The Captive Heart E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 412

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Young and beautiful Sabina Wantage travels to Monte Carlo to meet the mother of her fiancée, Lord Thetford. Agreeing to marry him after only knowing him a short time, she soon discovers he is not the man she had first thought. An accident throws her into the path of a wild and exotic tribe of Romany's, where she meets the handsome and mysterious Romany king. Thrilled by the fun, excitement and beauty of Monte Carlo, Sabina cannot however stop thinking about the Romany king. When he declares his love for her, she is at a crossroads and left to choose between her heart and her duty. Will she choose her heart, and so sacrifice her family and everything she knows? or stay and accept a loveless marriage to the rich, but brutal Lord Thetford? What she decides and the truths she uncovers is all is told in this exciting and wonderous adventure.

Leseprobe

1

“Damn, we might be a funeral procession.”

Sabina spoke the words out loud and then gave a little gurgle of laughter at the sound of her own voice. Her mimicry of the Squire’s quite audible muttering as he escorted his daughter up the aisle to be married always made her sisters dissolve into helpless giggles, although Papa would have been both distressed and displeased if he had known of his eldest daughter’s witticism.

It was true, however, that the horses pulling the old and creaking Hackney carriage over the rough roads seemed to be getting slower and slower. Sabina looked through the window, the glass of which could have done with a clean and saw that darkness had fallen and the stars were coming out and being reflected, shimmering and iridescent in the sea below them.

After so many delays and accidents it seemed as if she would never arrive at Monte Carlo and yet, at the same time, it was absurd to worry.

She drew in a deep breath of delight as she looked down at the sea far away below and at the dark shadows of the trees, which, silhouetted against the sky, seemed exotic and strangely shaped. She was in France. She was travelling towards the place that only two months ago she had never expected to visit even in her wildest dreams.

“Glory to goodness, I am a lucky girl!”

Sabina whispered the words, then laughed again. How ridiculous she was, talking to herself! Anyone would think she was as crazed as that strange boy in the village at home, who had always made her shudder when she met him wandering vacantly down the twisting lanes, talking in a high-pitched voice.

How far away Cobbleford and Gloucestershire seemed now, and yet it was only a few days ago since she had left. At this moment the family would be sitting in the drawing room having long ago finished their plain, rather light meal, which Papa insisted on calling supper although Mama always referred to it as dinner.

The girls would be busy, Harriet at work on her embroidery, which always brought exclamations of admiration from everyone who saw it, while Melloney would be painstakingly trying to copy her and not succeeding, poor darling, however hard she tried. Perhaps Angelina would be at the piano – Papa always liked to hear how she was getting on with her pianoforte lessons – and Clare would be in bed, because until they were fifteen, none of them were allowed to stay up to dinner.

Mamma would be sitting in her favourite chair, the lamplight on her pretty hair, which was beginning to show grey threads amongst the gold. And Papa, if he had finished preparing his sermon for Sunday, would come in from the study and sit down on the other side of the hearth, opposite Mamma, and join in the conversation. There would be lots of things to talk about although they had been together all day, and perhaps, at this very moment, one of them was saying, “I wonder how Sabina is and if she has arrived yet at Monte Carlo?”

If only they knew, Sabina thought. How horrified Papa would be to know that she was not yet at Monte Carlo but travelling alone in a Hackney carriage! But really there was nothing else she could have done.

When Miss Remington fractured her leg stepping out of the train at Nice, Sabina had felt, for one shameful moment, as though it was entirely a trick of some evil demon to prevent her reaching her destination. She had been horrified at the selfishness of such a thought a few seconds later, as she coped as best she could with the commotion that the accident caused.

Miss Remington, who was a cousin of the Bishop, was a woman of sensible age or else she would never have been entrusted with the task of chaperoning Sabina. But she had behaved, Sabina thought secretly, in a very foolish fashion. She had screamed, cried and then swooned, so that Sabina had the greatest difficulty in bringing her back to consciousness with smelling-salts, a cold-water compress and even the smoke of a few feathers burnt under her nose.

The feathers Sabina had procured with great ingenuity. Some crates of live fowls were standing on Nice Station waiting for a train to transport them to Monte Carlo. Sabina had seen the label as she slipped her fingers between the slats to pick up the fallen feathers. Worried though she was about Miss Remington, she could not help the leap of her heart at the inscription and a feeling of irritation that her journey there must now be delayed until Miss Remington could have medical attention.

It had taken ages for a doctor to be fetched, while Miss Remington lay on the hard, uncomfortable bench in the waiting room, crying out at the pain she was suffering and swooning at least a dozen times before a heavily bearded Frenchman with a small black bag came in through the glass door.

Sabina was glad then, as she had been during the whole journey, that she had a considerable knowledge of the French language. Mamma had been most particular that she should be punctilious about her studies whatever else was neglected, and she rejoiced too, with a vanity that could not be repressed, that her accent was impeccable.

