Love, Lies and Marriage

by Barbara Cartland

  “I am sure that he has told his other patients that I am in residence,” Harry remarked.

  Teresa made a helpless little gesture with her hands.

  “You are – trying to – make more – difficulties than there are already,” she complained. “Perhaps I should – not have – told you so soon. But I thought – now – you are no longer likely to – rush off to London. And perhaps – just perhaps – you would be happy to be here – where you belong.”

  There was a pleading note in her voice as she looked up at him.

  There was a pause before Harry said slowly, “I think I could be happy here which, as you say, is where I belong – if I was not alone.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sir Hubert opened the letter, which he knew was from his daughter and read it eagerly.

  “Darling Papa,

  I am afraid I have made a mess of everything. I told Harry the truth yesterday and he was very surprised.

  He then said he was prepared to live here, which I have made exactly as it was when his mother and father were alive, if he was not alone.

  I knew, as he said it, that he was thinking of Camille Clyde and that as soon as he is well enough, which should be in two or three days’ time, he will go to London.

  I am sorry, so very sorry, and I should have waited longer, but perhaps by some miracle, she may no longer need him.

  With so much love from your contrite daughter,

  Teresa.”

  Sir Hubert read the letter through a second time.

  He then walked across Berkeley Square to the Marquis’s house.

  The Marquis was reading The Morning Post and he looked up with a smile as Sir Hubert entered.

  “I am afraid I have bad news,” Sir Hubert began.

  He held out Teresa’s letter as he spoke and the Marquis took it from him.

  He read it and then said,

  “I have deliberately kept away from the theatre and from Charles Graham. I had now better go and find out what has been happening.”

  He set off for White’s Club, thinking it extremely likely that Lord Charles would be there.

  He was not mistaken.

  He had, however, no intention of making anyone suspicious of what he and Sir Hubert had been doing, so he talked to one or two other people first.

  He then crossed the room to where Lord Charles was sitting near the bow window.

  “How are you, Charles?” he asked. “Did you have any luck at the races?”

  “My horse came in third,” Lord Charles replied, “but I have not seen you lately. Where have you been hiding yourself? I thought you must have gone to the country.”

  “I went down to Stoke Palace for a short while,” the Marquis explained, “and now I want to hear all the news – if there is any.”

  “If you are referring to your nephew, I have not seen him for some time, but I hear that the sparkling Camille now has a new protector.”

  The Marquis knew this was exactly what he wanted to hear.

  “A new protector?” he enquired. “Who is he?”

  “You remember Durham, a rich, rather boring man, but extremely generous when it comes to diamonds for a pretty lady.”

  The Marquis was delighted, but he tried not to show it.

  Instead, he merely went from White’s to the Garrick Club, where he knew he would find a number of actors and actresses.

  As soon as he entered the Garrick, he saw the actor he had hired to perform the fake marriage between Harry and Teresa.

  He walked towards him.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” he said, “and I want to thank you for arranging that little matter we discussed when we last met.”

  The actor smiled at him.

  “I hear everything went off well. But I was worried when I could not myself do what you asked. I knew I must find someone else to play the part, but it was not easy. Luckily I ran into the Reverend Barton who, as I expect you know, is the Vicar of the Mayfair Chapel.”

  The Marquis stared at him.

  Then in a voice that did not sound like his own, he said,

  “Are you telling me that Barton performed the Marriage Service for my nephew in your place?”

  “I could not find anyone else who would sound convincing,” the actor said, “and at least he knew the Service by heart!”

  The Marquis was speechless.

  He was well aware that the Mayfair Chapel was notorious.

  The first Vicar appointed there married anyone who would pay him a guinea without asking questions.

  He had previously solemnised clandestine marriages in the environs of the Fleet prison and then his willingness to celebrate marriages without banns or licence ensured that he was never short of customers.

  However the Marriage Act was altered in 1754.

  It became law that the banns must be read for three Sundays before the marriage took place and registered in a Banns Book.

  Otherwise a Special Licence had to be obtained from the Archbishop of Canterbury.

  The Mayfair Chapel then became more or less respectable, but a number of people who lived in the neighbourhood were still married there and the Vicar was known to do almost anything for money.

  The Marquis, however, had procured a Special Marriage Licence in case Harry asked questions.

  Therefore he and Teresa were now legally married.

  The Marquis knew that it would be a great mistake for the actor to find out that there was anything amiss.

  He merely thanked him once again for his help and hurried back to Berkeley Square.

  He went to Sir Hubert’s house and burst in upon him telling him with horror what had happened.

  “I am quite certain,” he said brokenly, “that Harry will never forgive me for treating him in what is really an outrageous and appalling manner.”

  Sir Hubert’s first impulse was to go to Bourne Hall.

