The Protection of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  Author’s Note

  The Third Section of the Russian Secret Service was started by Czar Nicholas I, who reigned from 1825 to 1855.

  In 1849, a sensation was caused by the arrest of a junior member of the Foreign Office together with nineteen of his friends who met privately on Friday evenings as a discussion group.

  They were accused of ‘subversive talk’, which ranged from a criticism of serfdom and censorship to arguments in favour of abolishing the Church, the State and private property.

  After being imprisoned in the Fortress of St. Peter for quite some time, all twenty were sentenced to death and the execution was scheduled to take place on the Parade Ground.

  It was not until the young men were waiting to go before the firing squad that a ‘gracious reprieve’ arrived, commuting the sentences to imprisonment.

  The whole episode was theatrical, but all were condemned to go to Siberia.

  Under Czar Alexander III, the Third Section became even more appalling and no one was safe from its interference and cruelty.

  The Courtiers in attendance on the Czar looked over their shoulders before they spoke.

  Russian infiltrators, even behind closed doors in their own homes, were terrified.

  Chapter One ~ 1887

  Meta Lindley rode slowly home.

  She was thinking that it was lonely to go back to the house where there was no one to talk to her except for the servants.

  Her old Nanny had been with her, but had had to return to her own home where her son was ill.

  It had been different when her mother was alive because there had always seemed to be friends in the house.

  Lady Lindley had been one of the most popular ladies in the neighbourhood.

  Then two years ago tragedy struck.

  First Meta’s father, Sir Philip Lindley, had a very nasty fall whilst out hunting with the local Hunt. His condition had puzzled the doctors until finally he had died of his injuries in great pain.

  His wife was broken-hearted and so were both his children.

  They did their best to keep their mother happy and, as she had so many friends, she was seldom alone.

  At the same time she was utterly lost without the husband she had always adored.

  Then last winter, when there had been a sharp attack of frost, she had caught pneumonia.

  It seemed incredible to Meta that one day her mother was there and the next she had left them for ever.

  It had all happened at a very bad time as far as she was concerned because her brother, Richard, had to be in London a great deal.

  She was therefore left alone in The Manor House, which had always seemed so full of laughter.

  As she was in deep mourning, the people who usually visited the Lindleys stayed away.

  It was partly out of sympathy and partly because no one really wants to come too close with other people who are deeply unhappy and depressed.

  Meta understood this.

  Equally she had no one to talk to, to laugh with or to do the amusing things that she had done in the past.

  The only things left to her were her horses.

  Fortunately, before he had died, Sir Philip had bought some very fine hunters and he and his family were going to enjoy them enormously during the winter months.

  Meta exercised them now and loved it, but she was, however, wondering if she would be brave enough to go hunting alone when winter came.

  Most people would think it incorrect for a young girl not to be chaperoned even on the hunting field.

  But she was hoping against hope that Richard would be with her more than he was at the moment.

  She rode on up the drive and in front of her the beautiful old Elizabethan Manor House looked particularly attractive.

  The spring flowers were just coming out in the garden and the trees that surrounded it were showing among their pale green leaves, the first buds of spring.

  If her mother had been alive, it had been planned that they would go to London.

  Meta was to be presented at one of the Drawing Rooms at Buckingham Palace and she would make her curtsey to Queen Victoria if she was well enough or otherwise the lovely Princess Alexandra would take her place.

  It was an impossibility now until the next year and Meta could not help thinking that she might be too old by then.

  She had spent so much time with her father and mother that she was older, if not in years then in brains, than the girls of the same age.

  She was also much better educated.

  Sir Philip had been a Diplomat when he was a young man and he had always insisted on his children, Meta and Richard, learning the language of a number of foreign countries that he had been posted to.

  “When you are older,” he said, “and you want to travel, nothing is more annoying than to go to a country and find that you cannot speak one word of the language of those who live in it.”

  As he was a great linguist himself, he talked to his children in many different languages, first, when they were small, to amuse them and later because he thought it was the sensible thing to do.

  They had Tutors hired to teach them and Sir Philip was extraordinarily clever in finding men who could speak a language exactly as it should be spoken and not, as he said,

  “By those who believe that they are bilingual when they can just say ‘how do you do’ and ‘goodbye’.”

  In the last few months, when she had been alone, Meta had often thought sadly that her education had been a waste of time.

  Her father had promised to take her abroad as soon as she had finished her schooling to practice her many languages.

  Next he had his accident and died.

  There was then no question of her leaving her mother alone at The Manor.

  And now her dear old Nanny had left.

  Meta had written a rather pathetic note to her brother, who was in London, begging him to come down if only for a few days so that she could talk to him.

  “If I am alone much longer,” she wrote, “I shall be talking to myself and then people will think I am deranged and mad!”

  She hoped that he would not think she was complaining unreasonably.

