Riding to the Moon Read online

  Had he had anything to do with young girls, it would have meant, as he was acutely aware, being hurried up the aisle by her parents, ambitious to have the most eligible and certainly the richest bachelor in the country as a son-in-law.

  The result was that his leisure hours were inevitably spent with married women who were cuckolding their husbands and it was part of the scene set by the Prince Regent, whose mistress at the moment was the Marchioness of Hertford.

  That her husband was not only complaisant but pleased with the arrangement made the Marquis regard him scornfully and remark to one of his friends,

  “Hertford wags his tail round Carlton House like an excited terrier!”

  He thought as he crossed the hall that Lord Sinclair, who had found another ‘interest’ and a very pretty one at that, would doubtless be summoned home to escort his wife until she found another lover.

  It did not worry him what either Lord or Lady Sinclair thought. He only knew that he would find it difficult to avoid a scene before his guests returned to London on Monday.

  As it was something he invariably encountered when an affaire de coeur was at an end, he metaphorically shrugged his shoulders and told himself that Rosie, as she was well bred, would behave like a lady.

  At the same time he had the uncomfortable feeling that blue blood did not always ensure self-control!

  In his experience women were so distraught at losing his affection that they would not only scream and cry but would threaten suicide in an effort to blackmail him back into their arms.

  He thought mockingly that it would have been far more convenient from his point of view if his decision about Rosie Sinclair had not been made so soon after her arrival at Ardsley Hall.

  But he knew without argument that the curtain had fallen and when he saw her again she would not even seem as beautiful as she had when he had invited her to take part in his steeplechase.

  It was something he had been very reluctant to do, but because she was a good rider she had pleaded with him at an intimate moment when it would have been very difficult for a man to refuse any request from a very beautiful woman.

  ‘Let us hope she wins,’ he thought to himself. ‘The necklace will soothe her feelings better than words.’

  He knew he was being over-optimistic, for no necklace, however magnificent, however expensive, could compensate a woman for losing him.

  In reality he was not as conceited as his enemies thought and he often found it a handicap rather than an asset that women found him irresistible as a lover, which, when combined with his aura of wealth and prestige, made him outstanding in the Society in which he moved.

  He had almost reached his study, where he knew he would find the newspapers which he intended to read before luncheon, when he thought it was likely that Lady Mary would be in the library.

  She had ridden back to the house ahead of him and he had known, although he had found it difficult to understand, that she had no wish to talk to him intimately, as any other woman would have done.

  She had attached herself to Charles Frodham and quite obviously preferred his company.

  The Marquis wondered for a moment if because he had rescued her from the highwaymen, Lady Mary had fallen in love with the young man.

  Yet, he was perceptive enough to realise that her attitude towards both Charles Frodham and James Overton was that of a sister for a brother.

  He was too experienced with women not to know when there was that little glint in the eyes, that flirtatious curve of the lips or the vibrations which made a man aware that she was very conscious of his masculinity.

  But there was nothing like that about Lady Mary when she talked to the two young men who had brought her to Ardsley Hall and, where the rest of the male guests and himself were concerned, the Marquis was now sure that when they came near her she was actually afraid.

  It was something he had never encountered before, in fact, he could not remember in the whole of his life any woman being afraid of him.

  ‘If anything,’ he thought cynically, ‘the boot is on the other foot!’

  Even when he was very young, women had pursued him and his self-assurance came from having made love to so many, a great number of whom had chased him rather than allow him to do his own hunting.

  Just as he had said at Whites, he told himself now that women were all the same.

  And yet he knew that Lady Mary was different and he wished to know why.

  He opened the door of the library and, as he did so, he heard her voice from the far end of the room say,

  “Please – leave me alone – I want to read this book, which I find very – interesting.”

  There was undoubtedly a quiver of fear in the way she spoke.

  The Marquis could not see her because all down the room bookcases jutted out from the wall and she was behind one which he knew contained the Chinese volume he had spoken to her about.

  “I have no intention of leaving you alone,” a man replied and the Marquis recognised that it belonged to Lord Wrotham, who had sat next to her at dinner the night before.

