The Richness of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  Moira yawned and stretched.

  “Where will we stay?”

  “There is a small, respectable lodging house not far from the port,” replied Ewen, “Mrs. McRae is the landlady. I have sent word ahead that we would be arriving late so she is expecting us.”

  At last they drew up beside a tall house made from very square stones. Ewen rapped on the brass knocker and waited.

  Presently a small round woman of about fifty answered the door. She was wearing an old-fashioned mobcap and a shawl. She peered out into the darkness at Moira and then beckoned.

  “Ye’ll come in quietly. Ye must not disturb my other guests.”

  Moira shuddered as they entered the cold hallway. The carriage took off for the port to take their luggage to the Victorious. Clutching her vanity case containing her jewels, Moira followed Mrs. McRae upstairs.

  The woman handed her a lit candle stub as she opened the door.

  “Here ye are now, I’ll bid ye goodnight. Sir, follow me your room is nearby.”

  Moira walked in and immediately she sensed the smell of damp.

  Wrinkling her nose, she felt the quilt on the bed – it was hard and the filling had compacted and it would afford her very little warmth tonight.

  But she was so tired that she did not undress. She simply slid underneath the old quilt and fell asleep.

  She slept badly. The house creaked all night long and was fiercely cold. After only a few hours sleep, Moira had awoken stiff and freezing.

  Creeping downstairs, Moira heard the clock in the dining room chime seven.

  “Ah, good morning, miss. Breakfast is on the table.”

  Mrs. McRae disappeared down the dark corridor. Ewen was already at the table, drinking a cup of tea.

  Moira stared in horror as two thin slithers of cold toast greeted her. She held one up and grimaced.

  “Aye, I know. Do you have anything left of cook’s provisions?”

  “I left the picnic box in the carriage. They will have loaded it onto the ship.”

  Ewen let out a long sigh. He would have been glad of oatcakes and cheese right now, even if they had only a few left from the journey.

  “I nearly broke a tooth on my toast,” he whispered as Moira sipped her cold tea.

  She was too busy thinking of what life would hold for them should they lose the estate. Cold toast for breakfast, no heat, using candles down to the wick and quilts that had seen better days.

  The thought made her want to cry and it was all she could do to hold back the tears. Her clothes felt dirty and her hair was a mess. It had been too dark in her room to tidy it and her carefully coiled chignon was now in danger of unwinding.

  Ewen yawned and stretched.

  “Don’t worry, sister. We shall soon be on our way.”

  Just as he spoke, there was a loud rapping at the front door. Mrs. McRae appeared in the hall and opened it. Shuffling into the room, she handed Ewen a note.

  “This is for ye.”

  “Ah, this must be from Kelpie.”

  He hastily read the note and nodded,

  “Aye, it is. We sail at ten o’clock this morning. We should be ready to leave shortly.”

  They left Mrs. McRae’s grim establishment gladly. Ewen handed over a few shillings and was glared at for his trouble.

  Not far from the docks they hailed a lone carriage and continued their journey in relative comfort.

  The thin sun had risen and Moira found herself shivering. However, she was pleased to see that there was very little wind their passage should be smooth today.

  All around them, porters bustled to and fro and in the distance, Moira could see the giant whaling ships moored. They dwarfed every other vessel in the port.

  “There,” shouted Ewen, “that is the Victorious.”

  Moira looked to where her brother was pointing. It was a squat, iron-clad ship that he was waving at. She thought that it looked ugly in comparison with some of the old clippers that gracefully rocked in their moorings.

  Ewen helped Moira up the narrow gangway. Underneath their feet, she could hear the roar of engines.

  “Surely we are not moving so soon?” she asked.

  “No, it will be Kelpie testing the engines. We have a long journey ahead of us and it would never do for them to stop working halfway to Tilbury.”

  Moira felt decidedly unsteady as they walked along the decks. The fresh sea air whipped her hair loose from its pins and it tumbled down around her shoulders.

