Love and the Loathsome Leopard

by Barbara Cartland

“How the hell did we ever get mixed up in all this? When Papa saw how bad things were he should have left Larkswell.”

  “Papa was not a coward. He would never have run away.”

  Richard thought this over for a moment and then he said,

  We have to defeat Farlow. We have to defeat him, Wivina, but how? How can we do it?”

  “I don’t – know,” she said helplessly.

  *

  It was nearly three hours later before there was a faint puff of wind and the lugger began to sway on the swell of the waves.

  By now, Wivina guessed that the men on the deck above were very drunk and she thought that Jeffrey Farlow must be too.

  They had forgotten the precaution of keeping their voices low for fear of the Revenue Cutters, and sang songs in slurred voices, shouted at one another and altogether made the most unseemly noise for men in charge of a ship.

  Now as the lugger moved forward, she could hear their feet scraping along the deck and occasionally a thud as if a body had fallen down.

  Half a dozen people were shouting orders all at the same time and she was quite certain few of them were being obeyed.

  Looking through the porthole, she could see that the mist had lifted a little, and she knew that once the wind began to blow, the fog would disperse altogether.

  She was to guess a little later that, owing to the drunkenness of those in control, the lugger was being sailed in a crazy manner. They were not travelling at the speed they should have been or even moving in the right direction.

  She slipped her hand into Richard’s as they sat side by side and saw by the expression on his intelligent face that he was aware, as she was, of a new danger that confronted them.

  “If the wind really begins to blow we shall doubtless land up on the rocks or be capsized,” he said.

  “I know,” Wivina answered, “but perhaps even that would be better than the fate that awaits us in Roscoff!”

  “If we ever get there!” Richard said gloomily.

  *

  They did get there, but not until the night had been passed at sea and it was dawn the following day.

  Both Wivina and Richard were desperately hungry and thirsty by that time, but they had no desire to draw attention to themselves and Wivina was only thankful that Jeffrey Farlow had not come below to see how they were faring.

  She had the idea, although, of course, she was not sure, that he was the only man aboard by this time who had some control over himself and that he was therefore in sole command.

  She could hear him giving orders and she wondered if he had taken over the navigation, in which case the danger of piling up on a rock was not so likely as it would be in the hands of one of the other smugglers.

  She was well aware that the men of the village were not on the whole seafaring men, but were farm labourers, strong and healthy, who would have been in most cases, she was sure, better at handling an oar than sailing a ship.

  She had always thought that the smugglers’ boats were rowed to and fro across the Channel. But on thinking it over she thought that it must have been because Jeffrey Farlow knew that a lugger would carry more cargo and be swifter that he dispensed with oarsmen and invested in such a large and doubtless expensive vessel.

  Whatever the reason, it was on occasions when there was a dead calm that oarsmen would have been more reliable in getting them to their destination.

  They must have been very far off course, Wivina thought, for even when she could see the coast of France, a dark silhouette against the light sky, they did not move towards it but sailed West for quite a long time before they turned towards the shore.

  Then at last as the sun was rising and dispersing the last sable of the night, she and Richard realised they had come into Port.

  Richard had slept through some of the hours of darkness, but Wivina had sat beside him wide-awake, listening to the sounds overhead, trying to plan what she should do once they were taken ashore.

  It was difficult to think clearly, because she was desperately tired and the terror which grew insidiously inside her with every hour that passed made her feel as if her will had gone.

  All she wanted to do was cry despairingly like a child who was lost.

  But a pride that was stronger than herself made her hold her head high, when finally the ship was tied up at the jetty and Jeffrey Farlow sent one of his smugglers down to tell them to come up on deck.

  “’E wants you!” the man said, jerking his thumb towards the steps.

  He did not look at Wivina as he spoke, and she knew it was because he came from the village and, like the other men, was ashamed of what he was doing.

  “Thank you, Ben,” she said. “I hope you are proud of the way you and the others have behaved in bringing Master Richard and myself here. You know full well that we have come against our will.”

  “T’ain’t nothin’ to do with me,” Ben murmured uncomfortably.

  “I am ashamed of all of you!” Wivina said. “And my father would say the same, if you had not killed him!”

  She saw the look of horror in the young man’s eyes and she thought perhaps he had wanted to believe, as some of the others did, that her father’s death had been an accident.

  There was nothing more to say and she walked past him, her chin raised, conscious that she held in her left hand the pistol hidden beneath her cloak.

  Richard followed her, limping badly because his leg was cramped from sitting all night.

  Jeffrey Farlow was waiting for them up on deck.

  Most of the men, who were more sober by now, looked unpleasant and dirty, but he looked surprisingly immaculate, although his white cravat had lost its freshness.

  “We’ve arrived at last!” he said, as Wivina appeared. “We should have been here many hours ago if it had not been for these muddling fools!”

  He glanced with contempt at the smugglers and put out his hand to help Wivina to cross the gangplank onto the jetty.

  She moved quickly so that she could give him her right hand, and, although she hated the feeling of his fingers on hers, she knew that she must keep him from coming to her left side.

