The Ship of Love Read online

  "How very true, my dear," said a voice behind them.

  They turned to see Lady Honoria, standing with her arm through Mr. Farley's.

  "People who are always looking over their shoulder, wondering what the world thinks, are not truly in love," she said. "Everyone said I was a fool to marry my James all those years ago, but for the few years of our marriage we were glorious fools together."

  For a moment her eyes misted. Then she smiled at the man beside her.

  "And now," she said, "I am going to be a glorious fool again. And the world can say what it pleases."

  "Why aunt, I'm delighted," Mark said, embracing her.

  "I suppose I should ask your consent as the head of the house," the Reverend gentleman observed.

  "You have it," Mark said at once. "I would never dare refuse my aunt anything. I'm much too afraid of her."

  "Nonsense, you ridiculous boy," Lady Honoria said, giving him a light tap of reproof with her fan.

  She and her fiancé went on their way to look at the stars together.

  Rowena thought it sounded strange to hear Mark called a boy. After all, he was thirty, a grave and serious man. Yet it seemed to her that his gravity was less evident recently. He laughed more, and his mind seemed delightfully in tune with her own.

  And now she came to think of it, an age gap of eleven years wasn't really so very much.

  She met his gaze. He was still watching her with a curious little half smile about his lips, and suddenly she couldn't take her eyes away. She hadn't really noticed his mouth before. Or perhaps she had always noticed it. How wide and mobile it was, how handsome!

  She wondered how it would feel if that mouth was pressed against her own. Somehow she just knew it would be gentle and tender, just at first. But then he would kiss her more urgently as he sensed her willingness, and after that –

  "It's late, I must go to bed," she said hurriedly. She could feel herself blushing all over her body, and could only be thankful that in the darkness he couldn't tell.

  "Yes, it's late," he agreed. "We must go to – that is – it's time to retire – tomorrow we can explore Marseilles – goodnight, goodnight."

  He sounded totally distracted, and the next moment he had hurried away, without even the courtesy of escorting her to her cabin door, as he usually did.

  *

  They left the coast of France and began to cross the Mediterranean, heading for Kalimar, a small country on the north coast of Africa, ruled by a Sultan.

  "I'm told the Sultan's a very strange character and I've wanted to meet him for a long time," Mark explained.

  "Why?" Rowena asked.

  "Because I enjoy people who are not exactly what one expects them to be," Mark said and then added with a twinkle, "That's why I like you so much."

  "Yes, you've certainly always found me unexpected,"

  she agreed with a chuckle. "Tell me some more about the Sultan."

  "Very few people ever get to see him. They say his palace is quite staggering, full of gold and precious jewels."

  "Will we be able to go there?" Rowena asked.

  "I hope so, but I have had no introduction to him. I hope he will be impressed by the yacht if nothing else."

  "Then we will hang out the flags and hope for the best. I would love to see the inside of a Sultan's palace. It will be something I will always remember, and perhaps write about in my book."

  Mark stared at her.

  "You are writing a book?" he asked.

  "Yes, I've decided that the best way to avoid Papa's plans for me is to devote my life to literature. I'm even thinking of wearing spectacles."

  "Do you need them?"

  "No, but they'll make me look severe and plain."

  "Nothing could make you look plain," Mark said abruptly.

  "The right spectacles will. I'll choose a pair as hideous as possible, and scrape my hair back, the way you saw it once before, and when people see me they'll say, 'By Jove, that woman is so ugly she must be a genius.' And they'll buy my book, and I'll be famous."

  Mark roared with laughter.

  "You are simply unbelievable," he said. "But you'll have to abandon all thought of being a literary genius. Even spectacles couldn't make you look plain enough."

  "Just the same I'm keeping notes of everything exciting and different on this wonderful trip. So please, please try to get us into the Sultan's palace."

  "I will certainly try," Mark replied. "But I am not making promises."

  They took two days to reach Kalimar. As soon as they were there, Mark sent a note to the palace asking the Sultan for the privilege of making his acquaintance and saying his friend the Prince of Wales had spoken so often of his magnificent palace.

  The response came the next day. His Mightiness, Ruler of the Sun and Moon, would be pleased to receive them. Rowena jumped for joy.

  "Oh, you are so clever!" she exclaimed. "I have read about Sultans and the extraordinary life they lead, and this is a dream come true."

  "You may be disappointed," Mark warned her. "The last Sultan I visited in another part of the world was a disagreeable little man. He frequently scratched himself when he was talking to me and offered me such an unpleasant drink that I had to knock my glass over, as if by accident, because what it contained was quite undrinkable."

  "Let us hope the Sultan here will be different," she said.

  "Well, I advise you to drink very little and eat even less," Mark warned, "however desperate you may be."

  At the proper time they were collected in a carriage belonging to His Highness the Sultan. It was costly and elaborate, and the Duke could see from Rowena's face it was exactly what she had expected. But when she began to hunt in her bag he murmured hastily,

  "Do not try to take notes. It will cause offence."

  It was a short journey. Quite soon they could see the palace, a magnificent, turreted building, a reminder that it had once been a fortress, from which past Sultans had ridden out to slay their enemies.