  When he realised that Wrotham was upsetting her, he had thought that it had been a mistake to place him beside her, because he was a notorious womaniser who continually boasted of his successes.

  However, the Marquis’s party had been planned to contain only his personal friends and those did not include young unmarried women.

  “I have been dreaming about you all night,” Lord Wrotham was saying, “and counting the hours until I could see you again.”

  Indira did not reply and he asked,

  “How can you be so beautiful? You are a temptation to every man who looks at you and all I am asking, my little temptress, is that you will be a little kind to me.”

  “Please – go away!” Indira replied.

  Then she gave a scream.

  “Do not – dare to – touch me – you have no right – ”

  She screamed again and the Marquis realised that this could not be allowed.

  He hurried down the room, making his footsteps as loud as possible as a warning to Lord Wrotham.

  As he came round the end of the bookcase, it was to see Indira with her back against the books and Lord Wrotham, having obviously just taken his hands from her, looked round angrily at being interrupted.

  “So here you are, Wrotham!” the Marquis said slowly, drawling his words as if he was in no hurry. “One of the servants is looking for you. I think he has a message.”

  “A message?” Lord Wrotham exclaimed. “I cannot think what it might be.”

  “You will find the man in the hall.”

  Lord Wrotham muttered something beneath his breath and walked past the Marquis and up the library towards the door.

  Only when he had gone did the Marquis look directly at Indira to see an expression of terror in her eyes.

  She was clasping a book to her breast with both hands, as if to calm the tumult within her and he realised that her whole body was trembling.

  “I am sorry he upset you,” he said quietly.

  For a moment she did not reply.

  Then she stammered,

  “They promised – because I am – unmarried – that this – would not happen.”

  The Marquis looked puzzled and asked,

  “Who promised?”

  “Charles – and James – please, I cannot stay – I want to go away!”

  The Marquis did not answer and she said with a violence which was different from the way she had been speaking before,

  “I hate men! I hate – them all! I must go – into a – Convent! There is nowhere else – where I can be safe.”

  The Marquis was completely astounded.

  And then he said,

  “I think you are upset because of what happened yesterday and I am sorry Wrotham that should have behaved in such a stupid manner. But it is one of the penalties you have to pay for being such a very beautiful woman!”

  “I hate – my hair! I hate my – face!
” Indira cried desperately. “If I was ugly they would leave me – alone – and that is all I – want.”

  “I think every ugly woman would give her right arm to look as you do,” the Marquis said with a faint smile.

  “I am – going into a – Convent,” Indira said decidedly. “Please – tell me where l can find one – and where they will – admit me if I promise to become a – Catholic.”

  The Marquis looked at her to see if she was really sincere.

  He prided himself that he always knew if a man or woman was lying and he was aware that Indira was telling the truth and she really intended to do as she threatened.

  “I would never have imagined,” he said slowly after a moment’s pause, “that riding as you do and having a very intelligent brain, that you would be a coward!”

  Indira started and looked at him almost as if he had slapped her or thrown cold water in her face.

  He was aware that he had given her a shock and she was no longer trembling.

  “I am not – really a – coward,” she said after a moment, as if she spoke to herself. “Papa would be – ashamed of me if I was.”

  “I am sure your father would be very ashamed if he thought you would do anything so absurd as to imprison yourself in a Convent just because you have not the courage to face the world as it is.”

  “But – men will not – leave me – alone.”

  The Marquis thought it was what most women longed and prayed for, but he said,

  “All men are not like Wrotham and I promise you that while he is here in my house he will not trouble you again.”

  “I – think I would rather – leave.”

  “I cannot prevent you from doing so, but I should be very disappointed.”

  As he spoke, Indira remembered that she not only had nowhere to go, but if she left Charles and jimmy behind, she would have no protection from Mr. Jacobson.

  Lord Wrotham was certainly very frightening, but it was also frightening to think of going alone to London and trying to find somewhere to stay until she found out which of her relations were alive and willing to welcome her.

  Almost as if the Marquis could read her thoughts, he said,

  “As I understand it, you have at the moment nobody to travel with and, as you have been through some worrying and shocking experiences, would it not be wiser to give yourself a chance to consider your next move?”