  At the same time she thought that perhaps he would have some idea of what she could do.

  ‘If I was an artist or a pianist,’ she thought, ‘I might be able to find a good job of some sort.’

  It was a revolutionary idea.

  Yet anything would be better than one day being exactly the same as another.

  Although she was comfortable and well-fed, there was nothing to look forward to in the future.

  When Meta reached the front of The Manor, she turned left and rode into the stables.

  They were well-built because her father had supervised the works and there was room for a great deal more horses than were there at the moment.

  ‘However there were quite enough,’ Meta thought to herself because she was the only one to exercise them.

  That at least kept her busy and occupied for a good long time each day.

  The Head Groom, who was getting on in years and had grey hair at his temples, came out of the stables the moment she appeared.

  “Did you ’ave a nice ride, Miss Meta?” he enquired.

  “It was delightful, thank you, Forster,” she replied, “and Samson is jumping well, but he really needs a man to handle him.”

  “I agrees with you, miss,” Forster said, “it be time Master Richard came ’ome, and that’s the truth.”

  Meta gave a little sigh.

  She slipped down from the saddle, patted Samson, and said,

  “One of the boys must ride him tomorrow. It is time I took Pegasus over those jumps.”

  Forster nodded as he took Samso
n into the stables.

  Meta then walked slowly back to the house.

  As she opened the front door, she thought how quiet it was.

  And she felt almost as if she could hear her mother’s voice asking,

  “Is that you, darling?”

  Then, when she had replied, her mother would come hurrying out of the drawing room to kiss her.

  ‘How could you die, Mama, and leave me all alone?’ Meta asked in her heart.

  It was a question that she had asked over and over again, but still there was no answer.

  She went upstairs to her bedroom and changed from her riding habit into a pretty gown.

  As she was alone, she did not put on the black mourning that she so heartily disliked.

  Her father had agreed with her.

  “I don’t believe in death,” he said. “I have travelled all over the world and three quarters of the population believe in rebirth or, if you prefer it, reincarnation, and that, I am sure, is the truth.”

  He used to talk to Meta about the mystery beliefs of the East

  He would tell her how children like Mozart could play the violin perfectly at the age of four.

  They could not, he would say, have learnt it so quickly in this life.

  Sir Philip had often been in the East.

  He therefore had hundreds of interesting stories to tell about how people had come back to where they had lived before and remembered very clearly what they had done in previous lives.

  It fascinated Meta, but now there was no one to talk to on such controversial subjects.

  Although the library was stacked with interesting books, it was not the same as talking to her father.

  When she had changed, she tidied her hair automatically.

  But there would be no one to see her.

  As she did so, she heard the sound of wheels coming up the drive.

  She looked out of the window and, to her astonishment, saw a carriage approaching at a fast pace.

  She wondered who it could possibly be.

  Then, as the horses turned in front of the house, she gave a cry of delight.

  It was Richard!

  Richard was coming back home when she did not expect him.

  She ran down the stairs as fast as she could and, by the time he had stepped out of the carriage, she was standing in the open front door with her arms outstretched.

  ‘“Richard!” she exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you. I had no idea you were coming home.”

  Her brother, who was a tall, good-looking young man, kissed her.

  “I received your letter,” he said, “and, as it was so obviously a cry for help, I have come back to save you.”

  Meta remembered that she had told him that she was afraid she might be going mad and she laughed.

  She slipped her arm in his saying hesitantly,

  “It is wonderful – wonderful to have – you back.”

  “I could not let you know,” Richard said as they walked across the hall, “as I knew only late last night that I could get away.”

  “But you are here,” she enthused, “and that is all that matters.”

  They went into the drawing room.

  “I must go and tell Mrs. Bell,” Meta said, “that you are here for luncheon. She will want to do her best to provide something really appetising for you as you well know.”

  This was a family joke

  Mrs. Bell, who had been cook at The Manor for a number of years, always kept the best titbits for Richard and she made him special dishes that she thought would be to his liking.

  “I will tell Bell to put a bottle of champagne on the ice,” Meta added. “I am sure you will want it after such a long journey.”

  She knew as she ran to the kitchen that her brother must have left extremely early in the morning to be able to reach home by one o’clock.

  She was very touched that he had done so much for her sake.

  Mrs. Bell was thrown into a fluster when she learned that Sir Richard had arrived.

  Bell hurried down to the cellar for the bottle of champagne.

  When Meta returned to the drawing room, her brother was now standing at the window and gazing out at the garden.

  “I have never seen it quite so colourful,” he said when Meta joined him. “Mother would be pleased that those plants which she was so proud of have done so well.”

  “I know,” Meta said. “I miss her – so very much.”

  “I know you do,” Richard replied. “That is why I have come to see you. I cannot allow you to stay on here alone.”

  Meta looked at him in surprise.

