70 A Witch's Spell

by Barbara Cartland

  “I am sure you are talking too much. Let me read to you, my Lord. It may be upsetting for you to hear what happened last week, but I have kept Wednesday’s newspapers in case you wanted to hear about the Gold Cup.”

  “I am more interested at the moment in what has been happening here,” the Marquis replied, “and I am trying to understand why your father and mother are so poor and have to skimp and save every penny when your uncle is so rich.”

  Hermia stared at him.

  Then she said,

  “You have been listening to Hickson who has been talking to Nanny! You must not believe everything he tells you.”

  “I use my eyes,” the Marquis said, “and one thing is more than obvious, your cousin Marilyn does not share her gowns with you!”

  His words made Hermia immediately conscious that the gown she was wearing was very much the same as the one he had first seen her in.

  It was three years old and in consequence too tight, too short and the colour had been almost washed out of it.

  Because she thought it was not only tactless but impertinent of him to speak in such a way, her chin went up and she asserted,

  “You may criticise, my Lord, but I promise you I would not change anything in my home for all the comforts at The Hall which are entirely material!”

  “Is what you are seeking more important than the luxuries of this world?” the Marquis asked,

  Hermia felt she might have guessed that he would not let such a statement pass and she replied,

  “You will laugh and, because you are so rich you will not understand, when I say completely truthfully that money cannot buy happiness!”

  There was silence as the Marquis stared at her and she felt once again that he was looking deep into her heart.

  “Yet I suppose that being a woman,” he said, “you would like pretty gowns, balls at which to wear them and, of course, a number of charming young men to pay you compliments.”

  Hermia laughed and it seemed to echo round the small room.

  “You are talking like Mama,” she pointed out, “who said that she was wishing I could have magical gowns, magical balls and, of course, magical horses to ride.”

  She paused and there was a dimple in both her cheeks as she added,

  “And actually that is exactly what I do have!”

  Only for a second did the Marquis look puzzled.

  Then he said,

  “You mean in your imagination!”

  Hermia thought it was quite clever of him to know that was what she meant and she gave another little laugh before she replied,

  “None of the magical things I have can be spoilt or taken away from me and they never, never disappoint me. Also, my Lord, I should add that they are very much cheaper!”

  The Marquis smiled and now it was more than a twist of his lips.

  “If I stay here very much longer,” he said, “I have a feeling I shall be caught up in these magical spells and find it impossible ever to escape.”

  “You can always run away,” Hermia said provocatively.

  She paused before she went on more seriously,

  “Perhaps a magical spell is what we must somehow give you before you leave, so that you will be safe – in case the wicked men who – attacked you once should do so – again.”

  She bent a little towards him.

  “Please – please, be very careful, my Lord. The next time they might be more successful – in their – attempt to – destroy you!”

  “If I was destroyed, I doubt if anybody would mourn me particularly,” the Marquis said, “or miss me if I was no longer there.”

  Hermia sat upright.

  “That is a ridiculous thing to say!” she said sharply. “Of course a great number of people would mourn you because they admire you for your sportsmanship and, even if they are envious, it makes them strive to better themselves.”

  She felt from the Marquis’s expression that he did not believe what she was saying and after a minute she continued,

  “I can tell you who would really miss you.”

  “Who?” the Marquis asked in an uncompromising voice.

  Hermia had not the slightest idea that he was expecting her to say, as any other woman he had ever known would have said, that she would miss him.

  “Your horses!” Hermia replied. “Nobody who rides as well as you do could fail to love animals and perhaps it is because your horses know you love them that they win so many races.”

  The Marquis did not speak and she went on reflectively,

  “That was why I was quite certain the horse you were riding when you were attacked would not have thrown you!”

  “It is certainly something I have never thought of before,” the Marquis said quietly.

  “Well, think about it,” Hermia insisted, “and be careful, if for nobody else’s sake, for the horses who are waiting in your stables and longing for you to visit them again.”

  The Marquis was just about to reply when the door of the bedroom opened and the Earl came in.

  He seemed very large and overpowering in the small room and, as Hermia hastily rose to her feet, he looked at her, she thought, somewhat critically.

  “Good morning, Uncle John!” she said and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Good morning, Hermia!” the Earl replied. “And how is your patient today?”

  “As you can see he is very much better,” Hermia said, “and Mama is very pleased with him.”

  “Good!” the Earl exclaimed. “That means with the doctor’s permission we can take him back to The Hall.”

  Hermia wanted to expostulate, but quickly bit back the words.

  Instead she said,

  “I expect you would like to talk to his Lordship alone and Dr. Grayson has insisted that he should not have more than one visitor at a time.”

  She went towards the door and, when she reached it, she turned to ask,

  “Is there anything I can bring you, Uncle John? A cup of coffee or perhaps a glass of port?”

  As she mentioned the port, she suddenly felt afraid her uncle would be aware that it was his own port that she was offering him.

  Only last night, when Hickson was serving their dinner in the dining room, as he poured some excellent claret into the Vicar’s glass, he had said,

  “I thought, sir, you’d like a glass of port tonight and I’ve filled up the decanter.”

