Desire in the Desert Read online

  Even as he reached the front door, expecting whoever it was who had seen him to open it, he heard footsteps running swiftly up a flight of stairs.

  As he raised up the knocker, he thought with a faint smile that the watcher must have gone to tell the woman in charge that he had arrived.

  He had most expressly forbidden Mr. Turner to inform the orphanages of his intended visits.

  “I will see them as they are,” he said, “and you know as well as I do, Turner, that if there is anything wrong and they know I am coming, it will be brushed under the carpet or else hidden in the cellar.”

  “I shall be extremely annoyed, my Lord, if there is anything wrong.” Mr. Turner replied.

  The Marquis knew that he distinctly prided himself on having everything on the estate completely under control.

  He merely laughed, however, and said,

  “People are human beings, Turner, and you cannot always manipulate them as if they were chessmen!”

  Now he found himself waiting for several minutes after he had knocked before the door was opened and he saw an elderly woman with grey hair.

  She had a kindly face and, as she dropped him a curtsey, he walked inside and held out his hand.

  “I am delighted to meet you, Mrs. Dawes,” he said, having obtained her name from his secretary.

  “It’s an honour to have your Lordship visit us,” Mrs. Dawes replied. “But if I had had any idea that you were coming, I would have prepared for your visit.”

  “And what would have been the difference?” he asked.

  “The children would have worn their best clothes, my Lord.”

  The Marquis laughed.

  “I am quite happy to see them as they are. How many have you at the moment?”

  “There’s twenty, my Lord, twelve having left at the beginning of the month.”

  “To go where?”

  Mrs. Dawes reeled off the names of some firms, the majority of them in the same County.

  “I don’t send children to London if I can help it,” Mrs. Dawes explained. “Your Lordship’s mother was always afraid they’d be ill-treated in that great City or perhaps become contaminated by all the vice and mischief that exists there.”

  She spoke in a way that made the Marquis feel almost guilty because, although he was well aware of what went on in London, he had done nothing about it.

  Aloud he said,

  “You are very right, Mrs. Dawes, and children who have been brought up in the country should if possible go to farms or any of the local industries who will take them.”

  “That’s what your Lordship’s mother used to say to me,” Mrs. Dawes replied, “and I assure you, my Lord, I do my best.”

  “I am very sure that you do, Mrs. Dawes,” the Marquis said reassuringly. “Now, please let me see the children.”

  Mrs. Dawes took him round the orphanage, which he found was clean and tidy and there was no doubt that its occupants had benefitted through her care.

  The smallest of them were playing in the garden under the trees.

  They certainly seemed to be healthy and, judging by the noise they were making, happy.

  In one room, those who were older were sitting at desks being taught by an elderly woman who the Marquis learned was a retired teacher.

  She showed the Marquis some of the exercise books in which the children had written quite legibly.

  A number of them had done some very simple sums without making too many mistakes.

  It was only when they had moved from the classroom into Mrs. Dawes’s private sitting room that the Marquis said,

  “I understood you had an older girl staying here, the child of a Missionary.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “She is still with you?”

  There was a pause before Mrs. Dawes said a little nervously,

  “Yes, she is, my Lord, and I hope your Lordship will not think it very remiss of me that I haven’t placed her in work.”

  “How old is she?” the Marquis asked.

  Again there was a pause before Mrs. Dawes said somewhat faintly,

  “J-just sixteen – my Lord.”

  “And you still have her with you? Why?”

  He then had a feeling that Mrs. Dawes was thinking carefully before she answered him,

  “When Shamara –”

  “Shamara?” the Marquis interrupted. “That is her name?”

  “Yes, my Lord. Shamara Weller.”

  “An unusual one – do go on.”

  “When Shamara first came, as I expect your Lordship knows, she and two younger children were sent to us here by His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “Mr. Turner told me that,” the Marquis affirmed.

  “Apparently Shamara had been buried for three days before they found her at her home. She had suffered from the experience and was desperately unhappy at having lost her father and mother.”

  “That is understandable,” the Marquis murmured.

  “It was quite a long time before she was really well and had put on weight, having been painfully thin when she had first come here.”

  “I understand,” the Marquis nodded.

  “Since then, I’ve not found the right sort of place to send her and she’s been very helpful, very helpful indeed, with the younger children.”

  There was a note in Mrs. Dawes’s voice that told the Marquis that she was pleading with him to understand.

  He thought it was quite obvious that Mrs. Dawes had found Shamara so useful that she had not wished to lose her.

  At the same time he thought it somewhat strange that a girl should be kept in the orphanage until she was sixteen.

  There was just a chance, but he admitted that it was a very outside one, that she could be what he was looking for.

  Aloud he said,

  “I understand, Mrs. Dawes, what you have said to me and I am sure that you did the right thing.”

