Bewitched (Bantam Series No. 16) (4 page)

It had seemed last night and again this morning to be an eminently sensible action to invite Eurydice to be his wife.

He thought that he could do no better than fulfil what had been his father’s hopes, and to rely on his father’s judgment. But now he felt horrified at the step he had taken.

Life would be intolerable with Eurydice, taunting him at every turn, yearning for affection he was incapable of giving her, and taking every opportunity of irritating him because she felt piqued by his indifference.

The Marquis was very experienced where women were concerned, and he was well aware that they could make life extremely uncomfortable simply because they felt they had been slighted.

Many of his love affairs had in fact ended unpleasantly simply because a woman had been so very much more in love with him than he had pretended to be with her.

It was, he was well aware, something that a female found impossible to forgive. That she should lay down her heart for a man to walk on, and he should in fact be immune to every wile and trick with which she had contrived to capture him.

‘One cannot fall in love to order,’ the Marquis thought almost despairingly.

Then, as he thought it, he realised what a fool he had been to think that Eurydice would not realise immediately that he was simply making use of her.

Yet he could not pretend to love her and he had the feeling he had made a mess of his first proposal of marriage.

Because it made him angry to realise not only that he had made a fool of himself, but also that if the Duke did not come up to scratch there was every chance that Eurydice might accept his offer, he pushed his horses.

He was a magnificent driver—a Corinthian—and was known to be able to control even the wildest or most difficult animal.

Now, because he was in a rage, he took his team of four down the road which lay between the two Estates at a pace which would have made his Head-Groom look at him in surprise.

The horses swung through the gates at Ruckley and proceeded up the oak avenue in a manner which made the fragile Phaeton seem almost to fly through the air.

They swept up a short incline beyond which there was a sharp descent into the valley, where Ruckley House stood. As the Marquis reached the top of the rise he suddenly saw standing on the drive in front of him a lone figure.

It was a woman with her back to him.

Because he was moving so fast, there was nothing he could do but attempt to turn the horses at the very last moment and drag them onto the verge.

He pulled sharply on the reins, shouting to the woman as he did so to get out of the way.

The horses were almost upon her as she turned a surprised face in their direction.

Then even as the Marquis with a superb effort pulled the horses clear of her, she slipped as she turned and the wheel caught her.

The Marquis drew his horses to a standstill and looked back to see a woman’s body lying on the ground behind him.

“Oh, God!” he exclaimed. “I must have killed her!”

CHAPTER TWO

The groom ran to the horses’ heads while the Marquis jumped down and hurried up the drive to where the fallen woman sprawled limply on the ground.

When he reached her he saw that she was very young. The wheel had caught her on the left side. There was blood on her forehead and the white blouse she was wearing had been torn from her shoulder where the skin was gashed and bleeding profusely.

The Marquis bent down, taking his handkerchief from his coat pocket as he did so. Then realising that the girl was unconscious, he looked around first at his Phaeton and then at the distance to the house. He decided he would carry her.

Vaguely at the back of his mind he remembered that it was dangerous if someone was hurt internally for them to be jolted or even moved, but he could not leave her lying injured on the drive.

She was small and slight and it would obviously be less disturbing if he carried her than if he attempted to drive her in the Phaeton.

Very gently he lifted the recumbent figure in his arms. She was very light.

“Drive the horses home, Jim,” he ordered his groom who was watching from the Phaeton. “Tell them at the house that there has been an accident.”

“Very good, M’Lord,” the groom answered and set off down the drive.

Moving slowly the Marquis followed.

As he walked he looked down at his burden and realised that apart from the bleeding wound on her forehead, she was lovely, but in a strange manner.

She had black hair, so long that the Marquis was certain that when she was standing it would reach below her waist and her closed eyes were perfect half-crescents with long lashes dark against an ivory skin.

She did not look English; then glancing at her clothes the Marquis understood.

The girl he had knocked down was a Gypsy!

There was no mistaking the full red skirt worn, he was sure, over a number of others, the black velvet bodice laced in the front, the sash around her small waist, and the embroidered blouse, low at the neck, leaving the arms bare.

He had always supposed that Gypsies were dirty, but the girl he held in his arms was exquisitely clean, and there was a faint fragrance of some Oriental perfume which seemed to come from her hair.

The Marquis saw that round her neck she wore a necklace of gold coins linked together with what appeared to be small pieces of red glass.

Gypsy women liked jewellery, he remembered hearing at some time or another.