  Roscoff was bigger and more impressive than she had expected.

  There were quite a number of well-built houses painted white and with the red-tiled roofs that she knew were characteristic of Brittany.

  She also saw large warehouses built down near the quay and knew it was there that the smugglers purchased their contraband goods.

  As they walked along the jetty, she saw men coming from the warehouses carrying bales and kegs, and there were half a dozen different sized boats in the harbour that were being loaded.

  She made no comment, but moved along beside Jeffrey Farlow, followed by Richard.

  “Since I brought you here on the impulse of the moment,” Jeffrey Farlow was saying, “I can’t take you to Tom Johnson’s house, which he’s promised us for our honeymoon. He’s got a woman there who’s hardly in your class, but I’ll get her out by tonight so that we can go there as soon as we’re married.”

  He waited as if he expected Wivina to protest, but she deliberately said nothing, biting her lower lip to prevent herself from obeying her first impulse and raging at him.

  “You’ll have to put up with the inn,” he went on, as she did not speak. “It’s not much of a place, but you’ll be able to sleep as I expect you will want to do.”

  He looked at her and then said, being deliberately provocative,

  “You’d better sleep while you can since it’s something I’ll not let you do tonight after we’re married!”

  Wivina drew in her breath but still she did not reply.

  As if he was tired of baiting her, Jeffrey Farlow walked on rather more quickly until they came to the end of the jetty.

  There was a narrow cobbled street leading between a number of fishermen’s houses and halfway up there was a small inn of the type that was to be found in most French villages.

  Although it was so early, the d
oor was already open and an elderly woman was sweeping out the first room they approached.

  “Here I am, Madame,” Jeffrey Farlow said in excruciating French, with a pronounced British accent, “and I’ve brought my bride as I told you I would.”

  “You are very early, Monsieur, or should I say very late?” Madame said.

  “We’re late!” Jeffrey Farlow exclaimed. “We were becalmed on the way over and those blasted seamen didn’t know if they were going to Boulogne or Roscoff.”

  Madame gave a shriek of laughter which turned into a fit of coughing.

  “I suppose you want a drink,” she said. “I’ll shout for Henri, but the good God knows where he has got to, and he has the keys of the bar.”

  She put her hand to her mouth as she spoke, and then screamed,

  “Henri! Henri!” in a high soprano voice which seemed to echo through the whole inn.

  “Never mind about a drink,” Jeffrey Farlow said sharply. “What my future wife wants is food and coffee. We’ve been at sea for a night and a day without a bite to eat.”

  “Mon Dieu! Is it possible?” Madame exclaimed.

  “We would like something to eat, if you please, Madame,” Wivina said in perfect French, “but my brother and I would first like to be shown to our bedrooms. We are very tired and also would like to wash.”

  The way she spoke and her knowledge of the French language impressed Madame, and it was in a very different tone of voice from the way she had spoken to Jeffrey Farlow that she replied,

  “Of course, M’mselle. Come with me. It is fortunate that I have two rooms vacant which will accommodate you comfortably.”

  Without even glancing at Jeffrey Farlow, Wivina followed Madame up the stairs and only as she reached a door did she hear him shout after her,

  “I’ll be seeing you later. Rest while you can!”

  She thought there was a note of defiance in his voice. She knew that his whole attitude was deliberately proprietary but there was nothing she could do about it.

  The rooms into which Madame showed them were poorly furnished but clean and Wivina suddenly felt so tired that she thought all she wanted to do was climb into the bed and sleep.

  Madame pulled back the coverlet.

  “The mattress is of goose feathers, M’mselle,” she said, “so you will sleep well.”

  “I am very hungry,” Richard said.

  Madame smiled at him.

  “I will cook for you an omelette, Monsieur, and you would like coffee? Or would you prefer something stronger?”

  “Coffee is what we both would like,” Wivina said quickly, “and thank you, Madame. We are sorry to inconvenience you.”

  “That is quite all right, M’mselle. We keep strange hours in Roscoff, but who should complain when the money is good?”

  She went down the stairs as she spoke and Wivina looked at the door.

  There was a wooden bolt on it and also the key which turned the lock.

  She slipped the pistol she held in her hand under the pillow while Richard watched her.

  “What are you going to do about him?” he asked, and there was no need to explain whom he meant.

  “I don’t know,” Wivina answered. “We shall just have to wait and see.”

  As she spoke, she sat down on the side of the bed, feeling sick and exhausted.

  Her brain seemed to be running round and round in circles and she thought that Roscoff was a prison from which she would never escape alive.

  Richard went into the next room and she heard him beginning to undress.

  In fact by the time Madame came upstairs with a tray complete with the omelette she had promised Richard, and coffee and rolls, he was almost asleep.

  “You must eat the omelette after she has gone to so much trouble to prepare it for you,” Wivina said.

  “You help me,” Richard suggested. “I am so tired and I am no longer hungry.”

  Wivina, however, persuaded him to eat nearly all the omelette and a roll and butter.

  Then as he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes she kissed his forehead.