  They were admitted through huge bronze gates, that each took five men to open, and immediately found themselves in a garden, the most wondrous place Rowena had ever seen.

  A man came forward to greet them. He was in eastern robes and had a smooth face, and an even smoother manner. He bowed deeply to the Duke, but ignored Rowena.

  "My name is Ali. Great sir, His Wondrousness has commanded me to escort you to His Presence."

  "Thank you," Mark replied.

  "I am to tell you that he is most pleased to entertain the friend of the Prince of Wales. I am to hope that your journey has been pleasant."

  "Most pleasant, thank you."

  "Glorious sir, His Mightiness will be overcome with joy to hear it. Please follow me."

  He walked off, still without acknowledging Rowena's presence.

  "How very rude," she muttered.

  "I'm afraid that in this country women don't count for much," he muttered back.

  Soon her annoyance faded in wonder at the sights that met her eyes. Everywhere she looked there were archways, studded with jewels, and beyond them, ponds. In the ponds there were fountains made of gold in the shape of animals and fruit, the eyes created from jewels.

  The whole building seemed to stand on archways, so delicate that she wondered how they could possibly support the weight above. Everywhere she saw mosaics, decorated with lapis lazuli that caught the sun, so that the whole place seemed to gleam.

  "Oh please wait," she called. "I do so want to look at – "

  But Ali was horrified.

  "It is a crime of the utmost to keep His Gloriousness waiting," he snapped. "Please to hurry at once." He marched on ahead. This was the first time he'd seemed aware of her existence.

  Then they were in the palace, walking on smooth tiled floors between walls covered in more mosaics, also decorated with gold and jewels. The value of it all must have been fabulous, and Rowena felt as if she'd stepped into a fairy tale.

  At last they were ushered into an enorm
ous room, with dark red tiled floors.

  "Magnificent," Mark observed. "Especially those tiles."

  "Splendid sir, you are most observant," Ali told him. "The colour was chosen especially by our ruler's glorious ancestors, as this was the room where they beheaded their enemies." Seeing them look puzzled he added, "It didn't show the blood."

  "I'm beginning to wish I hadn't come," Rowena said faintly.

  "Nonsense," Mark murmured. "Think what a story it will make in your book."

  At the end of the room was a dais on which stood a breath-taking throne that seemed to be made of solid gold. Behind it was a huge golden shield beneath which hung golden swords.

  Down both sides of the room were lines of tall, bare chested men in dark red satin trousers. Each one had long black hair and a heavy black moustache. Each had a huge scimitar at his side.

  There was a sudden blare of trumpets. A door opened at the far end, and through it came a procession. First came young girls, all dressed alike in peacock blue satin, dancing with sinuous movements. They were the first females Rowena had seen since entering the palace.

  After them came male servants, bearing aloft golden dishes piled high with jewels.

  Then came a wizened little man in golden robes that shimmered when he moved.

  This, apparently was the Sultan, because as soon as he appeared the servants prostrated themselves on the ground. Only the armed men remained standing. Even Ali dropped to his knees.

  A chair was brought for the Duke. But nothing for Rowena.

  The Sultan waved for Mark to sit down, but he stayed as he was. The Sultan frowned. Mark indicated Rowena with his head.

  There was a long silence.

  Then the Sultan snapped his fingers and another chair was brought for Rowena.

  She could have clapped and cheered for Mark.

  By that time she was thoroughly out of charity with the Sultan. The gold, which had seemed so magnificent at first, now looked merely vulgar and overdone. But he would need it, she thought, to distract attention from the fact that he himself was a very ugly little man with tiny, piggy eyes, a pinched face and bad teeth.

  She concentrated on remembering everything for her book. At least the Sultan would give her plenty of good material.

  The Sultan greeted them, or rather Mark, in English.

  "You are welcome in my country," he said ponderously. Then he stared at Rowena and boomed, "Is this your chief woman?"

  "No," Mark replied hastily. "This is – this is my ward. I am in the position of a father to her."

  The Sultan frowned.

  "Then why do you put her on display?"

  "She is not on display," Mark said. "It is part of her education to learn about other countries."

  "Why? What does a woman need with education?"

  Mark took a deep breath. "In England we like our women to have learning."

  "Why?" The question shot out.

  "It makes them more agreeable," Mark explained.

  "It makes them ask questions that do not concern them," the Sultan replied. Then he leered and gave an unpleasant laugh. "Better you do as we do. Keep a woman in her place."

  "That is not our way," Mark said firmly.

  "I know. That is why your country is decadent. You have allowed your women to get out of hand."

  Beside him Mark could sense Rowena getting ready to rise up in wrath. Quick as a flash he laid his hand over hers, holding her firmly, silently commanding her not to lose her temper. She subsided, seething.

  "Our mutual friend, the Prince of Wales, came to visit me," the Sultan continued. "I asked him what he meant by allowing his mother to rule his country. Why did he not rise up and smite her?"

  "And how did His Royal Highness reply?" Mark asked courteously.

  The Sultan shrugged. "He said in your country a man must respect his mother. I told him it was the same in my country. I show great respect to my mother. Sometimes I even allow her to leave the palace. Closely guarded of course, but she appreciates the privilege."

