63 Ola and the Sea Wolf Read online

  ‘It’s a great mistake to have so much money,’ she thought to herself, ‘and, if Papa had had a son, I would not now be in this predicament’

  At the same time, son or no son, she knew that her father had not been able to escape from her stepmother once she had made up her mind to marry him.

  Ola could understand only too well how easily it had happened.

  She had been at the Convent in France when her mother died.

  There had been no chance of her travelling back in time for the funeral and her father had therefore not sent for her or even told her by letter what had occurred, but instead had come himself to break the news to her gently.

  They had cried together for the woman they had both loved. Then her father had returned to England alone, and that, Ola had told herself over and over again had been a fatal mistake.

  Of course she should have gone with him to look after him, but it had never occurred to either of them that she should cease her education because her father had been bereaved.

  It was only when she was seventeen and had completed the two years she was to spend in France, as had been arranged by her mother, that she returned to England, to find that she was too late.

  Her father had been lonely, miserable and without anyone near him to whom he could talk about his beloved wife.

  Her stepmother, who was a neighbour, had, with the charm and sweetness that she could switch on so easily when it suited her, wormed her way into his confidence until he felt that she was indispensable to him.

  They were married just two days before Ola arrived home and she knew as soon as she met her stepmother that the haste was deliberate so that she could not interfere.

  She saw all too obviously that her stepmother wanted more than anything else the social position of being Lady Milford and to be married to a man who could provide her with the money she had always craved.

  The face she showed him was a very different from the one his daughter saw.

  Ola supposed that she must have met her father’s new wife in the past, but she could not remember when and it was doubtful if the new Lady Milford would have paid much attention to the young daughter of a neighbour whom she did not often see.

  But a child in the nursery or in the schoolroom was a very different one from the stepdaughter with a spectacular beauty and, when Lord Milford died, Ola inherited a large fortune that exceeded a dozen times what had been left to his widow.

  The new Lady Milford was at first jealous of Ola, but now she was also envious of her money and her hatred exploded almost like an anarchist’s bomb.

  Ola had only very briefly described to the Marquis what she had suffered. It would have been impossible to tell him of the agony she had endured in what was a continuous mental persecution besides being afraid of her stepmother physically.

  Because she knew that Lady Milford disliked her good looks to the point where even to see her aroused her anger, Ola had always been nervous that she would find some way of damaging her face, as sometimes in a temper she threatened to do.

  Then because she had both spirit and courage, Ola was determined to escape.

  She was well aware that it was not going to be easy. As she became more and more a prisoner in the home where she had once been so happy, she knew that somehow, however difficult it might be, she must go away.

  Giles had proved to be an undoubted Judas when she had least expected it and that had been a blow, which might have made somebody with less character collapse completely.

  Then like a miracle, Ola thought, she had found the Marquis and now in his yacht she was safe for the moment, whatever difficulties lay ahead.

  When she had drunk the coffee, being careful not to spill any of it on the fine linen sheets embroidered with the Marquis’s monogram, she lay back against the pillows and tried to think.

  She had spoken to the Marquis of the diligences, but she remembered that they were slow and used by all sorts and conditions of people, some of whom might be very rough.

  The most sensible thing, she thought, would be to take a post chaise to Paris.

  It would be expensive and she would not have enough money to pay for one without selling some of her jewellery.

  ‘I must talk to the Marquis about that,’ she thought.

  Then something fastidious made her feel that it was embarrassing to discuss money with the man who had befriended her against his will and would be wishing to be rid of her as soon as possible.

  ‘There must be a good jeweller in Calais,’ she told herself. ‘I will ask what he will pay me for one of Mama’s smaller diamond brooches. When I reach the Convent, I will give the rest of the jewels to the Mother Superior to keep safely until I require some more money.’

  Then a sudden thought struck her and she opened her eyes to stare unseeingly but with a definite expression of desperate anxiety across the small cabin.

  *

  It was after midday when the Marquis came down from the deck to where his valet was waiting for him at the bottom of the companionway to help him out of his oilskin coat.

  “Your Lordship’s not wet, I hope?” he asked solicitously.

  “No, Gibson,” the Marquis replied. “And it is an exhilarating experience to see how fast The Sea Wolf moves with the wind behind her.”

  “It is indeed, my Lord,” Gibson replied. “I always said your Lordship be right in choosin’ this type of yacht for what you require.”

  “I am always right, Gibson!” the Marquis said half jokingly, but with an inner conviction that told him that it was in fact the truth.

  There had been a battle to get the shipbuilders to design a yacht on the exact lines that he desired. But he had seen when he was a boy the performance of the Naval frigates in the war and had sworn that, if he was ever in the position of building a yacht of his own, he would build one on those lines.

  When he was older, he had made it his job to examine and sail in the fast schooners to which the name ‘clipper’ was first attached.

  Their hull design was to become a model for the famous square-rigged clippers that were being built in the American shipyards and were only slowly being adopted by the English.