  “You are being very brave, Richard,” she said, “and I am so glad you are here with me. It would be much worse without you.”

  He caught at her hand as she turned away.

  “Do you really mean that?” he asked. “I feel pretty helpless. How can I protect you against Farlow? How can I?”

  “Papa will help us,” Wivina said almost beneath her breath. “He always said that however bad things were, we must never give up hope.”

  She felt Richard’s fingers relax on hers and realised she was talking to herself.

  He had fallen asleep.

  She looked down at him for a moment, then went to her own room and locked and bolted the door. Although she was desperately tired when finally she got into bed, she found it difficult to sleep.

  All she could think of was Jeffrey Farlow’s evil eyes looking at her as she had heard him saying they were to be married that evening.

  Then she thought of the leopard and felt for the first time the tears coming into her eyes.

  He would not even know what was happening to her, she thought.

  Perhaps in a day or two he would return to Larks Hall and Mrs. Briggs and old Rouse would tell him that she and Richard had disappeared and he would not know where they had gone.

  She turned her face into the pillow.

  Then at last a tempest of weeping overcame her and she cried until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

  *

  Wivina awoke to hear somebody hammering on her bedroom door.

  For a moment she thought she was back at Larks Hall and Emma was waking her. Then, with a sudden stab of terror, she remembered where she was and sat up in bed.

  “Who – is it?” she asked.

  “It’s me,” Jeffrey Farlow’s voice answered. “You’ve nearly slept the clock round, and I want to talk to you.”

  “I am – asleep and very – tired”

  “Open the door and hear what I’ve got to say.”

  “I cannot do that,” Wivina answered.

  She was lying in bed wearing only her chemise, and she felt that it would be an indignity to have him in her bedroom even if she was fully clothed.

  In answer he rattled the handle of the door, and although Wivina looked apprehensively across the room she realised that the bolt was solid and it would be hard to break the lock.

  “I want to talk to you,” Jeffrey Farlow said again, almost like a spoilt child.

  Wivina climbed wearily out of bed and putting her cloak over her shoulders went nearer to the door.

  “I can hear you without it being necessary to shout,” she said coldly.

  “How long will it take you to dress?”

  “Some time. I am still very tired.”

  He obviously thought this over.

  Then he said,

  “Then you’ll doubtless be gratified to hear that I’ve arranged our marriage for first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “I do not intend to marry you.”

  “You’ll marry me!” he answered. “I’ll fetch you at nine o’clock.”

  Wivina did not answer.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t like to come down now and have some supper with me?”

  Wivina looked towards the window.

  She had been awakened with such a start that she had not realised what time of day it was. Now she saw that the sun was sinking and it was getting dark.

  “I am tired,” she said. “I want to sleep.”

  “You’re lucky I’m so considerate and I’ll let you,” Jeffrey Farlow replied. “For tonight, at any rate!”

  The innuendo behind the words made Wivina shiver, but aloud she said:

  “Thank you and I am indeed very tired.”

  “You wouldn’t like me to come in and kiss you goodnight?”

  Now he was speaking in that jeering, mocking voice which made her feel physically sick.

  She did not a
nswer but moved away from the door, and as if he knew what she had done he chuckled.

  Then he called,

  “Sleep well, Wivina! It’s the last night you’ll spend alone, as you well know.”

  She heard him move away across the landing and down the stairs, and only when she could hear him no longer did she very cautiously unbolt her door and go into Richard’s room.

  He was still asleep and he looked very young and defenceless with his eyes closed, his thin cheeks silhouetted against the pillows.

  She stood looking down at him, feeling that somehow she ought to look after him.

  But how? What sort of life was there for him even if she accepted the inevitable and married Jeffrey Farlow?

  She thought of the leopard. How different he was in every way – a gentleman. The sort of man of whom her mother would have approved and been delighted to welcome as a son-in-law, someone whom Richard could emulate and admire.

  Wivina put her hands up to her eyes.

  What was the point? she thought.

  She had been captured, kidnapped, and brought to this horrible place, and now there was no escape.

  If Jeffrey Farlow said their marriage had been arranged to take place tomorrow morning, then he would have arranged it.

  And she knew that however much she might protest he would drag her in front of the Mayor and after that she would be his wife in the eyes of the law.

  She felt herself shiver, and she wondered, if she killed herself, what would become of Richard.

  If she escaped, even by death, Jeffrey Farlow would have no use for her brother.

  It was all a terrifying problem for which she had no solution and after some minutes she crept back into her room, locked herself in, and went back to bed.

  Now she could not sleep, but lay awake in the darkness, facing a future so terrifying, so degrading, that it was hard not to scream at the sheer horror of it.

  *

  She must have dozed a little, for when she opened her eyes again the first golden fingers of the dawn were creeping up the sky.

  It must be, she thought, only about four o’clock in the morning.

  The light was very beautiful and quite suddenly her head seemed clearer and she felt a new spirit within herself.

  ‘I am crazy to stay here waiting for Jeffrey Farlow,’ she thought. ‘I must run away. I must hide somewhere.’