The White Witch

by Barbara Cartland

  The Marquis, instead of entering the house, walked across the well-kept green lawn.

  He could not help thinking that Flora should be helping him rather than bothering about any herbs at this particular moment.

  ‘They cannot be as important as all that,’ he told himself.

  He followed the direction the groom had pointed out and came to an ancient wall.

  It was built of the same bricks as the house, and in the centre of it there was an iron gate which was open and the Marquis walked through.

  He became conscious of the scent of flowers and herbs, which seemed somehow different from any sensations he had ever experienced.

  The beds were neatly arranged around the four walls and in the centre of the garden there was a fountain which was obviously very old. The bowl was carved with fish and birds, and in the centre a cupid held a large fish. The water from the fish was being flung high into the air to catch the sunlight.

  It was a most attractive ornament and as Flora moved towards him from behind it, he thought that she looked like a nymph who might have risen from the pool in which Narcissus had been drowned.

  Flora was obviously surprised to see him.

  He had to admit that she looked very lovely. She was carrying a basket of flowers and leaves and wearing a green dress which reminded him that it was Spring.

  When she saw the expression on the Marquis’s face she exclaimed,

  “What has – happened! What is – wrong?”

  The Marquis had anticipated she would know instinctively that something had happened.

  “I do not expect that anyone will be very upset,” he answered, “but Potter is dead.”

  “Dead! But how?”

  “He shot himself,” the Marquis replied. “He must have discovered that, as I had returned unexpectedly, it was impossible for him to cover up his crimes.”

  “Perhaps this will make things easier,” Flora murmured as if she was speaking to herself.

  “That is what I thought,” the Marquis agreed. “I have sent for a doctor and I think the best move I could now make is to see the Chief Constable. Have you any idea who he is now?”

  “Of course I have,” Flora answered. “He is Sir Richard Carson, a very nice, helpful man and he lives about two miles away.”

  She paused for a moment before she added, “I remember him saying that he had not yet met you.”

  “I recall hearing about two years ago that the old Chief Constable, who was a friend of my father’s, had died when he was nearly ninety.”

  “You must go and see Sir Richard at once.” Flora urged, “so I will come to the castle a little later. Perhaps directly after luncheon would be best.”

  “I shall hope to be back by then, and I can only beg the new Chief Constable to keep what has happened here as quiet as possible.”

  “I am sure he will do so if you ask him,” Flora said.

  The Marquis looked round.

  “So this is your herb garden.”

  “It has been here ever since the house was built,” Flora replied, “and I think everyone who has owned it has been called locally a White Witch.”

  “And you say that is what they call you too?” the Marquis asked and there was a slightly sarcastic note in his voice.

  He believed she was being somewhat dramatic about her position.

  “All I try to do,” Flora said quietly, “is to heal people of their ailments as Mother Nature intended that they should be healed.”

  “By herbs?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “If you think about it, or rather read about it, you will find that nature always adjusts herself to whatever is necessary. Nothing in nature is ever wasted.”

  The Marquis frowned a little as if he was trying to follow what she was saying.

  “I know you think that is a lot of Fairy Tales,” she said, “but you have to admit that trees eventually become coal and, if there is an excess of anything which might be too abundant, nature somehow disposes of it or controls it.”

  The Marquis did not want to agree with her. He remembered that when he was in Scotland and there were too many grouse on his estate, they contracted grouse disease. He had also heard that an excess of stags meant that many died for lack of food.

  “I suppose you are right,” he agreed a little reluctantly. “But if I am ill, I think I would still rather trust a doctor.”

  “That is what your grandmother did,” Flora asserted, “and he could do nothing for her rheumatism. But now she intends to get up tomorrow so that she can be with you.”

  “What have you given her?” the Marquis enquired warily.

  “Dandelion, wallflower, horsetail, wintergreen, chickweed and comfrey.”

  She reeled off the names and when she noticed the Marquis’s face she laughed.

  “All right.” she said, “you do not believe me. Then go and talk to your grandmother and I could bring you two or three dozen witnesses from the village if I cared to do so.”

  The Marquis held up his hands.

  “Let me say I will try to believe you, Miss Flora, but I find it difficult to connect dandelion and chickweed with magic.”

  Flora just smiled as he said,

  “I must be on my way to the Chief Constable and will look forward to seeing you at about two o’clock.”

  “I will try not to keep your Lordship waiting.” Flora replied.

  The Marquis turned away and as he left the herb garden, he had a distinct feeling that she was laughing at him.

  ‘Really she must think I am a fool,’ he told himself, ‘to believe that chickweed and all that other load of rubbish could cure rheumatism!’

  He was convincing himself that it was because his grandmother was resting and enjoying the fresh country air at the castle that she was feeling so much better.

  Doubtless the food Mrs. Bowles was cooking for her was fresher than anything she would be able to buy in London.

