The Magnificent Marquis Read online

  “I promise you I won’t go mad,” Delia exclaimed. “If I was wise, maybe I would not talk about my feelings. But in my view it is only right that you should hear them and be prepared for something strange and perhaps unpleasant to happen.”

  “Now I think you are just frightening yourself,” the Marquis replied. “I might listen to you if we were in India, but, as you heard yesterday the Khedive is so determined to make this City as European as Paris or London. But I can assure you that the women here are nothing like so pretty or approachable!”

  He had meant Delia to laugh and she did.

  “No, of course it is not a bit like Paris or London and never will be. There is an Oriental atmosphere here that is inescapable and however hard the Khedive tries he is not going to alter that.”

  “I would hope not,” he agreed. “I like every City to be itself and it’s ridiculous of the Khedive to think he can change the Orient or even identify Egypt with Europe.”

  The Marquis was speaking in a low voice and Delia looked nervously across the room just in case anyone was listening.

  “The Khedive is absolutely convinced that is what he will do,” she whispered, “but I think the owner of this Palace has very different ideas.”

  “It looks as it should look and I would suggest that we should congratulate him on it.”

  “I will try to make it a very short speech!”

  The Marquis laughed.

  As he spoke the major-domo returned.

  “His Excellency the Vizier will see you now,” he said in broken French, bowing to the Marquis.

  The Marquis rose to his feet and put out his hand towards Delia.

  “Come along,” he urged, “it will not be as bad as you anticipate and we have our own carriage outside.”

  He was speaking so quietly that it would have been difficult for the major-domo to hear, even if he understood English.

  He led them along a wide passage, which was dim with little light as there were no windows.

  They walked for quite a long way and at the far end of the passage the major-domo paused.

  He waited with his hand on a door which he did not open until the Marquis and Delia joined him.

  Then he opened it wide and intoned in a loud voice in Arabic,

  “Your guests are here, Your Excellency, and may they prostrate themselves before you.”

  Ahead of them the Marquis could see a very large room furnished and decorated in an Oriental style, complete with a number of thick rugs on the floor.

  There was a subdued light from windows that were veiled with elaborate silk curtains.

  At the far end of the room seated in a chair, which could easily have been a throne, there was a man.

  As they advanced towards him, they heard the door close behind them.

  The Marquis was aware that the Vizier was dressed in a long silk robe falling to the ground, complete with a red fez on his head.

  As they drew nearer, and it was quite a long walk from the door to where the Vizier was seated, he rose to his feet and waited for them to reach him.

  As they did so, Delia suddenly gave a loud scream and threw out her hands towards the Marquis.

  “It is the – Comte,” she cried incoherently.

  The Marquis turned to look at her in astonishment and then as she came to a standstill, he stopped too.

  As he did so the Vizier snarled,

  “Yes, Delisia, it is the Comte and I have found you again as I intended.”

  The Marquis grasped the situation at once.

  As he looked at the Vizier, he knew only too clearly why Delia had been terrified and disgusted at having this monster forced on her as her husband.

  He was small, dark, swarthy and aggressive-looking.

  With the swiftness of brain that had served him so well in the past, the Marquis decided at once how to handle the situation they now found themselves in.

  He began in French,

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Excellency, but it appears my interpreter knows you already.”

  “She does indeed,” the Vizier replied, now speaking in English, “because her father arranged that she should be my wife. Yet on the day I arrived at Lord Durham’s house, his daughter had just disappeared, apparently in the back of your chaise that had been waiting for you outside the front door.”

  The Marquis stared at him as if he was completely bewildered.

  “I don’t understand, Your Excellency. Are you now telling me that this young girl, who offered her services to me as an interpreter, is the daughter of my neighbour and friend Lord Durham?”

  “Are you saying, my Lord, you were not aware of that fact?”

  “Of course I was not aware of it,” the Marquis said sharply. “On my way to London I stopped twice at posting inns for refreshment and when I reached my yacht to sail to Egypt, this young woman appeared from the back of my chaise begging me to take her with me to wherever I was going.”

  The Vizier was clearly surprised at this story, but he persisted,

  “But surely, my Lord, you did not agree to such an extraordinary suggestion?”

  “I did my best to tell her that I had no intention of taking her on my yacht, but she said she had learnt I was travelling to Egypt and offered herself as an interpreter.

  “I had in fact been looking for one and had asked the Prime Minister to supply me with a man and unfortunately he had been unable to find one for me.”

  “So you had no idea that this was Lord Durham’s daughter?” the Vizier demanded, as if he must be sure that the Marquis was telling him the truth.

  “Of course I had no idea,” the Marquis responded scornfully. “Do you really imagine I would insult such a close neighbour and friend as Lord Durham? But this girl was most insistent and my inability to speak a single word of Arabic put me, as you might understand, in a somewhat uncomfortable position regarding my diplomatic mission.”

  The Vizier nodded and the Marquis went on,

  “I allowed her to come with me and I can only say that when I visited the Khedive yesterday morning, as you will know, she performed her duties most admirably.”

