63 Ola and the Sea Wolf Read online

  Author’s Note

  The English exploring Europe in the eighteenth century travelled at considerable risk, not only to their purses but their lives and conditions were not much better by the nineteenth century.

  William Beckford, a well-known political figure in eighteenth century London, was warned before going to Venice,

  “Your route is sure to be very perilous – there lurk the most savage banditti in Europe.”

  These words of warning were not unfounded. The winding coast road to Italy at the foot of the Ligurian Alps was beset with vagrant bandits and the country roads in Germany were also extremely dangerous.

  Spain and Greece were considered even more perilous. In the nineteenth century legendary mercenaries, commonly known as the Pallikares, patrolled the Albanian mountains. Undoubtedly dangerous romantic legends also surrounded these handsome fire-breathing adventurers, originating from the ladies of King Otto’s court. However, their traveller victims described them very differently – that is, if they lived to tell the tale.

  Chapter 1

  1831

  It was very quiet in the bar of The Three Bells, which was unusual.

  Being close to the harbour at Dover it was usually filled with seamen and those repairing and victualling the ships.

  But the thick fog outside seemed to penetrate even into the low-beamed room and only the crackling of the logs in the open fireplace seemed to relieve the gloom.

  The landlord of The Three Bells found it difficult not to keep watching the door and hoping it would open. Then his eyes would go to his only customer, who was sitting in front of the log fire with his long legs outstretched.

  He had not moved for some time when he finally reached out to pour another glass from the bottle that stood beside him.

  This made the landlord visibly anxious, not that the gentleman might be overindulging, but because the bottle he was drinking from, being of the best French Cognac, was the only one in the inn.

  It had been brought across the Channel by a seaman from whom he had bought it cheaply, considering its worth, and it was of a quality that was seldom demanded by the clientele of The Three Bells.

  He looked at the gentleman and wondered who he was.

  There was no doubt that he was of some social standing. He had an authoritative air about him, prompting the landlord to greet him effusively on his arrival.

  He supposed, for the gentleman was uncommunicative, that he owned one of the yachts in the harbour and had been rendered immobile, along with all the other seafarers, since the fog had closed in.

  The gentleman raised his glass to his lips and, as he did so, the outside door was pushed open and someone came into the room.

  To the landlord’s surprise it was a woman or, rather, as he saw at a glance, a lady.

  She was wearing a cloak trimmed with expensive fur, but there was a tear in the fabric and her hands, which were holding a leather case, were trembling.

  For a moment she just stood looking around her as if she was a little dazed.

  Then the landlord found his voice, saying respectfully,

  “Good evening, ma’am!”

  She turned to look at him and he saw that her very large eyes were wide and frightened.

  “There – has been – accident,” she murmured a little incoherently.

  “An accident, ma’am?”

  “Outside – at least – a little way down the – road. I saw – your – lights.”

  “I’ll send some’un to help, ma’am,” the landlord offered, “and if you’ll come and sit down by the fire, my man’ll report to you when he’s found out what’s a-happenin’.”

  He turned his head as he spoke, walking swiftly to a door that opened onto the back.

  “Joe! Are you there?”

  “Aye, Guv,” a voice replied.

  “Then nip outside and see if you can give a hand. There’s a lady here says as how there’s been an accident.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  The landlord came from behind the bar to follow the lady, who was moving slowly, almost as if she was afraid of falling, towards the fireplace.

  He pulled out an armchair for her, which was opposite the one occupied by the gentleman and, as she sat down, he said,

  “I’m sure, ma’am, you’d like a drink after what must have been a nasty experience.”

  “It is very – foggy.”

  “Yes, I knows, ma’am, it’s been like this all day. Now what can I get you? We’ve got just about everythin’ you might fancy.”

  “Would it be – possible to have a – cup of tea?”

  The landlord hesitated.

  He was thinking that the tea that his wife drank, which was coarse and strong, would hardly be to the liking of anyone so elegant and delicate as this lady appeared to be.

  Then, without moving, the gentleman on the other side of the fireplace remarked,

  “If you have been in an accident, you had best have a glass of brandy. What I have here is quite drinkable.”

  The lady looked at him and, after a moment’s hesitation, she replied,

  “That is very – kind of you, sir – but I would – prefer tea or coffee.”

  “In this sort of place I would not recommend either!” the gentleman replied in a contemptuous voice.

  As if she felt he was being unnecessarily rude to the landlord, the lady said quickly,

  “Perhaps a glass of – Madeira would be easier – but only a half glass, if you please.”

  “I’ll get it for you immediate!” the landlord smiled.

  Pleased that the choice had been settled, he went behind the bar.

  The lady was conscious that the gentleman opposite was regarding her through half-closed eyes.

  She thought that he seemed a disagreeable type of person and, because she felt a little embarrassed, she set the leather case she carried down on the floor at her feet and occupied herself in taking off her gloves.

