Duelling Fire Read online

‘I—fell,’ said Sara lamely. ‘In—in the stables.’ She touched her hair. ‘I didn’t realise it was so—so—–’

  ‘Obvious?’ suggested Harriet shortly. ‘Really, Sara, you can’t expect me to believe your appearance is the result of a fall!’

  Sara shook her head. ‘I did fall,’ she insisted. At least that was true. What came after, she could not reveal, not even if Harriet refused to speak to her again.

  ‘Very well.’ The other woman heaved a heavy sigh. ‘I suppose I must accept that you choose not to be honest with me—–’

  ‘That’s not true—–’

  ‘What is true, Sara?’ Harriet bit off the words. Then, suddenly, she spread her hands. ‘Oh, very well. What’s the use of us arguing? I don’t like hostility, Sara, I never have, and if a little thing like this can cause so much dissent, I suggest we forget it.’

  ‘Harriet—–’

  ‘Please.’ Her aunt held up her hand. ‘Let’s say no more about it. I shall speak to Jude myself when he returns.’

  Sara felt terrible. ‘Can—can I go and tidy myself up now?’ she asked unhappily, as Harriet returned to her mail, and the older woman shrugged.

  ‘Why not? You haven’t forgotten that the vicar and his wife are coming for coffee this morning, have you? I shouldn’t like them to see you in that state.’

  Sara had forgotten, but she nodded her head a little jerkily before beating a hasty retreat to the sanctuary of her bedroom. She intended to take a shower. To scrub away every trace of Jude’s lovemaking from her body; until these awful feelings of guilt and betrayal were erased once and for all.

  Sara did not see Jude again that day. The weather had changed in concert with her mood, and when she went down for dinner it was raining quite heavily, the sky low and overcast, casting shadows in the corners of the library.

  ‘Put on the light, darling,’ Harriet instructed from the depths of the couch, when Sara came in at the door, but once again the switch refused to work.

  ‘Oh, leave it.’ Harriet lifted her hand and pressed the switch on the lamp nearest to her. ‘Now try it,’ she added, and Sara did, her eyes widening in surprise when the lamps were illuminated. ‘It’s these old houses,’ Harriet explained, inviting her to help herself to a drink. ‘The wiring is slightly old-fashioned. Two-way switches meant something different to them. If the light is turned off at the door, it needs to be turned on at the door. Likewise with the lamps.’

  ‘So if I turned the switch at the door, I could prevent you from turning on the lamp,’ Sara tendered.

  ‘Something like that,’ Harriet agreed comfortably. ‘Now come and sit down, darling. I have an apology to make.’

  ‘An apology?’ Sara’s fingers stiffened round her glass.

  ‘Yes. Oh, do sit down. Stop hovering, dear. Jude’s told me what actually happened this morning.’

  ‘He has?’ Sara was appalled. ‘Oh, Harriet—–’

  ‘Silly girl! Thinking you had to protect Barnes! I’ve promised Jude I won’t say a word, even though he was responsible.’

  Sara slumped back against the buttoned upholstery. ‘I see.’

  ‘Naturally, if you’d told me you’d been knocked down by a stack of bales, I’d have understood your dishevelled appearance. Instead of which you let me think Jude had tumbled you in the hay.’

  Sara’s hot cheeks merely confirmed Harriet’s opinion. She thought she had embarrassed her, talking about such things. The truth was, Sara was mortified with shame.

  ‘Harriet—–’

  ‘Not another word.’ Harriet squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘I must learn not to jump to conclusions. Now, you can tell me what you’re planning to wear tomorrow evening.’

  By the time the following evening arrived Sara was a veritable bundle of nerves. After what Jude had said, and her uneasy reconciliation with Harriet, she should have felt more relaxed, but she didn’t. She was taut and apprehensive, aware that several pairs of eyes would be upon her, not least those of Venetia, and Jude himself, of course.

  Harriet had approved what she was wearing: a floaty creation in ice-green chiffon, with a cape-like neckline falling in transparent folds over her shoulders. It was a simple style, but very effective, and with her hair loose for once, she knew she would not let Harriet down. If only Jude was not going to be there, she wished fervently, and came down the stairs to find just such an argument going on.

  ‘You can’t let me down, Jude. I won’t let you!’ Harriet’s voice carried through the half open door of the sitting room. ‘How can I pretend you’re not well enough to come with us, when you were with James less than three hours ago!’

