63 Ola and the Sea Wolf

by Barbara Cartland

  It had certainly helped her to bear the pain and, when her tooth no longer hurt, Ola, thinking the medicine bottle looked untidy, had tipped what remained of the laudanum into the empty bottle in her chinoiserie case.

  “How stupid of me!” she said aloud. “Of course I can help the Captain!”

  She opened her trunk, which she had already filled with her clothes, feeling that if she did not do so, the Marquis would be informed and would think it was a deliberate act of defiance.

  In the bottom corner she found, as she expected, the enamel case carefully wrapped in cotton wool to protect it.

  She drew it out and rose to her feet to call the Steward so that he could take it to the Captain.

  Even as her hand went out towards the door, she paused.

  An idea had come to her, an idea that was so fantastic that she told herself it was just impossible and would be quite unworkable.

  And yet fascinated by it, she sat down on the bed to consider it carefully, step by step.

  *

  Wearing a very attractive gown and, because it was cold, a fur wrap around her shoulders, Ola was waiting in the Saloon when the Marquis came in to dinner.

  Each night, despite the roughness of the weather, he changed into his evening clothes and he looked to Ola as elegant and impressive as if he was going to a dinner party in London rather than dining alone with her.

  “Good evening, Ola,” he began, “I think the wind is dropping a little and certainly The Sea Wolf is travelling more smoothly than she was yesterday.”

  “I have found that,” Ola smiled. “But my elbows are black and blue from having to support me as I was thrown against the cabin walls.”

  “You should have stayed in bed!” the Marquis said automatically.

  “That would be an admission of defeat, which I most dislike acknowledging at any time!”

  He gave her a sharp glance as if he thought she was referring to other things than the movement of the sea.

  She quickly turned the conversation to the subject she wished to discuss with him, but had not yet had the opportunity,

  “I found in your bookcase a volume of Hansard,” she said, “and I see that you made a speech in the House of Lords regarding the employment of young children in factories and coalmines.”

  “You read it?” the Marquis asked in surprise.

  “I only wish I could have heard it. It is a subject I feel very strongly about, as every woman should.”

  It struck the Marquis that no woman he had known in the past had been the slightest degree interested either in his speeches or in the children as young as four and five who were made to work, sometimes as much as twelve hours a day and beaten if they fell asleep.

  For a moment he thought that Ola was only toadying up to him and would soon start pleading with him not to send her back to her stepmother.

  To his surprise she not only talked with unmistakable sincerity on the subject, but also had obviously read quite a number of the reports, which had been published in the newspapers besides being discussed in Parliament.

  They argued over the rights and wrongs of employing child labour and also as to what compensation could be given to the employers if it was forbidden.

  The Marquis found himself waxing very eloquent about the measures he intended to bring before the House of Lords in the future and he discovered that Ola was interested in the Reform Bill as well.

  “Is it true,” she asked, “that the King scrawled on a piece of paper, ‘I consider dissolution tantamount to Revolution’?”

  “Who told you that?” the Marquis enquired.

  “I must have read it somewhere, but I cannot believe, old though he is, that the King does not realise that reforms are really necessary.”

  “The trouble is,” the Marquis replied, “he has a deep rooted dislike of elections and only with difficulty made up his mind to dissolve Parliament. I think, too, as he is only a simple sailor, he finds the Bill in all its complexity very difficult to understand.”

  “I have always been sure,” Ola said, “that he has not the brilliant brain of his brother, the late King George IV.”

  “That is true,” the Marquis agreed, “and, although I am fond of His Majesty, I cannot help sometimes remembering that Greville wrote, ‘He is but a plain, vulgar, hospitable gentleman, opening his doors to all the world with a frightful Queen and a posse of bastards’.”

  As he spoke, he realised who he was speaking to and said quickly,

  “I apologise.”

  “No, please don’t do that,” Ola said. “I like to be talked to as if I was your equal rather than a foolish unfledged girl without a brain in her head.”

  “I would certainly never say that about you,” the Marquis replied.

  A Steward cleared the table, but left a decanter of brandy and one of claret in front of the Marquis.

  They were ship’s decanters made so that it was impossible to upset them or to turn them over as they had very broad bases and were of extremely heavy cut crystal.

  Ola looked at them for a minute and then she said,

  “As this is our last dinner together, my Lord, I would like to propose a toast.”

  The Marquis raised his eyebrows and then, feeling that as she was trying to be pleasant he must be the same, he replied,

  “I shall join with pleasure in any toast you suggest, Ola. Will you drink claret or brandy?”

  “I think claret,” she replied, “but only a very little.”

  The Marquis half-filled the glass in front of her.

  “I shall join you,” he murmured and filled his own.

  Ola reached for her glass, but as she moved she gave a little cry.

  “Oh, my brooch!” she exclaimed. “I could not have fastened it properly and I heard it fall beneath the table.”

  As she spoke, she dropped the diamond brooch she held in her hand down beside the hem of her skirt.

  “How foolish of me,” she continued. “I should not have worn it, but it looked so pretty with this gown.”

  “I will pick it up,” the Marquis offered.

