Читать книгу 274. Good or Bad - Barbara Cartland - Страница 3

Amalita opened the letter that had come from France.

She noticed that the envelope was not addressed in her father’s usual strong upright hand.

She thought just for a moment that it must have come from her stepmother.

Then she remembered that Yvette’s handwriting was very different and very French.

‘Who can it be from?’ she wondered.

Then she told herself that she had only to look inside to find the answer.

When she had read the letter through once, she went back to the beginning.

She stared at what was written in a such a way that would have told anyone watching that she had suffered a shock.

Finally Amalita went to sit on the window seat and gazed out into the garden.

It was nearly an hour later when the door opened and her sister Carolyn came in.

She was looking exceedingly lovely with her fair hair curled round her forehead and her face a little flushed.

Her blue eyes were the colour of the sky outside and she was so beautiful that she might have come from the sky itself.

“I have had a really marvellous ride, Amalita,” she said. “I went right up to the Beacon and there was not a soul in sight.”

Then, as her sister did not respond to her, she walked towards her, asking,

“What is the matter? What has happened?”

“I have just had – a letter from – France,” Amalita replied nervously. “Sit down, Carolyn.”

“From Papa?” Carolyn enquired. “So why should that upset you?”

She sat down because her sister had told her to and she chose a chair by the window and the sunshine turned her hair to quivering gold.

“This is a letter,” Amalita said very slowly, “from the Police in Nice.”

“The Police?” her sister exclaimed. “What can Papa have been up to?”

Amalita drew in her breath.

“Papa is – dead,” she told her, “and so is – Yvette.”

Her sister just stared at her.

After a moment she asked,

“Did you – did you say – dead?”

“Yes. According to this letter from the Police, Papa and Yvette went sailing, which, as you know, he always loved. A sudden storm got up and his yacht collided with a – cargo boat – and it sank. Their bodies were recovered, but they were already drowned.”

Amalita’s voice sounded so very strange, as if it was extremely difficult for her to utter the words.

Carolyn put her hands up to her eyes.

“Oh, poor Papa! How could he have gone so far away from us?”

“I find it just impossible to believe,” Amalita said, “You can read the letter for yourself. It is in French.”

“You know very well that my French is not as good as yours,” Carolyn objected. “Tell me what it says.”

“Just as I told you,” Amalita replied. “Papa and Yvette went sailing. They were both drowned and the Police said it took them some time to find out who Papa was and whom they could contact.”

She looked down at the letter again before she went on,

“In fact it was only when they found our letter to him that they were aware of his address.”

“So they wrote to you,” Carolyn said. “When did it all happen?”

“I can hardly believe it true, but it was nearly a month ago,” her sister answered.

“How can they have taken so long?” Carolyn asked.

For a moment Amalita did not reply.

Then after a moment she said,

“It seems terrible to think we were enjoying ourselves and not worrying a bit about Papa and all the time he was dead.”

There was another silence before Carolyn remarked,

“He did not – worry very much about – us after he – married Yvette.”

Now there was a distinct bitterness in her tone, which her sister did not miss.

She jumped up from the chair and moved to put her arms around Amalita.

“I know how upset you must be,” she said, “because you loved Papa and he meant so much to you. But you know, if you are truthful, that we had lost him after Mama died and he married that Frenchwoman.”

Amalita drew in a deep breath.

“You are right,” she agreed. “‘That Frenchwoman’ as you call her, changed him completely. I gather from this letter that he was not staying in Nice under his own name, which means that he did not wish to meet any of his old friends.”

“How could she have a hold over him so – quickly?” Carolyn asked in bewilderment.

Her sister did not reply.

Two years older than Carolyn, she was aware that Yvette, whom her father had met in Paris, had swept him off his feet.

He had gone to Paris because he was so desperately unhappy after his wife’s death and he found their home intolerable to live in.

“I see your mother in every room,” he had muttered to his older daughter. “I find myself calling for her as I come in through the front door and I just cannot sleep at night because she is not beside me.

