A Very Special Love

by Barbara Cartland

The girl then drew in her breath and would have looked wildly back at the house if the Marquis had not put his arm round her shoulders in what might have been an affectionate gesture.

  “Trust me,” he persisted, “and, as I have already asked, help me.”

  “How did you know that I was ‒ not Zia?” the girl whispered.

  “Because you are not in the least like her father or her mother.”

  “They ‒ they chose me because I am so ‒ ugly they thought you would think there was nothing strange in my wanting ‒ to take the veil.”

  “I guessed that,” the Marquis replied, “but where is Zia?”

  “Locked in her room ‒ until you have gone.”

  The Marquis could see a wooden seat just ahead of them under some trees and he led the girl to it and sat down.

  As she sat down too, he took her hand and slipped it through his arm.

  “Now look as if we are having a happy confidential talk about your childhood and your life here.”

  “They will kill me if they think ‒ I have betrayed them,” the girl said miserably.

  “What is your name?” the Marquis asked.

  “Sister Martha.”

  “And what is your position in the Convent?”

  “I am a nun as I have been for two years now and I have very little to do with the pupils who come here for tuition.”

  “But you know why they want to keep Zia?” the Marquis asked.

  Sister Martha nodded her head.

  “She is very rich – and they are always wanting – more money!”

  “Who are ‘they’?”

  “Father Proteus and there are four other men ‒ who run the Community.”

  “Are they really Priests?”

  “I don’t know. Father Anthony, an old man who was here before they came, is very ill and his sister was the Mother Superior ‒ who looked after the nuns like myself.”

  “And what has happened to her now?”

  “She died and Father Anthony ‒ does not know what is going on.”

  “What is happening here?” the Marquis asked.

  “I don’t really know,” Sister Martha replied, “but there was another girl who was rich like Zia and ‒ she was forced to become a nun because they ‒ wanted her money.”

  “What happened to her?” the Marquis enquired.

  The Sister looked away from him.

  “Tell me!”

  “I am ‒ afraid!”

  “They cannot overhear you now,” the Marquis pointed out.

  There was silence and then in a voice that he could hardly hear Sister Martha stated,

  “She – she tried to escape and I think ‒ they killed her.”

  The Marquis drew in his breath.

  And then he said,

  “You have to help me, Sister, and if you do so, I promise you, when Zia gets away from here, I will have this whole place investigated.”

  “They will surely ‒ kill me,” Sister Martha shook with fear, “if they think I have told you – anything!”

  “They will not know that you have said anything that has made me suspicious if you will do exactly as I say.”

  “I am ‒ so afraid,” she murmured. “I know that what is happening is wrong and wicked, but I have nowhere else to go and nobody wants me ‒ because I am so ugly.”

  “Listen to me, Martha,” the Marquis urged her in a quiet voice.

  She turned her face to look up at him and he said,

  “I promise you that, if you will help me to get Zia away from here, I will see that you are provided for for the rest of your life. If you want to go into another Convent, that shall be arranged for you. If you want to be free, I will find somewhere for you to live with people you can be happy with.”

  He saw that the Sister look at him as if she could not believe what he was saying.

  He smiled at her in a way that women find irresistible before he went on,

  “Just trust me and help me now as no one else can.”

  He felt the Sister’s fingers tighten on his arm as she replied,

  “I will try, but I know that Father Proteus ‒ is watching us.”

  “Then what we have to do,” the Marquis said, “is to convince him that I believe you are Zia and that I am prepared to sign the documents he has prepared for me, which state that I am quite happy to leave Zia Langley here.”

  He saw that Sister Martha was looking at him in a bewildered fashion and he went on,

  “As soon as Zia is released, will you tell her that I have come to rescue her?”

  “But how?” Sister Martha asked. “How can you ‒ do it?”

  The Marquis thought for a moment.

  Then he looked through the trees to where he could see the walls that surrounded the whole Convent.

  “Don’t turn your head,” he said, “just tell me if there is any place where Zia could climb over this wall.”

  “There is one place ‒ at the end of the garden where there is an oak tree ‒ that Zia can climb.”

  She was speaking very softly and after a moment she went on,

  “Once she climbed the tree to look out and Father Proteus saw her and was very angry! She was punished by being put on ‒ bread and water for three days.”

  The Marquis’s lips tightened, but he did not say anything.

  “Will she be allowed into the garden after I have gone?” he asked after a moment.

  “We are allowed to walk on the lawn within sight of the windows ‒ twice a day,” Sister Martha said.

  “And what is the last time you do so?”

  “At four o’clock before we have our tea and after that we are locked in ‒ for the night.”

  “Very well,” the Marquis said, “at four o’clock tell Zia when she is in the garden to get as near to the tree as possible, then make a sudden dash, climb it and I will be waiting for her on the other side of the wall.”

  “It will be ‒ difficult,” Martha answered him unhappily.

  “If it is and she is prevented from escaping, tell her that I will come to the Convent this evening and take her away by force!”

