Listen To Love

Chapter One ~ 1817-1

Chapter One ~ 1817“Anthea! Anthea!”

The name seemed to echo round the old house and Anthea, who was sorting out the sheets in the linen cupboard, started and realised with surprise that it was Harry calling her.

She put down the sheet she was holding in her hand, which, she thought regretfully was finished and there was nothing she could do about it.

Of a superfine linen it was beautifully embroidered with her father and mother’s monogram and edged with crocheted lace, but Harry had put his foot through it, as he had through so many other sheets, and she realised that it was past darning or patching.

“Anthea!”

Harry’s voice came again.

She thought this time that it had a distinctly urgent note in it.

She ran along the passage and, reaching the top of the ancient oak staircase, saw him standing in the hall looking, she thought, extremely handsome in his riding clothes.

But, as she hurried towards him, there was no doubt that there was a worried expression on his face, which meant, she knew, that something upsetting had happened.

“What is – it?” she asked, a little breathlessly as she reached him.

“Meldosio has hurt his hand and he cannot play tonight.”

“Oh, no!” Anthea exclaimed.

“It’s true,” Harry said. “What the devil am I to do? How can we find someone else?”

Anthea drew a deep breath and suggested,

“Come into the drawing room and I will get you a cool drink. I can see that you are agitated.”

“Of course I am agitated! What do you expect?”

He went on talking, but, without waiting to hear any more, she ran to the pantry where she had already made a fruit drink, which she hoped Harry would enjoy, knowing that it was far better for him than the claret they could not afford.

A glass jug was standing in a bowl of cold water and she wiped it, picked up a tumbler and hurried back to the drawing room.

It was a long attractive room with a ceiling of ship’s beams like most of the other rooms in the old house, which had been built in Tudor times.

But, although the carpet was threadbare, surprisingly enough some of the furniture was French and valuable and so were the pictures.

Harry had thrown himself down in an armchair and his sister filled up the glass with the fruit juice and handed it to him.

He drank it without saying anything, obviously so intent on his thoughts that he did not taste what he was drinking.

A little nervously Anthea sat down on the sofa, looking at him, before she asked,

“Are you quite sure that Mr. Meldosio cannot play tonight?”

“Of course I am sure,” Harry said sharply. “He cut his right hand and it is swollen to twice its normal size. He has it bandaged and it would be quite impossible for him to play the piano.”

“Poor man. It must be very painful!” Anthea exclaimed.

“It’s even more painful for me!” Harry said crossly. “I suppose you know this means that I may lose my job?”

“Surely it cannot be as bad as that?” Anthea protested. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s my fault if I don’t provide what his Lordship wants,” Harry said. “When he engaged me and it was the most uncomfortable interview I can ever remember, he said, ‘you must understand that I always get what I want without argument and without complaint. If you cannot carry out what I require, then I will find someone else who will’.”

Anthea had heard this before and she had thought then that the Marquis of Eaglescliffe was an extremely unpleasant man and her conviction that he was overbearing and undoubtedly a bully had increased ever since.

In the meantime she was well aware that for Harry to lose the position of manager of what had once been his own estate would be a tragedy.

It seemed almost providential when, owing to the immense debts left by their father on his death, after much heart-searching and misery Harry had decided that he must sell the house, Queen’s Hoo, and much of the land that went with it.

His friend, Charlie Torrington, had found a purchaser who would not only pay what seemed to be an astronomical sum for Queen’s Hoo, but would also employ Harry to manage the house and the estate for him.

“I have it all fixed up, old boy,” he had said jubilantly when he had posted from London to bring Harry the good news. “I am bringing Eaglescliffe down on Wednesday to inspect the house, although he has already decided to buy it from the description I gave him.”

“Eaglescliffe! The Marquis of Eaglescliffe!” Harry had ejaculated. “What on earth does he want with Queen’s Hoo? After all his own ancestral mansion is one of the most spectacular and famous in the whole country.”

“Of course it is,” Charlie agreed. “But, as you well know, it’s in Oxfordshire and it takes him, even with his superb horses, a long time to get there from London, while he is banking on reaching Queen’s Hoo in under the hour.”

“But he has also the house in Berkeley Square in London,” Harry said. “I still don’t understand why he should want to live here.”

“It is not a question of living, you i***t!” Charlie laughed. “He wants somewhere to bring his latest fancy for a weekend or a night or two. At the moment she is Lottie Vernon, who is a ballet dancer at Covent Garden. He can hardly take her to Eaglescliffe Castle.”

Harry stiffened.

“I am not sure I want my home,” he said sharply, “to be turned into a kind of upper class brothel.”

Charlie had thrown out his hands.

“My dear Harry, you cannot afford to be particular. You are well aware that the sum Eaglescliffe is prepared to pay will cover your father’s debts, pension off the old servants, who have been a great anxiety to you these last months and leave enough to feed you and your sister. If you take the position I suggest, you will, in fact, be very comfortable.”

“Position! What position?” Harry had asked.

“You cannot accuse me, old boy, of not thinking of you,” Charlie said, “for I know how you would hate to see someone else running what has been your estate and very likely doing it badly.”

He saw from the expression on his friend’s face that he had hit the nail on the head.

