From Hell to Heaven Page 11

  Again Peregrine did not realise that Kistna was thinking of her father and mother and how when they were together they always found everything delightful and enjoyable because they could share it.

  Peregrine thought that he had somehow been indiscreet and, trying to smooth things over, he said,

  “There is no reason to worry your head about me or the Marquis. All you have to do is to concentrate on yourself and, when we find you a nice husband, you will undoubtedly find marriage a very enjoyable institution.”

  “But you have just said that most men do not wish to be married,” Kistna replied, “and perhaps no one will – want to marry me.”

  “I can assure you they will,” Peregrine answered, “and if you had any money and I could afford it, I would bet you that by this time next year you would be a respectable married lady with a gold ring on your finger!”

  Kistna laughed and shook her head.

  “Who would want to marry me?” she asked.

  Then, as if she suddenly remembered something, she added,

  “Except of course – if I am the Ward of – somebody very important – I suppose that would count as a very – considerable advantage.”

  “It certainly would,” Peregrine agreed.

  Because he felt that he was getting involved in a conversation that he should never have started in the first place, he had been relieved when the Marquis appeared.

  Kistna had gone over the conversation in her mind that night and the nights that followed.

  Now she thought that, as the Marquis did not wish to get married, she would perhaps be able to stay with him for a long time and they could be happy as they were now.

  Because it was something she wanted more than she had ever wanted anything, she found herself praying,

  ‘Please, God, let me stay here with him. Please make him content to be in the country and not want to follow that beautiful lady to London.’

  Then, as she thought of her father and mother and how deeply they had loved each other and how the very air around them had seemed somehow redolent with love when they were together, she knew that was how she loved the Marquis.

  ‘I love him with my mind – my heart and my – soul,’ she whispered to herself into the darkness.

  Then, although it seemed wicked and presumptive, she added,

  ‘Please, God – let him care for me a little – just a very little – and even if his love only lasts a week – a month – a year, then I could – die having known – real happiness.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  When they came back from riding, the Marquis turned and said to Kistna,

  “When you have changed, I want to speak to you. I will be in the library.”

  Because there was a note in his voice that did not sound normal, she looked at him in surprise.

  Then, when he did not wait for her reply, but walked away in the direction of the library, she ran upstairs.

  While she was changing into what she thought was one of the prettiest gowns Madame Yvonne had sent her, Kistna wondered what the Marquis had to say to her.

  She could not imagine that she had done anything wrong, but she thought now that this morning when they were riding he had been a little aloof and more silent than he had been on other rides.

  Peregrine had made her laugh, but she saw that the Marquis did not join in and now she was afraid that something was not right.

  ‘What could I have done? What could – I have said?’ she asked herself.

  She could find no obvious answer and, as she went downstairs, there was a look of anxiety in her eyes.

  As Peregrine had said to the Marquis, her eyes were now not only very expressive but also beautiful and they seemed to dominate her whole face so that it was difficult to notice her other features, good though they were.

  She opened the door of the library and went in to find the Marquis, as she had expected, sitting at the huge flat-topped desk in the centre of the room.

  There was a gold inkpot on it, made in the time of King Charles II by one of the greatest goldsmiths in the land, which Kistna admired every time she saw it.

  Now she could see only the Marquis and as always she felt her heart give a sudden leap at the sight of him and then seem to beat more quickly within her breast.

  She walked towards him, but he did not look up until she stood directly in front of him.

  Then he said,

  “Sit down, Kistna. I have something to say to you.”

  Because she was nervous, she sat on the very edge of the chair and clasped her hands together.

  It seemed to her that the Marquis looked at her searchingly for a long moment before he said,

  “I have decided your future, which would be a very brilliant one for any young woman, but I need your help in assuring it.”

  He paused and because Kistna felt that he was waiting for her to reply, she said in a voice he could hardly hear,

  “W-What do you – want me to – do?”

  “I expect like all women you have been wondering now you are eighteen whom you will marry. Of course in the circumstances in which I found you, it was unlikely that you would ever meet a man, let alone one suitable to be your husband.”

  “I-I have no – wish to be – m-married,” Kistna said quickly.

  She saw the frown between the Marquis’s eyes before he said sharply,

  “That is an absurd statement for anyone of your intelligence. Of course you wish to be married and, as your Guardian I have, in point of fact, chosen a suitable husband for you.”

  Kistna gave an audible gasp.

  Then she went very pale and clenched her fingers together.

  As if he knew that it was impossible for her to speak, the Marquis continued,

  “Because you are my Ward and because I feel that I must recompense you for your sufferings in the orphanage, I have chosen as your husband a man who will give you what is undoubtedly the most brilliant social position in England today.”

  Again he paused and realised as he looked across the desk that Kistna was staring at him with huge frightened eyes that seemed to fill her whole face.

  It struck him that there was a stricken expression in them.

