The Goddess and the Gaiety Girl

Chapter One-1

Chapter OneThe 4th Duke of Tregaron, Murdoch Proteus Edmond Garon, was dying.

The huge Castle was quiet, the servants moved about on tiptoe, and everywhere there was that telltale hush which is the prelude to death.

“‘E be a long time ‘bout it,” one footman said to another as they waited in the great Gothic hall for the carriages that kept arriving.

“It be them doctors,” the flunkey replied. “If ye be poor they polishes ye off quick, if ye be rich they keep ye breathing as long as they can get their fat fees.”

The first footman stifled a laugh, and then lapsed into silence as the butler, grey-haired and pontifical, came walking towards the front door.

He must have seen a carriage coming down the long drive bordered by ancient oak trees.

Two footmen hurried down the stone steps to the carriage door and their place was taken by two others, all wearing the claret and gold Garon livery, and powdered wigs.

Waiting at the front door, the butler watched the Dowager Marchioness of Humber step out of the carriage. Whilst keeping his face impassive as befitted his position in the household, he could not help thinking that it was not surprising that the Duke, after the dissolute and debauched life he had lived, should die at the comparatively early age of fifty-eight.

The Dowager walked slowly and with dignity, because she was a very regal woman, up the steps and into the hall.

“Good afternoon, Dawson!”

“Good afternoon, my Lady,” the Butler replied with a bow. “It’s a sad day for us all as your Ladyship knows.”

“I will go to His Grace immediately,” the Dowager replied. “There is no need for you to accompany me, Dawson. I presume Mr. Justin has been sent for?”

“Yes, my Lady. I understand a Courier left for France yesterday morning.”

“France!”

It was not a question but an exclamation and the Dowager Marchioness pursed her lips in a disapproving manner as she slowly climbed the grand staircase with its rich carving of stone work interspersed with heraldic beasts each holding a shield.

Upstairs in the huge bedroom which had once been the sleeping chamber of Kings, the 4th Duke lay with closed eyes and paying no attention to the husky voice of his private Chaplain praying beside him.

On the opposite side of the bed the Duke’s sister Lady Alice Garon who was unmarried, sat on a chair.

She was unable to go down on her knees because of her arthritis, and anyway she thought somewhat cynically, neither her brother nor God were likely to appreciate the gesture.

Three doctors stood somewhat awkwardly at the far end of the room talking amongst themselves in whispers. They had done their best to prolong the life of their patient, but they had known when he developed pneumonia that nothing, and certainly not their somewhat limited skills, would be able to save him.

The door opened and the Dowager Marchioness came in, moving like a ship in full sail.

She walked to her brother’s bedside and the Chaplain rose at her approach to melt quietly into the shadows.

The Dowager bent over the bed and laid her hand on her brother’s.

“Can you hear me, Murdoch?” she enquired.

The Duke very slowly opened his eyes.

“I am here,” the Dowager said, “and I am glad you are still alive!”

A faintly mocking smile twisted the Duke’s thin lips.

“You – always wanted – to be – in at the – kill – Muriel!”

The Dowager Marchioness stiffened almost as if she resented the accusation.

Then before she could reply the Duke said in a voice which sounded as if he was gasping for breath

“Where – is – Justin?”

“I understand they sent for him yesterday,” the Dowager answered. “I think it is extremely remiss that it was not done sooner.”

She looked directly at her sister on the other side of the bed as she spoke and it was obvious that Lady Alice would have retorted if the Duke had not continued still between exhausted gasps,

“He will – make a better – Duke than – I have.”

The last word was lost in a frightening rattle that seemed to come from the base of his throat.

The doctors moved quickly forward but as they reached the bed they knew that the 4th Duke would not speak again –

*

The sunshine was trying to percolate through the lace curtains covering a window that needed cleaning. As if the warmth of it disturbed the man sitting in an armchair with his feet outstretched, he looked towards the woman lying on a low couch, which could be converted into a sofa, to ask,

“It’s a warm day. Would you like some air?”

“I don’t mind,” the woman replied. “If you want to go out, you go.”

“I’m all right,” the man answered.

“It’s ghastly for you being cooped up in here. I know that, but, Harry, I’m so grateful.”

She put out her hand as she spoke and the man rose to sit down on the side of the couch holding her hand in his.

“You know I want to be with you, Katie,” he said, “and I only wish to God there was something I could do.”

The woman, who was little more than a girl, sighed.

“So do I, and at this time of the afternoon it’s agony not to be going down to the theatre. I keep thinking of them sitting in the new dressing room and putting on their pretty clothes. Oh, Harry, who’s wearing mine?”

It was a cry that seemed to come from her heart and Harry’s fingers tightened on hers as he said,

“Nobody. Hollingshead is keeping your place open for you. I told you that.”

It was a lie, but he spoke convincingly and saw the light come back into her eyes.

“We’ll know today, won’t we?” Katie asked. “Dr. Medwin felt sure he’d be able to tell us today.”

“Yes, that is what he said,” Harry agreed.

He was looking at Katie as she lay back against the pillow with her long red-gold hair streaming over her shoulders.

Although the sun was not directly on her, it appeared as if the gold of it illuminated her hair, making the red lights in it glow almost as if they were alive.

“What are you thinking about Harry?” Katie asked.

“I was thinking how lovely you look.”

“What’s the point of looking lovely when I’m stuck in here and unable to dance?”

