A Revolution Of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “I think,” he said, “you should put it back into the bag and then we must think of how we can carry it and any clothes you wish to take with you on board ship, if Maniu finds one.”

  “He will find one, I know he will,” Thekla said. “If we could consult an astrologer, I know that he would say that – the stars are favourable to us today.”

  Drogo smiled.

  “That is what I want to believe. I suggest now that you lie down and rest just in case we have a long way to walk late this evening.”

  Thekla rose from the chair where she was sitting.

  When he passed her to go to the door, she put out her hand and slipped it into his.

  “I want to – stay with you,” she said. “When I am alone, I am frightened I shall – lose you. You are now the only – person left in – my life.”

  The way she spoke was very moving and Drogo knew it to be true.

  When he thought about it, he realised how brave she was being.

  Her whole world had fallen about her ears and she was alone, completely alone, except for him.

  Very gently he put his arm around her shoulders.

  “I will not leave you,” he said. “As you say, the stars are in our favour and undoubtedly the angels are guiding us.”

  They went down the stairs linked together.

  Drogo wanted to kiss her, but he knew that it would be a mistake.

  They found some cards in the sitting room and played childish games and, because they were so absurd, they made Thekla laugh.

  She looked so young and lovely as she did so that it was with the greatest difficulty that Drogo did not sweep her into his arms.

  He wanted to kiss her until they both felt again the ecstasy that they had felt when he kissed her before.

  But he told himself that it would only make things worse when they were eventually parted.

  She had to live her life as a Royal Princess with or without a throne behind her.

  He had to scrape together somehow the large amount of money that he still owed to so many people in England.

  ‘Once she is with her relatives, I will go back to my Regiment,’ he decided.

  It was an hour later and the warmth of the afternoon sun was fading a little when Drogo heard a knock on the yard door.

  He had deliberately sat near to the window so that he could hear it.

  Putting down his cards, he rose quickly to his feet and ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  It only took him a few moments to unbolt the yard door.

  As he did so, he felt as if there were a thousand questions teaming in his mind.

  Maniu moved quickly through the door and Drogo bolted it again before he asked,

  “Any luck?”

  “Good news, sir,” Maniu replied.

  He walked quickly into the kitchen as if he was afraid to speak outside and Drogo followed him.

  “Ships all leaving Port,” Maniu said.

  He put down the half-empty box that had contained the fruit on the table.

  “All except Russian ships. Others scared of revolution.”

  He stopped speaking, but Drogo knew that that was not the end.

  “Go on!” he prompted.

  “There be one ship might help. Cargo boat collecting wood on quay. Not leaving till late tonight.”

  “And you think they would take us?” Drogo asked.

  There was a little pause before Maniu said,

  “I not certain. Captain very strange man. Turn away many people while I there!”

  “Why did he turn them away?” Drogo enquired.

  “They offer him big money. But he find them not suitable.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The Captain not English. Man from Scotland. And he find much fault with those who wish pay big money for place on ship.”

  “What do you mean, he found fault?” Drogo asked.

  Maniu was talking a mixture of English and Kozanian and he was finding it difficult to follow.

  Then he realised that the little man did not understand himself why the Captain was being so difficult.

  “What did the Captain say?” he asked.

  “He tell one man he not like foreigners.”

  Drogo felt his heart lift.

  “Did he say anything else?” he asked eagerly.

  “He tell one lady, pretty, very smart, he not take women. They make trouble.”

  “Was she alone?” Drogo asked.

  “Yes, sir. No man with her.”

  Drogo was still for a moment.

  Then he said,

  “I will go to see this Scotsman. I think I will be able to persuade him to take the Princess and me.”

  “You talk same language. Perhaps make things different,” Maniu said simply.

  “I will go at once,” Drogo said. “Look after the Princess and tell her I will be back as quickly as possible.”

  He saw the Russian cap he had worn when he went to the Palace lying on a chair and put it on his head.

  He had unfastened his coat when he was in the house because it had been so hot.

  But now when he fastened it across his shirt he looked, in his worn and ragged trousers, too disreputable for anyone in the streets to take any notice of him.

  He made Maniu tell him exactly where the ship was moored.

  He then set off to walk as quickly as was advisable without attracting attention in the direction indicated. He was well aware that to run would draw attention to himself.

  Whenever he saw anyone suspicious approaching him, he walked casually and a little unsteadily as if he had imbibed too much wine.

  On Maniu’s instructions he avoided all the streets that were likely to be crowded. Also those that contained shops that were being looted or houses that were being burgled.

  It took him nearly twenty minutes to reach the harbour.

  When he did so, he realised that Maniu had been right in saying that the greater number of ships that were usually moored there had vanished already.

  There were, however, several Russian vessels still there and at the far end of one quay there was a cargo boat.

  It looked badly in need of paint, but was, to his astonishment, flying a British flag.

  He approached it slowly, looking searchingly to see if it was under observation.

  As he drew nearer, he was aware that there was a huge pile of wood on the quay that was being taken aboard.

