Princes and Princesses: Favourite Royal Romances

by Barbara Cartland

  She was sure that, like her father, the Marquis’s secretary would place his letters on the desk each day.

  Nanny had told her that there was no secretary at Coombe Court when she had arrived.

  “Mr. Renolds is in London with his Lordship,” she said, “and a good thing too.”

  “Why?” Odela enquired.

  “Because I’d have had to ask his permission for you to stay here with me,” Nanny replied. “As it is I had to ask no one and when Mr. Renolds does return it’ll be too late for him to say anythin’.”

  Odela suspected, however, that Mr. Renolds would come back with his Master.

  ‘The Marquis will see this first thing,’ she assured herself, ‘and with any luck they will catch Fred Cotter before he takes the painting to London or wherever he will try to sell it.’

  She had looked at the study when she had been inspecting the house and, entering the room, she placed the letter she had written down on the blotter and no one who went to the desk could fail to see it.

  It was only then that she remembered the books that she had selected in the library.

  The servants would think it strange that Fred Cotter, before he removed the picture, had taken them from the shelves.

  Quickly she hurried back and, before she picked up the four books that she had chosen, she pulled the curtains back into place.

  Then she climbed up the stairs to her bedroom.

  Only when she had closed the door behind her did she realise that her heart was beating frantically.

  How could such a thing have happened?

  How could she have been in the library and thus enable the Marquis to retrieve the precious portrait.

  ‘There is no reason why anyone should suspect that I wrote the letter,’ she told herself.

  She climbed wearily into bed.

  As she did so, she looked at the clock.

  The hands now stood at four o’clock and it seemed incredible that so much had happened in just one hour.

  As she blew out her candle, she thought to herself,

  ‘No one will ever know it was me.’

  *

  The Marquis of Trancombe awoke.

  For a moment he did not know where he was.

  Then, as he realised that Elaine Beaton was sleeping peacefully beside him, he realised that they had both fallen asleep.

  It was not surprising as their lovemaking had been fiery, exotic and inevitably exhausting.

  The Marquis reckoned that it would soon be dawn and he must return to his own bedroom.

  Very gently with the litheness of a man who had complete control over his athletic body, he slipped out of the bed.

  Picking up a long robe that lay on a chair, he put it on and silently crossed the room.

  Reaching the door he looked back, but Elaine had not moved.

  He let himself out into the passage and was instantly aware of the difference in the air. He had found Elaine’s French perfume overpowering and felt that he could breathe far better without it.

  He walked towards his own room, but as he did so had a sudden desire for some fresh air.

  He hesitated.

  Then with a slightly mocking twist to his lips he moved further along the passage to where there was an oval-topped oak door.

  He pulled back the bolt and opened it.

  Inside there were some narrow steps that led, as the Marquis knew, up to the roof.

  He had not climbed them for many years but it had been an activity that he had greatly enjoyed as a boy.

  Now, as he felt a greater need for fresh air, he thought that it was like stepping back in time to use them again.

  They were very steep and narrow and had been added to the house soon after it was built.

  The Marquis pushed open the door at the top of the steps and it fell back with a bang onto the flat roof.

  Then, as he climbed out on to the roof, he realised that he was at exactly the right moment.

  The stars overhead were already receding and in the East there was the first faint light of the dawn. It was not cold and there was no wind.

  As the Marquis stood up on the roof looking at the first ray of sunshine, that he was filled with the same joy he had known as a boy.

  It was then that a new day had meant to him another step in the adventure of life. He moved forward into manhood when there were so many things for him to do and so much to be achieved.

  Everything had been so full of promise and yet he had to admit that in some ways he was disappointed.

  There was no reason why he should be, but he felt as if the world that he had seen from the top of his house had not turned out to be quite as exciting as he had expected it would be.

  And he had not lived up to his own ideals.

  ‘Perhaps I have not tried hard enough,’ he reflected, ‘or it is because I have lingered by the wayside picking flowers that inevitably die as soon as I possess them.’

  He thought cynically that was what he already felt about Elaine Beaton.

  She was a flower that he had desired and a flower that had seemed to him perfection until he made it his.

  Then, like every other blossom, its petals had withered and he was ready to throw it away.

  ‘How can I be so absurd?’ he asked himself.

  The first rays of the sun swept upwards from the distant horizon.

  It was so incredibly beautiful as it seared its way through the last remnants of the night that he drew in his breath.

  As he did so, he was aware of a movement below him and his eyes moved to the fields a little to his right.

  For the moment he had been the only human being in a magic world, but there was now another.

  A horse was coming in the direction of the stables and he was aware that it was being ridden by a woman.

  He could not see her clearly but he was aware as she galloped away across the flat land that she rode extremely well.

  Because from the top of the house he could see for a great distance he watched her move from one field to another.

  She jumped two hedges with an expertise that was unmistakable and then finally, still riding very fast, she disappeared among the trees into what was known as ‘Cliff Wood’.

