The Blue Eyed Witch Read online

  She had an unusual beauty and a grace which was outstanding, as the Marquis had realised when he saw her dance, But he found that, owing to her strict training and the fact that, until he had discovered her, she had enjoyed little success in her private life, Talika dressed badly.

  At a passing glance she appeared insignificant when she was not on the stage and it had amused the Marquis to take her to the most expensive couturiers and dress her in a manner which made her gowns a frame for her beauty.

  They made so much difference to her appearance that, while at first the Marquis’s friends had been rather surprised at him favouring Talika, they then tried in every possible way to entice her away from him.

  That would have been impossible until the Marquis tired of her, but by that time she was an assured success not only in the ballet but also among the gentlemen of St. James’s.

  “How was it possible for you alone to perceive Talika’s beauty and potential talents?” enquired one Nobleman who was noted for pursuing every new Venus.

  “A fine jewel needs to be well set,” the Marquis had replied and he told himself that this was true of all women.

  He wrote now a note to a dressmaker who was not only patronised by the ladies of the Beau Monde, but also had an original and creative mind which made her sought out by many theatrical producers.

  In his letter the Marquis described Idylla’s strange beauty, her dark hair and blue eyes and also the slenderness of her figure, giving the measurements that Nanny had taken.

  He told Madame Valerie, as she was called, exactly what he required.

  He made it clear that the groom was not to return empty-handed, although, when she sent notification that the rest of the order was ready, it would be fetched from London.

  It was quite a long letter and the Marquis was satisfied when he had finished that Madame Valerie would carry out his wishes exactly.

  He sealed it with a wafer and carried it into the hall, where he instructed a footman to send it to the stables immediately so that a groom could set out for London without delay.

  Feeling satisfied with the trouble he had taken, he went in to breakfast.

  *

  The Marquis had made no plans for the morning and, after he had ridden for an hour and a half, he returned to The Castle and climbed to the third floor.

  Nanny looked surprised when he entered the day nursery.

  “You’re back already, my Lord? I was not expecting you so soon.”

  “I am having an early luncheon,” the Marquis replied. “If Miss Idylla is not yet ready, I can wait.”

  “Mrs. Darwin told me half an hour ago that her Ladyship’s room has been opened and the bed aired,” Nanny replied. “As your Lordship well knows, the rooms are always kept in order in case you should wish to use them.”

  “You are implying that it has been a disappointment to the staff that I have not been to The Castle for so long.”

  “It’s a disappointment to me too,” the Nanny said, “but you’re here now and that’s all that matters! Just wait a moment while I get Miss Idylla ready for your Lordship.”

  She went into the night nursery as she spoke and closed the door.

  The Marquis looked at the china ornaments on the mantelpiece and the portrait of himself that stood above it.

  It had been painted when he was twelve and showed him with his gun under his arm and a spaniel sitting at his feet.

  It had been done more or less for amusement by an artist from London on holiday and was well executed. The Marquis had bought it quite cheaply to give to his father for Christmas.

  But, when the time came, he decided his father would not appreciate the effort he had had to make to stand still for so many hours and was unlikely anyway to want a portrait of his son.

  He had therefore presented it to Nanny, who had been thrilled with the gift and hung it in the place of honour in the nursery.

  Now, as he looked at it, the Marquis remembered once again the thrill of learning to shoot.

  When John Trydell could not go with him, he would set off alone with his dog, a game bag over his shoulders, delighted when he could return with two or three trophies as proof of his marksmanship.

  The Marquis thought now of all the shooting he had done since then in other parts of the country, when a big bag had been the result at the end of the day.

  Nothing had given him more satisfaction than the times he had shot here when the winter would have seemed long and cold and sometimes very dreary without shooting to keep him amused.

  “We are ready, my Lord,” Nanny’s voice said behind him and he walked across the nursery and into the bedroom.

  Idylla was lying on top of the bed and the Marquis saw that Nanny had enveloped her in white blankets so that she looked like a cocoon.

  He was quite certain that it was not only for the sake of warmth but was also an effort at modesty.

  He looked down at her small face peeping from amongst the blankets and saw that Nanny had tied her hair neatly on either side of her face with ribbons that matched her eyes.

  “Good morning, Idylla,” the Marquis said in his deep voice.

  “Good – morning – my Lord,” she replied a little breathlessly.

  He had a feeling that she was embarrassed and to set her at her ease he said,

  “You must not be frightened that I shall drop you. We will go very carefully down the stairs and I am sure that Nanny is right and you will find the room I am taking you to much more comfortable than this one.”

  As he spoke, he put his arms round her and lifted her as if she were a child.

  He remembered as he did so how light she had been when he had carried her upstairs covered with mud and filth after he had rescued her from the villagers.

  He saw now that the scratches on her face were fading. They were still visible, but they were no longer open sores and there was every likelihood that in a few days they would disappear altogether.

  The Marquis started slowly to descend the stairs, which were not very wide.

  He thought as he went that it was only the second time he had ever carried a woman in his arms not for some amorous purpose.

