Hiding from Love

by Barbara Cartland

  Even marriage to the arrogant Lord Merton might have been preferable to this immense loneliness!

  No, she rebuked herself sternly. Lord Merton had bartered for her like a farmer at a fair.

  He had sought to buy her affections with beautiful dresses and ermine. He had seen her twice and decided that he could possess her, as easily as snapping his fingers.

  He had frequented the same disreputable Club as her stepfather and had bribed him for access to her.

  How could she ever yield her heart to such a man!

  A sudden tap at the cabin door made her start and she turned, drying her tears.

  “C-come in,” she called wondering who it could be.

  She hoped it was not Señor de Guarda!

  The door opened slowly and a solitary figure sidled in, balancing a loaded tea tray.

  Leonora started with a cry of amazement.

  How was it possible?

  There before her stood Finny!

  Finny, dressed as a cabin boy and beaming at her for all he was worth.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Over steaming cups of scented tea and shortbread biscuits, Finny related his story.

  He had only reached as far as the gates to the dock when a wheel on the trap had come loose.

  As he was struggling to tighten the wheel, a carriage pulled up quickly and the passenger – a gentleman – had offered the help of his driver.

  While the driver attended to the carriage wheel, the gentleman drew Finny into conversation.

  He wondered why Finny looked so sad and Finny divulged that it was because he had to return to cheerless Schilling House, whilst the Mistress he had served so long sailed off to Brazil without him.

  The gentleman had looked very thoughtful at this.

  Leonora was alarmed.

  “Oh, Finny! Suppose he was an Officer of the law, sent after me by Mr. Schilling?”

  Finny guffawed.

  “I knowed he wasn’t, miss, because his boots were too good! And he was kind into the bargain. Besides, I didn’t give him your name. I just said ‘Schilling House’.

  “The gentleman had said it would be an easy matter to arrange to have the trap returned to Schilling House on my behalf. Meanwhile, he was sure he could pull enough strings to get me a job on board the ship bound for Brazil, if he so wished.

  “And he did,” added Finny proudly. “I’m cabin boy to all the private cabins.”

  Leonora shook her head wonderingly. Who could this gentleman be, who had such influence that he could secure employment for someone who had never even set foot on a ship before, let alone worked on one!

  When she asked the gentleman’s name, however, Finny shuffled his feet and frowned.

  He said he could not quite remember, but Leonora had the distinct impression that he had been specifically requested to forget!

  Well, whoever this kind benefactor was, she was so delighted to have Finny with her.

  He departed for his new duties, so Leonora finished her tea and started hanging up her mother’s dresses.

  When the supper gong sounded, she was forced to think carefully about what she would wear for this, her first appearance in public.

  She chose the same green dress she had mused over earlier. She put it on and pulled a face before the narrow pier glass. The sleeves were too long, the hem trailed and the material ballooned about her slender waist.

  What was she to do?

  She seized on the idea of using the red ribbon of her own dress to tie about her as a sash and she was then able to tuck the dress into this and so shorten the length.

  The gong sounded again as she quickly twisted up her hair and wound it about her head.

  Pinching her cheeks to give herself a little colour, she opened the door and stepped out into the passage.

  She almost immediately collided with the figure of a gentleman emerging from the cabin opposite.

  They both apologised and he stood aside to allow Leonora to pass.

  Feeling rather self-conscious about her unorthodox appearance, she could not meet his eye, but muttered her thanks to the top of his smart blue waistcoat.

  This done, she made to move on, only to trip almost at once on the hem of her dress. Flustered, she stopped, feeling even more of a fool than before.

  “Please go on,” she asked the gentleman. “I must attend to my skirt.”

  “Arthur Chandos at your service,” came the polite rejoinder.

  “Perhaps I could be of some assistance?”

  There was nothing for it, she had to look up.

  The face that gazed down at her was of a mien that she might have deemed to be haughty but for an expression of genuine concern.

  As she thus regarded Mr. Arthur Chandos, a strange metamorphosis came over him.