  ‘Now who can she be?’ the Marquis asked himself.

  Then the sun was in his eyes so that he could see no more.

  He turned round and went down the steps back into the house.

  Chapter Five

  Odela had tried to sleep, but it was impossible.

  Her heart was still thumping and she was dreadfully worried that Fred Cotter would dispose of the picture before anybody could stop him.

  Supposing the Marquis, when he read her note, asked everybody in the house who had written it?

  He would then discover that he had a guest in his house who he had never heard of and undoubtedly he would then demand to see her immediately.

  ‘I must go away,’ she decided, ‘at least for the day.’

  She jumped out of bed, dressed herself rapidly and ran to Nanny’s room.

  Nanny was fast asleep with Betty in her cot beside her.

  Odela touched her shoulder and Nanny was instantly alert, as if one of her charges had called for her.

  “It’s me, Nanny,” Odela whispered.

  “What is it?” Nanny asked.

  In a very low voice Odela recounted all that had happened.

  “I remember that Fred Cotter,” Nanny remarked. “He’s a real bad one, he be!”

  “Yes, I know, Nanny, and I could not let him take the beautiful Van Dyck portrait of the first Marquis.”

  She realised that Nanny had never seen it, but felt that she understood.

  “I am going to take Dragonfly,” Odela went on, “and stay out all day. By the time I return the Marquis will have his picture back and not be asking any more questions of the household.”

  Nanny seemed to think that this was the only thing to do.

  Odela kissed her and tiptoed from the bedroom so th
at she should not waken Betty.

  She ran down the stairs and going out through the back door saw that it was nearly dawn and that the stars were growing fainter overhead.

  She went straight to Dragonfly’s stall, which was at the far end of the stables. Everything was very quiet and she thought that the stable boy who was in charge was asleep.

  It was no trouble for her to bridle and saddle Dragonfly as she had done it so many times before.

  She led him out into the yard and stood him by the mounting block. He stayed still until she was safely seated in the saddle.

  Then, as she picked up the reins, he moved, impatient to be off and delighted to be going out.

  She took him out of the stables by the back way and onto the flat land.

  Then she gave Dragonfly his head and settled down to really enjoy herself.

  *

  The Marquis was woken at eight o’clock by his valet pulling back the curtains.

  He stretched out his arms still feeling tired after so few hours of sleep.

  Then to his surprise his valet came to the side of the bed.

  “Excuse me, my Lord,” he said, “but Mr. Newton wants to see you urgent-like.”

  Newton was the butler and the Earl asked in surprise,

  “What does he want?”

  “’E’ll tell you ’imself, my Lord,” the valet replied and went to open the door.

  The Marquis raised himself on his pillows and pushed the hair back from his forehead.

  As the butler came into the room, he asked sharply,

  “What is this all about, Newton?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb your Lordship,” Newton replied, “but someone’s broken into the house and the picture over the mantelshelf in the library has been stolen!”

  If he had intended to astonish the Marquis, he certainly succeeded.

  The Marquis stared at him before he exclaimed,

  “I don’t believe it! Where was the nightwatchman?”

  “I’m afraid, your Lordship, we’re without one at the moment. Clements was taken ill and we’ve been expecting him back any day, but he has not yet recovered.”

  “Why was I not told about this?” the Marquis demanded angrily.

  “The burglar broke in through the window, my Lord,” Newton went on, “and there’s glass all over the floor.”

  “I will come to see for myself,” the Marquis replied.

  He climbed out of bed and Newton hurried from the room.

  The Marquis started to dress quickly, thinking furiously that it was sheer incompetence that this should have happened.

  It was always the same, he thought, if he was away for any length of time. The staff grew lax and anyway Clements was getting too old to be a nightwatchman.

  He told himself that he should have thought of engaging a second man a long time ago.

  In the meantime, if he lost the portrait of the first Marquis by Van Dyck, it was irreplaceable.

  It was a painting that his father had always been extremely proud of and he had had it cleaned and reframed just before his death.

  The Marquis could remember when he was a small boy being told that Van Dyck was a genius and there had never been a portrait painter to equal him anywhere in the world.

  ‘How can I possibly lose anything so precious?’ he asked himself furiously.

  He was shaving himself when there was a knock on the door.

  When his valet went to open it, he could hear somebody speaking to him in an urgent tone.

  A moment later Mr. Renolds, his secretary, came rushing into the bedroom.

  “I was just on my way down to find out what has occurred,” the Marquis said in an irritated tone.

  “What I have brought you, my Lord,” Mr. Renolds stated rather breathlessly, coming nearer to him, “is this!”

  He held out the note that Odela had left on the desk in the study.

  The Marquis put down his razor and took it from him.

  When he read it, he did not speak, but read it again to make quite sure that he was not mistaken.

  “Where did you find this?” he asked.

  “It was on the blotter in your study, my Lord.”

  “Who has written it?”