He had an idea that some of the coins the girl wore were of great antiquity. They were certainly old and all of them were foreign. Then he chided himself for being interested in anything except his victim who might in fact be badly injured.

She was certainly not dead, which was one consolation. She was unconscious, but she was breathing evenly and her rather frightening pallor might well, he thought, be habitual.

It did not take him long to traverse the drive and reach the courtyard which lay in front of a great flight of steps leading to the main entrance.

As he drew nearer a number of men-servants came hurrying towards him.

Bush, the Butler, reached him first.

“We heard there’d been an accident, M’Lord. Is the lady badly hurt?”

“I have no idea,” the Marquis answered curtly.

Then as he moved on with the Butler beside him, the latter exclaimed:

“It’s no lady, M’Lord! She’s one of them Gypsies!”

“What Gypsies?”

“There are always some of them in the woods at this time of the year, M’Lord.”

The Marquis walked up the steps.

There appeared to be quite a number of people in the Marble
Hall when he entered, but he ignored them and climbed the carved staircase to where on the first landing he found Mrs. Meedham, the Housekeeper, agitatedly bobbing a curtsy at the sight of him.

“Which bed-room is ready?” the Marquis enquired.

“All of them, M’Lord.”

Then she looked at the unconscious figure in the arms of the Marquis and exclaimed:

“Why, it’s one of them Gypsies! A room in the servants’ wing will do for her, M’Lord.”

The Marquis walked across the landing.

“Open the door,” he said briefly.

After a moment’s surprise Mrs. Meedham obeyed him, and he entered one of the large State-Rooms which opened off the first-floor landing.

“But surely, M’Lord...” Mrs. Meedham protested, only to be silenced as the Marquis said:

“There could be a risk, Mrs. Meedham, in carrying this young woman any further. Her life may be in danger.”

He moved towards the big four-poster bed but Mrs. Meedham hurried after him.

“Not on the cover, M’Lord! The sheets can be washed.”

She pulled back the embroidered silk and opened the bed-clothes as she spoke.

Very gently the Marquis set down the girl he carried on the white linen sheets embroidered with the Ruckley crest surmounted by a coronet.

Her head fell back against the pillows, and her hair was jet black in contrast to the white linen.

“Send for Hobley,” the Marquis ordered.

“I’m here, M’Lord.”

A middle-aged man came hurrying into the room.

Hobley had been at Ruckley House ever since the Marquis could remember. Officially he was his Lordship’s Valet, but he was famous for his skill in being able to set bones.

He had in fact set the Marquis’s own collar-bone on one occasion and, if anyone on the Estate broke a leg or an arm, it was always Hobley who attended them.

He was far more efficient, far more knowledgeable than any local Physician, and in fact everyone asked for him whatever their injury.

Hobley moved to the bed-side now, looked at the cut on the unconscious girl’s forehead and the bleeding wounds on her arm. He then noticed there was blood dripping from beneath her skirts and pulled them aside to show a deep cut on one ankle.

As he did so, the Marquis saw the girl’s legs were bare although she wore red slippers cut low and ornamented with little buckles of silver.

“Hot water and bandages, if you please,” Hobley demanded, and Mrs. Meedham and several house-maids who were congregated round the door hurried to fetch what he required.

“Are there any bones broken?” the Marquis asked.

“I can’t tell as yet, M’Lord,” Hobley answered. “Did the wheel pass over her?”

“I cannot be sure,” the Marquis replied. “It happened so quickly.”

He paused and added:

“It was my fault, Hobley. I was driving too fast.”

“ ’Tis not often you have an accident, M’Lord,” Hobley said, and added reassuringly: “I’ve an idea this is not as bad as it looks!”

“But she is unconscious.”

“That is because of the wound on her head,” Hobley replied. “Leave her with me, M’Lord. I’ll find out what is wrong and let Your Lordship know if it is necessary to send for the Doctor.”

“Thank you, Hobley,” the Marquis said with a note of relief in his voice.

He left the room.

As he crossed the landing it was to see Mrs. Meedham and the house-maids hurrying down the passage carrying jugs of water, bandages and towels in their hands.

He went downstairs and, ignoring the Salon where he knew the Butler would have laid out wine and refreshments, he walked instead down the passage which led to the Library.

One of the most impressive rooms in the house, it had been completely renovated in his father’s time, who had also added two or three thousand volumes to the books already collected by his grand-father.

Seated at a desk in the centre of the Library was an elderly man with white hair.

He looked up indifferently as the Marquis opened the door, then rose with an exclamation of surprise and pleasure.

“I was not expecting you, My Lord. Why did no-one tell me you were coming?”