  Martha could not prevent a little cry from escaping her lips.

  “Be careful!” she warned. “The servants Father Proteus employs are ‒ very strong and, since Zia is being forced into becoming a nun, they patrol the grounds to make certain that she cannot escape.”

  She saw the Marquis square his chin and those who know him, as Harry did, would have been aware that he was very angry.

  Then he said,

  “You are very brave, Sister, and I admire you very much. Now, when we walk back I want you to look happy as if I have agreed to everything you have asked of me and, when I have said ‘goodbye’, I know that Father Proteus will be pleased with you.”

  “Who is the ‘Joker’ you spoke about?” Martha enquired.

  “He was a magnificent stallion that Zia’s father always rode and won a great number of hair-raising Steeplechases on.”

  “They did not tell me that.”

  “And if you had been able to answer that question plausibly, I had several others,” the Marquis smiled.

  He rose to his feet, but kept Sister Martha’s arm through his.

  “We are going back now, “he said, “as I don’t want Father Proteus to be in the least suspicious. When I leave, they will think that I am returning to my yacht, but make quite certain that Zia is aware that I am waiting for her.”

  “Once you have gone ‒ I am sure they will release her.”

  When he was certain which was the oak tree at the end of the garden that Zia must climb, the Marquis walked with Sister Martha slowly back towards the French window that they had left the sitting room through.

  As they came within earshot of Father Proteus, he said in a clear voice,

  “I remember your father taking a six foot jump and making us all follow him. We would have looked very foolish if we had failed when a much older man had succeeded.”

  As he spoke, the Sister was
looking up at him as if she was thrilled by every word he said.

  “Your mother was also a good rider,” the Marquis went on as they reached the steps up into the sitting room, “at least so I have been told, although actually I never saw her on a horse.”

  He climbed the steps and, seeing Father Proteus in front of him, exclaimed,

  “I have been talking to Zia about the old days. I suppose, Father, that the pupils in the Convent are not allowed to ride?”

  “It can be arranged if it is something they are eager to do,” Father Proteus replied. “In fact I have often thought that amongst the other subjects in the curriculum, riding should be included.”

  “It is certainly the best exercise in the world,” the Marquis informed him. “But then I am prejudiced.”

  “Of course,” Father Proteus answered. “And your Lordship has the finest horses.”

  They went into the sitting room and the Marquis said to Sister Martha,

  “Goodbye, my dear, it has been delightful meeting you and I entirely understand why you wish to spend the rest of your life in this lovely place.”

  He had taken her hand in his and Sister Martha replied in a breathless voice,

  “Thank you, my Lord. Thank you very very much.”

  She curtseyed and then, as if she was shy, she went from the room leaving the Marquis alone with Father Proteus.

  “A charming girl,” the Marquis said. “It is sad when her father was so handsome that she should be so plain.”

  “I felt that your Lordship would understand why she would be happier with us than in the outside world,” Father Proteus replied.

  “Of course,” the Marquis agreed, “and it is probably the right solution. At the same time it is a great pity, and in a way very unfair, that some women should be so beautiful and others extremely ugly.”

  “We can only believe, my Lord, that God knows best and there are compensations, as for Zia, in finding the beauty of their souls.”

  The Marquis sighed and then said,

  “I must go back to my yacht. I have, as I am sure you will understand, a great number of engagements in London.”

  “I am certain that you have, my Lord, and it was very generous of you to spend so much time on poor little Zia.”

  The Marquis moved towards the door.

  “One moment, my Lord,” Father Proteus said hastily. “I think you have forgotten that we need your signature on the form of consent for Zia to take the veil.”

  “So you do!” the Marquis exclaimed. “How stupid of me. I have left the papers in my yacht.”

  “I am sure that I can provide you with duplicates,” Father Proteus suggested.

  “There is no need to trouble yourself,” the Marquis replied. “I will sign them before I leave Falmouth and hand them over to the Harbourmaster. You will be able to collect them tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, of course, my Lord,” Father Proteus agreed, “but it will take only a few minutes for me to find you the duplicates.”

  The Marquis drew out his gold watch.

  “You must forgive me, Father, but I have someone waiting for me and I am late already.”

  He had reached the front door almost before Father Proteus realised what was happening.

  Shaking the Priest hurriedly by the hand he reached his hired chaise and sprang into the driving seat.

  “Goodbye, Father,” he called out, raising his hat.

  “God go with you, my son,” the Father answered.

  His words were lost in the whirl of the Marquis’s wheels and the crack of his whip.

  He was down the drive and out of the gates, which had been left open for him, before Father Proteus moved.

  With a smile of satisfaction on his face he walked back through the open door.

  *

  The Marquis waited until they were some distance away from the Convent before he asked,

  “Did you notice anything strange while I was inside the Convent, Winton?”

  “Nothin’ much, my Lord,” Winton replied, “except there was several men lookin’ out of different windows. Seemed a bit odd in a Convent that I thinks was for women!”