  He pushed back his chair, looked down and saw that the brooch was out of reach of his hands unless he went down on his knees.

  As he did so, Ola bent forward to tip the contents of the little cut-glass bottle she had hidden beside her into the Marquis’s glass of claret.

  She had emptied it by the time he retrieved the brooch and emerged from under the table to sit in his chair again.

  “There you are,” he said.

  As he held out the diamond brooch towards her, he said,

  “It is certainly a very beautiful piece of jewellery.”

  Ola smiled.

  “It was one of my mother’s smaller brooches. My father loved her so much and gave her magnificent jewels on every possible occasion and anniversary.”

  “Then you must keep it safe,” the Marquis admonished,” and, if you sell it, be careful you are not defrauded.”

  “I will be,” Ola said taking the brooch from him.

  She set it down on the table and lifted her glass.

  “To The Sea Wolf!” she proposed, “and may she find wherever she sails, new horizons and eventually happiness!”

  “A charming toast, Ola!” the Marquis exclaimed.

  She knew that he was surprised not only at the words but in the sincere way she had spoken them.

  She smiled at him and the smile seemed to illuminate her face.

  “No heeltaps,” she said and lifted her glass to her lips.

  Because he was prepared to humour her, the Marquis tipped the entire contents of his glass down his throat.

  But when he had swallowed and put his glass down on the table there was a frown on his forehead.

  “I thought – that wine tasted – a little strange – ” he began.

  He reached out his hand as if he would take hold of the decanter, but before he could do so, he leaned back in his chair as if the effort was too great and after a second or
so closed his eyes.

  Ola watched him anxiously.

  She knew that she had given him a very large dose of laudanum and she was not certain how soon it would act and whether he would have time to call a Steward to his assistance.

  It was soon obvious that he would not do so, though quite a long time passed while he sat with closed eyes, before his head fell to one side and she knew he was fast asleep.

  Fortunately the chair he was sitting in, which was battened to the deck, had a wing-back and his head rested against one of the wings, so that Ola knew it would be impossible for anybody coming through the door to know whether he was awake or asleep.

  Just as she had planned, because she felt the Stewards outside would be listening in case they were required, she went on talking.

  Because she did not dare try to imitate the Marquis’s voice, she made deep humming noises when he should have spoken which made it sound, she hoped, as if he was speaking in a lower tone than she was.

  After ten minutes had passed, she rang the gold bell that stood on the table for a Steward.

  As she had guessed, he was waiting outside and, as he opened the door, she called out in an excited tone, as if she was speaking to the Marquis,

  “Oh, let me send the order! It’s so wonderful of you! I am so happy!”

  Then she turned her face towards the Steward who stood just inside the door.

  “Will you please inform the Captain or the First Mate, if he is now in charge of the yacht,” she said, “that his Lordship says that as the weather is better we will not now put into Plymouth as arranged, but sail with all possible speed towards the South.”

  She was obviously so delighted with the command and her pleasure was so infectious that, as she smiled at the end of what she had to say, the Steward smiled back.

  “I’ll give the order to the First Mate right away, miss,” he said and went from the Saloon closing the door behind him.

  Ola went on talking as she had done before, lowering her voice to impersonate the Marquis’s responses.

  Then she lifted the decanter of claret and, moving from the table, poured the contents down behind the sofa.

  As that piece of furniture was also battened down, she knew the wine was most unlikely ever to be discovered since it would have seeped into the wood and be practically indiscernible.

  Then she put the empty decanter back on the table and went on talking.

  Nearly an hour later she rang the bell for the second time and when the Steward answered she said, in a hesitating rather nervous little voice,

  “His Lordship has fallen – asleep – I think perhaps he is – very tired.”

  The Steward came quickly to the table and Ola saw him glance at the empty decanter before he said,

  “I’ll fetch Gibson, miss. I expect you’d like to go to your own cabin.”

  “I think that would be a good idea,” Ola agreed, “and thank you very much.”

  A little later she heard the Marquis being carried towards the Master suite past her cabin door.

  When she climbed into bed, she knew with a little leap of her heart, that she had got the better of the Marquis!

  ‘At least by the time he wakes it will be too late to go back to Plymouth,’ she told herself in delight.

  She closed her eyes, determined that she would not worry as to what would happen when the Marquis awoke, but would try to sleep.

  *

  The Marquis stirred and felt as if his head was filled with fog and he had a fleeting memory of walking through the darkness to The Sea Wolf.

  He opened his eyes with an effort and somebody rose from the other side of the cabin and came towards him.

  “If you’re awake, my Lord, I thinks your Lordship should have somethin’ to drink,” he heard Gibson say and felt a glass pressed against his lips.

  He took a few sips, then turned away petulantly to say in a thick voice,

  “Leave – me alone, I am – tired!”

  *

  When he awoke again, he was aware that there was sunshine coming through the portholes and now his head felt clearer although his mouth was still dry.

  Once again Gibson came to his side and this time he asked,

  “What is the time? Where are we?”

  “Sailing down the coast of Portugal, my Lord.”

