The Marquis Who Hated Women (Bantam Series No. 62)

by Barbara Cartland

  Nevertheless, nine months was a very long time for him not to communicate with her, unless of course he was in some obscure and isolated part of the country from which there were no posts.

  ‘Anyway, I will find out for myself,’ Shikara thought, ‘and I will persuade Papa not to allow me to be married off as Uncle Hardwin wishes.’

  She had realised that her Uncle was antagonistic towards her from the first moment she had gone to live with him.

  He liked quiet, mousy little women who agreed with every word he said, and had brow-beaten his wife into a state where she would never have dared to express an opinion that was contrary to his.

  Shikara, who was used to arguing with her father and discussing subjects about which her Uncle had no knowledge whatsoever, could not bring herself to be the inarticulate, witless creature he desired.

  He had therefore tried to crush and subdue her by every means in his power, and had only just stopped short of physical violence although he had at times come perilously near to striking her.

  She thought it would give him tremendous satisfaction to carry out his threat of beating her on the grounds that she would not obey him and marry Lord Stroud.

  That Lord Stroud had offered for her had in fact taken Shikara by surprise.

  He had often been in the house, but that was because he was a friend of her Uncle’s; and although he seemed to seek out her company at Receptions and had several times at Balls offered to take her in to supper, she had never for a moment thought of him as a suitor.

  In fact, she was convinced he was interested in no-one but himself.

  She had therefore been astonished when her Uncle had called her into his Study and informed her that Lord Stroud had asked for her hand in marriage and that he had given his consent to the union.

  “Marry Lord Stroud?” Shikara had said in astonishment. ‘I would not marry him if he were the last man on earth!”

  “You will marry him,” her Uncle had retorted, “because he is the right type of husband to keep you in order and curb your flighty and irresponsible nature. What is more, he has a position and title which any woman would be proud to share.”

  “Any woman but me!” Shikara had replied. “I am not interested in titles, and I certainly do not wish to marry a man who is almost old enough to be my grandfather!”

  She had seen the fury in her uncle’s face. Immediately they were shouting at each other, Shikara defying Sir Hardwin with a violence that hid effectively her very real sense of fear.

  She had not lived for a year in her uncle’s house without realising he was a martinet and so determined to have his own way that it was very hard for anyone to withstand the pressure he would bring upon them.

  There was no doubt, she discovered, he had made up his mind irrevocably that she would accept Lord Stroud as her husband.

  She wondered what he would do when he was informed that she had left the house and the rope was found dangling from her bed-room window.

  Then, feeling nervous that he might at the very last moment prevent her from leaving the country, she looked at the clock which she carried in her valise not once but a dozen times in the next hour.

  The train seemed to be travelling slower as they got towards Southampton, and looking out the window Shikara realised it was because there was a fog or a sea-mist.

  She was not certain which it was but it made it almost impossible to see beyond a few yards down the railway track.

  At first she felt frantic at the thought of the delay.

  Then she told herself sensibly that if she could not reach Southampton, then her uncle, if he was in pursuit of her, would not be able to get there any quicker.

  Nevertheless, it was with a great sense of relief that she found that the train was gliding into the station, although it was in fact an hour late.

  Hignet, who came to help her from the carriage, had already engaged a porter to carry her valise.

  “If you go to the entrance, Miss,” he said respectfully, ‘I’ll just see to His Lordship before I join you.”

  “Thank you,” Shikara answered.

  She realised as she stepped onto the platform that the Marquis had already alighted. He looked exceedingly elegant in a thick travelling-cloak, his hat set on his dark head at an angle which most women found attractively raffish.

  But Shikara was thinking only of her own difficulties and she realised as she reached his side that there was a slight scowl on his face as he looked at her.

  “There is no chance, I suppose, of your having second thoughts and deciding to return to London?” he asked.

  “None at all,” Shikara answered.

  “In which case I must wish you bon voyage, Miss Bartlett, and hope when you reach Egypt you will find your father in good health.”

  “Thank you very much ... thank you too for bringing me as far as this. I am very grateful to you.”

  “I have told Hignet to find you a hackney-carriage at once,” the Marquis said. “Then he can return to collect my luggage.”

  He looked, Shikara thought, rather disparagingly at her valise, which the porter was carrying.

  “Again I can only say thank you,” she said, dropping him a curtsey.

  He raised his hat as she walked away to find at the entrance to the station that Hignet with his usual efficiency had a hackney-cab waiting for her.

  “I’ve told him to go to the Royal Cumberland, Miss,” he said as he helped Shikara in.

  As she reached for her purse, he added:

  “I’ll tip the porter, Miss. I hope you have a good journey.”

  “Thank you, Hignet.”

  She smiled at the efficient little man. As the carriage moved away she felt almost as if she were leaving a friend behind.

  “Now I really am on my own,” she told herself.

  As soon as they were clear of the station she knocked to alert the driver and tell him that she wished to go first to the best jewellers in the town.

