An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition

by Cartland, Barbara

  “And how do you like England, Zara?” Lord Brecon asked. He was looking fondly at this strange woman, Caroline noticed, and one hand was still held in hers.

  “Ugh, but I detest it. It is cold, and ze audiences are slow to applaud. They are not warm like the French or noisy like the Germans. They are silent, and who can know if they are pleased or – how you say? – disgusted?”

  Grimbaldi laughed.

  “I have told Zara we are an undemonstrative people,” he said. ‘She will get used to us in time.”

  “And your tigers? What do they think of us?” Lord Brecon asked.

  “They think like me,” Zara said proudly. “If there is not a great deal of – what you call – clapping they think they are not a success – they sulk, they are sad – and they are very difficult for me to handle.”

  “Poor Zara!” Lord Brecon exclaimed, and then he looked towards Caroline.

  “I must introduce you to Madame Zara, Miss Fry. She is the greatest and probably the only woman tamer of tigers in the world. She has had a phenomenal success on the Continent and now we are honoured to have her in England.”

  “I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing Madame Zara perform,” Caroline said politely.

  “Won’t you sit down Miss Fry?” Mr. Grimbaldi asked, bringing her a chair.

  “Thank you.”

  “Caroline accepted the chair and as she sank into it realised how tired she was.

  “Miss Fry and I have had a fatiguing ride,” Lord Brecon said. ‘Speaking for myself I am both hungry and thirsty. Can we avail ourselves of your hospitality Adam?”

  “But of course,” Mr. Grimbaldi answered, “though I am afraid the fare is not that to which you are accustomed, my lord. Would eggs and bacon be too simple a dish?”

  “I should welcome it,” Lord Brecon said. “What about you, Miss Fry?”

  “I cannot imagine anything I would rather eat,” Caroline said with a smile, “for indeed, having dined at six o’clock I am exceeding hungry!”

  Then eggs and bacon it shall be, Adam, and if you have it a bottle of wine ?”

  “There I have something I am not ashamed to offer you, my lord,” Adam Grimbaldi answered. “Champagne which I have brought from France.”

  As he spoke, he drew a bottle from a cupboard at the back of the caravan and set it on a small table

  Caroline looked around her and was amazed to see how compactly everything fitted in. There were cupboards and shelves, pictures and ornaments. The bunk bed was piled high with cushions while the floor of the caravan was concealed by a fine Persian rug.

  “How cosy this is!” she exclaimed.

  “My caravan is not so big as this one, but ‘tis far, far prettier,” Zara answered. “But you are tired, Madame. Will you not take off your bonnet and make yourself comfortable?”

  “Yes, I would like to do that,” Caroline said, and raising her arms, she undid the strings of her bonnet and drew it from her head.

  It was big and rather cumbersome as was the fashion at the moment, and though she was aware that her hair must be untidy, she was too tired to worry about her appearance. It was only as she threw her bonnet down on the bunk and the light from the lantern which swung above their heads glittered a little in her eyes that she looked across the caravan to see the expression on Lord Brecon’s face and realised that he was seeing her face clearly for the first time.

  There was a look of surprise as well as of admiration in his eyes, and after a second Caroline’s eyes dropped, conscious that she was blushing a little under his scrutiny. She had no idea how lovely she looked as she sat there with the light shining on the red-gold of the tiny curls which framed her white forehead.

  Her face was a perfect oval, small and exquisitely set upon a long, white neck. Her nose was very short and straight and her mouth full and naturally red. There was something so exquisite in the drawing of her face and the grace of her body that, looking at Caroline for the first time, people invariably found it hard to believe that she was not just the illustration of some enchanting fairy-tale.

  But her eyes were the loveliest thing about her. They were very large and vivid with life, laughter and mischief. Caroline’s beauty was not a set, statuesque type, but something so pulsatingly alive that no one could be with her for long without feeling both the tempo of their own mind and body respond to her natural gaiety and enthusiasm for living.

  Tired as she now was, she could not hide the eagerness in her voice as she asked,

  “Do tell me about your Menagerie. Have you many animals?”

