The Blue Eyed Witch

by Barbara Cartland

  He soon learnt that any fears the servants had entertained regarding Idylla had been swept away by this new development.

  They were outraged that outsiders had actually entered The Castle and to all intents and purposes had tried to steal from it.

  “It’s a real impertinence, my Lord!” Newman said. “It has made the footmen so angry that I think they would have battered those men unmercifully if the Sheriff’s men had not taken them away.”

  “I am grateful for their feelings of loyalty,” the Marquis replied.

  “I thought you would wish to know, my Lord, that the two men who left us when Miss Idylla first arrived have asked to be reinstated.”

  The Marquis smiled.

  “I hope that you will be merciful and forgive them for being so nervous, Newman.”

  “I don’t intend to be too magnanimous over-quickly, my Lord. It’ll do no harm for them to cool their heels a bit. They’ll not find another job like this easily in these parts!”

  “Not with Sir Caspar sacking his staff!” the Marquis remarked.

  He decided when luncheon was over and Nanny insisted Idylla should rest that he would make another attempt to see Caspar Trydell.

  He had a great deal to say to him and some very pertinent questions to ask him.

  But when he arrived at Trydell Hall it was to be told by Bates that Sir Caspar had left for London first thing in the morning.

  “He was here yesterday, my Lord,” Bates said, “and, as I knew you wished to see him, I very nearly sent a message up to The Castle. But I was sure Sir Caspar would stay a day or two – in fact I think that was his original intention.”

  “What changed his mind?” the Marquis asked.

  “I don’t know, my Lord, and that’s a fact! This morning he came down in a bad mood. Cross as two sticks he was – as we used to say when we were young – and finding fault with everything and everybody. He ordered his curricle and drove back to London.”

  “You don’t expect him back again soon?” the Marquis asked.

  “No, my Lord.”

  The Marquis hesitated, then he enquired, “Did he take anything with him?”

  He glanced at a space on the wall as he spoke and knew that Bates understood.

  “The last picture in the drawing room, my Lord. It was her Ladyship’s favourite, although actually Mr. Chiswick told me it had no great value.”

  “Sir Caspar has sold a great deal, I believe?” the Marquis ventured.

  “See for yourself, my Lord,” Bates answered.

  He walked across the hall and opened the door of the dining room.

  Here the Marquis remembered had hung some very fine examples of Stubbs’s horses, of Herring’s racing pictures and one or two portraits of previous Trydells of which John had always been extremely proud.

  One, of a General Trydell, who had served under Marlborough, might have been John himself and the Marquis felt with a surge of annoyance that a man must have sunk very low when he sold his ancestors off the walls.

  “Why should Sir Caspar be so hard-up?” he enquired.

  “Gaming, my Lord! He’s always been the same! Sir Caspar once told me that his fingers itched for cards and that, I believe, is the right expression.”

  “It is indeed,” the Marquis answered.

  He walked from the room because he found it distressing to see the marks on the walls where the pictures had hung and to think of Caspar Trydell throwing away a long history of decent and distinguished ancestors simply because his fingers ‘itched’ when he sat at a green baize table.

  The Marquis rode back to The Castle pensively.

  It was getting late and he went straight to his bedroom to bathe and change for dinner. He had already arranged for Idylla to dine with him and when he entered the sitting room where they had dined the night before she was not lying on the chaise longue, but standing at the window with her back to him.

  The Marquis closed the door and, as if without words, he called her, she turned swiftly and gave a little cry of sheer joy!

  Then she ran across the room as eagerly as a child to throw herself into his arms.

  “My darling! My sweet!” he exclaimed. “I have missed you!”

  “It seems – a century since – luncheon time,” she whispered.

  “That is what I felt too.” Then he was kissing her passionately, frantically, as if he was afraid of losing her.

  Chapter Seven

  The Marquis stood looking out into the garden.

  The rhododendrons were a crimson splash of colour against the purple and white of the lilacs and bushes of syringa, delicate and ethereal, scented the air.

  The sun was sinking, but it was still a blaze of glory and the Marquis wondered if anything could be more beautiful.

  He thought that he had been happier these last weeks at The Castle than he had ever been before and he knew it was all due to Idylla.

  Never in his whole life had he known such ecstasy combined with a contentment that was inexpressible.

  If he obeyed his impulse, he thought, he would stay here forever and never go back to the Social world which made so many different demands upon him.

  Here, he and Idylla lived as if they were in an enchanted castle and the wildness of Essex was an uncharted sea.

  Then, with a sigh which seemed to come from the very depths of his being, the Marquis lifted to his eyes the letter he held in his hand.

  It was from George Summers.

  A groom who had fetched some things the Marquis required from London had called at Aldridge House and been given it by Mr. Graham.

  George Summers wrote as he talked, fluently and amusingly and the Marquis read,

  “Heaven knows where you have hidden yourself, Oswin. The Social world is in a twitter at your disappearance. The Prince is outraged that you should find any place on earth more attractive than Carlton House. But I must inform you that great events have taken place since you were here!

