It flashed through her mind that he was going to strike the Marquis with it.
Then he must have pressed a secret catch for the casing fell to the floor and now the Prince was holding in his hand a swordstick, long and sharp, which glinted evilly in the light from the candelabrum.
He pointed it at the Marquis and said,
“Only when you die, as I intend you to do, my Lord Marquis, will I be avenged and justice be done.”
As he spoke he drew back his arm and lunged forward, intending to pierce the Marquis with the sharp point of the rapier in his heart.
Without thinking and without hesitating, Rocana flung herself between the two men.
“You cannot kill an unarmed m –!” she screamed.
Then, as her voice seemed to ring out, the words ended in a scream.
Her action had taken the Prince by surprise and it was too late for him to lower his weapon.
Instead the point of the deadly rapier pierced the top of Rocana’s arm at exactly the height, if she had not thrown herself forward, that it would have entered the Marquis’s chest.
Then, as she collapsed onto the floor, the Marquis moved for the first time since the Prince had attacked him.
He hit him hard on the point of the chin with the strength and timing of the experienced pugilist.
As the Prince fell backwards onto the polished floor, the Marquis picked him up in his arms and flung him through the half open window out into the garden.
Then, as he fell followed by the shattered glass, the Marquis without watching turned and knelt down beside Rocana.
*
It seemed to Rocana that she was coming back on wave upon wave of darkness towards a very faint light.
Far away, as if from another world, she heard a voice say,
“Drink this!”
It was too much effort to disobey and she could feel the rim of a glass against her lips and a liquid tipped into her mouth and trickling down her throat.
It was strong and fiery and, although she tried to turn her head and refuse it, the voice urged her again,
“Drink! It will make you feel better!”
“She’s coming round, my Lord,” she heard another voice remark. “Her Ladyship’s only fainted.”
Then some of the darkness faded and Rocana could feel a burning sensation in her breast.
For some reason she could not understand she did not want to open her eyes and she was afraid.
Then the Marquis’s voice with a note in it that was different from what she had heard before said,
“Wake up, Rocana, wake up!”
Because she felt she had to do what he said, she opened her eyes and found he was bending over her, his face near to hers.
For a moment it was hard to focus her eyes.
Then she asked,
“Are – you – all – right?”
“I am all right, thanks to you. And now I am going to carry you upstairs. The doctor will be here as quickly as possible.”
“The – doctor?” Rocana murmured.
Then she remembered what had happened.
She thought she gave a little cry, but it was little more than a murmur and she asked again,
“You are – all right?”
“You were the only person he hurt,” the Marquis said quietly.
He lifted her very gently up in his arms and, as he did so, Rocana had a quick glimpse of a crimson stain on her chest.
Then she was aware that her shoulder was covered with napkins from the dining room table.
She wanted to ask questions and to know how badly she was wounded.
Then it somehow did not seem to matter and the strength of the Marquis’s arms was very comforting.
*
It was many hours later before Rocana could think clearly.
She awoke from a sleep that she knew had been induced by something the doctor had given her to drink, and which had rendered her unconscious while he examined her shoulder.
She was now aware that she was in her own bed and her arm, which had been properly bandaged was in a sling.
She was wearing a nightgown, although she had no recollection of being undressed.
It suddenly struck her that perhaps the wound the Prince had inflicted on her might result in the loss of her arm.
She gave a little cry and, as she did so, there was somebody beside her and she thought it must be Marie.
Still without opening her eyes she asked in a whisper,
“They – they will not – take my arm – off?”
“No, no, of course not!”
It was the Marquis who replied and, as she opened her eyes, she found him bending over her.
She was so surprised to see him because she realised that the only light in the room came from a candle by the bed.
She could see the white frill of his nightshirt above the velvet robe he was wearing and knew it must be night and he should be asleep.
“You only have a flesh wound,” the Marquis said quickly, “although it will hurt you and be uncomfortable. I am very grateful to you, Rocana, for saving my life.”
“He – intended to – kill you!”
“He is mad!” the Marquis said. “If it is any satisfaction to you, he will be suffering far worse than you are and I hope it cools him down, the hot-blooded fool!”
The way the Marquis spoke made Rocana want to laugh, but it was too much effort.
Whatever the doctor had given her made her feel rather stupid and as if her brain was filled with cotton wool.
“I-I am – glad I – saved – you – ” she said weakly and fell asleep.
*
When Rocana woke again it was morning and Marie was tidying the room.
The sun was coming through the window and there was a huge basket of white orchids beside her bed.
“Are you awake, madame?” Marie asked. “I am sure you would like me to tidy you, wash your face and bring you something to eat.”
“I-I am – thirsty.”
Marie brought her a cool drink of limes that was sweet with honey and refreshing.