  He saw an expression of relief in Mrs. Dawes’s eyes and she smiled as she said,

  “Your Lordship is very kind and I know your Lady mother would have thought I did right, God rest her soul.”

  There was silence and the Marquis sensed that Mrs. Dawes was expecting him to leave.

  She had even moved just a few steps towards the door before, without moving from the chair where he was sitting, he said,

  “I would like to meet Shamara!”

  He was aware that Mrs. Dawes stiffened.

  Now he was certain that something was being kept from him and he wondered what it could possibly be.

  Because there was nothing he enjoyed more than a mystery and the knowledge that he was intruding where he was surely not expected to do so, he said,

  “Yes, of course, I wish to see her. I have always been told what a terrible catastrophe the earthquake was in 1870.”

  For a moment Mrs. Dawes did not move.

  Then without saying anything, she opened the sitting room door and walked the short distance to the bottom of the stairs.

  Listening, the Marquis heard her call out,

  “Shamara.”

  He knew then that the face he had seen at the window and the girl who had run away upstairs when he arrived had been Shamara.

  It flashed through his mind that she might easily be deformed in some way through her experience in the earthquake.

  Alternatively she might be very shy and so scared of strangers and especially of somebody like himself.

  Then he heard footsteps coming down the stairs and guessed that Shamara had been hiding on the floor above.

  Yet she had also been ready in case he should ask to see her.

  He could not help becoming more curious.

  Then there was the faint sound of Mrs. Dawes whispering as he heard them both coming towards the sitting room.

  Mrs. Dawes came in first and announced,

  “This is Shamara Weller, my Lord.”

  The Marquis turned his head to look at the girl and she was not in the least what he had expecte
d.

  He had still been thinking confidently that perhaps she would be the fair-haired, pink-and-white little girl whom he had originally envisaged as his Ward.

  Instead, coming across the small room towards him was a girl with long dark hair that fell over her shoulders.

  It also framed her small pointed face, which was completely dominated by two huge eyes with a dash of green in them.

  The girl was indeed very thin and yet she moved with such a grace that made even the ugly short grey cotton orphan’s dress she wore seem elegant.

  She curtseyed and the Marquis saw that she was wearing the very thick white stockings and the heavy buttoned shoes that were the uniform of any orphanage.

  What he thought was a little strange was that her hair, which he now saw had soft blue lights in it, was not plaited neatly like that of the other orphans had been.

  It was left loose so that it curled up at the bottom.

  He was fully aware that this was artificially contrived by the beauties who he visited in their bedrooms, but he had never before seen it on a child.

  The Marquis considered himself an expert on hair.

  He had always been attracted by women whose hair he knew when he first met them would be long enough to reach almost to their waists.

  He liked it to be spread out alluringly over a pillow and to feel like silk when he touched it.

  Now he looked first at Shamara’s hair and then at her face.

  She was so very different from the English Rose who he had been seeking and was remarkably pretty, in fact beautiful was the right word, but in a very different way.

  To his astonishment, she did not look English.

  Something about her was very different, but he could not for the moment think what it was.

  He could look at her eyes with their touch of green and long dark lashes.

  Her small nose was very straight, almost classical and her lips might have been those carved on a Greek statue.

  Her chin was pointed and her forehead was a perfect oval.

  She stood demurely in front of him.

  He could see the fear in her eyes and was aware, although her hands were still, that she was trembling.

  The Marquis was well used to people being in awe of him and especially women if he was being disagreeable.

  It seemed strange when all the other orphans he had spoken to had managed to talk to him in a friendly manner if a little shy.

  Where the boys were concerned, they had told him frankly exactly what they wanted.

  Then the Marquis thought that it was perhaps because of her unfortunate experience in the earthquake that she was frightened of people in general and not of him in particular.

  To set her at her ease he turned to Mrs. Dawes and said,

  “I would like to speak with Shamara alone.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  He thought for some unknown reason that Mrs. Dawes was nervous.

  As she left the room closing the door behind her, he looked again at Shamara.

  He smiled and it was something that most women would find irresistible.

  “I am very glad to meet you, Shamara,” he said, “and that you should be here in one of my orphanages.”

  “It has been very gratifying for me, my Lord,” she replied,

  She spoke in a soft, musical, educated voice and the Marquis was surprised by her choice of words.

  To set her at ease he suggested,

  “Now, suppose you sit down now and tell me about yourself. I know, of course, what you experienced in the earthquake, but it is something that you must try to forget.”

  Obediently Shamara had sat down on the high-backed chair nearest to his.

  She sat on the edge of it with her hands in her lap.

  At the same time, although he was aware that she was still frightened, she was not ill at ease because she was sitting down.

  There was a short silence until the Marquis began,

  “Tell me about your father.”

  “He was – a Missionary – my Lord.”

  “I am aware of that. And your mother?”

  There was a definite pause and very much to his surprise the Marquis was aware that she was thinking about whether she should tell him the truth or lie.