  As you will remember, Mrs. Fitzherbert sent an emissary from the Roman Catholic Church in Warwick Street to lay her case before the Pope.

  It was frankly to ask whether she could be right to return to the Prince after he has married Princess Caroline.

  As you know, before you left, the Prince’s frantic desire that Mrs. Fitz would take him back had become such a frenzy that we feared he might be near to losing his reason.

  The day after you left London he became so ill that he could not hold a pen in his hand and he is completely convinced that if he had not ‘been bereft of sense’ he would have killed himself!

  We none of us knew what to do for the best, but now, thank goodness, the Papal decision has been made. Mrs. Fitz may rejoin the Prince, ‘who is her lawful husband in the eyes of the Church’.

  Needless to say, a great number of Statesmen are disgusted and even apprehensive about the decision, while H.R.H.’s friends are overjoyed. He and Mrs. Fitz are once more inseparable.

  Mrs. Fitz has decided to give a public breakfast for the Prince as a way of announcing to Society that a formal reunion has taken place.

  I am told on good authority that no fewer than four hundred guests have been invited and, despite the fact that some of the more stiff-necked hostesses are shocked at what is happening, you can wager your last penny that they will all be there.

  Quite frankly, I think you should be present. You have always been a close friend of H.R.H. and I am certain he will take it extremely ill if your only excuse is that you prefer the country.”

  George Summers finished his letter with some references to several parties he had enjoyed of a less reputable nature and gave the Marquis the results of a mill in which they had both bet on the victor.

  The Marquis was, however, concerned with the information about Mrs. Fitzherbert’s party.

  He knew that not only would it annoy the Prince and perhaps hurt him if he did not make an appearance, but it would also cause a considerable amount of comment.

  What was more, he had an ide
a that to attend the function might ultimately prove to his advantage.

  While he was thinking about it, the door opened and Idylla walked into the room.

  She was looking exceedingly beautiful in a gown of soft green which made the Marquis think of the sea.

  Her eyes were very blue as she moved towards him with a smile on her lips and he saw that Nanny had, for the first time, allowed her to dress her hair high on her head.

  The Marquis raised both her hands to his lips and, when he had kissed them one after the other, he said, “I am glad to see you are finally and completely no longer an invalid.”

  “I am well,” Idylla replied, and her voice was like a paean of happiness. “Even Nanny can no longer pretend that the wound on my head has not healed or that I am anything but robustly healthy!”

  “That is hardly the adverb I would have used,” the Marquis said, “but I am glad you are well, my darling.” “May I come riding with you tomorrow?”

  “I have other plans to tell you about, but first let’s have dinner.”

  They dined in the great dining hall, decorated with murals, which was one of the finest rooms in The Castle.

  But Idylla had eyes only for the Marquis, even while they talked on many different subjects. She loved learning from him and hearing him explain so much she had always wanted to know.

  But she felt all the time that their hearts talked to each other in a secret manner that only they could understand.

  When dinner was over, they walked back to the salon and now the sun was a glow of crimson and gold low in the West. The shadows in the garden were purple and mysterious and the fragrance that came through the windows was from night-scented stocks.

  Idylla seated herself on the sofa. Then, as the Marquis sat down in a high wing-back armchair opposite her, she asked, “There is something – troubling you?”

  He smiled because they were so closely attuned to each other that it was impossible for either of them not to know what the other was thinking.

  “I am not really troubled, my darling. It’s just that I am a little apprehensive about what I have to say to you.”

  “What is it?” Idylla asked.

  “I want you to come to London with me.”

  “To – London?”

  He heard the surprise in her voice and saw a little flicker of nervousness in her eyes.

  “But why must we leave – here, where we are so happy?” “One reason,” the Marquis replied, “is that, although like you, I am happier here than I have ever been before, you will still not consent to marry me and I have to find the evidence that will convince you that it is imperative for you to become my wife.”

  “And you think you will find it in – London?”

  “I think so,” the Marquis said with a note of sincerity in his voice. “I have tried to find here what we seek and, while I am convinced in my own mind that I have the answer to every question where you are concerned, there is still something missing – still something which once I have it in my hands will convince you.”

  Idylla did not answer and the Marquis said, “I love you, my darling! I cannot go on indefinitely without knowing you are safe because you will always be beside me not only in the daytime but also at night.”

  He paused and then he said, “I wake a dozen times after I have gone to bed, afraid, despite all the precautions I have taken, that something might harm you.”

  There was a note in his voice which told Idylla that his fears were very real to him.

  She rose from the sofa to kneel down beside him and turned her face up to his.

  “I love you too,” she said softly. “I would not have you think that I don’t wish to do what you ask of me. I want more than anything – more than my hope of Heaven – to be your – wife.”

  Her eyes dropped and the colour rose in her cheeks as she said in a low voice he could hardly hear, “I too am sometimes – afraid at night, and then I-I – pretend I am – close to you and in your – arms.”

  “And that is where you should be! Marry me before we go to London, Idylla! Then I will know that you trust me and believe that I will find the solution to everything sooner or later.”