  “She did not tell you that she was promised to me as my wife?” the Vizier rasped.

  “Not at all. If I had had any idea that she was her father’s daughter, I would have refused to take her. In fact, I am deeply shocked at her deceitfulness. At the same time I must say that she speaks Arabic fluently, which has been extremely useful to me on my mission.”

  “Although, I speak French and English as fluently as Arabic,” the Vizier added, “I like my women to talk to me when they are here in the language of my country.”

  The Marquis smiled.

  “I can understand that, Your Excellency.”

  He had been watching the Vizier closely as he was talking and he was quite certain that he was concealing a weapon, probably a revolver, in his right hand.

  The Vizier was a very animated conversationalist and the Marquis had noticed that, although he had used his left hand to gesticulate freely, he had kept his right down at his side.

  The Marquis was now wondering desperately what he could do and how he could spirit Delia away from the Vizier’s clutches.

  Then, as he felt her hand, which was still on his arm, tremble, he turned to her savagely,

  “How did you manage to deceive me so cleverly? Why did you not tell me you were running away from your father?”

  He knew as he spoke that she would be intelligent enough to play up to him.

  She replied in an almost pitiful voice,

  “You must please forgive me, my Lord, but I was disturbed because I had no wish to marry anyone and I had intended, if you had not taken me to Egypt to act as your interpreter, to enter a Convent and become a nun.”

  “I think that would have been a ridiculous thing to do,” the Marquis said, “and I am sure His Excellency would agree that you are far too pretty to be a nun.

  “Anyway I am certain that His Excellency is a
s disgusted by your behaviour and the lies you have told me, as I am. I will therefore take you back and hand you over to your father, who will deal with you as he thinks fit – ”

  He saw a light flash into Delia’s eyes as she looked up at him.

  He knew that she thought he was being very astute.

  Then the Vizier intervened,

  “Wait a minute! This young woman was promised to me and although I think she has behaved very badly and must accept some sort of punishment, I am still prepared to take her as my wife.”

  For a moment the Marquis was silent and then he responded,

  “That is most generous of Your Excellency and I can only commend you for being so very considerate. I have fortunately finished my business to Egypt and I must return to England at once. I can, of course, leave Miss Durham safely in your hands.”

  The Vizier, who had been looking stern, smiled for the first time.

  “That is exactly what I desire, my Lord.”

  The Marquis felt Delia trembling, but she did not speak.

  He stepped forward towards the Vizier holding out his hand.

  As he had anticipated, the Vizier had been holding something beneath his robes and he now dropped it into the chair behind him.

  He turned round sweeping back his robes so that he could take the Marquis’s hand.

  The Marquis moved forward.

  With the expertise of a pugilist, he caught the Vizier a cracking blow on the chin that knocked him backwards.

  As he stumbled, the Marquis struck him again on the chest.

  He fell sideways against his chair, hitting his head against its wooden arm.

  When his body reached the floor he was completely unconscious.

  The Marquis took a quick look at him.

  Then, taking Delia by the hand, he walked rapidly across the room and opened the door.

  As he expected, the major-domo and another servant were waiting outside.

  “Tell him we brought the Vizier some bad news,” he hissed to Delia, “and that he wishes to be left alone.”

  With, he thought, commendable self-control Delia translated this into Arabic and added,

  “I would not disturb your Master now for at least an hour. He is very upset at what we have just told him.”

  The major-domo led them back to their carriage.

  They deliberately walked slowly as if they were in no hurry and, when they reached the carriage, they stepped inside it quite calmly while the servants bowed.

  As soon as they were outside the gates and they had closed, Delia threw herself against the Marquis.

  “You – saved me!” she burst out. “How could you be – so brilliant?”

  Then, as she stammered the last words, she burst into tears.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Marquis pulled off Delia’s hat and put his arms around her.

  For a moment he held her close against him without speaking.

  Then, as soon as he realised they were out of sight of the gates of the Vizier’s Palace, he gently took his arms from around her.

  Rising, he stood on the seat opposite to speak to the driver and ordered him to go swiftly to the British Consul’s Palace.

  The man repeated the address after him and nodded to say he understood.

  He went back to Delia.

  She was still crying and had covered her face with both hands.

  He took her in his arms and said to her softly,

  “It’s all over and no one will hurt you. That swine will never come near you ever again.”

  “But – he will,” Delia sobbed. “He will come back to England again – I know he will.”

  “By the time we reach English it will be impossible for him to touch you. That I promise you, my darling.”

  As he spoke, he felt her stiffen.

  She took her hands away from her face.

  The Marquis looked down at her, thinking that even with tears dappling her cheeks and trickling from her eyes, she looked indescribably lovely and ethereal.

  “That devil will never upset you again,” promised the Marquis quietly, “and you have to trust me.”

  “But how can you – stop him?”

  The Marquis smiled.

  “I am going to stop him in such a way that you will never be frightened by him again.”

