Punished with Love

by Barbara Cartland

  She thought in despair that because he was all these things, in contrast it only made her deception seem worse.

  ‘He will never love me,’ Latonia told herself. ‘He will only despise me for the rest of our lives together.’

  Then once again the tears came, tears that were a torture because she was crying for something she had never had – his love.

  Chapter Seven

  Latonia could not sleep and lay awake going over and over the same unhappy thoughts.

  Then, as the dawn came swiftly, the sun lighting first the ceiling of her room and then flooding everything with a golden glow, she heard voices next door and knew that Lord Branscombe was rising.

  His movements made her long to cry out in agony that he was taking an unnecessary risk.

  How could he be so foolish, after what she had told him, as to go out into the danger that was lurking outside?

  The men she had overheard talking had said that he was to be poisoned, but perhaps by now the Rajah and those who were intriguing with him had thought of some other way in which he could meet his death.

  She felt despairingly that anything she did would only strengthen Lord Branscombe’s determination to behave normally and to keep whatever appointment it was he had made and above all to show no fear.

  She heard him walking about in the next room, then as she lay tense and heard his footsteps going down the passage she knew that there was nothing now for her to do but wait.

  Because she was so afraid, she almost expected to hear a shot ring out or the cry of a man who had been knifed, but there were only the songs of the birds outside and all the usual sounds of a world awaking to a new day,

  Now there were the distant noises of high female voices, of children laughing and somewhere far in the distance, but nevertheless distinctive, the clatter of cooking pots.

  The sounds seemed all the more menacing because they were ordinary and familiar and yet somewhere in the midst of them was a man whose enemies had doomed him to die.

  For the moment there was nothing she could do but pray – pray as she had never prayed before in her life – for his safety.

  ‘Please, God – please – ’

  She felt as if her prayers were turning round and round on a small wheel and there was no beginning or end to them, merely an eternal plea for help and for mercy.

  She must have prayed for nearly an hour when she remembered that Lord Branscombe had said they were leaving today.

  She rose and, when she was washing in the bathroom, she heard somebody come into her room to call her.

  She knew that when she returned she would find a pot of tea on a tray beside her bed and she wondered if that too was poisoned or if they would take the chance of her eating the same food at breakfast as Lord Branscombe.

  Then she remembered that as she was only a woman, an inferior creature in Indian eyes, it would not be of any relevance to them whether she lived or died.

  Their target was Lord Branscombe and every weapon would be directed against him.

  She washed quickly, thinking as she looked at the water sluice how fortunate it was that she had heard those voices through it.

  At least for the time being it had saved Lord Branscombe, but, at the thought that he might have ridden determinedly into danger, she ran to the bedroom and dressed herself quicker than she had ever dressed before in her life.

  She had decided to wait in her own room until she heard him return, but when she was ready she found it impossible to do so.

  She walked in a carefully controlled manner, because she actually longed to run, along the passage that led to the verandah.

  As she had expected, breakfast was laid outside on a part of the verandah that overlooked the garden.

  Because she had seen so often the carefully laid table with its unironed tablecloth and its silver, which needed cleaning, she thought for a moment that perhaps she had imagined the whole thing.

  How could there really be a dangerous, life-destroying poison waiting in what seemed so harmless and ordinary a meal?

  Then she saw one of the servants in his colourful turban and clean white dhoti come from the house, carrying in his hand a small native woven basket in which was laid the newly baked chapattis, the unleavened bread that was always served in India.

  He set the basket down on the table and, as he did so, Latonia knew with an instinct which could not be denied that the chapattis were poisoned and that the servant who placed them there was aware of it.

  She clenched her hands together to control herself from crying out at the perfidy of it.

  Lord Branscombe was a guest of the Rajah and it was, she knew, against every law of Eastern hospitality that he should be murdered by the host he trusted.

  She walked to the front of the verandah and held on to the railings to look out over the garden with its colourful flowers and a lawn which, despite frequent watering, was green only in patches.

  The trees were brilliant with blossoms and, silhouetted against the blue of the sky, they were a picture of beauty.

  But Latonia could see nothing except the darkness, the treachery and the evil that she had felt from the moment she had entered the Rajah’s Palace.

  A voice beside her made her start.

  “Lady Memsahib wait for Lord Sahib?” a servant enquired.

  It took her a second to concentrate on what the man was saying and then she longed to reply that she had no wish to die any sooner than was necessary.

  But she knew that if she said anything that would put those who wished to kill Lord Branscombe on their guard, they would undoubtedly find another way of destroying him.

  Instead she shook her head and replied in a voice that sounded deceptively calm,

  “Yes, I will wait for the Lord Sahib.”

  With a bow the servant withdrew.

  Latonia waited and went on waiting. It did not seem possible that time could pass so slowly.

