AUTHOR’S NOTE
There is no doubt that when people become blind they often have a perception that is not given to people who are still using their eyes.
This was well known to the ancient Egyptians who depicted on their statues the Third Eye in the centre of their foreheads.
Amongst the Ancients the eye had always been of tremendous importance.
It was Edgar Allan Poe, the American Poet who wrote,
“The eyes are the windows of the soul.”
This was, however, known right back in the ancient times when it was believed that the eye receives and reflects the intelligence of thought and the warmth of sensibility.
It is the sense of the mind and the tongue of understanding.
The millionaire businessman who built Port Sunlight, the late Lord Leverhulme once told me, ‘to all applicants asking for employment, my first attention is given to the eye.’
In modern times we have lost the art of using our third eye or our perception in knowing whether people are right or wrong, lying or telling the truth.
Hindu sacred legends revered the eye and believed that the Gods could look into a man’s soul through the eye.
Josephine de Beauharnais, when Napoleon Bonaparte was trying to marry her, said,
‘His searching glance has something singular and inexplicable which imposes even on our Directors. Judge if it may not intimidate a woman.’
Napoleon himself agreed with this and said, ‘I have seldom drawn my sword. I won my battles with my eyes not with my weapons.’
Napoleon’s eyes were reported to be steady and flickerless even to the end of his very long life.
We are told too that the Indian Emperor Akbar who achieved the most astonishing success in building up and retaining a very large Empire had a powerful personality and possessed most distinguished eyes.
The Jesuit missionaries who visited his Court described them as being ‘vibrant like the sea in sunshine’.
What therefore could be more powerful than a glance of love between two people when it comes from their hearts?
CHAPTER ONE
1878
Ursa walked in through the front door.
She thought how quiet the house was now that her father was away.
She was used to finding him waiting for her in his study.
Now instinctively she went down the corridor as if he was still there.
Matthew Hollington was one of the acknowledged linguists of the century.
His library was filled with books written in practically every language in the world and some of them were very old.
He had found them himself in obscure Monasteries, in ancient castles and even, to his delight, in Oriental Bazaars.
Because Ursa was always with him and he had no son, he had taught her many of the languages.
She had become almost as proficient as he was in knowing if a book or document was genuine or a fake.
As she went into the study, she thought again how lonely it seemed when he was not at home.
He had gone to Amsterdam for a short visit.
Some scholars there had received documents from the Dutch East Indies, which they were finding it hard to decipher without his excellent help and advice.
“Are you taking me with you, Papa?” Ursa had asked.
He shook his head.
“It is not worth it, my dearest, and you would be terribly bored with the people I am staying with. They are all old and obsessed by their own particular interests.”
Ursa was disappointed.
At the same time she knew that her father was thinking of her interest.
Sometimes they had gone on very exciting journeys, but there were others that were incredibly dull.
She had said to him before he went,
“Hurry home, Papa, for I shall miss you. All the same I have a great deal to do in the garden and I will exercise your horses as well as mine.”
Her father had laughed.
“I am quite certain you will do that! Take care of yourself, my dearest, and I promise to be back as quickly as I can.”
Because he talked of being away for only a week, Ursa had not thought to ask anyone to come and stay with her in his absence.
She knew that many of her friends would be glad to do so.
But they talked so much that she would not have time to do all the things she wanted to.
Hollington Hall was a beautiful Queen Anne house and Ursa’s mother had made it a real period piece.
It was the delight of many connoisseurs.
She had always insisted that her daughter rather than the servants cleaned the very valuable china and mended the tapestry chairs.
“If you want something done well,” she had said to Ursa, “you have to do it yourself.”
Ursa knew when her mother died that this was absolutely true.
She went into the study.
Upstairs there was some mending to be done in her mother’s room.
The curtains were those originally hung when the house was built. They were in consequence so precious that it would have been a crime to let anybody less experienced touch them.
She looked around the study and then tidied her father’s desk.
She lovingly touched the gold inkpot.
It had been a present from the King of Italy in gratitude for the work he had done at his Palace.
“The place was in chaos when I went there,” her father had told her, “but I managed to have everything properly documented and I only hope they will not mess it up again.”
Ursa had not been with him while he was at the Palace, but joined him later.
They had afterwards spent a delightful time in the South of Italy before they returned to England.
She was wishing that she could be with her father now.
Even if the people were dull, it would be stimulating just to be in Amsterdam.
She hoped that he would soon have another more interesting invitation and that she would be able to accompany him.
As she opened the door of the study, to her surprise she heard voices in the hall.
