This Way To Heaven

CHAPTER ONE 1908-1

CHAPTER ONE

1908“Oh dear, Jasmina, I do feel so dreadful leaving you in such a fashion!”

Margaret, the Duchess of Harley, stood at the top of the long flight of stone steps that led from the great door of Harley Court down to the wide gravel driveway that circled a vast ornate fountain.

A brisk November wind was tearing the remaining yellow and bronze leaves from the avenue of fine oaks that bordered the drive all the way towards the great ornamental gates at the far end.

Beyond the gates was the road that led through the woods and up into the hills towards the pass through to the town of Debbingford in the next valley.

In the other direction the hills rose up one after the other until they reached the wild heather covered Yorkshire moors.

The Duchess was a short plump lady wrapped in layers of heavy winter clothes and wearing a huge hat tied under her chin with a silk scarf.

To an onlooker she appeared almost a comical little figure, looking almost as wide as she was tall.

Now as she gazed up at the tall slender American girl standing next to her there was a worried expression on her kind face.

“Are you sure you would not be better coming with me to London?”

Jasmina Winfield smiled down at her distant cousin with real affection.

“Now, Aunt Margaret, we have discussed this many times. You are greatly needed in London and as I have already seen something of that wonderful City, I am to go to my mother’s cousins at the Parsonage in Debbingford for a few weeks and experience a real English Christmas.”

The Duchess clutched at her long floating scarf that was in danger of being blown away. She wrapped it firmly round her neck and wished not for the first time that day that Albert, her husband the Duke, was not so far away on business in Scotland.

Their only daughter, Hope, was married to the Earl of Leyton and news had arrived the night before to Harley Grange that the infant heir to the Earldom had been born into this world three weeks early.

The Duchess was desperate to travel to London to be at her daughter’s bedside.

But to add to her worries she had a houseguest – an American relation, Jasmina Winfield, and she was concerned about what was to become of her.

They had only been at home in Yorkshire for three days after a few weeks at their London house before the baby made his unexpected entrance and now her attentions were needed elsewhere.

As a good hostess she felt dreadful, Jasmina knew no one in the area and there had been no time for introductions.

She sighed.

The Duchess had been hesitating on the steps for a good ten minutes now and she could see that the chauffeur was growing restless.

The luggage had been loaded into the Rolls Royce and her cousin’s maid was standing shivering by the side of the car.

“Aunt Margaret,” declared Jasmina firmly, placing a gentle hand under her arm and escorting her slowly down the stone steps. “It is much too cold a day for you to stand outside. If you catch a chill, you will not be able to help Hope with her darling little boy.”

“Oh dear, oh dear, yes, well, if you are quite sure. Now, do be very careful on your journey when you leave, Jasmina. The roads are so treacherous at this time of year.”

Jasmina smiled.

She was from a part of America – Missouri, where the winters were always terribly hard. She was very used to low temperatures and thick snowfalls.

By comparison Northern England in the month of November had seemed very tame.

“I shall be most careful, do not fear. Now, off you go, Aunt Margaret. Give my love to Hope and write to me at my cousin’s address with all the news.”

The Duchess hesitated a few seconds longer. She was still feeling uneasy.

This young American cousin was so different from the English girls of her age.

Jasmina was extremely independent and held some determined views. She had shocked some of the Duchess’s elderly friends with her outspoken comments about politics and how to cure poverty in the most destitute areas of big Cities.

The Duchess sighed loudly as she took her seat in the Rolls. She was more than certain that America was a fine place, but it did seem to breed a very headstrong type of young woman!

At long last the car drove away down the drive, the Duchess waving her handkerchief from the window until it passed out of sight.

Jasmina looked relieved.

She was extremely fond of the lady she called Aunt Margaret, although she was not really her aunt, of course, but a distant cousin on her father’s side.

Jasmina was born and bred in America, but all her life she had longed to visit England. She had read every book and travel guide she could find and asked her long-suffering parents many questions about their family in that distant country.

At long last when she reached the age of twenty-one, her father had given in to her pestering and arranged for her to cross the Atlantic to stay with his relations, the Duke and Duchess of Harley and their family.

To Jasmina, tall and fair, with sparkling blue eyes and a determined expression, London had been everything she had ever imagined.

She had enjoyed the shops, the ancient buildings, the parties and balls. She had loved visiting the historical places she had only read about, learning the manners and traditions of a different world.

But it was not until she travelled up to the family’s ancestral home in Yorkshire on the edge of the moors that she felt her spirits lift with unexpected joy.

Jasmina had never seen such beautiful countryside and she knew with all her soul that even when she returned home, part of her heart would stay here.

Now she ran nimbly up the stone steps and into the huge echoing hall with its superb black and white marble floor and graceful Grecian statues brought back to England by one of the Duke’s ancestors.

