Magic From the Heart

by Barbara Cartland

  The Earl agreed, as he always did, to anything his new wife suggested.

  So Safina, in her own words, went into exile.

  It was to be three years before she would see England or her home again.

  “If you cannot come to me, my darling child,” her father had said, “I promise I will come to you.”

  Somehow Isobel prevented it.

  She wanted to go to Europe, but the El Dorado of every beautiful woman was Paris.

  Safina had learnt, not from her father, where they were, as some of the other pupils had heard from their parents that Isobel had conquered the French with her beauty.

  She had given a large ball in the house in the Champs Élysées, which she had persuaded the Earl to rent for a month.

  “Of course her gowns,” one of the girls told Safina, “are from the smartest dressmakers and her jewels are envied by every woman who sees them.”

  Her father’s letters, he wrote to her dutifully every week, said very little about the visit to Paris.

  He had some important meetings, he said, with the Prime Minister and a most intriguing one with the President of France.

  The Earl was not a particularly gifted writer, but Safina loved his letters. They were the only thing that linked her with England and the past.

  Because she was intelligent she applied herself to learning, not only to everything the Nuns could teach her but to the extra lessons she received from a number of Special Tutors.

  They taught subjects beyond the ordinary curriculum of the school and she was therefore now proficient not only in French and Italian but also in German and Spanish.

  She had lessons in many other subjects as well, especially this last year when she was older than all the other pupils.

  It had been quite unnecessary for her to attend the ordinary classes, as what the girls were learning she had learnt the previous year.

  The journey across France was tiring yet interesting.

  When they reached Calais, their Courier, who had escorted them from Florence, said,

  “There’s a boat leaving in an hour’s time, my Lady, and I’ve engaged a cabin for you and the Sister.”

  “Thank you,” Safina replied, “but I hope I shall not feel seasick. After being shut up in the train for so long, I am looking forward to the sea air.”

  Sister Benedict, however, was a bad sailor and immediately lay down in the cabin, while Safina walked around the deck escorted by the Courier.

  He was a middle-aged Italian, who had travelled to many parts of the world and she found what he told her most interesting.

  But she was feeling very excited at the thought of seeing her own country again.

  ‘However difficult Stepmama may be,’ she told herself, ‘I shall feel that Mama is with me and when I walk in the gardens or ride in the woods, I shall think of no one but her.’

  When they arrived at Dover, there was an English Courier waiting to meet her.

  To her surprise he informed her that she was not to go to London.

  She had expected to find her father waiting for her there and then, after staying one night at Sedgewick House in Park Lane, they would go on to Wick Park.

  It was Friday and she knew that he always liked to spend the weekend in the country.

  “Where am I going?” she asked the Courier.

  “I was told, Lady Safina,” he replied, “just to inform you that her Ladyship’ll meet you at the place I am taking you to and I am to answer no questions until we get there.”

  He spoke in a somewhat embarrassed manner and Safina looked at him in astonishment.

  She could not understand why her stepmother should be so mysterious.

  “Where is my father?” she asked him.

  The Courier hesitated and for one terrifying moment Safina wondered if her father was ill or dead.

  Finally, as if he felt compelled to answer her, the Courier said,

  “His Lordship’s on his way to Edinburgh.”

  “To Edinburgh!” Safina exclaimed. “Why is Papa going there?”

  It seemed to her very strange that her father should go away just as she was returning home.

  In his last letter he had said,

  “I am not quite certain when your stepmother is planning for you to arrive back in England, but I can assure you, my dearest, that I am waiting eagerly to see you and we will have so much to talk about.”

  “I think,” the Courier was saying, “that his Lordship had to go on a special mission for Her Majesty the Queen.”

  He paused before continuing,

  “I know that the Duke of Hamilton’ll be his host while he’s in Edinburgh.”

  “Papa has not written me a letter?” Safina enquired.

  “I am sure her Ladyship’ll have one for you,” the Courier replied.

  He was an elderly man who, Safina remembered, had looked after them in the past.

  She had a feeling he was upset by something and was, in fact, not being completely frank with her.

  Why she should think that, she had no idea. It was just something she felt and what she thought of as her perception was seldom wrong.

  “Her Ladyship sent a maid who’s waiting now at the hotel,” the Courier continued, “and I thought, my Lady, you’d like something to eat and drink before we set off for the place where you are to stay the night.”

  It was all very strange to Safina.

  However, it seemed better not to go on asking questions while Sister Benedict and the Italian Courier were listening.

  They were to return to Florence immediately and she said goodbye to them, thanking them both profusely for looking after her.

  She tipped the Courier generously, having put the money into an envelope beforehand.

  She had a present for Sister Benedict, which she knew would delight her when she opened it.

  She kissed the nun fondly goodbye, saying,

  “Thank you – thank you – for being so kind and please don’t forget me, Sister.”