  The landlord returned with the Madeira in a small glass.

  “This be a good quality, ma’am,” he said,” and I hope you enjoys it.”

  “I am sure I shall,” the lady replied, “thank you very much.”

  She took the glass from him and said in a tone that was urgent,

  “Can you tell me when there will be a ship – leaving for – France?”

  “That’s a question I can’t answer, ma’am,” the landlord replied. “Nothing’s moved out of the harbour all day. In fact, I were saying a short while ago ’tis the worst fog I’ve known for twenty years or more!”

  “There must be – one, perhaps very early – tomorrow morning?”

  Now there was no doubting the urgency in her tone.

  The landlord shook his head.

  “Depends on the wind, ma’am. If the wind gets up in the night, then The Britannia should reach here from Calais and make the return journey sometime in the afternoon.”

  The lady gave a little cry of horror.

  “Not until the afternoon? But surely there will be a ship leaving in the morning?”

  “They be stuck t’other side of the Channel.”

  “B-but I must leave – I have to leave as – early as possible.”

  The landlord did not reply and she persisted almost frantically,

  “Perhaps there would be a fishing vessel that would take me? I believe they go out at dawn?”

  “Not when the weather’s like this, ma’am. And anyway they fishes along the shore.”

  The information he had given the lady obviously agitated her and he could see an expression on her face that was almost one of desperation and she was twisting her long fingers together almost as if they were a puzzle she had to solve.

  “I’ll
tell you what I’ll do, ma’am,” the landlord said, as if in an effort to comfort her. “When Joe gets back to tell you about the accident, I’ll send him down to the quay to ask the Harbour Master if he can think of a way to help you.”

  The lady’s eyes seemed to brighten.

  “Would you really do that? It’s very kind of you. Please tell Joe I shall be pleased to reward him for his services.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. He’ll be back here soon. I wonder what’s a-keepin’ him?”

  He walked away as he spoke to open the outer door. As he did so, the fog seemed to swirl into the room like a grey cloud.

  The door shut behind him and the lady relaxed back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  She felt as if she must faint from the horror of it all.

  Then a voice on the other side of the fireplace asserted sharply,

  “Drink your Madeira!”

  It was too much of an effort to reply and she felt a darkness like the fog creeping over her and despite the fire she suddenly felt very cold.

  Then somebody put a hand behind her head, a glass was held to her lips and, almost despite herself, she swallowed.

  She felt a fiery liquid coursing down her throat and into her body and almost instantly the darkness faded and it was easier to breathe.

  “Another sip – ” a voice said sharply.

  Although she wanted to protest, she obeyed because for the moment she was not capable of arguing.

  The second sip was even more effective than the first, and she opened her eyes to find the gentleman bending over her.

  Now she could see him more clearly she realised he was, in fact, exceedingly handsome, except that there was what she could only describe as a ‘darkness’ about his eyes and a cynicism in the deeply etched lines on his face.

  He would, she thought, have persuaded her to drink even more of the wine, but she put up her hands in protest.

  “Please,” she pleaded. “I am – all right now – and I could not – drink anymore.”

  As if he realised that she was speaking the truth, the gentleman moved to stand with his back to the fire. He was, the lady noted, so tall that his head almost touched the heavy ships’ beams that supported the ceiling.

  He did not speak and after a moment she said in a nervous little voice,

  “Thank you for – being – so kind. The – accident – upset me.”

  “Whoever was driving you must have been a fool to take his horses out in this weather.”

  “It was – my fault.”

  As she spoke, the outer door opened and the landlord came back into the room.

  He looked towards the lady, but he did not speak.

  Instead he held the door open and a moment later two men appeared carrying between them a man who was obviously unconscious.

  There was blood on his face from an open wound on his forehead and his clothes were covered in mud as if he had fallen violently onto the dirty roadway.

  “Upstairs and put him in yon guest room, Joe,” the landlord was saying, “then see if you can get hold of the doctor. You’ll find him at The Crown and Anchor. He be always there at this time of night.”

  “Right you are, Guv,” Joe replied.

  His voice had become almost inaudible as he and the other man with their burden disappeared through the door at the side of the bar, which led to the other part of the inn.

  The landlord closed the outer door and followed them and they could hear his voice admonishing the men to be careful as they negotiated the stairs leading to the first floor.

  At the first sight of the injured man the lady had sprung from her chair to stand staring at his prostrate body until he was out of sight.

  Now she said almost as if she spoke to herself,

  “There – must be a ship – there must!”

  The gentleman, standing in front of the fire, turned to look at her and realised that she appeared to have forgotten his presence.

  “Is it your husband that you are so anxious to run away from?” he enquired. “Or your Guardian?”

  He spoke mockingly and he thought that Guardian was the more likely.

  The man who had been injured was obviously in his forties, but he judged the woman beside him to be little more than a girl of eighteen.