She wondered who could be calling, maybe if it was a friend they would wish to stay for tea.
That, she thought, would prevent her from getting on with the work that was waiting for her upstairs.
She walked down the corridor and met Dawson, the manservant, who had been with them ever since she had been born.
“Who is it, Dawson?’’ she asked before he reached her.
“It’s her Ladyship, Miss Ursa,” Dawson replied.
Ursa looked at him questioningly.
He realised that she did not understand and added,
“Miss Penelope – Lady Brackley.”
“I don’t believe it!” Ursa exclaimed.
Her sister Penelope had been married three years ago to Lord Brackley.
He was a distinguished Peer who spoke frequently in the House of Lords on Foreign Affairs.
Their father had met him on one of his trips abroad and on his return Lord Brackley had called to see him at Hollington Hall.
He had then met Penelope who was just nineteen at the time.
He had fallen in love with her, but he had been diffident in his courtship.
He had at first thought that the difference in their ages was too considerable for them to be happy.
This had made Penelope all the keener to marry him.
She had always been extremely bored with her father’s obsession with languages.
She wanted a Social life, which was not available in the country.
Because she was so insistent, her father had somewhat reluctantly arranged for her to be presented at Court by a distant cousin.
He had
also allowed her to have a Season in London with the same cousin as chaperone.
Penelope had loved every minute of it and it had made her determined to marry someone of status.
She wanted to be part of the glittering Social world that centred round the Prince of Wales.
When she came home, she talked of nothing but her visit to Marlborough House and all the other important houses she had been invited to.
Unfortunately the cousin who had chaperoned her did not seem inclined to invite her to stay on longer.
Penelope therefore had been forced to come back to the country and sulked.
She was bored with everything, even with hunting with a not very impressive pack of hounds.
Ursa was perfectly happy as long as she could ride the excellent horses her father had bought for his daughters.
The friends they had locally seemed to her delightful and she eagerly accepted their invitations.
Penelope however looked down on them and talked of nothing but London.
When Lord Brackley visited her father, he seemed to her like a ‘Knight of Romance’ come to rescue her.
She sparkled for him and looked so lovely as she did so.
It was hardly surprising that, although he was over forty, he fell in love.
He had been married before, but the marriage had not been a success and there were no children.
When he left Hollington Hall, he found it impossible to forget Penelope.
He sent an invitation to Matthew Hollington, asking him to his house in London to give his opinion on an old book that he had just discovered.
He also invited Penelope.
Because Matthew Hollington had never envisaged his daughter marrying someone so much older than herself, he therefore thought it unnecessary for her to accompany him.
Penelope had nearly gone mad at the thought that she might be left behind.
Both her father and Ursa were astonished at how belligerent she became on the subject.
Of course she got her own way.
After the visit to London, Lord Brackley started to call at the house on one pretext after another.
Finally Penelope won.
He proposed to her on his knees in the garden.
She accepted him with an eagerness that was certainly to him very flattering.
Penelope insisted that they should be married in London at St. George’s Church, Hanover Square.
“But you were christened in our Parish Church,” Ursa objected, “and everybody in the village will want to see you as a bride.”
“I am not interested in what the villagers want!” Penelope snapped. “Arthur’s friends will want to be present at his wedding and St. George’s is the most fashionable Church in London.”
Ursa knew that there was no point in arguing over the matter, especially as Penelope went on,
“You will be one of my bridesmaids and, as Arthur has a number of female cousins, who are all very important, I must have them too.”
They went to London before the wedding so that Penelope could buy her trousseau.
Many distinguished people in London had heard of Matthew Hollington and were impressed by his reputation as a gifted linguist.
But Lord Brackley’s friends and those Penelope wished to meet, who all had titles, were interested only in entertaining in the Royal manner.
Penelope walked up the aisle on her father’s arm wearing a glittering tiara that belonged to the Brackley family.
She was followed by ten bridesmaids, all of whom, with the exception of Ursa, had titled parents.
As soon as Penelope and Lord Brackley had left on their honeymoon, Matthew Hollington and Ursa went back to the country.
“It’s so nice to be home, Papa,” Ursa enthused.
“Do you mean that?” he asked. “Or are you, too, my dearest, aching for the glittering lights and a husband who wears a coronet?”
He spoke with a twinkle in his eyes, but Ursa replied quietly,
“When I marry, Papa, I want to be in love, as you and Mama were.”
Her father put his arm around her.
“That is what I hope you will find, my dearest,” he said. “Real love is the most wonderful feeling in the world.”
He kissed the top of his daughter’s head and said,
“Because I believe in Fate, I am absolutely sure that one day you will find the right man and not end up with second best, however dazzlingly he may glitter.”
