She thought of Henrietta and next Albert.
‘How foolish I was to fancy that I was in love with him once. Henrietta is right. He is only interested in horses and himself.’
“Oh, miss – you are going to kill me,” came Ellen’s voice, suddenly. “I forgot to give you this.”
In her hand, she held a letter. Marina took it and looked at the writing.
“Strange, this is not the hand of anyone I know,” she muttered, turning the letter over several times. “Did the postman bring it this morning?”
“Yes, miss,”
“It could not be from Albert. He would never put pen to paper.”
“Then, open it. It won’t bite you,” suggested Ellen, excitedly.
Breaking the seal on the flap, Marina opened the letter. Reading it quickly, she let out a sigh and crumpled it in her hand.
“It is from a person I barely know and have only met once,” Marina told her, dismissively. “It is of no consequence.”
Ellen watched as Marina squashed it into a ball and absent-mindedly dropped it into her carpetbag.
Her thoughts returned to the day when she had first met Sir Peter Bailey.
The letter had been from him.
‘How very presumptuous,’ she said to herself, ‘inviting me to some soirée when we have barely exchanged greetings.’
Her mind returned to how Henrietta had become so excited after Sir Peter had left with Albert.
“Did you see the way he looked at you?” she had said.
‘Henrietta is such a romantic fool,’ thought Marina, ‘she is always seeing intrigue where none exists.’
What was true, however, was with each turn of the wheel of the carriage, Marina felt as if her old life was melting away behind her. The thought of her mother’s funeral ceased to pain her and any feelings she might have harboured for Albert were fast disappearing.
‘I must make the best of whatever happens next,’ resolved Marina, in defiance of her father. ‘Mama would not want me to be so unhappy.’
*
It was growing dark by the time the carriage rumbled into the port of Dover. All around them, people thronged around the wheels – some with luggage, some dragging small children, but everyone seemed in a great hurry to get somewhere.
“Goodness, so many people,” cried Ellen, “It is worse than Piccadilly Circus!”
“It is one of the busiest ports in the country,” replied Marina, disinterestedly.
“All these people off on adventures and here we are about to start one of our own.”
Just then, the carriage pulled up outside a brown squat building that Marina assumed to be the ticket office.
“Ellen, can you go and find out where we board our ferry, please?” asked Marina, stretching after the long journey.
Ellen got up rather unsteadily – she was no longer a young woman.
“Of course, miss. You wait here and I shall be back before you know it.”
Marina watched Ellen’s disappearing back as she climbed down into the crowds. Outside, she could hear the horses snorting.
‘They must be tired,’ thought Marina, who was somewhat fatigued herself. ‘I do hope that the coachman is going to stay in Dover tonight to give them a rest.’
She was very tender-hearted when it came to animals. She loved riding and horses and fiercely hated any ill- treatment of them.
Before long, Ellen returned.
“We are to go to the SS Saint Mary,” she puffed, climbing back inside the carriage. “They will load our luggage as soon as we board.”
“Thank you, Ellen,” replied Marina, feeling strangely unmoved.
With a jolt, the carriage moved towards the dock. Almost as soon as they stopped, a throng of porters came rushing up to unload their belongings.
“Come along, miss,” exhorted Ellen, “the man at the counter said that as we are First Class, we would be shown to our Saloon.”
Although the journey ahead was not long enough for a cabin, Ellen had made certain that her Mistress would be as comfortable as possible. She, herself, felt a thrill at travelling First Class as she had never done so before. Marina had insisted that she did not leave her side even though it was not the norm for servants to travel with their employers.
“I can look after you and make sure that you do not have to fend off any unwanted attentions,” fussed Ellen, as the Steward took them to the Saloon.
“Whatever do you mean?” asked Marina, whose last thought was engaging in conversation with any strange men.
“They say that these French gentlemen are very persistent in pressing their attentions upon single ladies,” said Ellen with a worried look on her face.
“I doubt if there will be many French gentlemen on the passage and besides, it is too short for them to become too troublesome.”
“Ah, I would not bet on it,” answered Ellen, “with you being such a beautiful young lady, you are sure to attract attention.”
Marina blushed. Although her Mama had often told her that she was growing into a highly attractive woman, she believed that all mothers thought the same of their offspring – it was only natural.
Marina was not overly modest as she realised that the reflection she caught each morning in her looking glass was pleasing and, certainly, Albert had always looked at her with a glint in his eye, but she would have stopped short of describing herself as beautiful.
She was very glad indeed that Ellen had been sent with her as chaperone. Supposing her father had sent some ageing relative with no sense of humour? She shuddered to consider it.
Some minutes later, she found herself walking along the deck, trying her best to hold on to her hat.
“Goodness, it is so windy,” she exclaimed struggling to keep herself warm.
“It will be the spring tides, miss,” suggested Ellen, as she walked a step behind.
“Pardon me, but might I offer you a sheltered corner to sit in?”
Marina and Ellen looked up to find a tall gentleman with bright red hair standing in front of them. By his accent, he sounded Scottish.