“I must apologise, Monsieur, for incommoding you in any way,” she began. And the doctor, who had been looking cross and irritable, and was undoubtedly in a hurry, took off his hat with what, she privately thought, was a most courtly gesture and even forced a smile to his lips.

“I was informed that there had been an accident, Mademoiselle.”

“That is unfortunately true,” Sabina answered. “My friend, who is accompanying me to Monte Carlo, fell when dismounting from the train. She is not a lightweight, as you can see, and I am afraid that her leg is broken.”

“This is indeed a grave misfortune, Mademoiselle,” the doctor said, still watching her and seeming, she thought, in no hurry to attend to his patient.

Miss Remington, however, made sure of drawing his attention to herself by uttering a little squeal of pain, and when he turned towards her, promptly swooning again. Sabina hastened to her side.

“It is best to examine her leg while she is unconscious,” she said practically. “Otherwise she cannot bear it to be touched.”

The doctor made a very cursory examination.

“A bad fracture,” he said. “We must get Madame to the hospital.”

“The hospital!” Sabina repeated in dismay. She had hoped that the doctor would be able to bandage up Miss Remington’s leg and they could proceed on their journey.

“The leg will have to be set,” he said, “and put in splints.”

“Will that take a long time?” Sabina asked.

“Madame should be able to leave the hospital in perhaps three weeks,” the doctor replied.

“Three weeks!” Sabina exclaimed.

“It is very unfortunate,” the doctor agreed.

“But very,” Sabina cried. “Miss Remington was to have gone to Italy tomorrow. She was chaperoning me as far as Monte Carlo and then she had made all arrangements to proceed to Rome.”

“I am afraid Madame’s visit will have to wait,” the doctor said. “But you, Mademoiselle, will be able to proceed to Monte Carlo.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Sabina felt her anxiety lighten at the words. Yes, of course she would go on. No one would expect her to stay with Miss Remington. Besides, it would be impossible, for as it was she had only just enough money for the journey.

It was money that was worrying Sabina some hours later when she left the hospital and went back to the station. By that time Miss Remington had her leg in splints and was tucked up in bed in a small but pleasant room, with a windows from which she could see the sea.

The nuns who ran the hospital had been most kind, but at the same time Sabina felt rather depressed by the obvious poverty of the hospital and the lack of any luxuries. However, the patients she saw in the wards seemed cheerful enough, and Miss Remington, when she felt well enough to speak, assured Sabina in a whisper that she would be quite all right.

“I don’t like leaving you,” Sabina said.

“But you must go on at once,” Miss Remington said. “You cannot stay alone in Nice. Think what your father would say. Besides, I have heard stories that make me feel sure it is not at all a place for a young girl.”

Sabina had felt relieved that Miss Remington’s idea was the same as the doctor’s – that she should continue her journey to Monte Carlo. At the same time, because she was so eager and willing to go, she felt a decided prick of conscience at leaving poor Miss Remington, white-faced and tear-stained, alone, and friendless.

“I shall be quite all right,” Miss Remington protested when Sabina voiced her fears. “Take the next train and explain to Lady Thetford how sorry I am not to accompany you on the last part of your journey. I would not wish her, or indeed your dear parents, to think I have failed in my duty.”

“Oh, Miss Remington, how could you help what happened? It was a horrible accident and all the fault of the Station authorities, who have made the platform far too low for the trains. It seems so inefficient somehow.”

“Hush, dear, we must not criticise other countries or judge them by our own standards,” Miss Remington said. “At the same time, there is no doubt that most things are much better arranged in England.”

Sabina bent to kiss her goodbye.

“I will try to come over and see you in a day or so,” she said. “I am sure Lady Thetford will be only too willing to let me come when she hears where you are. I do hope you will not be miserably uncomfortable.”

“These things are sent in life to try us, my dear!” Miss Remington said.

In the face of such resignation Sabina could only once again feel guilty that she had ever thought Miss Remington had behaved foolishly and in a somewhat uncontrolled manner, on the railway station.

She said goodbye to the nuns and told the Mother Superior that she felt sure that the Dowager Lady Thetford, with whom she was going to stay in Monte Carlo, would wish to be informed at once if Miss Remington required anything special or should there be any deterioration in her health.

The Mother Superior, unworldly though she might be, seemed suitably impressed at Lady Thetford’s name, although when she heard that Sabina’s destination was Monte Carlo she murmured a few words in Latin, which Sabina understood to be a prayer for the safety of her soul.

It was only when she left the hospital and walked quickly down the narrow streets that led her back to the station that she realised how late it was. It was not entirely the setting sun and the fading sky that told her the afternoon was far spent, but also an aching stomach, which reminded her that she had not eaten for a long time. She was, indeed, conscious of feeling extremely hungry, and when the delicious fragrant odour of coffee came to her nostrils she paused outside a pâtisserie and, after a moment’s hesitation, went in.