  ‘I’d just rather not be there, that’s all,’ Jude retorted harshly. ‘For God’s sake, why do you need me? You can prepare the sacrifice equally well alone!’

  ‘Jude, I will not have this kind of talk from you. After all I’ve done for you, the least you can do is show a little appreciation.’

  Sara hung back at the foot of the stairs, not wanting to eavesdrop, yet incapable of closing her ears to their exchange. It wasn’t exactly flattering to hear of Jude’s aversion for her company, and what sacrifice was he talking about? She didn’t begin to understand.

  The sound of a door opening behind her alerted her to Janet’s presence, and she quickly deserted her post to walk determinedly into the sitting room. The last thing she wanted was for the housekeeper to add spying to her list of faults. Her relationship with Harriet was not yet strong enough to stand that kind of strain.

  Harriet was standing on the hearth at her entrance, a slim sophisticated figure, in a plain black gown that complemented her chestnut hair. Jude, meanwhile, was lodged in an armchair, one leg thrown carelessly over the arm, a dark and disturbing antagonist, in matching black velvet.

  ‘Oh, there you are, dear.’ Harriet spoke with evident relief as Sara entered the room, and Jude rather reluctantly got up from the chair. ‘You look beautiful,’ she added, glancing round at her companion. ‘Doesn’t she, Jude? Aren’t you proud to have two such elegant ladies to escort?’

  ‘Oh, indeed.’ But Jude’s tone was flat. ‘Well, shall we go? Before I say something we’ll all regret.’

  ‘The car’s at the door, Miss Ferrars,’ Janet’s voice announced from the doorway. ‘What time shall I ask Rob to come back for you?’

  ‘Oh—–’ Harriet started to speak, but Jude’s words overrode her. ‘There’s no need for Rob to turn out, Janet,’ he declared, ignoring Harriet’s instinctive protest. ‘I’ll be driving the ladies myself, and I’ll bring them back when they want to come.’

  ‘But, Jude, you know how foolish it is to drink and drive—–’

  ‘Who’s drinking?’ Jude spread his hands towards her. ‘Cool down, Harriet, it’s only a matter of three miles or so on quiet roads. I’m not exactly an inebriate!’

  ‘But on these occasions—–’

  ‘Oh, I know.’ Jude’s lips twisted bitterly. ‘I have been known to drown my boredom in alcohol. But you can always walk home, if you don’t trust me.’

  They stared at one another angrily, grey eyes gazing into brown, and Sara shifted a little uncomfortably. She had the disturbing feeling that if she and Janet had not been there, their antagonism would have erupted in real violence, but what form that violence might have taken, she didn’t care to contemplate.

  ‘Oh, very well.’ Harriet gave in, bending to pick up her sequinned evening bag before preceding them out of the room. ‘Jude will drive us, Janet, thank you. I’ll explain the position to Rob, when we get to the car.’

  Sara collected her leather coat from the hall cloakroom on their way out, and flinched when Jude took it from her, and held it for her to put on. She thought his hands lingered longer than was necessary on her shoulders, after she had slid her arms inside, but she might have been mistaken and could hardly accuse him anyway. Nevertheless, she moved ahead of him rather quickly, reaching the car before he did, and gasping in surprise at its unexpected luxury.

  It
was a Rolls-Royce, not a new one, it had to be said, but in superb condition. Chrome and paintwork gleamed in the approaching dusk, and inside the leather shone like new.

  ‘It was my father’s,’ Harriet exclaimed, after explaining the situation to Rob. ‘We only use it on special occasions.’ She took Jude’s hand to help her into the front seat. ‘But tonight is a special occasion, isn’t it? Our first dinner at Linden Court together.’

  Jude’s mouth turned down at the corners, but he swung open the rear door for Sara to get in, and slammed it firmly behind her, before walking round to take the wheel. Then, with a wave of farewell for Janet, he set the old car in motion, and they moved majestically down the drive towards the gates.

  Linden Court looked different at night. Although it was not yet dark, lights gleamed from many windows, not just those of the family wing. There were other cars too, parked on the drive, and in the private courtyard, where Jude parked the Rolls, and Sara’s mouth dried up altogether as she anticipated the evening ahead of her.