  He thought that it must be mahogany, which he knew grew in the Southern parts of Russia and also, he suspected, in Kozan.

  The men handling the cargo were certainly not British and appeared to be of every nationality, a number of them black.

  Then he saw on deck a man wearing a dilapidated Naval cap and thought that he must be the Captain.

  He certainly looked like a Scotsman, for he had a bright red beard with just a few white hairs in it.

  He was heavily built with broad shoulders and muscular arms, ending in hands that Drogo was certain would carry an elephant-like punch in a fight.

  With his legs planted apart, the Captain was talking in a loud voice that was almost a shout to a small dark-haired man, who by his features, Drogo reckoned to be Greek.

  “I dinna care,” he was saying, “if ye have one or fifty ships of your own. I’m no takin’ you aboard mine and that’s me final word!”

  The Greek expostulated in a quieter tone and obviously increased the offer he had made for accommodation.

  The Captain turned on his heel.

  “Ye can keep your money and be damned to ye. Get off me ship or I’ll put ye off!”

  He walked away and the Greek with an expression of despair came down the gangway.

  As he reached the end of it, Drogo said, speaking in Greek,

  “I am sorry I cannot help you, sir, but I wonder if you would be gracious enough to tell me the name of the Captain you have just been speaking to.”

  For a moment he thought that the Greek was not going to reply, but then
he said,

  “Captain McKay. And it’s no good trying to get a passage on his filthy ship.”

  The man walked away as he spoke and Drogo mounted the gangway.

  By this time Captain McKay was shouting abuse at the men loading the wood and telling them to stir themselves as he wanted to put to sea as soon as possible.

  Drogo waited until he had finished telling them in somewhat lurid language what he would do if they did not hurry.

  He then approached him.

  “Good afternoon, Captain McKay,” he said, assuming a slightly Scottish accent.

  “Who are ye and what do ye want?” the Captain demanded in a truculent manner.

  “As one Scotsman to another, I’m asking for your help,” Drogo replied.

  “Scotsman?” the Captain queried suspiciously.

  “My mother was a McKay,” Drogo replied, “and I can only beg you, in her name, to hear me.”

  There was a little pause and he knew that the Captain was debating with himself whether he should tell him to shove off as he had done to the Greek or hear what he had to say.

  Then a crafty look came into his eyes and he said,

  “Ye say your mother was a McKay. Where did she come from, I’d like to know.”

  “The McKays are in many parts of the world,” Drogo replied. “My mother lived in Tongue which, as you know is in Sutherland, before she married my father.”

  The Captain looked at him searchingly and then he held out his hand.

  “I come from Tongue mesel’,” he said, “and I’m glad to meet another Scotsman in this damned part of the world.”

  “And I am glad to meet you,” Drogo replied.

  “In what way do you want me help?” the Captain asked.

  Now he did not sound so friendly.

  “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?” Drogo enquired. “These revolutionaries have long ears!”

  The Captain walked somewhat aggressively to the other side of the ship.

  Drogo followed him and then deliberately looked over his shoulder all round him before he began,

  “I feel sure that I can trust you. The fact is, it is of great importance that I should return to England immediately or at least reach a country where there is a British Embassy.”

  He spoke now in an authoritative manner that he was certain would impress the Captain.

  Then, as he saw his eyes go to his disreputable clothing, he said in a low voice,

  “I am in disguise and the Russians have been following me a long way to Kozan.”

  He knew, as he spoke, that he was taking a great risk in confiding in the Captain, who, if he was hostile, might do him irreparable damage.

  After giving him a sharp glance, the Captain said,

  “Where do ye want me to take ye?”

  “As far as you can and as quickly as possible.”

  Captain McKay nodded his head.

  “I shall leave as soon as the cargo is aboard.”

  “I shall be very grateful to be with you,” Drogo said. “When I came here two nights ago completely exhausted to meet my wife, as had been arranged, everything was quiet. All this has blown up in the last twenty-four hours.”

  He realised that the Captain had stiffened.

  “Wife? Ye have a wife with ye?”

  “I arranged three months ago to meet her here and there were no difficulties until the revolution started. Then, when I tried to get in touch with the British Embassy, it was closed.”

  “That does not surprise me,” Captain McKay said. “The rats always leave a sinkin’ ship!”

  “It is essential that I reach a British Embassy quickly,” Drogo reiterated.

  He thought that Captain McKay was going to acquiesce, but then he said,

  “Ye be sure this women ye have with ye be your wife? I’m having no hussies aboard The Thistle. I’m a God-fearin’ mon and ye bring her Marriage Certificate with ye or ye stay ashore!”

  Now he was being aggressive again.

  Drogo then said,

  “There will be no difficulty about that. I expect my wife has her Marriage Certificate with her and her name is on my passport which is signed by Her Majesty’s Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.”

  “Then ye brings it with ye,” the Captain said, “and I want one hundred pounds for the two of ye afore I lets ye into the only empty cabin there be aboard.”