The coffee was as good as it smelt – the gâteaux, rich with cream and chocolate, were even more satisfying than they looked. It was only after she paid the bill that Sabina looked with a feeling of dismay at the dwindling coins in her purse.

She had tipped the porters who had carried Miss Remington to the carriage that the doctor had summoned. Then she had to pay for it – and when they reached the hospital, the doctor had asked bluntly, and with what Sabina thought was a lamentable lack of delicacy, for his fee. It had not been a large sum but it was quite a lot of money to Sabina. She had thought, of course, that Miss Remington would pay her back, but when she went into her room after the doctor had set her leg and saw her so weak and shattered, all thought of money had vanished from Sabina’s head.

She had enough however, she had thought to herself consolingly, because her railway ticket carried her through to Monte Carlo.

Her hunger satisfied and feeling impatient now to get on with her journey, Sabina left the pâtisserie and almost ran down the street to the station. There was an air of quietness and emptiness about the platform, which in itself was a portent of the news that was to come.

It took her some time to find any officials, but finally she ran into a resplendent-looking individual covered in gold braid whom she took to be the Station Master.

“Pardon, Monsieur, but can you tell me what time the next train to Monte Carlo is?” Sabina asked.

“Nine o’clock tomorrow morning, Mademoiselle,” was the reply.

“Tomorrow morning!” Sabina cried. “But there must be one tonight.”

“I regret, Mademoiselle, the last train for Monte Carlo left over half an hour ago.”

“There must be some mistake. . .” Sabina began, and then realised it was no use arguing.

The Station Master had already turned his back on her and was deep in some abstruse calculations amongst the papers that littered his very untidy desk. She walked out of the door and then turned back again.

“How else can I reach Monte Carlo tonight?” she inquired despairingly.

“En voiture,” he replied, without raising his head.

Of course, a carriage, Sabina thought with relief. How stupid she was to imagine that there was no other way of reaching Monte Carlo except by train! Indeed she remembered that Papa had told her how, before the railway was built four years ago in 1868, Monsieur Blanc, who had made Monte Carlo so fashionable, had hired a steamer carrying 300 people to ply its way daily between Nice and Monte Carlo. And, Papa went on, had also arranged for a fleet of Hackney carriages with first-class horses to bring the gamblers to what, before his advent, had been the inaccessible and almost bankrupt capital of Monaco.

The steamer would have left by now, Sabina thought, but a carriage could carry her to Monte Carlo in little over two hours if Papa’s story had been correct!

She found a porter, a small man smelling strongly of garlic, to carry her round-topped trunk and black tarpaulin railway basket to the entrance of the Station. There she commanded him to find her a carriage.

“For which hotel, M’selle?”

“For Monte Carlo.”

“Monte Carlo!” He repeated the words, then smiled and wished her good fortune at the tables.

“I am not going to gamble,” Sabina answered. “I am going to stay with friends. But as I have missed the train I must have a carriage to take me there.”

“I will find M’selle one with two good horses – very fast!” the porter told her.

He was turning away when Sabina called him back.

“One moment,” she said. “How much will it cost?”

The porter shrugged his shoulders, then quoted a sum that made her cry out in despair.

“Oh no, not so much as that!”

“Ce dépend,” the porter said reassuringly. “A very smart carriage, many francs – not such good horses, not such a smart carriage, not so many francs.”

Sabina told him the most she could afford and the porter put the luggage on a truck and led her to where a row of carriages waited. What followed seemed to her a nightmare of argument, expostulation and what, at times, bordered very near to abuse. But the porter had taken her under his wing. He went down the row bargaining with each coachman in turn. They spoke with an accent that Sabina found was at times hard to understand and she guessed that, on the whole, it was a good thing she could not understand more.

Finally, several things transpired from the conversation. First, that there had been a fall of stone on the Lower Corniche Road, which meant that anyone travelling to Monte Carlo that night must go by the Upper Corniche – the old road, high, twisting, and rough-surfaced, which had been practically abandoned since the railway had been built and with it the Lower Corniche Road from Nice to Monte Carlo. Secondly, the sum Sabina wanted to pay would not entice the coachmen to take their horses on a long, tiring journey when, as they pointed out forcibly and with much gesticulation, they could, in all probability, pick up twice the amount in Nice itself.

They had reached the end of the row of carriages and Sabina was beginning to despair of ever finding a coachman who would take her, when a man with two thin, miserable looking horses and a rickety, old-fashioned Hackney carriage with the paint peeling off the doors, agreed to make the journey.