  “I have no idea, my Lord.”

  The Marquis realised at once that the handwriting, which was very elegant, belonged to someone well-educated.

  “It must have been somebody in the house,” he declared.

  “It’s not the writing of any of the staff,” Mr. Renolds answered.

  The Marquis put the note down on his dressing table.

  “If the information is correct,” he said, “we had better hurry. Order Saracen to be round at the front door as quickly as possible and the two grooms, Ben and Dick, are to accompany me on horseback.”

  Without speaking Mr. Renolds started towards the door and the Marquis ordered,

  “I shall want a pistol and they too had better be armed.”

  “I will see to it, my Lord.”

  Mr. Renolds’s voice came back to him as he was running down the passage.

  The Marquis was helped into his riding boots by his valet and he put on his whipcord riding coat.

  Then he picked up Odela’s note from the dressing table and hurried down the stairs.

  “Breakfast is ready, my Lord,” Newton announced.

  But the Marquis walked past him and out through the front door.

  The horses were already coming from the stables and he saw that the two grooms were hefty young men and he knew that they would prove their strength if they were involved in a fight.

  The Marquis flung himself into the saddle and rode off at a swift pace.

  He knew the way to Wichingham and it was far quicker across the fields than on the highway.

  Saracen was fresh and skittish and, by the time the Marquis had to take to the road to enter the village, he was obliged to wait for some minutes for the two grooms to catch up with him.

  As they rode on, he spoke for the first time.

  “Your pistols are loaded?”

  “Aye, my Lord.”

  “You are not to use them except as a very last resort. With any luck we will take the man by surprise so there should be no need for anybody to be injured.”

  He saw that the two grooms understood and only as the Marquis reached the first cottage in the village did he say to Ben,

  “Do you know which is Gable Cottage?”

  He was quite sure before he came downstairs that everybody in the house and in the stables would know about what was written on the note in his study.

  Ben nodded.

  “Aye, my Lord. ’Tis the first ’ouse beyond the Church.”

  The Marquis rode on.

  The people he passed recognised him and the women dropped a curtsey while the men touched their forelocks.

  Gable Cottage was larger than the other small thatched blue and white cottages. It was in fact more of a house with two large gables over the rooms on the first floor.

  The garden was bright with spring flowers and the paved path that led up to the front door was neat and weeded.

  A brass knocker on the door had been polished and there was a small garden at the back of the house and beyond it an open field.

  The Marquis turned to Dick and said in a low voice,

  “Ride round to the back of the house and let no one escape.”

  The groom did as he was told and the Marquis ordered Ben,

  “You, watch the front.”

  He dismounted and tied Saracen to a post on the side of the gate.

  Then he walked up the flagged path and turned the handle of the front door.

  He thought that it was unlikely to be locked at this time of the day and he was not mistaken.

  He walked into a small hall with some narrow stairs on one side of it leading up to the bedrooms.

  There were two doors for him to could choose from and he took the furthest thinking that it would look out over the garden at the back.


  Whoever occupied it would not have seen them arrive.

  He opened the door and his instinct had been correct.

  Sitting at a table in the centre of the room was a young man inspecting the Van Dyck portrait that lay in front of him.

  He jumped to his feet as the Marquis appeared and was obviously startled and afraid.

  The Marquis thought that he was an unpleasant-looking young man with a crafty look about him, which would have warned anybody who was observant that he was not to be trusted.

  The Marquis walked to the table and put his hand on the picture frame.

  “How dare you break into my house and steal my property!” he asserted. “I intend to take you to the Police Station and you will appear before the Magistrates. I expect you know the penalty for stealing?”

  Fred Cotter did not answer, but the Marquis thought that his teeth were chattering.

  “It is to be hanged,” he went on, “or else transported. Is this your first offence?”

  It was then that Fred Cotter went down on his knees.

  “Forgive me, my Lord, forgive me,” he pleaded with tears in his eyes. “My mother’s ill and I’d no money to pay the doctor or for the medicine he ordered for her. I was tryin’ to save her life!”

  “You must have been aware that to steal a picture from my house would mean that the Police would be looking for the culprit and that you had little chance of getting away?”

  “I know, I know!” Fred Cotter sobbed, “but I couldn’t think how else to save my mother.”

  “I suppose you are aware that it would be unlikely that you could sell a picture of such high value and so easily identifiable?” the Marquis said scornfully.

  “I didn’t know that and it’s the first time I’ve ever done such a thing, all I could think of was that I must save my mother.”

  Ten minutes later the Marquis left Gable Cottage with the portrait.

  A weeping Fred Cotter had kissed his boots for saying that he would not be prosecuted.

  “If you ever do such a thing again,” the Marquis said warningly, “I shall not hesitate to see that you get your just deserts.”

  He gave the burglar a hard look before he went on,

  “You can tell the doctor to send his bills to me for the medicines your mother requires and don’t tell her how nearly she lost her son for good!”