A Very Special Love

by Barbara Cartland

  The Marquis nodded.

  “The Priest,” Mr. Barrett went on, “and there are a number of them who run the place, are not accepted by the local Clergy. It is only hearsay, but a great amount of alcoholic drink passes through the Convent gates.”

  Mr. Barrett’s eyes twinkled as he added,

  “There is always, according to my relative, enough money to pay the farmers for the best young lambs, chickens, eggs and cream and this locally is considered strange fare for those who profess to be fasting a great deal of the time.”

  “I get the picture,” the Marquis laughed, “and that is why I am going to Cornwall!”

  Mr. Barrett looked at him in surprise.

  “You are really going yourself, my Lord?”

  “Most certainly! Let the Captain of The Unicorn know that I shall be boarding her this afternoon and I have informed my visitor that I shall be with him the day after tomorrow.”

  Mr. Barrett laughed.

  “You always do the unexpected, my Lord, and your father had the greatest respect for Colonel Langley.”

  “So had I,” the Marquis nodded.

  He did not say anything more, but began to sort through his letters.

  There was a smile on Mr. Barrett’s lips as he sat down on a chair next to the desk and opened his pad ready to take notes of the Marquis’s instructions.

  Chapter Two

  The Marquis joined his yacht immediately after luncheon.

  Before he left he wrote explanatory letters to the Prince of Wales and to his hostess for that evening as well as to several others who he had engagements with for the next two or three days.

  He was not certain exactly what he intended to do after he had visited the Convent, but he was determined not to come in contact in any way with Yasmin.

  Nor did he intend, if Lord Caton died, to attend his funeral.

  He knew it was inevitable that there would be some comment about his behaviour.

  The question was now where should he go?

  He was, however, intent on finding out first about the Convent of the Holy Thorn.

  He remembered hearing in the past that women were welcomed in Convents if they had a fortune to endow the Community with.

  At the same time mostly this happened in the case of Roman Catholics, who had been educated in a Convent School since childhood.

  Alternatively women who had had an unfortunate love affair that had made them feel that no other man could ever fill the place of the one they had lost would dedicate their lives to God.

  At least he told himself as The Unicorn sailed out of Folkestone Harbour that this was something new for him to do and would help him to forget Yasmin.

  Because the weather was warm and sunny and the sea comparatively calm he was glad to be in his splendid yacht.

  He had not been in The Unicorn for some time, but he always insisted that it should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

  This was in fact a subtle way of keeping his crew on their toes and now he appreciated the advantage of such an order.

  Everything appeared to be spick and span and the Captain Blackburn was delighted to welcome him aboard.

  “We were hoping that you were coming to try out the new engine we have just installed on the yacht, my Lord,” he commented.

  “I have not had any opportunity until now,” he replied, “but I wish to be at Falmouth by tomorrow night or at least by Thursday morning.”

  “There’s no difficulty about that, my Lord,” the Captain said confidently.

  He proceeded to show the Marquis how fast The Unicorn could move through the water with the new engine and he was on the bridge for most of the afternoon.

  In a way he regretted that he had not invited Harry to come along with him.

  Then he thought that he did not want anybody in London to know why he had left so precipitately and it would make too good a story to reveal that he was visiting a nun.

  He had left a note for Harry, saying that he had to visit Colonel Langley’s daughter who was his Ward.

  “I will not be away for more than two or three days,” he wrote, “but she has been left a fortune and I am obliged to sort things out.”

  He told Harry to continue to arrange the house party at Oke Castle that would take place the weekend after next.

  He knew that Harry would be curious, but there would be plenty of time to tell him the truth if it was necessary after he returned and then swear him to secrecy.

  As the yacht moved down the coast, he was aware that he was escaping from a trap that Yasmin had set for him, but he was not yet entirely free.

  If she insisted on claiming that she was expecting his baby and took a number of her friends into her confidence, it would undoubtedly be very uncomfortable, to say the least of it, for him to prove otherwise.

  Now he thought it over he realised, as he had never done before, that Yasmin had an iron determination when it came to getting her own way.

  She had certainly handled him in a subtle manner that had made him think that he was doing the chasing.

  When he looked back, however, he realised that it was always Yasmin who had arranged their meetings and planned each time before he left her when they would next be together.

  Because he had been infatuated by her beauty, he had been content knowing that to make love to her was what he really wanted himself.

  Now he thought, and it was something that he had often thought before, that he disliked being the hunted rather than the hunter.

  It was extraordinary how women managed to get their claws into him almost before he knew their names.

  As he had a very forceful personality, this did seem rather strange.

  He was honest enough to admit, however, that he had a weakness that contradicted the rest of his character when it came to beautiful women, who could always twist him round their little fingers.

  ‘I am damned if I will ever let this happen to me again!’ he swore.

  But then he had to admit to himself that women were as essential in his life as were his horses.

