She looked up at him pleadingly.
“Please let me stay – I am frightened – very frightened at what is h-happening. Those horrible – men have been making – trouble for a long time.”
“Then I will show you where you can sleep,” Drogo said.
He walked up the next flight of stairs and, when they reached the bedrooms on the next landing, Drogo opened the door of his cousin’s room.
He put down the oil lamp as he lit the candles by the side of the bed.
Then, as he pulled back the cover, he saw that it was made up and there were clean sheets and pillowcases.
“You will be quite comfortable,” he said to Thekla, “and there is nothing here, I hope, to make you afraid.”
She made a little murmur and then moved to him to put her face against his shoulder as it had been before.
“I-I am frightened,” she murmured. “Very – very frightened!”
“I am sure that in the morning things will seem better,” Drogo said. “As you know, this sort of thing often happens on feast days.”
She did not answer, but looked up at him and he could see in the light of the candle the fear in her eyes and that her lips were trembling.
“Now you have to be brave,” he said, as if he was speaking to a child.
Then, without thinking of what he was doing, he bent his head and kissed her.
For a moment she stiffened.
Then, as if this was what she wanted, she pressed herself closer.
Because her lips were so soft, sweet and very young, Drogo went on kissing her possessively and demandingly.
Only when he raised his head did she say,
“That was – a wonderful end to – what has been a wonderful evening!”
Because there was a little lilt in her voice, Drogo kissed her again.
Then, because he felt the blood throbbing in his temples and a flame rising within him, he said,
“Get into bed, Thekla, and I will make sure that you are safe.”
Her eyes seemed to shine dazzlingly and, without saying any more, he went from the room carrying the lamp with him.
Only as he reached the landing did he realise that, although he had locked the front door, he was not certain whether or not the back door was securely bolted.
If there was to be rioting in the City, he knew only too well that there would be looters stealing everything they could.
Not only did they steal from the shops and booths, but also from any house that they were able to enter.
He went down the stairs and entered the kitchen, which was behind the dining room on the ground floor.
He found, as he had suspected, that the door was only secured by a somewhat inadequate lock.
There were, however, two bolts, one at the top and one at the bottom.
He pressed them into place and also made sure that the lower windows of the kitchen and in the dining room were securely closed.
There was another bolt on the front door that he had not noticed.
Then he went upstairs again and, entering the guest room, he undressed.
He had not thought about any night attire of his cousin’s, but the dressing gown was where he had left it lying on the chair before he went out.
Having washed, he put it on and then brushing back his hair he went towards the door.
Only as he was about to open it did he ask himself if he was behaving unchivalrously, to say the least of it, to a girl who had trusted herself to him.
Then he thought somewhat cynically that no well-brought-up young girl, however innocent she might appear would have gone out alone without realising the danger.
Especially in a City like Kozan, which was, less westernised than some other Balkan Cities.
Certainly Thekla seemed very childlike and almost ridiculously innocent.
But if she lived in the City, as she obviously did, she must be aware that to be alone for even a few minutes on the night of a feast would attract the attention of men.
‘I am being treated as a fool,’ Drogo told himself, ‘and as my wish has come true, who am I to deny it?’
He knew that having been so long without contact with a woman of any sort, he would have been inhuman if he had not desired Thekla.
Then, as he opened his door, he saw the light beneath hers and told himself that she was undoubtedly waiting for him.
He crossed the passage and opened her door.
She was in bed and her hair, which was longer than he had expected, was streaming over her naked shoulders.
Because it was hot, her body was covered only with the sheet, and he could see the outline of it very clearly as he moved across the room.
Then, as he reached the side of the bed, her face was in the light of the candle and, as he looked down at her, he saw that she was asleep.
She was looking very lovely.
In fact, with her dark lashes against the whiteness of her skin, she was so beautiful that it flashed through his mind that she was not real but part of a dream.
Then he was aware that her breasts were moving rhythmically beneath the fine linen sheet.
‘She is merely deceiving me,’ he told himself.
He went down on one knee beside the bed and bent forward to kiss her lips into wakefulness.
Then, as he looked at her face again, he was aware that she really was asleep and that there was no question of her pretending.
One arm was lying outside the sheet and her long fingers were relaxed.
He saw that her body was no longer trembling as it had been when he had held her against him.
As he lowered his head once again to kiss her, he felt as if her innocence vibrated towards him.
It told him without words that she had put her trust in him to protect her.
It was then that he knew he could not violate her.
Slowly, as if it was an agony for him to do so, he rose to his feet.
Blowing out the two candles in the small chandelier by her bed, he carried the other to guide his way as he crossed the room and opened the door.
He went out leaving her alone.
Only when he was in his own room did Drogo ask himself if he was a fool.
