The Eternal Collection

Chapter 3

The Duke was in his study when Mr. Watson came into the room.

He had been signing his letters and looked up as his secretary approached to ask,

“Well, Watson, what have you discovered?”

“I am afraid, Your Grace,” Mr. Watson replied, “that it is just what we suspected.”

“I want every detail.”

“One of the gardeners is quite certain, Your Grace,” replied Mr. Watson, “that he saw Mr. Giles the previous night driving through the village.”

“Was he absolutely sure?”

“Emery is a very truthful man, Your Grace, who has been with us for fifteen years,”

The Duke nodded and Mr. Watson continued,

“I have questioned the stable lad, who said Mr. Oliver turned round to get his whip and by doing so, saved his own life,”

He paused as if to make what followed more impressive.

“He is absolutely convinced, Your Grace, that there was a man on the roof and he saw his shoulder quite clearly just before the statue toppled over.”

The Duke’s mouth tightened into a hard line and he did not say anything as Mr. Watson continued,

“I can only beg of Your Grace to be very careful. I have not told you before, but Mr. Giles, your Heir Presumptive to your Dukedom, is in deep water. ”

“Money?” the Duke enquired.

“Yes, Your Grace, and there has been a rumour, although I cannot substantiate it, that he is borrowing from usurers on the assumption that you will not live for long.”

The Duke sat bolt upright in his chair.

“Is that the truth?”

“As I said, Your Grace, it is only a rumour,” Mr. Watson replied, “which was reported to me by one of Your Grace’s friends who was very concerned about you.”

“You did not tell me.”

“I did not do so, Your Grace, because Captain Seymour wanted to make further enquiries before we alerted Your Grace to the potential danger.”

The Duke was silent.

He was realising only too clearly that if, as Giles had surely anticipated, he had come out through the front door to go riding and the statue had fallen on him he would now be dead.

While his cousin, Giles, would now have become the Fifth Duke of Mortlyn.

He knew that, like himself, Watson was thinking that it was almost impossible to ensure complete protection in such a large house and over such a vast acreage.

The situation would be no better in London.

The Duke rose to his feet and walked to the window.

His secretary regarded his broad shoulders and well-poised head with a compassionate look in his eyes.

.He was thinking that it was impossible for any man to have a more difficult problem to face and to solve than the one that confronted the Duke at this very moment.

There was no need for either of them to put into words what an utter disaster it would be if Giles Lyne inherited the Dukedom.

He was now just over thirty-eight and, from the moment he grew up, he spent his time and money with raffish men and immoral women.

He had caused scandal after scandal in Society circles.

No one would have ever taken the slightest notice of him if he had not boasted loudly and consistently that he was Heir Presumptive to the Duke of Mortlyn.

The Duke himself had said openly, and now it appeared unwisely, that he had no wish to be married.

It had become a joke in White’s Club, to which the Duke belonged and from which Giles had been blackballed, that he was the ‘Elusive Bridegroom’.

Any woman who caught him would have to be very beautiful, sharp-witted and so out of the the ordinary. There had been, of course, speculation after speculation as to whether the Duke would fall for the latest beauty to appear on the London scene.

Or whether some attractive widow who he was seen with more than once would succeed where others had failed.

Mr. Watson was aware, because he kept a sharp eye on Giles Lyne, that the years of extravagance and dissipation were beginning to take their toll.

He looked far older than his years and he was falling deeper and deeper into debt.

A number of his creditors had sought out Mr. Watson to ask the Duke to save them from bankruptcy.

In the majority of cases Mr. Watson had thought it was the fault of the coachbuilders, the wine sellers, tailors and other tradesmen to have trusted anyone so obviously unstable as Mr. Giles.

But there had been one or two small shopkeepers who had been deceived by his boastful lies and on whose behalf Mr. Watson had elicited the Duke’s help.

The Duke had paid up, but had made it abundantly clear to his cousin that he would not be responsible for his future debts and this sort of situation was not to occur again.

Giles had not been in the least grateful.

He had merely taken the money and defamed the Duke behind his back.

He called him a ‘skinflint’ as well as a ‘Ducal cheeseparer’ and did his best to make him a laughing stock.

Fortunately the only people who listened to him were his few particular cronies, most of them no more than toadies.

The rest of London Society was shocked at his behaviour and ostracised him completely.

It was in fact the Duke’s grandmother who was most distressed by what had occurred.