Before he could say the next words, Amalita knew what they would be.

“I must go away,” Sir Frederick Maulpin said. “I must try and get control of myself, but I cannot stay here and go mad.”

There was an agony as he spoke that told his daughter he was speaking the truth.

“You are so right. Papa,” she said gently. “You should go away and I know when you come back that things will seem different.”

She helped him to pack up his boxes and Sir Frederick had left the next day.

He did not take his valet with him and Amalita knew that it was because he was trying hard to forget everything that his home had meant to him for twenty-one years.

Because she was older than her sister and so closer to their father, he had told her that he had been a somewhat raffish young man in his youth.

She guessed that he had had very many love affairs, enjoyed himself in London and travelled on the Continent whenever he felt like it.

He was indeed well off.

He could afford all the perquisites for the pleasure of a handsome, hearty young man who had nothing better to do than to enjoy himself.

He had a stable full of fine horses and he hunted with two of the best packs in the County of Leicestershire.

He had two or three horses that had won several minor races.

He played polo and belonged to two of the smartest Gentleman’s Clubs in St. James’s, White’s and Boodles.

Amalita knew without his telling her that he had been on the lists as a most eligible bachelor of every important hostess in London.

When he went to stay in France or any other country in Europe, he was able to stay at the British Embassy.

He was the guest of noble families in many countries he visited.

He was the eighth Baronet and the family was known as one of the oldest and most respected in England.

Queen Victoria frequently invited him to luncheon and dinner parties at Windsor Castle.

Then, so unexpectedly that it surprised even him, he fell head-over-heels in love.

Amalita knew only too well that her mother had been overwhelmingly beautiful, but not of great social standing.

Her father was a gentleman and a Country Squire.

He had, however, never aspired to shine brightly in the smartest Society in which he moved.

Having lost his heart, his character and his personality changed.

He bought a pretty black and white Medieval house in Worcestershire with a large estate and settled down there with the woman he loved.

He forgot the friends who had been so close to him in London.

The only disappointment in all the years that followed was that he did not have a son.

His first-born was a daughter who resembled him.

He christened her “Amalita” because he thought that she looked like a Greek Goddess.

She was quite different from her mother in that she had dark hair with strange lights in it and her eyes were the green-grey of the sea.

“She is just so lovely,” Sir Frederick declared, “that I really believe, my darling, that she is a gift from God.”

Their second daughter, Carolyn, who was born two years later, closely resembled Elizabeth Maulpin.

She also had a very sweet and gentle character, which made everyone she met love her as they loved her mother.

Amalita could be fiery and forceful, so like her father. She also had his imagination and his acute intelligence.

It amazed him, having all these fine attributes, that he should be content with one woman in the country.

In some extraordinary way it was as if they were the complete complement of each other.

It was her father who had told Amalita about what the Greeks believed in.

When man was first created, he was alone in the world and wanted a companion. So the Gods cut him in half.

Always for the rest of his existence he looked for the woman who was the other half of himself so that he would become whole again.

That was certainly what her father and mother were, Amalita felt and she could never recall them quarrelling or even arguing with each other.

Arguing was what she enjoyed when she grew older and her father found it most amusing that she had the same sharp brain that he had.

She also had an intuition that made them duel often with each other in words.

“When you do marry, my darling,” he had said to her once, “I hope you will find a man who will not only adore you but also stimulate your mind in the same way that you stimulate mine.”

Just a year ago, however, disaster had struck them.

It was an extremely cold winter.

However strong the fires blazed away in the house and timber was cut up to provide warmth, Elizabeth Maulpin succumbed to the freezing atmosphere and retired to bed.

It was unlike her not to be at her husband’s side.

Sir Frederick, for the very first time, seemed to be at a loose end.

So it was Amalita who had ridden out with him at the strangest hours just because he could not think of anything else to do.

“Mama will soon be better, Papa,” she would say to cheer him up.

Lying in the comfortable bed with its silk curtains and gold corola above it, Elizabeth Maulpin seemed to shrink away day by day.

