Lovers in London (2 page)

“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.

She would never permit him to concentrate on his book to the extent that it might affect his health, which was something he had done in the past, working flat out all day with nothing to eat or drink.

It was simply because he was so engrossed with his writing that he felt he could not bear to break the spell it cast over him.

Now that he was getting on for sixty his wife was insistent that he should take better care of himself.

Because he loved her so much, he did whatever she asked of him.

‘It is five minutes to one,' thought Lanthia. ‘He will not be annoyed if I disturb him now.'

She ran along the passage.

Sir Philip's study was next to the library so that he did not have far to go when he needed a book to help with his research.

Very softly Lanthia opened the door.

Then she saw that her father was not alone and her mother was with him.

She entered and Sir Philip exclaimed,

“Oh, there you are Lanthia! Your mother was just talking about you.”

“I have been riding, Papa, and I am hoping that you might ride with me this afternoon.”

Sir Philip smiled at her.

“Your mother has something to tell you.”

Lanthia looked towards her mother expectantly.

“We have received an invitation, darling,” she said, “to a ball which is being given by the Lord Lieutenant. It will be a most auspicious occasion because he is holding it for the Empress of Austria, who you will remember stayed at his house for a short while last year.”

“Yes, she did so because she specially wanted to see his horses,” added Lanthia. “You know what a fine stable the Earl has and apparently she was entranced with them.”

“Well, she is coming again and he is giving a ball for her this time. As it is such an important event for the County, darling, you should look your best and you will need a new gown.”

“I have hardly worn the last one you bought for me, Mama. Being in mourning for Grandpapa, there have been so few times when I could wear it.”

“I know that, Lanthia, but most of the County have seen it and I want you to look your most beautiful when we attend this ball in three weeks time.”

She spoke in such a way that Lanthia realised that her mother had made a decision about something.

She waited patiently to hear what it was.

“I have been talking to your father,” Lady Grenville said at last, “and as it is impossible for me to do very much at the moment until my knee is better, you will have to go to London without me.”

“To
London
! Whatever for?” cried Lanthia in astonishment.

Her mother smiled.

“When I said a new gown, I meant one that is really fashionable and up-to-date, and that of course means Bond Street.”

“Are we not all going to London?” asked Lanthia looking at her father to see what he thought.

“I am afraid that is quite impossible, darling. This tiresome rheumatism I am suffering from would make it impossible for me to walk from shop to shop, as we should undoubtedly have to do to find just what we need and you know your father is in the middle of his new book and, of course, will not be drawn away from it.”

“Or from you,” Sir Philip came in with a smile.

He adored his wife as she adored him.

Lanthia knew that it would be quite impossible to talk her father into coming to London if her mother was staying at home.

“What am I to do?” she implored her mother.

“We have just been talking it over and we know that Mrs. Blossom would be only too willing to travel to London with you as your chaperone.”

“Mrs. Blossom!” she repeated without very much enthusiasm.

“I know, my dearest, she is rather dull, but, as I was saying to your father, all our relations seem to be in the country at the moment and your Aunt Mary told me quite specifically last time she was here that she had no intention of opening their London house in Belgrave Square until the autumn.”

“Then where will I and Mrs. Blossom stay?”

“Your Papa and I are quite certain that you will be well looked after and quite safe at
The Langham
.”

“
The Langham
!” cried Lanthia. “Oh, I would love that!”

She had been to
The Langham
once with her father and mother when she was a young girl and thought it was a fascinating hotel.

The Langham
was one of London's newest hotels and its owners had claimed that it was the largest building in England when the young Prince of Wales opened it in 1865. The hotel boasted no less than five hundred bedrooms, dwarfing rivals such as
Claridges
and
The Grosvenor
.

When Sir Philip had to go to London to see about his books being published or for any other reason, he and his wife always stayed at
The Langham
.

Their last visit had been two years ago, but they did not take Lanthia with them as she was so occupied with her governesses.

Lanthia believed then, as she did now, that they had actually wanted to be on their own and she knew that
The Langham
held so many happy memories for them.

She herself could remember being very impressed by the hotel and some of the stories her father had told her about people who stayed there had remained in her mind.

She remembered now him telling her on his return home all about the romantic novelist, Louisa Ramée, who lived in
The Langham
.

Lanthia knew that Louisa Ramée was known to the world by her pen name, ‘Ouida,' which originated from her own attempts as a baby to pronounce ‘Louisa'.

Since her father had met Ouida, he had bought her novels – she published one nearly every year. And she could remember her mother reading various passages aloud so that her father could laugh at them with her.

Last year when her father had just bought the latest novel by Ouida, he had told Lanthia what a strange woman she was.

“She is different from anyone else I have ever met,” he had said.

“Why does she live in a hotel, Papa?”

“I really have no idea,” he answered. “Apparently she first stayed at
The Langham
when she was twenty-eight and has lived there ever since. They told us when we were staying there how she receives her visitors in bed, which is where she writes all her books!”

“In bed, Papa! What a funny thing to do!”

“She is indeed a very strange woman. She likes to work by the light of candles and has black velvet curtains drawn over the windows to keep out the daylight.”

“I hear that she is always surrounded by masses of flowers,” Lady Grenville had chimed in, “and they are all purple. Her enormous bed is in the middle of the room and she sits up writing with a quill pen onto sheets of violet-coloured writing paper.”

Lanthia had laughed loudly at the time, thinking it all sounded ridiculous.

Now she wondered if she stayed at
The Langham
, whether she would be able to meet the famous authoress.

“Do you think you could give me an introduction to her, Papa?” she asked.

“I doubt if she is still resident at the hotel, my dear, and even if she is, I don't think she would be very anxious to meet you.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because,” her mother answered, “Ouida prefers men to women. I am told that her parties at the hotel were always attended by handsome Army Officers and very few women were invited.”

It certainly all seemed very strange and it made her feel that it would be exciting just to stay in the same hotel as such a weird and unaccountable authoress.

“When do you think I should go, Mama?”

“We shall have to ask Mrs. Blossom when it suits her, darling, but she has always told me she would be only too willing to do anything I request and I know she enjoys going to London when she has the chance.”

Mrs. Blossom was the only daughter of the Bishop of Bristol and she had married for the first and only time to a sailor when she was long past her girlhood.

Retiring from the sea, he had taken his bride to live in a house inherited from his uncle in Huntingdonshire but died after five years of marriage leaving his wife childless.