  He would tell Harry what had happened, and how desperately upset his uncle was. Then he remembered how Harry had behaved before when he had been told a wife had been chosen for him!

  He thought it might make matters worse. Instead he hurriedly wrote a note to Teresa and a groom was told to carry it to Bourne Hall as quickly as he could.

  *

  Teresa cried herself to sleep.

  She had done so every night since she had been convinced that Harry intended to marry Camille Clyde.

  His uncle and her father had tried to save him and failed.

  She noticed unhappily that he never seemed to look at her.

  She knew he watched her at first when he recovered from his high temperature and now whenever she talked to him he seemed to be at a distance, or be thinking about something else.

  ‘He is longing to be rid of me,’ she thought, ‘and once he has left for London I don’t suppose he will ever want to see me again.’

  She knew as she tossed and turned in her bed that she loved him more and more every day.

  When he had been unconscious, she had talked to him as she massaged his forehead. She had felt he was like a child who had hurt himself and needed a mother’s love to make him feel better.

  Her mother had told her that even when people were completely unconscious, if you talked to them, they were aware of it.

  “They might not understand exactly what is being said,” Lady Bryan had said, “but it makes them feel safe and encourages them to get well quickly.”

  Teresa had therefore talked to Harry from the very moment that he had lost consciousness because of his high temperature.

  She knew now that she had fallen deeply and hopelessly in love with him.

  ‘How could I help it?’ she asked herself, ‘when he is so handsome and also so clever?’

  She would go over and over again in her mind what they had said to each other when they went riding.

  She remembered the arguments they had and the battles they had fought in words.

  ‘He is brilliant and just the sort of man England needs at the moment,�
�� Teresa thought, ‘in Parliament, as well as in the Social world.’

  Then she knew that, if Harry was in his rightful place, she would have no part in it.

  Once he returned to London, it would be Camille Clyde he would want to be with.

  If she was not available, then he would seek out one of the other sophisticated beauties.

  Their luncheons and dinner parties would be very different from the dull meals Harry would have at home.

  ‘I don’t fit anywhere into that picture,’ Teresa told herself humbly.

  Because she loved Harry so much and because she knew it was hopeless she made a decision.

  As soon as he had no further use for her, she would ask her father to take her to their house in Lancaster.

  Sir Hubert had closed it up while she was supposed to be enjoying a Season in London.

  Teresa recognised now she had no wish to go to balls or even to be presented at Court.

  ‘I will work with Papa and concentrate on his ships,’ she told herself.

  Loving Harry and talking to him would make any other men she met seem dull and boring.

  Because she loved him, it would be impossible for her even to love any other man in the same way.

  ‘Papa and Uncle Maurice may have saved him from ruining his life,’ she said to herself a little bitterly, ‘but they have ruined mine!’

  Then she was crying again, as she realised she was reaching for a moon, which was completely out of reach.

  *

  Harry had enjoyed having the horses paraded in front of him.

  Teresa had ridden the most obstreperous.

  It was one that had just arrived from London, which was younger and not so well broken in as the others her father had bought.

  The groom led it in at the end of the parade, which had passed Harry seated, as he had requested, at the top of the steps.

  Then, for some reason known only to himself, the horse objected to what he was being asked to do.

  He reared and bucked and did everything in his power to unseat Teresa. He very nearly succeeded, but somehow she managed to control him.

  Finally he joined the parade and moved past Harry, while the grooms cheered involuntarily.

  The horses were then taken to the stables and Harry went back to bed as he was feeling very tired.

  Nanny helped him undress having shooed everybody else away.

  “Like all men,” she said, “his Lordship’s doing too much too soon and now you can all leave him alone.”

  Harry was left alone until the next day, when he again insisted on getting up.

  He was definitely stronger and he insisted on making a tour of the rooms on the ground floor in order to see how they had been restored as they were in his mother’s day.

  That night, when she went to bed, Teresa went over all that they had said and done during the day.

  Once again she was sure that Harry, when he was well, was thinking of going back to London to marry Camille Clyde.

  Although she told herself that she was being absurd, the tears ran down her cheeks.

  Finally she fell into a fitful sleep and she dreamt of Harry.

  He was going away and, although she had begged him to stay, he insisted on leaving.

  She woke with a start and was thankful to find it was only a dream.

  ‘How can I be so – stupid?’ she asked herself.

  Then she thought how handsome he looked as he watched the horses.

  And how fascinating it was to talk to him. She wanted to cry again!

  The room seemed hot and so she got out of bed and pulled back the curtains.

  One of the casement windows was open and so she opened another.

  Then, as she looked down into the garden, she was aware that there was a light in the room downstairs.

  It was in the drawing room.

  She remembered she had gone into it after dinner to collect a book she was reading and had taken it up to bed with her.

  ‘I must have left a candle burning,’ she told herself and was ashamed at having been so careless.

