The Hidden Evil

by Barbara Cartland

  “I don’t know what you must think of me,” Sheena said brokenly. “I-I did not meet the Marquis by arrangement. I came away alone from – from the crowd – ”

  “There is no need to make any explanations to me, Mistress McCraggan,” the Duc said in his most bored uncompromising voice and her sentence died away and for some reason she felt curiously near to tears.

  How dare the Marquis behave in such a manner? she thought to herself and then realised that it was her own fault for having withdrawn from the crowd. Obviously in France a woman dared not be alone, for if a man was to find her unchaperoned, she was instantly at the mercy of his desires.

  Surreptitiously, as they walked on, she then tidied her hair, conscious all the time that her mouth felt as if it was burning from the Marquis’s kisses and her cheeks were flushed from the energy that she had struggled against him with.

  They reached the end of the gardens and to her surprise the Duc led the way towards The Palace. She would have questioned him, but she felt she dare not submit herself any more to his sarcasm.

  She only thought miserably that he must think of her as a very abandoned and fast person because this was indeed the second time he had found her trying to escape from the attentions of a strange man.

  ‘How could I have helped it?’ she wondered.

  And knew the answer was that she should not have wandered off alone.

  The Duc then opened a small garden door and motioned her inside. They moved along a corridor and then to her surprise, instead of going upstairs to the State Apartments, he turned the handle of a door and stood aside to let her enter a small book-lined room.

  It was lit with a silver candelabra that revealed a desk on the centre of which stood a pile of documents. There was a chair beside the desk and two others on either side of the hearth. Otherwise the room was barely furnished except for a huge portrait of the Duc himself which hung over the mantelpiece.

  “This is my office,” the Duc said as if in answer to a question. “Sit down, please.”

  He indicated a chair in front of the desk and seating himself on the other side he opened a dispatch box.

  “But, the – the Queen,” Sheena stammered, as she obeyed the Duc automatically and sat down where he had indicated.

  “Her Majesty asked for you, which is why I realised you were not present,” the Duc said. “Before you go to her, I have something of importance to discuss with you.”

  As he spoke, he drew from the dispatch box a number of letters. With a sudden leap of her heart Sheena recognised the writing on one.

  “That is my letter,” she said accusingly. “My letter to my father.”

  “I know. That is what I wish to discuss with you.”

  “But – but why is it here?” Sheena asked. “I was told – ”

  “You were told that it would be carried to Scotland in safety and without surveillance,” the Duc said curtly. “As it happens, the man you employed has been suspect for some time as being in the pay of Spain. When he left The Palace that night, he went straight to the Spanish Ambassador who read all the letters that had been entrusted to the messenger before resealing them and telling the man to proceed on his way.”

  “In the – pay of Spain!” Sheena commented faintly. “Then – then – ”

  “Then he is an enemy,” the Duc said. “For, as you know, although technically we have signed a peace with Spain, she still remains the enemy of France and most surely the enemy of Scotland.”

  “I did not ‒ know,” Sheena admitted.

  “No, of course not. But in the meantime your letter has been brought to me and I think it only right to tell you that I have read it.”

  “You have read it!” Sheena rose to her feet. “How dare you do such a thing? Surely it was bad enough that it should fall into the hands of enemies without you prying into private correspondence without my permission.”

  “Your permission was immaterial,” the Duc said. “As the letters were carried by a spy, I had to know how deeply you might be involved with him or anyone else who might harm my country.”

  “Is it likely that I should do ‒ anything of the sort?” Sheena asked.

  “I am afraid it is possible to trust very few people these days, as perhaps you, yourself, have found.”

  It seemed to Sheena that there was a sneer in his words and she knew he was referring to the Marquis.

  She felt her cheeks flush.

  “I have already tried to tell you,” she said, “that I did not invite the Marquis to seek me out. Nor did I tolerate his behaviour save that I was too weak to fight as strongly against him as I should have wished.”

  “That I can understand,” the Duc replied, but she fancied his lips curled.

  Sheena stamped her foot.

  “It is all very well to sit in judgment, but it is not very easy for someone who comes from a quiet and decent land to understand the behaviour of the gentlemen at this Court.”

  In answer the Duc picked up her letter.

  “And yet I can see you have a predilection for the Marquis. You describe him in glowing terms to your father, while I am not so fortunate.”

  “That letter was meant for my father’s eyes and for no one else’s,” Sheena said hotly. “If I speak in glowing terms, as you describe it, of the Marquis, it is because I did not know him as well as I do now.”

  “I hope that you now know him well,” the Duc said, “for you would indeed be wise to be warned against him. He is not the sort of companion that you should choose.”

  “I don’t think,” Sheena replied, “that I have yet had the privilege of choosing any of my companions in The Palace. But I must, Your Grace, reserve to myself the right to choose my own friends.”

  She spoke hotly because he infuriated her, seated there, she thought, like a schoolmaster taking her to task, yet admitting that he had read a private letter that had never been intended for anyone’s eyes save her father’s.