As her mouth was dry Rocana drank thirstily, then was aware that her shoulder was hurting her.
Marie knew by the expression on her face what she was feeling and she said,
“The doctor will be here later to change your bandages, madame. He will be very pleased that you have slept so well.”
“I am still – sleepy.”
Rocana knew it was the drugs, or whatever he had given her that made her want to slip away again into oblivion.
Marie, however, insisted on washing her face and hands and arranging her hair.
It was still dressed in the elegant curls in which she had worn it last night and Marie brushed it so that it fell on either side of her face nearly to her waist.
She tied it with little bows of blue ribbon which matched the curtains on the bed.
The doctor came and after he had examined her wound, telling Rocana to look in the opposite direction, he said in the way that only a Frenchman could have done,
“Because you are very beautiful, Madame la Marquise, and also very strong and healthy, your wound will heal quickly and I do not think you will have a fever.”
“Will it leave a – very ugly – scar?”
“I think not,” the doctor replied, “and anyway, it will only be a tiny white mark on the perfection of your skin, which your husband will consider a decoration for bravery!”
This was a way in which she knew no English doctor would have spoken and she smiled at the bearded Frenchman as he kissed her hand and said,
“You are very brave, madame, and I am very honoured to be allowed to treat anybody so lovely!”
When he had gone the Marquis, as Rocana hoped he would, came to see her and Marie left the room.
The Marquis looked down at her.
Then he sat on the side of the bed and took her hand in his.
“How are you feeling?”
“All right – t
hank you – and the doctor tells me the scar will not be – very ugly.”
“How could you have done anything so brave?” the Marquis asked in a strange voice.
“I-I did not – think what I was – doing,” Rocana replied. “I only knew it was – wrong of the Prince to attack you when you were unarmed.”
“If you had not interfered, his swordstick would undoubtedly have pierced me in the heart,” the Marquis sighed.
His fingers tightened on hers as he added,
“I was wondering how I could prevent him from killing me when you saved me!”
“I am so glad, so very very glad I did so. How could you – of all people – die like that?”
“Am I so special?”
“Of course you are! You are so – magnificent – always the winner, the victor! It would have been an – ignominious death – or a crippling injury that I – cannot bear to think about!”
“I am very grateful,” the Marquis said, “but I am curious, Rocana, why you should think like that.”
“I-I just wanted to – save you,” she said in a sleepy voice.
As she spoke, she felt her eyelids closing and, although she wanted to go on talking to the Marquis, she found herself slipping away into a softness of clouds that were no longer dark, but grey.
The last thing she remembered was that he was still holding her hand in his.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I want to get up,” Rocana called out.
The nun who was arranging flowers on her dressing table turned her serene face to say,
“The doctor has promised that you shall come downstairs this afternoon for a little while. Until then, madame, you must rest.”
“I am sick of resting.”
Rocana spoke quietly to herself, not wishing to upset the nun whom the doctor had sent to nurse her.
There were two of them. One was with her at night which meant never again had she woken to find the Marquis attending to her and the other nursed her during the day.
Despite the doctor’s optimism, she had run a fever for two days, which had left her very weak.
But the wound was healing on her shoulder, she no longer had to wear her arm in a sling and there was only a bandage to show what had happened.
She watched the nun for a few minutes arranging the lovely flowers, which were brought to her bedroom every morning.
Then she asked,
“Where is Monsieur?”
“He has gone driving, madame.”
“Driving?”
“Oui, madame, I saw him leave quite early and I thought how smart he looked driving two horses that were so well-bred.”
Rocana opened her lips to ask a question, then with difficulty prevented herself from doing so.
She wanted to ask if the Marquis had been alone.
Then she was astonished at the strange feeling the thought evoked in her breast.
He may have been alone when he left the house, but doubtless he was not alone when he drove in the Bois or wherever else he was going.
For a moment she found it impossible to believe that the idea of his driving some beautiful lady as he had driven her could evoke an agonizing sensation, which she thought, was even more painful than the wound in her arm had been.
Then she admitted to herself that it was jealousy. She was jealous of any companion of the Marquis, jealous that, because she could not accompany him, he had somebody else to talk to, somebody else who would make him laugh.
‘How can I – possibly feel like – this?’ she asked and suddenly knew the answer as if it was written on the bedroom walls in letters of fire.
She loved him!
Of course she loved him.
How could she have been so foolish as to think that her ridiculous idea that they should be friends would last for long?
She knew now she had loved him long before she met him, when she had listened to the stories that were whispered about him and which now were inspired by envy and jealousy but also by an undoubted admiration.
It was because, as she had thought herself, he was superhuman, a man who was different from every other man.
‘I love him!’ she told herself and knew how hopeless it was.
Perhaps after vanquishing the Prince, he was again seeing the beautiful red-headed, green-eyed Princess.
