A Victory for Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “When did this happen?” Farica asked and felt that it was something she might have asked before.

  “At the end of January,” John replied.

  Farica gave a little cry.

  “By that time your father was dead. He was buried a few days before Christmas. I remember thinking how sad it was for the family that what should have been a happy festival was instead one of mourning and tears.”

  “Yes, he died before he could receive the Priest’s letter,” John said slowly.

  “But as the letter was addressed to ‘The Earl of Lydbrooke’, I imagine it was your cousin Fergus who opened it,” Farica said in a low voice.

  “That, I presume, is exactly what happened,” John agreed.

  “And did he answer?”

  John stiffened for a moment and then he said in a voice that was low with horror,

  “He sent a man to kill me!”

  Farica stared at him as if she could not have heard him aright.

  Then she asked in a voice that trembled,

  “D-did you say he – sent a man to – kill you?”

  “It was only by a miracle that he did not succeed,” John answered. “Because I was better and they had begun to think of me as a man rather than a patient, I had been moved outside the main Convent into an outbuilding where at that moment I was sleeping with two other men who had come in as patients.”

  John paused before he went on,

  “I should explain that the Convent was regularly used as a kind of hospital in that part of France and in January, when I was waiting to hear from England, I was sharing what was no more than a wooden hut with a young farmer who had cut his leg extremely badly with a scythe and a boy of about fifteen who had broken his arm in climbing a tree. They were very nice people and I certainly improved my French in chattering away to them, because there was nothing else to do.”

  “Then what happened?” Farica asked.

  “One night the farmer with the cut leg began to bleed profusely and I thought that somehow he had broken an artery. I dressed myself hastily and went into the Convent to find the nun who was on night duty.”

  He paused to explain,

  “There was always one of them praying in the Chapel and, of course, I was forbidden to go near any of the cells where the sisters slept. It was a long way to the Chapel and when I got there the nun I expected to find praying in front of the altar was not there. She had in fact, I learnt later, been called to minister to a very old nun who had had a heart attack.”

  John looked without seeing in front of him, as if he was staring back into the past, before he went on,

  “I stood about waiting, not certain whether I should return and try to cope with the flow of blood myself or try to find one of the more senior nuns who were more proficient in nursing.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Just as I was becoming really anxious, the nun came back and, when I explained what had happened, she fetched the elderly Sister who had looked after me. It took a little more time while she dressed and collected bandages and what she thought she would need to attend to the patient.

  “We set off down the cloisters through a door which led from the Convent to the hut outside. It was only as we were nearing it that I smelt smoke and said to the Sister walking beside me,

  “‘Can you smell smoke? There must be something on fire!’

  “‘There are no fires in this part of the Convent,’ she replied.

  “It was in fact very cold and I thought I must be imagining things. Then suddenly through one of the windows I saw unmistakably the light of flames and gave a cry of horror.

  “We both ran to the hut, but it was too late. The roof, which was made of straw, had already collapsed and there was no chance of saving anybody inside. The nuns were all woken but actually there was nothing any of them could do.”

  “Why should you think that – the fire had been directed against you?” Farica asked.

  “It was only later when they held an enquiry and the Priest questioned everybody as to what could have started the fire that it was learnt from the nun who was in charge of the Convent gate that a man, who she thought was English because he spoke French so badly, had asked if there was somebody in the Convent called ‘Ivan Brooke’.

  “‘I want to see him,’ the man had said.

  “It was getting on for late in the evening and the nun replied,

  “‘I don’t think it possible for you to see him at such a late hour.’

  “‘Where is he?’ the man then asked.

  “‘He is not here,’ the nun replied. ‘This part of the Convent is only for women and men are not allowed in here.’

  “He was so persistent that finally she told him that I slept in a thatched wooden hut at the other end of the Convent ground and that, if he called tomorrow, she would arrange for him to visit me.

  “‘It is too late now,’ she said. ‘Visitors must come at the time arranged, which is between two o’clock in the afternoon and four.’

  “‘And you think then I shall be able to see Mr. Ivan Brooke?’ the man persisted.

  “‘I will arrange for you to visit him in the hut where he is sleeping,’ the nun said, ‘but come to me first.’

  “He promised to do that, but, of course, the next day there was no sign of him.”

  “And you think he deliberately set fire to the place where he thought you were sleeping?” queried Farica.

  “I did not suppose so at first,” John answered. “It was only when there was no sign of my English visitor that I began to think it strange. Then two days later when he must have realised that he had killed the wrong man, the Englishman struck again.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Because I could no longer sleep in the hut, which had been burnt to the ground, they took me back into the Convent. The whole episode in fact had brought on one of my headaches and a rise in temperature. The nuns insisted that I rested, but because I felt cooped up almost as if in a coffin in the small cell I had been allotted, I managed to persuade them to let me sit in the small garden in the centre of the Cloisters to enjoy the afternoon sun.”

