For The Sake Of Love

by Denise Robins

Genres: Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

Carol leads a charmed life, adored by all who know her, but her glamorous, carefree world shatters around her when her fiancé is reported killed. Yet once jolted from her grief by a confession which questions Maurice's fidelity, she abruptly flings herself into a new, more alluring life. For cousin Judy, cast out from the family for her great betrayal, the path is not so clear. Conceived in loyalty, the outcome of her plans unleashes a train of events far removed from her aim, but exposes a truth quite faithful to her desire.

Release date: November 21, 2013

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 160

Sample

THE doctor had just gone.

Four people—the four who loved Carol best in the world—sat in the drawing-room of Grey Chesters and discussed the verdict in lowered voices and with averted eyes.

Carol’s mother, usually an arrogant and domineering woman, was, for once in her life, frightened and helpless.

‘Dr. Turnbull says that our darling will go off her head—yes, that he will not be responsible for her sanity—unless something is done to rouse her. Something to stir her out of this dreadful state of melancholy!’

Colonel Riverson, Carol’s father, equally frightened, but ashamed after the manner of men to show his feelings, said in a staccato voice:

‘Well, God knows what we are going to do.’

Carol’s twin brother—a manly edition of Carol, yet so like her with his delicate face, large blue eyes, and the fair hair with the unmanageable wave which had earned him the nickname of Kink—said nothing. He was a medical student, and had just come down from Barts for the Christmas holidays. He bowed to the superior knowledge of the specialist who had just left the house, and his blood ran cold at the memory of that verdict. It was unthinkable that his twin sister—laughing, lovely Carol, who had been so happy all this summer and so engrossed in Maurice Fairvill, her fiancé—should be in danger of losing her reason.

He walked up and down the room, and finally paused by the window-seat, where a slim, dark-haired girl of about twenty-three years of age was crouching. She was staring out of the window, watching the big white flakes of snow whirl through the winter twilight, blown like helpless moths against the window-pane.

‘Judy,’ said Kink Riverson, ‘can you think of something—something that can be done to save Caro? You always had an inventive mind—when we were kids you used to think of ways and means in all our games. You were never at a loss.’

Judy Farrell, the cousin who had been brought up with Kink and Carol since she was a child of seven, turned and looked up at him. Her large dark eyes were luminous with tears in her small determined face.

‘Kink dear, I’d do anything for Carol—you know it. But I’m at a loss now, all right. What can I do? It’s so hopeless.’

Kink Riverson nodded, pulled a pipe out of his pocket and stuck it between his teeth, but did not even bother to light it. His mother, with a handerkchief to her lips, was saying in a moaning voice:

‘Christmas Eve! Who would think it? You two children were born at Christmas-time. The first thing I heard was some children singing a carol—that’s why I called my little girl by her name. Why—why should this ghastly thing have happened to her?’

Judy looked miserably at her aunt. There was no particular bond of sympathy between them. Mrs. Riverson had been none too pleased when, at the age of seven, Judy had come to make her home at Grey Chesters. She did not want another girl to share the honours in the home with her idolised Carol. But she had always done her duty by Judy, and Judy was grateful. Gratitude and affection were intrinsic qualities of her nature.

Besides, she had been happy here. The twins were darlings to her—especially Kink—and Uncle Charles, her mother’s brother, always had a corner for her in his heart even though at times he was afraid to show it before Auntie Vi.

To-day, more than usual, Judy had a burning desire to show her whole-hearted gratitude to this family. They had taken her in, educated her, given her a home when her parents had died—swept away by black-water fever out in West Africa, leaving her penniless and alone.

She told herself that no sacrifice would be too great if it could be the means of restoring Carol’s balance and could make her feel that life were worth living again.

Judy recalled that awful day two months ago when they had received the shattering news from China which had wrecked Carol’s happiness—indeed, wrecked happiness for them all.

Maurice, Carol’s lover, had only just gone back to Hankow as assistant manager of the Far East Tea Company. Carol should have gone out to be married to Maurice early next spring. But there would be no marriage now. It was reported that Maurice had disappeared, and for some inexplicable reason shared the fate of several British missionaries in China. Then had come reports that he was being held for ransom. Impossible sums of money were demanded and torture threatened. Judy shivered even now at the recollection of the cables, the letters, the frantic appeals for help to the British Consul out there. What ghastly suspense! Maurice was alone in the world, so on Colonel Riverson had fallen the task of making all the enquiries and endeavours necessary on his behalf.

No wonder Carol had nearly gone mad—frantically in love with her attractive lover. Judy had felt it all very badly. She had cherished her own secret affection for the grey-eyed, intriguing young man who had had eyes only for Carol when he had met them here in Selsey last June.

After a sinister silence had come the report of his death. None of them had dared think where and in what manner he had died, but for Carol life seemed to have ended. She could not face the tragedy with a philosophical spirit. She raged impotently against fate and allowed herself to go to pieces. For the last week she had stayed in her room, eating scarcely anything, wearing herself to a shadow with weeping.