  Then, just as she was beginning to grow frantic in case her worst fears were realised and Lord Branscombe had already met with a ‘regrettable accident’ or had disappeared completely, he came walking down the passage from the front of the house and out onto the verandah.

  She was so relieved to see him that she turned and made a little sound that was almost a cry of joy.

  “I am sorry if I have kept you waiting,” he said in such an ordinary tone that it swept away the questions which hovered on her lips.

  He walked towards the breakfast table, remarking,

  “You should not have – waited for me.”

  Because Latonia knew that she must play the part that was expected of her, she moved towards him and said the first thing that came into her head,

  “I was – watching the – birds.”

  She only realised it now, but there were as usual a number of birds on the branches of the trees and on the lawn, and because they were tame, knowing that no Indian would hurt them, some were even sitting on the verandah rail, hoping for crumbs from the breakfast table.

  “Yes, of course, the birds,” Lord Branscombe said reflectively, as if he too had just noticed them for the first time.

  He paused, then said slowly and, Latonia thought, deliberately,

  “Perhaps they are hungry too.”

  As he spoke he took a chapatti from the basket, broke a small piece from it and threw it towards the crows that were searching for worms amongst the sparse grass.

  One, quicker than the rest, pounced on it and, taking it in his beak, flew off towards a tree.

  He had practically reached the bough on which a number of other crows were sitting when his wings seemed to falter –

  A moment later he had fallen to the ground, a crumpled bunch of feathers, his head still moving for a second before it dropped forward and was still.

  Latonia gave a little gasp, but Lord Branscombe did not seem to notice and, breaking off another piece of the chapatti, he threw it now high into the air.

  A crow flew down, caught it in his
beak, and flew straight upwards towards the roof where he had come.

  He flew only a little way from the verandah and even after his head had dropped his wings went on moving.

  Lord Branscombe, without speaking, broke off another piece of the chapatti, but before he could throw it, his senior servant who had travelled with them came from the house to say,

  “The carriage is waiting, Lord Sahib.”

  Lord Branscombe put the broken chapatti carefully back into the basket on the table.

  “In which case,” he said to Latonia, “I think we should go now. We don’t wish to keep the train waiting”

  “No – of course – not,” she answered.

  Her voice sounded strange even to herself and she found it hard to take her eyes from the crows that were now motionless black spots on the green of the lawn.

  A servant handed her her sunshade, her bag and her gloves and, as they stepped into the carriage that was waiting outside, she saw that her small leather dressing case was on the seat opposite them.

  She knew that on Lord Branscombe’s instructions their other luggage would be with their own servants in the carriage that followed behind.

  There was no one to bid them farewell and she was sure that Lord Branscombe was leaving earlier than he had previously announced.

  He passed the Palace without even glancing in its direction and now, as they drove through the City, Latonia felt fear rising within her like the movement of a snake.

  The Rajah would have been told that Lord Branscombe had left and why, and this, she knew perceptively, was his real moment of danger as they drove first through the bazaar, the way they had come.

  For the first time the silk shops with their bales piled high in the shadows were not beautiful but threatening and the stalls with their fruits, vegetables and grain were not colourful but ominous.

  Even the Brahmin bulls, taking their toll of the baskets of the vegetable sellers, seemed more frightening than lazy.

  As they passed, any hand that was raised seemed to Latonia to hold a dagger and every sound was the crack of a bullet.

  For the first time since she had come to India she was not loving its people but hating them and the children who she thought had smiled at her were now monsters jeering at her helplessness.

  Because she was so afraid, she clenched her hands together to prevent herself from repeating her fears aloud.

  As they passed out into the open country, she looked at the bare rocks where a man with a rifle could hide and at the trees, wondering if there was an assailant concealed amongst their leaves.

  One shot from any man who was skilled with a gun could kill Lord Branscombe so easily as they drove on in the open carriage, the horses moving rhythmically without hurry, their bridles jingling musically, while the sun turned everything to burnished gold.

  In the distance ahead Latonia could see the railway station and she knew that these were the last few moments the Rajah had in which to dispose of Lord Branscombe.

  Once they reached the train they would be safe and she wanted to ask him to crouch down on the floor of the carriage so that he would no longer be a target for those who wished to murder him.

  But she knew that whatever plea she used he would refuse her and undoubtedly would only despise her more than he did already for such cowardice.

  Because she felt so afraid as she waited tensely for the sound of a rifle being fired, she found it impossible to breathe and she shut her eyes.

  She could only hold her breath and listen and wait, feeling as if her whole body had been turned to stone.

  ‘Please – God – please – ’

  Her prayers were still turning a little wheel round and round.

  ‘Please – please – ’

  Then she felt the horses stop and opened her eyes.

  They had reached the station. For a moment she could not believe that the journey was over and yet now, because her feelings had been so intense, she could not move.

  Somehow, with a superhuman effort, she stepped out of the carriage to cross the platform and climb into the train.