  The concern of his gaze faded, replaced by a look she could not quite fathom.

  His pupils flared as he followed the line of her lips, the outline of her soft cheek, the halo of her golden hair.

  It was as if he was devouring her every feature.

  Leonora felt most uncomfortable under this intense scrutiny and yet she could not turn her face away.

  “M-Mr. Chandos?” she ventured.

  At the sound of her voice he half-closed his eyes as if to dispel a tormenting image and passed his hand across his brow.

  “I am sorry that I seem a little distracted,” he said. “You remind me of someone very dear.”

  To her great surprise, Leonora found herself almost jealous of this ‘someone’, whose remembered image alone was capable of arousing such fervour.

  ‘Will I ever inspire such passion?’ she wondered.

  The supper gong rang again loudly.

  Mr. Chandos hesitated, obviously remembering his previous offer of assistance to Leonora.

  “You may leave me, Mr. Chandos,” she said with a wry smile. “I can manage my dress – alone.”

  He appeared almost relieved, bowed and went off down the passageway.

  Leonora could not help staring after him. She now realised that something about his figure – something about the tone of his voice had disturbed her from the beginning.

  She felt as if they held out an echo of happier times, but why this should be so she could not say, as she most certainly had never met anyone called Mr. Chandos before.

  Suddenly she did not want to lose sight of him, so tucking the top of her skirt tightly under the sash around her waist, she hurried in his wake.

  Catching up with Mr. Chandos, she slowed to walk just a few feet behind, but he did not look back once.

  She noticed that he cut a figure of some distinction and the crew and Officers greeted him with deference as he passed and, when he reached the entrance to the salon, the Steward at the door inclined his head respectfully.

  ‘Yet he is not a Lord or a Duke or anything like that,’ thought Leonora. ‘He’s just a plain Mr.!’

  In the salon he made his way to the Captain’s table and she noted that the Captain rose to greet him.

  Suddenly uncertain, she looked around.

  There were three other tables in the salon other than the Captain’s.

  Where should she sit?

  A waiter approached and indicated a place for her.

  Three people were already seated at the table – one middle aged couple and a girl of about Leonora’s age, who she recognised as the girl with the pale lanky hair she had glimpsed through an open cabin door.

  The couple looked askance at Leonora’s attire, but proffered the usual pleasantries, introducing themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Griddle and the girl as their daughter Desirée.

  The name seemed so unlikely for the thin miserable creature who bore it that Leonora was a little bemused.

  Desirée did not look up, but sat staring down at the tablecloth as Leonora introduced herself and said she was pleased to make their acquaintance.

  She was relieved to have her back to the Captain’s table, as she was not sure that she would have been able to preven
t her gaze lingering on the enigmatic Mr. Chandos.

  Mrs. Griddle, on whose ample bosom hung a man’s watch and chain, announced brightly that she knew all the other passengers’ names already.

  “There aren’t that many of us on board,” she began with an air of disdain. “Mr. Griddle booked on this vessel, but I should have much preferred a passenger ship myself!”

  Mr. Griddle, a lean, angular gentleman with sparse brown whiskers, looked suitably apologetic.

  Mrs. Griddle then pointed out at an adjoining table an elderly man with white hair seated next to a woman of Hispanic features. Two gaunt young men sat with them.

  “The old man is a music Professor,” she whispered. “Travelling with his wife and sons.”

  Leonora hesitated and then turned her head towards the Captain’s table.

  “And what do you know of – that gentleman over there?” she asked somewhat shyly.

  “Him? He’s a Mr. Chandos, rather too haughty for his own good. Came on board on a whim. I saw him. Walked right up the gangplank without a stick of luggage. But he must be of note, because he was shown without delay to one of the very best cabins!”

  ‘Opposite mine,’ thought Leonora, wondering into which category of cabin that put her own. She had surely not paid for one of the best?

