Lucky Logan Finds Love

by Barbara Cartland

  Belinda felt herself relax.

  “And her Ladyship?”

  “Her Ladyship woke early and said goodbye to ’is Lordship and went to sleep again. Her won’t want to see you, miss, till lunchtime.”

  The maid went from the room.

  Belinda wondered whether she should ask if anything strange had happened during the night.

  Then she told herself that Marcus Logan and his valet would have dealt with the men outside the house.

  They would have carried the two who were unconscious downstairs and none of the other servants would have been aware of it.

  One thing he would want to avoid would be a scandal of any sort.

  At the same time, she could not help feeling anxious.

  Perhaps the men who were waiting with the carriage had attacked him.

  She found herself thinking of him all the time she was waiting for her breakfast.

  When it arrived, she enquired tentatively,

  “Did his Lordship leave early – this morning – as he intended?”

  “Of course!” the maid said with a surprised note in her voice. “His Lordship be always on time and ’e hurried away soon as ’e’d finished breakfast.”

  He was safe.

  He had not been harmed and in some magical way of his own he had coped with the whole unpleasant episode.

  ‘I saved him!’ Belinda thought triumphantly.

  She felt a warm glow of satisfaction.

  If she had not heard the men trying to break into the library, he would have been spirited away by the Russian and his English accomplices.

  After that, it was probable that he would never have been seen again.

  ‘How can such – terrible things – happen?’ she asked herself and she knew the answer.

  It was because everybody all over the world was greedy for money.

  Like her stepfather, some of them were prepared to do anything in order to have it.

  She felt both embarrassed and ashamed of deceiving Lady Logan as well as her son.

  However, she reasoned, if she had not been there, he would now be a victim of the Russian.

  The maid brought her some hot water and then she dressed.

  She went downstairs to wait for her employer to join her.

  Lady Logan came down looking, Belinda thought, a little tired.

  “I am late today,” she admitted when she had greeted Belinda, “but I did not sleep well. I think it is excitement at seeing my son. As you know, I cannot help worrying when he is away for so long.”

  “Of course you worry, my Lady, but now he is home, you must try to persuade him to stay in England for a long time.”

  Lady Logan sighed.

  “That is what I want to do, but it is difficult – very difficult!”

  She did not say any more and they walked into the dining room.

  It was a small luncheon, but a delicious one.

  Belinda talked because she did not want to think.

  She was aware that every nerve in her body was waiting for the moment when Marcus Logan returned.

  Even to think of the way he had kissed her made her thrill.

  She tried to tell herself sensibly that it was just because he was grateful to her for saving his life – any man would have kissed a woman in the same circumstances.

  After luncheon Lady Logan said she was going to lie down, as she always did.

  “I want to feel fresh and well for Marcus when he comes home,” she explained as they went from the dining room. “But if you will come upstairs with me, I will show you the other presents he has brought me. They are very unusual.”

  “I would love to see them!” Belinda smiled.

  They went into Lady Logan’s bedroom which was arranged so that, with the exception of the bed, it looked just like a sitting room.

  On a small table a variety of objects were arranged.

  As Lady Logan walked towards it, she sighed,

  “Marcus always brings me such original presents. I think these are even more intriguing than any I have had so far.”

  She picked up a snuffbox that Belinda felt certain was Russian. The lid held a picture of a handsome man who she thought would be one of the Czars. The box, which was made of gold, was decorated with emeralds and diamonds.

  “It’s so lovely!” she exclaimed, as she turned it over in her hands.

  “That is what I think,” Lady Logan agreed. “And here is another icon, though not as pretty as the one I showed you last night.”

  The picture depicting the Virgin and Child was not so well painted and the frame was carved instead of being decorated with jewels.

  “Marcus said,” Lady Logan went on, “that in the place he just came from, the people had little to sell except for their carvings and this is characteristic of their work.”

  She put something into Belinda’s hands as she spoke.

  Belinda, however, was still looking at the icon.

  She put it down and then looked at what she was now holding and was very still.

  What Lady Logan had given her was a tiger carved very skilfully in wood.

  The tiger was snarling and the teeth were cleverly worked. It was painted and it looked different from the usual carving of wild animals done by primitive people.

  Belinda did not speak.

  She was just staring at it and, as she did so, she knew unmistakably the answer to where Marcus Logan had been.

  Among her father’s possessions at home on a shelf were souvenirs he had brought back from his travels.

  He had, when she was quite small, given Belinda a carved tiger to play with.

  It was identical in every detail to the one she was now holding in her hands.

  She could remember that when she was older her father had told her it had come from Zenjira.

  “It is a very small country,” he had told her, “on the West of Turkestan and just North of Afghanistan.”

  “And what is Zenjira like, Papa?” Belinda had asked him.

  “I found the inhabitants interesting,” her father answered, “because the people came from Turkestan, the Volga basin, South Russia and even the Southern part of Siberia.”