Judy, adoring her, never dreamed of criticising her. Like the others in this home who knew and loved Carol, she was not really astonished by her excessive grief. This was the first blow Life had ever dealt the lovely, golden-haired girl to whom everybody was so generous, so kind. From her babyhood Carol had been spoiled. And Judy, even in the schoolroom, had helped to spoil her, blind to everything but that appealing, gentle, wistful quality which made people want to do things for Carol. Carol had only to open those luminous blue eyes very wide and say, ‘Oh, do, Judy!’ and she did it, and felt amply rewarded by one of her sweet, brilliant smiles.

Why—why couldn’t she help her to-day in her need?

Judy felt the atmosphere of the drawing-room unbearably depressing. She walked out, and Kink Riverson, equally depressed, followed her.

‘It’s a rotten business, Ju dear. …’ He came up to her, and she stood at the foot of the staircase, looking at him wretchedly. ‘I don’t see what we can do, and yet we can’t let Caro go under—can we?’

‘We can’t—we mustn’t. …’ Judy’s voice was impassioned. ‘Oh, it would happen to somebody like Caro … who’s so easily hurt … such an idealist. She found just her ideal man in Maurice, and she feels that she can never replace him.’

‘That’s the trouble,’ said Kink, knitting his brows. ‘I wish to heaven she hadn’t made such a little tin god of the man. We all liked old Maurice … but Carol has invested him with all kinds of qualities, now that he’s gone.’

‘Isn’t that often the way?’ said Judy sadly. ‘Death casts a sort of halo round those we love. I was awfully fond of Maurice. He was a dear. But I suppose he was only human like the rest of us.’

‘That’s what poor little Caro won’t admit now. She sits upstairs weeping over the loss of a divinity. It isn’t right, Judy.’

‘No. It’s wrong. But you know what Caro is. Before her engagement she used to talk about one man in the world for every one woman.’

‘Lot of rot,’ said Kink gruffly, and his fair face crimsoned slightly. He caught Judy’s eye, and the flush deepened. ‘I believe in love all right … but I never have thought it wise for anyone to put someone else on a pedestal. Caro’s often told me she knew Maurice never looked at another woman. She’s a marvellous little person herself, and she rather expects those she loves to be quite marvellous too. You know, Ju, I jolly well believe if she found out Maurice was only human, and as full of faults as the rest of us, it’d cure her of this ghastly melancholy.’

Judy stared at her cousin, her big brown eyes full of perplexity.

‘That may be so, Kink … but, you see, she can’t find that out now he’s dead, can she? She just goes on idealising him, and it’s driving her mad. Besides, I can’t really believe that she’d feel any better about it even if one proved to her, for instance, that Maurice was a philanderer and that there were other women in his life.’

Kink bit hard at his lip.

‘Who knows, Judy, my dear. Caro’s a proud little thing. Rather intolerant, bless her, of any—well, shall we say irregularities?—in those she cares for. It was the sort of Sir Galahad atmosphere round Maurice that got her, you know. He certainly had no eyes for anyone but Caro, and there it is.’

Judy stared at the ground. She knew that Kink was right. Caro demanded perfection, and Maurice Fairvill seemed to have supplied it.

But was it possible that Carol would cease to grieve for her lover so inconsolably if she were made to see him as an ordinary human being, and not a god whose heroic qualities were deathless and indisputable?

She turned from Carol’s twin and walked slowly up to her bedroom. He called after her huskily:

‘Go and talk to Caro, Judy … think of something … don’t let her slip from us, for God’s sake. …’

Those words haunted her during the next hour when she shut herself in her own bedroom and walked restlessly up and down, seeking for inspiration that refused to come.

On the mantelpiece, amongst other photographs of friends and relations, stood one favourite framed snapshot—Carol and Maurice, arm in arm, on Selsey sands, taken by Judy just before Maurice went back to China.

Judy stopped in front of the snapshot and stared at Maurice’s gay, handsome face. The very gaiety in the attractive eyes, gave her a pang. A splendid person, Maurice—tall, lithe, with a dominant tilt of the head and strength in the curve of the lips and squareness of the jaw. A fighter, Maurice, who would not brook interference or admit defeat. No wonder Carol had idealised him.

Yet when Judy thought of the things Kink had just said, she wondered afresh if it could be possible that Carol would forsake her lover, be cured of her grief, were those ideals shattered.

Judy, who had been fonder of Maurice than she would care to admit to anybody, knew that no disillusionment in him would have made her love him less. But her nature was so different from Carol’s. She knew that, when she loved a man, that love could not easily be killed, and that she would forgive him—anything. But with Carol, love had its limits.

Judy walked up and down … thinking … brooding … working out the problem of Carol’s tragedy. She paused again, this time in front of her wardrobe mirror; looked a little dubiously at the reflection of her small, slim figure in its tweed skirt and canary-coloured jumper. The large brown eyes which looked so intensely upon the world from beneath their thick, dark lashes, looked back at her from the mirror. She thought:

‘Supposing Maurice had been a philandering sort of man, and had flirted with you, and Carol was made to believe it.’

