An Arrow of Love E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 263

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Melissa Wade faced a choice. Marry the odious Dan Thorpe or be whipped until she did by her crude and cruel stepmother. Desperate to escape this unthinkable future, she pretends to be a lady's maid to her best friend, Cheryl. Together they travel to meet Cheryl's uncle, the Duke of Aldwick, whose reputation as a pompous, commanding cynic and hater of women proceeds him. Had Melissa escaped one situation, only to enter a more dangerous one? As her deception is unmasked, Melissa must challenge the Duke to help her best friend. But no sooner has she started to break down the barriers of the elusive Duke, does she realise his life is mortal danger. Worse still the threat of marriage to loathsome Dan Thorpe has not evaded her. How Melissa uncovers the secrets of the castle to save the Duke and how at last she finds everlasting happiness, are all told in this exciting story of friendship, understanding and love.

Leseprobe

Chapter One ~ 1820

“Ladies and Gentlemen, let us drink a toast to the bride and bridegroom, and may their fences never be too high!”

The red-faced, jovial-looking gentleman who had proposed the toast in a slurred voice, held his glass high in the air, then threw back his head and tried to swallow the contents in one gulp. The effort, because he was already unsteady on his feet, made him fall backwards into his chair amidst roars of laughter from the other guests sitting round the table.

They were all, what they themselves would have described as “foxed”.

Melissa had thought that some of the hard-riding, hard-drinking friends of her new stepmother had imbibed rather freely even before they had arrived at the church.

The wedding breakfast served in the huge banqueting hall of Rundel Towers had been overabundant and luxurious even by the standards set by the Regent himself. The succulent and exotic dishes that had succeeded each other in an endless stream would have found favour with any epicure. Unfortunately, most of the guests were more interested in the wines, and the crystal glasses were kept full to the brim by a large number of footmen.

‘There must be a footman behind every chair,’ Melissa thought.

She could not help understanding with a detached part of her mind why her father had done it. At the same time her heart and every sensitive instinct in her body cried out in horror at the thought of Hesther Rundel taking her mother’s place.

The jokes and sly innuendoes expressed by the hunting men seated around the table were for the most part beyond her comprehension. At the same time, she knew they were lewd and in keeping with the coarse and greedy manner in which they ate and drank. She could not bear to look at the end of the table where her father sat beside his bride.

‘Only Hesther Rundel,’ she told herself, ‘would have had the lack of sensitivity to wear a white bridal gown and a flowing veil over her face although she had long passed her thirty-eighth birthday.’

When her father had first told her that he intended to make Hesther his wife, she could hardly believe he was telling her the truth. At the same time she knew she had been expecting it.

Ever since her mother had died, Hesther had made her intentions very clear. After her first few visits to the little manor house where the Weldons had lived ever since they married, she had ceased to bother to find excuses for calling. She would just arrive bringing with her peaches and grapes from the vast acreage of hothouses at Rundel Towers, special delicacies that she had ordered from London or, more insidious than anything else, the offer of horses to ride – horses which, she began by saying, needed the schooling that only Denzil Weldon could give them.

At first Melissa could not believe that her father would succumb to such obvious approaches from a woman as ugly as Hesther.

“She looks more like a horse than usual!” she had heard someone say in a whisper, as Hesther came up the aisle of the church on the arm of an aged relative.

“I have a partiality for the animal myself,” had been the joking reply, “but not in my bed!”

There was no doubt it was due to her looks that Hesther, despite her enormous fortune, had remained an old maid. But Denzil Weldon had succumbed to the fascination, not of his bride’s appearance, but of her cheque book, her stables and the unparalleled luxury to be found at Rundel Towers.

“How can you, Papa?” Melissa had said when he told her what he intended to do.

“I have no alternative, Melissa,” he replied almost roughly. “Now that your mother is dead the small allowance that she received from her father has died with her. He will do nothing for me. He always loathed my guts!”

“Would he not help me?” Melissa asked tentatively.

“Your mother wrote to him when you were born,” Denzil Weldon answered, “and he replied with a solicitor’s letter saying the allowance would continue as long as we made no effort to communicate with him.”

Melissa had heard the story before, but at the moment it seemed incredible that her grandfather, having predicted the marriage would be disastrous, had not softened over the years when Eloise Weldon had been ecstatically happy with the man she had chosen, despite his opposition.