  “A fair number, Ma’am,” Adam Grimbaldi answered, “and I am especially proud of my lions. I have three and the eldest one, Caesar, is as tame as a lap dog. I brought him up from a cub and he will allow me to do anything with him.”

  Mr. Grimbaldi was obviously intensely proud of his menagerie, and he would have talked of it for hours to Caroline had not he been interrupted by the boy with the dark hair bringing in the eggs and bacon so that he must cease talking of his work and see to the entertainment of his guests. When they had eaten, and drunk a glass of champagne, Lord Brecon said,

  “Now, Adam, I want to tell you why I am here. You must be curious, although with the greatest forbearance you have not asked me any questions.”

  “I knew you would speak in your own good time, my lord. You wish, I think, for me to be of service to you. You have but to command.”

  “Do you mean that, Adam, even though it means unpleasantness with the magistrates?”

  Mr.-Grimbaldi shrugged his shoulders.

  “Magistrates are invariably unpleasant,” he said. “It is of little consequence.”

  “In France we have a very rude word and a very rude name for them,” Zara said, “but I will not offend the ears of ze young lady by repeating it here.”

  Lord Brecon laughed.

  “All right, Zara, I know it.”

  “Then you agree with me?” she asked.

  “I agree with you,” he answered.

  She smiled and then her expression changed.

  “M’lord, you have not killed a man in a duel? You are not wishing to flee ze country?”

  Lord Brecon shook his head.

  “No, Zara, it is not as easy as that. Perhaps I had better explain from the beginning. You had best close the door, Adam.”

  Mr. Grimbaldi rose and closed the door of the caravan. Lord Brecon finished his glass of champagne and said,

  “I returned to England about three months ago. As you both know, I have been abroad for nearly two years, travelling in France and Italy. I came back to find a warm welcome from my mother, and my friends’ appeared equally glad of my return. I was, however, informed shortly after my arrival that a distant cousin had died and I had been made the guardian of his daughter, Melissa - a girl of fifteen, who was shortly going to Paris to finish her education at one of the more famous Academies for Young Ladies.

  “I made my ward’s acquaintance and found her a pretty if somewhat brainless child. It was a shock to me when I learnt a week after she had left for the Continent that she had been having a clandestine love affair with a much older man and one with a distinctly unsavoury reputation. It was, I am convinced, quite an innocent flutter on the part of Melissa, but unfortunately she wrote to the gentleman in question several letters of a somewhat passionate nature. Through a lawyer of very doubtful antecedents this unutterable bounder requested me to pay him five thousand guineas for these letters, failing which he would use them to damage and defame irrevocably my ward’s reputation.

  “I went to see the lawyer, a man called Isaac Rosenberg, and informed him that his client would receive from me but one thousand guineas on the return of the letters and not one penny more. I also told him that, unless this offer was accepted within three days, I guaranteed to horsewhip his client the length and breadth of St. James’s Street and have his name posted in every club as a blackmailer.”

  “And what did he reply to that?” Adam Grimbaldi asked.r />
  “I had a reply yesterday morning,” Lord Brecon went on. ‘It was a letter which somewhat surprised me It was signed by Rosenberg and said that he particularly wished to see me on a matter which he was certain would give me extreme satisfaction. For reasons which he could not enumerate he would like me to meet him this evening at the ruined cottage behind The Dog and Duck in Sevenoaks Lane. I was rather surprised at this because frankly, though the ruined cottage is well known as a local, meeting place for lovers, and also for those who wish to engage in a duel, it was not a place I should have thought would be known to a London lawyer. However, I was prepared to keep the appointment, and I repaired to the cottage at the time appointed only to find Rosenberg murdered with a knife stuck deep into his neck.”

  “The Lord take us!,” Adam Grimbaldi ejaculated.

  “But who had done it?” Zara asked.

  “What! I have no idea,” Lord Brecon answered. “When I reached him, he had not been dead long. The body was warm and Miss Fry, who was in the wood, at the time, heard him cry out.”