  Belinda remembered that she had laughed.

  “And do they speak all those languages, Papa?”

  “They have a language of their own,” her father answered, “which you will find described in one of my books. It is a mixture of all the languages of all the people who have settled in Zenjira. They are determined to preserve their independence and to resist the menace of Russia, who is always trying to aggressively expand her boundaries.”

  As the conversation came back into Belinda’s mind, she knew exactly why Marcus Logan had gone to Zenjira. He had undoubtedly found some natural resource there which would make them prosperous.

  Belinda put the tiger back on the table.

  She knew that having discovered the information her stepfather needed, she must leave immediately.

  Lady Logan’s maid was there to help her Mistress prepare for her rest on the sofa.

  “I am not going to undress, since I got up so late,’ Lady Logan said, “but I will be down at teatime, when I expect my son will have returned.”

  “That is when he said he would be back,” Belinda concurred.

  She went to her own room.

  Shutting the door behind her, she put her hands up to her eyes.

  She was trying to think, trying to decide what she should do.

  She realised that speed was important.

  Marcus Logan would have gone to the City and she must inform her stepfather that she knew in which country he had been prospecting. D’Arcy Rowland had told her she was to leave at once without taking her luggage or anything else with her.

  The Hackney carriage would be outside.

  But Belinda knew that she could not go in such a way.

  Lady Logan would worry as to what had happened to her.

  Marcus Logan had taken a great deal of trouble to keep her
unaware of what had happened last night.

  Belinda locked her door.

  She fetched her trunk from where it had been placed in a cupboard and threw into it everything she had brought with her.

  She did not bother to fold her gowns, but just pushed them into the trunk.

  On top she put her brushes, her shoes, and everything else.

  She put on her hat and picked up her handbag which contained no money.

  She ran down the stairs.

  Going into the room beside the front door, she sat down at a desk that boasted a large golden inkpot.

  There was also some writing paper engraved with the name of the house.

  Quickly she scribbled a note to Lady Logan,

  “I deeply regret, my Lady, that I have to leave immediately, as I have have received bad news from my home. Please forgive me for departing in such a way and thank you for all your kindness.

  I shall always remember how happy I have been with you in this beautiful house.

  I remain,

  Yours sincerely,

  Belinda Brown.”

  She almost wrote Wyncombe’ by mistake, but there was no time to write the note again. She merely changed the W into a B.

  She addressed an envelope to Lady Logan and went out into the hall.

  There were two footmen on duty.

  She guessed that the butler, who might have been curious had he been there, would be resting after serving the luncheon.

  She gave the note to one of the footmen and to the other she said,

  “Outside the gates you will find a Hackney Carriage that I know is there, because I saw it a moment or so ago. Will you please ask the driver to come round to the front door and have my trunk fetched from my room. I have to leave unexpectedly.”

  The footman looked surprised, but he was trained to do as he was told.

  He ran off towards the gate, whilst the other footman put down the note for Lady Logan on a table and went upstairs for Belinda’s trunk.

  A few minutes later she drove away and she told herself that she had wasted very little time and her stepfather could not really blame her for bringing her belongings with her.

  She had no idea where she was going, but obviously the driver of the Hackney carriage did.

  They went quite some distance through several large squares until he drew up in a narrow street and Belinda vaguely thought from what she had learned of London that it was not far from Piccadilly.

  As the horses came to a standstill, she saw a little farther up the street a familiar face.

  It was George, who had come to the country with her stepfather.

  She saw that he was standing beside the horses which had brought her to London.

  She did not wait to speak to George, but hurried from the Hackney carriage to the door of the house.

  To her surprise, it was open and even stranger there was no servant in attendance.

  There was a very narrow hallway and staircase immediately in front of her.

  She could hear men’s voices and laughter.

  She realised that the flat where she thought she would find her stepfather was upstairs. There appeared to be only a door below which would lead down to the basement.

  She walked tentatively up the stairs, hoping she had come to the right place.

  It was obvious from the din that her stepfather was entertaining or being entertained by friends.

  She reached the landing.

  Ahead of her was an open door. Through it she saw a large room that seemed to be filled with men.

  She hesitated.

  She looked frantically for D’Arcy Rowland and then she saw him lying back in an armchair, a glass in his hand.

  He raised it and shouted so that he could be heard above the noise,

  “A toast! A toast! To ‘Lucky D’Arcy’ – raise your glasses!”

  There was a shout of laughter.

  The men, and there must have been about ten of them, lifted their glasses and shouted,

  “To ‘Lucky D’Arcy’ – for he’s a jolly good fellow!”

  Because she felt shy of intruding, Belinda waited.

  Then a door on her left opened.

  She saw a man who looked like a valet or a porter standing there.

  Behind him was a bedroom where she imagined her stepfather must have been sleeping.