  “What are you suggesting?” she asked.

  “It is rather a long story,” Richard answered. “I would like now to go and wash my hands and then, when we have had luncheon, I want to have a serious talk with you.”

  Meta looked at him in amazement.

  However, before she could ask him any more questions, he had turned and left the room.

  As she waited for him to return, she felt a little apprehensive.

  Perhaps she had said too much.

  Now he would want her to do something that she did not want to do simply because she had complained.

  Then, she told herself, it could not be anything so very terrible and perhaps Richard was making a mountain out of a molehill.

  He came back at the same time that Bell appeared with the bottle of champagne in an ice cooler.

  “Nice it is to have you back home, Master Richard,” he said. “The Missus and I’ve been wonderin’ day after day when we’d see you again.”

  “Well, here I am, Bell,” Richard said. “I expect you realise that, as I have brought my suitcase with me, I am staying the night.”

  “I hopes it’ll be longer than that, sir,” Bell replied, “but as I often says, half a loaf be better than no bread.”

  Richard laughed and picked up the glass that Bell had just filled with champagne for him.

  There was one for Meta and then Bell left the room.

  “So you are staying only one night?” Meta said. “I wish it could be more.”

  “So do I,” Richard replied. “But things are happening that will require my full attention in London. Anyhow I insist that we go riding this afternoon.”

  “Of course we must,” Meta replied. “It is a pity I rode Samson this morning, because, as I said to Forster, he needs a man’s hand. But White Knight is waiting for you and I know that you prefer him to any of the other stallions.”

  Richard did not reply, but she knew that he was pleased.

  Next luncheon was served and they went into the very pretty dining room.

  Mrs. Bell produced, as if by sheer magic, dishes that she had not made since Richard’s last visit.

  “I have not seen such a delicious soufflé for a long time,” Meta teased him. “I used to be jealous when I was young that it was made only for you. It made me learn the hard way that men think they are more important than women.”

  Richard laughed.

  “Of course I agree with you!”

  He had two helpings of the soufflé and then told Bell to bring the coffee into the drawing room.

  Meta was slightly surprised until she realised that he was eager to talk to her alone and he felt that he could not do so in the dining room with the servants coming in and out.

  Bell brought the coffee and set it down on a small table and there was also brandy for Richard.

  When the door then closed behind him, Meta said,

  “Now tell me quickly what all this is about, because I am dying of curiosity.”

  “I thought you would be,” Richard began, “but it is a long story and I did not want to get interrupted in the middle.”

  “I am listening with both ears,” Meta prompted him.

  Richard took a sip of his brandy and then he began,

  “I don’t know whether, since Papa is no longer with us, you have been interested in the events in Europe.”

  “I do try to be,�
� Meta replied. “But, as you know, Papa knew things that were not in the newspapers and he made everything he told us so exciting as well as interesting.”

  “That is true,” Richard agreed. “And I know that he would have been very concerned about what has been happening lately in the Balkans.”

  Meta raised her eyebrows, but she did not say anything and Richard went on,

  “Papa warned us so wisely that Czar Alexander was a very dangerous man.”

  “I remember that,” Meta murmured.

  “Papa always said,” Richard continued, “that the Czar was furious because he thought that Russia had failed to dominate the Balkans and seize control of the Dardanelles.”

  “Why is this so important?” Meta asked.

  “It would have given him access to the Mediterranean,” her brother explained.

  “But surely he is not still pursuing that goal?” Meta exclaimed.

  “I am sure he is,” Richard answered. “But he has, as I expect you know, caused such a commotion by his behaviour last year over Bulgaria that it will be even more difficult than it was before.”

  There was a little pause and then Meta said,

  “As Papa was not here and I was so upset over Mama, I am not sure what happened.”

  “That I rather suspected, so I will now tell you as concisely as I can about the disgraceful behaviour of the Czar towards his first cousin, Prince Alexander of Battenberg.”

  “I do remember something about it,” Meta muttered vaguely.

  “The Czar was not successful in winning the control he wanted in Bulgaria,” Richard went on, “because Prince Alexander refused to do exactly what he was told. In fact he had no wish to become a Russian puppet.”

  “I can understand that,” Meta said.

  She was remembering now what an unpleasant character the Czar had and the things her father had told her about him.

  “The Czar raged against Prince Alexander,” Richard continued, “but Queen Victoria has always been very fond of him.”

  “So what happened?” Meta asked.

  “Last year the Czar’s Agents stirred up a mutiny in the Bulgarian Army. They kidnapped Prince Alexander and forced him to abdicate at the point of a pistol. He was taken away by sea and imprisoned in the Russian Port of Reni.”

  “How ghastly!” Meta cried.

  “There was a tremendous outcry in the whole of Europe,” he went on. “Queen Victoria was furious and said that the Czar’s behaviour was without parallel in modern history.”