The porter heaved her trunk up on the roof, and before Sabina could look doubtfully at the horses and even more doubtfully at the interior of the carriage, she found herself inside with the door shut upon her. The porter waved his cap, apparently pleased by his pourboire, although Sabina felt it little enough for all he had done to help her, and they set off at a trot amid an ironical cheer from the other coachmen who had all refused to carry her.

The horses soon gave up any effort to hurry and, despite the crack of the coachman’s whip, moved slower and slower until Sabina longed to get up on the box and try handling the reins herself. She could drive the pony cart in which her mother travelled about the countryside, but then the horses that were housed in the stables at home were well-fed and properly looked after – for whatever other economies were made in the Vicarage, the Reverend Adolphus Wantage took good care that his horses did not suffer.

It must have been seven o’clock before Sabina started off from Nice, and even allowing for the slowness of the horses and the fact that they had to go by the longer, more difficult route, she reckoned that she should arrive by ten o’clock. But her calculations were thrown out by the fact that even before they left the outskirts of Nice there was trouble with one of the wheels and the carriage was forced to pull up at a blacksmith’s shop. It was nearly half an hour before they started off again.

It seemed to Sabina, sitting impatiently inside the carriage, that there was far too much conversation and too many arguments in France before anything got done. However, a new pin, or whatever was needed for the axle, was brought and finally, after an exchange of compliments, good wishes, and many other pleasantries, they recommenced their journey.

But this time the sun had sunk. The beauty of the sky and the glimpse Sabina had while she was waiting of mimosa trees in full bloom, of oranges and lemons growing profusely in every garden, and of purple bougainvillaea trailing over grey walls, made her forget everything else. It was almost unbelievable to see with her own eyes what before she had only read about in books.

“Oranges growing on the trees just like apples!”

She could hear herself saying the words to her sisters at home, and adding,

“If you want a lemon, you only have to go out and pick one.”

How she wished she could tell them now about her journey. As the miles passed slowly, she began rehearsing to herself the impersonation she would give of Miss Remington, screaming as she lay on the platform. It might be unkind to take off the poor injured lady, but it would make the girls laugh, and they always said that Sabina’s imitations were so lifelike that no one could mistake the person she mimicked.

She would show them, too, how the porter had bargained with the coachmen and would mimic the doctor with his black bag and shabby top hat. What fun it would be when she got home again! Most of the fun of doing things was to be able to talk about them afterwards.

Sabina stopped suddenly. She was forgetting – indeed she had forgotten – about Arthur. In four months’ time, after the beginning of June, there would be no more going home because she would be a married woman living in a house of her own. Sabina clasped her hands together. She was conscious of a very strange sinking feeling in her breast. Then she shook herself determinedly.

How ridiculous she was to feel apprehensive. It was all due to Arthur that she was here at this moment, in the middle of the most wonderful adventure that any girl could have. It was Arthur who had made everything possible, who had made Mamma so pleased and delighted with her, who had taken away that terrible fear that had lurked for so long in the back of her mind – that she was a failure. It was Arthur whom she was going to marry!

There was a sudden lurch of the carriage and Sabina was thrown with some violence into the corner, bruising her arm and hitting her head so that her bonnet tipped forward over her nose. She heard a shout and knew that the carriage had come to a jerky standstill. For a moment she felt dazed then she pulled off her bonnet and struggling to her feet, opened the door. It swung back and she put her head out to see that the coachman had already clambered down from the box.

“What has happened?” she asked.

He let forth a voluble flow of language from which she gathered that the blacksmith from whom they had parted so cheerily was the darkest villain in all Christendom, a crook and a fraud and an evil-intentioned idiot who was not capable of sweeping a crossing let alone attending to the wheel of a carriage. Sabina clambered out on to the road and saw, as she had expected, the wheel tippled drunkenly in the dust, the carriage down on its axle. She looked around. It was lighter than she had expected it to be, and she saw that the brightness was due to the moon, which was rising slowly up the star-strewn sky.

They were high up on the mountainside. The sea seemed very far away. On one side of the road there was a sheer precipice – on the other there were trees and rough scrubland fading away into the darkness towards rocks and high cliffs.

“What can we do?” Sabina asked.

The coachman shrugged his shoulders and then burst into another volley of abuse and recrimination.

Sabina looked around her. Perhaps there was a house, she thought, from which they could obtain help. She moved a little away from the ranting coachman and then, for the first time, saw there was the bright golden light of a fire a little way from them. She interrupted the coachman to point it out to him.

“Perhaps there is someone who can help us?”

He looked in the direction to where she pointed with a little shrug, as if he almost resented that there could be any solution to their problem.

“It is impossible to leave the horses,” he muttered surlily.

“I will go and see if I can get help,” Sabina said.

She picked up her reticule, which contained her purse, from the floor of the carriage where it had fallen, and then set off lifting her skirts and picking her way over the rough grass and stone to where the fire gleamed like a beacon.

