Flowers For the God of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “But, of course, we must give a party for Major Daviot,” Lady O’Kerry had protested. “You know how attractive he is and there are so many people longing to meet him.”

  She glanced a little mischievously at her husband as she added,

  “Despite your hush-hush and cloak-and-dagger attitude where Major Daviot is concerned, I can assure you, Terence, that quite a number of people know he is in the Indian Secret Service and is the hero of many strange adventures.”

  “I will not have you talking like that!” Sir Terence snapped.

  “I am only repeating what I have heard at tea parties,” Lady O’Kerry replied with an aggrieved tone.

  “Damned women! They are worse than all the chatter that goes on in a native bazaar!” Sir Terence roared.

  His wife laughed.

  “I see, dearest, that I have you on the raw, but that is still no reason why I should not give a dinner party with some lovely women for the attractive Major Daviot.”

  She paused before musing,

  “When he was here last year, he was in love with Lady Barnstaple, but I suppose that would be over by now.”

  “He is dining alone with us and Quenella,” Sir Terence insisted. “And I do not intend to discuss the matter further.”

  “Why not let me ask some people in afterwards?” Lady O’Kerry went on. “The Duchess was telling me only a month ago that she met Rex Daviot in Simla and that all the women were head-over-heels in love with him.”

  She gave a little sigh.

  “I am not surprised. He is just the sort of dashing hero I would have fallen in love with when I was Quenella’s age – ”

  She stopped, gave a startled exclamation and then said,

  “So that is the reason why you want him alone! How stupid of me. I never thought of it. But, of course, what could be better?”

  Sir Terence did not answer and she carried on,

  “I only hope that Quenella will be a little more pleasant than she has been this last week. She behaved abominably towards Lord Antrim when we met him in Hyde Park, besides refusing every invitation that arrives. It breaks my heart, it really does!”

  “Please, Betty, just do as I ask,” Sir Terence urged her. “I want a good dinner for the four of us and afterwards I suggest that you make one of your tactful excuses to go to bed early.”

  “There is something up!” Lady O’Kerry cried. “I know it by the note in your voice, Terence, and I want to know what you are planning.”

  “I will tell you after it has happened,” Sir Terence promised eventually.

  Although Lady O’Kerry tried to find out everything she could from Quenella, she was forced to wait patiently in her bedroom while, she told herself, things were ‘happening’ downstairs.

  Quenella, however, had no wish to break to her aunt the news of her intended marriage. In fact it was agonising to think that she must speak of it to anyone.

  She went into her bedroom and, instead of ringing as was usual for her lady’s maid to help her undress, she sat down on the stool in front of the dressing table and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  She did not, however, see her own face.

  Instead she saw the expression on the Prince’s face when he had burst unexpectedly into her bedroom and flung himself on her before she could even protest at his intrusion.

  Even now to think of what had happened that night made her feel sick.

  She had never known fear until that moment, fear of another human being, fear of a man who had lost his self-control and who had become nothing more than an animal.

  She fought against him with all her strength, but she knew with a kind of sick horror that anything she could do was ineffectual.

  Then, as he tore at her clothes, she screamed and screamed again, twisting her head from side to side to prevent him from covering her mouth with his hand.

  That people had come to her rescue and the Prince had been dragged away from her, that she had been commiserated with and pitied, had been a humiliation almost as degrading as the Prince’s behaviour.

  She had felt that, although everyone had expressed horror at what the Prince had done, at the same time they blamed her for encouraging him.

  Only Quenella knew that he had needed no encouragement. He had, as he himself had said, fallen in love with her at first sight.

  It was not a love that would have made any woman proud or conceited. It had been in fact a sheer unbridled lust to possess her and make her his.

  She had known that every word she spoke inflamed an unhealthy and brutal desire that was as frightening as if she were being stalked by a man-eating tiger.

  Looking back she realised that from the moment she had met Prince Ferdinand she should have known the danger he constituted and avoided him.

  At first it had just been a dance or two at every ball, but she had no idea when she accepted the invitation to the house party that he would be present.

  He had manoeuvred the whole scenario and only when it was too late and she had tried to tell him that he repelled her had she driven him to the madness of attempting to rape her.

  Now, horrifyingly, in order to avoid one man she had to marry another!

  “I hate him!” Quenella said aloud to her reflection in the mirror. “I hate him and I swear that if he breaks his promise and tries to touch me, I will kill him!”

  For a moment it seemed as if there was a glint of red fire in the darkness of her eyes.

  Then she added,

  “If I don’t kill him – then I will – kill myself!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sir Terence raised his glass.

  “To your happiness!” he toasted. “Which I believe with all my heart you both will find.”

  He spoke with a sincerity that made it impossible for Quenella, who had looked sceptical at his words, not to respond.

  “Thank you, Uncle Terence.”

  Lady O’Kerry wiped a tear from her eye.