  ‘You see ze man murdered?” Zara asked, turning to Caroline.

  “No, I only heard his cry and heard someone leave the wood.”

  “He had not been robbed,” Lord Brecon went on. “The letters from my ward were in his pocket. I took them and if I had not been suspicious that there might be others on his person, I should not have searched further, but I did so and in the inside pocket of his coat I found this.”

  As Lord Brecon spoke he drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and Caroline saw that it was the one which he had taken from the dead man. He held it out now.

  “Do you see?” he asked “It bears my name.”

  “What does it say?” Zara asked.

  “It is a letter purporting to have been written by me. It invites Rosenberg to meet me at the ruined cottage behind The Dog and Duck in Sevenoaks Lane on Wednesday next, and it tells him to bring the letters because I am ready to agree to the conditions of his client.”

  “And you never wrote it?” Mr. Garibaldi asked.

  “Never in my life,” Lord Brecon answered. “Nor had I any intention of ever agreeing to his client’s blackmailing tricks. For all I know Rosenberg’s letter to me was also a forgery. Only one thing is obvious - that the poor, wretch came to the trysting place because of a false letter which would make me responsible for his presence there, and was murdered by someone who meant to pin the crime on me.”

  “Yes, that is indeed to be deduced,” Adam Grimbaldi agreed, nodding his big head. “Could it have been the shabby cove to whom the letters were written?”

  “I think not,” Lord Brecon replied. “If he wanted the five thousand guineas, he would not have wished Rosenberg murdered and the letters taken from him. By my death he would gain nothing. No, it would have been to his advantage to have kept me alive.”

  “Then who else could it be?” Zara asked.

  “I do not know,” Lord Brecon answered. “Presumably there must be people who wish to be rid of me, but I really am not prepared to name them.”

  “And how can we help you in this?” Adam Grimbaldi asked.

  “Haven’t you guessed, Adam?” Lord Brecon enquired. “Then your brain isn’t as quick as Miss Fry’s, for it was her idea, that I should find two or more good friends who would swear that I had been in their company this past hour or two. It would not do for me, you see, to admit that I had been to the ruined cottage, for until the murderer of Rosenberg is found I am the person most likely to be the gainer by his demise.”

  “Zounds, but of course,” Grimbaldi exclaimed. “Bacon brained I am not to see it before!” Well, my lord, as far as I’m concerned, and I know I can speak for Zara, you’ve been here with us the whole evening. You watched the show, you came back to this caravan and we sat talking and drinking until it was time for you to go home. Not only Zara, but my men and their women will swear to your presence.”

  Lord Brecon smiled.

  “Thank you, Adam. I knew that I could rely on you.”

  He put out his hand and the other man grasped it. Zara made a, wide gesture with her arms which threw back from her white shoulders the heavy, cascading cloak of hair.

  “But that is such a trifle to ask of us! I was expecting to do more, so very much more for you, m’lord, and now I am sadly disappointed.”

  “You were ever generous Zara,” Lord Brecon said, and taking one of her gesticulating little hands, he raised it to his lips. Caroline gave a sigh.

  “So everything is settled,” she said “and now, my lord, perhaps it would be wise for me to make some arrangement to continue my journey.”

  “But of course, Miss Fry. I have been selfish enough as it is concerning myself only with my own affairs and not with yours. Adam, is it possible to obtain a post-chaise?”

  “But of course,” Mr. Grimbaldi replied. ‘I will send the boy to the nearest inn. Where do you wish to go, Madam?”

  “I wish eventually to reach Dover,” Caroline answered. ‘But if one could take me from here to Maidstone, I could perhaps…”

  “We will find one to take you the whole way,” Lord Brecon interrupted and then, as Caroline would have disputed this with him he said, “Please permit me to arrange this. It is my pleasure to do so. The chaise, on my instructions, shall take you home. ”

  With a little smile Caroline realised that he thought she was considering the cost and so she ceased to argue with him and thanked him gratefully.