Alternatively, if that had been dismissed as too dangerous an adventure, there would doubtless be dozens of other beauties to take her place.
Every story she had heard about the Marquis in the past and the women who had loved him so frantically that they had even killed themselves for him or died of a broken heart seemed to taunt her.
As she lay back against the pillows in the beautiful room with its painted ceiling, she thought that without the Marquis she might just as well be sleeping in a garret for all the pleasure it gave her.
‘I want to be with him, I want to talk to him,’ she murmured.
She felt as if the sun had ceased to shine and she was encompassed by the same darkness that had covered her when the Prince’s swordstick pierced her shoulder.
After luncheon while there was still no sign of the Marquis, Marie came to help her out of bed.
She dressed her, amid cries of admiration from the nun, in one of the prettiest gowns in Caroline’s trousseau.
It was white, but decorated with row upon row of real lace and ribbons of the blue of the sky outside, which still seemed to Rocana to be as dark as if it was raining.
When she was dressed, the nun announced,
“I am now going to say goodbye, madame.”
“Goodbye?” Rocana asked in surprise.
“You no longer need my services and may I say it has been a great pleasure and a privilege to be with you.”
Rocana thanked the nun and because she had nothing else to give her insisted on her taking back to the Convent one of the baskets of orchids that stood in her bedroom.
The nun was delighted to have something to share with the other sisters and promised that they would all pray for her.
“We will pray for your happiness, madame,” she smiled, “and that one day God will bless your marriage with children as beautiful and handsome as you and Monsieur!”
Because Rocana thought it was something that would never happen, she had difficulty in replying.
Finally, after the nun had said goodbye, she let Marie put the finishing touches to her hair, then rose slowly to her feet.
“My legs feel as if they are made of jelly!” she exclaimed.
“That is how I thought you would feel,” a voice came from the doorway.
She gave a start as the Marquis came further into the room.
He was looking, she thought, more magnificent than usual and she found herself staring at him.
She felt that because he was there the sunshine was flooding in through the windows and he seemed as he walked towards her to be enveloped in light.
He was smiling as he said,
“As unfortunately none of my horses are clever enough to climb the stairs, you must allow me to take their place and carry you down to the salon.”
Rocana felt her heart give a little leap of excitement before she managed to say,
“I-I hope I will not be – too heavy for you.”
The Marquis did not reply. He merely picked her up in his arms and she felt herself quiver at the strength and comfort of them and because she was so close to him.
Now it was impossible to find anything to say and, although she wanted to ask him where he had been, now that he was back it did not seem to matter anymore.
He carried her slowly and carefully down the stairs and once they had crossed the hall, he set her down outside the salon and then said,
“There is a surprise waiting for you inside.”
“A surprise?”
“Somebody whom I think you will be glad to see!”
When Rocana realised that they were not to be alone, she felt not only disappointed but also annoyed.
; There was, however, no time to reply for a footman opened the door and there was nothing she could do but walk into the salon.
There were two people at the far end of it and for a second Rocana could not look at them in her resentment at their being there.
But, as a woman ran towards her, she cried out,
“Caroline!”
Then Caroline’s arms were round her and she was kissing her as she said,
“Rocana, it is wonderful to see you, and so very very kind of the Marquis to bring us here.”
‘So that is where he went!’ Rocana thought.
Suddenly she felt as if the whole room was alight with sunshine.
Then Patrick was kissing her cheek and they were both talking at once.
“How can we ever thank you?”
“It is all due to you that we are here!”
“Everything is so wonderful!”
“And – you are married?” Rocana asked when she could make herself heard.
“Of course we are married!” Caroline replied.
“Patrick had it all arranged. And, dearest Rocana, the Marquis has been telling us that he is quite sure that neither Mama nor Papa has the slightest idea of what has happened!”
“They will undoubtedly have a shock,” Patrick chimed in, “but because your husband has promised to take all the blame upon himself, when we do go home there will be nothing to make Caroline afraid.”
Rocana looked at the Marquis for an explanation and he said in his dry voice with the little twist of his lips that she knew so well,
“I have said that I will speak to your uncle first and tell him that it was entirely my fault that he was deceived. I will tell him the story which you invented.”
“Will you really do that?” Rocana asked.
“He has said he will,” Caroline interposed before the Marquis could reply, “and we are so eternally grateful.”
Then there was so much to talk about, so much to hear and Rocana could only think how lovely Caroline looked because she was so happy.
Caroline and Rocana drank tea, but the Marquis and Patrick preferred champagne, and, of course, they were talking about horses.
Then before Rocana had learnt half of what she wanted to know, Patrick looked at his watch.
“As we don’t wish to miss our train,” he said, “I am afraid we must leave.”
The Unbreakable Spell Page 13