  She turned her head at the sound of his voice and now that he could see her more clearly in the light from the fire, he realised that her pointed face was extremely attractive and the lashes that fringed her eyes were long and dark.

  It was an arresting face, but there was no admiration in his eyes as he said, almost as if he jeered at her,

  “Surely it must be one or the other!”

  Before she answered him, she sat down again in the chair.

  Then she said,

  “He is – neither! He is a man who is – abducting me and I have to – escape from him!”

  “Abducting you? Then surely it is quite easy. You can hire a post chaise to take you back to wherever you have come from.”

  The lady shook her head.

  “That is – impossible!”

  “Then suppose you explain? I am not asking out of idle curiosity, but I might – although I am not committing myself – be able to help you.”

  The expression on the lady’s face altered immediately.

  “Oh – could you help me – could you really? Do you mean you could find me a ship – or perhaps – ”

  She hesitated a moment, then, as if she was impressed by the manner in which the gentleman was dressed, she finished her sentence by saying,

  “ You have – one of your – own?”

  “I am asking the questions,” the gentleman replied. “Why are you running away and from whom?”

  The lady drew in her breath before she answered,

  “From my – stepmother!”

  The gentleman raised his eyebrows. It was an answer he had not expected.

  Then he said,

  “Perhaps before we go any further we should introduce ourselves. I am the Marquis of Elvington – ”

  Before he could say any more, the lady gave a little cry and said,

  “I have heard of you! You are famous and, of course, you have a yacht. That is why you are here. Oh, please – please, take me to France. I have to get away – and quickly!”

  “From the man upstairs who is abducting you?”

  “Yes – I never imagined – I never dreamt for one – moment that he would behave – ”

  Her words seemed to fail and she made a kind of helpless gesture with her hands that was somehow pathetic.

  “I am waiting for you to tell me your name,” the Marquis said.

  “It is – Ola Milford. My father was Lord Milford and we live near Canterbury.”

  “I seem to have heard the name,” the Marquis admitted cautiously.

  “Papa did not often go to London. He preferred being in the country and he was not well for two years before he – died.”

  “You say it is your stepmother you are running away from?”

  “Yes – I cannot – stay with her any – longer! It is – impossible!”

  “Why?”

  “She hates me! She makes my life an absolute misery! She is my Guardian, but she will not give me any of the money that Papa left me. It is mine, but I don’t have the – handling of it until I am – twenty-one or am – married.”

  “That should not be too difficult,” the Marquis remarked cynically.

  “You don’t understand!” Ola replied. “My stepmother, who married Papa three years ago when he was so unhappy after Mama’s death, is – jealous of me.”

  She said the word a little hesitatingly as if she felt uncomfortable at telling the truth.

  Then she continued,

  “She keeps saying that she wishes to be rid of me, but she prevents me from going anywhere – and, if a gentleman comes to the house, she will not let me talk to him. I think actually she wants to get married again herself.”

  “Surely there are other r
elations you could live with?” the Marquis suggested.

  “I have thought of that, but when I suggested it,” Ola replied,” my stepmother refused to contemplate such an idea because she thought – I would take my money with me.”

  She gave a deep sigh.

  “It is my money that is at the bottom of all the trouble, both with my stepmother and with my – cousin – upstairs.”

  She looked upwards as she spoke and the Marquis saw her give a little shiver.

  “Your cousin?” he questioned. “How does he come into it?”

  “I was desperate – absolutely desperate at the way my stepmother was – treating me. You cannot know what it is like to live with hatred – and incessant fault-finding.”

  “I can imagine,” the Marquis replied.” Go on!”

  “I decided that there was only one thing I could do and that was to go back to the Convent near Paris where I was educated and become a nun, or else, as my stepmother has suggested so often, a cocotte!”

  The Marquis was visibly startled.

  “A what?” he questioned. “Do you know what you are saying?”

  “I don’t know – exactly what it entails,” Ola admitted, “but if she has said it once, she has said it a thousand times, ‘with hair like yours, you should be a cocotte and that’s about all you are suited for!’”

  As if to demonstrate what she was saying, she pushed back the hood of the cloak she had worn ever since she came into the inn.

  Suddenly it seemed as if the flames from the fire had transferred themselves to the chair opposite the Marquis.

  He had seen many women with red hair but never one whose colour was so vivid or indeed so beautiful as that of the girl opposite him.

  Because her fur-lined hood had covered her hair for some time, it was for the moment flat on her small head.

  Then, after she had unfastened her cape at the neck and let it fall down behind her in the chair, she ran her fingers through her hair and it seemed almost to come alive.

  It glinted as it caught the light and its vivid hue made her skin seem almost dazzlingly white.

  ‘It is not surprising,’ he thought, ‘that any woman, especially a stepmother, would wish to be rid of a potential rival whose appearance is not only unusual but spectacular!’

  The Marquis felt that Ola was waiting for him to comment and he said dryly,