Her solution was that the Duke should marry as quickly as possible and have an heir.

Now the Duke himself was afraid that it would be the only way to save himself if indeed he lived long enough to put the ring on some woman’s finger.

Every instinct in him rebelled against being forced into marriage by anybody quite so unscrupulous and despicable as his cousin.

He turned from the window,

“What the devil am I to do, Watson?” he asked.

“I don’t rightly know, Your Grace, and that’s the truth,” Mr. Watson replied.

He hesitated for a moment before he continued,

“You can hardly lay any accusation against Mr. Giles when we have only circumstantial evidence against him. Equally I intend, with Your Grace’s permission, to alert everyone with any authority on the estate.”

He realised that the Duke was about to protest and he went on quickly,

“I shall, of course, say that the criminal is probably an escaped lunatic from Bedlam, or perhaps an Anarchist who has failed to assassinate the Queen and is now trying again a little lower down the Heraldic scale!”

The Duke laughed, but there was not much humour in the sound.

“Have it your own way, Watson. But I resent having to be on my guard against one of my own kith-and-kin, disreputable though he may be.”

The Duke spoke violently and, as if to divert his attention to another topic, Mr. Watson stated,

“Your Grace has received a letter from the Bishop this morning.”

The Duke glanced at the pile of letters on his desk and said,

“I have not read them yet. What does he say?”

“The Bishop says, Your Grace, that he has exactly the right incumbent for the Parish. He is the son of a Colonel Henderson, who served with you in the Regiment.”

“I remember Henderson,” the Duke said, “a charming man and well-born. His wife, I think I am right in saying, is the daughter of Lord Lambert.”

“That is correct, Your Grace.”

“I will certainly welcome their son,” the Duke said. “When is he calling to see me?”

“The Bishop states, Your Grace, that if it would not inconvenience you he would like you to see The Reverend John Henderson as quickly as possible.”

“Why such haste?”

“He and his wife have to leave the house they have been occupying on a private estate because the landowner’s third son has just been ordained and wishes to be appointed to his father’s Parish.”

The Duke nodded to show that he understood that it was quite a usual procedure.

Then, as he sat down at his desk, he realised that Mr. Watson was waiting and before he spoke the Duke anticipated what he would say.

“That leaves us, Your Grace, with the problem of Miss Linton.”

The Duke was still.

There was an uncomfortable silence until he said,

“If I thought it necessary, I would build a small house for Miss Linton.”

“That will take time Your Grace.”

The Duke looked at his secretary and realised that he could read his thoughts.

“What you are saying, Watson, is – ”

Before he could complete the sentence, the door of the study opened and Selma came in.

She was looking extraordinarily attractive in a simple gown of leaf-green muslin, which was swept back into a small bustle.

The colour accentuated the gold of her hair and the elfin look that always surprised the Duke every time he looked at her.

He thought now that she might have just come from the woods or the stream and was a nymph rather than a human being.

She moved towards the desk eagerly and her eyes seemed to light up as she said,

“I had to come to tell Your Grace that Emily and I have just removed the bandages and Mr. Oliver’s skin is healing well.”

She drew in her breath, as if she was excited, and she then went on,

“It is, of course, very delicate and he must move as little as possible, but his ankle has set and we have been able to take off the splint.”

The Duke was listening with a smile.

“This is certainly good news, Miss Linton.”

“I felt you had to know at once,” Selma said, “and Mr. Oliver now wants to see you.”

She paused and there was definitely a mischievous look in her eyes as she added,

“Of course, if Your Grace still wishes the Doctor to treat him, I hear that he returned to the village last night.”

The Duke laughed.

“You well know, Miss Linton,” he said, “that I am most satisfied with the progress my nephew has made under your skilful care.”

He paused and glanced at her and then added,

“Although I am not yet prepared to acknowledge that you are a witch!”

It was now Selma who laughed.

“Real witches have all the fun,” she said. “They go riding on broomsticks, visit the moon and, of course, dance with the Devil in the woods at night!”

“Is that what you want to do?” the Duke enquired.

“I am more than content to go driving in a magical chariot,” she replied.

She gave the Duke a questioning glance before she said,

“I have an urgent message from one of Your Grace’s farms where a farm boy has been gored by a bull. I have no way of reaching the farm except on horseback.”