“It is a surprise,” the Marquis said. “I only decided last night it was necessary for me to visit the country.”

He was speaking to the man who had been his Tutor, friend and companion for many years.

The Reverend Horace Redditch had been employed by the late Marquis to tutor his son before he went to Eton.

He had fitted in so well and been so liked by the whole family that in time he became the Marquis’s personal Chaplain, as well as being Librarian and Curator.

He was known by everyone in the House and on the Estate as “The Reverend,” and enjoyed the familiarity which made it a term of affection.

He had accompanied the present Marquis as a young man on many visits around the country. They had once spent a delightful holiday in Ireland combining learning with the pleasure of salmon fishing.

“It is nice to see you, Sir,” the Marquis said, with a note of affection in his voice which few people evoked from him.

“Are you enjoying London?” The Reverend enquired.

“Not particularly!” the Marquis admitted. “As a matter of fact I have just had an accident. I knocked down a Gypsy girl. She is upstairs and Hobley is attending to her.”

“A Gypsy?” The Reverend repeated. “Well, that is not surprising. It is the time of year when they visit us.”

“Tell me about them,” the Marquis said.

“It was your grand-mother, I believe, who gave them permission to camp on the Estate. She was always sorry for everyone who was homeless and I think too she was very interested in Gypsy people who wander over the earth with no settled abode.”

“I really know very little about them,” the Marquis said.

“They came originally from India,” The Reverend replied. “Which of course accounts for their dark hair and dark skins.”

“And they have been nomads ever since?”

“There are of course numerous legends and explanations as to why they can never settle down.”

“Are there many Gypsies in England?”

“Quite a number, I believe,” The Reverend replied. “But they are to be found in every country. If you are interested I must see if we have any books about them.”

The Marquis shrugged his shoulders.

“I seem to remember that the Game-keepers dislike them, thinking that they poach the pheasants.”

“It has been a tradition on this Estate that they should not be harassed or driven away,” The Reverend said, “and as I think there is something picturesque about them, I hope you will not refuse them the hospitality which they have found at Ruckley for nearly a century.”

“I will certainly not do that!” the Marquis said. “After all, I feel responsible for the girl I have just injured. Do you think I should get in touch with her tribe, or whatever they call themselves?”

“Maybe she is not as badly hurt as you suspect,” The Reverend said soothingly. “Anyway Hobley will deal with it”

“Yes, I am sure he will,” the Marquis replied.

He talked for a little while longer to his old Tutor, then went into the Salon to find as he had expected there was wine and a whole assortment of sandwiches and other delicacies laid out on a silver tray.

The Marquis had stopped for luncheon at an Inn on his way down from London before he had called on Eurydice. So, while he sipped a glass of excellent wine from his cellars, he was in fact not hungry.

He had only been in the Salon a short while before Hobley came to find him.

“How is she?” the Marquis asked.

“There’re no bones broken, M’Lord, but the blow on the head has undoubtedly caused concussion. I should not be surprised if tonight she runs a fever!”

“It is not serious?” the Marquis asked.

“No, M’Lord, the cuts and bruises are only superficial, and when the Gypsy regains consciousness we shall know how much she has been affected in the head.”

“Then she must stay here until she is better,” the Marquis said.

“Mrs. Meedham is anxious to move her to another part of the house, M’Lord. She feels it is unseemly that a Gypsy should occupy one of the State bed-rooms.”

“Seemly or not, she is to remain where she is,” the Marquis said sharply. “It is my fault the girl was hurt and I will have her treated with all possible consideration. Make that clear, Hobley, to the rest of the staff.”

“I will, M’Lord, but Your Lordship understands they are afraid of Gypsies.”

“Why are they afraid?” the Marquis asked.

“They fear they might put the ‘Evil Eye’ upon them, steal their children or curse them.”

The Marquis laughed. “All the more reason for them to be polite to our guest! She does not seem to me a kind of creature who would curse anybody.”

He thought as he spoke of how light the girl had been as he carried her in his arms, and it seemed to him, although he might have imagined it, that the strange fragrance from her hair still lingered on his coat.

“Well, if there is nothing more I can do, Hobley,” he said, “I am returning to London.”

“We thought you might do so, M’Lord. The horses have been changed and are ready the moment Your Lordship asks for them.”

“Then have them brought round,” the Marquis said, “and when our guest is ready to depart, see that she is recompensed for the damage I have inflicted on her.”

“What would you consider a reasonable sum, M’Lord?” Hobley asked respectfully.