The Temptation of Torilla (18 page)

The congregation in their silks and satins seemed to move dizzily around her and Torilla thought she was going to faint.

Suddenly from the back of the Church, a voice rang out.

“
Stop this marriage
! It must not take place!”

Every head turned and, startled, Torilla turned too. Standing in the aisle just inside the West Door there was a man, but because he had his back to the light, she could not see his face.

He was tall, but, as he came walking up the aisle, she saw that he limped and his riding-boots were covered in dust.

Then, as he came a few steps nearer she saw there was the gash of a deep but healed wound on the man’s forehead and at that moment she recognised him!

At the cry from the end of the Church, the Bishop had stopped reading the Service and both Beryl and the Marquis had slowly turned round.

Now there was a scream that echoed high into the roof, a scream that was followed by the incredulous cry of –

“
Rodney
!”

Beryl was running down the aisle, stumbling over her train and only being prevented from falling by Rodney catching her in his arms.

“Rodney – Rodney! You are –
alive
! You are – alive!”

The words were so incoherent and yet so poignant with an inexpressible joy that they brought tears to the eyes of every woman in the congregation.

“You were – dead! But you are – alive – alive!” Beryl went on. “Oh, Rodney! Rodney!”

“I am alive, my precious wife,” Rodney said, “and I cannot allow you to marry anyone else.”

“As if I would – want to!” Beryl answered. “Oh, darling, I have been so – miserable, so broken-hearted. I thought never to – see you again!”

Her voice broke on the last word and anyway it would have been impossible to say more for Rodney was kissing her, kissing her passionately, quite regardless of the staring eyes of everyone around them.

Torilla could never remember afterwards how they got from St. George’s Hanover Square to Carlton House. Actually she travelled in the same carriage as the Earl and Countess, who were too stunned to do anything, but just murmur Rodney’s name over and over again.

He had explained who he was to the Bishop before they left.

He told His Grace briefly that he had only just arrived from France and had ridden all night to reach the Church in time to prevent Beryl from committing bigamy.

At Carlton House he had apologised to the Prince Regent for his appearance, but the Prince intrigued by the story had waved such unimportant matters aside.

“You must tell me, my dear boy exactly what happened,” he said in his thick plummy voice. “How is it possible that you were overlooked when our Armies left France?”

What she did not hear at the reception, Torilla learnt later when they all went back to Curzon House.

After the battle of Toulouse, where Rodney had been severely wounded and left on the battlefield for dead, he had been stripped of his uniform.

The scavengers who were a menace on every battlefield took everything he possessed, even down to his boots. The wound in his head had left him completely unconscious and he also had a bullet in his leg.

He had apparently been overlooked by the British when they collected their casualties and it was only when two Catholic Priests were reading the burial service over the dead that they found he was alive.

They had taken him to a Convent where the nuns were caring for a number of wounded men too ill to be moved to the hospitals in Toulouse or Bordeaux.

They had at first, Rodney related, thought it would be impossible to save his life, but, when gradually after some months he could think and speak, he found he had lost his memory.

“I had not the slightest idea of my name or even that I was English,” he explained.

“And you did not remember me?” Beryl asked.

He had his arms round her as he told them the story. Now he looked down at her with an expression of love in his eyes that made Torilla know that her cousin’s happiness was assured for all time.

“You were, my darling, the first person I remembered and when I came back to sanity,” he said, “I saw your lovely face very clearly, but your name escaped me.”

“It is the – same as – yours,” Beryl added with a little sob.

“I only knew that later,” Rodney answered and kissed her forehead.

“Go on!” the Countess begged, “I must hear the end of the story.”

“It was only three weeks ago,” Rodney said, “that suddenly something which must have blocked my mind cleared and I remembered everything! I awoke one morning to know my name, my Regiment and who was my wife!”

His arms tightened around Beryl as he went on,

“I knew then that the only thing that mattered was that I should get back to you, my precious.”

“Why did it take you so long?”

“To begin with, as I had no money, I had to get to Paris,” Rodney replied, “I knew that the British Embassy would help me, and I was not mistaken. Our Ambassador believed the story I had to tell and paid my fare back to England.”

“And quite right too,” the Earl remarked.

“When I reached Dover, I bought an English newspaper to see what had been happening here,” Rodney went on, “and almost the first thing I read was the report that my wife was to be married the following day.”

“Oh, darling were you – horrified?” Beryl questioned.

“I was determined to stop the wedding,” Rodney said firmly, “and I have succeeded.”

“You are not – angry?” she asked in a very small voice, “that I should have agreed to – marry anyone – else?”

She had forgotten, Torilla realised, that there was anyone else present and she was speaking to Rodney as if they were alone on a magical island.

And that in fact was where they were, she thought, alone and together and what was outside the circle of their happiness was of no significance.

There was so much more to hear, but Rodney was quite positive in what he wished to do.

“I want a bath, my darling,” he said to Beryl, “and afterwards I would like to rest. Tomorrow morning early we will go home.”

He saw the question in her eyes and added,

“I would not want my mother to suffer any longer.”

“No, of course not,” Beryl agreed, “and I want to see your mother and father’s happiness when you walk into the house after they have mourned you for so long.”

Everything was arranged just as Rodney wanted it and Torilla knew that that was exactly how Beryl’s life would run in the future.

Because she loved Rodney he would always be her Master. The Social world had seen the last of the ‘incomparable’ – the girl who had Social ambitions and who wanted to be an important hostess covered in diamonds.

All Beryl would want in the future was to be with Rodney and together they had the only thing which really mattered – their love.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The stagecoach trundled down the Great North Road, stopping at every village and crossroads.

