A Hazard of Hearts

by Barbara Cartland

  Lifting her gown with one hand to prevent the hem touching the dusty steps and with the basket of strawberries in the other, Serena went slowly and carefully down the winding stairway. It was difficult to see, for already it was nearly dark outside.

  But she knew her way and, when she reached the door that led into the library, she listened for a moment, knowing it would be imprudent of her to make herself known should anyone else be with the Marquis.

  There was silence and after listening for a second or two, she opened the door very very gently. The curtains were drawn over the library windows and the tapers in the big silver candelabra on the writing desk were lit.

  As Serena expected, the Marquis was sitting at the table writing. Very softly, so as to surprise him, she pushed open the door and entered the library. Then she came on tiptoe down the three steps that led into the room and, as she reached the floor, she said,

  “Good evening, my Lord.”

  She thought for a moment that in her white dress and with the deep shadows around her she must look almost like a ghost and she was not unprepared to hear the exclamation which came from the Marquis’s lips as he raised his head.

  But as she looked at his face full in the candlelight, it was for her to exclaim.

  Sitting at the desk was not the old Marquis, but Justin!

  For a moment they stared at each other and then Justin rose to his feet and in a voice startled out of its usual complacency he asked,

  “What are you doing here?”

  Serena was so surprised at the sight of him that she could not answer him and, when at length she did reply, her tone sounded faint and frightened even to her own ears.

  “I-I came – to visit – your father.”

  “My father?” Lord Vulcan gasped and coming from behind the desk he walked towards her. “Is there no secret in this house that can be kept from you?” he enquired.

  There was so much irritation in his tone that despite her fear and the fact that her heart was beating quickly, Serena could not help but see the humour of the situation.

  “I-I am exceedingly sorry,” she replied and her voice was so apologetic that Justin, standing looking at her, felt his anger recede.

  “How did you find your way here?” he asked.

  “Down the stairway, my Lord, that leads from my bedchamber.”

  There was now a definite twinkle in his eye and, as if he had suddenly remembered his manners, he made a gesture with his hand indicating a high-backed chair beside the fireplace.

  “Since you have come, Serena, will you not be seated?”

  She moved towards it and then looked down at the little basket of strawberries she carried in her hand.

  “I was bringing your father a present.”

  Justin glanced in the basket.

  “Strawberries!” he exclaimed.

  “The first of the season,” Serena replied.

  “Have they come from London?”

  “No – my Lord, from – the gardens of Mandrake.”

  Now he threw back his head and laughed, a hearty boyish laugh that seemed unmuffled by the dusty shadows of the room.

  “I declare you are incorrigible.”

  Serena felt the tension lessen within her. Her heart was still beating hard and she could feel her pulse throbbing, but she was no longer afraid.

  The slight stammer left her lips.

  “It was by mistake – that I found my way here yesterday,” she said, “but your father invited me – to visit him again.”

  “And how did you know he was my father?”

  Serena looked at him from under her dark eyelashes and then she said demurely,

  “I might well have recognised him, my Lord, but – the truth – slipped out.”

  “The devil it did!” Justin exclaimed.

  “I have sworn to reveal it to no one,” Serena said. “Can you trust me?”

  “Can I?” Justin asked the question and in answer Serena’s chin went up and she widened her eyes at him.

  “Do you doubt me, my Lord?”

  “You are a stranger and yet within such a short while of your coming here the most guarded secrets of Mandrake are in your keeping. I think I am a little afraid of you, Serena.”

  “Afraid? You are pleased to tease me, my Lord.”

  “No, I speak truthfully.”

  “I promise you that the secrets of Mandrake, strange though they be, are safe with me.”

  In answer he put out his hand.

  “Do you swear that?”

  She laid her hand in his and was surprised at the sudden strength of his fingers.

  “I give you my hand on it,” Serena said. “What I have learned here shall never pass my lips.”

  “Thank you, Serena.”

  Lord Vulcan spoke gravely and then to her embarrassment, instead of relinquishing her hand, he held it in both his. She was conscious of the warmth of his fingers and of some strange feeling his touch aroused within her.

  She could not explain it, she only knew it was there. She felt herself tremble and was suddenly afraid of him again.

  “Such a little hand,” Lord Vulcan said softly, “and yet it holds the honour of Mandrake in its palm.”

  Suddenly and unexpectedly he bent his head and pressed his lips on her open palm.

  For a moment she was too astonished to speak, but even while she drew in her breath quickly and quivered with a sudden inexplicable pain, her hand was released and Lord Vulcan rose to his feet.

  For a moment he stood with his back to her, his hand on the mantelshelf and then he spoke in a normal unhurried manner,

  “I regret that for the moment you cannot see my father. He was slightly indisposed this afternoon. He suffers, as perhaps you know, from his heart. He had an attack this afternoon and his valet has put him to bed. At the moment he is asleep.”

  “I am sorry – he is not well.”

  Serena’s voice was low. Somehow she found it impossible to speak steadily or to quell the fluttering in her breast that made her voice shake.