Denzil was a very attractive person and although he had been a rake and undoubtedly a man of questionable morals before marriage, he had settled down and made the woman he loved happier than anyone could have believed possible. But it was obvious, Melissa thought to herself, that what had held and confined him in a small manor house and twenty acres while his wife was alive, would seem an intolerable prison once she was dead.

He wanted to go to London – he wanted to take part in the sport, the gambling and the dashing social life that amused his contemporaries. But most of all, more than anything else, he wanted horses.

“What is the point,” he asked savagely, “of living in this benighted county if I cannot hunt?”

There were only two horses in his stables and those, as Melissa knew well, were past their prime and could no longer carry her father to the forefront of the field, which was where he must always be. He was a magnificent rider – no-one would deny that – but only when he could borrow a horse from his friends and more especially from Hesther Rundel, was he mounted as he wished to be.

“Do you really think, Papa,” Melissa asked in a low voice, “that the horses at the Towers will be a compensation for everything else?”

There was a moment’s silence and then her father replied,

“No-one could ever take your mother’s place, you know that, Melissa. But comfort and good horses can be a palliative for pain.”

He was suffering – but Melissa wondered how long it would be before he would become like the other men that Hesther Rundel entertained, dissolute from rich living and too much drinking, and without a thought in their heads except those that concerned horses.

It was her mother who had made the conversation at the Manor interesting and saw that it covered a great many subjects besides that of sport. Denzil Weldon had a brain when he chose to use it. Perhaps, Melissa thought with an intuition that was characteristic of her, it was that same brain that would make him suffer more intensively if he was both lonely and rootless.

But Hesther Rundel!

She looked up the table at the woman who was now her stepmother and felt disgusted. Hesther had also drunk heavily and now crimson in the face from both the wine and the heat, she looked not only ugly but depraved.

At the same time Melissa could not belittle the fact that Hesther was an outstanding rider. She rode superbly and when the wedding guests toasted “the best woman to hounds in the county” it was the truth.

The meal was coming to an end. They had been sitting eating and drinking for three hours, and Melissa was wondering how much longer she would have to endure the flirtatious compliments paid to her by the gentlemen on either side of her.

Although it was not the hunting season, out of compliment to the bride, the guests had worn their pink hunting coats and the ‘happy couple’ had left the church under an arch of riding-crops held over their heads by the Hunt servants of the Quenby Hunt.

It was not a smart hunt like the socially exclusive Quorn. The “Meltonians” as they called themselves, because they mostly stayed at Melton to hunt six days a week, were noted for their style, their wealth and their snobbery. No parvenu could aspire to join their aristocratic ranks and none of the guests at Hesther’s table would have been tolerated by the Meltonians. With the exception, of course, of Denzil Weldon. He had been invited over and over again to hunt with the Quorn but could not afford it.

‘Now he will be able to join his friends,’ Melissa thought.

At the same time she wondered what the wives of the noble Meltonians would think of Hesther.

Now someone produced a hunting horn from his pocket and started to play on it the notes of “Tallyho” and “Gone away”. As if this was a signal for the bride and groom, Hesther rose from her seat, patted her bridegroom’s shoulder with a clammy hand and told him she was going upstairs to change.

They were leaving for London and Melissa guessed that her father was looking forward to renewing the membership of his clubs, to sauntering into White’s and Watteau’s and visiting other more lurid haunts in which he had spent so much time in his youth.

If she hadn’t disliked her stepmother so much, Melissa would have been sorry for her. However she was sure that Hesther could look after herself and having bought a husband, she would be certain of getting her ‘pound of flesh’ one way or another.

Hesther moved towards the door of the banqueting hall. Melissa, having already been told what was expected of her, followed her across the marble-floored hall and up the ornate staircase.

There were some other ladies with them until Melissa found herself alone except for two agitated maids in the big bedchamber where Hesther had always slept. The room itself was beautifully proportioned, but the furnishings were ugly, the curtains at both the windows and the bed were of mustard-coloured velvet, which Melissa found almost repellent.

But Hesther, lifting the tiara that had held her veil in place down from her head, said complacently,

“The wedding went well, but then that is to be expected from everything at Rundel Towers.”

She stood up to let the maid unbutton her dress at the back and snapped,

“Hurry up you fool! I cannot be expected to stand here all night!”