His whole body cried out for Thekla’s softness and her sweetness.
He was also fully aware of the way she had intrigued him.
If he was truthful, she had captivated him all the time that they had been together.
‘How can I be so idiotic as not to take her as any other man would do in the same circumstances?’ he asked himself.
He climbed into bed but, because his whole body was throbbing with his need of her, he could not sleep.
Instead he kept telling himself that if he left her untouched, another man would not be so chivalrous.
‘I am a fool, a complete and absolute fool!’ he raged as he turned first on one side, then the other.
*
It was only when dawn was breaking that Drogo finally fell into a fitful slumber and then was awoken by the sound of knocking.
At first he thought that it was just workmen hammering away at something that needed repair.
Then he knew that it was Maniu, the servant, and last night he had bolted him out.
He climbed out of bed, put on the dressing gown and walked down the two flights of stairs until he reached the kitchen.
The sun was shining through the windows and he thought that the fears and troubles of the night before had been absurdly exaggerated.
How could he believe Thekla when she said that it was too dangerous for her to go home?
Now in the light of day he felt that he could only laugh at his own stupidity.
After months of not seeing a woman or hearing a woman’s voice, how could he have refused to accept the gift the Gods had offered him and had turned away like a simpleton?
He thought of how his brother Officers, if they learned about the way that he had behaved, would laugh.
In India any white woman was ‘fair game�
� as long as she knew the rules.
In Simla, where the wives of the men serving in the plains went in the hot weather, there were always dozens of romances taking place.
They were between women who were quite prepared to break their marriage vows and men who found it intolerable in that climate to be without a woman for long.
‘Love’ was a polite word, Drogo thought, for something that was very different.
At the same time a man should be a man.
Last night he had turned away from what at that moment would have been an unbelievable joy.
It was no excuse that the woman had fallen asleep when she should have been eagerly awaiting him.
He could not believe now that Thekla would have even expressed surprise at seeing him.
He knew from experience that, when he entered a bedroom, he would find the occupant of it looking exceedingly glamorous.
She would be lying pensively against the pillow, a light beside her, ostensibly reading a book.
It was usual for her to exclaim,
“Oh! What are you – doing? You know I did not – expect you!”
It was all part of the game, another game he played, which had its dangers if a husband became jealous.
Usually, however, as far as he was concerned, it would be a happy and charming interlude in the greater game.
In this every move was unexpected, every word fraught with danger and every breath he drew might be his last.
‘Why in God’s name was I such a fool last night?’ Drogo asked himself as he entered the kitchen.
He drew back the two bolts on the door to let Maniu in.
“You lock door! Very good, Mister!” he said. “Things very dangerous. You stay in house.”
“Why dangerous? What is happening?” Drogo asked.
“Revolution start,” Maniu replied. “Many people dead! Red Marchers fire on Palace!”
Chapter Three
Drogo stared at Maniu.
“They are firing at the Palace,” he repeated below his breath and then asked, “is it really serious?”
“Very serious, sir,” Maniu replied. “Many in Army join Red Marchers.”
Drogo frowned.
The last thing he wanted at this moment was to be mixed up in a revolution.
It was essential that he should get to somewhere safe where he could relay some of the information he had obtained to London.
Maniu came into the house and shut and bolted the door behind him.
“I make breakfast, sir?” he asked.
It was then that Drogo remembered that it would be breakfast for two as Thekla was upstairs.
“Yes, make breakfast,” he said, “for two people. A friend stayed here last night.”
He left the kitchen and, walking upstairs, he decided that he must wake Thekla. He wanted to take her to where she belonged and to leave Kozan as quickly as possible.
He would require money, but he was sure that there would be enough in his cousin’s safe to take him overland into Romania.
Alternatively, as Ampula was on the coast, he would be able to find a ship to carry him down the Black Sea as far as Bulgaria or even Turkey.
He was calculating it all in his mind as he reached the door into the room where Thekla was sleeping.
He opened it without knocking, feeling sure that at this early hour she would be asleep.
He was not mistaken.
She was lying against the pillows as she had lain last night with her hair falling over her shoulders.
In the dawn light streaming in between the curtains, Drogo was aware that she was just as beautiful as he had been visualising her all through the restless hours when he could not sleep.
He pulled back the curtains to waken her.
Then, as he turned round, he saw that she was still asleep with one hand tucked under her cheek like a child.
He stood gazing at her thinking how exquisite she was.
Then he was aware that time was passing and the sooner he took her back to where she belonged the better.
Yet, because she was so lovely, he could not help dropping down on his knees and bending forward to kiss her awake.
For a moment she did not move.
He was fully aware of the softness and sweetness of her lips as he had been last night.