  He paused for a moment to look at Farica before continuing,

  “It was rather colder than it had been and frosty at night, but in the daytime just after luncheon there was some sunshine which was delightful provided one kept out of the sharp wind.

  “They brought me a chair with a footrest and put it on the grass by a statue of the Virgin Mary that stood in the centre of the Cloisters.

  “‘You are not to read,’ the nun ordered who was in charge of me, ‘but close your eyes and if possible go to sleep. The air is good for you, but you are not, John, to do too much.’

  “I promised her I would be obedient and settled myself down comfortably, thinking of home and how beautiful the trees looked in the Park when the frost touched them and made them glisten. I thought of how I used to skate on the lake when the ice was firm enough to bear my weight.”

  John paused again before resuming,

  “I suppose it was thinking of all the things I used to do in the winter that suddenly made me feel cold. Anyway I knew that it would be a great mistake to catch a chill, which would undoubtedly make the scar on my head worse and I had risen to my feet, when a man who had been brought in the day before with a septic hand from a dog bite came into the Cloisters.

  “‘Are you off? I was just thinking how comfortable you look,’ he said.

  “‘I am only going to fetch a coat,’ I said, ‘and perhaps a blanket to put around me. I feel chilly.’

  “‘I will keep your seat warm until you come back,’ he said with a laugh.

  “He sat down in my chair, put his feet up and his head back on the pillow that I had been resting on.

  “‘This is the life,’ he sighed. ‘I need a rest.’

  “‘Make the most of it until I return,’ I said. ‘I will not be long.’

  “It was in fact quite a long way to my cell and when I
got there I saw that there was a newspaper on the bed, which the nuns often gave me as a treat because they knew that now I was better I was extremely interested in the world outside and what was happening in the negotiations between Wellington and the French.”

  “I can understand that,” Farica muttered.

  “I read quite a lot of what the newspapers had to say before I remembered to find my coat and a blanket to put over my knees. Then when I went back to the Cloisters, I found that my enemy had struck again!”

  “What had happened?” Farica asked breathlessly.

  “The man with the septic hand who had taken my place had been stabbed through the heart with a long, thin stiletto-like dagger! I thought at first he was asleep. Then when I moved the blanket which covered him saying as I did so, ‘come on, wake up! It is my turn to rest.’ I saw the crimson stain on the front of his shirt and shouted for help.”

  “You were sure – it was the same Englishman?” Farica asked.

  “A second enquiry, like the first, revealed the truth,” John replied. “He had come to the Convent gate, explained to the nun that he had not been able to return to see me as he had hoped two nights earlier and appeared to be horrified when she told him that there had been a fire.

  “‘Is Mr. Brooke dead?’ he asked.

  “‘No, he was lucky. He was not there when it happened,’ the nun explained.

  “‘Then where is he now?’ he asked.

  “‘I think he is resting in the Cloisters,’ she replied. ‘Shall I ask if you can see him?’

  “‘That would be very kind of you.’

  “‘You will understand that I have to get permission for you to enter the Convent to see Mr. Brooke?’

  “‘Of course and I am very grateful,’ the man answered. “She left the gate telling him to wait outside until she returned and then hurried to the Mother Superior’s room, which was some distance away.”

  “But when she came back, he had somehow got in!” Farica exclaimed.

  “As she had trusted him,” John explained, “she had not locked the gate, but only closed it.”

  “And when she returned?”

  “The gate was still closed as she had left it, but there was no sign of the man outside.”

  “And the man – who should have been you – was dead in the Cloisters!”

  “He was stabbed through the heart,” John said, “and must have died instantly.”

  “This is the most terrible story I have ever heard!” Farica cried. “But what can you do? Surely there is somebody you can appeal to?”

  “If I do so,” John said quietly, “there is every likelihood of my being murdered immediately. Moreover I may be instrumental in condemning anyone who tries to help me to be murdered in the same way.”

  Chapter Four

  Farica stood for a moment in silence and then she asked,

  “What is the time?”

  John brought a cheap fob watch from his waistcoat pocket, which she thought he must have bought in France, and showed it to her.

  “Nearly half past ten. I told Papa I would take the bird to Abe and then meet him at the Church for the Service at eleven.”

  John smiled.

  “I forgot it was Sunday.”

  “There will not be many people in Church,” Farica told him, “as nowadays only the old villagers seem to attend.”

  Then she gave a little cry.

  “But they are the people who will remember you, so you must be careful, very careful, that you are not seen!”

  “I know that,” John said. “As you must realise, I am trying to think what I can do, but it is very difficult.”

  “I want to talk to you about it,” Farica said, “so I will meet you as arranged as soon as I can get away to the clearing in the woods.”

  “I know where it is,” John replied. “I went there last night to make certain that I would not miss you.”

  Farica put on her bonnet, which she had taken off, and tied the ribbons under her chin before she said,

  “Now that I know who you are I am going to pray very very hard that somehow you will be restored to your rightful place.”