Her cheeks crimsoned, and she moved nervously away from the glass. But the idea remained and fascinated her. What if she went next door to her cousin and shattered a little of Carol’s terrific faith in Maurice? Kink had said it might cure her … because she was proud and exigeant. Kink might be right.

It could be done delicately … just a few hints dropped that Maurice was not all that Carol thought him … and those hints might rouse her from that dreadful stupor of grief … and lift her from the shadows that threatened her reason.

It would be casting aspersions on the dead … sullying Maurice’s character. But shouldn’t the living be considered first? And Maurice would not mind … if he knew that his memory had been spoiled for the sake of restoring his darling’s mental balance!

Judy, always inclined to exaggerate in her passionate, loving fashion, did not pause to wonder if she were doing right or wrong. She was just obsessed with the desire to save Carol at any cost. Carol might hate her—turn from her in horror—but she would bear that gladly … she felt that this was an occasion where complete self-sacrifice was justified.

Carol must be cured. So Carol must be made to believe that her lover was not the paragon of loyalty he had seemed. He had made love to another girl. To her, Judy.

Judy’s heart leaped madly. She dared think and plan no further. She just walked recklessly, on the blind impulse of the moment, into Carol’s bedroom and took the plunge.

Heart pounding, cheeks pale, big dark eyes glowing with zeal, Judy walked out of her bedroom into Carol’s—ready to annihilate herself.

Carol was in bed. Her bedroom was more luxurious than Judy’s—soft thick carpet, silky curtains of delphinium blue—Carol’s favourite shade—a dim lamp burning on the table beside her.

Judy, approaching the bedside, thought compassionately how Carol had altered these last few weeks since the news of Maurice’s death. Her face looked transparent, colourless. Her large blue eyes had a fixed, hunted look. The life seemed to have gone out of her; even the wavy golden hair looked pale, devitalised.

She turned a brooding and melancholy gaze upon her cousin.

‘What do you want, Ju?’

‘Now for it,’ thought Judy. ‘I may be crazy, but I must try!’

JUDY sat on the bed, heart still thumping, and nervously fingered a corner of the blue silk eiderdown which covered Carol.

‘Caro, darling, I don’t know what to say to you, but I’ve got a confession to make—something that you ought to know.’

Carol’s delicately pencilled eyebrows drew together.

‘Don’t worry me, Judy. I want to be left alone.’

‘But don’t you see,’ said Judy agitatedly, ‘I must tell you this. I feel you oughtn’t to lie here grieving for Maurice like this—that it isn’t fair to you—because—’

She broke off, flushed and stammering. A look of interest dawned in Carol’s eyes. She raised herself languidly on her elbow. She was tall—much taller than Judy—but she had grown so thin that her body looked as slight as a child’s through the thin silk pyjamas and coatee which she was wearing.

‘What do you mean, Judy? What ought I to know? What could stop me from grieving for my poor darling Maurice?’

‘Look here, Caro, you’ve absolutely put him on a pedestal, haven’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean by that,’ said Carol coldly. ‘I only think of Maurice as he was … a perfect lover … entirely devoted to me. You can’t deny that.’

‘Perhaps I can,’ said Judy breathlessly, and her lashes fluttered and drooped. She could not look into her cousin’s eyes. Carol said in an equally breathless voice:

‘Are you out of your mind, Judy. What do you mean? Please explain yourself.’

‘It’s so hard to tell you. I … don’t you see, Caro … I’ve watched you idealising Maurice, and felt guilty and beastly about it. But you mustn’t go on imagining him so perfect. He wasn’t … at all.’

‘How dare you say that … and why?’

Judy swallowed hard. Her face burned.

‘He was just a human person … weak as any ordinary man. He was attractive … he knew he attracted women, and he liked to … indulge in little affairs.’

‘Indulge in little affairs?’ Carol repeated the words as though she were choking. Her usually white face was scarlet to the roots of the blonde hair. She added: ‘How dare you come here and try and blacken Maurice’s character like this?’

Judy, floundering out of her depth, went on. She had to now. She must take the gamble, or sink.

‘Because I feel it is my duty. You have no right to shut yourself away and take no further interest in life just because Maurice is dead. He wasn’t worth it. He was engaged to you … yes … he loved you. But he was capable of loving another girl at the same time … me …’ Judy stammered wildly. ‘Yes, he made love to me.’

An instant’s silence. Judy dared to raise her head and look at her cousin. She saw a changed, an electrified Carol … a Carol no longer a languid, mourning, helpless creature … but a woman brimming with life, and terrible, dawning suspicion in her eyes.

‘Do you dare repeat that, Judy?’ she said.

‘Yes. Maurice … made love to me.’

‘Behind my back?’

‘Yes.’

‘When … where …’

‘Q-quite a lot of times. …’ Judy lied desperately, and in feverish fashion enlarged on her story. One lie led to another. ‘We met … at various places. He … I was in love with him … it amused him to make love to me.’

‘It’s a lie! I don’t believe you!’ said Carol furiously, and flung herself ba. . .