  Then he told himself that he was being absurd and it was just one of astonishment.

  “The man I am talking about,” the Marquis continued, “is the Earl of Branscombe. He is the possessor of an ancient and noble title and he is a sportsman of high repute on the Turf and enjoys the trust and friendship of the King and Queen.”

  The Marquis waited and this time it was obvious that he expected Kistna to make some response.

  After some seconds had passed she asked incoherently,

  “W-why should he – wish to – marry me?”

  “Because he thinks you are my Ward,” the Marquis replied and his voice was hard, “and, while I do not consider the Ward he had in mind suitable for him, I feel that you as another Ward of mine will make him an admirable wife.”

  “But – but he might not – like me – and I might not like – him,” Kistna stammered.

  “You must be aware,” the Marquis said loftily, “that in the aristocratic families in England, as in the East where you have lived, marriages are always arranged.”

  “But in India,” Kistna said, “and – I suspect in England, the marriages are arranged because both the bridegroom and the bride obtain some – financial advantage from the – union.”

  For a moment the Marquis was taken aback.

  Then he thought that he might have guessed that Kistna was too intelligent not to be aware that an arranged marriage was a business transaction from which both sides benefitted.

  It took him a second or two to find the answer, but finally he said,

  “The Earl of Branscombe considers that because you are my Ward that is the advantage he requires.”

  “How can he want to marry somebody he has never seen – and whom he does not – love?”

  “I have already explained to you that thi
s is an arranged marriage,” the Marquis said with a note of irritation in his voice, “and, as the Earl is a very prepossessing man and you are a very attractive young woman, love will come with marriage, if that is what you want.”

  He spoke as if it was something completely unimportant, but Kistna, thinking of her father and mother, said in a frightened voice,

  “Please – I don’t – wish to – marry in such – circumstances.”

  The Marquis leaned back in his chair.

  “That remark is foolish and over-emotional,” he said. “You must be aware that I am offering you a marriage that, to any girl in England, would be the height of her ambitions and to most of them an alliance beyond their wildest dreams.”

  He looked at Kistna almost angrily as he continued,

  “Surely you have not forgotten already the condition you were in when I found you at the orphanage? You said at the time that it might only have been a question of a year or even a few months before you died from starvation and cold. In contrast, what could be more advantageous from every point of view than for you to become the Countess of Branscombe?”

  Because Kistna could not bear to see the anger in his eyes, she looked away from him down at her hands. She felt as if the irritation in his voice vibrated through her body, making her feel almost as if he hurt her physically.

  “Apart from anything else,” the Marquis went on, “I think that you should be grateful to me for giving you the opportunity of such a golden future.”

  “I am – very grateful – for everything you have – done for me,” Kistna said and now there was a sob in her voice.

  “Then if you are grateful,” the Marquis answered, “you will do what I tell you to do, without making difficulties. I cannot think that is too much to ask.”

  There was a pause.

  Then Kistna said,

  “I am – grateful, my Lord – and I will do what you – tell me to do.”

  “Good!” the Marquis approved. “Now listen carefully.”

  He bent forward with his arms on the desk as if to intensify the import of what he was about to say.

  “The Earl of Branscombe has already announced in London that he intends to marry my Ward. When he arrives here, I shall introduce you to him as my Ward, which indeed you are. But he has no idea that you even exist and he has asked, in fact, for my other Ward, who is in Italy at the moment. Her name is Mirabelle Chester and that is who you will let him think you are.”

  Kistna raised her head.

  “Do you mean – I am to – deceive him?” she enquired.

  “What does it matter?” the Marquis asked lightly. “One Ward is as good as another.”

  “I don’t – understand! Why should we not tell him my – real name?”

  “Because,” the Marquis said slowly, “I wish him to believe that you are Mirabelle Chester and I am asking you to help me and yourself by doing what I require.”

  There was silence.

  And then Kistna enquired,

  “But – will you not explain to me – why this – deception is necessary?”

  “No,” the Marquis said firmly. “It is my business and mine alone. As I have already pointed out, Kistna, I am ensuring that your future will be one that ranks high in the Social world and you will be the envy of every other young woman. What more can you want?”

  To the Marquis’s surprise Kistna rose from her chair and walked away towards the window.

  He found himself without meaning to admiring the grace of the way she moved and the lines of her figure. She wore a gown of pale pink gauze trimmed with ribbons of the same colour.

  ‘She is like a flower,’ he thought and then told himself sharply that she was being difficult.

  With her back to him Kistna stood gazing out at the sunshine on the Park.

  Then she said,

  “Will you be very – angry if I – refuse to do what you – want?”

  The Marquis started and then brought his hand down hard on the desk in front of him.

  “I will not only be angry,” he replied, “but I should think that you half-witted, which is something I have not thought before.”