  “If any prayers are answered, I am sure they will be yours.”

  She gave him a beguiling little smile and then hurried ahead of him back to the pony cart.

  She knew that it would be wise to leave him to walk back to the house and hurried ahead down the field and out onto the lane, thinking as she did so of the terrible position he was in and already beginning to pray that God would show him the way without there being any further loss of life.

  She did not underestimate for a moment the certainty that Fergus Brooke would fight like a tiger to prevent himself being dislodged from the position he had obviously always coveted.

  It seemed incredible that any man should deliberately plot to murder his cousin, but she had heard so many stories about Fergus in the past, which she had not listened to, thinking that they must be exaggerated, and she was now prepared to believe that every one of them was true.

  She had only to think of the party last night to shudder and she could hear Annie saying how many valuable articles of furniture had been destroyed by visitors when the new Earl invited them to The Castle.

  ‘It must stop!’ she thought.

  But she was aware of how difficult it was going to be.

  Farica had arranged that an extra groom should be waiting at the Church to take her pony cart back to The Priory, so that she could return with her father in the open carriage that he had arrived in.

  He was sitting in the carved pew that traditionally belonged to the owners of The Priory when she walked up the aisle.

  He smiled at Farica, thinking that his daughter was very beautiful and that she was exactly the right person to be the Countess of Lydbrooke.

  Farica entered the pew and knelt down beside him on one of the crimson velvet hassocks to pray.

  She prayed fervently with all her heart for Ivan, as she knew that she must now think of him. She felt as if her mother was helping her, telling her that all would come right in the end.

  When the Service was over and she and her father drove back towards The Priory, its red brick walls looking mellow and glorious in the sunshine, Sir Robert said,

  “I was thinking, my dearest, that no Countess of Lydbrooke could ever have been as lovely as you! And I know that a great number of them down the centuries were noted beauties.”

  “You flatter me, Papa, but as you appreciate, I am in no hurry to get married. I am far too happy with you – and there is so much for us to do together.”

  “At the same time,” Sir Robert said quietly, “I want you settled and in a position that would please your mother before I die.”

  He spoke solemnly, but Farica gave a little laugh,

  “That gives me at least twenty or thirty years’ grace. I have no wish, Papa, to be hurried up the aisle.”

  Her father frowned and she knew by the angle of his chin that he had every intention of opposing her.

  She slipped her hand into his and said,

  “Don’t talk of unhappy things today, Papa, let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

  “We will certainly try,” Sir Robert agreed. “But you have not forgotten that I have to see my Manager this afternoon. I know it is inconvenient on a Sunday, but he has sent a message to say that it is extremely important that we should have a conference as soon as possible.”

  “What is wrong?” Farica asked.

  “I have a feeling that it concerns our neighbour’s estate,” Sir Robert commented dryly, “but I will be able to tell you more when we have tea together.”

  Farica made her escape from The Priory just before three o’clock. She had already ordered Pegasus to be ready for her in the stables.

  She jumped on his back just as she was, without changing, and rode off in the direction of the woods.

  It did not surprise the stable boys or the old grooms.

  They were used to her riding on every pos
sible occasion. They only looked after her as she rode away, admiring the way she sat in the saddle and the angle she carried the reins at.

  When they were in the fields, she galloped Pegasus, only slowing his pace when they had to pass along the narrow paths in the wood that led to the clearing.

  As she expected Ivan was waiting for her.

  He lifted her down from the saddle and she thought that he held her a little longer than was necessary before he put her down on the ground.

  Then he said,

  “You looked like a Goddess from Mount Olympus coming towards me from the trees. I am only surprised you do not fly rather than do anything so prosaic as to ride a horse!”

  “He is a magical horse,” Farica laughed. “Don’t dare think of anything else!”

  “Of course,” Ivan agreed. “How could I have been so stupid as to think otherwise?”

  They both laughed and instead of sitting on a tree trunk, although there were quite a number of them, Farica sat down on a patch of grass and Ivan lowered himself to sit beside her with his back to a tree.

  “I have been thinking about you and what we can do,” she said.

  “There is no question of we,” he responded sharply. “I will not have you risking your life. You must allow me, Farica, to fight my battle alone.”

  There was silence.

  Then she said without looking at him,

  “It is my battle too!”

  There was nothing he could say to this and after a moment she went on,

  “I was wondering if there is anybody at The Castle whom you can trust, a servant perhaps who knew you and would never betray you, but who would be able to give you information as to what your cousin is thinking and planning.”

  “A spy in the camp!” Ivan exclaimed almost beneath his breath.

  “It could make things much easier.”

  Ivan was silent for a moment and then he answered,

  “There is a man, if he has not left, who would, I know, be completely and absolutely loyal to me whatever the circumstances.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He was my valet from the time I left the nursery and it broke his heart when he was not tall enough to join the Life Guards when I did.”