Diona and a Dalmatian

by Barbara Cartland

  There was a light in a downstairs room, and, what was more, the curtains were not drawn.

  Moving beside the buildings just in case anybody should be looking out the windows, which was unlikely, the Marquis hurried along the side of the garden.

  He then turned and walked past two other houses before he reached Sir Hereward’s.

  He realised that luck was with him, for two of the un-curtained windows were open, and as he drew nearer he could hear what was being said.

  First there was a man’s voice, rather indistinct, then quite clearly he heard Diona say,

  “I will not – marry him! I will – not!”

  *

  Diona had guessed instantly who had kidnapped her as she was carried across the garden.

  She was finding it difficult to breathe owing to the heaviness of the cloth that was over her face, and also because the two men carrying her were moving so quickly.

  Then she heard a voice, which she recognised as that of her uncle, say,

  “Mind the door!”

  The men stopped for a moment and she thought they must be bending their heads. Then she heard her uncle saying in a low angry voice,

  “Get out of my way, you damned dog!”

  There was a yelp and she knew he must have hit Sirius with his stick.

  Then there was the sound of a door closing, and she was aware that while she had been taken out of the garden, Sirius had been left behind.

  It was at that moment, although she was trembling with fear and almost suffocated by the cloth over her face, that she knew she must tell Sirius to wake the Marquis because only he could save her.

  Ever since Sirius had been quite small she had amused herself not only by training him to the word of command but also by making him obey her thoughts.

  It was her father who had told her of the amazing instances of thought transference that were frequent in India. Apparently some Indian’s, trained in this art, could communicate with one another even if they were hundreds of miles apart.

  “I do not understand, Papa,” she had said. “How can they do such a thing? How is it possible?”

  “Scientists have known for a long time that there are sound waves going round the world, even when we can’t hear them,” her father had said, “and I think that what happens is that we can communicate with one another through thought in the same way.’

  “In the same way?” Diona had questioned.

  “As our thoughts move from us on waves, we can direct them towards somebody we wish to receive them,” her father had answered, “and if that person is sensitive and perceptive, he or she understands.”

  “It is a fascinating idea, Papa,” Diona had said, “and I shall try to communicate with you in my thoughts.”

  “It is something your mother and I have often done,” her father had replied. “At times she will answer questions in my mind before I actually ask them.”

  Because Diona had believed that her father would much rather communicate with her mother than with her, she had practised on Sirius and after a time she had begun to think that she was successful.

  She would call him without making a sound, and he would come to her from the other end of the garden.

  However, she was not always so successful when she tried to direct him actively to do something, and as the men carried her for what seemed a long way, she wondered despairingly whether he would understand.

  ‘Go to the Marquis! Fetch the Marquis, Sirius!’

  She felt as if she was straining every nerve in her body to reach him, and she was still trying to think how she might save herself when she was carried up a flight of steps and into a house.

  She was aware that they had crossed a hall, then she was set down on her feet and somebody lifted the cloth from her head.

  For a moment, because it had been so hot, uncomfortable and dark, Diona had difficulty focussing her eyes.

  Then she saw that she was standing in a large room lit by a number of candles and facing her were her uncle and Simon.

  Even though it was what she had expected, she felt herself tremble.

  Then she was aware that Simon was looking at her in a way she most disliked, and she nervously pulled her silk shawl, which was all she had to cover her nightgown, closer across her breasts.

  “I have brought her here,” Sir Hereward said, “and now we had better get on with it!”

  He was speaking to somebody behind her, and as Diona turned her head she saw a man who had been sitting at the far end of the room come towards her.

  He was wearing black, and she wondered who he was.

  He was too small to have been one of the men that carried her.

  Then as she looked at the man in black she saw the white muslin at his neck and knew he was a Priest.

  What was about to happen swept over her with a feeling of horror.

  She knew that she was trapped and it was impossible to run away.

  Then, almost as if some voice told her to play for time, she gave a little murmur and deliberately collapsed slowly to the floor.

  She closed her eyes, hoping that her uncle would believe she was unconscious.

  “She has fainted!” Simon cried. “Now see what you have done, Papa? She has fainted – or is she dead?”

  “Of course she is not dead!” Sir Hereward said angrily. “Fetch a glass of water!”

  “Where from? I do not know where there is any!” Simon replied.

  “Ask one of the servants, you fool!” Sir Hereward thundered.

  Diona heard Simon stumble across the floor and hoped he would not find the water too quickly.

  Now, although she was vividly conscious of her uncle’s heavy breathing as he stood beside her, she was still trying to send out a cry for help, but now it was to the Marquis.

  If Sirius had obeyed her, he would have awakened him by this time, but she wondered frantically if the Marquis would have any idea where to go.

  She knew her uncle had a house in London, but he seldom used it, except occasionally when he had a meeting or a dinner to attend and he stayed the night.