Finally one sunny morning when her husband woke, he found her dead beside him.

His two daughters found it as difficult to believe as he did.

He was at once in such a frantic state of despair that they spent every moment of their time trying to comfort him.

“We must not leave him alone,” Amalita had said to Carolyn.

They took it in turns always to be at his side.

When the funeral was over and he could no longer see the wife he had adored, he announced that he must go away.

“I shall go to Paris,” he replied when Amalita asked him where he would go.

He had been away for many months.

Although the girls wrote long letters to him almost daily, they received only a few scanty replies from him.

Then, after a long empty interval, a letter arrived just as they were returning from riding.

“A letter from Papa!” Amalita exclaimed as she came into the hall. “Thank Goodness. I was just wondering what could have happened to him.”

“Maybe he is coming back home at last,” Carolyn said cheerfully.

Amalita opened the letter and began to read what her father had written.

“Read me the letter to me,” Carolyn begged, coming up beside her.

As Amalita was silent, Carolyn took the letter from her and read it.

Then she exclaimed,

“I don’t believe it! How could Papa be in love with anyone so – soon after Mama – ?”

Her voice broke and she burst into tears.

“Papa has – forgotten – Mama,” she sobbed.

Amalita put her arms around her.

“He could never forget Mama” she said. “It is just that he cannot bear to be alone.”

Her father returned a month later.

He brought with him his new wife, and the two girls stared at her feeling that they must be dreaming.

Yvette was in every way a complete contrast to their mother.

For one thing she was French.

Although Amalita did not say so, she was sure that she was a Bourgeoise.

She was certainly not an aristocrat by any means.

She did have, however, all the enticement, allure and charm for which Frenchwomen are renowned.

She walked into the house wearing high-heeled shoes and dressed in a fashion Amalita had never seen before.

It was so obvious that her father found her irresistible as he could not take his eyes from her.

She flirted with him in a way that kept the two girls gazing at her in astonishment.

She was witty and amusing and she looked at him in a way that brought the fire into his eyes.

Amalita was old enough to understand why her father could forget everything he had lost.

In fact he was no longer the father she knew, the man she had adored ever since he had first lifted her out of the cradle.

For their father’s sake, Amalita and Carolyn tried to understand and to like their stepmother. But it was quite obvious that Yvette had no use for them.

She was concerned with one thing only and that was keeping their father madly and wildly in love with her.

She accepted the presents he bought for her to express his affection.

Furs, jewels, clothes of every description came down from London day after day.

Always she wanted more and still more.

Sir Frederick produced all his gifts as if he was paying her for the pleasure she gave him.

That, Amalita thought secretly when she was alone at night, was the truth.

It was very obvious that Sir Frederick did not want his friends or neighbours to meet Yvette.

That was the reason why when he returned to England he had not taken her to London.

When he came to the country, he made every excuse not to invite any of the friends who lived near them to a meal.

He refused every invitation as soon as it arrived.

It was obvious after two of three weeks that Yvette was growing restless.

“Let’s go to London, mon chéri,” Amalita heard her say to her father.

“Why London?” Sir Frederick enquired.

“It is dull here, except, of course, that I am so happy with you,” Yvette replied caressingly. “But I want to go to the theatre, I want to dance with you and feel you hold me close in your arms.”

“I can do that without having to dance,” Sir Frederick told her.

“But I want the music. It is so romantic and, when I am with you, I feel very, very romantic, mon brave.”

There was a note in her voice, Amalita just knew, that made Sir Frederick reach out for her.

Because it made her embarrassed when she saw her father kissing the Frenchwoman, she left the room.

But she had not forgotten what had been said.

It was therefore no surprise when only a week later her father declared that they were going back to France.

It was November and, to his daughters’ surprise, he had made no effort to join any of the shooting parties to which he was invited, as he had every year previously.

He had not even hunted as he always had enjoyed.

Nor had he taken part in the Steeplechases in which he had invariably been the winner.

He just stayed at home with Yvette. More often than not they remained in their bedroom for most of the day.