Then her eyes opened and she murmured drowsily,
“I was – dreaming of – you.”
“It’s time to wake up,” Drogo smiled.
Then, as if he could not help himself, he kissed her again before he rose to his feet.
“Hurry,” he urged. “I have to take you home immediately.”
“Why?” Thekla asked and her voice was still sleepy.
“As you thought last night,” Drogo replied, “a revolution has broken out and, as it may get worse, I have to take you to safety before I leave the country.”
“You – are – leaving?”
“I have to,” he replied. “As you realised when we met, I am a traveller.”
He walked towards the door.
“I will go to dress and I want you to do the same. Maniu is preparing breakfast for us.”
“How – violent is the – revolution?”
Drogo knew by the way she spoke that she was afraid.
Although he did not want to frighten her, he knew it was imperative that she should get up.
“Maniu says that they are firing on the Palace,” he replied, “but I expect you will be safe in the house where you live.”
He would have left the room as he spoke, but Thekla gave a frightened cry.
“Firing on – the Palace?” she gasped. “But Papa is – not there.”
Drogo turned back.
He saw that, as Thekla sat up to speak, she had forgotten that she had gone to bed naked.
He had a quick glimpse of two perfectly curved rose-tipped breasts, before she gave a little cry and pulled up the sheet.
Slowly Drogo walked back towards her.
“You said ‘Papa’. Do you live in the Palace? And who is your father?”
Her two hands were clutching the sheet over her breasts with her hair falling on either side of her small pointed face.
Thekla looked at him wide-eyed.
“I asked you a question,” Drogo said. “Who is your father?”
There was a perceptible pause before very softly, hardly above a whisper, she answered,
“He – he is – the King.”
Drogo seemed turned to stone.
Then, after they had just stared at each other for what seemed a long time, he asked,
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“Of course – I am – and I cannot – go back to the Palace if the – Red Marchers are – there.”
“You are the King’s daughter and yet you left the Palace last night in that extraordinary manner?”
Drogo spoke as if he was getting it straight in his own mind.
Thekla looked away from him.
“I was – so bored,” she stammered. “Papa had – gone away with my stepmother and – she would not take me – with them because she – hates me.”
Drogo sat down on the bed facing her.
“I find all this very hard to believe,” he said. “Let us start from the beginning. I know very little about Kozan and I never in my wildest dreams expected to meet a Princess swinging on a rope.”
Thekla gave a little laugh, but her eyes were still frightened.
“I could see from – my window that the workmen who had been – repairing the wall had – left their ladders and ropes – where they had been working.”
She gave him a quick glance before she went on,
“I just – wanted to see the procession and the dancing.”
“I cannot imagine anything more reprehensible,” he said. “Surely there were people looking after you in the Palace?”
“Far too – many of them,” Thekla replied. “I have two old – Ladies-in-Waiting who are always – scolding and croaking
at me – and after Mama died there was no one to talk to – except stuffy old Courtiers.”
“You tell me that your mother was English?” Drogo asked.
“She was the daughter of the Duke of Dorchester, and Papa – was allowed to marry her because her mother had been a cousin of Queen Adelaide.”
Drogo realised that this had been a concession as Royalty must marry Royalty, but Thekla went on,
“Actually, when she married Papa and fell very – much in love – with him, he was the King of Kozan’s second son and there seemed – no likelihood of his coming to the throne.”
“But your father did,” Drogo prompted.
“Yes. The Crown Prince, his elder brother, was killed in a riding accident and Papa became King twelve years ago when I was only six. After that – everything – changed.”
Thekla gave a little sigh.
“Mama often said how much she – missed our house in the country where we could do – everything we liked without all the – fuss and pomp there was in the Palace.”
“I can understand that,” Drogo said.
“But we were all very happy,” Thekla went on, “until three years – ago Mama – died.”
There was a break in her voice, which told Drogo how much this had hurt her and there was a suspicion of tears in her eyes before she continued,
“Papa was so – miserable that it did not seem – to matter when they – forced him to marry a Serbian Princess, who hated – me from the moment she – walked into the Palace.”
“It must have been very difficult for you,” Drogo said sympathetically.
“It was – misery because she – tried in every way to separate me from Papa and to – keep me – out of the few enjoyable entertainments that – did take place in the Palace.”
“So that is why you wanted to escape.”
“Of course it was! I was – furious because I wanted to go with – Papa to a carnival that was – taking place about fifteen miles away. But my stepmother refused to – allow me to do so.”
“Why did your father not insist?” Drogo enquired.
“Papa has always hates rows and scenes and the Queen loses her temper if she does not get her – own way in – everything.”
“A lot of men are like that,” Drogo remarked cynically.
A Revolution Of Love Page 4