  “Why he should be travelling now on a cargo vessel when he is a man of wealth I don’t know,” continued Mrs. Griddle. “But a man of wealth he is – look at the quality of his attire. I do know a thing or two about fashion.”

  Mr. Griddle leaned across to her.

  “My wife worked for a tailor and I owned a small shop in Fetter Lane. We are going to São Paulo to open a new hosiery shop.”

  Leonora imagined their trunks full of silk stockings and boned corsets and gentlemen’s gaiters.

  “And your daughter is to be an assistant?”

  “My daughter will be what I tell her to be,” growled Mrs. Griddle.

  Leonora was taken aback at her vehemence. She glanced towards Desirée, who had at last raised her head.

  The girl’s air of doleful resignation was painful to behold and for a moment she forgot all about Mr. Chandos.

  The next moment there was a general stir as Señor de Guarda appeared, wearing a flowing scarlet cravat and his fine moustache shone with oil. There was no doubt that he was a striking figure.

  His beady eyes were quickly roving the salon and when they settled on Leonora, he made his way over to her with a smile indicating a complicity that she shrank from.

  “Miss Cressy,” he murmured. “You are looking – if I may so – charmingly unique.”

  Mrs. Griddle now looked at Leonora with renewed interest. That he should acknowledge this young woman at all obviously impressed the indomitable matron.

  “Are you – acquainted with Señor de Guarda?” she asked Leonora.

  “A – little.”

  He threw back his head.

  “A little? Why, dear Mrs. Griddle, we are nearly old friends – Miss Cressy and I. I can safely say I know more about her than anyone here.”

  Leonora protested weakly, as he put his head on one side.

  “You are my discovery, Miss Cressy. I claim you. Particularly as I know we are one of a kind.”

  Though not in the least understanding him, Leonora wished that he would not be quite so revealing before the curious gaze of the Griddles.

  “Señor de Guarda has been – most helpful to me in helping to secure my passage,” she admitted in a low voice to the Griddles, attempting to explain what must seem an unlikely connection.

  Señor de Guarda grunted with pleasure and pulled out the chair next to her.

  Mrs. Griddle leaned across to Leonora.

  “Señor de Guarda is in corsets,” she said grandly.

  Leonora blinked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “He is a large supplier of whalebone to the hosiery trade. He used to supply our shop in Fetter Lane.”

  Señor de Guarda gave a wave of his hand.

  “And this time I arrive in London to find that you and Mr. Griddle on the point of leaving.”

  Leonora turned to look at Señor de Guarda. He was certainly a colourful character, and she supposed it was not that unnatural she should have found him appealing when she first encountered him outside the Black Jack Inn.

  “Would anyone object if I joined this table?”

  Leonora’s head snapped up.

  Through a dim mist she discerned the approach of the gentleman who had so much intrigued her earlier – Mr. Chandos, who, according to Mrs. Griddle, had boarded The Teresa of the Sea on a mere whim!

  Leonora looked to Mrs. Griddle, expecting her to invite Mr. Chandos to sit down, but it was Señor de Guarda who replied and in an unexpected fashion –

  “We are a little crowded already, I think.”

  Leonora suppressed a loud exclamation of surprise at this unexpected discourtesy.

  Mr. Chandos seemed unperturbed, leaning on the back of a vacant chair regarding Señor de Guarda coolly.

  “Indeed? Is another person expected?”

  He looked awkwardly at the vacant chair.

  “Well – no.”

  “Perhaps you are unaware, then, that this is a table for six?” enquired Mr. Chandos dryly.

  “Perhaps – ” muttered Señor de Guarda.

  The two men locked eyes.

  It was paramount that someone broke the impasse and invited Mr. Chandos to be seated.

  Leonora was trying to summon up the courage to speak when she was amazed to hear Desirée’s timid but determined voice.

  “P-please do join us, Mr Chandos. I’m sure Mama and Papa will be as h-happy as me to have your company.”

  Turning to look at her, his features softened.

  “I shall be delighted to sit by such a gracious young lady,” he cooed.