The flames seemed to leap higher as she drew nearer to it. It was further than she thought and more than once she stumbled against a rough tuft of grass or the stones with which the ground was littered. But as she got further from the road, the way became smooth, and as the fire grew brighter, she saw there were people in a circle around it – people and wagons.

She came within the light of the flames before she could see clearly, and then, as she still moved forward, she heard music – the music of a violin, of a guitar and of other instruments that she could not recognise.

It was a joyful, wild tune, a tune that seemed to Sabina as an invitation to dance, so that almost unconsciously, the worry and anxiety she had been feeling about the accident with the carriage was forgotten. She felt her spirits lighten and her feet quicken, as though they wished to keep time to the melody that was swelling louder and louder, until it seemed to Sabina that it filled her head and her whole body with its throbbing harmony.

She stepped into the light of the fire – and as she did so she saw clearly for the first time, it was a party of Romany people who were camped there. She had not, however, expected to see so many of them or that they would be so colourful.

There was a large company of men and women sitting round the fire and on the steps of the wagons, which were drawn up behind them almost in a full circle. In the space round the flames a woman was dancing. The gold embroidery of her bodice, her earrings and her bracelets flashed in the firelight and her long dark hair swirled out behind her as she twisted and turned, her bare feet moving swiftly over the ground.

The rest of the company were watching her in silence. The music was not loud, it only throbbed like the pounding of one’s own blood in the ears or the beating of an excited heart. There was the soft tinkle of the dancer’s bracelets, the sudden crack of her fingers as she snapped them, as a Spaniard might snap the castanets, and then, suddenly, as she swirled her skirts and bent her body towards the flames, she caught sight of Sabina and stopped dead. The music stopped too, and Sabina saw every head turn towards her, saw the dark suspicious faces, the flashing eyes glinting in the firelight, and the sudden movement of colours – red, orange, and green – as people moved, rising, as if to come towards her.

It was then, for the first time, that Sabina was frightened. She had never been frightened of people before.

She had known Romany people – talked to them when they had camped on the outskirts of the village at home. The same tribe had come year after year so that the locals got to know them and even to welcome their return. The men would occasionally give a hand in the harvest, and the women would come to the kitchen door selling clothes pegs, skilfully woven baskets, or broom handles, and would offer to tell the fortunes of those who crossed their hands with silver.

But these people staring at her now, bore little resemblance to the Romany people Sabina had known. They were well dressed for one thing. The men wore full-sleeved white shirts embroidered with braid and ribbons, the women were bejewelled with gold ornaments, their skirts brightly coloured over a profusion of vivid petticoats, their low-cut black velvet bodices laced tightly, over low-necked blouses. Yet there was something wild and primitive in their expressions and in their swift panther-like movements, which made their clothes seem superfluous.

The sudden cessation of the music and the fear that she was intruding on something secret and forbidden made Sabina shiver and feel that her hands were trembling. And then, as she stood there, unable to speak, in a silence that seemed to grow deeper and more poignant every moment, a man rose from the far side of the fire and came towards her.

He was dressed like the others in skin-tight trousers and a shirt with wide sleeves skilfully embroidered. He had a wide sash round his waist and into it was stuck a knife with a jewelled handle. He was extremely handsome and his skin was almost golden. He had dark penetrating eyes beneath strongly marked eyebrows, and a mouth that was firm yet sensitive.

He was a Romany, yet there was something different about him – something that made Sabina realise immediately that here was the chief, but also at the same time here was someone of whom she need not be afraid. She did not know why. There was an air of authority, of command, about him – in the very way he moved, in the proud manner in which he carried his head – and yet the moment he came towards her, her trembling ceased and she was no longer speechless.

She parted her lips, but before she could say anything he had spoken first,

“Mademoiselle needs help, perhaps?”

She felt utterly relieved that he spoke to her in French and not in some Romany tongue that she could not understand.

“Yes, indeed, I am in need of help,” she answered. “The wheel has fallen off the carriage in which I am travelling to Monte Carlo. I should be most grateful for any assistance that you or your people could give me.”

“But of course. My men will see what can be done,” he said. “In the meantime, Mademoiselle, will you not come near the fire and warm yourself?”

The cold of fear had gone, but Sabina was aware that her hands were chilly, and the warmth of the day had given way to a night that had undoubtedly a touch of ice in it. It comes from mountains, she thought, and smiled as she answered,

“I should like to sit near the fire for a moment if I may. I can only hope there is nothing very seriously wrong with the wheel.”

He gave an order in a language Sabina could not understand and two or three men ran off immediately in the direction of the carriage. A little shyly, Sabina walked round the fire to where the Romany indicated an improvised couch. A bearskin was flung over what Sabina guessed to be a pile of bracken and leaves. She sat down and almost instantly the Romany handed her a glass filled with wine.