“I’m sorry, Miss...” the maid replied in an agitated fashion.

“Madam now – and don’t you forget it!” Hesther retorted.

She stepped out of her wedding gown and the other maid brought her an elaborate over-laced satin wrap.

She put it on and said,

“Both of you, outside! I wish to speak to Miss Melissa. I will ring when I am ready for you.”

The maids hurried away and Melissa looked apprehensively at her stepmother’s flushed face.

“I meant to speak to you yesterday, Melissa,” Hesther began, “but you did not come to see me.”

“I had a lot of things to do at the Manor,” Melissa replied vaguely.

She had deliberately refrained from going to the Towers, feeling she could not bear to look at any more of the wedding presents with which Hesther was so delighted or to listen further to the honeymoon plans of her father and the woman she disliked.

“There is no need to concern yourself with anything at the Manor, except your own personal belongings,” Hesther said sharply, “and I do not expect there are many of them.”

“What do you mean?” Melissa asked.

“Your father has agreed that it will be shut up until we can find a suitable tenant.”

“Oh, no!” Melissa could hardly breathe the words.

She knew now why her father had appeared somewhat shamefaced the last two days. He had promised her, promised her faithfully, that she could stay at the Manor, at least until the summer was over. But as in everything else he must have weakly agreed when Hesther had suggested that to keep open two houses was just a waste of money. But what would it have mattered with her stepmother’s enormous fortune, if just a few pounds of it had been expended on the place where her father had spent twenty happy years?

“I have given instructions to the servants about the actual closing of the house,” Hesther was saying in her hard voice, which was ugly, like everything else about her.

“How soon?” Melissa asked.

“Tomorrow or the next day. It will not take you long to pack.”

“And you wish me to come here.”

The words were a statement rather than a question, and now Hesther turned to look at her stepdaughter.

There was no mistaking the dislike in her eyes, but it was really not surprising. Melissa was fair-haired, slim and very graceful. She was also unusually beautiful but not with the type of beauty that was appreciated or which looked its best in the hunting field. Her small heart-shaped face was dominated by two very large eyes that seemed to mirror every emotion like a clear stream in the sunshine.

It was a sensitive face with its winged eyebrows, small straight nose, and soft, exquisitely curved lips. It was a face that made people look and go on looking to find the expressions in those strange eyes were as changeable and unpredictable as the weather. It was not a face that would appeal to other women and certainly not to a stepmother who would suffer by comparison with anything so delicate.

“You must come here, of course, for the moment,” Hesther said harshly, “but I understand that Dan Thorpe wishes to marry you.”

“He may wish to marry me,” Melissa replied, “but I have no intention of marrying him.”

“That is for your father to decide,” Hesther retorted.

“Papa?” Melissa cried, “but he has told me that he would not want me to marry anyone I did not love.”

“Your father says a lot of things he does not mean,” Hesther replied. “You must know as well as I do, Melissa, that with no money you are not every man’s choice of a wife.”

Melissa’s large eyes rested on her stepmother’s face with a look of consternation in them.

“Are you seriously suggesting,” she asked, “that you might persuade Papa into forcing me to accept Dan Thorpe?”

“I have already told him that it is the best possible thing that could happen to you,” Hesther answered. “Dan is a rich young man and apparently he has lost his heart.”

She gave a guffaw of laughter. “I never thought before that Dan had one!”

“I will not marry him,” Melissa said quietly.

“You will do as you are told,” Hesther snapped.

“If Papa has agreed to what you suggest,” Melissa said, “I will speak to him. I know he will not force me into marriage with anyone, especially someone I dislike as much as dislike Mr. Thorpe.”

“Let me make this quite clear,” Hesther said, and her voice was like the whip she used so severely on her horses. “I do not want you here, Melissa. I do not want any other woman in my house now that I am married, and if you will not marry Dan Thorpe, you can starve in the gutter. I will not lift a finger to save you!”

“Do you think Papa would allow that to happen to me?” Melissa asked.

“Quite frankly, yes!” Hesther replied. “He is married to me. He can have everything he wants in the whole world – everything money can buy – but I will not have the daughter of his former wife living in this house, nor do I intend to allow her to run another establishment at my expense.”

Her lips tightened, then she went on,

“There is no alternative for you but marriage, Melissa, and you might as well make up your mind to it!”