  “I hope my cabin has a mirror,” she exclaimed, trying to coil her hair back onto her head hurriedly. It would not do for her to be introduced to Stuart’s friend with her hair flowing freely.

  “Come, let us see if we can find Kelpie. I’ll warrant he’s busying himself down below, he’s a man who likes to get his hands dirty.”

  He led Moira through some doors and down a steep set of stairs and thence through a warren of corridors that all looked the same.

  Finally after proceeding further down into the bowels of the ship, Ewen bade Moira to wait outside for him whilst he entered the engine room.

  “It is no place for a lady,” he explained, “too dirty and noisy and I no want the stokers feasting their eyes on you.”

  Ten minutes later, Ewen emerged hot and sweaty from the engine room.

  “My friend will join us in the Saloon upstairs. He says that there is a cold breakfast ready for us. Come, sister, I am famished and thirsty.”

  The two of them made their way up on deck to the Saloon – it was a tastefully furnished room that boasted many comforts of home. Moira looked appreciatively at the elegant chairs and furnishings. The buffet table was laden with white bread cut into thick slices, butter, jams and marmalades.

  “White bread,” shouted Ewen, rushing over to pick up a slice. Without waiting to butter it, he bit into the thick dough – his face a picture of ecstasy.

  “Mmm! Moira, you have to taste this. It’s fresh and still warm.”

  Moira eagerly took a slice and buttered it. She could not decide which jam to put on it and so chose marmalade instead. As the thick, sweet jelly hit her tongue she thought it the most delicious taste.

  “Ah, I see that you are availing yourself of my hospitality. Pray, continue.”

  “Kelpie!”

  Moira turned, her mouth full of bread and marmalade, to see none other than Stuart Weston standing there grinning at her!

  She was so surprised that she could have choked. She was highly embarrassed that he had caught her with her mouth full.

  “Moira, I believe you two have already met?” asked Ewen mischievously.

  “But I thought you said your friend was called Kelpie?”

  “Aye, it’s his nickname.”

  “I should explain,” put in Stuart, “that when I was a wee boy, I looked just like an imp and so everyone called me ‘Kelpie’. It is a name that has stuck.”

  “I would prefer to call you Stuart – ” said Moira, haughtily. She had no time for such childish games.

  “As you please,” agreed Stuart smiling.

  ‘I cannot believe it is he,’ Moira thought, as Stuart and Ewen talked together animatedly. ‘Such good fortune and now I shall have ample time to enquire into his means and see if he might indeed make me the match I need to keep everyone happy.’

  Her mind was whirling as Stuart showed her to her cabin.

  Away from Ewen, he became quiet and deferential. Moira noticed that he had cut his hair a little and she was not sure that she liked it. She much preferred his dashing cavalier style.

  “Now, madam.”

  “Please, you must call me Moira.”

  “Very well, Moira, here is your cabin. I trust you will be comfortable here but should you require anything, I am sure I can oblige.”

  He made a little bow and smiled, his pale blue eyes sparkling. They were so penetrating that Moira felt as if they could read her most private thoughts.

  “Would you care to see around the Victorious once you have se
ttled in?”

  “Why, yes. I would love to,” replied Moira demurely, suddenly feeling giddy.

  “Very well. Perhaps you would meet me on the bridge in half an hour?”

  “I could be ready earlier,” said Moira eagerly.

  “Fifteen minutes it is then,” Stuart bowed once more and left her cabin.

  ‘How handsome he is,’ she said to herself with glee. ‘So dashing and charming. I shall never want this voyage to end.’

  She quickly unpacked one of her trunks and carefully hid her vanity case containing her diamonds.

  ‘I must enquire if there might be a safe or deposit box on board so that I can be sure of their safety,’ she thought.

  In order to look at herself in the square mirror on the wall, Moira had to stand on tiptoe to do her hair. She decided that a chignon was too severe and dressed her hair in a more becoming style.

  ‘I must change my dress,’ she decided, looking in dismay at what she was wearing. ‘I do not wish to appear tired and ill-kempt in front of Stuart.’

