Free This Way to Heaven by Barbara Cartland Page B

The Golden Lion hung silent with no wind to make it squeak as usual.
    Outside the temperature was dropping fast again, but inside there was a roaring blaze in the immense fireplace and the air was thick with smoke and the smell of beer and roast beef.
    George Radford sat in his usual corner, enjoying a pint of ale and a vast meat pasty.
    When he had returned home from the castle, he discovered that the heavy snow had brought down part of the chimney of his old farmhouse and until he could mend it, he was unable to cook on his range.
    Mary had made him a big bacon sandwich when he had taken the American lady’s luggage up to the castle, but that had been hours ago.
    George now gazed into the fire and found himself wondering what it would be like to go home, cold, wet and tired to find Mary there, waiting for him with a cooked meal on the table and a warm loving smile.
    He shook his dark red head and sipped his beer.
    â€˜No good dreamin’ about such things, you fool,’ he muttered to himself. ‘You don’t earn nearly enough from the farm to take a wife. Mary won’t leave the castle to live in the farm and to be fair, it just ain’t suitable for a lass and a family.’
    George had left school when he was only fourteen to join his father working the land, but although he was not well educated, he knew in his heart of hearts that selling his land to the Earl of Somerton was the sensible thing to do.
    But many centuries of independent Yorkshire spirit rebelled in him at the thought.
    This was his land. He should hold it and pass it on to his sons just like the old Earl had done with his great estate.
    â€œMr. Radford – may I have the pleasure of buying you a drink?”
    George looked up, startled.
    A tall thin man stood in front of him.
    George could scarcely see his face under his black, broad-brimmed hat, but he could tell that the man sported a short dark beard and moustache.
    His clothes were expensive, but the cut and colour told George that they had not been bought in England and that was a fact. And although the man spoke well, there was a trace of a foreign accent in his words.
    George felt a spurt of suspicion.
    This was right odd. How did the stranger know his name?
    â€œNo, thank you, sir. I’m just off home.”
    â€œSurely you have time for one more pint of the best bitter The Golden Lion can provide? Or perhaps a tot of spirits to keep out the cold? Come, I insist. I believe that I have a business proposition that will interest you.”
    â€œAre you a farmer, sir? Interested in buying some turnips, perhaps?”
    The stranger laughed heartily, slapping his leather riding gloves against his palm.
    â€œTurnips? No. I have another business altogether in mind. Listen to me, I have been told that you know a great deal about Somerton Castle. I appreciate that you are a busy man, Mr. Radford, but I would make it worth your while if you would sit and talk to me all about that great establishment.”
    He took a gold sovereign from his pocket and spun it on the table.
    â€œYou see, Mr Radford, I, too, am a busy man. I am a student of architecture. I can study the outside of the castle, of course, but I would so like to know much more about the inside of that great building.
    â€œFor example, which rooms are where, how many doors lead from the main hall. Small things that I need to complete a paper I am writing for a Historical Society.”
    George ignored the gold piece, stood up abruptly, drained his tankard and placed it firmly on the table.
    â€œWhy don’t you go up to the castle and ask to see round it, then? I’m sure that the Earl would be only too pleased to ’elp, if it’s for some Society, as you say.”
    â€œOh, I would certainly not wish to bother the Earl or his staff. Oh, no.”
    George silently pushed past the table, pulling on his coat and jamming his cap down over his ears.
    He might well be in conflict with the Earl,