“I will find an alternative,” Melissa replied. “I would rather scrub floors, I would rather be a scullery maid than marry Dan Thorpe!”

Even as she thought of him she shuddered.

He was a large, hard-riding young man of low-class ancestry whose father had made a fortune in trade. He had moved into the county two years ago on his father’s death and had started to spend the money that had been accumulated by the exploitation of the workers for riotous living. He had bought a huge house and made it a meeting ground for all the reprobates and fast livers like himself. Unsavoury stories circulated round the countryside about the orgies that took place there and the women who were brought from the neighbouring towns and from London to entertain him and his guests. He was not yet twenty-five but he looked immeasurably older, and when Melissa had first seen him she had felt something within herself shrink away from him as if he were unclean.

Her father had brought him home one evening in the winter. Their boots and white riding-breeches were covered with mud, their pink hunting-coats were soaked with rain, and yet they were in high spirits.

“The best run of the season!” Denzil Weldon had said to his daughter when she greeted him at the front door, “I have asked Dan Thorpe in for a drink to celebrate it.”

The two men had gone into the study and sat themselves down, just as they were, in the big armchairs in front of the fire. There were only two very old servants at the Manor and Melissa had herself carried in the tray of drinks and set them down by her father’s side. She realised as she did so that Dan Thorpe was watching her and thought there was something in his face, which lived up to the scandal and gossip that circulated about him.

Having seen the man, she was prepared to believe every word of it. She would have left the room, but her father told her to stay.

“Come and talk to Mr. Thorpe, Melissa,” he said. “He was asking about you today and enquiring why you never come out hunting.”

“I can hardly do that, unless you are prepared for me to ride pillion!” Melissa answered with a smile. “Our stable, as you know, is somewhat depleted.”

She was joking with her father, but Dan Thorpe said quickly,

“I’ll provide a horse, Miss Weldon. I bought a new mare at Tattersall’s last week. She’ll just suit you.”

“Thank you very much!” Melissa answered. “But I have too much to do at the moment to have time to hunt.”

“I am sure that is not true,” Dan Thorpe said. “Is it, Weldon?”

“Go on, Melissa, accept his offer,” her father urged. “He has so many horses that he cannot count them. He will not miss one for you.”

Melissa tried to go on refusing, but in vain, and after that there was ample excuse for Dan Thorpe to come to the Manor. She tried to avoid him, she tried to hide from him, but he enlisted her father’s help, and it was impossible.

Finally, just before Denzil Weldon decided he would marry Hesther, Dan Thorpe declared himself.

“When will you marry me?” he asked.

He had called at the house when Melissa was alone, and although she had told a servant to say she was not at home, he had forced his way into the drawing room.

“I am honoured by your proposal, Mr. Thorpe,” Melissa said quietly, “but I have no wish to be married.”

“That is damned nonsense and you know it!” Dan had retorted. “If you came to more parties or were seen more often in the hunting field, every man in the county would be running after you.” He grinned. “That is just what I want to prevent, so I intend to marry you at once!”

“You should of course have spoken first to my father, as you well know,” Melissa replied. “But it would be quite useless.”

“What is worrying you?” Dan Thorpe asked. “Are you hankering after romance, the moonlight and all that sort of thing? Well, you’ll have it with me right enough, and I’ll make you love me.”

“Never! Never!” Melissa said firmly.

He tried to kiss her and she had resisted him with a violence that surprised him and had run to her bedroom, where she locked herself in.

When her father returned, she told him passionately that she hated and detested Dan Thorpe and would never marry him.

“He is rich, Melissa,” Denzil Waldon said.

“I do not care if he is the richest man in the world, if he has diamonds hanging from his nose!” Melissa retorted. “He revolts me. There is something about him that makes me feel sick. Keep him away from me, Papa. Promise me that you will not invite him here again.”

Denzil Weldon promised, but as Melissa knew only too well, his promises were as weak as pie-crust. Hesther had got at him, she thought now, for it would suit Hesther for her stepdaughter to be married, and to a rich man, so that she would be independent of her father.

“I have told Papa, and I tell you,” Melissa said slowly, “that I will never marry Dan Thorpe. Nothing and no-one could force me to do so.”

“There are ways of making rebellious girls obey their guardians,” Hesther said.

There was an obvious threat in the way she spoke and in the manner in which her eyes narrowed a little.