She thought that the Duke looked surprised and said,

“I can, of course, ride there, but I could not then take all the herbs that are required with me.”

She paused and then explained,

“They are already prepared in bottles and these might be broken on the journey.”

“Therefore, of course, under the circumstances it is my duty to take you to the farm,” the Duke said.

Selma made a gesture with her hands before she said quickly,

“No, of course not – Your Grace! I did not – mean that. If I could – borrow one of your vehicles – I would be very – grateful.”

“I will take you,” the Duke stipulated firmly.

He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and said,

“We will have luncheon, Watson, in half an hour. Order my phaeton for half past one.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” Mr. Watson replied.

He turned towards the door and then stopped,

“Should I then arrange for Your Grace to see The Reverend John Henderson tomorrow morning?”

There was silence while he knew that the Duke was battling with himself before he said reluctantly,

“Yes, Watson, and arrange if he is satisfactory to have all the furniture from the Vicarage transported to The Dovecote.”

As he spoke, he was looking at Selma.

It seemed that her eyes opened so wide that they doubled in size before she exclaimed,

“The Dovecote! Are you – really letting – me go there? I never – dreamt that you would – agree although Mr. Hunter did – suggest it.”

“I have no choice,” the Duke said, “as there is nowhere else and the Bishop has found an extremely suitable man to take over the Parish.”

Mr. Watson did not wait to hear any more and so went from the study, closing the door behind him.

There was silence and then Selma said in a small hesitant voice,

“It is very – kind of you, but I – know that you don’t – want me to have – The Dovecote so it would be – for the best if I went – away.”

The Duke looked at her sharply as he thought that she was merely pretending.

But there was no doubting the sincerity in her voice and the expression in her eyes could not be misconstrued.

“Are you really prepared to leave the village?” he asked her.

“It would make me very unhappy,” she said honestly, “and I know that my grandfather does not want me. But – as there is nowhere for me to stay here – I shall then have to go to Scotland.”

As she finished speaking, she turned away as if to leave the room and the Duke thought perhaps to hide her tears.

He let her reach the door before he said,

“If you go, what are we to do about Oliver?”

Selma stopped and then turned back towards him very slowly.

“He is on the mend,” she said after a moment, “and, if he is very careful and does exactly what he is told, he should be able to walk in about two week’s time.”

“What about your other patients?”

Selma made a helpless gesture that was more explicit them words.

Then, as she put out her hand towards the door, the Duke said,

“As the village cannot do without you and you were certainly essential for my nephew, you will move into The Dovecote and there will be no more arguments about it.”

She did not reply, but he sensed that there was a certain tension about her.

It told him, without words, that it was what she wanted above all else.

Yet she was disturbed by his aversion to her occupying what had always been a family house.

There was silence as she turned back and walked towards him.

Selma stood facing him across the desk as she said,

“It is very kind of you, but I know what – your feelings – are.”

She paused and then continued,

“What I would suggest, if Your Grace agrees, is that I move into The Dovecote until a cottage is available in the village.”

She looked away from him as she added,

“I think there is one, if not two – of the older pensioners who will not live – very long.”

“Are you really suggesting,” the Duke asked, “that you would be happy in one of those very small cottages which, I believe, consist of only three rooms?”

As he spoke, he was quite convinced in his own mind that Selma was only pretending to be reluctant to take The Dovecote. He was certain that she had intended to live there from the moment her father died.

To his surprise she replied in a practical tone,

“That is my problem, Your Grace.”

She paused and then continued,

“I am sure that, as the cottages are very small, I could, if Your Grace allowed it, persuade some of the men in the village to build on a small extension.”

As if the Duke could read her thoughts, he could see that she was already planning how it could be done.

She was clearly quite sure that, because the village wanted her so much, the men would do it willingly in their free time.

What was more, they would doubtless charge little or nothing for their labour.

She was looking so lovely and, at the same time, so ethereal that he knew no one would grace The Dovecote better.

In fact, if he was honest, no one could be more worthy of it.

Aloud he said,

“I don’t like my arrangements being changed or questioned, Miss Linton, and you must therefore allow me to do things in my own way.”

She looked at him as if she did not understand and he went on,

“Your belongings will be moved, I am sure with the greatest care, into The Dovecote. You must instruct the men how to hang the curtains and what is to be put in each room.”

He paused and then added,

“I hope you will be very happy there.”