She would be very sad to leave Harley Grange, but was sensible enough to know it would be inadvisable to stay there on her own.

Back home in Missouri she would not have given it another thought. But even though they were now in a new century, Jasmina was aware that many of her family’s acquaintances still adhered to the old ways of manners and decorum.

So she would depart for the Parsonage to the other cousins who lived in the village of Debbingford twenty miles away in the next valley.

She had assured Aunt Margaret that she would be perfectly safe travelling there on her own.

‘Goodness’, she thought to herself, ‘at home in Missouri most friends live more than twenty miles away and I often went to their houses just for lunch or an afternoon visit!’

“Miss Winfield – ”

It was Reid, the elderly butler.

“Yes, Reid. Can I help you?”

“Just to inform you, miss, that the horse His Grace purchased recently has just arrived. It has been stabled and cared for, but I thought it best that you knew.”

“Oh, yes, Reid. Thank you! The Duke told me in London before he left for Scotland that this is the mount he wants me to ride while I was here at Harley Grange.

“It is vastly annoying that the dealer has delayed in sending the animal. I am so looking forward to seeing him. I must go down to the stables. Perhaps I could take him out for just a short ride before I leave.”

Reid’s mouth tightened.

This young American lady was certainly pleasant, but surely she should know that it was not suitable for her to ride around the countryside on a strange horse. Well, maybe in America things were handled differently, but this was Harley Grange in England.

“Perhaps it would not be advisable, Miss Winfield. The Head Groom is away on estate business and I believe the animal is extremely highly strung.”

Jasmina was about to inform the butler that she had been riding since she was three and could handle any horse given her.

But she hesitated, as she was well aware that there were differences in the way Society worked over here in England and although it was irritating, well, there was no reason to antagonise the staff.

No, what the eye did not see, the heart would not grieve over – that was what her old Nanny would have said and at the moment Jasmina thought this was very good advice.

She ran up to her room and began to sort out the clothes she would need for the following day.

Because she had just had the most marvellous idea – a wonderful plan.

She would ride the new horse across country to her cousins in Debbingford!

She knew these cousins were not as wealthy as the Duke and Duchess and so she was not sure if they would have a mount for her. It seemed such a shame to leave the animal in the stables when he had been purchased just for her.

The casement window now rattled violently and she hurried across to close it.

Gazing out she could see on a far distant hill the brooding turreted outline of Somerton Castle.

Jasmina realised that the immense Somerton estate bordered on the Duke’s land and was intrigued by the story the Duchess had told her over supper the night before.

“Oh, my dear, it is so sad. Richard, the present Earl of Somerton, is a tragic figure. A real recluse. He sees no one!”

Jasmina had gazed at the Duchess across the candle flames, her sapphire eyes sparkling.

“No one at all? My word, what would he do if you called?”

“I would be told firmly that he is not at home. My dear Albert meets him occasionally on estate business and I believe he undertakes various work for the Government so he does travel down to London. But apart from that he never appears in Society.”

“But why? Is he perhaps – ” Jasmina hesitated, searching for the right words, “disfigured in some way?”

“Oh, no, my dear, Richard was always the best-looking young man and even now at thirty he is most distinguished. But – ” she leant dramatically across the table – “he lost Millicent, his wife, two years ago in a tragic accident. Dreadful. She was so young, so pretty. He has never been the same since.”

Now from her bedroom window, Jasmina gazed out at the distant castle.

She would have loved to have met the Earl.

He sounded such a romantic, tragic figure. Like a character in a novel.

But now she was leaving the district, even though temporarily, so there would be no immediate opportunity for their paths to cross.

*

The next day dawned cold and dull and the sullen sky hung grey over the Yorkshire countryside threatening snow later in the day.

Richard, the Earl of Somerton, sat drinking coffee in the dismal breakfast room of Somerton Castle.

He had told his staff not to bother lighting the fire this morning, because he was going to be away from home in London for a few days.

But now he shivered in the chilly room.

“More coffee, my Lord?”

His housekeeper, Mary Landrey, was at his shoulder.

“No, thank you, Mary. And you can clear away the food as well.”

She bit her lip as she could see that he had eaten nothing. The hot dishes of crispy bacon, succulent local sausages and scrambled egg remained untouched.

“Shall I ask cook for more toast, my Lord? We do have some new plum preserve and – ”

“Nothing, thank you, Mary. I shall be leaving for London within minutes. But do make sure this food does not go to waste. I am sure the staff will enjoy it.”

She bent her head in exasperated acknowledgement and signalled to Gladys, the maid, to clear away.

The breakfast would all go to waste. The servants would be appalled to be offered cold eggs and bacon!

Mary watched from the door as the Earl stirred his coffee. She could tell he was in one of his black moods, those great bouts of depression that came down on him like thunder clouds.

She sighed and twisted her hands together under her white starched apron.