“What are you suggesting?” Melissa asked.

She felt a sudden little tremor of fear run through her. At the same time she held her chin high.

“I thrashed a stable-boy last week when he did not obey me as quickly as he should have,” Hesther replied. “He is still confined to his bed.”

Melissa was very still.

“Are you threatening me?” she asked.

“I intend that you should marry Dan Thorpe,” Hesther replied, “and if your father cannot obtain your consent, then I may have to resort to more stringent methods.” She paused to add, “Let me assure you, Melissa, that I always get my own way.”

That was true, Melissa thought wildly.

Hesther rose from the dressing-table.

“I must not keep your father waiting,” she said. “Let me say one more thing, if you are not prepared to marry Dan Thorpe and are not unofficially engaged to him by the time we return from our honeymoon, I will make things very unpleasant for you – particularly physically!”

She smiled and there was something evil about it.

“There is no-one in the county, Melissa,” she went on, “who has a finer reputation than I have for breaking in a young horse. It would be an interesting experience for me to break in a rebellious girl. Where both are concerned, I believe in severity and the whip!”

Hesther walked across the room as she spoke and pulled at the bell. Almost before her hand had left it the door opened and the maids, who had obviously been waiting outside, came hurrying in.

“My gown! My bonnet! My pelisse!” Hesther said sharply. “We should have left for London by now.”

Without speaking, Melissa withdrew from the room and went slowly down the staircase. She could hardly credit that what she had heard was not a figment of her imagination, and yet she knew with horror that Hesther would carry out her intentions.

She was halfway, down the stairs when she looked over the banisters and saw the gentlemen had come from the banqueting hall and were waiting below. Their pink coats made vivid patches of colour against the dark panelling. It was obvious, in contrast with the stiff, correct demeanour of the powdered footmen, that they were all unsteady on their feet. One or two of them had their arms around the ladies who had been in the party and who were making no effort to reject their befuddled kisses or avoid their groping hands.

Dan Thorpe was standing with his back to the log fireplace laughing uproariously at something the man beside him had just said. He had a glass of port in his hand, and looking up he saw Melissa and raised it to her.

Melissa felt herself shudder. There was something in his expression that, innocent though she was, she knew no decent man would show when he looked at the woman he loved. She could not explain it even to herself. She just knew it was there – something horrible, something from which she shrank and which in its own way was worse than Hesther’s brutality.

She had an urgent longing to be free of Rundel Towers and everything in it. She wanted to go home. She wanted the peace and quiet of the Manor, which was still redolent with her mother’s presence. Sometimes when she was alone in the drawing room, she would think her mother was still there. The mother whom she resembled, whose soft, gentle voice was like music, and whose sweet face had kept her husband in love with her, despite all the predictions that he would be bored after a few years.

How her mother had disliked these people whom Denzil Weldon had met out hunting, but he had seldom brought them home. It was only after her mother’s death that people like Dan Thorpe had seen the inside of the Manor, and Hesther had become a daily, though uninvited visitor.

Melissa reached the hall and went to her father’s side. He had had a lot to drink, she knew, perhaps to give him courage, but he was sober compared to all the other men in the party. He looked down at her and she thought for a moment she saw pain in his eyes.

“You will take care of yourself, Melissa?” he said.

“Is it true that you have agreed to close the Manor?” she asked.

She saw the expression on his face and wished she had not mentioned it.

“I had no choice,” he answered and his voice was raw.

They looked at each other, and for a moment it seemed as if they saw each other’s despair but knew there was nothing either of them could do.

“I understand, Papa,” Melissa said softly. “I will pack Mama’s things. Perhaps we can store them somewhere.”

She knew it would be impossible to mix them with the rich, over-luxuriant furnishings of the Towers.

She wanted to speak to her father of her own plans, to beg him, if nothing else, not to acquiesce in Hesther’s demand that she should marry Dan Thorpe. Then she realised that anything she said would be totally ineffectual. Hesther could blackmail him with her money to do what she wished. Hesther, to whom he was now married, could make his life intolerable.

Melissa felt protective towards her father, almost as if he were a child and she the stronger of the two.

“It is all right, Papa,” she found herself saying. “Do not worry about anything.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. Then there was a sudden cry.

“Here comes the bride!” a drunken voice roared out as Hesther appeared at the top of the stairs.