He saw a little tremor pass through Selma and she clasped her hands together before she said simply,

“I know that I shall be happy there and, because there is the Herb Garden – which means so much – to Mama, I shall not be – alone,”

She went on softly,

“Thank you. Thank you ‒ very much, Your Grace. Now will you please come to see Mr. Oliver.”

As they went from the room, the Duke had the feeling that one of them, although he was not sure which, had won a notable victory.

Oliver was sitting up in bed and, although he looked rather pale, he was very much like his usual self and was surprisingly cheerful.

“Hello, Uncle Wade,” he began as the Duke came into the room. “I shall soon be back in the saddle.”

“That is just what I wanted to hear,” the Duke said. “Miss Linton has told me the good news.”

“I have also been hearing the bad,” Oliver said. “For Heaven’s sake, Uncle Wade, be careful of Giles. He is determined to kill you.”

“You cannot be absolutely sure of that,” the Duke said lightly. “I am certain that Giles would not risk his neck by murdering me obviously.”

“Of course he would not do it obviously,” Oliver answered. “But if you are found dead in the woods or drowned in the lake, who would be able to say that it was he who did it?”

Selma gave a little cry,

“There are so many ways he could kill you! You must be very very careful.”

The Duke sat down in an armchair.

“That is very easy to say,” he said, “but what do you really expect me to do? Shut myself up in the house and never go out?”

He paused and then carried on,

“Or leave the country for the Far East where Giles will not be able to follow me?”

“I think the best thing,” Selma said, “is for everyone who loves you to be on their guard and also to – pray.”

As if he felt that he must argue with her, the Duke said,

“You really think that prayers could stop a statue falling on my head or a bullet entering my back?”

He was teasing, but Selma answered him quite seriously,

“I think because you are good, while your cousin is bad, that God will protect you.”

*

The next morning The Duke interviewed The Reverend John Henderson and found him to be an excellent and enthusiastic gentleman.

He was, the Duke thought, just the type of Vicar that was needed in the village.

As soon as the Reverend and his wife had left, the Duke mounted his horse, which was waiting at the door, and set off across the Park.

It had infuriated him as he came down the front steps that he instinctively moved a little to one side instead of down the centre as he usually did.

His brain told him that Giles would not try the same trick twice of toppling a statue on his head.

But every instinct in his body reacted towards being cautious.

Mr. Hunter had sent the stonemasons up onto the roof and they had confirmed that the statue had been deliberately cut off its pedestal. There was no possible way that it would have fallen otherwise.

Mr. Watson had in fact advised the Duke not to ride alone and the Duke had said firmly that he was too old to have a Nanny with him.

However many escorts he had, he could still be shot at if that was to be Giles’s next way of eliminating him.

He sounded brave but he knew, in the back of his mind, as he rode across the Park that he was being menaced and it enraged him to recognise that he was so vulnerable.

He galloped his horse over a flat piece of land where there were no rabbit holes.

He then turned to ride through one of his most favourite woods, which led him to The Dovecote.

It was a lovely day with a promise of heat later on in the afternoon.

The Duke was actually feeling particularly well, despite his annoyance over his cousin and enjoying being in the country.

He knew from a Society point of view that he should return to London.

Every day Mr. Watson informed him of more invitations from The Prince of Wales, the Prime Minister and the many hostesses with whom he was persona grata.

persona grata.They were bewildered by his disappearance at a time when as far as they were concerned everything of importance was happening.

The Duke, however, knew that he was far too busy with Oliver and, of course, Selma, to regret missing the huge balls, the overcrowded Receptions and gigantic dinners.

At the dinner parties, he thought, everyone ate and drank far too much.

Because he was taking so much exercise, Daws had told him only this morning when he was dressing that he had lost weight.

“If you goes on like this, Your Grace,” Daws said, “you’ll have to visit your tailor and you know that’s somethin’ Your Grace don’t enjoy.”

“I would rather have my clothes taken in than let out,” the Duke replied.

“No fear of that, Your Grace,” Daws remarked, who always had to have the last word.

The Duke intended to go and see that Selma’s furniture was being properly moved from the Vicarage into The Dovecote.

Mr. Watson had been so sure that The Reverend John Henderson was exactly the Vicar they required that he had ordered Selma’s furniture to be moved early that morning.

Almost before Selma had woken up, there was a rumble of wheels outside.

Nanny had come upstairs to tell her that there were a dozen men filling up their wagons with furniture from the downstairs rooms.

