Journey to a Star Page 2

  The Marquis was not particularly conceited, but he would have been extremely stupid if he had not been aware that any woman on whom he set his sights was invariably instantly ready to comply with his demands, only making a token resistance to salve her pride.

  Lady Bradwell, however, had not only intrigued him but also contrived with what he thought was unexpected cleverness to keep him guessing.

  In simple words, the Marquis had not yet reached his objective and, although it was a foregone conclusion, he had no wish to go abroad at this particular moment.

  It suddenly struck him that as Lady Bradwell had no husband, there would be no difficulty in persuading her – discreetly chaperoned of course – to come with him.

  Aloud he asked,

  “When do you wish me to set off on what you call a goodwill mission, Archibald? What exactly am I expected to do?”

  He saw by the smile on the Foreign Secretary’s face and the twinkle in his eyes, that Lord Rosebery was not only delighted at his acquiescence but also guessed more or less the reason for it.

  “The answer to your first question is as soon as possible,” he said. “As for your second, since you know what has been happening in Siam, I will not explain that you will be going to soothe the King’s apprehension over the Anglo-French Agreement of last year.”

  He smiled as he continued,

  “You must make His Majesty believe that it will not be detrimental to his country, but will actually ensure its independence.”

  “What you are saying,” the Marquis remarked, “is that the Colonial Powers, the British in Burma and the French in Laos, will treat Siam as a buffer state.”

  “Exactly,” the Foreign Secretary agreed, “but after all the disagreeableness – especially from the French – King Chulalongkorn is naturally nervous and apprehensive as to the future.”

  “I hope he will not be that,” the Marquis remarked. “I have always agreed with you that Chulalongkorn is one of the greatest Kings of this age and will certainly go down in history.”

  The Foreign Secretary nodded.

  Both men were thinking how the King had begun his reign by proclaiming that the children born to slaves were to be free men and had gradually been freeing his subjects from slavery ever since.

  He had introduced a modern postal system, built railroads and replaced regional feudal Barons, who were far too powerful, by centrally appointed Governors accountable directly to the throne.

  When the Marquis had visited Siam some years previously, he had been tremendously impressed by the King and his reforms, especially when His Majesty had said to him personally,

  “All children from my own to the poorest shall have an equal chance of education.”

  King Chulalongkorn was determined that Siam should not be simply a Westernised dependency and one of the ways to avoid it was to pay for their own path towards progress.

  At the same time, with Great Britain in full control of Burma, he was anxious about the growing power and influence of the French in Indo-China.

  Last year there had been trouble when two French gunboats on entering the Chiapana River to go up to Bangkok, had fired at the Thai forts.

  There were casualties on both sides, but by now all the animosity should have died down.

  “What I want you to do,” the Foreign Secretary said, “is to make the King aware that Britain is genuinely anxious to be friendly and I know no one, Vivien, who can do this better than yourself.”

  “You are being very flattering,” the Marquis said, “but I am well aware that you are doing so in order to get your own way.”

  He sighed.

  “All right, I will go – but only if I can be sure I can take an amusing party with me.”

  “What you are telling me,” Lord Rosebery remarked, “is that it depends on the object of your vacillating heart at this particular moment accepting your invitation.”

  He paused before he added –

  “I have quite a long acquaintance with you, Vivien, and I have never yet known any woman refuse you.”

  “There always has to be a first time!”

  “Make sure it is not now.”

  Lord Rosebery rose to his feet, adding,

  “I have a meeting waiting for me. Can you have luncheon with me tomorrow? I can then tell you more about the position in Siam and also give you letters for the King and our Minister and Consul General in Bangkok, Captain Henry Michael Jones, who is a V.C.”

  “I have an uncomfortable feeling you have pressurised me into this,” the Marquis grumbled half-jokingly. “If anything goes wrong, Archibald, I swear this is the last time I shall agree to one of your propositions, which, when you were Foreign Secretary before, took me to parts of the world I had no particular wish to visit!”

  “Nonsense!” Lord Rosebery replied. “You know as well as I do you will enjoy getting away from the intrigues at Marlborough House and the long drawn out meals, at which I have often seen you fidgeting. And who knows – in pastures new you may find the rare orchid or is it the star, for which you are always searching.”

  The Marquis stared at him incredulously.

  “Who said I was searching for anything?”

  “Of course you are,” Lord Rosebery replied. “And with your looks, Vivien, your position and wealth you have everything, except what is more important to a man than anything else.”

  “What is that?” the Marquis asked in a hostile voice, well aware of the answer.

  “Love,” Lord Rosebery answered simply.

  The Marquis was just about to say that love was the last thing he wanted and could well do without it, when he remembered that Lord Rosebery had lost his wife only four years ago and his friends were aware he had been a lonely and unhappy man ever since.

  He therefore changed his mind about what he had been about to say and merely remarked lightly,

  “I have always been told that as Mr. Rudyard Kipling says, he travels fastest who travels alone.”

  “A somewhat trite remark for you, Vivien,” Lord Rosebery said dryly, “though naturally it depends on where you are going.”

