The Temptation of Torilla Read online

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  There was so much commotion and fuss on the morning of the wedding that Torilla felt they would never reach the Church.

  The Countess was rushing round the house giving the servants orders, then countermanding them, and the confusion was increased by the late arrival of the Earl.

  His carriage had been delayed on the road and at one moment they thought he must have forgotten the day and would not be there to give the bride away.

  Combined with all this, there was a constant stream of callers bringing notes and messages and belated presents. Florists delivering bouquets and dressmakers items of clothing, which had needed last minute alterations.

  There were a dozen trunks to be packed for Beryl’s honeymoon.

  Again either the Countess or Beryl kept changing their minds as to what was to be included and what was to be sent to the Marquis’s castle in Huntingdonshire.

  The only person not particularly involved was Torilla herself.

  Although she tried to keep close to her cousin in case she should need her, Beryl was in one of her moods when she was ready to think everything amusing and take nothing seriously.

  She infuriated the Earl by telling him that his smart London coat was too tight for him and, when she tried to change her mother’s hat, the Countess screamed at her in exasperation.

  “Do not interfere, Beryl!” she stormed. “Leave me alone and look after your own things. I am quite certain that you and your maid have forgotten half the gowns that should have been packed.”

  “If so, I will buy some more,” Beryl retorted tartly.

  Finally she was dressed in the pink gown that had evoked a storm of opposition both from her father and her mother.

  “Pink? Who ever heard of a bride wearing pink?” they asked, both for once being in accord.

  “It is extremely unconventional,” the Earl intoned pompously.

  “I have no wish to be a conventional bride,” Beryl replied, “and you know as well as I do, Papa, that I am looking very beautiful and everyone will tell you so.”

  “Why did you not consult me and ask my advice?” the Countess asked over and over again. “It is a great mistake for the bride not to follow tradition.”

  “Well, it’s too late now,” Beryl answered. “Either I come to the Church in pink or you can call the wedding off. Perhaps Gallen will be quite relieved.”

  As the Earl and Countess had no desire to lose such an important son-in-law, they were silenced by Beryl’s suggestion, and eventually only a few minutes late on schedule the Countess and Torilla left for the Church, leaving Beryl and her father to follow in another carriage.

  “I only hope Gallen will know how to deal with Beryl,” the Countess said sharply as they set off. “I find her extremely annoying at times.”

  “She looks very beautiful, Aunt Louise,” Torilla came in soothingly.

  But nothing would placate her aunt, who muttered and grumbled all the way to the Church.

  Her efforts for Beryl’s sake to get the Countess into a good humour prevented Torilla from being conscious of her own feelings.

  She had not slept last night, but had lain awake wrestling with her conscience, tempted by what she felt were all the devils in hell.

  Once she actually rose from her bed, lit a candle and started a note to the Marquis.

  “I love you,” she wrote, “I cannot face the future without you. I will do as you asked and –”

  She stopped, stared down at what she had written and knew it was wicked and the prompting of evil.

  Frantically she tore the note into tiny pieces, then flung herself on the bed crying desperately and despairingly until she could cry no more.

  When in the Church she saw the Marquis come from the Vestry to stand waiting at the Chancel steps for his bride, she felt as if a dark cloud encompassed her.

  How could she endure the years ahead without him? How could obedience to duty or honour compensate either of them for an empty barren existence without love?

  As Torilla with her eyes downcast followed Beryl up the aisle, walking a few feet behind her glittering rose-covered train, she felt that her whole body was one dull ache and the agony in her breast was unbearable.

  ‘I love him! I love him!’

  She had the same overwhelming desire that she had felt the night before to run to his side and tell him that she was ready to go with him anywhere in the world so long as they could be together.

  The Bishop wearing his mitre and full vestments, began the marriage service and Torilla, raising her eyes, saw that the Marquis was standing beside Beryl.

  She looked at his broad shoulders, the outline of his dark head and knew that his face would be set and grim, the lines deeply etched.

  She heard the Bishop say,

  “Therefore, if any man can show any just cause why these two people may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or hereafter hold his peace.”

  “A just cause!” Torilla repeated beneath her breath.

  What was more just than love? What was more important in marriage than that two people who were to be man and wife should love each other with their hearts and souls as she loved the Marquis?

  She wanted to cry out and stop the wedding, but after the little pause that followed the Bishop’s words, he continued,

  “I require and charge you both, that as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know of any just impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony ye now confess it.”

  Torilla felt as if the Marquis was reaching out to her, telling her that she already knew the secrets within his heart. Her eyes were still on the back of his head and she almost expected him to turn round and look at her.

  The Bishop continued,

  “Gallen Alexander, will you take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s Holy ordinance – ”

  The congregation in their silks and satins seemed to move dizzily around her and Torilla thought she was going to faint.

  Suddenly from the back of the Church, a voice rang out.

  “Stop this marriage! It must not take place!”