  The train seemed like a sanctuary and, as she turned to see that Lord Branscombe had followed her, she heard him say to the guard,

  “We are ready to leave at once!”

  The doors were closed and the whistle was blown and, as the wheels began to turn, Latonia felt that her legs could no longer support her.

  She put out her hand to save herself from falling, then as she did so, everything began to go dark –

  Someone was holding her, lifting her and, as she realised whose arms they were, she thought vaguely far away in the distance that someone was saying,

  “He is safe! He is safe!”

  The next moment she felt herself laid down on the bed in her sleeping compartment, but it was impossible to open her eyes.

  She felt Lord Branscombe take off her hat, then her shoes.

  It seemed strange that he should concern himself with her, but her brain had ceased to function and she could only remember that he was safe and that they had reached the station without his being murdered.

  Then she heard him say,

  “You must be very tired, Latonia, so I suggest you make up for last night by sleeping. We have a long journey in front of us and there is nothing to worry you now.”

  She tried to open her eyes and look at him, but it was impossible, so she turned her head sideways against the pillow like a child who wants to be comforted after being afraid.

  She heard him go out quietly and close the door behind him.

  *

  Later, when Latonia had slept in what was the unconsciousness of exhaustion, she awoke to find that it was midday.

  Remembering that Lord Branscombe had said that they had a long journey in front of them, she undressed and got into bed and was nearly asleep when a Steward brought her some food.

  It was the usual Indian dish they had eaten so often before, of steaming rice and fiery hot vegetable curry and with it several freshly baked chapattis.

  She ate the curry, but felt she could never look at a chapatti again without seeing the crows struggling against death as they writhed on the ground.

  After she had eaten, she felt a little stronger but at the same time still very tired and she fell asleep thinking that the wheels beneath her were saying the same thing over and over again,

  “He is safe! He is safe!”

  *

  Several hours later a Steward knocked on the door arid told her that in half-an-hour they would be arriving and she should dress for riding.

  He was gone before Latonia could formulate the question she had wanted to ask, which was, where were they going?

  Then she told herself that it did not matter where it was. At least they were far away from the Rajah who wished to murder Lord Branscombe and perhaps their next host would be more friendly and certainly less frightening.

  She put on her riding habit, not worrying particularly about her appearance because now that she felt rested she wanted only to see Lord Branscombe again and to ask him a thousand questions.

  Although she hoped that there would be time to talk before the train reached the station where they were to disembark, there were actually only a few minutes left when she went from her own compartment into the drawing room.

  Lord Branscombe was waiting and she saw that he had changed from his uniform into ordinary riding clothes, white breeches and a thin well-cut tussore jacket.

  He looked exceedingly handsome, but what he was wearing made her aware that they were not to arrive with any pomp and she wondered why this particular Province would be different from the others they had visited.

  For a moment she could only look at him, her eyes very large in her face, and think how wonderful it was that he was alive and not lying dead like the crows.

  Then, as his eyes met hers, she felt as if her heart turned a somersault in her breast and she wanted to run to him and touch him to make sure that he was real and that the
re was no longer any danger.

  Instead she could only look away from him, her eyelashes very dark against her pale cheeks.

  As the train came to a shuddering standstill, she held onto one of the chairs for support.

  “I hope you are not too tired to ride.”

  “No, of course not,” Latonia replied. “I have been sleeping all day – and I feel rather ashamed of my – indolence”

  “You have every excuse to be tired,” Lord Branscombe replied. “I think neither of us found it easy to sleep last night.”

  There was no time for Latonia to answer.

  The carriage door was opened, the servants were waiting, and she saw that they had stopped at a very small station, smaller even than the one they had alighted at when they stopped the train to be married.

  Latonia stepped down onto the platform wonderingly, then she looked up and drew in her breath.

  High above them, peaking against the sky, were the snow-capped mountains of the Himalayas!

  It was what she had always wanted to see and now that she saw them they were so exactly like her dreams that she thought she must still be asleep.

  They seemed to blaze before her astonished eyes as if they were made of silver. Then before she could even take in what she was seeing, before she could speak the words of wonder that came to her lips, she found herself outside the station.

  There were two horses waiting for her and Lord Branscombe and the usual caravan of other animals and servants to carry their luggage.

  He helped her onto the saddle and they rode off. She found herself not wondering where they were going, but utterly and completely content to be beside him in the foothills of the Himalayas, where she had always wished to be.

  After a few minutes they were away from the small village and now there were flowers such as Latonia had thought existed only in Paradise – crimson, white, yellow, even blue.

  They were magical in themselves, but it was impossible not to find her eyes being drawn upwards to where the mountains, silver with their gleaming peaks, were more lovely than it was possible to put into words.

  They rode for a long time in silence, climbing all the time a road that at first had been wide enough for them to ride side by side, but which now became a single track and Lord Branscombe went ahead as if to lead the way while Latonia followed.