She came down slowly, her silk gown rustling against the carpet, her wide-brimmed bonnet with its small lace veil hiding part of her ugly face. There were cheers and shouts and Hesther was kissing everyone within sight. Melissa did not kiss her father goodbye.

She felt somehow it was a bitter farce, as the bride and groom were driven away with showers of rice being thrown into the carriage before it left, the cheers and shouts following them as the horses moved down the drive.

As Melissa gazed after them she heard a voice she disliked at her elbow.

“Hesther gave me this for you,” Dan Thorpe said.

As he spoke he offered Melissa the large white bouquet that Hesther had carried up the aisle.

“It means a wedding for whoever receives it,” Dan Thorpe said. “Our wedding, Melissa.”

She did not reply but turned sharply and walked away from him. Only when she reached the hall did she think that he might have followed her and she started to run. She ran up the stairs and picked up her cloak, which she had left in a bedroom after they had returned from the church.

She had an idea that Dan Thorpe would be waiting for her in the hall and so she did not return the way she had come, but found another staircase, a less impressive one, which led to a different part of the house. From there she found her way to the back quarters and out towards the stables.

There were carriages of every description waiting to carry their owners home. Melissa’s conveyance was old and shabby but it was the only vehicle her mother had possessed for many years. Drawn by one horse it looked very out of date beside the cabriolets, the broughams, the curricles and the phaetons that belonged to the other wedding guests.

Jacob, the old coachman, who had been with the Weldons ever since they had lived at the Manor, was as shabby as the carriage he drove, but the horse was well-groomed, and the harness shone like silver.

“Oi thought as how ye wouldn’t be long, Miss Melissa,” Jacob said with the cheery familiarity of an old retainer.

“I told you I would get away as soon as I could,” Melissa replied.

“Do ye really want t’go t’see Miss Cheryl?” Jacob asked. “’Tis gettin’ a bit late.”

“I must go!” Melissa answered. “As you know, she sent me a note this morning before we left for the church. There was nothing I could do until the wedding was over.”

“It’ll take us a good hour,” Miss Melissa.”

“I know that,” Melissa answered, “but I have to see her. She sounds as if she is in trouble Jacob.”

“Eh! Oi shouldn’t be surprised,” Jacob answered. “Trouble never comes by halves.”

“It does not indeed!” Melissa said unhappily as she stepped into the carriage.

Jacob whipped up the horse and they set off down the drive and Melissa forgot her own worries as she thought of Cheryl Byram. Cheryl was her only friend in a neighbourhood where there were few young girls and where Melissa’s mother had been unable to entertain for her daughter.

Lady Rudolph Byram had been Mrs. Weldon’s closest friend, and seldom a week went by when they did not visit each other. They had a great deal in common, both being quiet, gentle, cultured women, and both very attractive. It was inevitable that their daughters, who were only children, should see a great deal of each other, and in Cheryl Melissa found the sister she never had.

Two weeks ago, while Melissa was reeling under the shock of learning that her father intended to marry Hesther Rundel, tragedy struck the Byram household. The phaeton, in which Lord and Lady Rudolph Byram were travelling, came into collision with a stagecoach that was being tooled by a drunken driver.

It was well known that the stagecoaches were often taken over by rowdy drunks for the fun of racing the horses along the highway. The coachman, if well tipped, seldom refused to surrender the reins, and the huge, unwieldy vehicle could be a potential danger to all other travellers. There was a sharp corner, and Lord Rudolph was driving fast. His phaeton was very light and with the impact it was shattered to pieces. Lady Rudolph was killed instantly. Her husband lingered for less than a week – then he too died of his injuries.

Melissa had been with Cheryl at Byram House when she had learnt of the tragic accident to her parents. She had stayed with her friend until Lord Rudolph’s death and then had persuaded her to come back with her to the Manor for several nights.

In fact Cheryl had returned home only the day before yesterday, when the preparations for the wedding had made her feel that she would only be in the way if she stayed any longer. Anyway, Denzil Weldon would wish to spend his last night of freedom alone with his daughter.

Melissa had planned to visit Cheryl the following day, but this morning, just before she was leaving for the church, a frantic note had been brought by a groom. It read,

‘Something terrible has happened! Please come to me as quickly as you can. I must see you. I am distraught and do not know what to do.

Cheryl.’