  Idylla lay very still. She did not look up at him, but watched the way ahead and yet he had the feeling that she was shyly conscious of him as a man.

  ‘She is very young,’ the Marquis told himself.

  He wondered if in fact she had a beau to make love to her and tell her how beautiful she was.

  Unless, he thought, she had been brought up in a lonely part of the country where there were few young men or incarcerated in a Convent, it would be impossible for her beauty to go unnoticed.

  He found the curiosity he had about her growing even more acute than it had in the last few days.

  Who was she? Where did she come from? What was her name? And why, as he had asked himself a thousand times, should anyone wish to murder anything quite so exquisite?

  They reached the first floor and, proceeding along the wide corridor off which the State Rooms opened, they came to the one that had been used by his grandmother.

  Adam had designed it in the classical and impressive style for which he and his sons were famous.

  There were damask panels set in the white walls and picked out in gold leaf. The bed, hung with curtains of pale blue silk, was supported by pillars of gold representing the trunks of a palm tree.

  The canopy was surmounted by huge ostrich-feathered fronds and the Aubusson carpet was a riot of angels supporting garlands of pink roses tied with blue ribbons.

  There were a number of windows in the room and one of them had been altered from the perfection of Adam’s symmetry so that it could open onto the balcony outside.

  It was opposite the bed and, as the Marquis set Idylla down gently against the pillows, she could look out onto the large pots of azaleas that decorated the balcony.

  Above the marble balustrade there was the blue of of the sky and below the sunshine glinted on water rising from a fountain
in a wide stone basin filled with water lilies.

  As the Marquis took his arms from Idylla, Nanny bustled forward.

  “If you’ll go out onto the balcony for a moment, my Lord,” she said, “I’ll get Miss Idylla into bed.”

  Obediently the Marquis walked across the room to pass through the French windows.

  He noted that there was a wickerwork chair with a footrest on the balcony and that there were iron struts attached to the back of the chair so that a muslin canopy could be added to protect the user from the sun.

  He wished he could remember his grandmother, but she had in fact died before he was born.

  He knew, however, that her diaries were in the library and he thought that he must find them and perhaps when she was better Idylla might like to read them.

  He thought too that doubtless there would be people who would be surprised if not shocked that the chief State bedroom should be now occupied by a young woman about whom he knew nothing.

  “You may come back now, my Lord, if you wish.” The Marquis turned to see that Idylla was sitting up in the huge bed.

  Now, after what Nanny had said, he noted, as he had failed to do on previous visits, that she was wearing a thick cambric nightgown fastened high at the neck with plain bone buttons and with frills that fell over her small, thin, sensitive hands.

  ‘Nanny’s choice is certainly not mine’ he thought to himself.

  Even so, Idylla looked strangely beautiful and he realised that her eyes were fixed on his with a somewhat worried expression in them.

  “You are comfortable?” he asked gently.

  “Thank you for bringing me – here,” Idylla said, “but it is – too grand.”

  “Too grand?” the Marquis queried.

  “You don’t know who I am, and, until you do, I feel it wrong that I should occupy a room that is so fine.”

  “Nanny will tell you,” the Marquis replied, “that no one has used this room since my grandmother’s time. But you will be able to sit out on the balcony and that will be like going into the garden until you are well enough actually to do so.”

  “When will – that be?”

  “Soon, very soon, I am sure.”

  “Suppose – I never – remember who I-I – am?” “You will remember,” the Marquis answered reassuringly. “Concussion is a strange thing. Everything seems blank, then suddenly one becomes one’s self again. It is like drawing up a blind and seeing the world outside.”

  There was a knock on the door which the Nanny answered and went from the room, leaving the Marquis and Idylla alone.

  “I want to – ask you – something.”

  He knew she was nervous.

  “What is it?” he enquired.

  She seemed to have difficulty in finding the words and, because he felt that he might seem overwhelming towering above her, the Marquis sat down on the side of the bed.

  “Tell me,” he said with a smile that innumerable women had found irresistibly beguiling.

  She looked at him and he saw that her blue eyes had become dark with worry.

  ‘They are like the sea,’ he thought, ‘changing with the reflection of the sky and now there is a cloud which obscures the light.’

  “Tell me,” he repeated softly.

  “Do you – believe that I – am really – a witch?”

  Her voice was so low he could hardly hear the words.

  “Nanny told you what happened?” he asked.

  “She thought it might – help me to – remember.”

  “Then let me reassure you,” the Marquis said. “I am absolutely convinced in my own mind that you are not a witch. Can you remember anything that happened before you were struck on the head with a blow that should have killed you?”

  Idylla was still.

  “No – I cannot – remember! I cannot remember it – happening!” she whispered.

  “You have no idea who it might be?”

  “Why should anyone – hate me so – much?” Her voice was very troubled and after a moment the Marquis said,

  “Don’t worry about it. Sooner or later everything will come back to you, as I have already said.”