“The noble Marquis,” he went on, “has told me to find him a manager and he thought a local man would very likely be more efficient than someone from outside.”

Harry, who had been listening, sat up in his chair, and looked at his friend in astonishment as Charlie continued,

“I therefore told him that I had just the right man in view – keen, intelligent, absolutely honest and trustworthy. Name of Dalton.”

“Dalton?” Harry questioned.

“That’s you! Don’t be bird-witted, Harry! I have set all this up and it has taken me a great deal of time, I may tell you. So I expect you to be grateful.”

“I am. You know I am, Charlie,” Harry said, “but I am finding it hard to understand what exactly is happening.”

“What is happening,” Charlie replied, “is that I am repaying the debt that I have owed you since the Battle of Waterloo when you saved my life.”

“Oh, that!” Harry exclaimed scornfully.

“It meant quite a lot to me,” Charlie said with a grin. “Now, as I cannot bear to see you down in the dumps as you have been ever since your father died, I have found the solution. You sell Queen’s Hoo and the estate for a great deal more than it is worth and you manage it. From all you have told me, it needs a great deal of managing after years of neglect.”

“That is true,” Harry reflected, “but – ”

“No buts about it, old boy,” Charlie Torrington interposed. “The fact that I have brought Eaglescliffe up to scratch and convinced him that Queen’s Hoo is exactly what he wants at the moment, has been, in my opinion, a miracle.”

He paused before he went on,

“He is prepared to spend a fortune on the house. You know damn well that is exactly what it needs. The last time I stayed here the water dripped through the ceiling all night and I caught the worst cold I have had in years.”

Harry had risen from the chair where he was sitting to walk to the window and stand, with unseeing eyes, looking out at the unkempt overgrown garden.

Charlie Torrington watched him sympathetically. He knew how much it was going to hurt Harry to sell Queen’s Hoo, which had been in his family since the time of Queen Elizabeth.

It was exceedingly beautiful, but, as the late Lord Colnbrooke had been unable to find any money for repairs, the roof leaked, the ceilings were cracked, dozens of the diamond-paned windows needed replacing and in nearly every room floorboards creaked ominously when they were walked on.

Besides this, as Harry well knew, there was not enough money to pay any servants or even for the food he and his sister ate.

At the same time to part with his home in which his family had lived since Elizabethan times was a wrench that Charlie knew would make Harry feel as if he was losing a leg or an arm.

There was silence until Harry said gruffly,

“When does the Marquis wish to move in?”

“As soon as the place is made comfortable enough for him,” Charlie replied. “Knowing Eaglescliffe, I expect that means tomorrow.”

“That is impossible at any rate,” Harry remarked.

Charlie walked across the room to put his arm across his friend’s shoulders.

“Now, listen, Harry,” he said. “I know this upsets you, but the person who is going to supervise the repairs, the alterations, the renovations and make the house look as if it is new, is you.”

“Me!” Harry exclaimed in amazement.

“Who else?” Charlie asked. “That is why in a twisted sort of way you are going to enjoy yourself. This will mean you will see Queen’s Hoo as it once looked in all its glory and you have always said that you and your sister would sooner or later have to move into the Dower House because the roof would cave in over your heads!”

That was true enough, but even Harry had not anticipated, although, of course, he had heard of him and seen him, what the Marquis of Eaglescliffe was like.

He had swept down to Queen’s Hoo the next day, with Charlie sitting beside him, in a phaeton drawn by four horses, which made Harry green with envy.

The phaeton was also the smartest carriage he had ever imagined could be propelled on four wheels and, as the Marquis descended from it, he knew that no man could be so impressive or look so extremely smart.

He looked at Queen’s Hoo in an almost contemptuous manner, which made Harry hate him.

“Is this the house?” he had asked, as if, as Harry said to Charlie afterwards, it was a pigsty.

“I thought you would admire it, my Lord,” Charlie answered cheerfully. “It’s the finest bit of Tudor architecture in the whole county and, as you can imagine, it is named Queen’s Hoo because Queen Elizabeth slept here.”

“Among a hundred other places,” the Marquis added sarcastically.

“If this was Her Majesty’s choice, I don’t blame her,” Charlie said. “Although, as I warned you, it wants a lot doing to it, you cannot help seeing tremendous possibilities in restoring it.”

The Marquis did not reply, but walked into the hall with its oak staircase and great carved stone fireplace in which, as Charlie pointed out, a whole tree could be burnt.

He then moved into the drawing room with its windows overlooking an ancient Rose Garden and paused for a moment to look at a portrait of a beautiful Lady Colnbrooke, who was reputed to have fascinated King Charles II.

“Are these family portraits?” he asked.

“Yes, all of them,” Charlie said quickly. “Naturally they would not be included in the sale, but I am sure if there is anything else your Lordship fancies, Lord Colnbrooke would be prepared to discuss selling it.”

He was well aware that Harry, who had been introduced as Mr. Dalton, was behind him and had stiffened as the Marquis spoke.

The Marquis looked disdainfully at everything he saw including the ancient library with its walls covered with leather-bound books, their covers faded and torn with age, and it was obvious that he was not interested in them.

Only when he had seen every room on the ground floor including the Chapel and the State Rooms on the first floor, where the curtains of the beds and the windows were in tatters, did he say scathingly,