  ***

  The Marquis drove to the harbour, leaving Hignet to follow in another carriage with the luggage.

  He had instructed the Captain of his yacht to be ready to sail at any time he required—it was one of the conditions under which the Captain had been engaged.

  Now as he saw the Sea Horse he noted with pleasure that it looked ready to put out to sea as soon as the mist lifted.

  It was, however, still very thick round the harbour itself, and the Marquis, having stepped aboard and greeted the Captain and told him of his plans, drove back into the town to purchase books, newspapers, and magazines that he thought he might need on the voyage.

  As the yacht was new, he had not had time to accumulate the considerable Library which he always took with him when he went to sea.

  He enjoyed reading but found that when he was in London and even in the country there were so many other things to do that he had little time for books.

  A sea voyage was a perfect time in which to “replenish his brain” and he was pleased to find that there were on sale at the local book-shop a number of books he had for some time intended to read.

  He noted when he came from the shop that the mist, far from rising, appeared to be thicker than ever.

  ‘What we need is a wind,’ he thought.

  Then his nautical experience came to his aid and he thought it would be likely to start to blow with the turn of me tide.

  The carriage he had hired drove very slowly back to the harbour, and while his purchases were being carried on board, the Marquis had a closer look at the Sea Horse.

  Early this year the Peninsular and Oriental Line had launched the Himalaya, the new ship being an iron-screw steamer which caused all other ships to appear out-of-date.

  The Marquis had with considerable courage decided two years ago to have a yacht of the iron-screw type.

  He had seen the screw-propeller which had been introduced by the Inman Line into the European-Atlantic companies.

  The first of these ships had been iron-screw
steamers of less than two thousand tons, barque-rigged and still maintaining a full spread of canvas.

  This example was soon followed by the Germans and the French, but the English, who had endeavoured to carry on in their traditional way, were finally forced into line and produced the Himalaya, which at 3,438 tons was the largest vessel of its type in the world.

  The Marquis had ordered the Sea Horse to be built in the same ship-yard.

  It was very large for a private vessel, but he considered it well worth the expense and he expected that when he took her to Cowes in the Isle of Wight for the yacht-racing week she would cause a sensation.

  But he was in fact not so interested in impressing his friends and rivals as in travelling in comfort.

  He enjoyed the sea and he had done a number of voyages in sailing ships which most men of his class would have found far too arduous and uncomfortable.

  ‘Of one thing I am sure,’ the Marquis thought with a smile, ‘neither Hignet nor I will be able to complain of discomfort in this vessel!’

  She looked very trim with her gleaming white paint, two high auxiliary masts, and a flag flying at her stern.

  Satisfied by the outward appearance of his yacht, the Marquis went aboard and was delighted with his first sight of the Saloon.

  He had chosen the colours, the furniture, and the pictures with the same attention to detail that he gave to his houses and horses.

  Hignet was smiling as he brought him a glass of champagne, and the Marquis, seating himself in a comfortable chair, raised his glass as he said:

  “To our voyage, Hignet, and I think this ship will find us new worlds to conquer!”

  “It’s bigger than I thought, M’Lord,” Hignet replied, “and you seem to have thought of every detail.”

  “I hope I have,” the Marquis answered. “I certainly gave it a lot of serious thought.”

  He glanced towards one of the port-holes as he spoke.

  “When does the Captain think we can sail?”

  "When I last enquired, M’Lord, he hoped the mist would lift on the turn of the tide.”

  That was what the Marquis had thought himself and it was pleasant to know that he had been accurate in his surmise.

  “I will go on the bridge and speak to the Captain,” he said as he finished his glass of champagne.

  This, both he and Hignet knew, was merely an excuse for him to have a further look at the ship.

  He had seen it when it was launched, but then the furnishings were not complete, nor was the superstructure.

  However well a design had been drawn or the plans executed, there was nothing quite so satisfactory as the finished article.

  The Marquis went to the bridge, where he not only talked to the Captain but was also introduced to several members of the crew.

  There were twenty-five in all and their accommodation was much more modern and comfortable than they had encountered on any other ship on which they had served.

  They were therefore extremely complimentary about the design of the Sea Horse.

  “How soon shall we leave, Captain?” the Marquis enquired.

  “I am just waiting for some last stores to be brought aboard, My Lord, then I think we will be able to risk taking her slowly out of harbour,” the Captain replied. “I know this part of the world like the back of my hand and I am prepared to risk moving, if Your Lordship is.”

  “The sooner the better as far as I am concerned,” the Marquis replied. “But do not pile her up on a rock, Captain!”

  This was of course a joke, and the Captain laughed before he replied:

  “I am too proud of her to do that, My Lord.”

  The Marquis went below.

  Having taken off his travelling-cloak and hat and given them to Hignet, he settled himself to read the newspapers.

  He could not however prevent himself from feeling slightly excited when the engines started up and a little later he felt the ship moving slowly but smoothly out of the harbour.

