Lovers In London

CHAPTER ONE 1880-1

CHAPTER ONE

1880Lanthia was riding alone through the woods as she did every morning.

She was thinking that nothing in the universe could be lovelier than the sunshine streaming through the spring leaves and turning them to gold.

As usual she was telling herself a story. It seemed that whenever she rode into the woods her imagination was on fire and stories just flowed into her mind.

As she often said to her father, she had travelled the world just by reading the books in his library and listening to the wonderful stories he told her.

“They all seem so true and real, Papa,” she had told him over and over again.

Her father had laughed, delighted.

Sir Philip Grenville had been very much an ardent traveller in his youth, but now he was content to stay at home in the country.

He wrote about his experiences rather than taking part any more.

To Lanthia, ever since she had been small, the huge library with so many books overflowing into almost every other room in the house created many fairy tales in which she herself always played a vital part.

She envisaged herself climbing the Himalayas as her father had tried to do, or travelling for endless miles over deserted countryside to Tibet and finding a monastery perched on the side of a cliff where no European had ever set foot.

In all of her dreams she was accompanied by someone special, a dream companion, who understood what she was thinking and who enjoyed the adventure of discovering a new world as much as she did.

She dreamed, as she was travelling up the Nile or the sss, that she instructed her invisible companion.

At other times he instructed her, but always in her dreams they were together and she was never frightened or alone.

Lanthia had always been a lonely child.

A late baby, her mother, Elizabeth, was already thirty-nine years old when she was born. The age gap between Lanthia and her older bother, David, was too great for him to make a natural playmate, so the little girl came to rely on her own vivid imagination for companionship.

When the Honourable Elizabeth Ford married Philip Grenville – he had not then come into the family Baronetcy – their families had been delighted. Their happiness had seemed complete when the young couple welcomed a son and heir within a year of marriage, and their families eagerly anticipated siblings to follow swiftly.

However, because Philip Grenville wanted to travel the world and his devoted wife always went with him, there were no more children.

Accepting that their family was complete, the well-travelled couple had given up hoping that there might be any more.

So Lanthia had been an unexpected surprise, or ‘afterthought’ as someone had wryly commented.

Her parents were thrilled and delighted with their baby daughter. It seemed as if the fates had given them a special gift when they were least expecting it.

Lanthia herself had always looked as if she had stepped straight out of a fairy story.

Dainty, pretty and intelligent, Sir Philip was prouder of his daughter than of any of the books he wrote or even his vast library that he had spent years compiling. Enchanted, he spent a great deal of time telling her stories, which fascinated her until she began to feel that she was living in them rather than just hearing them.

Now, riding through the woods that were part of her father’s country estate, she was blissfully imagining that she was riding in the hot sun in India towards a magnificent Palace, where she was to stay with the Maharajah.

India was very often in her thoughts because that was where David was presently stationed. He was serving as aide-de-camp to the Viceroy.

He did not write to her very often, but when he did, her bother’s descriptions made Lanthia feel that she was exploring India herself.

In her mind she travelled from the Viceregal Lodge in Calcutta to the North-West Frontier where many hostile tribesmen lurked behind every rock and bush. She could visualise all too well the dangers she would be facing.

David had told her when he was last at home for a short leave how afraid they all felt about infiltration by the Russians.

So adding to the pictures in her mind, she could almost see the Cossacks riding across the desolate plains towards India, which was considered the most magnificent jewel in the British Crown.

But the Czar himself and the Cossacks who served him were determined it should sooner or later be in their hands.

“We have to be always on our guard,” David told his sister, who listened to him wide-eyed.

“The Russians infiltrate,” he went on, “amongst the local tribesmen and incite them to rebel against us. They intrigue with the ordinary Indians everywhere and we are never sure what mischief they are plotting until the trouble actually strikes us.”

He also told her how beautiful the Palaces were and how India itself was so enchanting.

When he returned to his duties Lanthia felt as if she was still with him.

She was, in her mind, living in India amongst its smiling people, its exquisite monuments and its burning sun.

In reality the sunshine was only slightly warm on her soft cheeks, glittering on her fair hair, as she was not wearing a hat.

Tossing her head defiantly, she thought how much easier it was when she rode alone just to jump onto a horse. Why bother about jackets, hats and of course gloves, which every lady who rode was expected to wear, when it took up valuable time that she could be outdoors in her beloved woods?

Her fine black stallion was called Jupiter, after the Roman King of the Gods, and she loved him best after her parents.

He seemed to understand everything she was saying when she talked to him. The grooms had told her and she knew it was true, that when it was her regular time to come to the stables, Jupiter was always waiting at the door of his stall listening for her footsteps.