  She raised her head to look up at him, “I was thinking last night how much you have given me and how little I have given you in return. Then I thought that I love you not only because we belong to each other as a – man and a woman – but also as your mother would have loved you – had she lived.”

  The Marquis put his fingers gently against her cheek as Idylla continued, “Nanny told me how lonely you were when you came here as a boy, how your father did not want you and there was no one to love you as you should have been loved.”

  Idylla’s voice was very moving as she went on, “That is the love I want to give you – I want to make up to you for all you have – missed.”

  She paused and then she sighed very softly, “That is why I cannot risk hurting you in any way, as I might do if you married me – not knowing who I am.”

  “I know who you are,” the Marquis said. “I am sure of it, but I cannot as yet prove it.”

  He saw the question in Idylla’s eyes and he went on, “That, my precious one, is why I will tell you what I suspect and believe only when the proof is there and the whole world will know the truth.”

  “We will wait,” Idylla whispered, “but I will pray with all my heart and all my soul that it will not be – long.”

  “As I am praying already,” the Marquis answered.

  *

  In the gardens at Castle House, Ealing, three marquees had been erected for the accommodation of the company who had been invited to meet at two o’clock, while the dinner was to be at seven.

  There were bands playing continuously.

  The flowers that grew by nature in the garden had been augmented by fantastic arrangements from the florists, which were already wilting slightly in the heat, despite, the Marquis knew, the amount that had been expended on them.

  Everyone who could ever claim acquaintanceship with the Prince of Wales was present and all those who had cold-shouldered Mrs. Fitzherbert after the separation between her and His Royal Highness were now endeavouring to ingratiate themselves with her once again.

  The Marquis, however, had always remained on excellent terms with Mrs. Fitzherbert, because he considered her a far better and more restraining influence on the Prince than any other woman on whom he had bestowed his favour.

  When the Marquis appeared with Idylla, Mrs. Fitzherbert held out both her hands with a cry of welcome.

  “I did so hope we should see you here this afternoon, my Lord. The Prince has been extremely distressed by your long absence.”

  “I am back now,” the Marquis answered, “and it was very kind of you to allow me to bring Miss Salford with me.”

  Mrs. Fitzherbert smiled at Idylla as she curtseyed and went on eagerly to the Marquis, “There is so much to tell you. We shall be extremely poor, but as merry as crickets!”

  “That is all that matters,” the Marquis said.

  Then, as other guests were announced, he gave his arm to Idylla and they moved through the marquee, the Marquis being greeted by innumerable friends, none of whom made any effort to disguise their curiosity concerning his companion.

  Idylla was looking exceedingly lovely in a gown that had been waiting for her at Aldridge House when they arrived.

  The Marquis’s unerring taste combined with Madame Valerie’s had evolved a gown that, while fashionable, had an individuality about it that made it as unique as Idylla was herself.

  She wore no jewellery except for the diamond cross, but the Marquis knew she had an aura about her which made her glitter even in the company of bejewelled and decorated beauties.

  When they had arrived at Aldridge House from Essex, an elderly cousin of the Marquis, who lived in Islington, was waiting for them in the library which overlooked the garden at the back of the house.

  The Marquis had sent a groom post-haste from The Castle t
o ask her to be his guest and to chaperone a young lady whom he was bringing with him to London.

  Lady Constance Howard, who had found life extremely dreary since the death of her husband, was only too willing to oblige her illustrious relative.

  She had been invited to Aldridge House only once or twice before and she could hardly believe her good fortune that the Marquis should require her services and that she would have the privilege of staying there.

  She was a genuine person with a kind uncomplicated nature that the Marquis knew would not frighten Idylla and he was sure she would like her.

  He had not been mistaken.

  The two women took to each other on sight and Lady Constance told the Marquis confidentially that Idylla was the most attractive and charming young girl she had ever met.

  “Wherever did you find anyone so unusual, Oswin?” she enquired.

  The Marquis knew she was consumed with curiosity, but he did not for the moment wish to offer any explanation which undoubtedly would be repeated round the family.

  “I will tell you all about it later on,” he said, “and thank you, Cousin Constance, for coming to my rescue when I needed a chaperone.”

  “There is no need to thank me,” Lady Constance replied. “It is very exciting to be here and you know I am always prepared to do anything you want me to do.”

  She smiled, then added, “As indeed must be most women of your acquaintance!”

  The Marquis was careful to introduce Idylla to all his special friends in the Social world.

  He was well aware that to overlook anyone would be to create a quite unnecessary hostility not only against himself but also against Idylla.

  Fortunately the Marquis had learnt, when he returned to London, that Lady Brampton was in the country with her husband, who was seriously ill.

  The Duchess of Devonshire was charming, as she always was, and even the Countess of Harrowly praised Idylla to her face and asked the Marquis where he could have discovered such a masterpiece.

  The Marquis’s men friends were even more fulsome in their compliments and the Prince of Wales, when he had recovered from being slightly petulant about the Marquis’s long absence, with his connoisseur’s eye, recognised Idylla’s beauty and had a great deal to say about it.