The Ghost who Fell in Love

Chapter One-1

Chapter One“Demelza!”

Demelza raised her head from the book she was reading and listened.

“Demelza! Demelza!”

Hastily she jumped up and ran along the creaking boards of the picture gallery to the top of the stairs.

Below her in the hall was an extremely elegant figure, his handsome face upturned to hers, his head thrown back, his lips already forming her name again.

“Gerard!” she exclaimed. “I was not expecting you.”

“I know you were not, Demmy,” he said, using the childish nickname he had given her when he was only four years of age.

She ran down the stairs to throw her arms round her brother’s neck.

“Careful!” he said warningly. “Mind my cravat!”

“A new style! Oh, Gerard, it’s very smart!”

“That is what I thought,” he said complacently. “It is called ‘the Mathematical’.”

“It certainly looks difficult to achieve.”

“It is!” he agreed. “It took me hours and over a dozen muslins completely ruined.”

“Let me look at you,” Demelza asked.

She stood back to admire the dashing figure he made in his tight champagne-coloured pantaloons, close-fitting cut-away coat and elaborate waistcoat.

“Your new tailor does you proud,” she said at length, knowing he was waiting for her verdict, “but I am terrified at what the bill will be!”

“That is what I have come to talk to you about,” Sir Gerard Langston replied.

Demelza gave a little cry.

“Gerard! Not the duns?”

“It was almost as bad as that,” her brother replied. “But let us talk about it in the library and I could do with a drink. The crowds on the roads were ghastly.”

“I can imagine that,” Demelza said. “It is always the same before race week.”

The preparations for the Ascot Races always began well in advance of the meeting. The horses usually arrived first to be installed in numerous stables around the course.

Visitors from the provinces set out on the long journey many days, even weeks, before the date fixed for the meeting, while from London people began to move into the neighbourhood of Ascot during the week before the races actually took place.

As they entered the library, Gerard looked around him in a manner which surprised his sister, as if he was appraising the room.

Usually when he returned home it was either to collect his clothes which had been washed, ironed and mended by her and their old nurse or else, because his pockets were so empty, that he had for the moment to give up his expensive lodgings in Half Moon Street.

“What are you looking for?” Demelza asked at last.

Gerard’s eyes had wandered over the faded velvet curtains, the carpet that was threadbare in places and the armchairs that had needed recovering for the last ten years.

Worn and shabby the room might be, but it still had a dignity and a beauty about it which made her brother say at length with almost a sigh of relief,

“It’s not too bad and after all only parvenus and the new rich have everything too slap-up and ship-shape.”

“What are you talking about, dearest?” Demelza asked in her sweet voice.

“I have brought you some very exciting news,” Gerard replied. “Hold your breath because it will astonish you.” “What is it?” she asked a little apprehensively. “I have let the house for the whole of next week!”

There was a little pause before Demelza said incredulously,

“Let the house? What can you – mean?

“Exactly what I say,” Gerard said, throwing himself down on the sofa which creaked under his weight.

“But – why? What – for? To – whom?”

The questions tumbled out of Demelza’s lips and there was a marked silence before her brother answered,

“To the Earl of Trevarnon.”

He saw her eyes widen and added quickly, “Wait until you hear what he has offered me.”

“But why should he want to come – here?”

“That’s easy to answer,” Gerard replied. “The Crown and Feathers at Bracknell was burnt down the night before last.”

“Burnt down?” Demelza exclaimed. “How terrible! Was anybody hurt?”

“I have no idea,” her brother replied carelessly, “but Trevarnon had taken the whole inn for Race Week.”

“So now he has nowhere to go,” Demelza said slowly.

“He was desperate,” Gerard answered. “You know as well as I do that there is no room, nor even a bed, available in the whole district.”

Demelza knew this was true.

Unlike Epsom Races which could be easily reached in a day from London, Ascot Racecourse was nearly thirty miles from the capital.

Only a few Corinthians drove there daily at a speed which necessitated a change of horses. For most racegoers it meant a five-day visit, which resulted in the whole neighbourhood being packed to bursting.

If, as she and her brother knew, one was fortunate enough to be a guest at Windsor Castle or in one of the country houses for which astronomical rents were paid, there were no problems.

But otherwise it meant being crammed into the extremely uncomfortable local inns which charged exorbitantly for the privilege. In some cases a guest returning from the Heath found he was expected to sleep on a sofa or even roll up on a hearth rug.

Demelza could imagine without her brother telling her what a problem it would cause when one of the better inns like The Crown and Feathers at Bracknell was burnt down on the Friday before Race Week.

Gerard was telling her what had occurred.

“We were drinking in White’s Club yesterday evening, when Trevarnon learnt the news and asked,

‘What the devil can I do?’

“No one answered, and he went on,

‘I have five horses entered for the meeting, one of them being Crusader! They are already on their way to Bracknell’.” “Crusader?” Demelza repeated almost under her breath.

It was the horse she had been looking forward to seeing, for it had won a number of races already and every newspaper had published eulogies about its appearance and its pace.

“Exactly – Crusader!” her brother repeated, “and I stand to lose a packet if he does not run!”

“Oh, Gerard, how could you?” Demelza cried. “You know that you promised me you would not bet until you had paid off some of the bills you owe.”

“But Crusader is a certainty!” Gerard answered. “The Earl himself has wagered a fortune on him.”

“The Earl can afford to,” Demelza said quietly.

“And so can I, now that I have let the house.”