Ursa knew exactly what he was saying and she kissed him before she said,
“I am certain you are right, Papa. In the meantime, I am more than happy to be with you.”
She knew her father was pleased by what she had said.
She also knew that now they had lost Penelope for good.
She had sent them postcards while she was on her honeymoon.
After that she wrote to them at Christmas, sending them useless inexpensive presents.
Ursa could not help wondering how much she spent on her distinguished friends.
As Lord Brackley was very rich, she was sure that it was a considerable sum.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Matthew Hollington asked.
He had received the following Christmas a penholder that was too small for the type of pen he wrote with.
“I am sure it will come in useful for the next bazaar, Papa,” Ursa replied.
They had both laughed.
Ursa’s presents were, she guessed, things that Penelope had received from other people, but she had no use for.
They too were kept for the local bazaar.
The letter of thanks they received from Penelope for the presents they had sent her was short and obviously written in a hurry.
In fact, as time went on, Penelope became a shadowy figure who did not seem to belong, Ursa felt, to the Hollington family.
She read about her in The Court Circular.
But it was difficult to think of her as the sister she had shared everything with as children.
That included a Nanny and a Governess.
Penelope, however, had never understood anything her father tried to teach her.
Ursa, on the other hand, found everything he told her enchanting.
Because he had a command of words he conjured up for her the Palaces of India and the snow-capped mountains of the Himalayas.
He made her see the beauty of Persia and the Pyramids of Egypt.
Now Ursa often went with him on his trips abroad.
By this time Penelope had gone to Finishing School where Ursa, when she was old enough, was to join her.
When the time came, however, Ursa had fought against the suggestion and stayed with her father.
“How could any school teach me in the same way that you do, Papa?” she asked. “You know perfectly well that you teach languages the way they should be taught, which, as you have said so often yourself, is made such a mess of by English teachers.”
Her father had given in.
Then because he thought that her Spanish was not as good as it should be, he had taken her to Spain.
After that there had been visits to France and Greece and it was very exciting when they went to Russia.
Every time they returned home it seemed to Ursa that she had learned more, not only about the language but about the people and their country that was very unlike her own.
“It has been a history and a geography lesson, as well as a lovely holiday, Papa!” she had said once.
Her father had laughed.
“That is what I thought too,” he said, “and, my dearest, how could I have a better companion to enjoy it all with?”
His voice sounded very sincere.
No one knew better than Ursa, however, that he missed her mother unbearably.
Sometimes when they went to a place where he had been before with his wife, she would see the sadness in his eyes.
She knew then how unhappy he was without her.
‘That is love,’ she told herself many times
, ‘and I can only pray that one day I will be lucky enough to find it.’
Now as she walked into the drawing room she felt that her sister was a stranger she would have to get to know all over again.
Penelope was standing in front of the mantelpiece admiring her reflection in the mirror.
When Ursa came in, she turned round and her sister realised how much she had changed.
She looked even more beautiful than she had when she lived at home.
But there was something new about her.
Ursa thought it made her very different from the sister she had known and loved for so many years.
“Oh, there you are, Ursa!” Penelope exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I had come to the wrong house!”
“It’s a long time since you have been here,” Ursa remarked.
Penelope made an impatient but at the same time very graceful movement with her hand.
“Now please don’t start reproaching me,” she said. “I have not come home before because I have been so busy with innumerable engagements I could not avoid.”
“You look so beautiful!” Ursa said in all sincerity.
“I am glad you think so,” Penelope answered. “I certainly take a great deal of trouble over myself.”
She glanced at her sister’s hair as she spoke as if she thought it was somewhat untidy and then turned again to look at her reflection in the mirror.
“I am just wondering,” she said, “if this shade of green is a little too bright.”
She was wearing a hat to match her dress trimmed with feathers.
Ursa thought it was unsuitably elaborate for the country.
However it certainly became Penelope, who had just a touch of red in her fair hair.
Her gown too was extremely elaborate and at the neck were two ropes of pearls and diamond earrings decorated her ears.
A large diamond crescent-shaped brooch was pinned to her bodice.
“You look as if you are just going to a party,” Ursa commented impulsively.
To her surprise, Penelope put out her hand.
“Come and sit down, Ursa,” she said. “I want to talk to you and I need your help.”
“My help?” Ursa exclaimed.
It was the last thing she expected her sister to say to her.
She sat down on the sofa, conscious as she did so that her gown, which she had had for some time looked shabby beside Penelope’s.
The Duke Is Deceived Page 1