“Very nice they’re bein’ about it too,” Nanny said approvingly. “As they’re doin’ it for you, dearie, they’re handlin’ everythin’ as if it were made of china.”

Selma laughed and stood up hastily.

She had been told late on the previous night what was happening and had arranged with Daws that he would look after Oliver this morning and she would call again in the afternoon.

His leg, having been re-bandaged yesterday, meant there was really nothing important to be done but to keep him quiet.

Because he was feeling so much better the difficulty was to prevent him from getting out of bed.

It did not take Selma long to pack up the few things in her bedroom that required careful handling.

She was aware that what was in the drawers and wardrobes could be carried just as they were.

It was only a matter of going less than a mile to The Dovecote.

She was feeling very excited.

She would live in a house that she had always loved and that she felt had an atmosphere which was different from that of any other in the neighbourhood.

If there were ghosts from the past, they were soft, gentle and loving ones.

She felt too that, because every previous occupant of The Dovecote had tended the Herb Garden, she and so they would talk the same language.

*

As the first wagons rumbled out of the driveway, Selma said ‘goodbye’ to the house that had been her home all her life.

She was not really all that sad at leaving because she felt that, as she was now going to The Dovecote, her father and mother came with her.

She could almost see them smiling and telling her how lucky she was and that was where they had wanted her to be.

Selma rode over to The Dovecote on the horse that had carried her father for many years.

The horse was getting older and went there at a slow pace so she found herself thinking and praying for the Duke.

She was terribly afraid that he might be injured.

She knew that the story of what had happened had run through the village like wildfire.

Everyone was deeply concerned at what they knew had been an attempt on the Duke’s life.

It was only the fact that he had walked through the house to a side door much earlier to pick up his phaeton in the stables that had saved him.

Also a lucky chance had saved Mr. Oliver when he emerged from the front door and had been mistaken for his uncle.

‘How could this happen at Mortlyn of all places?’ Selma asked herself.

Everything had always been very quiet and uneventful on the estate and the great house had stood like a benign Palace, helping and protecting those beneath it.

Now suddenly they were all upset and apprehensive and there appeared to be no easy solution.

‘How could this go on for years?’ Selma asked herself and there was no answer.

*

In The Dovecote the men unloaded quickly all that they had brought in the wagons.

They were laying the carpets and hanging the curtains to Selma’s satisfaction. It was not difficult as the rooms were more or less the same number as her old house and the same size.

The Dovecote was more beautiful and certainly more ancient than The Vicarage.

Selma loved the diamond-paned casement windows, the polished floors, the dark beams and most of all the garden.

This had been kept in perfect condition not only because the Duke had ordered it, but as the gardeners, all of whom she knew well, wanted to please him.

Without being instructed, they would often plant new azaleas, rhododendrons and other shrubs.

The Rose Garden boasted a number of rose trees which had, when they had been bought, been intended for the much bigger and more impressive display at Mortlyn.

“I knows you’d want one of them pink roses that have just come from the Botanical Garden, miss,” the Head Gardner would say.

He felt that he was well rewarded when Selma smiled at him.

She always told him how much she appreciated the beauty of the Rose Garden, which she went through every day when she tended her herbs.

There was no one in the village for whom the Herb Garden was not a magical place that healed them when they were sick or injured.

It also helped those who were old and were becoming senile.

“What you gives me father ’as made ’im ten years younger, miss,” they would say to Selma, as they had said to her mother.

The old people in the village never seemed to die, but were always ready to care for their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren long after their contemporaries in the other villages had passed away.

When the men had unloaded all their wagons and gone back to The Vicarage for more, Selma walked instinctively towards the Herb Garden.

She was thinking before she reached it that, when she was living in The Dovecote, she would have the fountain turned on every day.

Then, as she went through the opening in the wall, she saw that one of the gardeners had anticipated her wishes and it was already playing.

She gave a little cry of delight and ran to where the cornucopia in the hand of Eros was throwing the water high into the air.

It caught the sunshine and fell down in a cascade of tiny rainbows into the carved stone basin.

It was so lovely that Selma, with her head thrown back, was staring up enraptured as the Duke came into the garden.

He stood still and it was impossible for him not to appreciate the picture she made.

The fountain was behind her so that she appeared to be almost inside the falling water.

The sunshine turned her hair to gold and it was difficult for the moment to think of her as an ordinary human being.