  He threw down the newspapers and once again went up on the bridge.

  By the time the yacht was away down Southampton Water, the mist was dispersing and a very pale, fitful January sun had begun to peep through the clouds.

  The rest of the day the Marquis spent either on the bridge or in the Saloon, reading first the newspapers, then one of the books he had bought in Southampton.

  However, he could not help his thoughts continually going back to what had happened the night before and wondering what Lord Shangarry had thought when he visited his house in Grosvenor Square only to find that his prey had disappeared.

  The Marquis could imagine with pleasure the chagrin of Shangarry’s expression and the anger he must have felt at knowing that his hopes of a large cash settlement had disappeared like a pipe-dream.

  At the same time, he continued to feel incensed at the thought of how Inez Shangarry had deceived him.

  He was bound to admit to himself in all frankness that he had believed her protestations of affection and thought that unless she was a very much better actress than seemed possible, she had in fact been genuinely aroused by him physically.

  Yet all the time she had been plotting with her husband against him.

  It was something, the Marquis thought, he would never forgive and would find hard to forget.

  Of all the women who had pursued him and whom he had cast aside without a thought when he was tired of them, none of them had really shown themselves to be vengeful, nor as far as he knew actively hated him.

  But Inez Shangarry had been devious. She had undoubtedly enjoyed his lovemaking. No woman could have acted that part so well. Yet at the same time she had been prepared to intrigue with her husband to bleed him white.

  “Damn them!” the Marquis said angrily to himself. “Why should I go on thinking about them? I have made a fool of myself and I shall take more care in the future.”

  But he knew that although Inez Shangarry had pricked his pride and lowered his conceit in himself, it would be a long time before he would forget her.

  He hardly gave Shikara a second thought.

  He had done his best for the girl. He had brought her to Southampton, and doubtless by this time like himself she was on the high seas, setting off towards Egypt with a confidence and self-sufficiency that had something very unfeminine about it.

  ‘That is the modern girl for you,’ the Marquis reflected, ‘prepared to travel about the world alone, dispense with a man’s protective arm, and think herself independent in an almost masculine manner.’

  His thoughts continued:

  ‘She will doubtless grow into a mannish sort female of uncertain age and will end up exploring the desert on a camel or trying to turn the Bedouins into Christians!’

  Then as he remembered Shikara’s large grey eyes and fragile appearance he laughed at his own fantasy.

  ‘I suppose,’ he went on, ‘I should really have enquired what ships were sailing and sent Hignet to book a cabin for her.’

  Then he told himself it was none of his business and the last thing he wanted was to be connected in any way with an heiress whose disappearance would doubtless cause a scandal.

  “I have had my fingers burnt once,” the Marquis told himself, “and I am not putting them in the fire again.”

  During the afternoon he dozed a little and only aroused himself to repair to his large, luxurious cabin to change for dinner.

  Hignet had arranged everything to his satisfaction, and in the Sea Horse there was a private bathroom attached to his cabin, an innovation which very few private yachts had yet installed.

  The Marquis bathed, then dressed as resplendently as if he were going to dine at his Club or with a party of friends, and sat down to an excellent dinner cooked by a Chef whom he had chosen with as much care as he had chosen the Captain.

  The Marquis enjoyed food only when it was superlative and he thought with satisfaction that he had seldom tasted lobsters better prepared or quails that were roasted so exactly to his
requirements.

  There was a large choice of dishes and the Marquis did justice to most of them, while the wine, which came from a well-stocked cellar, was worthy of an epicure.

  The two stewards who waited on him were well up on their duties, and he thought as the meal finished that he had been wise in choosing experienced men who had either served aboard one of the well-known Transatlantic Liners or had been in the service of a yacht-owner as fastidious as himself.

  The dinner was cleared away and the Marquis had just picked up the book in which he had been engrossed earlier in the day when Hignet entered the Saloon.

  “Excuse me, M’Lord,” he said, “but I think I should bring something to Your Lordship’s notice.”

  “What is it?” the Marquis asked.

  He saw that Hignet was perturbed and it surprised him because usually the valet was calm and outwardly unruffled whatever happened.

  “I’d like to show Your Lordship what I’ve found, if you’ll accompany me,” Hignet said.

  Curious, the Marquis rose to his feet and Hignet led him from the Saloon down the passage towards his own cabin.

  Just before he reached it he opened the door into what the Marquis knew was a guest-cabin.

  He had fitted it out extremely attractively. There was a brass bedstead in the centre while the rest of the furniture was of extremely expensive polished rose-wood.

  The room appeared to be empty and the Marquis wondered what Hignet wished to show him. Then the valet bent down and raised the damask valance which surrounded the bed.

  “Look, M’Lord,” he said.

  The Marquis did as he was told and saw to his complete astonishment that there was someone lying in the darkness beneath the bed, someone who apparently was fast asleep.