  “When he wakes, will you give him these strawberries, with – with my love?”

  She rose to her feet as she spoke and, putting the strawberries down on the desk, was turning away towards the door that she had come through, when Lord Vulcan stopped her.

  “I am glad, Serena,” he said gravely, “that you have found something, or rather somebody, to love at Mandrake. For you have also found much to hate.”

  Almost against her will she looked up at him.

  The candlelight was full on their faces and there was something in his eyes that seemed to hold her spellbound.

  She had no idea that there could be so much expression in Justin’s eyes. No longer cold, no longer cynical, they seemed to be lit by some inner fire that held her and drew her – towards what she had no idea.

  She only knew in that moment that it seemed as if Justin had a message for her, that there was something he was striving to say, something that could not be put into words.

  They stood there as if they were both made of stone and then Serena was conscious that her breath was coming quickly and that her lips were parted. She was afraid, yet strangely excited.

  She felt that she must go, yet something within her longed to stay.

  A log falling in the fire broke the spell that bound them.

  The sound, slight though it was, drew Justin’s attention, his eyelashes flickered and Serena was free.

  With an incoherent murmur of farewell she moved across the room, climbed the polished steps and slipped through the door in the wall. It closed behind her and the latch fell.

  Then there was silence.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Marchioness was dressing for dinner and Martha was arranging a spray of jewelled flowers in the curls of her hair.

  Yvette was putting a few finishing touches to a gown of silver gauze which had been completed only that afternoon and the black boy stood beside the dressing table holding in his hands a salver on
which reposed a crystal decanter filled with wine and a glass engraved with a monogram.

  “A trifle more to the right, woman,” the Marchioness said to Martha and then with an exclamation of annoyance, “pish, how clumsy your fingers are. You pulled my hair, I felt the pain of it shoot right through my head.”

  “I am exceedin’ sorry, my Lady, but if you will move about it is difficult to avoid hurtin’ you.”

  “Don’t argue with me,” the Marchioness snapped. “Arguments are the weapons of fools. What are you fidgeting at, Yvette?”

  She moved her feet restlessly.

  “Ze hem is ze right length in ze front, my Lady,” Yvette said, “but ze back is still trop long. Your Ladyship must have ze patience.”

  “Pah! That is one thing I have not got,” the Marchioness said. “So hurry, for Heaven’s sake, hurry.”

  “Your Ladyship will be dressed in plenty of time,” Martha said soothingly.

  “I am well aware of that,” the Marchioness snapped, “but I would speak with Madame Roxana.”

  Martha sniffed. She disliked the gipsy and the mere mention of her name was enough to make her scowl and draw from her one of these disapproving sounds that the Marchioness had been unable to cure her of even after thirty years’ service.

  “I cannot but recollect,” the Marchioness said in a quieter tone, as though she was speaking to herself rather than to her maid, “that Roxana has been right over many things that she has predicted for me.”

  “Only those that were of no matter to your Ladyship,” Martha said. “If she could give you some reliable information at cards, ’twould be more useful.”

  “’Tis true that the stars are vague,” the Marchioness admitted.

  “Purposely so, if you ask me,” Martha retorted.

  “But she assures me that the planets will soon be in my favour,” the Marchioness said, her eyes glowing. “Soon, soon, Martha, and then all your croakings will be confounded.”

  “I only hope your Ladyship will not be disappointed,” Martha said primly in a tone that conveyed only too surely her conviction that she would be.

  The Marchioness laughed and suddenly her mood of irritability vanished.

  “La, Martha, but you are always the same. On the sunniest day you would swear it was about to rain. I believe in Madame Roxana. She has promised me gold tonight. Yes, tonight, we shall see.”

  “Your Ladyship is confident that you will win tonight?”

  “No, Martha, I did not say that. I said I was expecting gold.”

  Martha looked at her anxiously.

  “Your Ladyship is not plannin’ anything new?” she enquired.

  She would have said more, but as if she realised that Yvette and the black boy were listening, she tightened her lips while her eyes searched the Marchioness’s face as if for information.

  “Now, don’t get into a fidget, Martha, I have a new plan and it’s a mighty good one.”

  She stood up from the dressing table and stared at her reflection in the glass.

  “I am not so old and decrepit but that my wits can still intrigue and tonight we shall see just how fortunate those wits can be.”

  Martha looked worried.

  The Marchioness, reaching out her hand, pushed her sharply on the arm.

  “Go along, you old crow, and fetch Madame Roxana to me. Yvette, not one moment longer will I stand for you.”

  “It’s finished, your Ladyship.”

  Yvette rose from her knees and stood back. She was a middle-aged Frenchwoman, but there was an expression of ardent admiration in her face as she looked at her Mistress.

  She threw out her arms.

  “Mais, madame, vous êtes ravissante, vous êtes exquise!”

  The Marchioness preened herself a little.

  “It’s a charming gown, Yvette.”

  “Your Ladyship will be ze most beautiful lady in ze room tonight.”