  "I'm sure she does," Mark said suavely.

  Refreshments were served. After Mark's warning, Rowena would have been quite willing to be ignored this time, but she accepted the food and drink, just as Mark did. She took one sip and realised he had been right. After that she sat holding her glass, but didn't touch another drop.

  Then Rowena looked up to find the Sultan watching her, and a disagreeable sensation came over her.

  It was the slanting of his tiny eyes, she thought, and his way of looking at her as if he was undressing her. There was something gloating and unpleasant about it, and suddenly she couldn't wait to escape.

  It was a great relief when the Sultan apparently decided that he'd had enough of them. He brought the interview abruptly to an end by getting to his feet. They did the same. Then he simply inclined his head in farewell, and walked out without a word, leaving them there.

  "I think that was our dismissal," Mark murmured.

  Guards, armed to the teeth, took up position on either side of them, and began to escort them out.

  Rowena was breathing hard.

  "Not a word from you," Mark warned her, "until we're well away."

  In silence they walked down the long corridors and out into the blessed fresh air. Doors opened and closed behind them and at last they were outside the palace gates. The carriage that had brought them was waiting there. They climbed aboard and by mutual consent maintained their silence until they reached the yacht.

  Only when they were back on board did Rowena say,

  "Well!"

  Mark grinned. "I wouldn't have missed the last hour for anything. I thought you were going to explode."

  "Keep women in their place, indeed! Why didn't you defend me?"

  "Well you see," he said apologetically, "since we're in his country, I thought we should do things his way." "What became of English chivalry?"

  "It gave way to English common sense, I'm afraid." Mark's eyes were gleaming with amusement. "You really couldn't have expected me to take any risks in the room where he beheads his enemies."

  Rowena breathed hard. Then her sense of humour came to her rescue.

  "I don't see why not," she said mischievously. "With those colour tiles nobody would have noticed."

  He laughed. "Rowena, you're a constant delight to me. Let's go and dress for dinner."

  As they went below he added,

  "I must admit I was disappointed not to see his harem, which is supposed to be enormous."

  "I thought he was an ugly man and I am so sorry for all his women. I should think his breath smells if you get too close."

  "Sure too," Mark agreed.

  "But he was useful because I can put him in my book. He looked so villainous that he's bound to add interest, in a horrid way."

  Over dinner they were regaled with questions from their guests, and between them they managed to make it sound a very funny story.

  "He told Mark that women didn't need education because it made them ask too many questions," Rowena said, and everyone shouted with laughter.

  "Of course a woman should be educated, so that she can be a companion for her husband," declared Lord Patrick Tellman.

  "You'd run a mile from a clever woman," Margaret told him.

  "That would depend on who she was, and whether she was clever enough to be intelligent about the right things," he replied, eyeing her tenderly.

  "And what would the right things be?" she demanded.

  "Well, if she were cleverer than me, I hope she'd be clever enough to hide it – at least until after we're married."

  They smiled at each other.

  Later that night, standing under the stars, as they always did, Mark and Rowena chuckled over the day's events.

  "Did you notice Margaret and Patrick?" she asked.

  "Oh yes, I think they'll make a match of it. He actually mentioned marriage in public. No man does that unless he's ready for the consequences."

  "We haven't really
done too badly," she mused. "Jane, Margaret, your aunt. That's three brides, even if two of them – "

  "Were rather unexpected," he agreed. "I think that's as much as we could hope for. The others will return to England with a new feeling of confidence. That's what really matters."

  They strolled below. At her cabin door he said,

  "I suppose we ought to be thinking of returning home soon."

  "Yes," she said reluctantly. "It's been such a wonderful time, but it has to come to an end."

  "There will be other wonderful things in life," he said softly. "Goodnight Rowena."

  "Goodnight."

  *

  In her cabin Rowena changed into her nightgown and the satin and lace robe. Then she dismissed Jenny, and sat pensively, trying to decide what Mark might have meant by that last remark.

  Suddenly she heard a sound so sad that it caught at her heart. It was like a dog whining. She stopped, listening, and the whining came again. The animal sounded in great distress.

  'Someone will come for him,' she thought, but the crying went on and on.

  'Perhaps it's in pain, or locked up somewhere,' she mused. 'I can't just leave it.'

  She slipped quietly out of her cabin and hurried up on deck. The lights were shining on the water, and everything was very quiet and peaceful. Surely it would only take a moment to find the poor creature, so there was no need for her to go all the way back and change her clothes.

  She slipped quickly down the gangplank and stood listening. The sound seemed to be coming from between some buildings. She hurried down a narrow alley until she found herself facing something that was little more than a wooden hut. The dog's crying seemed to be coming from within.

  She turned the key and opened the door.

  As she did so, a man's hand came out and before she could move backwards or realise what was happening, she was pulled into the hut.

  There was no chance to cry for help. Two men's hands pulled her further forward and the door was closed behind her.

  Then a heavy blanket was thrown over her head, and she was lifted up off the ground. Someone was carrying her away. She tried to struggle, but they held her too tightly. She couldn't even scream because the heavy blanket was pressed against her face.