  Pulling a green woollen day dress from her trunk, she was annoyed to see how crumpled it looked.

  ‘This will have to do,’ she sighed, ‘it is a pretty colour on me and I doubt that Stuart will notice the creases.’

  Stuart was waiting for her on the bridge, munching on a piece of bread.

  “Ah, Moira! Enchanting,” he greeted her, his eyes coolly appraising her.

  “Thank you. I feel so much better now that I have had a chance to wash and change. Our lodgings left much to be desired.”

  “Well, I hope that your current ones meet with your approval?”

  Stuart was as charming as she remembered from their first encounter in the garden although she still felt that perhaps he viewed her merely as Ewen’s little sister.

  “Yes, yes, most suitable. I am looking forward to my first night at sea. I do hope I will not be seasick.”

  “I think you will find tonight’s passage a smooth one.

  There is but a slight wind and the ship’s engines will make light work of the going,” Stuart reassured her.

  “That is well as I am afraid of becoming ill, this being my first sea voyage.” She blushed and hung her head. Stuart must think her a very silly girl indeed.

  But he gave no indication of his thoughts. Instead, having finished his snack he led her from the bridge and onto the deck.

  He showed her every inch of the ship and patiently explained all the nautical terms. However, Moira was only half listening.

  ‘What a fine profile he has,’ she thought to herself, as Stuart explained the difference between port and starboard. ‘And I declare I have never seen such startling blue eyes.’

  But Stuart seems oblivious to her interest. Everything he said, each gesture he made, was courteous yet a little detached. Moira had been wooed by the young men she had met in Edinburgh and she could tell that Stuart’s manner was far from that of an ardent admirer.

  ‘Ah, but he would not wish to behave in an improper fashion,’ she told herself.

  Moving back to the Saloon, Stuart bade Moira sit down in one of the comfortably upholstered chairs.

  “Such luxury,” she remarked, sinking into the feather cushion of an easy chair. “This room is truly a home from home.”

  “No, it is much more homely than my own house,” replied Stuart, shaking his head. “I have a home in Perth but it is somewhat lacking. I do not have the money to make the necessary renovations. It is only a modest abode, but my income is not sufficient to maintain it.”

  Moira’s disappointment was palpable.

  All her fond fantasies of her search for a husband ending on board the Victorious began to crumble. If Stuart was not rich enough to pay for some mere renovations to a modest house, he was in no position to help her family. With a sinking heart, she realised that her silly romantic notions about him must be forgotten.

  “I think I shall return to my cabin,” said Moira, suddenly feeling the need for solitude.

  “Very well. We shall be sailing very soon, so you will be undisturbed. Luncheon will be served at one o’clock in the Saloon, but if you should feel unwell, I can ask the cabin boy to bring something below.”

  Feeling morose, she returned to her cabin and lay down on the bunk.

  ‘Why, oh, why could not Stuart Weston have enough money,’ she called to the Heavens. ‘It is quite unfair that I meet a man who is so right in every other way – yet who appears to have barely enough funds for his own outgoings. It is so unfair.’

  She hit her pillow with her fists and began to cry.

  ‘He is so handsome and so kind too. If I am honest, I do not want to marry a man I do not love.’

  The ship’s engines began to turn over and Moira felt a jolt.

  ‘So, we are on our way and our mission begins – the search for a suitable husband. But, why, why could that not be Stuart? I dare not fall in love with him. Ewen would never forgive me.

  ‘Truly fate has dealt me a poor hand. But for the sake of my father and Lednock Castle, I must endure it.’

  Even so the thought made her weep profusely until finally she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next day dawned bright and clear with a calm sea. Moira awoke and, feeling disorientated, took several minutes to remember where she was.

  At first, she thought she was still asleep and in a dream and then she realised that she was on board the Victorious bound for Tilbury and London.

  With a chill, she remembered the previous day’s events and shuddered to recall how she had cast longing eyes in Stuart’s direction.

