THE MISTRESS OF CASTLE CRAGGE

CHAPTER FIVE

                        CHAPTER FIVE 

The train journey to London, while long and tedious, was mainly without incident, except when Mrs Peacock demanded that Biddy leave them to travel third class.

     Esther resisted this demand, and when Biddy made herself useful fetching trays of tea and sandwiches from the restaurant carriage, Mrs Peacock seemed appeased.

     It was very late when they reached Paddington station. As arranged a coach was there to greet them. Footmen saw to their baggage without fuss and then they were trundling through the London streets.

     Esther was thankful that they were nearing their destination for she felt very fatigued, and she knew the rest of the party felt the same.

     They finally reached the house her father was renting in Grosvenor Square. Esther could not take in much of her surroundings but was glad to see that every light was on in the house and that their arrival was anticipated.

     A tall thin man welcomed them at the door. He had a long pale face of solemn aspect which reminded Esther of a pony she had once had as a child.

     He bowed as they entered; Mrs Peacock at the forefront.

     ‘Good evening, ma’am,’ he said sombrely. ‘I am Bench, the butler. All is in readiness for you.’

     Mrs Peacock was obviously impressed by his deference.

     A maid came forward to relieve them of their cloaks, hats and gloves.

     ‘A cold collation awaits you in the breakfast room, ma’am,’ Bench continued. ‘When you are finished the maids will assist you to your rooms.’

     ‘I say, Bench,’ Archie asked airily. ‘A bottle of your best port, if you will. Bring it to the breakfast room.’

     ‘Very good, sir.’

Once they had satisfied their hunger they were ready for their rooms and a night’s rest. All but Archie. Despite his mother’s strident protests of the lateness of the hour, Archie departed the house apparently to sample the delights of night-time London.

THAT SAME EVENING, CHASEWATER, CORNWALL 

Delia Cartwright stretched her long naked length on the counterpane, elbow on the pillow, her lovely blonde head resting on her hand, and gazed at her lover.

     ‘Steven, my sweet,’ she said softly. ‘Must you go?’

     Steven Ashgrove, buttoning up his waistcoat, avoided looking at her lest the sight of that inviting body deterred him from his purpose.

     ‘You know I must, Delia,’ he said curtly. ‘Catherine will be awaiting my return. She creates such a scene if I am absent for too long.’

     Delia pouted. ‘Why must that ghastly wife of yours see more of you than I do?’

     Steven picked up a silk negligee from a chair-back nearby and tossed it in Delia’s direction.

     ‘Put that on,’ he said, still without looking in her direction.

     Delia got off the bed and slipped into the silk robe. She came and stood close to him.

     ‘Steven, darling, I get lonely.’

     Steven moved aside as he set his pocket watch chain across his waistcoat, patting his waist as he did so. Fifty-four and as trim as any man twenty years younger, he reflected. So different to poor old portly Percy Swindale. He could not imagine Percy with an expensive mistress.