Rather she was a part of the fountain, the gardens and the strange fragrance of the herbs that he had noticed before.

Then, as if perceptively she was aware of him, she turned her head and, when she saw that he was there, ran down the paved path towards him.

“Thank you – thank – you,” she enthused in a rapt voice that he had not heard from her before, “for letting – me come here.”

thank – youShe paused breathlessly and then went on,

“It is – so – so – beautiful! It is so – perfect! I have no words to tell you – what it – means to me.”

so – beautiful“You seem to belong here,” the Duke commented as if he could not help himself.

He looked round the garden and said,

“I thought I was fairly knowledgeable, but I realise now that I am very ignorant where herbs are concerned.”

“Let me show you some of the very precious ones,” Selma suggested.

She took him down one of the little paths with its tiny clipped boxed hedges.

They stopped and he listened as Selma pointed out Butcher’s Brown, which was used for headaches, Cardius Benedictus for the memory and All Heal for cramp.

The Duke was surprised to see a flowering bed of Lilies of the Valley.

“Surely,” he said, “these, at any rate, are for pleasure.”

Selma chuckled.

“Lilies of the Valley,” she replied, “have been used medicinally from the earliest times. They help the heart, eliminate the poison that causes inflammation in rheumatic diseases and can also be used as a stimulant for the brain.”

“I don’t believe it,” the Duke said, but he was smiling.

He thought as he spoke that Selma herself looked much like a lily of the valley herself.

Then he said,

“I think, when you have finished moving into The Dovecote, you should come up to the house.”

He paused and then went on,

“I know you want to see Oliver and I also have some books in the library that I think will interest you.”

Selma looked at him and answered,

“I would like that and I would love to see them. Are they about herbs?”

“They are books that I never realised I had until now,” the Duke said. “They are very old and were written at the time of Culpeper, about whom I now know quite a lot.”

Selma smiled.

She had not expected him to be interested in Nicholas Culpeper, who was the famous Astrologer Physician of the seventeenth century.

Then she was sure that the Duke disliked admitting his ignorance of anything even if it concerned healing.

*

After the Duke had left, Selma went home to supervise the arrival of the wagons filled with bedroom furniture.

She found that, on Mr. Watson’s instructions, two women from the village had come in to clean the house. They had the stove working in the kitchen, unpacked the china that had been put in crates and did anything and everything that Nanny asked of them.

Selma was so touched at the kindness she had received. She thought that everything had turned out very differently from her fear that she might be forced to leave the village unless accommodation could be found for her.

Although Mr. Hunter had suggested The Dovecote, she had been quite certain that the Duke would not think of her as a suitable tenant.

This meant that she would have to squeeze everything, including Nanny as well, into a tiny cottage if indeed there was one available.

The only alternative, which frightened her very much, was to journey to Scotland to her grandfather.

She had always been so afraid of her mother’s family who had been so horrified that she had married an Englishman and left them to live in the South.

She knew that it would be very hard if she had to live somewhere where her father was despised or abused in her hearing.

‘I am so grateful – so very – very – grateful,’ Selma told herself as she looked round The Dovecote happily.

‘I can live here,’ she thought, ‘and feel sure that Mama is near me as I go on helping the people in the village.’

She knew only too well that they needed her and that they loved and trusted her.

If she went away, she would always feel that she had betrayed them all when they most wanted her.

*

Her heart was singing as, later on in the afternoon, she rode towards the Big House.

Every time she looked at it, it gave her a little thrill as it was so enchanting and sublime.

She wanted to look and to go on looking at something which, since she was very small, had meant stability and protection.

She drew her horse to a standstill under the leaves of an old oak tree.

She looked at the lake with swans moving on its silver surface and the patches of colour in the garden.

The Duke’s Standard was flying proudly on the roof of the house, showing that he was in residence.

As she looked at it, she saw the empty place from which the statue had been pushed over and felt herself shiver.

Almost as though there was a voice telling her so, she was suddenly aware that the Duke was again in deadly danger.

At any moment his enemy might strike ruthlessly at him again.

Almost unconsciously she looked around as if she was expecting men with guns to be hiding behind the tree trunks, among the irises down by the lake or in the bushes at the far end of it.

She looked back towards the woods that reached from The Dovecote towards the end of the lake and then, bordering an orchard, they joined the thick fir trees behind the house.