  “I only wish you could have had a proper Wedding,” she said. “I would have so enjoyed a Ceremony at St. George’s or St. Margaret’s Westminster. I had ten bridesmaids when I was married – ”

  “And an ugly lot they were!” Sir Terence interposed.

  They all laughed and Quenella knew that her uncle had avoided in his usual adroit manner a sentimental scene that her aunt always enjoyed.

  “I for one am thankful that we have been married without a great deal of fuss,” Rex Daviot remarked.

  The previous day the Queen had received him at Windsor Castle and she had congratulated him not only on his exploits in India but also on his intended marriage.

  “I only regret,” she had said in a somewhat disapproving voice, “that it is to take place in such haste.”

  “Your Majesty will understand that it is essential for me to return to India as quickly as possible.”

  The thought diverted her from what he was sure would have been an uncomfortable moment if she had realised that he was to be married in a Registry Office.

  Next the Queen said,

  “I am somewhat worried about the reports that I have received that Russian agents might have infiltrated into Tibet.”

  It was so like the Queen, Rex Daviot thought, to know even the most secret of secrets, which he had been sure would have been kept from her.

  “We are not certain that the Russians are actually in Lhasa, Your Majesty,” he replied, “but the Prime Minister of Nepal, who, as Your Majesty knows, has always been very friendly towards Great Britain, has given us some disturbing hints.”

  “That is what I heard,” the Queen said, “and I do not need to tell you, Major Daviot, how disastrous it would be for the Russians to occupy Tibet as they have attempted to occupy Afghanistan.”

  It always surprised everyone that the Queen was so well informed and also so interested in every part of her vast Empire.

  But Rex Daviot knew that India was very close to her heart, and she had replaced her personal servant, the attentive Scott
ish ghillie John Brown, who had died, with an Indian called ‘Munshi’.

  They talked for a little while longer and then Rex Daviot left Windsor Castle, knowing that his appointment and his Peerage would be in The Gazette the next morning.

  It was therefore as Lord Daviot that he had been married to Quenella and, because Sir Terence thought it prudent, they were to leave at noon for Southampton, where they would board a Liner to carry them to Bombay, from where they would travel on to Calcutta.

  “You will see the Viceroy first in Calcutta,” Sir Terence informed him, “and then go by train to Lucknow.”

  His voice was serious as he went on,

  “You must take good care of yourself, Rex. There will be a great deal of rejoicing in India that you are to join the august band of Governors. At the same time there will be a certain amount of malice and envy.”

  He paused before he added,

  “But what is more important is that there will be fear amongst those who know how ruthless you can be.”

  Lord Daviot knew that he was referring to the numerous spies and agents in Russian pay whom he had unmasked and in some cases eliminated before the harm they could do could spread.

  It was always easy in a country that had been conquered to find those who were rebellious and also the type who would do anything for money regardless of who offered it.

  The Russians were past-masters at inflaming those who wanted a Holy War, those who wished to rid India of the British and those who were just rebels by nature.

  The Indian Secret Service was the best in the world and what was known as The Great Game was served by dedicated men who gave the best years of their lives and often their actual lives to serve their country.

  This morning, when he had realised that this was his Wedding Day, Rex had asked himself how a wife was going to fit into the extraordinarily interesting but dangerous life he had lived hitherto.

  He was determined that being married was not going to prevent him from carrying on a great many of his activities, but he would have to be very circumspect about it.

  There would be no question of the Governor of the North-West Provinces disappearing for weeks or months on end as he had done previously in disguises that had never been penetrated.

  But he knew that his old friends who had assisted him in the past would want to help him now.

  The strange messages that came through from all parts of India and from all sorts and conditions of men would still be conveyed to him.

  It was one of the most fantastic and fascinating parts of The Great Game that no one except a few people at the very top had any idea of one another’s identity.

  They were just numbers and, although occasionally they met by chance or helped one another in an emergency, only Rex and one other man knew their actual names or where to look for them.

  This, of course, made it extremely difficult for the Russians or any other of their enemies to unravel the twisted strands that made an unbreakable rope covering a country of hundreds and thousands of diverse people kept under control by a mere handful of the British.

  However apprehensive he might be about the future, Rex had to admit when he saw his bride that it would be hard to find anyone more beautiful if he searched the whole world.

  Because their desire was for secrecy until the Ceremony had taken place, he had driven alone in a Hackney carriage to the Registry Office in St. John’s Wood, not far from Sir Terence’s house.

  When he arrived and saw that his papers were in order, he had only to wait for fifteen minutes before Quenella arrived with Sir Terence and Lady O’Kerry.

  As she stepped into the drab rather dark office, she seemed to light up the whole place and Rex was aware that the Registrar and his clerk, bemused by her appearance, were staring at her almost open-mouthed.

  She was not wearing the traditional white but what was obviously a travelling gown of silken material with a small close-fitting velvet coat trimmed with sable.

  Because she was not superstitious or perhaps as an act of defiance, her gown was of deep emerald green and the hat she wore was trimmed with ostrich feathers of the same colour.