  The Marquis appreciated the subtlety of the remark, knowing that the Foreign Secretary had often begged him to use his unusual and brilliant gifts in a much more serious way than he was doing at the moment.

  There was a brief silence before the Foreign Secretary said,

  “When you return, I have a more serious proposition to discuss with you.”

  The Marquis raised his eyebrows and asked,

  “What can that be?”

  “I am not going to tell you about it now,” Lord Rosebery replied, “but I have already mentioned it to Her Majesty who is very pleased with the idea.”

  “I presume,” the Marquis said slowly, “you are thinking of a Governorship?”

  “Perhaps something higher. Anyway hurry back – I don’t want you away in the wilds too long.”

  The Marquis rose to his feet.

  “I will have luncheon with you tomorrow, Archibald, and you had better convince me then that my journey is really necessary or I swear to you I will cry off at the last moment.”

  “You have never failed me yet,” the Foreign Secretary replied, “and actually I only wish I had the time to come with you. If I had, I should not hesitate to set out on a cruise which may or may not lead you to your Golden Fleece.”

  As they walked towards the door, Lord Rosebery put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

  “I am quite certain, Vivien, she will accept your invitation eagerly – in fact too eagerly! But let us hope that she will at least keep you amused until your return.”

  “Your impertinence astounds me!” the Marquis exclaimed.

  Both men were laughing as they stepped out of the Foreign Secretary’s office into the corridor.

  *

  Tarina Worthington rang the bell of 115 Belgrave Square and waited a little nervously until a footman in livery opened it.

  A butler came forward from the back of the hall as she asked,

  “I have called to see Lady Bradwell.”

  “Have you an appointment, madam?”

  “I am afraid not,” Tarina answered, “but will you tell her that her cousin, Miss Tarina Worthington, wishes to see her.”

  “Of course, miss.”

  The butler’s almost hostile manner changed when Tarina said the word ‘cousin’ and he walked slowly towards the morning room, opening the door for her to pass inside.

  “I will inform Her Ladyship you are here, miss,” he said.

  Tarina looked around at the square high-ceilinged room furnished in a manner that proclaimed opulence rather than good taste and then caught sight of herself in a large mirror.

  As she did so, she was aware of why the butler had at first been ready to turn her away rather than permit her to enter the house.

  The black dress she had bought after her father died had been very cheap and in the winter sunshine it looked shabby.

  Her coat, which unfortunately was indispensable with the temperature only a little above freezing, was threadbare and had been her mother’s for many years.

  She told herself with a sad little smile that her appearance was a disaster.

  She just had not dared to spend much money on mourning, when all that stood between her and starvation was the very small sum of money left in the bank after her father’s funeral.

  ‘How could Papa ever save?’ Tarina asked herself despairingly.

  She had known before she had sold everything that was hers in the Vicarage that she would not receive more than a few pounds for it.

  Because she felt nervous at visiting her cousin whom she had not seen for two years, she tried to arrange her hat at a more becoming angle.

  She was aware that be
cause she had not had the time to wash her hair for the last week, it had lost some of the red sparkle that her mother had always told her came from an Austrian ancestress.

  “It is funny, Tarina,” she reflected, “but the strain of red hair of the Viennese, which has always been so much admired, will skip perhaps two generations in my family and then reappear.”

  “Was my great-grandmother very beautiful?” Tarina had asked.

  “So I have always heard,” her mother replied, “and also extremely talented. She had a splendid voice and her diaries tell us that she was greatly in demand at parties in Vienna. On two occasions she sang at the Schonbrunn Palace in front of the Emperor Franz Joseph and Empress Elizabeth, who also had red hair.”

  “Do you think I would have a good voice – if it was trained?” Tarina asked.

  Her mother smiled.

  “I have no idea, my darling. You sing delightfully in Church, but you and I know that is not the same as being able to hold an audience spellbound.”

  She paused before she went on,

  “But there is one thing you can be quite certain of and that is that Papa and I have to scrimp and save to pay the lessons you are having at the moment, and we certainly cannot afford to pay for any more.”

  What Tarina did know about her red hair was that when she was happy the colour of it seemed to glow, but, when she was unwell or worried, the red faded and her head looked dull as if it reflected the feelings of her mind and heart.

  Now there was only a touch of red to be seen, but her skin was dazzlingly white as it always was and in the sunshine it had an almost translucent quality about it.

  Her eyes, which were sometimes green and sometimes grey, seemed at the moment only dark with anxiety and worry.

  ‘Supposing Cousin Betty – refuses me?’ she whispered to herself. ‘What – shall I – do? Where – shall I go?’

  The door opened.

  “Her Ladyship will see you, miss,” the butler intoned.

  “Thank you,” Tarina replied.

  She followed him across the hall and up the staircase to a wide landing.

  Here through an open door she could see a huge reception room filled with imitation Louis XIV chairs and sofas, a carpet in a dull colour and several rather austere chandeliers.

  But she had only time for a quick glance before the butler walked on.

  At the end of a corridor, he opened a door into what Tarina knew was a boudoir.