  Adam Grimbaldi called the boy and sent him off to the inn, then opened another bottle of champagne. By now Caroline was sleepy and yet she found herself vividly aware of Lord Brecon. She wondered, as she watched him, what it was about his face which was so different from other men.

  He was exceedingly good-looking, it was true, but it was more than that. There was something reserved and strange about his eyes, something which seemed to suggest that he held himself in check. Even his laughter was not always spontaneous, and his smile, charming though it was, had often a sadness or cynicism about it.

  “He hides a secret, I am sure,” Caroline told herself but she could not by any logic justify her instinct in the matter.

  Although it was so late, Caroline felt that she could not leave the menagerie without seeing some of the animals. When the boy had returned to say that post-chaise would be with them in half an hour, she begged that she might see the lions, the tigers, and the kangaroo, which was a very new purchase of Adam Grimbaldi’s and of which he was inordinately proud.

  They went from wagon to wagon. Most of the animals were asleep. They blinked in the light of the lanterns while the more savage of them growled at being disturbed.

  “You must come and see us when we get to St. Bartholomew’s Fair,” Adam Grimbaldi said as they finished their tour of inspection.

  “I would not miss it for a thousand guineas,” Caroline cried.

  “If all else fails, Miss Fry, you might ask Adam to find you employment with his Menagerie,” Lord Brecon suggested.

  “The idea tempts me extremely, my lord,” Caroline replied, “but I have a suspicion that my father and mother would not approve.”

  “No, perhaps not,” Lord Brecon laughed, “but your lady of quality sounds more ferocious than a dozen wild animals.”

  “As indeed she was,” Caroline replied.

  The boy came running to say that the post-chaise was outside. Caroline thanked Mr. Grimbaldi for his hospitality and said good-bye to Madame and Lord Brecon escorted her to the post-chaise. He had a short conversation with the groom and Caroline heard the clink of guineas. Then he came to Caroline’s side, and taking up a rug with which the post-chaise was provided, he tucked it carefully round her knees.

  “Do you think you are safe to travel this long distance alone?” he asked. “I wonder if it would be wiser for me to accompany you.”

  “Oh no, my lord,” Caroline said quickly. “There is no need for that. I shall be perfectly safe and I shall be at Dover soon after breakfast. I have nothi
ng of value on me to attract the attention of highwaymen and to tell the truth I shall sleep!”

  “Then a good journey to you, Miss Fry, and may I thank you for all you have done for me?”

  “It was nothing,” Caroline answered.

  Lord Brecon was speaking to her through the window of the chaise so that she could not see his face very clearly, but her own was lit by the moonlight and her eyes, raised to his, were shining.

  “It has been a very thrilling adventure,” she added softly.

  ‘We will not meet again,” Lord Brecon said and then as he looked down into her face, he added, “Good-bye, sweet Caroline – and thank you.”

  She held out her hand to him but when he took it, he bent his head not to her fingers but to her parted lips. Before Caroline was aware of his intention, before she could move or protest, he had kissed her full on the mouth. As he drew back from the door of the chaise, the groom whipped up the horses and Caroline was carried swiftly on her way.

  For a moment her thoughts were too chaotic for her to feel anything but astonishment, and then anger replaced her surprise.

  “How dare he?” she said aloud. “How dare he?”

  No man had ever touched her mouth before, and Caroline lifted the tips of her fingers to it, wondering to feel the warmth of her lips

  “How dare he?” she repeated.

  So that was what it was like to be kissed! She felt again the strength and yet the softness of his mouth on hers, was conscious of the strange, startled throbbing of her heart and the fire which seemed to rise in the base of her throat and choke the very breath from her body. That was a kiss!

  Caroline smiled to herself in the darkness. Oh well, it was no use being angry, it was perhaps a fitting finish to an exciting adventure.

  She put her head back against the coach but tired though she was, sleep did not come to her. Why, she wondered, had Lord Brecon said they would not meet again? Was it because he thought that his path and that of a paid companion were unlikely to become entangled with so much difference in their social status? Or was it for another and less simple reason?