  ‘How could I be such a little fool?’ she asked herself. ‘Much as I am drawn to him, I must forget any such stupid ideas. He has not the financial wherewithal and that must be a man’s most potent attribute in order to qualify as a suitable husband.’

  Moira entered the Saloon some twenty minutes later to be greeted by a generous spread for breakfast. Ewen was already seated and tucking into kippers and eggs.

  “Good morning, sister. How are you this fine day? You look a wee bit pale.”

  “I am fine, dearest,” she replied, helping herself to a pair of kippers.

  Ewen laughed and Moira smiled to herself to see her brother so happy.

  ‘Although he shares my disquiet about this plan,’ she thought, ‘he has accepted our fate willingly for the good of the estate and so should I.’

  “Good morning.”

  Moira spun round in her chair and there was Stuart standing in the door of the Saloon. He looked even more handsome than ever.

  ‘I must look upon him as no more than a friend,’ she resolved with determination.

  “I see you are eating kippers for breakfast – a good choice. I have them brought down from Arbroath especially. It is my one luxury.”

  Stuart put three kippers onto his plate.

  He looked at Moira and hesitated before sitting down next to Ewen. It was as if he sensed Moira’s wish for distance.

  “Will we make good time to Tilbury, Kelpie?”

  “If the weather stays like this, aye, we will be there by Tuesday morning. Did I mention that we are stopping at Queensferry to pick up another passenger?”

  Moira felt most uneasy.

  Another passenger?

  “No, you didn’t,” replied Ewen, spreading strawberry jam on his bread.

  “A most hearty fellow whom I met on one of my visits to Edinburgh. He lives in Morningside and is a banker I believe. He has business in London and prefers the open sea to a stuffy train. He will provide amusing company.”

  ‘The gentleman must be of good standing if he lives in Morningside,’ mused Moira.

  Stuart finished his kippers, rose and bowed to Moira.

  “If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to on the bridge. I am afraid I do not have the luxury of long breakfasts, but please, do take your time.”

  He smiled as he left the Saloon.

  “Hmm, this is an interestin
g turn of events,” commented Ewen, “this fellow may be able to provide an entry into a different social circle. The Cunninghams may move in glittering circles, but a banker may have dealings with a different kind of wealth. Moira, we need as many introductions as possible.”

  “I agree, he may well be of some use to us. We shall resolve to make friends with him, shall we not?”

  As they finished breakfast, Moira began to plot.

  ‘A rich banker! Now he would make a fine husband. If this man is as young and handsome as Stuart, then I would not find it too much of a hardship to wed him.’

  *

  Later that afternoon the Victorious entered the Firth of Forth.

  Moira stood on the deck as they passed the familiar beaches where she had walked in happier times.

  As they approached Queensferry, Ewen came to stand by her side.

  As Moira gazed over the great river, the wind blowing strands of her hair loose, she suddenly shivered violently. It was more than just the fresh breeze – it was as if a shadow was passing over her.

  ‘Why do I have such a feeling of foreboding?’ she thought to herself. ‘I have no reason to dread the next leg of our journey.’

  The Victorious edged towards the jetty and as the shouts of the crew rang out, the ship shuddered to a halt.

  “Maybe I will have time for a wee dram,” piped up Ewen, “I think I shall go and find Kelpie to see if I cannot jump ship for a while.”

  Moira smiled to herself. Her brother was a true Scotsman when it came to his love of their national drink.

  Ten minutes later, she saw him run gleefully down the gangway like a schoolboy.

  Stuart stood at the prow of the ship examining a map.

  Moira walked over to him.

  “Are you not joining my brother?”

  Stuart’s blue eyes crinkled into a smile and Moira could not prevent her heart from missing a beat.

  “I do not share your brother’s taste for whisky. A modest glass of ale with my dinner is my only vice.”

  “A temperate man is one to be valued,” parried Moira gaily, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

  She could not believe that she had been so bold as to make such a remark.

  ‘But I must practice before I reach London,’ she thought, ‘where the gentlemen will be used to forward ladies, well practised in the subtle art of flirtation.’