  “That was observant of you,” the Marquis replied. “Now, what we are going to do, Winton, is to kidnap a young lady who is being held prisoner there, get her to the yacht and out to sea before the men you saw looking out of the windows can stop us!”

  “How are we goin’ to do that, my Lord?”

  “It will not be easy. They may want to make quite certain that we have left, so look back and see if by any chance we are being followed.”

  Winton did as he was told, finding it difficult to peer through the cloud of dust that the horses and the chaise raised on the dry road.

  After straining his eyes for some minutes he reported,

  “There be no one in sight, my Lord.”

  “Then look out for the first Posting inn we come to where we can have something to eat,” the Marquis proposed, “and then we will return!”

  He could tell that Winton was excited, but he said nothing, only looking ahead of him.

  Suddenly Winton called out,

  “There it be, my Lord! That’s the main highway, which I notices when we was comin’ here. There must be an inn of some sort where the stagecoaches stop.”

  “You are quite right, Winton,” the Marquis agreed, “and, if there is one, we will find it.”

  About twenty minutes’ drive further on they came to an attractive little inn called The Cock and Hen.

  It was obvious that the landlord was very impressed by the Marquis and, while he could not offer him an elaborate meal, what was obtainable was certainly edible.

  The Marquis was wise enough not to sample the wine, but enjoyed the homemade cider from Devon.

  When he had finished and was no longer feeling hungry, he called for the landlord and then asked him,

  “Tell me about the Convent you have near here.”

  “A strange place, zir, to be sure,” the innkeeper replied. “They do say that the lasses the gentry sends there be well taught, but the Priest who runs it be an odd cove!”

  “Is he a Cornish man?”

  “Not as I understand it, zir, and they as be with ’im are not the sort I likes to see in my bar!”

  The innkeeper then obviously did not wish to say anything more and, picking up the bill, the Marquis settled it including a generous tip.

  The innkeeper bowed respectfully as he said,

  “Thank you, sir, thank you! I ’opes I might ’ave the pleasure of servin’ you again!”

  The Marquis thought that it was unlikely, but he did not say so.

  He then went out of the dining room, where they were the only guests, to see that the innkeeper had retreated behind the bar.

  He asked him if he had a map of the neighbourhood.

  “I doubts there be one, zir,” he replied, “but I can tell you anythin’ you wishes to know.”

  “Well, suppose,” the Marquis said, “I take the Convent of the Holy Thorn as a centre point which we both know. What I wish to do is to travel behind it as if I was going North, then turn and approach it from that direction rather than the way I have just come.”

  It took a little time to explain to the innkeeper exactly what he wanted.

  He was then told that there was a lane that would take him about half-a-mile North of the Convent so that, when he approached it from there, he would be facing South.

  This was exactly what the Marquis required and, following the innkeeper’s directions, he and Winton set off.

  By this time it was after three o’clock and they only had a short way to go before they saw the Convent ahead of them.

  The Marquis realised that there was no entrance apart from the gates in the South wall that he had passed through earlier.

  At exactly four o’clock he drew up on the narrow road below the ancient oak that Sister Martha had told him Zia could climb.

  He told Winton to change his seat from the one be
side him to the one behind which was intended for a groom.

  Then, looking up at the boughs of the tree, he found himself praying that Sister Martha had been able to tell Zia that he was waiting and that she would be able, unless Father Proteus was suspicious, to reach the oak tree.

  He listened and he thought, although it might have been his imagination, that he could hear voices in the garden.

  Then suddenly there was a rustle amongst the leaves overhead and the next moment he saw the face of a girl peering over the wall.

  It was then he said to Winton,

  “Quickly! Catch her!”

  Putting his pistol down on the seat, Winton jumped down from the chaise and went to the wall.

  The girl flung her legs over the wall and holding tightly to the top of it, she lowered her body with a swiftness that told the Marquis that she was athletic as her father had been.

  Then, as she hovered above his head, Winton grasped her ankles.

  Suddenly there were shouts and then a shrill scream from the garden.

  “Quickly!” the Marquis ordered.

  A second later Zia sprang into the chaise beside him and the horses were already moving as Winton jumped up behind.

  “They – saw me!” she gasped.

  “I heard them,” the Marquis said grimly. “Hold on tight! The quicker we get away from here the better.”

  He cracked his whip and the horses surged forward.

  There was a long expanse of the wall to pass before they came to the South entrance of the Convent.

  Just before they reached it, Father Proteus ran into the centre of the road waving his arms and behind him were four other men running through the gate.

  The Marquis did not slow his speed.

  He drove his horses straight at Father Proteus and only at the last moment when the Priest realised what was intended did he try to move out of the way.

  But it was too late.

  The wheel caught him and there was a scream as he fell to the ground and a bump as it passed over his leg.

  As it did so, Winton fired his pistol twice over the heads of the men who were reaching out to grab at the chaise as it passed them.

  They instinctively ducked and as they did so the Marquis, driving at even greater speed, enveloped them in a cloud of dust.

  He drove on for some distance before an excited voice beside him stammered,