meaning had not escaped the Duke.

He sighed again, a deep sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his being.

Then, almost as if he forced himself away from his own thoughts, he opened the
Times
again to read the leading article.

He was almost half-way through it when the door opened.

He glanced up casually thinking that Hawkins must have returned and saw Cassandra!

She stood for a moment looking at him. Then hastily she shut the door behind her and he saw that her hands were trembling.

She wore only her night-gown which was of very fine lawn trimmed with lace.

It was the type of night-gown she had worn all her life, buttoned demurely to the neck, with a small flat collar, and long sleeves which ended in lace-trimmed frills that fell over her hands.

Her hair was loose and fell in red-gold waves over her shoulders. She looked very young, little more than a child, and her face was white with fear.

The Duke rose to his feet.

“What is it? What has upset you?” he asked.

He realised she was finding it difficult to reply.

“L ... Lord Carwen ... he is t ... trying ... to get into ... my b ... bed-room!” she stammered breathlessly.