  He had no idea why he could read her thoughts, but then his perception told him that was what she was considering now.

  After a moment, as if she made up her mind, she said,

  “M-my mother was – Russian!”

  The Marquis stared at her.

  “That accounts for your hair,” he said at last, “and where were you born?”

  Now there was a decided pause until, as the Marquis did not speak and was just waiting for a reply, Shamara said,

  “I-I was born in – Egypt.”

  ‘Your father certainly travelled a lot,” the Marquis remarked a little dryly.

  Shamara inclined her head, but she did not reply and, after a moment, the Marquis said,

  “Tell me why you have stayed here instead of leaving to take up employment?”

  I-I was – unwell for a – long time,” Shamara replied. “Then – I have been – helping Mrs. Dawes with the – smaller children.”

  She looked at the Marquis and then said in a different tone of voice,

  “Please let me – stay. I am so happy here – and I should be – frightened if I had to work in – a factory or some – strange place where I would – know nobody.”

  The Marquis thought with her looks she would be in danger from the moment she stepped outside the orphanage.

  He realised that she was waiting anxiously for his reply.

  Then, as he listened to the cultured way she spoke, he knew that he had found what he was seeking.

  Although she was so different from what he had anticipated, she would be someone unusual whom the world would accept as being exactly what was expected of him.

  Because he was intrigued by her, he wanted to know a great deal more.

  “But then surely,” he said, “your father, before he took up his work as a Missionary, must have had relatives still alive? Have you made any effort to get in touch with them since you came back to England?”

  “If there are – any,” Shamara replied, “then I have – no idea – where I could find them.”

  The Marquis had the feeling that this was not true.

  “You are sure of that?”

  “Yes – my Lord!”

  “And your mother?”

  “My mother – never talked of her – relatives,” Shamara said quickly.

  Now the Marquis was certain that she was lying, but he had no reason to think so.

  “So you really are alone, completely alone in the world?”

  “As your Lordship rightly says – completely alone.”

  He thought for a moment before he said,

  “In which case, Shamara, I have a proposition to put to you and I wish you to listen very carefully because it is important.”

  She looked at him in surprise. At the same time he could see that fear was still in her eyes.

  “For reasons of my own, which need not concern you,” he began slowly, “I am looking for a girl of about your age whom I can present to the world as my Ward.”

  He was watching her as he spoke and he saw her first look at him incredulously and then with an expression that he did not begin to understand.

  “I need not explain to you,” he went on, “that this would mean a great change and a very exciting one in your life. You will live in my house or rather I should say houses.”

  He paused before continuing,

  “I will introduce you to my family, of which there are a great number and in just two years’ time you will be old enough to enter Society.”

  He spoke slowly so that she would be in no doubt as to what he expected of her.

  He waited cautiously for the fear in her eyes to be replaced by excitement or perhaps a radiance that would transform her face.

  Th
en much to his surprise, Shamara stared at him searchingly before she replied,

  “Is your Lordship – serious about this – proposition?”

  “Completely serious,” the Marquis answered.

  There was a faint smile on his lips as he realised that Shamara was definitely calculating whether it was not just some strange joke or he was testing her in some way.

  Then, when he did not speak, she said,

  “I am, of course – very honoured that – your Lordship should make – such a suggestion to me – but you will understand when I say that I do not feel I am the person you require – and can only – refuse.”

  The Marquis stared at her.

  It had not for one moment struck him that anyone to whom he would make such an offer would refuse him.

  “Do you fully comprehend what you are saying?” he asked.

  “Of course I do and, as I have already said – I am honoured – and deeply grateful – but it is – impossible.”

  “Why should you say that?” the Marquis asked, “And, while you may think you are not the right person to be my Ward, I am the judge of that and no one else.”

  She did not reply and he then said almost irritably,

  “Good gracious! Most girls in your position would be thrilled at getting well away from an orphanage, let alone being offered an exciting position that would be the envy of every young woman in the country!”

  Because he had spoken sharply, he saw Shamara give a little quiver before she responded,

  “Please – my Lord – don’t be angry with me – and perhaps it is – impertinent of me not to – accept with alacrity – your kind offer – but I am quite sure that I am not suitable.”

  “Now, why should you say that?” the Marquis asked. “Your father was obviously a gentleman, that is very clear from the way you speak. You are pretty and so what future is there for you here, except to be a nursemaid to a lot of orphans?”

  Once again Shamara quivered and he thought that perhaps he had been a little brutal in speaking so roughly.

  Equally he was completely nonplussed by her attitude and so found it difficult to explain it even to himself.

  Then, as she looked away from him and was staring with what he thought were sightless eyes at the fireplace, he said,

  “In actual fact, as you well know, you cannot refuse what I have suggested and, just as I have the power to send you off to any place of work, you have to obey me.”