Sabina shook her head.

“No, thank you.”

“Drink it, Mademoiselle,” he insisted, “it will ease away the fatigue of your journey.”

Sabina felt it would be ungracious to refuse, and taking the glass, she sipped the wine, which had a smooth, delicious flavour that instantly made her feel warmer and a little less shy.

It was only then, as she sat there, that she realised that she was bare-headed, and putting up her hand to her hair she tried to tidy the curls that she felt must appear unruly and dishevelled.

“Do not worry – it is beautiful,” the man said quietly.

Sabina turned to look at him, her eyes wide, hardly believing she could have heard his words correctly. And then, as she saw the expression on his face, her eyes shyly dropped before his. She had never encountered such an expression in any man’s eyes before. Such bold, unreserved admiration made her feel uncertain and unsure of herself.

She felt the blood rise in her cheeks and told herself that it was the grossest impertinence on the part of the man, whatever his nationality, to look at her in such a way. Even without looking at him she could feel his eyes on her hair – the pale gold hair she had inherited from her mother – and now he was scrutinising her face.

She had small fine features, but Sabina knew that her cheeks were often too pale and her whole appearance too thin and too fragile for real prettiness. She had wished so often she was tall like her father and plump and robust like Harriet, who always seemed to be admired when she went to parties and never lacked a partner at any dances.

‘Nobody notices me,’ Sabina had said often enough. And yet Arthur had noticed her – and how grateful she had been to him! But Arthur had never looked at her as this man was looking, his eyes narrowed a little, yet nonetheless seeing and taking in everything about her, so that instinctively her hand went to her breast.

Because she felt so embarrassed, she rushed into speech,

“I have to reach Monte Carlo tonight,” she said. “Unfortunately, I missed the last train in Nice and so I had to hire a Hackney carriage.”

“But why, Mademoiselle, did you come by the upper road?” the Romany man inquired.

“I was told in Nice that there is a fall of stone on the Lower Corniche,” Sabina answered.

“Ah, that accounts for it,” he exclaimed. “But this road can be dangerous at night unless you have an experienced coachman and good horses.”

Sabina smiled.

“I am afraid no one could call the horses that I am travelling with, good! They look under-nourished and, in all probability, are ill-treated, poor things.”

“Then surely it is almost cruelty to take them on such a long journey?” he suggested.

“I agree, but what else could I do?” Sabina asked.

“You could have stayed in Nice for the night and taken the train in the morning.”

“But I couldn’t stay alone in an hotel,” Sabina exclaimed.

“And yet, are you not travelling alone now?” he commented, and she felt uneasily that she must immediately explain the apparent unconventionality of her behaviour.

“Yes, I am alone,” she answered. “But it is only because my chaperone, the lady who was escorting me to Monte Carlo, had an accident. She fractured her leg stepping out of the train at Nice. That is why I am travelling so late.”

“I understand. That explains it. I thought it very strange for a lady, and an English lady at that, to be alone at night. It could be dangerous.”

“If you are thinking of robbers and bandits,” Sabina smiled, “I am told that Monsieur Blanc has eliminated such terrors for anyone who wishes to visit Monte Carlo. Such lawlessness would not be good for the gambling, would it?”

“I do not think even Monsieur Blanc’s precautions cater for beautiful young girls who travel alone after dark,” the man commented a little dryly.

“I am not afraid,” Sabina retorted. “Nobody could rob me of anything because I don’t possess very much.”

“I was not thinking of money,” he said.

“Then what else could robbers want of me?” Sabina asked innocently.

There was a smile at the corner of his mouth as he said,

“Mademoiselle is safe with us.”

Sabina hesitated a moment, then in a low voice, she faltered,

“I think. it is only right to tell you t-that I cannot pay you for repairing my wheel. I have very little money left.”

“What we Romanies do, they for friendship or . . . for love.”

There was a little pause before the Romany said the last two words, and once again there was something in his eyes that made Sabina blush and look down so that her eyelashes swept her cheeks.

“Do you think the wheel will be mended by now?” she asked still not looking at him. “I must be getting on. My hostess . . . the mother of my fiancé will be wondering what has happened to me.”

“You are engaged to be married?” the man asked.

Sabina nodded.

“To an English nobleman.”

“He is fortunate,” he said. “Does he realise, I wonder, how very fortunate he is?”

“I think I am the lucky one,” Sabina replied with her usual impulsiveness, and then realised that she was talking of her intimate affairs to a stranger. It was the kind of thing that Papa disapproved of in her and for which she had been rebuked often enough.

“I am sure it is time to go,” she added hastily.

“You cannot go until your wheel is mended,” the man pointed out. “And you must forgive me – we are forgetting to entertain you.”