  What the Marquis finally evolved for himself was a schooner with the swiftness of a frigate, but which fortunately did not require such a large crew.

  When The Sea Wolf was finally launched, it caused a sensation amongst seafaring enthusiasts and the Marquis was congratulated not only by his friends but a great many Naval authorities.

  This was the first time, however, that he had taken The Sea Wolf out in such a tempestuous sea.

  Watching her this morning riding the waves in a manner he could not fault, he had known that all his ideas, which had been called revolutionary, had been proved right.

  Walking carefully but with the sureness of a man who is used to the sea, the Marquis went into the Saloon saying, as he did so,

  “Tell the Stewards I am ready for a good meal. I am hungry!”

  Then, as he finished speaking, he saw that he was not alone.

  In the comfortable Saloon where he had designed all the furnishings himself, there was the woman whose very existence he had forgotten for the last two hours.

  “Good morning, my Lord,” Ola said. “Forgive me for not rising to greet you, but I feel it would be rather difficult to curtsey when the ship is rolling at this angle.”

  “Good morning – Ola!” the Marquis replied.

  There was a pause before he said her name because it took him a moment to remember it.

  He sat down in a chair not far from her, before he asked,

  “You are feeling all right? You are not seasick?”

  “Not in the least,” Ola replied. “If you will allow me to do so, I would like to come up on deck after luncheon. I have never been in a ship that can travel as fast as this one.”

  “You are telling me you enjoy the sea?”

  “I love it!” Ola replied simply.

  “I am glad to hear that,” t
he Marquis said, “because I have some bad news for you.”

  Ola looked at him enquiringly and he carried on,

  “Last night I ordered my Captain to make for Calais, but so strong a gale has blown up from the North-East that we cannot make the coast of France. All we can do is run before it out into the English Channel.”

  As the Marquis spoke, he had not really thought of what Ola’s reaction would be.

  Now, as he saw her green eyes light up and a smile appear on her lips, he told himself he might have anticipated that she would prove an unwanted guest who had no wish to relieve herself of his hospitality.

  As if she knew what he was thinking, Ola said,

  “You were so kind, my Lord, in saying you would take me to France that you must not be – annoyed when I say I am – delighted to know that I don’t have to – leave this lovely yacht as – quickly as I had – anticipated.”

  The Marquis was not quite certain how it happened, but, as the Steward brought them a meal, he found himself telling Ola about his yacht and the difficulties he had had in having it built in accordance with his ideas.

  “I had to fight every inch of the way or rather every inch of the ship!” he said. “Only when it was finally finished did the shipbuilders stop croaking that my design was impracticable, unworkable and she would sink or turn turtle at the first rough sea we encountered.”

  “I am glad she is doing neither at the moment,” Ola laughed.

  “You are quite safe. She is the most sea-worthy ship afloat and I am prepared to stake my fortune and my reputation on it!”

  They talked of ships and The Sea Wolf in particular the whole time they were at luncheon and it was only when they had finished that the Marquis said,

  “When the wind drops and we can make our way to the French coast, I have been thinking that if we overshoot Le Havre, which is likely, then I may have to take you as far as Bordeaux.”

  “Are you sailing through the Bay of Biscay?” Ola enquired.

  “I am going to the Mediterranean,” the Marquis replied. “From there I thought I would put into Nice.”

  He spoke almost as if he was talking to himself, then, as he saw the expression on Ola’s face, he realised that he had made a mistake.

  He had no intention in any circumstances of keeping her aboard one minute after it was possible to put her ashore.

  “Bordeaux would suit me very well, my Lord,” she said, “if it is not possible to make Le Havre.”

  Her reply, the Marquis told himself, was one thing – the hope he saw in her eyes was another.

  ‘I should never have brought her in the first place,’ he ruminated.

  He remembered Sarah and the way she had cajoled him into doing what he did not wish to do and his hatred of women, every one of them, swept over him.

  “I can assure you that my Captain is doing his best to reach Le Havre,” he said sharply, “and it would be a mistake for you to come on deck. It is extremely cold and you would get wet.”

  He rose from his seat as he spoke and without looking at Ola again he left the Saloon.

  She gave a little sigh.

  She knew that it would only make him angry if she argued.

  ‘I wonder what has upset him?’ she pondered and was quite certain in her own mind that it was a woman.

  Because the Marquis was so good-looking and undoubtedly very rich, it seemed unlikely, if not impossible, that any woman he fancied would not throw herself into his arms if that was what he wanted.

  Yet perhaps like everybody else he wanted the unattainable, although what that might be, Ola could not imagine.

  If she was not allowed to go on deck, she thought, at least there were a number of books lying in a bookcase on one side of the Saloon.

  It had surprised her that there were books aboard the yacht, for she knew that when her father was at sea, he was far too interested in what was happening on deck to have any time for reading.

  It struck Ola that the Marquis was different from what she would have expected of a man of his age and position.