  Leonora found herself surprisingly indignant.

  It was not fair! She had been just on the point of issuing the self same invitation! Now Mr. Chandos would never know that she was as gracious as Desirée Griddle!

  Señor de Guarda, outmanoeuvred, sat down with a sniff of disgust and unfolded his napkin.

  “We were a pretty little party until he arrived,” he whispered in Leonora’s ear. “He is trouble!”

  “Oh, you are undoubtedly misinformed as to Mr. Chandos’s character,” she whispered back urgently. “I can assure you he is a gentleman.”

  He drew back and regarded her with narrowed eyes.

  “You are acquainted with him?”

  “Not – really.”

  “Then how can you tell? For my part, I think no gentleman travels without luggage.”

  Leonora said no more on the subject, but turned to observe the rest of the table.

  Mr. Chandos had taken his seat and Mrs. Griddle, put to shame by her daughter, was hastening to make up for her previous lack of good manners.

  “Of course we are most honoured that a gentleman such as you should choose to join our humble group,” she purred at Mr. Chandos. “I’ve been admiring the cut of your waistcoat since you arrived. Am I right in thinking that it’s a Saville Row acquisition?”

  “In fact, it was made by a tailor in Rio de Janeiro.”

  Mrs. Griddle simpered.

  “Indeed? Well, they are more advanced there than we thought.”

  Mr. Chandos looked amused, but was saved from the necessity of further chat on the subject of his waistcoat by the arrival of the waiter with a pot of lobster bisque.

  As the waiter ladled out the soup, Leonora regarded Mr. Chandos from under lowered brows.

  His features in repose indicated a man of authority, a man used to giving orders. And he really was very very handsome. His jaw was firm, his lips finely wrought, his nose supremely aristocratic, whilst his brow –

  Leonora broke away from this train of thought in horror as she saw that he was looking directly at her. He must have sensed her eager scrutiny!

  Her colour heighten
ed and she was relieved that the waiter’s arm now interposed between herself and the object of her admiration.

  “Soup, madam?” asked the waiter.

  “Thank you, yes. Just a little.”

  She stared down as the liquid flowed into her bowl. She shook out her napkin and at last dared to sneak another glance at the intriguing Mr. Chandos.

  He was no longer looking her way. Spoon in hand, his head was inclined towards Desirée, who was speaking with a degree of animation that Leonora would never have suspected her to possess!

  Mr. Chandos listened intently to Desirée’s chatter, only now and then interposing a rejoinder.

  Leonora could see that Mrs. Griddle was acutely aware of this tête à tête.

  “Why are you scowling?” came Señor de Guarda’s voice at Leonora’s ear.

  “Was I?”

  “Yes. To see your pretty lips turned down – ugh!”

  “Well, you must desist from looking at me then!”

  Leonora spoke in a louder voice than she intended and there was an immediate pause around the table.

  With an attempt at nonchalance, she reached to take a bread roll from the breadbasket. Seeing eyes turn and follow her movement disbelievingly, she looked down.

  Her sleeve – too wide for her wrist by a good inch or two – was dangling in her soup.

  “Oh,” she whimpered in despair, trying not to note what she took to be Mr. Chandos’s dry amusement.

  Señor de Guarda beckoned the waiter over and took the white cloth from his arm and then proceeded to dab at Leonora’s damp sleeve.

  She looked at him for a moment and then raised her eyes towards Mr. Chandos, who was regarding the Señor’s hand on her wrist with a frown.

  His gaze then travelled up to Leonora’s face. She drew in her breath as she saw again that same fevered glow in his eyes, that same devouring hunger.

  Then it was gone and he looked away.

  Mrs. Griddle shook her head across the table.

  “I am so amazed, Miss Cressy, that your mother let you travel without attending first to your wardrobe.”

  “Mama!” chided Desirée.

  Leonora blushed.

  “My m-mother was not in a position to – attend to my needs,” she tried to explain, “and I decided quite on the spur of the moment to – sail to Brazil.”