The idea that they were to go to France made Yvette more animated than ever.

She talked very quickly, using her hands to express what she was saying.

She flattered Sir Frederick in such a manner that made Amalita feel embarrassed.

Before they left she said to her father,

“You have not forgotten, I hope, Papa, that Mama had plans for Carolyn to ‘come out’ next Season in London?”

She knew that her father had forgotten and she went on,

“I missed my debut because, if you will remember it, Grandmama died and we were in mourning. But Mama promised that we would go to London next April and we would both be presented to the Queen.”

“Yes, yes, of course, I do remember it,” Sir Frederick replied impatiently, “and I promise you shall have a ball in London and also one here when we return.”

“You will be back with us for Christmas?” Amalita asked him. “Then, when the Festivities are over, you can write to your friends, telling them that we are coming to London. I know that you and Mama made a list.”

“Of course, of course,” Sir Frederick agreed. “We will talk about it then. Just look after everything while I am away and see that the horses are well exercised.”

“I will,” Amalita promised, “but we shall miss you, Papa.”

She spoke wistfully.

It had been a terrible year without her mother.

Now, when they had only just been able to put aside the black gowns that she and Carolyn hated, her father was going away again.

“You will be back for Christmas?” she asked again.

Even as she spoke, she had the strange feeling that he was slipping, like quicksand, through her fingers.

She could not hold on to him.

“Yes – yes, of course,” Sir Fredrick said hastily. “It is just that your stepmother dislikes the cold and she will find it warmer in Paris.”

The girls spent Christmas alone.

Presents arrived, which they thought were very pretty and had obviously been extremely expensive.

But it was certainly not the same as having their father with them.

‘He will be back by January’ Amalita told herself.

Then they learnt that he had gone to Nice.

From there he wrote to them saying,

“It will be warmer in the South and I have rented a villa outside Nice, which has a fine view overlooking the sea and quite a large garden.”

Because he had described it, Amalita thought that he was going to invite them to join him.

But there was no mention of it and he merely urged them again to exercise the horses.

Finally she wrote to him, begging him to come back and reminding him that it would soon be April.

“You must, Papa, write to your friends in London,” she reminded him.

She was so certain that he would return as soon as he received her letter that she started buying new dresses for herself and Carolyn.

“All your best gowns must come from Bond Street,” she said. “There are only one or two shops in Worcester that seem to have up to date models and we cannot arrive looking like country bumpkins!”

Carolyn laughed.

“You could never look like one, darling Amalita and I am sure that all the smart people in London will admire your green eyes and your dark hair.”

Amalita would have been very stupid, which she was not, if she had not realised that she was very striking to look at.

Carolyn was as beautiful as her mother had been.

Amalita was quite certain that the Social world would be bowled over by her.

Time was getting on and she was growing more and more worried when there was no sign of her father.

‘He must arrive soon,’ she had kept telling herself.

Now, having received the tragic news of his death as she held Carolyn against her, she felt the tears in her own eyes.

She knew that she had not only lost her father, but he had somehow taken the future away with him.

‘What are we to do?’ she wondered frantically.

Tea was announced by an old servant. He had been with them ever since her father and mother had come to live in Worcestershire.

Because she could not bear to say the words, Amalita found it impossible to tell him that her father was dead.

Instead they went into the drawing room.

She sat down on the large sofa where her mother had always sat to pour out the tea.

It had been served in the Georgian silver teapot that had belonged to their great-grandmother.

When they were at last alone, Carolyn stammered in a choked voice,

“W-what are we – going to do?”

“There is nothing we can do,” Amalita said. “It says in the letter that Papa and our stepmother are buried in the Catholic Churchyard in Nice. The Police have asked what we would like put on the tombstone – if we are prepared to pay for one – and, of course, I must reply to them.”

Carolyn did not say anything and after a short moment Amalita said,

“I realise from this letter that Papa was not using his title. He did not wish to see any friends who were staying in Nice.”

“I believe that he was – ashamed of – the woman he married,” Carolyn suggested.