  She had heard so much about the riotous behaviour of the bucks and beaux in London that she imagined his life would be spent in a search for pleasure and amusement.

  Then she remembered that she had read of him in the Parliamentary Reports besides seeing his name mentioned continually on the sporting pages of the newspapers.

  ‘He obviously has many interests,’ she thought to herself and decided that she would discuss them with him at dinner if she was still aboard.

  The mere idea that she would be leaving soon brought back all the apprehensions and worries that had beset her in her cabin until she could not bear to think about them any more.

  ‘I will manage, of course I will manage,’ she told herself reassuringly. ‘After all, it is not as though I have never been abroad before, although never – alone.’

  She knew it would be very different travelling on her own. When her father and mother had first taken her to the Convent, they had stayed on the way with friends at their grand châteaux and had made the journey an adventure that Ola knew she would never forget.

  When she had returned to England with two other English girls, they had two nuns in attendance and a Courier to arrange their rooms and see to the luggage.

  ‘Now I shall be alone,’ she thought and she could not help shivering and feeling a little afraid.

  She was convinced that it would be wisest to hire a post chaise. But she still would have to stay at inns on the way and she thought they would think it strange that a lady should be travelling alone, especially one so young.

  A memory came flooding back to her that was even more disturbing.

  When she was returning to England with the nuns, they had stopped at an inn on the main Paris to Calais road. It was not as large or as pleasant as the other inns they had stayed at, but as the nuns explained it was the best available.

  When they arrived, it was to find that they were one room short and, while the Courier was arguing about it with the landlord, a woman had come up to the desk to speak to him and Ola had looked at her with interest.

  She was French with an extremely attractive face, which also looked a little strange because Ola realised she used far more cosmetics than anyone she had ever seen before.

  Her eyelashes were mascaraed, her mouth was crimson and there was definitely rouge on her cheeks.

  Nevertheless the clothes she wore were expensive and very elegant and she looked so pretty that Ola found it hard to understand why when she asked for a room the landlord’s wife, who was attending to her while her husband was busy, said in a hard voice,

  “Are you alone, madame?”

  “I have asked only for one room and that is the answer to your question,” the lady replied.

  “We don’t let our rooms to women who travel alone,” the landlord’s wife had snapped. “You’ll find the type of hotel you require further down the street!”

  She spoke in such a rude uncompromising way that Ola expected the lady to reprimand her for her impertinence.

  To her surprise she merely shrugged her shoulders and walked out of the inn.

  Now Ola wondered that, if they had refused to accommodate a woman alone, whether she would receive the same treatment.

  She gave a little sigh at the thought and then told herself optimistically that at least there were hotels that would take women who travelled alone, and perhaps they would be quieter and less noisy.

  The prospect of reaching Paris began to appear more difficult than she had thought at first and there was so much to consider that, although she found several interesting books amongst the Marquis’s collection, while she was still thinking about her problems, she fell asleep.

  *

  The Marquis, after an enjoyable two hours of watching his yacht plunge through the sea, came below, having learnt from the Captain that it would be impossible for them to turn towards Le Havre.

  “The only thing I can suggest, my Lord, is that we
tack back there when the wind drops, but it will take several hours and at this time of the year one can never be certain what the weather conditions will be like.”

  “No, we will go to Bordeaux as you suggested previously,” the Marquis said. “I am sure Miss Milford, who is my guest, can easily find her way from there to Paris.”

  “Surely the young lady is not travelling all that way alone, my Lord?” the Captain asked in surprise.

  The Marquis was instantly annoyed that he had mentioned it and moved away without replying to the Captain’s question.

  ‘I have brought her to France as she asked,’ he told himself, ‘but I will not under any circumstances make her my responsibility!’

  He remembered how Sarah had first evoked his sympathy because she seemed so helpless and pathetic without a husband to protect or care for her.

  He saw now with a bitterness that seemed to run through his veins like poison that a great deal of it had been an act to make him feel big, strong and protective.

  He could recall exactly what she had said to him to and which he had made the obvious reply! He could see all too clearly the trusting look in her eyes when she told him that she was bewildered, worried, anxious or upset. To which the inevitable answer was that he would see to it for her

  ‘Fool! Fool!’ he inwardly shouted and he felt the sound of the wind in the rigging repeat the same words.

  ‘It is something I will never be again,’ he vowed.

  When he went below, he was seeking the words to tell Ola that the moment they reached Bordeaux his responsibility would be at an end.

  ‘Whether she reaches Paris or anywhere else is nothing to do with me and doubtless she will find plenty of other men to help her.’

  He wondered how many men there had been in Sarah’s life besides Anthony.

  There was no reason to think that he was the only one and there must have been other men before her husband died!

  Men who she found had been only too willing to look after and help a woman who pleaded with them with eyes as blue as a clear summer sky, but were actually as dark with deceit as Satan himself.

  The Marquis’s eyes were hard and his lips were in a tight line as he entered the Saloon.