  Never since she had gone to live at the Hall had she been to the London house, and she thought that because the Marquis did not know her uncle and he was of no particular importance, he was unlikely to know where he lived.

  Then some flicker of hope that he would somehow save her made her try again to reach him.

  As her father had told her the Indians did, she thought of her cry for help flying out on a wave towards him, and she visualised his face as he received it.

  “Help me! Help me! Save me! Please – save me! I – love – you!”

  Even as she tried to transmit those last three words, she knew he did not love her, and in consequence she was afraid that he would never know how greatly she needed him.

  She heard Simon coming back and her uncle say,

  “Is that the water? Now lift her head and force it down her throat!”

  “Supposing she does not drink it?” Simon asked.

  The Priest spoke for the first time.

  “I will do it,” he said.

  Diona was aware that he knelt down beside her and Simon must have handed him the glass.

  As he put his arm under her head and raised her up, she was aware that he was almost as repulsive as her cousin.

  There was something nasty, if not evil, about him, and she wanted to shrink away from his touch.

  He was obviously more experienced than Simon.

  He pressed the rim of the glass against her lips, and although she tried not to drink, as she felt the water trickling down her chin and onto her nightgown she felt forced to take a sip or two.

  “Come on, come on!” Sir Hereward was saying impatiently.

  “I think she is coming round, Sir,” the Priest said.

  “If not, throw the water in her face!” Sir Hereward ordered.

  Because she had no wish for that to happen, Diona made a feeble movement with her hands, and then pushed the glass a
way from her mouth.

  “That is better!” Sir Hereward said. “Now get up on your feet, and let us have no more delays!”

  “I – I feel – ill – Uncle Hereward!” Diona murmured.

  “You will feel a damned sight more ill if you do not do as you are told!” Sir Hereward replied. “Help her up, Simon, and once she is standing we can start the service.”

  Clumsily Simon pulled her to her feet by one arm, whilst the Priest did the same with the other.

  Because Diona felt she had no alternative, she stood up and put up her hand to push her hair away from her forehead.

  “Please – Uncle Hereward,” she said, “let me – have something – decent to wear.”

  “When you are married you can go back and fetch your clothes,” Sir Hereward said. “At the moment there is no point in keeping your bridegroom waiting.”

  He was sneering at her as he had sneered so often before at the Hall, and Diona retorted,

  “If you are intending to marry me to Simon, I will not make the responses! I will not – marry him!”

  Because she felt she had nothing to lose, she went on,

  “How dare you kidnap me in this disgraceful manner! It is an – outrage, as you are well aware.”

  “Do not speak to me like that!” Sir Hereward shouted. “You were a penniless orphan when I took you into my house, fed you, clothed you, and paid your improvident father’s bills, and this is all the thanks I get!”

  “It is not a question of thanks,” Diona replied. “I am quite prepared to thank you for what you did for me, even though I was very unhappy in your house!

  But I will not – marry your son, who – as you well know, is not – fit to be the – husband of – anybody!”

  She knew as she spoke that it was a most provocative thing to say, but because she was fighting a lone battle and there was no hope of being saved, she was no longer afraid of her uncle.

  She knew she must die rather than allow Simon to kiss her and touch her, and that if she were married to him she would kill herself rather than live with him as his wife.

  Crimson in the face with rage at her insolence, Sir Hereward glared at her and said sharply to the Parson,

  “Start the marriage service get on with it!”

  “I will not – marry him! I will not!” Diona cried.

  Sir Hereward raised his stick.

  “Then I will beat you until you do as you are told!”

  He moved towards her and Diona gave a cry of fear.

  Then there was a sudden bark and Sirius jumped through the window and landed on the floor.

  On hearing Diona cry out, without waiting for the Marquis he had leapt through the window and rushed towards her.

  He jumped at her, barking now with excitement because he had found her, and as Diona gave a little sob of happiness because he was there, the Marquis climbed onto the windowsill.

  It took him a moment to swing both his legs into the room, and as he did so Sir Hereward, moving with surprising quickness, put his arm round Diona’s neck.

  He dragged her back from the centre of the room and stood with his back to the wall, holding her as if she were a shield in front of him.

  The Marquis, on his feet now, stood for a moment looking contemptuously at what was happening.

  The Priest and Simon were staring at him in sheer astonishment, and Sir Hereward, almost throttling Diona with the tightness with which he held her, was glaring at him as he slowly drew a pistol from the pocket of his coat.

  “You are trespassing in my house, my Lord!” he said. “You will kindly remove yourself immediately or you will have what will be reported as a regrettable accident!”

  “Are you seriously threatening to shoot me?” the Marquis asked.

  “I shall not hesitate to do so if you interfere,” Sir Hereward replied.

  His pistol was pointing at the Marquis’s heart.

  Diona, gasping for breath because her uncle’s arm was squeezing her throat, thought frantically that he meant what he said and if the Marquis tried to save her he might be killed.