  It was an outrageous sum for accommodation on a cargo ship as they both knew.

  Drogo deliberately paused before he replied,

  “I think I can find such a big sum, but it may mean that I will not be able to come aboard for perhaps three or four hours.”

  “I’ll not be leavin’ afore midnight with these men movin’ like tortoises,” the Captain said. “Never have I had a slower crew, they’re drivin’ me crazy!”

  “Well, I am very grateful to you, Captain,” Drogo said. “If anyone should make enquiries about your passengers, I trust you as a man of honour not to mention that you have a Britisher as a passenger.”

  He paused a moment and then went on,

  “Those I have spoken to in this country believe me to have Russian blood in my veins.”

  “Ye can trust me,” the Captain assured him.

  They shook hands solemnly and Captain McKay actually escorted Drogo to the gangplank.

  He went down it carefully and, when he reached the bottom, he turned back to wave his hand.

  As he walked away, he knew that the Captain was watching him and prayed that he would not change his mind.

  He hurried back the way he had come without being obstructed or challenged.

  But he saw many houses that had obviously been entered by looters since he had passed them on his way to the docks.

  Some may have been empty, yet he had the suspicion that, even if the householder had been present, he would not now be alive to tell the tale.

  He was growing more and more apprehensive when finally he saw his cousin’s little house squeezed between the two larger ones.

  The road was still quiet and he could only hope that it would remain so until he and Thekla had got away.

  He knocked on the yard door.

  When Maniu let him in and he reached the kitchen, Thekla was waiting for him.

  She flung herself against him, crying almost hysterically,

  “Why did – you not – tell me you were – going out? How could you have – gone away like that? I thought. I had – lost you!”

  “You have not lost me,” Drogo said quietly, “and I have good news. There is a ship in the harbour that will take us away from here.”

  “A ship? Then we are lucky.”

  “Very lucky,” Drogo repeated. “Now come upstairs and help me, for I have something very important to do.”

  She went ahead of him and, as they went out of the kitchen, Drogo stopped for a moment to say to Maniu,

  “Thank you! It was our only chance and I have persuaded the Captain to carry us.”

  “That good news,” Maniu said, “but while you away, I have bad news.”

  “What is that?” Drogo asked.

  “Red Marchers have killed King.”

  Drogo was still.

  “You are sure of this?”

  “They cheering in Market Place and burn throne they take from Palace.”

  Drogo turned away.

  He knew, as he went up the stairs to Thekla, that there was only one place now where she would be safe and that was England.

  She was waiting for him in the sitting room.

  He saw that she was pale and still nervous because he had left her and he thought it best not to tell her about her father.

  Instead he said,

  “Now we have to be very clever and I have the feeling that you will do this better than I can.”

  “What is – that?”

  Drogo put his hands into a deep pocket inside his coat that would be difficult for any ordinary thief to find.

  Out of it he drew a number of p
apers and shuffled through them to find the one he wanted.

  It was a passport asking those whom it concerned to give every possible help and assistance to Mr. Drogo Forde. It was signed by The Earl of Derby and written by hand in the flowing but clear copperplate handwriting of the clerks in the Foreign Office.

  Drogo laid it down on the table and, as Thekla looked at it, he said,

  “I want you to copy this writing exactly and add your name as my wife. But I think it would be a mistake to name you Thekla in case anyone who inspects it connects you with the Princess of Kozan.”

  Thekla smiled.

  “I was also christened ‘Sophie’ after my grandmother, Lillian, after my mother and Teresa after the Saint.”

  Drogo laughed.

  “Very impressive, but it’s important that on this occasion you should have both an English and a Scottish name.”

  He smiled at her and then went on,

  “So I suggest we call you ‘Lillian’ after your mother and ‘Janet’ which, if Captain McKay sees it will, I am sure, bring him back memories of the girls he fancied in the far North of Scotland.”

  Thekla looked puzzled and Drogo explained,

  “The Captain is a very bigoted and patriotic Scot, so we have to be the same! In fact you were Janet Ross, whose Clan lived not far from his own, and you love the North of Scotland.”

  Thekla laughed.

  “You will have to explain to me what I love about it.”

  “I will do so,” Drogo said. “But you will have to be very clever about this and not make Captain McKay have the slightest suspicion that you are anything but a simple rather shy Scottish lass, who loves her husband.”

  He spoke lightly.

  Then, as he saw the expression in Thekla’s eyes, he knew that he had made a mistake.

  “I do – love you,” she said. “I knew when you – left me just now that I love – you with all my heart – and if you did not – return I would – want to die.”

  “You are not to talk like that!” Drogo said sharply. “You have to remember that you are a Royal Princess and, whether you are here or in England, we can never, and this is the truth, Thekla, mean anything more to each other than ships that pass in the night.”

  “Why? Why?” she asked. “I love you – and, when you – kissed me, it was like being taken into – Heaven and that is – where I want to be.”

  Drogo walked across the room.