  It took the Marquis a moment to understand what had been said.

  Then with an effort, clutching at his memory, which seemed to be trying to escape him, he demanded,

  “Portugal? You mean – Plymouth!”

  “No, my Lord. Portugal. We’re already well past the Bay of Biscay.”

  The Marquis forced his mind to assimilate the information.

  Then in a voice that was a little stronger he asked,

  “What the devil are we doing here? I gave orders to dock at Plymouth!”

  “I understands you countermanded that order, my Lord, and told the Captain to sail South as quickly as possible. We’ve had the wind behind us all the way and it’s been the best passage I’ve ever known in the Bay. It’s a pity your Lordship weren’t awake to appreciate it!”

  There was silence for a moment.

  Then the Marquis asked,

  “Are you telling me that I have been asleep since before we were due to reach Plymouth?”

  “Yes, my Lord. I’ve never known your Lordship sleep like it,” Gibson replied. “And I’ve never known claret, not even a whole decanter, to have such an effect.”

  “I was drunk?” the Marquis snapped.

  “I’m afraid so, my Lord. And it’s the first time I’ve seen your Lordship so foxed!”

  “How long have I been in this state?”

  “Three days, my Lord!”

  “Three days! I don’t believe it!”

  The Marquis forced himself to sit up in bed.

  “Three days!” he repeated, as if he was speaking to himself, “and you think that is possible on one bottle of claret?”

  “Your Lordship had nothing else,” Gibson replied defensively, “the Steward said that the brandy went untouched.”

  “I slept for three days on one bottle of claret?”

  “There must have been two,” Gibson conceded, “what your Lordship drank at dinner and then a full decanter placed on the table after dinner.”

  It seemed, because he was sitting up, that the Marquis felt his head was swimming dizzily and he lay back again.

  “There is something wrong here, Gibson,” he said. “Very wrong! I intend when I am better to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Yes, my Lord, of course, my Lord,” Gibson agreed, “but Your Lordship should rest until you feels yourself again.”

  The Marquis was silent for a moment.

  Then, as his valet was moving away from the bed, he asked,

  “The young lady – what is her name?”

  “Miss Milford, my Lord.”

  “She is still aboard?”

  “Yes, my Lord. Enjoyin’ every moment of the voyage. Up on deck from first thing in the mornin’ to last thing at night. We’ve all been sayin’ we’ve never seen a young lady so happy.”

  The Marquis lay still.

  Now he was remembering what had happened.

  He had been firm in his decision to put Ola ashore at Plymouth and send her back to her stepmother so that he would no longer have any responsibility for her.

  He remembered, too, how at first she had raged at him and accused him of treachery. Then she had been surprisingly pleasant, especially at dinner.

  Slowly, because it was an effort, he tried to recall everything that was said, everything that happened.

  Now he remembered the toast she had asked him to drink and how, after he had poured a little claret into her glass and filled his own, she had dropped her diamond brooch under the table.

  He had retrieved it and she had thanked him and then she had lifted her glass saying,

  “No heeltaps!”

  He gave a little exclamation.

  It w
as after he had drunk his glass of claret and thought it had a strange taste that darkness had covered him and he remembered no more.

  The Marquis was extremely intelligent and, although it seemed incredible that this sort of thing, like something out of a Walter Scott novel, could happen in real life, he felt sure that, when he was picking up her brooch, Ola by some means had drugged his wine!

  ‘But was she likely to carry a drug around with her?’ he asked himself.

  Then, knowing how he felt when he first awoke, the heaviness of his head and the difficulty he had thinking, it struck him that he had felt like this once before.

  It was after he had broken his collarbone out hunting and the doctor had been called to attend to him at Elvin. He had hurt him excruciatingly putting the bone back into place.

  He had cursed and the doctor had opened his leather bag and produced a small bottle and from it he had poured some dark liquid into a teaspoon.

  “Drink this, my Lord.”

  “What is it?” the Marquis enquired.

  “Only laudanum, but it will take the edge off the pain.”

  “Women’s remedy!” the Marquis had said scornfully.

  “Women are not expected to be courageous about pain like a man,” the doctor replied. “But I have always believed that there is no point in suffering unnecessarily.”

  “No, you are right,” the Marquis agreed.

  He had taken the laudanum and found it helped him considerably, although the next morning, he awoke with a heavy head and a dry mouth such as he had now.

  Of course that was what Ola had given him – laudanum – and he told himself he had been a fool not to be suspicious of what she was up to when she had made herself so pleasant and talked so agreeably to him.

  He had known that she was determined not to return to her stepmother, just as he was determined that she should.

  ‘Damn that woman – she has won!’ the Marquis thought irritably.

  He slept intermittently for the rest of the day and every time he was conscious he found himself growing more and more angry that Ola had managed to trick him.

  But there was, in fact, nothing he could do at the moment but take her along with him to the Mediterranean.

  He supposed they were now long past Lisbon.

  The next civilised port of call would be Gibraltar and, as that was a British possession, there would have to be far too many explanations if the Marquis of Elvington left an attractive but very young woman stranded there while he sailed on alone.