  As he rode cross country towards the Chief Constable’s house, he was wondering how he could persuade Flora how mistaken she was in her belief in herbs.

  At the same time he was planning how he could escape from Locadi.

  ‘If she does not see me,’ he muttered to himself, ‘she will doubtless take another lover and forget all about me.’

  But he could sense that this was just wishful thinking. Where else would she find a man of his position and wealth and who was free to marry her?

  Most of the Marquis’s contemporaries had married when they were quite young. Their wives were chosen for them in the same way that Royalty arranged the marriages of their children.

  The Marquis’s father had of course tried to choose a bride for him before he was twenty-one.

  For the first time in his life the Marquis, or rather the Earl as he had been then, had been brave enough to defy his father. He declared that he had no intention of marrying someone whom he hardly knew and with whom he was not in love.

  He had been able to take this strong attitude because his Godmother had recently died leaving him enough money to keep him independent of his parsimonious father, who had kept Ivor, his only son, extremely short of money.

  Ivor’s pocket-money had been smaller than that of any of his contemporaries at Eton and Oxford and he had not been able to afford the luxuries that all the other students of any social standing enjoyed.

  When his mother died, his father’s behaviour towards him had been even more unpleasant than before.

  He had always resented his son and had always done everything he could to crush his will and prevent him from asserting himself.

  So with his own money, Ivor found a freedom that he had never known in his life and because he could now afford it, he had started to travel.

  It was one way of avoiding his father and the continual heckling he was forced to endure from him.

  He had found it absorbing to travel first to France and Italy and then to visit Egypt, Constantinople and of course Greece.

  The Marquis had a
lways been an avid reader because he was allowed few companions and when at home he found he could escape from listening to his disagreeable father by being absorbed in one of the many books which filled the large library. They had been collected over the centuries although the fourth Marquis had contributed very little towards them.

  One of the Marquis’s first actions on inheriting the title was to restock the library. He had bought a great number of famous books published in his father’s lifetime which had been ignored.

  *

  When the Marquis reached the Chief Constable’s house, he was relieved to find Sir Richard was at home and surprised but delighted to meet him.

  “I had no idea you had returned, my Lord,” he said, “and it is very kind of you to call on me so quickly.”

  “I wish I could say it was for a happier reason than the one which brings me here,” the Marquis replied.

  He told the Chief Constable about the tragedy he had discovered and how horrified he was to learn of Potter’s behaviour whilst he had been abroad.

  “I did hear that matters were difficult on your estate and in the village,” the Chief Constable remarked, “but I was told it was on your orders and felt it was not within my powers to interfere.”

  “I only wish that someone had let me know what was happening,” the Marquis observed. “I can assure you that I would have come home immediately.”

  Once again he felt guilty that he had been persuaded by Locadi to stay so long in London after he had returned to England.

  “I am sure that now, my Lord, you will put things to rights,” the Chief Constable said, “and if I can help you in any way, I am happy to do so.”

  “Thank you,” the Marquis said. “In the first place, I would be grateful if this most unpleasant suicide could be kept as quiet as possible and not blown up in the local newspapers.”

  “I think that can be managed,” the Chief Constable replied.” I know the owner of the County newspaper and I am sure he will do what I ask on your behalf.”

  “That is most kind and understanding of you.”

  The Chief Constable asked him to stay for luncheon, but he said he had an appointment with Miss Romilly.

  Sir Richard’s eyes seemed to light up.

  “A charming young woman,” he enthused, “and she has done a great deal of good. Her father, as I expect you know, is an extremely distinguished writer.”

  “He is too busy to see me at the moment,” the Marquis said, “but I am hoping to renew his acquaintance when his book is finished.”

  “I cannot believe, my Lord, that there are many people who would find a book more important than yourself! But one always lives and learns.”

  The Marquis agreed and as Sir Richard walked with him to the door he said,

  “I would be grateful if you would let me know what is happening in your village. I like to keep my eye on events as they occur in the County.”

  “What Miss Romilly is determined I should do at the moment,” the Marquis said. “is to give a party and build a school. Until that is completed, the children will have to be taught in a room in the castle as there is nowhere else available.”

  The Chief Constable looked at him in surprise.

  “I cannot believe it!” he exclaimed. “I have always been told how your father would never permit any meeting to be held in the castle and normally discouraged his neighbours from visiting him except on special occasions.”

  “That is true,” the Marquis agreed. “but now I have returned I am determined that everything shall be different, so I have to make a start with a school in the castle.”

  “I can see Flora Romilly’s hand in all this,” the Chief Constable chuckled. “No wonder they call her the White Witch.”

  *

  As the Marquis rode away he thought that once again he was back to witchcraft and it was a subject that made him shudder.

  He still harboured a strong feeling that Locadi was menacing him, in fact stalking him like a tigress stalking its prey.

  ‘What can I do?’ he asked.