  “You know I will remember you in my prayers,” Sister Benedict replied, “and may God and His angels guard and protect you.”

  Safina felt the tears come into her eyes.

  She turned away and stepped into the carriage that the English Courier, Mr. Carter, had waiting for her.

  They drove to the hotel.

  She found that he had ordered her a light meal just in case she had been seasick on the voyage.

  She was not hungry, but she ate what had been provided and was then ready to continue the journey.

  The maid who was to travel with her was a servant she had never seen before and she seemed, for no reason that Safina could ascertain, somewhat hostile.

  She had expected that they would be driving to the Railway Station, so she was surprised when she learnt just before they left that they were going cross-country.

  There was no train service and so they had to travel by road.

  “I cannot understand,” she said as she stepped into the carriage, “why we are not going to Wick Park.”

  “Her Ladyship’ll explain everything,” Mr. Carter responded quickly.

  He climbed up onto the box with the coachman.

  As they drove out of Dover, Safina asked the maid, whose name she had learnt was Smith, if she had any idea where they were going.

  “’Er Ladyship just sends me down to Dover with Mr. Carter,” the maid answered, “and I were told nothin’.”

  She sounded cross about it and Safina commented,

  “It all seems a very mysterious idea. I did hope I was going to Wick Park.”

  “I were there a week ago with ’is Lordship,” the maid revealed.

  “Was it looking beautiful?” Safina enquired.

  “The flowers were a-comin’ out.”

  “My mother used to think that nothing was lovelier than Wick in the spring,” Safina said. “She often used to quote Robert Browning saying, ‘Oh to be in England now that April’s here’.”

  Smith made no re
ply and Safina thought that there was no point in going on talking to her.

  Instead, she imagined herself back at Wick and seeing the almond blossoms in bloom and the daffodils would now be a golden carpet under the oak trees in the Park.

  ‘I must go there soon, very soon,’ she told herself.

  It was a long journey and a tiring one.

  The road in some places was narrow and twisting so that the four horses that drew the carriage had to go slowly.

  It was growing dark when finally they turned into the courtyard of a Posting house.

  It was quite obvious that that was what it was and again Safina was surprised.

  Her father always avoided staying at inns or Posting houses. Invariably, if they went anywhere, he arranged that they should stay with one of his many friends.

  She was quite certain that there would be people he knew in this part of England.

  It therefore seemed increasingly extraordinary that her stepmother should be waiting for her at what was an ordinary Posting house.

  It had nothing, as far as she could see, to recommend it.

  It certainly was not popular, for there were no other carriages in the courtyard nor did there seem to be many stables on the other side of it.

  The innkeeper, a fat burly man, was waiting at the doorway and bowed to her respectfully.

  “Your Ladyship be expected,” he said to Safina.

  He went ahead before she could answer him down a narrow passage and they passed what she saw was a dining room with just three people having dinner.

  At the end of the passage there was an oak door and the innkeeper opened it.

  Safina realised that it was a private parlour.

  There was a fire burning at the end of the room and seated in front of it was her stepmother.

  One glance told Safina that Isobel was as beautiful as she had been when she left England. But she was more elegantly dressed and heavily bejewelled.

  “You are late,” Isobel said as Safina walked towards her. “I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you.”

  “It was a long way,” Safina answered, “and the roads were narrow and not like the main highways.”

  “Well, anyway, you are here,” Isobel said. “I expect that you wish to tidy yourself before dinner.”

  “Thank you, I would like that,” Safina said.

  Isobel turned towards the innkeeper, who was hovering in the doorway.

  “Take her Ladyship upstairs and see that my maid attends to her,” she ordered.

  “Very good, my Lady.”

  Safina followed him back down the passage and up an ancient wooden staircase.

  She thought it was a strange way to be greeted after being away from England for three years.

  ‘She still hates me,’ she told herself with a little sigh.

  It was obvious that the years since they had last met had not mitigated Isobel’s dislike for her.

  She tidied herself in a quite pleasant room.

  Isobel’s maid was a nervous creature who had obviously been told not to talk to Safina.

  She arranged Safina’s hair and poured some warm water into a basin so that Safina could wash.

  She then hurried downstairs to find that a table had now been laid in the private parlour.

  Isobel, as she had expected, was waiting impatiently for her.

  “Come along,” she said, “there is no one here for you to titivate yourself for and we have to leave early in the morning, so I want to get to bed.”

  “Where are we going?” Safina asked.

  “I will tell you that later,” Isobel replied coldly.

  The food was brought in. It was so much better than she expected that Safina guessed that Isobel had brought most of it with her.

  She was given a glass of wine that had come from her father’s cellar.

  “Did Papa give you a letter for me?” she asked as she sipped it. “I am so disappointed to hear that he has gone to Scotland.”

  “Who told you that?” Isobel snapped.

  “Mr. Carter, when I asked him.”

  There was silence and then Isobel said,

  “Yes, he has gone to Scotland.”