It was a wood that she had always loved because it contained so many birch trees.

They made her think of the Fairies and wood nymphs by which she had been entranced as a child.

It was also because the Ride through the centre of it was one of the prettiest and the most romantic on the whole estate.

It was then that Selma thought that she had caught a fleeting glimpse of a man moving amongst the trees.

It was just a quick impression, then he was gone and she thought that she must have been mistaken.

It was very easy to imagine in the sunlight, and with a light wind moving the leaves, that she had seen what was not there.

She stared and went on staring, but there was no further sign of anyone at all.

Selma then told herself that she was just being imaginative.

Yet, as she rode on towards the house, she knew that she was very afraid for the Duke.

It was a fear that seemed to streak through her and it was different from anything that she had ever felt before.

He was so magnificent, so dominating, so overwhelming, that it was impossible to think that he could be brought down treacherously by a criminal.

It would be as if one of the great oak trees that had stood there for hundreds of years had been felled.

Then, as she rode on, in the same way as she had felt that someone was telling her what to do when she treated a wound or an injury, she knew that the Duke was not only in danger but that it was coming nearer and still nearer to him at this very moment.

She could feel it perceptively and, as her father would have called it, instinctively.

Although she had no proof, she knew that what she felt was terrifyingly true.

Somehow, although she had no idea how, she must save the Duke.

‘How can – I? What – can I say? What can – I do?’ she asked the lake.

What can – I doShe was now frightened by her conviction that she was not just imagining what she was feeling.

*

She then reached the front door and a groom, who had been watching her come over the bridge that spanned the lake, was waiting to take her horse to the stables.

“I’ll rub ’im down, miss, and give ’im somethin’ nice to eat,” the groom said eagerly as if he wished to please her.

“That would be very kind, Sam,” Selma replied. “Rufus is getting old, but he is still very good to ride. I could not come here without him.”

“You should get ’Is Grace to let you ride one of ’is new ’orses,” Sam said. “They be fine – the finest we’ve ever ’ad.”

“His Grace has been very kind to me already,” Selma said, “by letting me move into The Dovecote.”

“That be just the right place for you, miss, we all be a-thinkin’ that.”

Selma took down a bundle of herbs that she had attached to the pommel of her saddle.

“These are for Mr. Oliver,” she said. “He will soon be riding His Grace’s horses again.”

“And all due to you, miss,” Sam said as he led her horse away.

Selma smiled as she entered the hall and went up the Grand Staircase to the first floor.

She then became serious, because she was feeling again that awesome conviction that the Duke was in grave danger.

She was wondering how she could tell him to be more careful than he was being already.

She knew that Mr. Watson, Groves and practically everybody in the house would have warned him a hundred times that Giles Lyne was dangerous.

However, she knew that what she was feeling was different from their obvious concern.

What she had received was a message.

A message from God or perhaps the Power that she believed helped her heal those that were sick.

A Power so real that she could not only feel it vibrating through her body but sometimes even see it.

A bright light would envelop a patient and that was always a sign from the Divine.

‘I must tell him and I must save him,’ Selma decided as she walked along the corridor.

Then almost frantically the question came from the very depths of her being,

‘How can I do it?’

‘What can I say?’

‘How can I make him believe me?’

She reached Oliver’s room and, as she did so, Daws opened the door.

“Ah, there you be, Miss Selma,” he exclaimed. “Mr. Oliver has been askin’ for you, he thinks you’d forgotten him.”

“You know I would never do that. How is he now?” Selma asked.

She spoke in a low voice so that their patient would not hear.

“Bored, miss,” Daws replied. “It’s the only thing wrong with him. He wants you to cheer him up.”

“I will do my best,” Selma replied.

Daws opened the door wide and she went into the bedroom.

Oliver was sitting up with books and newspapers strewn in front of him.

As she appeared, he said,

“Here you are at last. I thought you were neglecting me.”

“You know I would not do that.”

“How do I know it?” Oliver asked petulantly. “You may have half a dozen young men fawning on you in the village, or perhaps like all those stupid women in London, you are in love with Uncle Wade.”

Selma looked at him, her eyes twinkling and with a smile on her lips.

Then, as she was about to tell him that he was talking nonsense, she knew that it was the truth.

Of course she was in love with the Duke!

That was just why she was not only afraid for him but also more pulsatingly aware than anyone else how close to him the danger was.