This was something that Amalita had known for quite some time.

She had, however, thought it best not to express it in words.

She had also been aware that Yvette was not the sort of woman her mother would have invited to the house at any time.

From some of the things Yvette had said inadvertently Amalita was sure she had a somewhat strange past before she had married their father.

“I would suppose,” Carolyn said in a doleful voice, “we cannot – now go to – London and all those – pretty gowns that we bought – will be wasted.”

She gave a little sob before she added,

“I was so – looking forward to – attending balls and – meeting new people. There is – no one round here – who is – interested in us.”

Amalita knew that this was true.

Their neighbours were all old and their children were already married and had left Worcestershire.

Two of the young men the girls had known since they were small had joined the Army and were posted abroad.

Another was perpetually at sea as he was a sailor.

Carolyn was right.

There was in reality no one for them to know of any interest or standing in the County.

And yet they had been very happy while their father and mother were alive.

“I am nearly eighteen,” Carolyn was saying, “and it is not fair that I should just stay here with nothing to do until I am as old as you.”

She saw the expression on Amalita’s face and jumped up and put her arms round her neck.

“That was unkind of me,” she said. “I know how you could not go to London as Grandmama had died and then Mama left us. But I really did think that Papa would come home. I suppose that horrid Yvette would not let him.”

Amalita held her sister closer and she said,

“I know what you are feeling now. It is what I have been feeling too for a long time.”

“What can – we do about – it?” Carolyn asked with a little sob.

“We will do something,” Amalita replied firmly and now her voice sounded very much like her father’s.

Unexpectedly she gave a cry.

“What is it?” Carolyn asked.

She did not really expect an answer, but Amalita said slowly,

“I have an – idea and it is – something that seems – impossible, but we will – yes – we will do it!”

Carolyn moved away from her arms.

“Tell me your idea,” she pleaded.

Amalita walked across the room to the window.

She stood gazing with unseeing eyes at the sunshine flooding the garden.

Carolyn watched her.

She was trying not to be too optimistic that her sister had found a good solution to the prospect of their sitting dismally at home alone.

At the same time Amalita had always been original ever since they were children.

It was Amalita who thought of the games they would play, Amalita who climbed trees and swam in the lake.

It was Amalita who made them dress up to look like ghosts and frighten the old servants, Amalita who had got them both up on the roof of the old barn.

There they had to sit until someone came to rescue them because they could not find a way down.

Watching her sister now, Carolyn thought how lovely Amalita was in her own way.

She was indeed so unlike their mother, but there was a distinct look of her father.

Where he had been outstandingly handsome, she was beautiful.

Her sister turned round.

“I will tell you what we are going to do, Carolyn,” she said. “You shall not be robbed of your debut. It was what Mama wanted for you and it is what you will have. We are going to London!”

Carolyn clasped her hands together.

“It sounds wonderful. But how can we? How can I be presented to the Queen without Mama? She always said that Papa’s relations were either dead or too old and what was left of her family had always lived in the dark wilds of Northumberland.”

“I know all that,” Amalita said. “But, if you wish to be presented, so you must have somebody grand to take you to Buckingham Palace.”

“But – who? Who can do – that?” Carolyn asked.

The excitement that there had been in her eyes for a moment or two was fading away.

She felt she knew the end of the story and that what Amalita was planning for her was just fantasy.

“We will most surely go to London,” Amalita insisted slowly, “and you will be chaperoned both at the balls you will attend and at Buckingham Palace.”

“By whom?” Carolyn asked. “You yourself know that there is nobody.”

“I will be your chaperone!” Amalita announced.

Carolyn stared at her before she countered,

“You are teasing me, which only makes things worse. I may not be as clever as you, but I am well aware that a chaperone cannot be an unmarried girl. I cannot imagine you have a husband hidden away in one of the outhouses!”

She spoke with a little sting in her voice as she felt so disappointed.

Just for a moment she had hoped that because Amalita was so clever, she had solved the problem.

Then Amalita said,

“I don’t intend to chaperone you as an unmarried girl but as Lady Maulpin.”