  Every head turned and, startled, Torilla turned too. Standing in the aisle just inside the West Door there was a man, but because he had his back to the light, she could not see his face.

  He was tall, but, as he came walking up the aisle, she saw that he limped and his riding-boots were covered in dust.

  Then, as he came a few steps nearer she saw there was the gash of a deep but healed wound on the man’s forehead and at that moment she recognised him!

  At the cry from the end of the Church, the Bishop had stopped reading the Service and both Beryl and the Marquis had slowly turned round.

  Now there was a scream that echoed high into the roof, a scream that was followed by the incredulous cry of –

  “Rodney!”

  Beryl was running down the aisle, stumbling over her train and only being prevented from falling by Rodney catching her in his arms.

  “Rodney – Rodney! You are – alive! You are – alive!”

  The words were so incoherent and yet so poignant with an inexpressible joy that they brought tears to the eyes of every woman in the congregation.

  “You were – dead! But you are – alive – alive!” Beryl went on. “Oh, Rodney! Rodney!”

  “I am alive, my precious wife,” Rodney said, “and I cannot allow you to marry anyone else.”

  “As if I would – want to!” Beryl answered. “Oh, darling, I have been so – miserable, so broken-hearted. I thought never to – see you again!”

  Her voice broke on the last word and anyway it would have been impossible to say more for Rodney was kissing her, kissing her passionately, quite regardless of the staring eyes of everyone around them.

  Torilla could never remember afterwards how they got from St. George’s Hanover Square to Carlton House. Actually she travelled in the same
carriage as the Earl and Countess, who were too stunned to do anything, but just murmur Rodney’s name over and over again.

  He had explained who he was to the Bishop before they left.

  He told His Grace briefly that he had only just arrived from France and had ridden all night to reach the Church in time to prevent Beryl from committing bigamy.

  At Carlton House he had apologised to the Prince Regent for his appearance, but the Prince intrigued by the story had waved such unimportant matters aside.

  “You must tell me, my dear boy exactly what happened,” he said in his thick plummy voice. “How is it possible that you were overlooked when our Armies left France?”

  What she did not hear at the reception, Torilla learnt later when they all went back to Curzon House.

  After the battle of Toulouse, where Rodney had been severely wounded and left on the battlefield for dead, he had been stripped of his uniform.

  The scavengers who were a menace on every battlefield took everything he possessed, even down to his boots. The wound in his head had left him completely unconscious and he also had a bullet in his leg.

  He had apparently been overlooked by the British when they collected their casualties and it was only when two Catholic Priests were reading the burial service over the dead that they found he was alive.

  They had taken him to a Convent where the nuns were caring for a number of wounded men too ill to be moved to the hospitals in Toulouse or Bordeaux.

  They had at first, Rodney related, thought it would be impossible to save his life, but, when gradually after some months he could think and speak, he found he had lost his memory.

  “I had not the slightest idea of my name or even that I was English,” he explained.

  “And you did not remember me?” Beryl asked.

  He had his arms round her as he told them the story. Now he looked down at her with an expression of love in his eyes that made Torilla know that her cousin’s happiness was assured for all time.

  “You were, my darling, the first person I remembered and when I came back to sanity,” he said, “I saw your lovely face very clearly, but your name escaped me.”

  “It is the – same as – yours,” Beryl added with a little sob.

  “I only knew that later,” Rodney answered and kissed her forehead.

  “Go on!” the Countess begged, “I must hear the end of the story.”

  “It was only three weeks ago,” Rodney said, “that suddenly something which must have blocked my mind cleared and I remembered everything! I awoke one morning to know my name, my Regiment and who was my wife!”

  His arms tightened around Beryl as he went on,

  “I knew then that the only thing that mattered was that I should get back to you, my precious.”

  “Why did it take you so long?”

  “To begin with, as I had no money, I had to get to Paris,” Rodney replied, “I knew that the British Embassy would help me, and I was not mistaken. Our Ambassador believed the story I had to tell and paid my fare back to England.”

  “And quite right too,” the Earl remarked.

  “When I reached Dover, I bought an English newspaper to see what had been happening here,” Rodney went on, “and almost the first thing I read was the report that my wife was to be married the following day.”

  “Oh, darling were you – horrified?” Beryl questioned.

  “I was determined to stop the wedding,” Rodney said firmly, “and I have succeeded.”

  “You are not – angry?” she asked in a very small voice, “that I should have agreed to – marry anyone – else?”

  She had forgotten, Torilla realised, that there was anyone else present and she was speaking to Rodney as if they were alone on a magical island.

  And that in fact was where they were, she thought, alone and together and what was outside the circle of their happiness was of no significance.

  There was so much more to hear, but Rodney was quite positive in what he wished to do.

  “I want a bath, my darling,” he said to Beryl, “and afterwards I would like to rest. Tomorrow morning early we will go home.”