It had left London at seven o’clock from
The Lamb
at Islington and Torilla knew they would be stopping soon at Baldock for the passengers to have a light repast.

She was almost oblivious to the discomfort of sitting squashed between two countrywomen and hardly noticed that a small boy was dropping pieces of chocolate on her muslin gown.

Deep in her thoughts, she had only aroused herself when the coach reached Hatfield to think of Beryl and Rodney and knew how happy they must be together.

She had not left London immediately after the interrupted wedding, as she had meant to do, because the Earl had hurried back to Hertfordshire and her aunt had looked rather helplessly at the huge collection of presents.

“These will all have to go back,” she sighed, “and although the servants can pack them up I will have to find the addresses of the senders.”

“I will help you, Aunt Louise,” Torilla said and for once the Countess seemed grateful for her assistance.

They worked hard for the next three days and when only a few anonymous parcels remained without addresses, the Countess said,

“I only hope some of our so-called friends will have the graciousness to return these gifts to Beryl and – Rodney.”

There was a note in her voice, which told Torilla all too clearly how deeply her aunt regretted that Beryl had not made the brilliant Social marriage she had hoped for.

“Beryl is very happy, Aunt Louise,” she said, and it was in fact an assurance she had repeated a dozen times already.

“She had so many chances,” the Countess replied, “but Rodney Marsden – !”

It was unnecessary for her to say more.

Then, as if a thought suddenly struck her, the Countess said briskly,

“Now I have time to think about you, Torilla, and I am sure that Lord Arkley has not forgotten you. We must ask him to dinner.”

Torilla had risen to her feet.

“I must go back to Papa, Aunt Louise. He is – expecting me.”

The Countess considered for a moment.

“Perhaps Lord Arkley, like everyone else, will have left London now that the Prince has gone to Brighton.”

She looked at Torilla as if appraising her looks, then she added,

“Go to your father now if you wish, but I will write to him and invite you to stay in September. Then Torilla, I will entertain for you.”

Torilla realised that her aunt was transferring her ambitions for Beryl to herself, but she knew it was hopeless to say that she had no intention of marrying anyone other than one person – and he had disappeared!

She had half expected, although she thought it might prove impossible, that the Marquis would send her a note or possibly a verbal message after Rodney had stopped the wedding.

But the Marquis had become invisible.

He had gone on to Carlton House, which was understandable, but no one had heard anything of him since, and now sitting in the stagecoach Torilla could not help wondering if perhaps he felt humiliated by what had occurred. Certainly it had given the gossips something to snigger about and Torilla was sure that it was the main topic of conversation from St. James Street to Chelsea.

Up to the last moment of leaving London she had wondered and hoped, but there had been nothing for her except two letters from Barrowfield, the first being from her father. His letter was ecstatic with a happiness she had not seen in him since her mother died.

Buddle air pumps were being installed in the mine, new machinery introduced to remove the water, the props had all been reinforced or replaced. Davy safety lamps were provided and the miners themselves could hardly believe the difference that increased wages had made in their lives.

It was left, however for Abby to tell Torilla that her father was in much better health than when she had left Barrowfield.

‘The Master’s putting on weight,’ Abby wrote, ‘which is due to the fact that he is no longer so worried about the sick and needy.

‘The Relief Fund which his Lordship set up has lifted from him the care of the children, the crippled and the very old. But them Coxwolds, of course, are still getting more than their fair share!’

Torilla had laughed, knowing how much Abby resented the manner in which the Coxwolds extorted money from her father, then went on reading,

‘I expect you know his Lordship’s doubled the Master’s stipend and now I’ve got two young girls to help me in the house and the food is like your dear mother used to order when we lived in Hertfordshire.’

Torilla had given a little sigh of satisfaction.

Then she asked herself, as she had so often done before, whether any man could be so wonderful, so kind or so generous as the Marquis had been.

‘I want to thank him,’ she thought and wondered almost despairingly whether she would ever have the opportunity. The stagecoach drew up outside
The
Royal George
and the passengers hurriedly climbed out.

“Twenty minutes, ladies and gent’men!” the guard said and everyone rushed into the inn determined to be served first.

It was only as she alighted, carrying her small valise, that Torilla realised the mess the child had made of her gown, and that after sitting for so long she felt hot and uncomfortable.

Inside the inn she asked a chambermaid if there was a room where she could change and was taken upstairs to a bedchamber that was not in use.

Torilla did not hurry. She knew that the food would not be very appetising and she was not particularly hungry.

She washed in cold water, then, taking a fresh gown from her valise that she had intended to put on for supper that evening, she took off the one which showed all too clearly the imprint of chocolate-covered fingers.

She tidied her hair in the mirror and saw her eyes wide and worried and with a suspicion of sadness in their depths looking back at her.

‘Perhaps he does not – want me any – more?’ she questioned and turned away because it was an agony even to imagine such a thing.

It was so hot that she did not put on her bonnet, but, carrying it with her valise, she went downstairs again.

There would only be time now, she thought, to ask for a cup of tea.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs she found the landlord waiting for her.

“This way please, madam,” he said.

She put down her valise, thinking she would pick it up when she came from the coffee room.

The landlord opened a door and she walked in.

Only when she was inside did she realise that she was in an empty room except for one person standing at the far end of it.

He turned to face her and for a moment neither of them could move.

Without speaking the Marquis held out his arms and she ran towards him like a homing pigeon.

He held her so tightly that it was hard to breathe.

As Torilla raised her eyes to his, he looked down into them and she felt a thousand candles suddenly light the whole room.

Then he was kissing her wildly, frantically, passionately as if they had stood on the brink of disaster and yet by some miracle had been saved from destruction.