  Kistna did not speak or look round and he went on,

  “If you will not marry Branscombe, as I wish you to do, have you thought of the alternative? You can hardly stay here with me indefinitely, unchaperoned and with nothing to look forward to, except an attempt to find another husband. It would certainly be impossible for me to produce one who could equal the Earl in any way.”

  “I could perhaps – earn my own – living.”

  “How?” the Marquis enquired. “What talents have you for earning money in a very competitive world?”

  She did not reply and he went on,

  “Perhaps you are thinking of working in an orphanage, but I should have thought that you would have had enough of that sort of existence, even in one better equipped than the place where I found you.”

  Again Kistna felt almost as if he hit her and, because she knew that she could not bear him to be angry with her, she turned back to say,

  “I am – grateful for your kindness and for – thinking of me – and I will try to – do what you – want me to do.”

  Her voice broke a little on the last word, but she controlled herself and, as she stood in front of him at the desk, the Marquis said,

  “I thought you would see sense. Now remember, Kistna, that your name is ‘Mirabelle Chester’. You are the daughter of my cousin, Lionel, who was a wanderer over the face of the earth. I think he called himself an explorer, but he is dead and his wife is dead also.”

  “So Mirabelle is an – orphan – like me!”

  “Exactly!” the Marquis said. “In fact, as you are the same age, you will see that you have several things in common.”

  He looked at Kistna as he spoke and thought that she looked very pale almost as if she might faint.

  He rose to his feet.

  “Come and sit down in a comfortable chair,” he suggested, “and I will tell you more about Mirabelle, so that you don’t make any mistakes.”

  He walked from behind the desk towards the fireplace and Kistna followed him slowly to sit down on one of the big comfortable armchairs.

  Because it had been so warm for the last two days the fire was not lit. Instead the fireplace was filled with a magnificent arrangement of flowers and plants from the Marquis’s own greenhouses.

  Kistna could smell their fragrance and she thought that it was very much part of the beauty of the Abbey and very different form the smell of the dust, dirt and misery that she had known at the orphanage.

  Living in India had taught her to use her senses and she thought that it was not only what one could see and hear which made a picture in the mind that remained in the memory, but also the smell of places and even people.

  To her the Abbey had a scent that was a mixture of the fragrance of flowers, of beeswax and cigar smoke and the cleanness of the fresh air that came from the land outside.

  It was all associated in her mind with the Marquis and, as he sat down opposite her, he looked so handsome and so irresistibly attractive that she felt her whole body vibrate with love.

  “Mirabelle, since her father died, has been living in Rome,” he was saying, “and finishing her studies at a very good school. But I expect you will find that you know quite as much as she does and perhaps, because you have experienced a very different life, in many ways more.”

  “I don’t – speak Italian.”

  “No, but your French is coming along,” the Marquis replied, “and I think it is very unlikely that the Earl speaks any foreign language except French.”

  “Suppose he – asks me questions I cannot – answer?”

  “I imagine you are quick-witted enough to avoid being caught out,” the Marquis said, “and it is always best in such circumstances to say as little as possible.”

  “When are you – planning I should – be married?” Kistna asked him.

  The Ma
rquis was just about to reply ‘as soon as possible’, when he thought that might frighten her. Instead he answered deliberately vaguely,

  “We shall have to discuss that, of course, with the Earl and I suggest that you leave the arrangements in my hands. Just think how very lucky you are and that, if your father and mother were alive, they too would be grateful to me for taking care of your future in an exceptional manner of which they could not help approving.”

  The Marquis thought as he spoke that he was being somewhat ponderous but undoubtedly reassuring.

  What he did not expect was that Kistna should look at him wildly, as though she was going to protest or say something that might cancel out everything she had agreed to before.

  Then, as if with a tremendous effort, her expression changed, but the tears came into her eyes and made them look even bigger than they were already.

  With a little incoherent word of apology, she rose from the chair and ran from the room, leaving the Marquis staring after her, until he could no longer hear her footsteps running down the passage.

  *

  “A visitor!” Peregrine exclaimed as they drove down the drive.

  He glanced at the Marquis as he spoke and they simultaneously knew whose phaeton was standing outside the front door of the Abbey.

  When they drew a little nearer, there was no mistaking the yellow and black wheels and upholstery, while the same colours were echoed in the coachman’s livery, which were also the Earl’s racing colours.

  “Who do you think it can be?” Kistna asked, “And do you want me to – hide until they – leave?”

  There was a little tremor in her voice as she asked the question, because she thought that perhaps the beautiful lady who had called on the Marquis yesterday morning had returned.

  They had driven over to one of the farms in the Marquis’s phaeton and Kistna had been entranced by the newly-born lambs and the calves that were just able to stand on their spindly legs.

  Because she had been so happy to be with the Marquis, she had forgotten for the moment her unhappiness of the morning and had found everything at the farm so entrancing that her enthusiasm had communicated itself both to the Marquis and to Peregrine.