He gave a snap of his fingers and instantly the music began again. The Romany who was playing the violin moved forward into the firelight so that Sabina could see his dark, lined face, the glittering gold earrings, the coloured sash around his waist, the wide sleeves of his shirt swinging with every movement of his body. But the dancer who had been dancing when Sabina arrived stood leaning insolently against the steps of a wagon. Her feet were still, her full red lips sulky, her eyes smouldering.

Sabina meant to keep silent and listen to the music, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Are you French Romany?” she asked.

Her host shook his head.

“That would be an insult if you were not a stranger,” he replied. “We are Hungarian. A very ancient tribe known throughout the length and breadth of Europe.”

“And are you their chief?”

“Their ataman or perhaps as you would say, their king.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Sabina exclaimed. “I have always wanted to meet a king of the Romany. My sisters and I read a book once about the Counts of Lesser Egypt – isn’t that what you call yourselves?”

“Sometimes.”

“We were so interested when we read about the gold goblets that you keep preserved from generation to generation and which are used at all your ceremonies. And now I have met a king – how envious they will be!”

“You will meet many more influential titles in Monte Carlo.”

“But not so romantic,” Sabina replied quickly.

He laughed at that.

“Now I have told you who I am,” he said, “won’t you tell me your name?”

“My name is Sabina. . . Sabina Wantage.”

“Sabina! It is a lovely name, and it suits you. Do you know what I thought when I saw you first, standing over there in the light of the fire?”

“No, what did you think?”

“I thought for a moment that the music Zsika was playing had conjured up one of the sprites or nymphs who lived here long before the Romans and the Phoenicians came, before civilised man discovered the lure of the Mediterranean Sea. You looked so very small and white and your hair was shining gold in the firelight, and I thought, for a moment, that your feet were bare and that you had a wreath of roses in your hand – a crown that, laid on the head of some poor mortal, would make him, for the night, immortal like yourself.”

His voice was very low as he spoke and when he finished Sabina drew a deep breath.

“How lovely!” she exclaimed. “I only wish it had been true. I wish, indeed, that I had been some nymph walking into your life to bring you something magical you had never known before.”

“Perhaps that is just what you have done,” the Romany man said very quietly – so quietly that she thought she had not understood his words.

For a moment he held her eyes with his – then, with a little effort, she looked away from him. She felt as if there was some magnetism about him, something that was compelling her, holding her – something that was drawing her against her will – and yet she was not sure why.

“I must go,” she faltered, and somehow it was a plea rather than a statement of fact.

As if he understood the sense of panic rising within her, he looked over to where the three men who had gone to mend the carriage had returned and who now stood on the edge of the crowd gathered about the fire.

“Your carriage is ready when you are.”

“Oh, they have mended the wheel. Thank you so very much.”

Sabina got to her feet.

“Thank you,” she said again, and held out her hand.

He took it and raised it to his lips.

“Allow me to see you to your carriage.”

“Please, there is no need. . .” she began, only to find her voice dying away as, still holding her hand, he led her through the crowd of Romany people to the darkness outside the light of the fire. As he helped her over the rough ground, Sabina was conscious of the strength of his hand. There was a vibration coming from him that could not be ignored. It disturbed her and yet she was not afraid of him – only of the look in his eyes.

They walked in silence until ahead of them she could see in the moonlight, the carriage waiting, the tired horses with their heads bent forward, the coachman sitting upright on the box, the candle lanterns flickering feebly and ineffectually against the light in the sky.

As they reached the carriage, Sabina had a strange feeling almost of regret that she must take her hand from his. She looked up at him. It was hard to read the expression on his face, and yet she knew what it was.

“Goodnight,” she said, “and thank you. Thank you so very much for all you have done for me.”

Once again he raised her fingers to his lips. She felt the warmth of them and a little shiver ran over her whole body.

“We shall meet again,” he said.

She wanted to answer him, but somehow she could not find the words, and almost too quickly the door had closed behind her, the coachman had whipped up his horses and they were driving away.

She waved her hand as she turned to look back at him through the little window at the back of her seat. He was standing just where she had left him – she could see the whiteness of his shirt against the darkness of the trees. She watched that patch of white until the horses, moving relentlessly along the twisting road, carried her out of sight.

2

It was nearly midnight when the tired horses brought Sabina into Monte Carlo. For the last two miles she had been rehearsing to herself the apologies she must make for waking everyone up at such a late hour. But to her surprise, when they drew up at the Villa Mimosa, it was to find lights streaming from the open windows and servants waiting at the door to hurry down the broad stone steps to help her to alight.

She felt tired and travel-stained when she stepped into the square, brightly lit hall, and was uncomfortably conscious of the contrast she was, with her creased dress and windswept curls, beside the smart, liveried servants, the elegant gilt furniture and the exquisitely arranged bowls of flowers that rested on every table.