  When he went to his cabin after an excellent dinner provided by one of the chefs who he employed at Oke House, he slept peacefully.

  He had chosen the furnishings of his yacht with great care, remembering how he had often disliked the discomfort of the beds in other people’s yachts and houses.

  He had taken great care to choose mattresses on which, his friends told him, it was like ‘floating on a cloud’.

  Certainly he did not notice the turbulence of the sea, which was due to a wind that blew from the South. And there was only a slight swell that was not in the least disagreeable.

  They sighted the coast of Cornwall late in the afternoon and were actually moving into Falmouth Harbour by dusk.

  The Marquis congratulated the Captain on his speed, ate an excellent dinner and retired to bed early.

  He made his plans and sent Winton the Mate, who was an intelligent man and had been in the Royal Navy, ashore to find a livery stable.

  The Marquis had instructed him to hire the most up to date chaise that was available and the very best horses.

  By the time he was having his breakfast, he was informed that, although the chaise was slightly old-fashioned, it was well-sprung and the horses were young and comparatively well-bred.

  “That is very good!” the Marquis approved. “And they tell me, Winton, that you are a good shot.”

  “That was when I was in the Navy, my Lord,” the Mate replied, “but I’ve not used a rifle or a pistol for some years.”

  “I think it is a skill that you are not likely to forget and I want you to come with me today and carry a pistol with you.”

  He rose as he spoke from the table in the Saloon and went to a drawer in a piece of furniture that was fitted to the wall of the cabin.

  He then unlocked the drawer. There were three pistols in it and the Marquis took one out and handed it to Winton.

  “I will tell you why this may be necessary
on our way to where we are going,” he said, “and we leave at eleven o’clock.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  The Marquis liked the way the man responded to his instructions without asking any questions.

  He knew a great deal about all the men he employed on The Unicorn and he was aware that Winton was spoken of as being very accurate with a rifle.

  He had also at one time boasted that with a pistol he could hit a playing card thrown into the air through the centre of it.

  As the Marquis then drove away from the quay, he found that the horses were exactly as Winton had described.

  He therefore settled down to enjoy his drive to the Convent, which Mr. Barrett had told him was about five miles inland from Falmouth.

  The countryside they passed through was very beautiful with small green fields and tall hedges.

  Although the Marquis had never visited Cornwall before, he could well understand why Cornish people extolled their County.

  He remembered that he had two friends with estates here that they were volubly devoted to.

  Then he knew that Winton was waiting to hear what lay ahead and he said, choosing his words carefully,

  “I may be wrong, Winton, but I rather suspect that a fraud is taking place at a Convent that we are going to now. While I am inside the building, I want you to use your eyes and see if you think that there is anything suspicious going on and, of course, to listen attentively to anything anybody says to you.”

  He looked at Winton to see if he was paying attention and went on,

  “I also wish to leave quickly if it is necessary. If by any chance, which is very unlikely, anybody tries to prevent me from doing so, be ready to fire your pistol not at the person in question, but over his head to frighten him.”

  “I quite understand, my Lord,” Winton replied.

  The Marquis noted with amusement that there was a note of excitement in his voice that had not been there before.

  He knew that like all young men, he was looking forward to what might be a skirmish or, if not, certainly an adventure.

  It was just a few minutes before noon when the Marquis, having followed Mr. Barrett’s instructions and the signposts, saw the walls that he guessed must enclose the house and the grounds of what had once been a private residence.

  He saw that he was not mistaken as he drew up at two big wrought-iron gates and saw that they were surmounted by a Coat of Arms that he was sure must have belonged to a noble family at one time.

  A gatekeeper came from a lodge and opened the gates and as he did so the Marquis noted that he used a key to unlock them.

  He drove in, but stopped beside the gatekeeper to ask,

  “Am I right in thinking that this is the Convent of the Holy Thorn?”

  “That be right, my Lord,” the man replied with a broad accent. “They tells I you were expected.”

  “Thank you.”

  The Marquis drove on and found that the house was only a short distance in front of him.

  It was an attractive building with a gabled roof and was surrounded by a garden that was bright with flowers while the lawns were well tended.

  The Marquis brought his horses to a standstill at an imposing front door that again had the same Coat of Arms in stone on the portico.

  He handed his reins to Winton and stepped down from the chaise as the door opened and a man stood there wearing a monk’s robe.

  He then bowed awkwardly and the Marquis thought that he was a rather surly-looking individual with a pugnacious chin and heavy body.

  He would have looked more at home in a boxing ring than in a Chapel.

  “I have called here to see Father Proteus,” the Marquis began, “as I expect you already know.”

  “Please come this way,” the man suggested, walking ahead heavily in shoes that seemed unnecessarily coarse in contrast to his robe.

  He showed the Marquis into a large sitting room overlooking the garden.

  He was surprised at the damask-covered sofa and chairs and there were several pictures on the walls that he reckoned were valuable.