Her voice was raw and as if he wished to change the subject Harry rose to pick up the newspaper on the floor by his chair, as he said,

“The Duke of Tregaron is dying.”

“I hope he rots in hell!”

“I would agree with you,” Harry said, “except that I think it will be a very comfortable hell with special devils to bring him champagne and caviar whenever he wants it.”

He thought Katie would smile, but instead she said,

“It isn’t fair that he should die in every comfort while I, at my age, have to lie here worrying what you are going to do when there’s nothing coming in at the end of the week.”

“I told you not to worry about it,” Harry said. “I’ll manage somehow.”

“But how?” Katie asked. “I’ve got to get back to work, you know that.”

“I know, I know!” Harry agreed. “But you can’t do anything until we hear what Dr. Medwin has to say.”

He glanced down at the newspaper and as if making another effort to divert Katie’s mind from herself, he said,

“Tell me about the Duke. I never asked you exactly what he did to you.”

“What do you think he did?” Katie retorted. “The dirty old devil! It makes me sick to think of him!”

“You must have been very young when you knew him. We’ve been together for four years.”

“It was six years ago when I first came to London,” Katie replied. “I was over the moon at getting a part at the Olympic Music Hall. Only in the chorus at first, but it was my hair which got me a solo.”

“What do you mean, your hair?”

“It happened at a rehearsal,” Katie answered. “I was dancing with the rest and putting a bit of spirit into it when my hair-pins fell out and my hair tumbled down.”

There was a faint smile on her lips as she went on,

“I was embarrassed, but I just carried on with the dance and when it was over I started to pick up my hair-pins. Then the Stage Manager says to me –‘You there! Leave your hair as it is and try doing those last steps solo!’”

There was a sudden lilt in Katie’s voice as she said,

“You can imagine I put some verve into that! Then every night I came on with my hair pinned up and when it tumbled down the audience loved it!”

For a moment Katie was back in the past, then without Harry saying anything, she continued,

“I must have been doing that dance for three weeks when one of the girls says to me, ‘There’s a reel toff in the stage-box tonight.’ Of course when I goes on, I looks to see what she means and I was disappointed.”

“I suppose it was the Duke,” Harry commented.

“I didn’t know that at first,” Katie said, “not until he sends his card round to ask me to have supper with him.”

“And you went?”

“Of course I went! The girls were all mad with envy at my eating with a real, live Duke!”

There was a note of triumph in her voice as she continued,

“'Why should he ask you?’ the leading lady says, ever so petulant, and the rest more or less echoed the same words.”

“I wouldn’t have been surprised,” Harry said.

Katie smiled at him before she went on,

“When I joins him at the stage-door I wasn’t over impressed. He seemed very old and there was something I didn’t like about him. But as I drove off in his carriage, I knew I was moving into a world I didn’t even know existed.”

“How old were you?”

“Just seventeen,” Katie replied, “and I knew nothing about people like him – why should I?”

“Why indeed?” Harry agreed.

“You’re a gentleman, you know how people like the Duke behave. To me it was all new – a carriage drawn by two horses, a footman on the box, the proprietor of the restaurant almost rupturing himself as he bowed so low, the best table, a spray of orchids for me, caviar and champagne which I’d never tasted before.”

“You must have drunk champagne!” Harry expostulated.

“Not the sort he brought me! That was something different from the fizz I’d been given in Stockport! And the food! I used to wish I could eat enough to last me for a week!”

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Nothing that night, and not for several weeks,” Katie answered. “‘I’m a good girl, Your Grace,’ I says to him when he told me what he wanted.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He tried to convince me by saying, ‘I can make you very happy and give you comforts you have never had before,’ and things like that.”

“But you were firm with him?” he replied, unable to suppress a slight smile at her passable imitation of the Duke’s languorous voice.

“If you mean I didn’t let him touch me, that’s true enough,” she said with spirit, “I didn’t want him to for one thing. He seemed old and repulsive, but I liked the flowers he gave me and the presents.”

“Good ones?”

“I thought so at the time, but when I came to sell them I found he hadn’t been all that generous. How was I to judge when before him nobody had given me anything more than an extra drink?”

“Go on,” Harry prompted.

“Well, the Duke asks me out, not every night, but about three times a week, and each time he became more persuasive and more insistent until I knew I would have to do what he wanted, which I had no intention of doing, or tell him to get knotted.”

“And which did you do?”

“I was trying to make up my mind, but it was difficult because the other girls were all so envious, telling me to string him along. But by this time I’d heard about his reputation.”

“I can imagine what you heard.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Katie said, “but when you’re young you’re very confident about your ability to handle anybody. So I wasn’t really frightened of him, even though we had a couple of struggles in his carriage.”

“He didn’t suggest taking you anywhere else?”

“Of course he did! ‘If you dine alone with me, we can be by ourselves,’ ” Katie mimicked before slipping back into a timid version of her own voice.

“‘Oh, no, Your Grace,’ I’d reply. ‘I want everybody to see how clever I am to be supping with anyone as important as you!’”

Harry laughed.

“Fortunately the private rooms in all the restaurants he patronised were upstairs,” Katie went on, “and I refused to put my foot on the first step. His Grace was angry and frustrated, but what could he do about it?”

“Then what happened?” Harry asked.

“I was had for a mug,” Katie said with a sigh, “I might have guessed I couldn’t keep him at arms’ length forever!”