She could catch a glimpse of herself reflected and re-reflected in the many mirrors that graced the walls in beautifully carved frames – but before she had time for more than a cursory glance, the butler had opened one of the huge, polished doors and announced her name.

“Miss Sabina Wantage, My Lady,” he proclaimed in the stentorian tones of an English-trained servant, and Sabina hastily passed by him and entered a room where she found half a dozen people seated round the fireplace.

For a moment she had only a chaotic impression of pale walls ornamented with fabulous pictures and mirrors, of chandeliers shining iridescent from the light of a hundred candles, of china, glass and ornaments of jade and silver, of soft silk hangings, cushions, and carpets, all so rich, so priceless, that instinctively Sabina realised they were each in their own way unique.

And then her attention was focused on the people and to one person in particular, rendering all the furnishings into the background. She had wondered so much what Lady Thetford, her future mother-in-law, would be like and yet her imagination was very far short of the reality.

A tall, thin woman rose from an armchair and came towards her. She was exquisitely graceful and moved in a manner that made one think that she glided over the surface of the carpet, rather than that she had feet to propel her along. She was dressed in a gown that left her neck and shoulders bare and made Sabina wonder what Papa would think if he saw it, and she was so covered in jewellery that she literally glittered.

There were diamonds in her ears and round her wrists, a high dog collar of brilliants, which reached nearly to her chin, and beneath it a great dazzling pendant of stones the size of shillings resting low down on her bosom. There were diamonds in her hair, too – hair that was a colour Sabina had never seen before – riotously and flamboyantly red, and somehow as artificial as the face below it.

For a moment, as Sabina looked at the woman advancing towards her, she felt that this could not be Arthur’s mother. She had known that some women, to whom she must never refer, used cosmetics. Her brother, Harry, had whispered to her once that the women at the music halls in London had lips that were as red as pillar-boxes and eyelashes that were blackened to stick out half an inch from their eyes. But those, too, were the type of whom she must not speak.

Ladies were different. Ladies never powdered their faces – except in secret or so surreptitiously that it was hardly noticeable. Ladies had pale lips and if their eyelashes were fair or sandy it was just a regrettable accident on the part of nature and there was nothing one could do about it.

So Sabina had believed until this moment – and now, as she looked into the face of her hostess, she saw that nature could certainly be improved, when one was brave enough to attempt it. It was a beautiful face that was looking into hers – or rather a face that had once been very beautiful and was now ageing a little, so that the contour of the chin was blurred and there were dark lines under the mascaraed eyes and wrinkles on the white forehead that had once been so serene. Even skilfully applied rouge on the cheekbones and the red of the smiling lips could not disguise the fact that youth had departed. Yet the Dowager Lady Thetford was still lovely.

“My dear child!” she exclaimed, holding out her hands to Sabina. “I had given up expecting you. I thought there was no possibility of your getting here until tomorrow.”

“I came by carriage,” Sabina answered.

“By carriage!” her hostess repeated. “How exhausting! It is such a very long journey and you must be utterly fatigued. Come and sit down, but first let me introduce you to my friends.”

She turned to the assembled company, who were staring at Sabina with quite undisguised curiosity. There were two women, who were as resplendently dressed as their hostess herself, and three men, none of them young, but all of them, in their way, having some air of distinction and authority about them.

Sabina hardly heard their names or their titles. Shy and embarrassed, she wondered what they thought of her appearance. She knew only too well how unmodish her dress must appear to them. She had learned that she was unfashionable on another occasion, and she had no illusions now about the work of the village dressmaker, who had fashioned the plain gown of pale blue tarlatan and the little pelisse that went over it.

“Come to the fire, dear child,” Lady Thetford entreated her and led the way, her train of embroidered satin rustling softly over the carpet as she moved.

“Now tell us exactly what happened,” she said. “We were expecting you early this afternoon, but when the last train came in and you were not on it, I felt something terrible must have happened.”

“Miss Remington had an accident.” Sabina began.

“There, I was sure it was an accident of some sort,” Lady Thetford interrupted. “Didn’t I tell you, Julie, that that was what I expected?”

“You did, indeed,” one of the ladies answered. “You are getting uncannily right in your predictions, Violet. I only wish you could apply your powers to the numbers on the table.”

“Indeed I wish I could,” Lady Thetford replied. “But go on, child. What happened to Miss Remington?”

Sabina told of the accident on Nice Station and how Miss Remington was now in the hospital.

“Poor soul, I am sorry for her having to stay there!” Lady Thetford exclaimed. “The nuns are kind enough women, but they have so little money with which to do their work and I am told that the food is pitiably inadequate.”

“It depends by what standards you judge it,” one of the gentlemen said. “A man I know had to go there after an accident on his yacht, and he was really quite pleasantly impressed.”