  “That sounds an excellent idea, Hickson!” the Vicar replied.

  Then, as he saw the expression on his wife’s face, he added,

  “But I hope you had his Lordship’s permission to bring the wines from The Hall.”

  “I’m sure ’is Lordship would want my Master to have what he’s used to and what ’e’d be drinkin’ if ’e were there,” Hickson answered. “But ’e doesn’t like drinkin’ alone and tells me while ’e were ’aving ’is meal, I was to serve it to you, sir.”

  Hickson spoke somewhat aggressively and Hermia suspected that in fact the Marquis had said nothing of the kind.

  He had probably assumed that the Vicar would have wine with his meals just as he did.

  He would have no idea that, as far as the Vicarage was concerned, wine was a treat they could only afford on special occasions, such as Christmas, birthdays or when they entertained which was practically never.

  However the Earl now replied,

  “I want nothing, thank you, Hermia.”

  She closed the door and ran downstairs hoping fervently that her uncle would not say anything to upset her father.

  She knew, however, that her father did enjoy such luxuries.

  Because she was thinking of him, almost as if she had conjured him up, he came through the front door, shaking his hat because it had been raining.

  “I see John is here,” he remarked.

  Hermia was aware that the Earl’s smart phaeton, drawn by two well-bred horses with two men on the box, was waiting on the drive outside.

  “Yes, he is talking to the Marquis, Papa, and has only b
een here a short while. So I should wait a minute or two before you join them, because Dr. Grayson said his Lordship was still to be kept as quiet as possible.”

  “I shall miss him when he goes,” the Vicar remarked, walking into the sitting room. “When I was talking to him yesterday, I realised that he is a very intelligent man.”

  “I thought so too,” Hermia replied.

  It came into her mind that, as the Marquis was intelligent, he would find Marilyn if he married her, a bore.

  She never read a book, was not interested in the political situation nor in anything that did not concern her social life.

  Then Hermia told herself she was being unkind and that Marilyn would make the Marquis a most agreeable wife and would certainly look very pretty and graceful at the head of his table.

  ‘I am sure they are well suited to each other,’ she tried to convince herself, but knew it was not the truth.

  “Where is your mother?” the Vicar asked.

  It was a very familiar question to Hermia because her father and mother missed each other if they were apart for even an hour or so during the day.

  It was therefore the first thing each of them asked as soon as they returned home.

  “Amongst other people, she has gone to see Mrs. Buries,” Hermia answered, “She has been very bad the last few days because she is worrying over Ben.”

  “He is always a worry,” the Vicar remarked, “but that is nothing unusual.”

  Hermia was aware that Mrs. Buries was terrified in her muddled mind that Ben would be in trouble because he had helped the men who had assaulted the Marquis.

  She had said nothing to her father and now changing the subject, she asked,

  “Who have you seen today, Papa?”

  “As usual the men, who are getting more and more desperate because they cannot find work,” the Vicar replied. “I shall have to speak again to John, but God knows if he will listen to me!”

  As he spoke, he heard the Earl coming heavily down the stairs.

  The Vicar walked from the sitting room out into the hall to say,

  “Nice to see you, John! As you can see our patient is perking up and looking like his old self again.”

  “He certainly seems to be full of new ideas,” the Earl remarked.

  He did not go out through the open front door as Hermia would have expected, but walked into the sitting room and the Vicar followed him.

  The Earl stood with his back to the fireplace and there was a frown between his eyes before he said,

  “Deverille and I were discussing the unemployment problem before I left him to be half-murdered at the instigation of his cousin.”

  “The unemployment problem?” the Vicar repeated in surprise.

  “He was speaking about it again just now,” the Earl went on, “and he is convinced that I should build a new timber yard, because there is a great demand for wood now that the war is over.”

  Hermia, listening, held her breath.

  She could hardly believe that she was actually hearing what her uncle was saying.

  “I find it difficult,” the Earl continued, “not to follow up his suggestion. But as I have no time and as this is something that will employ a good number of those layabouts with whom you are so concerned, Stanton, I am going to leave it to you!”

  “Leave it to me?” the Vicar ejaculated.

  Hermia knew that her father was as stunned as she was by what the Earl had just said.

  “That is what I said,” the Earl answered, “and you had better get on with it. Employ whom you like and as many as you like, but I shall expect the place to show a profit or at least to break even within two or three years. Then we shall decide whether it is worth keeping it going.”

  The Vicar gave a deep sigh before he said,

  “I can only thank you, John, from the bottom of my heart.”

  “Well, don’t trouble me with the details,” the Earl answered, “and make all the financial arrangements with my accountant. I will tell him to come down from London to see you.”

  With that and as if he resented his own generosity, the Earl walked from the sitting room, while his brother, finding it hard to believe he was not dreaming, followed him.

  Hermia clasped her hands together and knew that this was the Marquis’s way of showing his gratitude.