  A maid took their coats in the entrance hall, her smile for Jude eloquent of their shared employment. ‘His lordship and his guests are in the drawing room, Miss Ferrars,’ she declared, folding Harriet’s cape over her arm. ‘I’m sure you know the way.’

  ‘Thank you, Vera.’ Harriet acknowledged the girl’s directions. ‘And how is your mother these days? I really must come and see her.’

  ‘I’m sure she’d be delighted, miss,’ Vera exclaimed gratefully. ‘Being on her own so much, she does get kind of lonely. It’s not much fun being in a wheelchair. I hope it never happens to me.’

  ‘I’m sure we all hope that, Vera,’ Harriet said sympathetically, but the look Jude gave her was impatient.

  ‘Your mother’s illness is not hereditary, Vera,’ he put in drily. ‘There’s no earthly reason why you should develop her symptoms. Now, if you’ll excuse us …’

  Harriet gave him a killing look before preceding him through an open archway into a wide corridor. At the end, open doors revealed a colourful gathering of people, all talking and laughing and having drinks, and Sara stiffened selfconsciously as their approach was noticed.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t interrupt when I’m talking to the servants, Jude,’ Harriet snapped in an undertone, her fixed smile a travesty of the emotions she was suppressing.

  ‘And I wish you wouldn’t treat Vera as if she was some kind of mental defective,’ retorted Jude bleakly. ‘Her mother has a bone marrow deficiency,’ he explained for Sara’s benefit. ‘The poor girl worries enough, without Harriet putting doubts into her mind.’

  ‘I did not do that!’

  ‘I’m sure we all hope that,’ Jude mimicked brutally, and Harriet’s breathing quickened as they reached the entrance to the drawing room.

  Although the room had seemed to be full of people, Sara saw to her relief that there were perhaps only a dozen other guests. But although the room was huge, they were all grouped together round Lord Hadley, who was holding forth on the subject of fox-hunting, and in consequence there had seemed to be more.

  The room itself was magnificent. The ceiling was carved and fluted, the walls were tall, and covered in paintings, and the furniture matched its surroundings. There were a number of sofas, upholstered in figured cream damask; several easy chairs, some with arms, some without; and many polished tables and cabinets, holding articles of evident value. It was the kind of room Sara had hitherto only seen from a public gallery, and the differences between Knight’s Ferry and Linden Court were now becoming more apparent.

  Their host saw them at once, and with innate courtesy he abandoned his story to come and greet them. But Rupert forestalled him, having glimpsed their approach along the corridor, and it was his hand that reached first for Sara’s, and the warmth of his welcome that enveloped her.

  ‘I say, you look stunning!’ he exclaimed, raising her fingers gallantly to his lips. ‘And you, too, Miss Ferrars,’ he added, as an afterthought. ‘You both look wonderful!’

  Harriet evidently didn’t mind Rupert’s preference. ‘It’s so nice to hear real old-fashioned compliments,’ she declared, as Lord Hadley joined them. ‘Isn’t that so, James? Your son does you credit.’

  Lord Hadley glanced at Jude first, then at Rupert, before finally bringing his attention to Sara. ‘What do you think, my dear?’ he enquired crisply. ‘As the only objective person present, what is your verdict?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure the son is only a reflection of the father,’ she murmured, not consciously seeking his approval, and heard Jude make a derisive sound behind her.

  ‘Well, you can’t say fairer than that,’ remarked Lord Hadley drily, and Sara saw Harriet’s smile of approval, as he took her to find a drink and meet his guests.

  The first person Sara recognised was Venetia, standing with another girl of similar appearance. They were both smaller than Sara, but the unknown girl was of daintier proportions than Rupert’s sister. Venetia was wearing a beautifully designed dress of Indian silk, but once again its full-skirted cut accentuated her hipline, while her companion’s gown of stiffened damask would have suited a more generous figure.

  Venetia’s expression was not friendly, and she turned and said something to the girl beside her that caused them both to snigger. But Venetia’s animosity was not her problem, and Sara endeavoured to remember names as Lord Hadley made his introductions.

  ‘Your father was Charles Shelley, the journalist, wasn’t he?’ one beetle-browed old colonel enquired sharply. ‘Damn fine columnist. A shame he had to die like that.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Sara was grateful, but the colonel hadn’t finished. ‘Got any leanings in that direction yourself?’ he persisted, when Lord Hadley would have drawn her away. ‘Own a couple of papers hereabouts. Could do with some fresh blood, what?’