  He thought that if the Vicar had been in residence he might have turned to him.

  He was well aware that in Jamaica, which he had often visited, a newly built house was always exorcised as the inhabitants were invariably afraid that ghosts or other supernatural beings might have settled in.

  He was quite certain that the Vicar of a small country parish would have no idea of the right service for such an occasion, nor would he believe it was necessary.

  There were, as far as he was concerned, no ghosts at the castle and he had never seen nor heard of one.

  There had been of course servants who had complained that they were frightened at night, especially in or around the Norman Tower. If they heard noises, the Marquis was quite certain that it was bats.

  If they saw dark figures it was doubtless a stable boy waiting to pounce on a pretty girl when she came out of the back door.

  What he was dealing with, where Locadi was concerned, was very different indeed.

  He did not suppose that any of Flora’s herbs would be a viable antidote that could prevent Locadi forcing him to think of her.

  Nor would they stop her from being perpetually in his dreams.

  He arrived back at the castle just a few minutes before it was time for luncheon and again Mrs. Bowles had produced a delicious meal.

  It was only when he was drinking his coffee and was told that Miss Flora had arrived that he felt guilty. For the first time it struck him that he might have invited her to luncheon.

  He certainly did not want to emulate his father who disliked people coming into the castle and kept them away if he possibly could.

  Equally as he had surmised earlier, he had no wish to encourage this girl to be aware of him as a man.

  He would have been very stupid indeed if he had not known how easy it was for women to be attracted to him, not just on account of his title but because he was extremely good-looking.

  Locadi was not the only beauty who had stalked him and there were indeed a number of others to whom he had succumbed or had avoided because they had not attracted him.

  He understood, without being conceited, what happened when he entered a ballroom. A great number of women would look at him as if they were longing for him to be aware of their attractions.

  Since he was twenty years old the debutantes of families of equal standing to his own had been paraded before him like foals at a Newmarket Spring sale.

  ‘For the moment,’ the Marquis told himself, ‘I have finished with women completely and utterly. Locadi has shown me how dangerous they can be, and I am not such a fool as to need to learn the same lesson twice!’

  He was however very conscious of the fact that he was not yet rid of Locadi – she would not easily give up the chase.

  She also possessed a weapon against which, at the moment, he could muster no defence.

  ‘I will not think about her. I will keep her out of my thoughts and out of my life!’ He almost spoke the words aloud.

  As he walked out of the dining room, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he heard her laugh!

  Flora was waiting for him in the attractive blue drawing room which was used when there were only a few people in the house.

  The curtains and covers were blue and over the mantelpiece hung a magnificent portrait. It was of the third Earl as a boy, dressed in a blue satin suit. It was especially prized by the family, and the Marquis had loved it ever since he had been small.

  He remembered asking his mother if he could wear a blue suit too.

  She had smiled as she replied,

  “You will be laughed at, darling, if you wear a satin suit like that at your age. But if I can persuade your father to give you a fancy dress party at Christmas, then you shall have one.”

  The Marquis had looked forward to it, but his father had refused to entertain the idea and the party had never taken place.

  Now as he entered the room he saw Flora looking up at t
he blue boy.

  She was such an attractive sight as she stood there.

  It passed through the Marquis’s mind that most women when they were waiting for him watched the door as they were not interested in anything else.

  “I see you are admiring the blue boy,” he declared as he walked towards her.

  “He is so beautifully painted,” she answered, “and I am always sorry that when he grew up he had an exceedingly unhappy marriage.”

  “So you know about that.”

  “Of course,” she answered. “I have read your family history. It would have been very strange to live next door and not be interested in all the fascinating accomplishments of the Wyns over the centuries.”

  “I suppose I should be gratified that you have taken so much interest in us,” the Marquis remarked.

  “I was an only child, as you were,” Flora replied, “and I therefore made companions of the children I read about in books and the blue boy was one of them.”

  “So you too found it lonely to be an only child, but I am sure your home was a happy one.”

  “Very happy. Yet because my father and mother were so absorbed in each other, I often felt a little unwanted and that was when I would retreat into the garden or the woods.”

  She did not need to say any more as the Marquis knew exactly what she meant.

  She had believed that there were elves digging under the trees. There were nymphs in the pools, and the red squirrels and the rabbits were her companions because she had no one else.

  Before he could speak Flora looked at him and said,

  “So you did the same?”

  She was reading his thoughts again and the Marquis could not lie.

  “I was exceedingly unhappy after my mother died, and in the holidays the horses, the dogs and of course the woods made up for the lack of boys of my own age.”

  He felt as he spoke that he was being too familiar with someone he hardly knew.

  But Flora replied,

  “I know exactly what you felt and if I ever marry I shall have a very large family so that none of them will ever feel lonely.”

  “What do you mean, if you ever marry?” the Marquis enquired. “Surely it is something you should be thinking of doing right now.”