  He saw the question in her eyes and added,

  “I would not want my mother to suffer any longer.”

  “No, of course not,” Beryl agreed, “and I want to see your mother and father’s happiness when you walk into the house after they have mourned you for so long.”

  Everything was arranged just as Rodney wanted it and Torilla knew that that was exactly how Beryl’s life would run in the future.

  Because she loved Rodney he would always be her Master. The Social world had seen the last of the ‘incomparable’ – the girl who had Social ambitions and who wanted to be an important hostess covered in diamonds.

  All Beryl would want in the future was to be with Rodney and together they had the only thing which really mattered – their love.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The stagecoach trundled down the Great North Road, stopping at every village and crossroads.

  It had left London at seven o’clock from The Lamb at Islington and Torilla knew they would be stopping soon at Baldock for the passengers to have a light repast.

  She was almost oblivious to the discomfort of sitting squashed between two countrywomen and hardly noticed that a small boy was dropping pieces of chocolate on her muslin gown.

  Deep in her thoughts, she had only aroused herself when the coach reached Hatfield to think of Beryl and Rodney and knew how happy they must be together.

  She had not left London immediately after the interrupted wedding, as she had meant to do, because the Earl had hurried back to Hertfordshire and her aunt had looked rather helplessly at the huge collection of presents.

  “These will all have to go back,” she sighed, “and although the servants can pack them up I will have to find the addresses of the senders.”

  “I will help you, Aunt Louise,” Torilla said and for once the Countess seemed grateful for her assistance.

  They worked hard for the next three days and when only a few anonymous parcels remained without addresses, the Countess said,

  “I only hope some of our so-called friends will have the graciousness to return these gifts to Beryl and – Rodney.”

  There was a note in her voice, which told Torilla all too clearly how deeply her aunt regretted that Beryl had not made the brilliant Social marriage she had hoped for.

  “Beryl is very happy, Aunt Louise,” she said, and it was in fact an assurance she had repeated a dozen times already.

  “She had so many chances,” the Countess replied, “but Rodney Marsden – !”

  It was unnecessary for her to say more.

  Then, as if a thought suddenly struck her, the Countess said briskly,

  “Now I have time to think about you, Torilla, and I am sure that Lord Arkley has not forgotten you. We must ask him to dinner.”

  Torilla had risen to her feet.

  “I must go back to Papa, Aunt Louise. He is – expecting me.”

  The Countess considered for a moment.

  “Perhaps Lord Arkley, like everyone else, will have left London now that the Prince has gone to Brighton.”

  She looked at Torilla as if appraising her looks, then she added,

  “Go to your father now if you wish, but I will write to him and invite you to stay in September. Then Torilla, I will entertain for you.”

  Torilla realised that her aunt was transferring her ambitions for Beryl to herself, but she knew it was hopeless to say that she had no intention of marrying anyone other than one person – and he had disappeared!

  She had half expected, although she thought it might prove impossible, that the Marquis would send her a note or possibly a verbal message after Rodney had stopped the wedding.

  But the Marquis had become invisible.

  He had gone on to Carlton House, which was understandable, but no one had heard anything of him since, and now sitting in the stagecoach Torilla could not hel
p wondering if perhaps he felt humiliated by what had occurred. Certainly it had given the gossips something to snigger about and Torilla was sure that it was the main topic of conversation from St. James Street to Chelsea.

  Up to the last moment of leaving London she had wondered and hoped, but there had been nothing for her except two letters from Barrowfield, the first being from her father. His letter was ecstatic with a happiness she had not seen in him since her mother died.

  Buddle air pumps were being installed in the mine, new machinery introduced to remove the water, the props had all been reinforced or replaced. Davy safety lamps were provided and the miners themselves could hardly believe the difference that increased wages had made in their lives.

  It was left, however for Abby to tell Torilla that her father was in much better health than when she had left Barrowfield.

  ‘The Master’s putting on weight,’ Abby wrote, ‘which is due to the fact that he is no longer so worried about the sick and needy.

  ‘The Relief Fund which his Lordship set up has lifted from him the care of the children, the crippled and the very old. But them Coxwolds, of course, are still getting more than their fair share!’

  Torilla had laughed, knowing how much Abby resented the manner in which the Coxwolds extorted money from her father, then went on reading,

  ‘I expect you know his Lordship’s doubled the Master’s stipend and now I’ve got two young girls to help me in the house and the food is like your dear mother used to order when we lived in Hertfordshire.’

  Torilla had given a little sigh of satisfaction.

  Then she asked herself, as she had so often done before, whether any man could be so wonderful, so kind or so generous as the Marquis had been.

  ‘I want to thank him,’ she thought and wondered almost despairingly whether she would ever have the opportunity. The stagecoach drew up outside The Royal George and the passengers hurriedly climbed out.

  “Twenty minutes, ladies and gent’men!” the guard said and everyone rushed into the inn determined to be served first.