  The Marchioness smiled at her own reflection complacently. It was true there were few women with her beauty, her looks or with her brains. Beauty, power and money!

  She had them all and, although money had proved elusive lately, tonight her luck would change.

  She turned to the black boy and poured some wine from the decanter into the glass. She sipped it for a moment reflectively and then drained the glass to the bottom.

  She felt excited and elated. But at the same time there was a fear, a tiny insistent fear, clutching at her heart. She turned the great diamond ring round her finger until it glittered and shone in the light of the candles. Why should she be afraid? Her plan was perfect.

  It was well conceived, well thought out and its reward, well, ten thousand guineas was a prize worth winning. And yet, persistently, that tiny chord of discontent nagged at her. What would Justin say? He should not mind, but Justin was often incalculable in his reactions.

  How angry he had been with her yesterday!

  Despite an effort at defiance the Marchioness felt again that sense of dismay that had been hers when he had raged at her. She had not known until then that he knew of her smuggling activities.

  It had indeed been a shock to her when Serena came to her, stepping from the shadows into the cavern, saying that she had a message of warning from Justin.

  There had been so much to think about at the time and immediately afterwards that it was not until she had retired to bed that night, secure in the knowledge that the soldiers and Excisemen had discovered nothing, that the Marchioness remembered that she must face her son on the morrow.

  Justin knew! How hard she had tried to keep such knowledge from him! How cleverly she had succeeded until now. And yet had she really been so clever? Had he not known for some time, suspected and yet shut his eyes to the knowledge because there was nothing he could do to stop her?

  She had teased him, pretending that the materials for her new dresses, bottles of brandy and other objects which were bound to attract his attention when he saw them at Mandrake had been smuggled to her by friends or by devoted fisherfolk who plied their trade along the coast.

  She had thought it amusing to divert his attention so that never for one moment would he guess the real explanation of their appearance or of the vast skilful organisation that enabled her to send thousands of pounds of gold across the Channel and to receive in return double its value in easily disposable goods.

  Even now she told herself that it might be possible to keep Justin from knowing the whole truth.

  But morning had brought disillusionment.

  He was angry when he came to her with an anger such as she had never known before. It made his eyes like steel, his mouth hard and bitter and his tongue a lash that hurt her even in the very sparseness of the words he used.

  She knew then for the first time that she was afraid of her son, that he was no longer a boy whom she could keep in adoring subservience, as she had kept her lovers, but a man who sat in judgement on her, a man who saw her piteously and without any illusions, but who would protect her not because he cared for her personally but because he would save the honour of the name she bore.

  She had even shed a few tears, hoping to soften him, hoping to drive that cold expression of dislike from his face, but he had been unrelenting. She could only pray that he would never learn more of what had happened than he knew already.

  She had been half-afraid that Serena would have spoken to him of the murdered man, but the shock had evidently kept the girl silent and while she found that Justin had learnt much, including the fact that the cargo was carried to London and sold there, he was not aware that one of the smugglers had died at his mother’s hand.

  What he did know was, however, enough to make him angry with a cold fury that was worse than if he had shouted and stormed at her.

  “It has to stop,” he asserted and his voice rang out authoritatively.

  “And if I refuse?” the Marchioness asked, watching him through veiled eyes.

  “Then I shall have the passages beneath the house blocked up.�
�

  The Marchioness gasped.

  “You would not dare! It is a secret that has been handed down through the ages. It is part of Mandrake itself.”

  “So is our good name, so is the fact that we have ruled this land generation after generation and that we at Mandrake have stood both for dignity and for order. My father should never have told you of the secret passages. That knowledge should have been passed on to me alone. But you learned of it and you have used it for your own ends. I have been weak enough not to interfere until now, weak as I have been all my life where you are concerned. I have allowed you to use me, I have gambled for you, gained for myself a reputation of being cruel and calculating because I have been prepared to take money from any man who was fool enough to wager his good fortune against mine. I have always loathed games of hazard and yet I have played them because I believed that the money was for Mandrake. Even as time passed and I was suspicious, I was fool enough to continue to credit what you told me, even while my instinct warned me that you were false. Now it is finished. I shall give you no more money and your smuggling activities will cease forthwith.”

  “You dare to speak to me in such a tone!” the Marchioness cried.

  “Yes, I dare,” her son replied, “and this time, Mother, you will listen to me and obey me.”

  He left her then and for a long time she had lain against her pillows, her fingers plucking feverishly at the lace-edged sheets. What could she do? What could she say? She knew that it was impossible for her to draw back now, to give up her wild pursuit of gold.

  It was part of her, as much a part of her body as any of her limbs and to live without gambling would be to crucify herself afresh day after day. She was getting old. There were few other passions open for her and besides the thrill of gambling consumed her. She needed it as a drunkard craves drink.

  She had lain for a long time tossing in her bed and then she had remembered that for the moment she had another plan to distract her, another plan which, if successful, would at least assuage her more immediate needs. That plan would be successful, she was as sure of it tonight as she was sure of her revived and restored beauty in the silver gown.