  She carried a bouquet of purple orchids that Rex had not chosen himself but had asked Sir Terence to buy for him, because he felt that Quenella would like flowers that matched her ensemble.

  He was slightly amused by her choice and yet he had to admit that she looked like a strange exotic flower and one that no man would be able to ignore.

  She did not look at him directly as he greeted her and he wondered if she was shy or merely hating both him and the whole idea of becoming his wife.

  There was no time for introspection for the Registrar was waiting and they were joined together as husband and wife by a few formal sentences and without the Blessing of the Church.

  They signed their names and then all together they drove back in Sir Terence’s closed carriage to the house in St. John’s Wood.

  There champagne and refreshments were waiting for them and, although no one seemed very hungry, the wine, Rex thought, was extremely welcome.

  After Sir Terence had managed to raise smiles and even some laughter, he said with a glance at the clock,

  “I think, Quenella my dear, you should get ready to leave.”

  “Yes, of course, Uncle Terence,” Quenella replied and went from the room followed by Lady O’Kerry.

  Sir Terence put down his glass.

  “You will find Archerson waiting for you at the Station,” he said, “with the very latest reports, which arrived this morning and a letter, which I should be grateful if you would convey to the Viceroy and another for the Commander-in-Chief.”

  “Anything else you wish me to do?” Rex asked.

  Sir Terence smiled.

  “Only carry on the good work.”

  “Her Majesty has been told that there was a report of Russian agents in Lhasa. Do you think that is true?”

  Sir Terence shrugged his shoulders.

  “It is absolutely impossible to obtain much information out of Tibet, but it is obvious to me that if they keep us busy on the North-West Frontier, it might be easy for us to become slack as to what is happening on the other side of the Himalayas.”

  Rex sighed.

  He knew all about the tremendous struggle it had been in the past years to keep Russia out of Afghanistan.

  But beyond the towering peaks and icy passes of the Himalayas were countries, including Tibet, where the Russians could cause incredible mischief if they had the chance to do so.

  He felt certain that the whispers he had heard of Russian expeditions somewhere near Tibet had not been connected, as it had been averred, with the pursuit of science or religion.

  He had personally been so involved with the attempts to inflame the tribesmen round the Khyber Pass that he had not until now had the time to concentrate on another Frontier.

  As if he knew what thoughts were passing through Rex’s mind, Sir Terence said,

  “I envy you. I wish to God I were a little younger! This seems to me to open a great many new possibilities that we have not explored before.”

  “I wish indeed that you could come with me,” Rex replied. “But thank God we have in Lord Curzon a Viceroy who has spent a great many years in India and understands the difficulties.”

  “He is a strange man,” Sir, Terence replied, “brilliant, we both know, and yet in many ways his own worst enemy.”

  “I agree, but at the same time I believe that when history comes to be written India will always be grateful to him.”

  “I am sure it will,” Sir Terence agreed.

  It struck Rex that this was a strange conversation for him to be having a few minutes after his marriage and, as if Sir Terence had the same idea, he drew out his watch and said,

  “You should be leaving in a few minutes. You must not miss your train.”

  “No, of course not.”

  As Rex spoke, the door opened and they both turned, expecting to see Quenella, but
instead to their astonishment a servant announced,

  “His Royal Highness Prince Ferdinand of Schertzenberg!”

  There was a perceptible pause before Sir Terence moved forward to say,

  “Your Royal Highness. This is a great surprise.”

  “As Baron von Mildenstadt has not received a reply to his letter inviting your niece to stay, I came to ask if there was any reason that might have delayed her acceptance.”

  The Prince spoke in a tone that was rude in itself.

  He was a tall handsome man of nearly thirty-five and had a Teutonic pride and arrogance that most people found unpleasant.

  Although he was dressed in ordinary clothes, Rex felt that not only his rank but his uniform itself enveloped him, so that it was impossible to think of him except as a soldier and a Ruler who was very conscious of his own standing.

  The Prince waited for Sir Terence’s reply, but he was obviously playing for time as he said,

  “May I present to Your Royal Highness, Lord Daviot?”

  There was a frown on the Prince’s forehead, as if he resented being diverted from the subject that he was concerned with.

  Then, as Rex gave him the bow owed to Royalty, he said,

  “Daviot? I seem to know the name. Yes, of course. I have heard you spoken of in connection with India.”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “But I did not know you had a title.”

  “It is a very recent one, sir.”

  “That accounts for it,” the Prince said. “My memory is never at fault.”

  It was a statement that he had obviously never been challenged on.

  He then apparently dismissed Rex from his mind and turned to Sir Terence,

  “Now about this invitation. I am anxious, and so is Baroness von Mildenstadt, that your niece should grace the ball that is to be given in my honour.”

  “It is with regret, sir,” Sir Terence said, “that Quenella cannot accept the Baroness’s kind invitation.”

  “Why not?”

  The question came like the report of a pistol and there was a look in the Prince’s eyes that would have made any of his countrymen quail before him.