  Then, feeling that she must tell him what it meant and how amazing it was, she ran from the room up the stairs to his bedroom.

  She went in, closed the door behind her and stood for a moment just looking at him lying in the bed.

  He did not appear for the moment to be either cynical or bored and this in a way made her feel shy.

  Nor for that matter did he seem like the stranger who, looking like the Devil, had dared to kiss her and whom she had hated!

  As she did not speak, the Marquis turned his head and she ran forward to kneel down beside the bed.

  “How can you have done – anything so – marvellous as to persuade Uncle John to open a timber yard?” she gasped. “It was wonderful – wonderful of you! And it will make Papa so – very happy!”

  “And you,” the Marquis questioned. “I see it has made you happy too.”

  “Of course it has and I know that Mama will go down on her knees and thank God, as I am – thanking you.”

  There were tears in her eyes as she looked at him and after a moment the Marquis said in his usual mocking manner,

  “As you are so effusive over a timber yard, I wonder what you would say if I offered you a diamond necklace?”

  Because his remark was so unexpected, Hermia sat back on her heels and laughed.

  “At the moment I would rather have a timber yard for Papa than anything in the world! Although I cannot wear it round my neck, I feel very very proud that – perhaps what I – said to you made you – persuade Uncle John to do something for the men who – cannot find work.”

  The Marquis looked at Hermia, but he did not speak.

  Then the door opened and Mrs. Brooke came into the room.

  She was looking very pretty with her hair, which was nearly the same colour as her daughter’s, a little untidy because she must have taken off her bonnet as she came upstairs.

  She was holding it in her hand and now her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining as she said,

  “I expect Hermia has already thanked you, as I am going to do.”

  “I think your husband should do that,” the Marquis replied. “But please sit down, Mrs. Brooke, I want to talk to you.”

  Hermia rose to her feet as if she felt she should go away, but the Marquis said,

  “You must stay, Hermia, because this concerns you.”

  He sounded serious and Hermia looked at him apprehensively wondering what he might be going to say.

  A little nervously, in case he revealed something that her mother did not already know, she sat down on a chair.

  Pushing himself up higher against his pillows, the Marquis said,

  “I have been thinking since I have been lying here what present I could give you as a family for all your kindness.”

  “We want nothing,” Mrs. Brooke said quietly.

  “That is what I might have expected you to say,” the Marquis replied, “but I have a fixed rule in my life that I always pay my debts.”

  He paused and then added sourly,

  “Unlike some people!”

  Hermia thought he was referring to Roxford de Ville.

  “I am only so glad that we have been able to do anything to help you,” Mrs. Brooke said.

  “I still, as it happens, value my life very highly,” the Marquis answered, “and, as Hermia is responsible for my being alive, I would, of course, in normal circumstances have sent her a very expensive piece of jewellery to express my gratitude.”

  Mrs. Brooke would have spoken, but he went on quickly,

  “Instead I have another idea which I hope will meet with your approval and, as it happens, I know it will mean that one of your wishes will come t
rue.”

  Hermia, who was watching him as he spoke, felt it hard to breathe as he continued,

  “I have decided that what I will give Hermia is a few weeks in London until the Season ends.”

  Mrs. Brooke gave a little gasp and stared at the Marquis incredulously as he continued,

  “I have a sister, Lady Langdon, who is a widow and who has been alone and unhappy since her husband was killed at the Battle of Waterloo. I know it would give her great pleasure to chaperone Hermia and introduce her to the Social world.”

  He gave a twisted smile before he added,

  “She also, I believe, has very good taste in gowns and would be delighted to find herself in the role of Hermia’s Fairy Godmother!”

  “It is – impossible!” Mrs. Brooke gasped. “Something we could not accept!”

  “Nothing is impossible,” the Marquis contradicted, “except that you should refuse to let your daughter have what is best for her. And this is an opportunity that should not be missed.”

  Because this was undoubtedly true, Mrs. Brooke could not reply and the Marquis went on,

  “I will give a small ball for Hermia at my house in London and my sister will make sure that she is invited to all those that take place before the Season ends. So there is only one thing we must do now.”

  “And what is that?” Mrs. Brooke asked and her voice seemed to come from very far away.

  “We must get Hermia to London by the beginning of the week,” the Marquis said. “There is not much of the Season left because the Prince Regent will soon be leaving for Brighton and after that a great number of people will shut up their houses and go to the country.”

  Again he smiled as he added,

  “Therefore it is now up to your magic to get me on my feet, Mrs. Brooke, and then the Fairy story, as far as Hermia is concerned, can start immediately!”

  “I don’t – believe what I am – hearing!” Mrs. Brooke said in a strange voice and Hermia was aware that there were tears running down her mother’s cheeks.

  *

  Only when Hermia went to bed that night, after she had talked over what the Marquis had planned with her father and mother until there seemed nothing left to say on the subject, did she go to her bedroom window and look out at the moon and the stars.

  She had thought ever since the Marquis had told them his plan that she was living in a dream and it was impossible to believe she was hearing that her prayers were about to come true.