  He knew that she was listening and he went on,

  “Memory is a strange thing. When one has had a shock, merciful forgetfulness is sometimes nature’s way of protecting us from other damage.”

  “You mean – mentally?”

  “That is what I am trying to say,” the Marquis answered. “Whatever happened must have been terrifying and therefore you have forgotten at least temporarily the whole horror of it.”

  “I – understand,” she said simply.

  “As for being a witch,” the Marquis added with a smile, “I have never heard of a witch with blue eyes! According to the books and all the local legends, they should be green!”

  She gave a little sigh.

  “I hope – you are – right.”

  “I know I am!”

  “The maids are – frightened of me,” she said after a moment. “But then people round here are – always frightened of – witches!”

  The Marquis waited.

  He realised that what she had said implied that she not only remembered the past but also the part of the world she lived in.

  As if she realised what he was thinking, she said,

  “I-I said ‘round here’, but I don’t – live here, do I?”

  “Where do you live?” the Marquis now asked her.

  She thought for a moment, then she made a helpless little gesture.

  “I cannot – remember! It must have been – somewhere where people – talked of and were afraid of – witches!”

  “Does the county of Essex mean anything to you?” “Essex – I seem to know the – name. Is that – where we are?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “You are in Essex and the Blackwater River is to the North of us, the North Sea to the East, and the River Crouch to the South.”

  “Blackwater – the Blackwater River,” Idylla repeated. “I know the – name. I know – I know it. But I cannot – remember what it looks – like. I want to remember – but I cannot!”

  “Let things come slowly,” the Marquis advised. “As I have already told you, Idylla, nature has her own way of healing and I have the feeling that, when the blow on your head has completely healed, you will remember everything.”

  He spoke reassuringly, then Idylla’s fingers were tightly holding onto his.

  “If I do – remember I am – a witch,” she said in a low voice, “you will not give me – back to those – people who Nanny said were trying to – duck me in the water?”

  “Look at me, Idylla!” the Marquis ordered.

  She raised her worried eyes to his and he said quietly, “I promise you, I swear it, if you want me to do so, that I would never inflict on anyone, man, woman or child, the cruelty and ignorance that expresses itself by persecuting those who have supposedly supernatural powers.”

  He continued slowly and impressively,

  “There is really no such thing as a witch, Idylla, they do not exist except in the imaginations of those who are too stupid and too uneducated to know better.” “You are – sure of – that?” Idylla asked hesitatingly after a moment.

  “Quite sure! And I promise you this as well, I will look after you and protect you. No one will hurt you ever again.”

  He felt her fingers quiver on his and after a moment he enquired,

  “Do you believe me?”

  She was still looking up into his face and, as if what she saw in his grey eyes reassured her, she said,

  “I believe – you.”

  Then she relinquished his hand.

  “I think now you should rest,” the Marquis suggested. “The more you rest and the more you sleep, and of course the more you take those magic potions that Nanny makes for you, the quicker you will get well.”

  There was a faint smile on Idylla’s lips as she remarked,

  “Nanny told me that you called her a witch!”
/>
  “That is a joke, as you know!” the Marquis replied. “But if we are going to pretend to believe in witches, then we have to believe in good ones as well as bad! Nanny is undoubtedly a good, benevolent, Fairy tale witch, even though she may have a broomstick hidden by the chimneypiece!”

  Nanny had come into the room while the Marquis was speaking and she came towards the bed.

  “Now, your Lordship,” she admonished, “don’t go stuffing Miss Idylla’s head with a lot of nonsensical notions before she remembers any sensible ones.”

  “I was just setting her mind at rest,” the Marquis said, “and incidentally telling her that she must rest because that is the quickest way to get well.”

  “It is indeed,” Nanny agreed, “and she is going to sleep the moment she has finished her luncheon.”

  The maid came in carrying a tray as she spoke and the Marquis turned towards the door.

  “Goodbye, Idylla,” he said, “and dream happy dreams. There are a lot of people who could envy you for being able to forget the past.”

  She gave him a faint smile and he thought as he went downstairs that he had spoken the truth.

  It was the past that worried, upset and confused so many people.

  What would it be like, he wondered, to start again from scratch, being already grown up, having nothing to regret, nothing to look back on and therefore obliged only to look forward?

  It was a fascinating problem and he thought since he had come to The Castle there was no doubt that Idylla had brought a new interest into his life.

  Not only was he absolutely determined to find out the truth about her and why anyone would wish to murder her, but also everything about her seemed to stimulate his brain and make him think on subjects he had never studied before.

  The mind was one.

  How did the mind work as it did? Why was memory subject to physical injuries? Did nature really erase horrors from the mind to save it from itself?

  He considered various aspects of the subject as he ate an excellent luncheon. Then he left The Castle mounted on a fresh horse, not the one he had ridden that morning.

  He had made up his mind during the night when he was thinking about Idylla that he would call at Trydell Hall and see if Sir Caspar was there.

  If he was, the Marquis would try to find out if he had any knowledge of what had happened to Idylla, although he considered it unlikely that Sir Caspar would be able to help him.