  “I am sure that he was disappointed not to be able to meet me.”

  “He did not think that you were arriving for another fortnight,” Isobel remarked.

  Safina stared at her.

  “Are you saying that Papa does not know I am in England?”

  “There was no point in my telling him you were coming when he could do nothing about it.”

  “But you wrote to the Mother Superior telling her to send me home at once. I was rather surprised that it was not Papa.”

  “I wrote because I wished you to arrive now,” Isobel replied in an uncompromising tone.

  Safina felt even more bewildered.

  There was, however, no point in saying so when the maids kept coming in and out with the food.

  When they finished, the table was moved away.

  Then, as they walked back to the fire, Safina said,

  “Do tell me, Stepmama, what all this mystery is about. Why have we come here and where are we going?”

  Isobel hesitated and then she said,

  “I am tired. I will tell you everything tomorrow. As it is, I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  She walked across the room as she spoke, opened the door and walked away down the passage.

  Safina stared after her.

  She could not understand what was happening and, despite trying to be sensible, she was frightened.

  Her father did not know that she was in England and Isobel would not tell her why they were here or where they were going.

  There was nothing that she could do except go up to bed.

  Smith was waiting for her and was obviously in a disagreeable mood and Safina therefore undressed in silence.

  When she was alone and in bed, she went over in her mind the extraordinary events of the day.

  She now felt even more frightened.

  Where was Isobel taking her? Why was she so mysterious about it?

  Was she to be locked away in another school?

  That seemed impossible, because she was too old.

  But why was there all this secrecy?

  Why for the first time in her life was she staying in a Posting house and not with one of her father’s friends?

  Although she was agitated, she was very tired after the long train journey and fell asleep almost at once.

  *

  She was woken by Smith rattling back the curtains.

  Then she poured some hot water into the basin on the washstand and said,

  “You’d better get up, my Lady. We’re leavin’ in ’alf an hour.”

  “Where to?” Safina asked.

  Smith did not answer and Safina knew that it was no use trying to make her.

  She dressed herself quickly and, when she went downstairs to breakfast, she found that she was having it alone. Isobel obviously had hers brought up to her bedroom.

  At any other time Safina would have thought that this was to be expected.

  But she now had the uncomfortable feeling that Isobel did not intend to talk to her until they were in the carriage.

  As she finished her breakfast, the innkeeper opened the parlour door to say,

  “I be told to tell you that ’er Ladyship’s a-waitin’ and she be in an ’urry.”

  Safina jumped to her feet.

  She put her travelling cloak over her shoulders and picked up her handbag.

  The innkeeper went ahead of her, down the passage and out into the courtyard.

  Outside she saw the carriage waiting and then she realised that there was another carriage behind it in which there was the Courier and the two lady’s maids.

  As Safina joined Isobel, she saw that her stepmother was very smartly dressed.

  Her hat fluttered with crimson feathers, her dress was of the same colour and her cloak was trimmed with sable. There were di
amonds around her neck and in her ears.

  When she moved her hand, there was a glitter of the bracelets on her wrist.

  The footman placed a rug over their knees and the four horses were driven out of the courtyard. They were a different team from the one that had drawn Safina yesterday.

  She waited for Isobel to speak, but when she said nothing, she said politely,

  “Good morning, Stepmama. I hope that you slept well.”

  “It was hardly likely in a place like that,” Isobel replied scornfully.

  “I thought it strange that we did not stay, as we always used to do, with one of Papa’s friends.”

  Safina paused before continuing,

  “I am not quite certain where we are, but he knows a great number of people in the South of England.”

  Isobel did not reply for a moment and then she said,

  “If you are interested in where you are, we are on our way to Wyn Park.”

  “Wyn Park?” Safina declared in a puzzled tone. “Why are we going there?”

  “For you to be married,” Isobel replied.

  Safina felt that she must have misunderstood her.

  “What did – you say?” she asked.

  “I told you,” Isobel said in a little louder voice, “that we are going to Wyn Park, where you will marry the Duke of Dallwyn.”

  Safina stared at her.

  “I don’t – understand what – you are – saying!” she exclaimed.

  “I should have thought that it was quite clear to anyone who is not a halfwit,” Isobel replied. “I have arranged for you to marry the Duke of Dallwyn and you are an extremely fortunate young woman.”

  Safina drew in her breath.

  “I am – sorry, Stepmama,” she said, “to contradict – you but I have no – intention of – marrying the Duke of Dallwyn or – anyone else!”

  “You will do as you are told,” Isobel said. “Everything is arranged and there is no use making a scene for there is nothing you can do about it.”

  “Of course there is – something I can – do about it,” Safina declared.

  She paused before continuing,

  “I can refuse to marry – the Duke and I am – sure that Papa will – support me. He will agree that I am – not to be – forced into some hole in the corner marriage with – a complete stranger!”