  She moved to the doorway, saying as she did,

  “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  The man opened the door fully for her and Belinda walked into the room, far enough into the room to be able to speak without her voice being lost in the noise coming from the sitting room.

  “I am the stepdaughter of Captain D’Arcy Rowland,” she explained, “and I would like to speak to him alone.”

  The man, who was middle-aged, smiled.

  “Then you be Miss Belinda Wyncombe!” he said. “I’ve ’eard the Cap’n speak of you. I looks after ’im when ’e can afford it. ’E be very ’appy at the moment.”

  “What has happened?” Belinda asked tentatively.

  “I ’spect the Cap’n’ill want to tell you ’isself,” the man replied, but ’e’s jest come into a fortune and comes back ’ere with ’is friends in tow wiv a case of champagne and ’e’s got no time for anythin’ else.”

  “He has come into a fortune?” Belinda repeated beneath her breath.

  “S’right, miss. Some mine as be in Arizona or some such place. It’s turned out to be full of gold and the Cap’n thinks ’e’s the richest man on earth!”

  “Oh, I am glad!” Belinda exclaimed.

  There was a sudden burst of laughter in the room next door.

  Then the men were singing, although she did not recognise the song.

  “What I suggests you do, miss,” the valet said in a fatherly tone, “be to come back when ’e’ll be more like ’isself.”

  He grinned before he added,

  “There be a lot of bottles still unopened.”

  “I am sure you are right,” Belinda murmured.

  If her stepfather’s mine had ‘turned up trumps’, then there was no need for him to be told where Marcus Logan had been.

  The valet, without saying any more, walked out onto the landing and closed the door into the sitting room.

  He took her down the stairs, letting her escape without any of the men seeing her.

  “Thank you,” Belinda said.

  Then, as she started to go outside, she stopped.

  “Did Captain Rowland come back here in a carriage drawn by two horses,” she asked, “which he borrowed several days ago?”

  “That’s right, miss.” the valet replied, “and I don’t suppose ’e’ll be wantin’ it again today.”

  Belinda hesitated and then she said,

  “Would it be possible for you to loan me two sovereigns which you can get back from my stepfather later?”

  “’Course, miss!” the man said breezily. “I ’spect you’re as skint as the Cap’n bin this last week. Thing’s a-gonna be better now – much better!”

  There was a glint in the valet’s eyes. It told Belinda that he was hoping to benefit from his Master’s new found wealth.

  He pulled two sovereigns out of his pocket and put them into her hand.

  “Thank you! Thank you very much!” Belinda said. “I am very, very grateful to you.”

  “That be all right, miss and you come back tomorrow. I’ll tell the Cap’n you called.”

  Belinda did not answer, but hurried out into the street.

  The Hackney carriage was nowhere in sight and she guessed that her stepfather would somehow have paid him in advance.

  She wondered how he had managed to do so.

  George was still there and she went up to him.

  “The Captain will not be requiring you any more today, George, and I wonder if you would be kind enough to take me home.”

  “Home, miss?” George asked in surprise.

  “I know it is a long way. Are the horses up to it?”
<
br />   George nodded.

  “They’ll be all right, miss. I’ll take ’em gentle like.”

  “Then let us go,” Belinda suggested. “I have some money for you if you will do this for me.”

  “Aw, that’s all right, miss.”

  Belinda, however, was thinking that they might want to stop for something to eat along the way.

  She, fortunately, had had luncheon, but she doubted if George, having been driving her stepfather, would have had anything since breakfast.

  She climbed into the chaise and George picked up the reins.

  Then they were off.

  As they drove out of London, Belinda was thinking that she was driving away from the greatest adventure she had ever had.

  It was something she had never expected, but she would never forget it.

  She could still feel the rapture that had enveloped her when Marcus Logan had kissed her and she knew it would remain with her for the rest of her life.

  Belinda arrived home as the sun was sinking and the birds were going to roost.

  The horses were tired, but they had given them a short rest at a Posting inn.

  Belinda had insisted on George having something to eat, whilst she had ordered only coffee for herself, thinking it extravagant when she had so little money.

  She intended at the end of the journey to give George one of the sovereigns.

  That would leave ten shillings for Mrs. Bates to buy the food she would require the next day.

  It might be some time, she thought, before her stepfather came home.

  At least she need not be afraid now of losing the house that belonged to her.

  After Bates had welcomed her back, she went straight to bed.

  She was very tired, but she lay awake, thinking that everything that had happened was like a dream.

  The wonderful thing was that her stepfather’s good luck had saved them both from the horror of what might have happened.

  By a miracle his mine had, after all, produced gold.

  ‘Step-Papa will come home soon and tell me all about it,’ Belinda thought.

  Then after she had bravely kept her emotions under control for so long, the tears came.

  She wept because she would never see Marcus Logan again.

  She wept because she was alone.

  Her mother, she believed, had saved her and her stepfather from poverty.