  She remembered uncomfortably the things she had written about him and, as if the Duc knew what she was thinking, he said with a twist of his lips,

  “I can see that I am not to be accorded the privilege of being one of those friends that you would choose.”

  “You have certainly never attempted to show me any friendship,” she retorted angrily.

  She knew that in some ways she was in the wrong and it made her angrier. Her Scottish pride and quick temper were blazing in her little face as she faced the Duc across the desk.

  To her surprise he threw her letter down on the table and rose to his feet.

  “Perhaps that is true,” he said. “Maybe I have not shown you the friendship that I should have done. But I have lost the art of making friends. I have only become, as you so ably put it, utterly ruthless as an enemy.”

  He walked across the room and back again while she stared at him in perplexity.

  She wanted to go on fighting, but somehow he was no longer angry, only philosophising as he said in what was no longer a cynical voice but a tired one,

  “How could one ever begin to explain Court life to a child from another world?”

  “I am not a child,” Sheena answered petulantly.

  He smiled at that and suddenly his expression was young and surprisingly tender.

  “How young one must be to want to be old,” he said. “I can remember saying the same thing myself when I was about your age and being furious because everyone laughed at me.”

  Moving round the desk he stood beside Sheena and looked down at her.

  “Let us forget what has happened and start again. Will you allow me to say perhaps two things to you that it is necessary you should know?”

  “What are they?” Sheena asked suspiciously.

  She was uncomfortably aware of her letter lying on the desk where he had thrown it and remembered what she had written about the Queen as well as her remarks about the Marquis and the Duc.

  “There is an old proverb,” he now said, “‘Beware of the Greeks when they
come bearing gifts’. And for the ‘Greeks’, substitute ‘crowned heads’.”

  “Do you mean,” Sheena asked, puzzled, “that – ”

  She hesitated a moment, remembering who had given her gifts. Surely he could not mean the Queen.

  She looked up into his face.

  “Beware of the Queen,” she said quietly. “Is that what you are trying to say to me?”

  “You must read your own interpretation into all my remarks,” he said lightly and turned away from her. “But let me add something else. Have nothing at all to do with the Marquis de Maupré. Don’t listen to him. Avoid him whenever you can.”

  Because she did not understand all he was implying and because in some inexplicable way she was frightened, Sheena said sharply,

  “What do you mean by that? Why should you attack the Marquis?”

  “Has he told you he is in love with you?” the Duc asked in a sneering voice. “I can see from your face that he has. Well, don’t believe him. He is in love with no one but himself and his whole heart and soul are engaged in promoting his own ambitions, the ambitions of a very ambitious man.”

  More because the tone of contempt in his voice annoyed her than for any other reason Sheena was prepared to argue with him.

  “Even the Marquis might be sincere sometimes,” she said.

  “Don’t be a little fool,” the Duc added testily. “He is not in love with you and he never will be.”

  Once again Sheena found it intolerable that he should speak to her in such a manner.

  “How dare you address me like that?” she stormed. “Why should 1 trust your judgment any more than that of the Marquis? You speak as if you have my well-being at heart but one thing is very certain, you have no heart and no kindness for anyone or anything.”

  She did not look at him as she spoke, she dared not.

  She drew in her breath quickly and continued,

  “For some obscure reason you wish to take me to task. You insulted me before you saw me, you have sneered at and jibed at my country and everything that I personally have done since I came here. You read my private letter to my father and then talk as if you have the right to sit in judgment upon other people. I think you are despicable, utterly and completely despicable, and I will not listen to you.”

  As if her words had pierced the Duc’s guard, he too flushed with anger.

  “You little idiot,” he said. “You are deliberately misunderstanding all that I am trying to say to you. Think what you like about me but beware how you trust the Marquis de Maupré. He is not to be trusted. The position he has adopted for himself at Court makes most decent people suspect and shun him. But you cannot be expected to understand, so all I am doing is warning you to keep away from him. He will do you no good but only untold harm.”

  “And why should I listen to you? How do I know that you are not telling me a pack of lies?” Sheena enquired.

  “Because I know what I am talking about and you know nothing, not even how to keep yourself out of danger,” the Duc retorted.

  “All I can reply is that I am tired of your insults,” Sheena said. “I shall go to the Marquis now and tell him what you have said about him. I shall ask him to be my friend and to protect me from the intrigues and insults of people like you.”

  Her voice was fiery with anger as she defied him and she felt herself almost scorched by the fury in the Duc’s eyes as he stared down at her.

  “You will do nothing of the sort,” he shouted.

  “I shall do what I wish without any interference from you,” Sheena countered.

  As if his self-control snapped, he bent forward suddenly and put a hand on each of her shoulders and shook her as one would shake a child who was being naughty.

  “Listen to me, you little fool,” he said through clenched teeth. “If you think you can play with fire in this place without getting burnt, you are much mistaken. If you repeat one word of what I have said to you, the consequence might be lamentable not for me but for you. You are in danger, I tell you, and if you will not heed me then God knows what the outcome might be.”

