The Saint and the Sinner Read Online Free
Author: Barbara Cartland
in the letter if not the spirit of his order.
She had been told not to ride in the vicinity of Chart Hall. Well, she was not she was driving there.
She told herself that if her expedition failed and she returned ignominiously, no-one would know except the servants, and because they liked her and disliked her aunt it was doubtful that they would betray her.
She had now driven over three miles outside the town and was in the quiet, beautiful countryside which she had known all her life.
The woods were much thicker here, and she remembered how she had loved roaming in them as a child and riding in them when she was older.
There were streams winding through meadowland and one where her father occasionally went fishing and caught fat, brown trout which they enjoyed for breakfast.
There were memories every inch of the way. Then at last they came to the village with its black and white cottages with their thatched roofs.
All the gardens were bright with flowers and Pandora remembered that it was her mother’s idea to give a prize for the best garden every year, so that the local people strove to make their village the most beautiful in the whole County.
Pandora knew the inhabitants of every cottage they passed, but at this time of the day the men would be out working in the fields and many of the women would be working at the Castle.
In her grandfather’s time they had been employed in the kitchens, the laundry, and the dairy.
She wondered if there were still the big wide bowls of thick cream standing on the stone slabs waiting to be made into the golden pats of butter that were stamped with the Chart crest.
She had loved to watch the dairymaids at work and sometimes she would ask if she could help, but soon found it very tiring to turn the cream in the churn until it became butter.
Now the Castle was in sight.
It always looked magnificent at any time of the year, but perhaps most of all in the summer when it was surrounded with green trees as if it were a precious jewel.
The grey stone glowed against the trees, and the chimneys, statues, and urns on the roof were silhouetted against the sky.
It had majesty and an importance that spoke without words of the great family it housed.
Every generation of the Chart family had added to the original building, which had been commenced in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
The second Earl, however, who, having been impressed with houses like Blenheim, Hatfield, and Burleigh, had employed Inigo Jones to improve Chart Hall.
He had added two wings and a new facade, making it an outstanding edifice as well as a beautiful one.
“I love Chart!” Pandora exclaimed.
It was part of her life.
There was the lake where her father had taken her boating amongst the water-lilies, the lawns where she had rolled down their slopes when she was a small child, screaming with excitement.
At the back of the house there were the shrubberies where she had played hide-and-seek and the greenhouses from which the old gardener had given her peaches so large that she could hardly hold them in her small hands.
‘If only Uncle George had not been killed at Waterloo,’ she thought wistfully.
He had been very like her mother and he would never have allowed her to live with her father’s relatives, who did not like her.
The carriage drew up outside the long flight of steps leading to the front door.
A footman, whom Pandora did not recognise, came hurrying down the steps to open the door of the carriage and Pandora stepped out.
It was like coming home, she thought, to walk into the huge cool hall with its statues of Grecian goddesses set in alcoves, while the ceiling, painted by an Italian master, rioted with colour.
A strange butler with a somewhat supercilious expression on his face stood waiting for her to speak.
“I wish to see the Earl of Chartwood,” Pandora said.
It disconcerted her to find that she did not know the servants. She had expected old Burrows to be there and the footmen who
She had been told not to ride in the vicinity of Chart Hall. Well, she was not she was driving there.
She told herself that if her expedition failed and she returned ignominiously, no-one would know except the servants, and because they liked her and disliked her aunt it was doubtful that they would betray her.
She had now driven over three miles outside the town and was in the quiet, beautiful countryside which she had known all her life.
The woods were much thicker here, and she remembered how she had loved roaming in them as a child and riding in them when she was older.
There were streams winding through meadowland and one where her father occasionally went fishing and caught fat, brown trout which they enjoyed for breakfast.
There were memories every inch of the way. Then at last they came to the village with its black and white cottages with their thatched roofs.
All the gardens were bright with flowers and Pandora remembered that it was her mother’s idea to give a prize for the best garden every year, so that the local people strove to make their village the most beautiful in the whole County.
Pandora knew the inhabitants of every cottage they passed, but at this time of the day the men would be out working in the fields and many of the women would be working at the Castle.
In her grandfather’s time they had been employed in the kitchens, the laundry, and the dairy.
She wondered if there were still the big wide bowls of thick cream standing on the stone slabs waiting to be made into the golden pats of butter that were stamped with the Chart crest.
She had loved to watch the dairymaids at work and sometimes she would ask if she could help, but soon found it very tiring to turn the cream in the churn until it became butter.
Now the Castle was in sight.
It always looked magnificent at any time of the year, but perhaps most of all in the summer when it was surrounded with green trees as if it were a precious jewel.
The grey stone glowed against the trees, and the chimneys, statues, and urns on the roof were silhouetted against the sky.
It had majesty and an importance that spoke without words of the great family it housed.
Every generation of the Chart family had added to the original building, which had been commenced in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
The second Earl, however, who, having been impressed with houses like Blenheim, Hatfield, and Burleigh, had employed Inigo Jones to improve Chart Hall.
He had added two wings and a new facade, making it an outstanding edifice as well as a beautiful one.
“I love Chart!” Pandora exclaimed.
It was part of her life.
There was the lake where her father had taken her boating amongst the water-lilies, the lawns where she had rolled down their slopes when she was a small child, screaming with excitement.
At the back of the house there were the shrubberies where she had played hide-and-seek and the greenhouses from which the old gardener had given her peaches so large that she could hardly hold them in her small hands.
‘If only Uncle George had not been killed at Waterloo,’ she thought wistfully.
He had been very like her mother and he would never have allowed her to live with her father’s relatives, who did not like her.
The carriage drew up outside the long flight of steps leading to the front door.
A footman, whom Pandora did not recognise, came hurrying down the steps to open the door of the carriage and Pandora stepped out.
It was like coming home, she thought, to walk into the huge cool hall with its statues of Grecian goddesses set in alcoves, while the ceiling, painted by an Italian master, rioted with colour.
A strange butler with a somewhat supercilious expression on his face stood waiting for her to speak.
“I wish to see the Earl of Chartwood,” Pandora said.
It disconcerted her to find that she did not know the servants. She had expected old Burrows to be there and the footmen who
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