“Thank you, but we are fine as we are,” countered Ellen, feistily, giving the man a ‘keep-off’ look.
“You are like a lioness with her cubs,” said Marina, laughing, as Ellen dragged her back inside the Saloon.
“And these gentlemen are far too forward for my liking.” she answered, bristling. “Heaven only knows what the French men will be like if this is how English gentlemen behave the moment that they get out of the country.”
“That gentleman was Scottish, Ellen.”
“Well, they’re all the same. Scottish, English and God forbid we meet an Irishman! They are bad enough on Irish soil –”
They were laughing as they entered the welcoming warmth of the Saloon.
“Anyway, in France, it is as natural to men to flirt with attractive women as it is to breathe,” added Marina. “Mama used to say that they are the most romantic nation in the world.”
“There is plenty of time for you to be having such thoughts,” admonished Ellen sternly. “You have enough to deal with at the moment.”
“Do not worry yourself, Ellen, I have no wish to become romantically involved with anyone. You have forgotten that I am in mourning and will be for some considerable time and no gentleman would press his suit given that.”
“If these Frenchmen are as fond of romancing as you say, miss, then I would not have thought that a little discouragement would put them off.”
It was quite late by the time they arrived in Calais. As soon as they disembarked, Marina was engulfed in a melee of different sights and sounds. She had passed through Calais before with her parents, but it had been daytime when they had arrived at the port.
“Everything looks so unfamiliar,” she commented, as a porter escorted them to the train.
“I am certain that the porter knows where we are going,” answered Ellen, “he speaks very good English.”
“And my French is terribly poor.
He puts me to shame.”
“Now, miss, here is your compartment, your Papa has bought me a Third Class ticket so I must leave you,” announced Ellen, suddenly, as they reached the comfortable- looking carriage on the train for Paris.
“Oh, Ellen. You cannot leave me alone,” pleaded Marina, suddenly feeling quite abandoned. She was terrified that she would have to spend the long journey fending off the unwanted attentions of strange Frenchmen.
But no sooner had she uttered those words when a rather grand-looking elderly lady pushed her way past Ellen and sat herself down in the carriage.
“Good evening,” she said, in cultured tones. “I do hope you will not mind me sharing this compartment with you?”
“Not at all,” replied Marina, gratefully.
“I’ll bid you goodbye until Paris, then, miss,” said Ellen, smiling. “I can see that you will be perfectly safe with this lady.”
“I am the Duchess of Wallsworth,” added the elderly woman. “My companion, Miss Broome, will be with us shortly. She is just arranging with the porter for my dog to be put in the Guard’s van.”
“You have a dog, Your Grace?” asked Marina. “I am terribly fond of animals – we have a flat-coated retriever at home. By the way, I am Marina Fullerton.”
“Delighted to meet you, Miss Fullerton. Yes, I have a fine mastiff called Marmaduke. He’s huge but very friendly.”
“And he likes to travel?”
“Oh, I could not bear to leave him at home,” said the Duchess, horrified. “He has to come with me wherever I go. We are en-route to the South of France but are staying in Paris for a few days beforehand.”
“I am bound for Paris,” said Marina. “I will be staying with friends for an indefinite time.”
“Fullerton, Fullerton –“ mused the Duchess, thoughtfully. “Is your father the businessman, Sir Henry Fullerton?”
“Why, yes, do you know him?”
“My late husband was an acquaintance. I believe that it must be your mother who died recently? My condolences.”
“Thank you so much. Yes, Mama died last month.”
“And your father is not travelling with you to Paris?”
“No, he prefers to remain in London,” sighed Marina,
hanging her head in embarrassment. “It was a terrible shock to all of us.”
“Yes, it must be awful for you. A young girl needs her mother.”
Marina could feel tears starting to prick her eyes. The lady’s concern touched her deeply.
“Oh, but I have upset you,” said the Duchess. “Let us speak of other things – we must have many friends in common.”
Marina was grateful that she had changed the topic of conversation. She did not really wish to talk about her mother.
“Yes, we must. Do you know my best friend, Lady Henrietta d’Astuges?”
“I believe I know a Lord Albert d’Astuges. Is he her brother?”
“Why, yes, he is. How do you know him?”
“He is a friend of a very close friend of mine. You may also know him. His name is Sir Peter Bailey?”
Marina nodded sheepishly and coloured at that name. She suddenly felt a little ashamed for having discarded Sir Peter’s letter so carelessly and could not remember what she had done with it.
A sudden wave of remorse swept over her.
‘If I had only kept the letter, I would at least be able to write to him from France,’ she thought, ‘and now he will think I am rude.’
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“Oh, no, I have only met him once at Henrietta’s house.”
“He is a most fine gentleman and so good-looking,” continued the Duchess, quite oblivious to Marina’s embarrassment.
“He comes to see me at least twice a week to take me for tea or for a turn around Hyde Park. I am always saying that he should not be wasting himself on an old lady like myself and should find himself a nice young woman to take out, but he is most insistent. Such a fascinating young gentleman and so interesting.”
She trailed off into a reverie.