  “How can that be possible?” she pleaded.

  “Because we are going to the Consul’s Palace now to be married.”

  Delia’s blue eyes seemed to fill her whole face as she looked up at the Marquis and repeated almost beneath her breath.

  “Married?”

  “I love you,” the Marquis breathed. “Do you really think I could lose you to any man, least of all someone as despicable as him? You are mine, Delia, and I will never lose you.”

  “I think – I am dreaming – ” Delia murmured as if she was about to faint.

  But her eyes were shining and he felt that no one could look more radiant or breathtakingly beautiful.

  “I love you,” the Marquis continued, “and later on I will tell you how much. But the Consul’s Palace is not far away. In fact we are almost there now.”

  He drew a handkerchief from his pocket.

  He handed it to Delia and she wiped her eyes.

  As she did so, they turned in at a pair of large and stately gates.

  Ahead, as the Marquis remembered, was the Palace he had visited some years ago when he had been in Cairo.

  He took his arms from around Delia as they passed the sentries at the gates and they presented arms.

  Then, as they drew nearer to the large house set in an ornamental garden, Delia reached out for her hat.

  As she picked it up, she looked questioningly at the Marquis.

  “You did – say,” she stuttered, “that you would not marry – anyone.”

  “I have every intention of marrying you, Delia, and when we are alone and leaving Cairo as quickly as we can, I will tell you why.”

  For a moment their eyes gazing into the other’s said a great deal without any need for words.

  Then, as the carriage stopped, the Marquis stepped out first.

  As Delia followed him, an Englishman appeared at the door and the Marquis ran up the steps towards him.

  “I am the Marquis of Harlington and I wish to see the Consul immediately. It is vitally important.”

  “I am sure that he will be delighted to see you, my Lord,” replied the Englishman.

  The Marquis hesitated and then he added,

  “The lady accompanying me has suffered rather a traumatic experience and I would be grateful if she could go somewhere to tidy herself while I speak to the Consul.”

  “I am sure that Mrs. Rogers would be delighted to look after her.”

  Then, as they moved into the hall, an aide-de-camp appeared and bowed to them.

  The Englishman they had met first said,

  “This lady is accompanying Lord Harlington whom I am taking to His Excellency’s office. Would you be very kind and take her to Mrs. Rogers so she can tidy herself.”

  Delia looked in a desperate way at the Marquis as if she was afraid to leave him.

  “It will not be for long, Delia, and I am sure you would like to tidy your hair.”

  Delia suddenly remembered that her hair was loose and that she should still be looking only fifteen.

  She understood what the Marquis was implying and turned away to follow the aide-de-camp.

  The Englishman opened the door on their left and announced the Marquis’s name.

  The Marquis found it was the office of Mr. Edward Rogers, the British Consul, and he rose from his desk and held out his hand.

  “You wrote to me, my Lord, asking me to arrange a meeting for you with the Khedive yesterday morning,” he began, “and I am so glad you have had time to visit me. If you remember, we met some years ago at a reception given by Lord Palmerston when he was Prime Minister.”

  “Of course we did. Your name was familiar, but I could not re
member where we had met.”

  Mr. Rogers laughed.

  “Well, now you are here is there anything I can do for you, my Lord?

  “As a matter of fact there is. I wish to be married immediately and I will be more than grateful if you could make your Chaplain and your Chapel available for me.”

  Mr. Rogers drew in his breath.

  He was a good-looking man nearing forty and had worked hard to reach the position he now occupied.

  But he thought that this was the most extraordinary request he had ever heard in his long diplomatic career.

  With some self-control he enquired,

  “Is there any special reason, if it does not sound too inquisitive, why your Lordship should wish to be married so hastily?”

  The Marquis then sat down in an armchair by the fireplace.

  “I will tell you exactly what has happened,” he said, “but, as I have no wish for all this to be known in England or anywhere else, I must ask you to treat my story as totally confidential.”

  “But, of course, my Lord,” Mr. Rogers agreed.

  At the same time he was, as the Marquis realised, exceedingly curious.

  The Marquis told him briefly all that had happened.

  How Delia had run away because her father was forcing her to marry the Comte, as he believed him to be, having no idea that in his native country he was the Vizier to the Khedive of Egypt.

  “I had always heard that he lived a double life, my Lord, and I knew he spent more time in Paris than he spent here. Actually here in Egypt he has an appalling reputation for cruelty, especially where women are concerned.”

  The Marquis nodded.

  “That is as I suspected. The only way I can make certain that Miss Durham is safe is by making her my wife. Then we must leave Cairo as quickly as possible.”

  The Marquis admitted later that he had the greatest admiration for the way in which Mr. Rogers put the wheels in motion.

  He rang a hand bell and sent for the Chaplain, who fortunately was in the Palace.

  With what the Marquis considered must be record speed, he arranged that the marriage ceremony could take place as soon as Delia was ready.

  “I hope, my Lord,” Mr. Rogers said as the Chaplain left them, “that you will allow me to be your Best Man.”