  ‘I don’t think Miss Shelley is looking for a job, Colonel,’ Rupert Hadley remarked behind them. ‘Father, Calder is looking for you. I think he wants to let you know that dinner is ready.’

  Lord Hadley looked distinctly put out by the interruption, but he had little choice other than to go and speak to Calder, whoever that was. However, he had one thing to say before he left them:

  ‘You won’t forget you’re taking Elizabeth in to dinner, will you, Rupert?’ The warning in his voice was unmistakable. ‘Introduce Peter to Sara: he’s dying to meet her.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’ Rupert’s response was polite, but as soon as his father was out of earshot, he gave Sara a rueful grin. ‘Orders is orders,’ he grimaced, his palm cupping her elbow. ‘But when dinner is over, I’d like to show you around.’

  ‘Well, that’s very kind of you—–’

  Sara didn’t know what to say, but Rupert was appealingly enthusiastic. ‘It’s not polite at all,’ he admitted, speaking in a low voice. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you again. And when Miss Ferrars suggested this dinner party—–’

  ‘Harriet suggested this dinner party?’ Sara interrupted him disbelievingly, but Rupert merely squeezed her arm.

  ‘It’s all right. Father was delighted to arrange it. It’s quite usual to have a party to introduce new people.’

  ‘Yes, but—Harriet’s had dinner parties—–’

  ‘This is different,’ said Rupert confidently. ‘Oh, don’t look like that. Miss Ferrars and my father are old friends. They go—oh, way back. Before either Venetia or I was born, actually.’

  ‘And—and your mother?’

  ‘Didn’t you know? Mother died soon after Venetia was born. Father’s been a widower for almost twenty years.’

  ‘Has he?’

  Sara was confused, and it didn’t help to be introduced to yet another strange young man, whose quiff of reddish hair and rather effeminate appearance combined to give him a foppish air.

  ‘This is Peter Hedgecomb,’ Rupert explained. ‘Peter, meet Sara. And now, I’ve got to go and look after Elizabeth, while you take the most beautiful girl in the room in to dinner!’


  ‘My pleasure,’ said Peter Hedgecomb chivalrously. ‘Can I get you another drink, Sara? Your champagne appears to have got rather flat.’

  Dinner was eventually served in the small dining room. Sara only knew it was the small dining room because Peter Hedgecomb told her so. She couldn’t imagine the size of the large dining room if this was the small one, and she used her interest in her surroundings to give her time to assimilate what she had learned.

  It didn’t make sense that Harriet should ask Lord Hadley to give a dinner party for her! And besides, she had not realised he and Harriet were so close. Remembering Lord Hadley’s attitude on the occasion of their first meeting, she could not believe his decision had been a spontaneous one, but why had he allowed himself to be persuaded? Was this what Jude had meant when he spoke about a sacrifice? But whose sacrifice? And for what purpose?

  The meal might have been sawdust for all the enjoyment she took from it. The fourteen participants were seated around a long refectory table, and Sara noticed that Rupert’s partner was the girl who had been standing with Venetia earlier. Venetia herself was seated between another youngish man and Jude, with Harriet on his other side. And it was to Jude that Venetia addressed herself almost exclusively, so that watching him across the candlelit table, Sara knew a troubling sense of irritation. She wasn’t jealous! She couldn’t be, she told herself severely. But when Jude bent his head towards Venetia, and her gurgling laugh broke out, a bitter feeling of injustice stirred inside her.

  They were served soup, and fish in a creamy sauce, poultry cooked in wine, and a delightful raspberry soufflé. The soup went down easily, and the fish literally melted in Sara’s mouth, but she had a little trouble with the duckling, and the tiny new potatoes and varied choice of vegetables defeated her. Ignoring Jude’s mocking gaze as she refused first one tray and then another, she managed to swallow a little of the dark flesh, washing it down liberally with half a glass of red wine.

  As they ate, the portraits of long-dead Hadleys looked down on them, and over the massive screened fireplace the coat of arms was repeated, together with a pair of crossed swords. Fortunately, the heating was not as old as the suit of armour, that stood incongruously in one corner of the room, and the light from the candelabra was kind to its faded glory.