Marina felt sorry that she had not made more of an effort with Sir Peter.
If the Duchess thought him a fine man, then why had she dismissed him? She vowed to try and find the letter once she reached Paris.
‘But I fear I may have thrown it onto the floor of the carriage,’ she thought, as the Duchess began to drone on about the people she knew. Names flew about that Marina recognised, but she could not get a word in as the Duchess was in full flood.
Marina stifled a smile. The Duchess appeared to have a view on everything but for all her talk, Marina was glad of her company.
She certainly proved to be an effective deterrent from any unwanted advances.
A few hours later, the train finally arrived at the Gare du Nord. It was very early in the morning and Marina had not slept a wink.
The Duchess had eventually fallen asleep and had snored loudly during the last fifty miles.
Marina felt terribly cold as the heating did not appear to work.
‘I do hope that the Solanges have sent a carriage,’ she mused, as she yawned and stretched.
*
At half-past six, the Steward came along with tea. The Duchess woke up and immediately began to talk.
“You simply must come and visit me when I am next in Paris,” she said between sips. “If you are still here in May, I would love you to call.”
“Thank you, I will,” replied Marina, thinking that by then, she might be glad of some English company.
“I return on the fifth for a few weeks before returning South,” continued the Duchess. “Of course, when the tourists arrive in August I return to London until September.”
“Miss Marina.”
She looked up to see Ellen standing in the doorway, eager and bright-eyed.
“This is Ellen, my lady’s maid,” said Marina, by way of introduction.
“Are you ready to leave, miss?”
“I should think so, Ellen. Goodbye, Your Grace.”
“Au revoir, Miss Fullerton – it is au revoir.”
“Of course,” replied Marina, shaking her hand.
“Who was that?” asked Ellen, as soon as they were out of earshot.
“The Duchess of Wallsworth and she has given me her address in Paris.”
“That will be nice for you, miss.”
“Perhaps, now you must tell me why you are looking so happy at this early hour?”
Ellen giggled and then blushed.
“I had a wonderful time, chatting to a handsome sailor,” she confessed. “He was so charming and such a gentleman – let me borrow his coat because I was cold and gave me coffee from his flask.”
“But Ellen, you do not like coffee.”
“I do now, miss.”
Marina smiled to herself as they made their way along the corridor to the exit. On the platform, she could see a porter was waiting with their luggage on a trolley.
“Where did the Solanges say they would meet us?”
asked Ellen.
“By the gate, I believe,” answered Marina. “I do hope that they will be here. It is a little early, but Papa assured me that they were most insistent that they meet me themselves rather than send a servant.”
The porter began to push the trolley down the platform and Marina and Ellen were forced to walk quickly to keep up with him. He had a brisk manner and appeared to speak a little English.
“Do you have some change to tip him?” whispered Ellen.
“I will get some from my purse,” said Marina, diving into her carpetbag.
She gave the porter half a franc and he thanked them in halting English.
Marina strained her eyes to see if anyone answering the Solange’s description was waiting by the gate, but she could only see a few coachmen and the odd, solitary gentleman.
“We should stay in one place,” advised Ellen, “they will be along shortly.
Marina thought privately to herself that they might have fo
rgotten about her arrival, but she did not voice her fears to Ellen.
Fifteen minutes later, most of the people waiting had dispersed, leaving Marina and Ellen stranded on their own. No one had come forward and, as it was early, there were not many people milling about.
“Well, this is a fine thing,” remarked Ellen, as the time ticked on. “Should I go and find a porter or someone to ask?”
“But I do not clearly remember what they look like,” responded Marina. “It was so long ago when I last met them and Monique was a child. She is about my age, but I am certain that as I have changed a great deal since, so will she.”
“Well, we can’t sit here for ever.”
“Would you go and have a look around the station for them, Ellen? Search for an elderly couple, a little older than Papa and a young girl around my age.
“Very well, miss,” agreed Ellen, with a sigh.
She did not know how she would get on, not speaking the language and being in a foreign country.
Leaving Marina sitting on top of a trunk, Ellen bustled off.
Long moments ticked by and Marina began to feel somewhat nervous.
‘Supposing they have not come for us or have forgotten altogether?’ she thought, scanning the crowds until her eyes hurt. ‘All alone in Paris. What will we do and where will I go if they have forgotten about me?’
She was just about to become increasingly desperate when she caught sight of the feather on Ellen’s hat, bobbing above the crowd.
CHAPTER THREE
Marina waited anxiously as, slowly, the figure of Ellen came into view. She strained her eyes to see if the Solanges were with her, but to her disappointment, it was only a station official who was following in her wake.
“Miss Marina,” puffed Ellen, reaching her at last, “I could not find a soul who spoke English, but this chap speaks a little and he seems to want to help us.”
“You are perdu?” he asked haltingly.
“No, no,” she responded, shaking her head, “we have lost our friends.”
The man looked at her blankly for a moment. “Goodness, I wish I had paid more attention in classes.
Papa was right, I am weak at French,” admitted Marina.
“Do you remember the word for ‘friends’, miss?”
Seeking Love Page 3