“You mean,” Demelza asked, “that you are really allowing the Earl of Trevarnon and his party to come here?” “That is what I am trying to tell you, Demmy,” her brother replied. “Don’t be a nitwit about it. He is paying through the nose for the privilege and God knows we need it!”

“How much?”

There was a little tremor on the words.

“One thousand guineas!”

There was an unmistakable note of elation in Gerard’s voice, but his sister stared at him as if she could not have heard him aright.

“One thousand guineas?” she repeated after a moment. It is – impossible! You cannot – mean it!”

“I tell you he was desperate,” Gerard answered. “The Coffee Room was crowded, and he looked around as if it had struck him that somebody present might have a house in the neighbourhood. Then his eyes fell on me.

“‘I seem to remember, Langston, that you live near Ascot,’ he said slowly.

‘That is true, my Lord,’ I replied.

‘And is your house fully occupied?’

‘No, my Lord,’ I answered, ‘but I don’t think it would be suitable for your requirements.’

‘Anything with a roof would be suitable in the circumstances and I presume you have stables?’

‘Yes, there are stables,’ I replied.

‘For how many?’”

Gerard Langston threw out his hands.

“I told the truth, Demelza. What else could I do?”

“Go on with the story,” his sister pleaded.

“‘About forty, my Lord,’ I replied and the Earl walked across the room and drew me aside.

‘Have you any particular objection to me as a tenant?’ he enquired.

‘Certainly not, my Lord!’

‘Then why so much hesitation?’

‘The house is old and, as I am seldom at home, there are few servants.’

‘That is of little consequence,’ the Earl replied. ‘I will bring my own chef, my butler, and any number of footmen that are required.’

I said nothing and after a moment he said,

‘Would one thousand guineas be acceptable to you as rent for the week?’”

Gerard paused as if he was remembering how his own breath had been taken away at the magnificence of the sum. Then before his sister could speak he said,

“It is all settled and he is arriving with his party tomorrow. The horses should be here later this evening.”

“But, Gerard, how can we cope? There is only Nattie and old Betsy to do everything!”

“If he is uncomfortable the Earl has no one to blame but himself,” Gerard said airily, “and one thousand guineas, Demelza, think of it!”

He glanced at her a little uncomfortably as he added,

“I was just on the point of coming home and spending the rest of the summer here.”

That meant, his sister knew, that he was completely broke.

No one knew better than she did that it would have been impossible for him to refuse such a generous offer, even though she could see innumerable difficulties ahead.

Langston Manor had been in the Langston family since the reign of Henry VIII and the Dissolution of the Monasteries.

It had been added to and altered during the years, but it had still kept its gabled roof, its twisting chimneys, its diamond-paned windows and its air of mystery and otherworldliness that Demelza attributed to the fact that it had originally housed dedicated Cistercian monks.

The fortunes of the Langstons had fluctuated down the centuries – some members of the family had been immensely rich and Statesmen of great power and prestige, others had been spendthrifts who frittered away the family fortune.

Their father and grandfather both had belonged to the latter category and Gerard in fact had inherited little but the house and a few acres of woodland.

He of course wished to live most of his time in London and associate with the bucks and beaux who had made themselves notorious during the Regency.

They were still the core of the sporting world which centred around the newly crowned King George IV.

If Gerard enjoyed himself in London, Demelza was forced to live very quietly at home.

She had never known any other life, so she did not miss the Society whirl to which she would have been entitled had her mother been alive and had there been any money.

She was in fact perfectly content, helping their old nurse keep the house in order, tending the garden and spending much time in reading.

Her real happiness was that she could ride her brother’s horses which fortunately, he could not afford to stable in London.

He had one racehorse, Firebird, on which he built great hopes. He had left him to be trained by his sister and the old groom, Abbot, who, had been at The Manor since they were children.

It was Abbot who had insisted they should enter Firebird in one race at Ascot to be ridden by his grandson Jem Abbot.

Jem had grown up at The Manor and was just beginning to be noticed amongst the younger jockeys who looked for mounts at every well-known race meeting.

It was from Jem that Demelza had heard of the unrivalled appearance and outstanding performances of Crusader, but it was from her brother that she had heard of the Earl of Trevarnon.

“All you have to do now,” Gerard was saying, “is to leave things as tidy as you can, get in as much help as possible and find somewhere to stay.”

“Find – somewhere to – stay?” Demelza repeated in astonishment.

“You can hardly remain here,” he answered. “It is a bachelor party, and anyway, as I have told you often enough, Trevarnon is a man’s man. I admire him, but I certainly would not let him come in contact with my sister!”

“But – Gerard – where can I go?”

“There must be somewhere,” he replied rather carelessly.

“But if I go away it will be quite impossible for Nattie and Betsy to manage, and old Jacobs will forget to bring in the coal for the kitchen and clean the floors. He gets more senile every day.”

“You cannot stay here and that’s the end of it!”

The way Gerard spoke told his sister that he was thinking of the Earl.

“Can he really be so wicked?” she asked.

There was no need for her to explain of whom she was speaking.

“He is the devil himself where women are concerned,” her brother replied. “I have never known a man who can ride better, has more knowledge of horses, is a finer shot and a sportsman in every possible way – except one.”

“You have spoken of him before. I have often thought he was not a – good companion for – you,” Demelza said gently.

“Companion!” Gerard exclaimed. “I can hardly aspire to that! He counts few people as his really intimate friends. He is pleasant to me, includes me in his parties and I admire him – of course I admire him. He outshines every other Corinthian who was ever born, but God, when it comes to women – !”