Carolyn stared at her.

“Lady Maulpin? But you cannot pretend to be Mama! Even the most stupid man who ever lived – and certainly not the Dowagers who sit round the dance floors – could mistake you for Mama.”

“I would not pretend to be Mama,” Amalita said, “but your stepmother!”

Carolyn gasped.

“You will – pretend – to be – Yvette?”

Amalita shook her head violently.

“Certainly not! Yvette was a common and very vulgar Frenchwoman. Although she married Papa, fortunately few people in England will have seen her – and nobody in London.”

Carolyn’s eyes seemed to fill her whole face.

“What – are you – saying? I just don’t understand. Explain it to – me.”

“I am working it out in my mind,” Amalita answered. “Papa was indeed married to Yvette, but they were buried as ‘Monsieur et Madame Maupin’, which, if you look at the letter, the Police have spelt wrongly. That is the name I shall order to be put on the tombstone.”

She paused and then she went on,

“There is no reason for anyone to know that Papa and our stepmother have only recently been drowned and they will certainly not go looking for their tombstone.”

“And – what does that – mean?” Carolyn asked in bewilderment.

“It means that as far as we are both concerned, Papa married her nine months ago. He died almost immediately after the Wedding was over and Lady Maulpin has been in mourning. She is doing her duty in bringing to London Sir Frederick’s daughter, Carolyn, who has just reached the age of eighteen.”

Carolyn was listening as if she could hardly believe what she was hearing.

Then she said almost in a whisper,

“Do – you think – anyone will – believe that?”

“Why should they question it?” Amalita asked. “We have been buried alive here. No one has been interested in us since Mama died and Papa has been away. When he did come back, no one except the servants will recall having seen him.”

“Don’t you – think that they might – talk?” Carolyn questioned.

“In London?”

“I see – what you – mean, but, Amalita, you don’t look old enough.”

“Nor did Yvette! She admitted to being twenty-six, although I thought her older but I could not prove it.”

She walked across the room and back again as if it was impossible to keep still.

“I will find some clothes that will make me look like a married woman and I will do my hair the way Mama used to do hers. I will also use just a little of the cosmetics that Yvette left behind.”

“You never told me she had left anything behind,” Carolyn exclaimed.

“Well, she did,” Amalita replied, “but I did not think it of any importance. And there are the two gowns Papa bought for her that she always hated. She said they were too severe, but Papa bought them from a very expensive shop.”

She gave a wry smile as she added,

“I think that he was trying to tone her down a little. Perhaps he even thought that if she wore them he could introduce her to some of his friends. But, when the gowns arrived, she put them on one side and said to me. ‘I have no intention of wearing those dingy ladylike clothes that will make me look like a middle-aged frump’.”

“You did not tell me she said that,” Carolyn replied somewhat accusingly.

“Why should I? I thought at the time how vulgar her behaviour was.”

“I just cannot think what Papa saw in her,” Carolyn murmured.

Amalita was recalling how her father had come into the room at that moment.

Yvette had sprung up and run from the dressing table into his arms.

“Merci, chéri! Je t’adore!” she cooed. “I am thrilled with the presents you have given me!”

She had been wearing very little.

Only her topless stays that were tightly laced to keep in her waist and a transparent petticoat trimmed with real lace.

She put her arms around Sir Frederick and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed him and went on kissing him as Amalita slipped from the room.

She had known then that it would be just impossible for her father ever to escape from Yvette.

Now, as she remembered these two gowns, she knew that they were exactly what she wanted at least until she could buy some in London.

“I-I just don’t think we can do it – ” Carolyn was saying. “I am – sure we – will be discovered.”

“You are going to have your Season in London if we die in the attempt,” Amalita declared. “And if we are very lucky, you will find a husband who will love you and you will love him.”

She could see her sister looking at her wide-eyed and she explained,

“That is the whole idea of the Season. You will have a lot of competition in finding the right man, but I will back you one hundred percent as a winner in the Matrimonial Stakes!”