  She had gone into the drawing room after the servants had retired to their quarters.

  This meant that the candle would burn all night and it might, although it was unlikely, cause a fire.

  She put on her dressing gown, which was a pretty one of fine blue wool with little pearl buttons down the front from neck to the hem and trimmed with lace on the collar and cuffs.

  She did them up and then walked towards the door.

  She realised as she reached it that Rufus was behind her and she stopped and commanded,

  “Wait! Good dog – sit.”

  She thought if she took him downstairs with her, he might bark at something in the hall and that would wake Harry.

  Rufus sat down.

  As she went out the door, he gave a little whine.

  “I will only be a minute or two,” Teresa whispered to him.

  There were always a few lights left on in the passages at night so the place was not completely in darkness.

  As she crossed the hall, there was one light near the front door.

  She opened the door into the drawing room.

  Then when she had taken a few steps into the room she stood transfixed.

  Standing by the fireplace were two strange men who were lifting down the picture from above it.

  Teresa made a little sound of horror and they turned to look at her.

  It was then she realised that the lower parts of their faces were covered with a pulled-up handkerchief.

  All she could see were their eyes.

  “What are – you doing – here, you – have no – right – ” she began.

  Then someone behind her pulled a gag over her mouth and she realised that there was another man in the room.

  He tied the gag tightly.

  While she was struggling, the two men by the mantelpiece put down the picture and came to help.

  Almost before Teresa could realise what was happening her arms were roped to her sides and her ankles were tied together.

  Then she was lifted up by two of the men and carried to the sofa and threw her down roughly on to it. She stared up at them in terror.

  The gag they had tied very tightly was hurting her lips.

  They picked up a beautifully embroidered Chinese shawl that was arranged over the back of the sofa and threw it over her.

  She was then in darkness and could see nothing.

  She was helpless, unable to move and unable to make a sound.

  “That’ll settle her,” one of the men said speaking for the first time.

  He had a coarse voice and Teresa knew he did not come from the country.

  “Better ’urry all the same,” another man said. “Get them boxes out of the cabinet.”

  Teresa wanted to scream at what they were doing.

  She knew the man who had just spoken was referring to a beautiful collection of snuffboxes at the other end of the drawing room.

  She had looked at them tonight when the Holland had been taken off the cabinet.

  “They were her Ladyship’s pride and joy,” Dawson had told her.

  They were also, Teresa reckoned, very valuable.

  Some of them had exquisitely painted miniatures on them framed with diamonds and pearls, while others were of enamel that could only have been made by a master hand.

  Some were very old and the miniatures were of Kings and Queens who had lived several centuries ago.

  How could she let them take away anything so valuable?

  She was quite sure that Harry loved them because they had been his mother’s.

  ‘I must save them, I must,’ she thought and realised again how completely helpless she was.

  It was then she remembered that she and Harry had been able to read each other’s thoughts.

  When they had been arguing in one of their spirited duel of words, he would say,

  “I know what you are thinking, I can tell you now before yo
u say it, that you are wrong – wrong.”

  She had laughed.

  But she had often known what argument Harry was going to confront her with before he put it into words.

  ‘If only he was thinking of me,’ she thought. Perhaps she could warn him of what was happening in his mother’s drawing room. ‘Wake up. Wake up,’ she said in her heart. ‘Save the – things you love – come quickly – you are – wanted.’

  She felt almost as if her thoughts were tiny birds she was sending out from her breast.

  They would fly from the drawing room to Harry’s room and wake him up.

  She remembered how her father had told her that in India and other parts of the East a native would use his thoughts far more effectively than any other way of communication.

  He told her once when he was travelling that one of the porters in charge of his luggage had said he must leave to go home immediately.

  “What has happened?” her father asked.

  “My father is dying and will be dead by the morning and I will be needed.”

  “Is this what you have been told?” her father had asked in surprise.

  He knew they were a very long distance from where they had started their journey and that was where the man’s home was.

  “I hear it in – my mind,” the man replied.

  Because he thought the porter was imagining things, her father had said the man could not go home at once, but he would try and arrange it in two or three days’ time.

  The man had accepted her father’s authority.

  At the same time he shook his head dismally and said,

  “By then it will be too late.”

  “And was it too late?” Teresa asked.

  “It was indeed,” her father replied. “The man’s father had died exactly as he had expected. I could only apologise because I had not believed him.”

  “That was thought transference,” Teresa said slowly trying to understand.

  “To the natives in India it comes quite naturally,” her father told her, “and it is a pity we do not copy them.”

  He smiled before he added,

  “It would save us a lot of trouble and a great deal of money!”

  Teresa thought of this story now and went on sending her thoughts to Harry.

  She heard, however, with despair the thieves taking another picture down from the walls.