Now as they moved slowly over the moss-covered paths in the woods, Lanthia was talking to him,

“Today, Jupiter, we have been riding over the hot plains of India and were very grateful for any shelter we could find from the sun.”

She thought Jupiter was listening and continued,

“Somewhere in a large and grand Palace we shall learn a secret which will send us off tomorrow on another journey of discovery. It will send us into a very dangerous situation from which we will extract ourselves at the very last moment only by what would seem a miracle!”

As she was talking to Jupiter, she could see it all happening and she knew that only the Gods could save her from destruction.

At that moment in her story, the wood came to an end and she saw her home ahead of her.

It was a very attractive house, which had been in the Grenville family for more than two hundred years. A Grenville, one of the first Baronets ever created by King James I, had built it.

Over the centuries the house had been considerably extended and Sir Philip’s great-grandfather had spent a great deal of money on it.

He had added, besides his large collection of books, many modern comforts that had not been available to his ancestors.

There were a large number of trees surrounding the house and the garden was the particular pride and delight of Lanthia’s mother.

When she had first married her husband, they had not troubled about a home of their own, as they were too busy travelling round the world.

When they were in England they often stayed with Philip’s father and mother, who were only too delighted to have them. It was they who had looked after David when he was born.

As soon as Elizabeth was strong enough to leave the infant boy, her husband was eager to set off again on another journey of discovery.

This time it was to Africa, as he wanted to find a tribe which English people knew very little about. The people of the tribe professed an ancient history that had never been written down on paper.

It was only now, as Sir Philip and his wife grew older, although she did not like to admit it, that they were content to stay at home.

“I want so much to go exploring with you, Papa,” Lanthia had said almost as soon as she could talk.

To keep her happy her parents had taken her with them on some short journeys to the Continent.

By the time she was old enough to fully understand what it meant to explore unknown parts of the world, she found that her father and mother wished to remain in Huntingdonshire.

There was not much to amuse Lanthia at home as she grew up and this made her all the more interested in the books she could read and the stories her father told her.

She now rode slowly up the drive with its ancient oak trees lining each side like sentinels.

Guileless and without vanity, she had no idea that she really looked as if she had stepped straight out of a storybook herself.

Lanthia was a very lovely young girl, but it was not just her looks. There was something unusual about her, an etherealness that was intangible, which made everyone who met her feel drawn towards her as if by a magnet.

It was not exactly what she said, but it was as if she was speaking to everyone around her through an aura that radiated from her soul.

Sir Philip had once said to his wife,

“When I am with Lanthia, I always feel as if she is a veritable Goddess who has graciously come down to us from Mount Olympus and might vanish at any moment!”

Lady Grenville had laughed.

“I know exactly what you mean, my dearest,” she replied, “and it is your fault. The world you have created for her is more real than the actual world she lives in!”

Now as Lanthia looked at her home she thought how beautiful the ancient brickwork was, with a life of its own because of the many years it had existed.

She was daydreaming about the many people who had passed through its heavy doors, feeling that they had all left an impression she could sense in the atmosphere of the house.

Over the years soldiers and statesmen, rakes and roués, and politicians of every persuasion, who had been of great service to the country, had lived there.

They had all come, and they had all gone.

Sometimes Lanthia felt as if they were still there, watching over their namesake and preparing the way for those who would follow in the future.

‘That will be David,’ ruminated Lanthia, ‘and it is time he married and produced an heir, who will be the tenth Baronet when he dies.’

She rode into the stables and one of the boys came out to take charge of Jupiter.

“Did you ’ave a nice ride, miss?” he asked.

“It was lovely, as it always is! If I can, I will go riding again this evening.”

The stable boy grinned as if he knew without being told.

Lanthia loved to be riding Jupiter when the sun was beginning to sink in the sky and the shadows were growing a little longer.

It was then that everything seemed mysterious.

There was a sudden hush over the world and she felt that she was nearer to the unknown.

It was then that the best stories would come to her mind and she found them completely realistic. She could almost see them happening as well as feel them in her heart.

*

As she walked back to the house, she wondered if her father would do anything with her this afternoon.

Sometimes he would place aside the book he was writing and say he must inspect something on the estate or visit one of the tenant farmers.

Or perhaps he would just ride with her for the sheer joy of doing so.

Because the possibility of his riding with her was so exciting, she hurried into the hall.

She wondered if she should go to her father’s study, but knew he disliked being disturbed if he was busy.

It was, however, nearly time for luncheon and one thing her mother always insisted upon was that Sir Philip should take proper meals at proper times.