  It was something her mother had described to her and she had always longed to see. There was no mistaking that this was one with pale blue curtains and a chaise longue in the same brocade.

  It gave the impression of exquisite femininity, which was augmented by the huge vases of Malmaison carnations that not only scented the room but also were reflected and re-reflected in the gold-framed mirrors hung on the walls.

  The room was empty and even as Tarina looked around, someone came through another door at the far end of it.

  With a little murmur, she moved forward and as she did so, the woman who had entered exclaimed,

  “Tarina! I could hardly believe it was you! What are you doing in London?”

  Tarina reached her side.

  “Oh, Betty – it is so kind of you to see me.”

  “Of course I want to see you – ” Lady Bradwell started. Then paused in consternation. “But you are in black! Why?”

  “Papa died a month ago.”

  “Oh, I am sorry! I had no idea, dearest. You will miss him.”

  “More than I can tell you. But now he is dead you will understand I have to earn my own living.”

  “You poor child! “ Lady Bradwell exclaimed. “Come and sit down and tell me all about it.”

  She arranged herself in the corner of the sofa and Tarina sat down beside her.

  As she did so, she thought no one could be lovelier than her cousin Betty.

  With her fair hair and love-in-the-mist blue eyes, she was like a painting by Fragonard and Tarina could only stare at her wide-eyed.

  “You are beautiful, Betty! Much more beautiful than you used to be! And there is something else different about you.”

  Lady Bradwell smiled.

  “That is what everyone says and it is because I have been in Paris. Oh, Tarina, I am so lucky! After my husband died, I was invited to stay with one of his relatives who had always been kind to me.”

  “I was very sorry to hear about your husband,” Tarina said. “I know Papa wrote to you.”

  “He wrote me a beautiful letter,” Lady Bradwell answered, “but as I can be frank with you – I was not unhappy at becoming a widow.”

  Tarina gave an exclamation.

  “Oh, Betty! That is a terrible thing to say! Why not?”

  Lady Bradwell gave a little sigh.

  “My husband was ill all the last year of our marriage and it was very very dull looking after him. And even before that he was very crotchety. After all, he was forty years older than I was.”

  “I know,” Tarina said. “But everyone said it was such a brilliant marriage as he was a very important man.”

  “I suppose he was kind in his own way,” Betty replied, “but at the same time, Tarina, although I enjoyed going to the dinner parties and balls, we were always entertaining Arthur’s friends, who also were old. I did not really have much fun until now.”

  She gave a little cry and added,

  “I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to be here in London! To be on my own, to be able to afford to live in this house and to have the most glorious marvellous clothes!”

  “And lots and lots of friends to admire you,” Tarina said.

  “But of course,” Betty I am acclaimed as a beauty, and Tarina, what do you think – ?”

  It was just like the old days when Betty, being the older, had talked and Tarina had listened.

  Now, as Tarina sat with her eyes on her cousin’s face, apparently spell-bound, Betty was talking as she had when she was seventeen and supposed to be grown up, while Tarina at fifteen was still in a way a child.

  “What has happened?” Tarina asked as Betty paused.

  “I have been asked,” Betty said slowly, “to go on a cruise – in a yacht with the Marquis of Oakenshaw.”

  “In a yacht?” Tarina exclaimed. “Are you a good sailor?”

  “That is immaterial,” Betty said quickly. “He is the most acclaimed, the most handsome, the most elusive man in London and I think he is pursuing me.”

  “How thrilling! How exciting!” Tarina exclaimed. “Will he ask you to marry him?”

  Betty gave a little laugh.

  “I think that is very unlikely. He is an avowed bachelor – as all the women have hastened to tell me.”

  Tarina looked puzzled.

  “I don’t understand – ”

  Betty glanced at her and then said quickly,

  “Of course I may persuade him to change his mind on that point, but in the meantime I shall be his guest and every other woman who has ever known him will die of envy!”

  Tarina wondered why that should be so satisfactory, but at the same time because she loved her cousin, she enthused,

  “I am thrilled for you. When are you leaving?”

  “Almost immediately – in two day’s time. Tarina, I don’t know how I shall ever be ready!”

  Tarina smiled.

  “I am sure you will have plenty of people to help you.”

  “I ought to have new clothes, although that will be impossible in the time. Thank goodness I have brought some glorious gowns from Paris. I spent a fortune on them!”

  Tarina looked at the dress that Betty was wearing and, seeing the richness of the silk from which it was made and the real lace that trimmed it, she knew that what it cost would keep her in comfort for a year at least.

  She thrust such thoughts away from her mind and said,

  “I came here, Betty, not to be a nuisance, but just to ask you – if you would help me by giving me a – reference.”

  “A reference?”

  The astonishment in Betty’s voice made Tarina smile.

  “Dearest, you must be aware that Papa had no money of his own when he was alive apart from his small stipend, and now he is dead, I have to earn my living.”

  “Oh, Tarina, I am sorry!” Betty exclaimed. “How terrible for you! What are you going to do?”

  “I shall be a Governess,” Tarina said quietly. “There is nothing else I am qualified for. I expect I shall have to be a nursery Governess to start with because I am so young.”