  It flashed through her mind that rather than let that happen, she must acquiesce to her uncle’s wishes and marry Simon, and she thought she must tell him so.

  She tried to speak and she must have moved, because her uncle’s arm tightened, and instead of words there was once again a stifled scream of pain.

  Sirius, who had been watching her, unable to understand what was happening, at least knew she was being hurt.

  Springing at Sir Hereward, he jumped up as if to bite his arm.

  Sir Hereward raised his pistol in order to get it out of reach of the dog, and as he did so, with the unerring aim of a first class shot the Marquis, whose hand was holding his pistol in his pocket, shot him through the arm.

  The explosion seemed unnaturally loud in the room and it echoed and re-echoed.

  Sir Hereward staggered and with a bellow of pain dropped his pistol on the floor.

  He also released Diona to put his left hand to the wound on his right arm, and she ran across the room to fling herself against the Marquis.

  She could not speak, she could only hold on to him as if he were a lifeline in a tempestuous sea.

  The Marquis put his left arm round her and walked slowly backwards towards the door.

  “If any of you are thinking of stopping me,” he said, “it would be a mistake!”

  “You have no right to shoot my father!” Simon cried as if he had suddenly found his voice.

  The Marquis did not bother to reply.

  He only looked contemptuously at the Parson, who had cringed away, his prayer book in his hand, and as if he had been accused of doing something illegal the cleric said,

  “It is not my fault! I only did what he told me to do!”

  The Marquis did not deign to reply.

  He knew exactly the type of Parson Sir Hereward would hire.

  There were many of them in London who would perform a marriage service anywhere that was convenient if they were paid enough, and then in registering it would swear that it had taken place in a consecrated building so as to make it legal.

  The Marquis had reached the door and he opened it still facing the three people in the room.

  By this time Sir Hereward had sunk down in a chair and the blood was spreading from the lower part of his arm over his hand.

  The Marquis pulled Diona through the door to the hall and closed it behind him.

  There was a footman staring at them by the front door, and when they walked towards it the Marquis was aware that Diona’s feet were bare.

  He bent and picked her up in his arms, and as the man opened the door for them he said,

  “You had better send for a Doctor for your Master. He has injured himself!”

  He did not wait for the footman to reply but carried Diona down the steps and along the street.

  She hid her face against his shoulder, and at first he thought she was crying, but then he was aware that her hand was holding tightly to the lapel of his coat as if she was afraid she might lose him.

  She was very light and it did not take the Marquis long to walk back the way he had come.

  Sirius followed them, his tail wagging as if he knew that he had been particularly clever in bringing them together again.

  The Marquis walked through the door he had left open into his garden, and, as if she was aware of it because his feet no longer rang on the cobblestones, Diona raised her head.

  “You came!” she murmured. “I was sure that Sirius would somehow – tell you – what had – happened to me.”

  “He told me!” the Marquis said quietly.

  “I tried to tell you where I was.”

  “I found you,” the Marquis said, “and I was in time.”

  As if the fear of what might have happened was still there, Diona turned her face again against his shoulder, still holding tightly to the lapel of his coat.

  The Marquis carried her into the house through the gar
den door, but instead of going upstairs he walked along the passage, which led to the front hall.

  The night footman was drowsing comfortably in the big padded armchair by the door.

  When from the few lit candles that were still burning in the silver sconces he saw his Master appear, he got quickly to his feet.

  “Light some candles in the drawing room!” the Marquis ordered.

  The footman ran to obey and the Marquis carried Diona into the room.

  When two candelabra were burning brightly he said,

  “That is enough,” and the footman left them.

  It was then that she turned to look up at him.

  Her fair hair was streaming over her shoulders and her eyes seemed to hold in them the light from the candles as she said almost as if she could hardly believe it,

  “You – saved – me! You – saved me!”

  “I saved you,” the Marquis repeated.

  He put her feet to the floor but he did not take his arm from round her shoulders, and when she was standing he pulled her against him roughly and his mouth came down on hers.

  She wanted to cry out at the wonder of it.

  But he was kissing her possessively, demandingly, and insistently, as if he had been afraid to lose her and was proving to himself that she was safe and with him.

  He kissed her and it was as wonderful as Diona had thought it would be, only so much more so, and although his lips were hard, demanding, and at first almost painful, she was not afraid.

  She knew that it was what she wanted, what she had longed for, and she had not lost the Marquis as she had thought.

  Because she was so soft and small and her lips were very sweet, innocent, and inexperienced, the Marquis’s kisses grew gentler, and then they were infinitely tender.

  Now as he kissed her Diona felt not only lightning flashing through her body as it had done before, but also as if it gave her everything she had sensed was part of love, and which she had thought she would never know.

  It was the beauty of the flowers and the stars, the moonlight and the shimmering silver of it on the water. It was music, the music she had heard in her dreams, the sunshine, and the love that she had missed when she had left home to live at the Hall.

  It was everything perfect and yet it was all in one man.