  He only had the time, however, to have a quick look round before the door opened and Father Proteus came hurrying in.

  “Welcome, my Lord,” he greeted him affably. “It is delightful to see you. I hope you had a smooth voyage.”

  “I enjoyed it,” the Marquis replied, “and I hope that you too did not find your journey from London too arduous.”

  Father Proteus held up his hands.

  “The train is quicker, although not and never will be as comfortable as a carriage.”

  “I agree with you,” the Marquis smiled.

  The door opened and the servant who had admitted him to the Convent came in with a tray on which there was a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  He set it down on a table and Father Proteus said,

  “I feel sure, my Lord, that you are in need of a little refreshment. It is a warm day and the dust on roads always makes one thirsty.”

  The Marquis accepted a glass of wine, aware as he did so that it was an expensive vintage that he sometimes bought himself.

  He took a few sips and then suggested,

  “As I am sure, Father, you are very busy, I would like to see Zia Langley immediately.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Father Proteus replied. “She will tell your Lordship how contented she is with us here in this happy House of God surrounded by the beauty of nature.”

  He spoke in a somewhat theatrical manner and the Marquis made no reply.

  Father Proteus left the room to return almost at once, so that she must have been waiting outside, with a young woman.

  She was dressed in black and wore a dark veil over her head that the Marquis knew was that of a Postulant.

  She came towards him, her head bowed, and dropped him a curtsey after which she straightened herself to face him.

  As he looked at her, the Marquis was shocked.

  Zia Langley was undoubtedly a very plain young woman, in fact he doubted if he had ever seen or at least noticed such a plain girl before.

  She had a thin face, a large nose and the suspicion of what the doctors called a ‘harelip’.

  It struck him that the poor girl was almost repulsive.

  She did not look young, but she might have been any age.

  Then, as he looked into her eyes, which were brown, he saw, again to his surprise, that she was afraid.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Zia,” he said holding out his hand.

  “It was kind of you to come and see me,” Zia replied in a low voice, which again the Marquis was aware held a note of fear in it.

  “I was very fond of your father,” he replied, “and I can only regret that we have not met before.”

  “I miss Papa very much.”

  As she spoke, the Marquis was thinking of how good-looking the Colonel had been. In fact he was often teased about it in the Regiment by the other men.

  They would say that, when he was in his uniform and on parade, he looked exactly the handsome Cavalryman the public expected.

  “When you are there,” a Subaltern said once to him, “the girls cheer as we ride down The Mall, but they don’t give us a glance!”

  How was it possible, the Marquis wondered, that such a good-looking man should have produced such a plain daughter?

  Then he remembered admiring Mrs. Langley when he had been staying at their house and thinking that she was very attractive.

  She had blue eyes and fair hair.

  And almost as if the words were put into his mouth, he asked her,

  “I have always wanted to know what happened to Joker.”

  As he asked the question of her, he saw a blank expression come into Zia’s face and instinctively she looked towards the door that had been left ajar when she entered the room.

  The Marquis was sure then that, while Father Proteus had not come in with her, he was listening to their conversation outside.

  Almost as if i
t was a cue for his entry, the Father appeared in the doorway.

  “I was wondering, my Lord,” he said, “if you would like Zia to show you the Chapel where she prays and where, when you have given your consent, she will take the veil.”

  “How kind of you,” the Marquis replied, “but I have a better idea. I would like to talk to Zia alone and, as it is such a warm day, I think we should go into the garden and enjoy the sunshine.”

  Father Proteus frowned and the Marquis realised that he wanted to refuse his suggestion.

  There was a French window in the room and he walked towards it.

  Without waiting for Father Proteus’s permission, he opened it and stepped out onto the terrace outside.

  As he did so, he was almost certain, although he could not have sworn it in a Court of Law, that Father Proteus took hold of Zia’s arm, saying as he did so almost beneath his breath,

  “Be very careful what you say.”

  There were three steps down onto the green lawn and, when Zia joined him, the Marquis walked away from the house towards the flowerbeds bright with flowers.

  “This is a charming garden,” he remarked conversationally but rather louder so that his voice would carry, “I am sure you enjoy being in it.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  The Marquis walked even further away from the house, at the same time admiring the flowers that were in the shadow of some trees.

  He knew that they were being watched by Father Proteus from the window and he walked on still further with Zia beside him.

  Her head was bent as if she was too shy to look at him.

  When he was certain that they were completely out of earshot and it would be difficult for Father Proteus to see them unless he moved to another window, the Marquis urged her,

  “Don’t be afraid. I promise I will not hurt you in any way.”

  The girl beside him looked up and now her eyes were wide with what he recognised was fear.

  “I want your help,” the Marquis said, “and I need it badly! As I am sure you are a good girl, I am pleading with you to tell me the truth.”

  “I-I don’t ‒ understand.”

  “I think you do,” the Marquis said. “Where is Zia? Why is she not allowed to see me?”