  “Let me go,” Sheena replied breathlessly, as she tried to shake herself free of his strong hands which were hurting her shoulders.

  “I will shake some sense into you,” he asserted, “if it is the last thing I do.”

  With a sudden movement she wrenched herself free of him.

  “You are uncontrolled, unprincipled and a disgrace to your rank!” she stormed. “I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you!”

  “Of course you hate me,” he said equally angry. “You only like those who will suck up to you with sweet words and are determined to use you for their own ends. Cannot you see, you conceited little Scot, that everything they say is insincere? Every word that they utter is spoken with some ulterior motive.”

  “I will not listen to you,” Sheena said. “I am going now to find the Marquis and tell him just what you have said about him.”

  She made a movement to turn away, but the Duc reached out and caught her wrist with his hand.

  “Very well then, go. I suppose it is his kisses that you want. All women are the same. All they want from a man is love-making and more love-making. It is all they think about. They have no sense, no pride, no integrity, only an insatiable desire for what they call ‘love’.”

  “Think what you like,” Sheena said murderously, her eyes flashing as she strove to free her wrist from his grip.

  “Go and give him your lips and your heart and your trust,” the Duc suggested in his most cynical voice, “and you will soon find out where you will end up and what harm it will do.”

  “Let me go!” Sheena cried, trying once more to pull herself free of him.

  “Go to the Marquis,” the Duc said savagely, “but if it is only kisses that you want, cheap easy kisses that anyone can have for the asking, then why be content with his? Try mine! You may find them even sweeter.”

  Before she could breathe and before she could take in what was happening, he had freed her wrist and pulled her roughly towards him.

  He cupped her chin with his fingers and threw her head back against his shoulder.

  For a moment he looked into her eyes and she saw a strange inner uncontrollable passion in his.

  Then his mouth was on hers and he kissed her almost brutally with lips that seemed to take possession of her will so that she was powerless to move or even to struggle with him.

  She felt his mouth holding her, felt for a moment as if she was diving down into the dark mysterious depths of an ocean from which there was no return.

  She felt herself falling, felt something strange and utterly unreal happening to her.

  And then, as suddenly as he had seized her, she was free.

  She staggered and would have fallen if she had not clutched at the chair to save herself.

  “Go to the Marquis and be damned to you!”

  He spoke in a low voice that was very different from the furious tones in which he had addressed her previously.

  Then he walked away past the desk to the window and pulled back the curtains with a jerky movement as if he sought fresh air. For a moment Sheena could only stare at him and at his square shoulders etched against the window.

  And then, without speaking and strangely without haste, she went from the room almost as if she was in a dream.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sheena passed an unhappy and restless night.

  She tried hard to close her mind to her thoughts and the thumping of her heart, but after a while she realised that sleep was impossible and that her violent hatred of the Duc precluded all else.

  As the dawn broke, pale and golden, and the first rays of light shone through the sides of the heavy curtains covering her windows, she rose from her bed and walked across the room. She drew back the curtains and stood taking in deep breaths of warm air, wishing that instead she was being buffeted by the sharp strong winds blowing across the North Sea.

  That was just what she nee
ded, she thought, the stimulating austerity and positiveness of Scotland. France made her feel weak and at the mercy of emotions she had never experienced before.

  Always until now her beliefs had been unchallenged.

  Things were black or white, right or wrong, and she had no doubts and no uncertainties, either where her conscience was concerned or as to her line of conduct.

  “You’re either for the Lord or against Him.”

  She could hear the Minister thundering the words in the small grey Kirk that she attended regularly at her father’s side.

  And now everything was so confused. Who was right and who was wrong? And where did she stand in it all? She could feel again the arms of the Marquis drawing her to him and his mouth fastening on hers. She felt again the inner revulsion, the shrinking and the dislike that made her struggle against him.

  And then she could see the Duc’s face, his eyes aflame with anger as he shook her before he held her close and yet closer.

  Sheena opened wider the diamond-paned casements. She could not breathe, the air, her memories and her emotions were suffocating her. She felt as if the great Palace was closing in on her.

  ‘I must get away,’ she thought. ‘I must get out into the countryside.’

  She threw a wrap around her shoulders and, opening her bedroom door, summoned one of the pages who was always in attendance in the corridors both day and night.

  “I wish to go riding,” she said.

  “Your pardon, mam’selle,” the page replied, “but I have a message for you.”

  “A message?” Sheena queried.

  The page nodded.

  “Oui, mam’selle. Her Majesty the Queen of Scotland wishes you to ride with her at half past eight. I was to have told you last night, but you had already retired.”

  “Where am I to meet her?” Sheena asked.

  “Her Majesty has ordered the horses to be at the South Gate,” the page replied.

  Sheena nodded and went back into her room. She was used to receiving messages which were almost commands in such a manner.

  Mary Stuart would often determine at midnight an escapade or outing for the following day and messages were sent by the pages to those she wished to be in attendance on her.