  Indira did not speak and he went on,

  “I am sure that Frodham and Overton will escort you if you wish to go to London when you leave here, but it would be very selfish if you left today and prevented them from taking part in my steeplechase.”

  Indira gave a deep sigh.

  “I am sure – my Lord, that I am being – selfish and foolish, but please – please don’t let that man come – near me again! He touched me – and he was trying – to kiss me!”

  “I have already promised,” the Marquis said, “that he will behave himself in the future. I can only apologise that one of my guests should have behaved so outrageously in my house.”

  He knew as he spoke that it was not really an unusual occurrence at Ardsley Hall and, despite Lady Mary’s explanations as to why she was travelling alone, Wrotham might easily have misconstrued it and convinced himself that her family was not particularly concerned with her.

  Such a beautiful young woman would not usually be allowed anywhere without an elderly and competent chaperone.

  Now for the first time the Marquis found the whole situation rather strange.

  He had accepted the story of her not being met at Southampton without query simply because it had not occurred to him to suspect there to be anything unusual about it.

  Now he could think of a great number of questions he would like to ask, but he knew it was something he could not do while Indira was still upset.

  “What I am going to suggest,” he said in a voice that was calm, impersonal and, he hoped, reassuring, “is that you forget what has happened and in the short time we have before luncheon let us discuss together the book you are holding in your hand, which I came here to find for you.”

  “I looked in the – catalogue on the – table,” Indira replied.

  There was still a tremor in her voice, but the Marquis knew she was making an effort to do what he wished.

  For the first time since they had been talking, she took the book away from her breast and looked down at it.

  “You are very – very – fortunate to – possess this,” she said.

  “That is what I have always thought myself,” the Marquis replied. “But I assure you that very few of my guests appreciate its age or what it contains.”

  “But you had it – translated?”

  “No, that was done by my grandfather,” the Marquis replied, “who was clever enough to know how valuable it was and to employ the greatest scholars of his time to translate it.”

  “I have heard of The Song of Lo Fu,” Indira said, looking down at the book, “but I like best the little poem by Li Po.”

  The Marquis was just about to move to her side to look down at the pages of the translation that she held in her hand.

  Then he thought it might frighten her if he stood too close and instead he said,

  “I have not read it for some years, so suppose you read it to me?”

  Indira gave him a little smile.

  “I will just read the last three lines,” she said.

  “How many times has the rose flowered?

  Do the white clouds as then scatter themselves?

  And behind whose dwelling sets the moon!”

  The Marquis thought her voice was very soft, and that the words seemed to speak to her of the World beyond the World.

  As if she knew that was what he thought, she remarked,

  “I studied with a Chinese philosopher and he taught me that each one of us finds a different meaning in what we read.”

  “Come with me,” the Marquis said. “I will show you something that I am sure you will appreciate.”

  Indira put the book into its place on the shelf and walked with him to another part of the library.

  There in the centre of the wall was a Chinese cabinet of red lacquer raised above a carved and gilt stand.

  It was very beautiful and she had meant to examine it after she had looked at the book, knowing that it was something her father would have enjoyed and that she herself would love to own it.

  The Marquis unlocked the doors to the cabinet with a gold key and drew from one of the drawers inside an object wrapped in silk.

  From it he took out a pottery model of a prancing horse and held it out to Indira.

  She gave a little cry of delight.

  “A T’ang Dynasty horse!” she exclaimed. “How can you be so lucky as to possess anything so wonderful?”

  “It was given to me by my grandfather when I became twenty-one and he had been given it by his father,” the Marquis replied.

  Indira touched its glazed surface with the tip of her fingers.

  “Only the craftsmen of the T’ang Dynasty,” she said as if she spoke to herself, “could catch the vigour and tension of an animal in motion.”

  “That is what I thought myself,” the Marquis agreed.

  “My teacher told me,” Indira said, her eyes on the horse, “that the sculptured art of the T’ang is entirely confident of its mastery of the faith and ability to express vitality and strength in the visual form.”

  Then, as she spoke, thinking of the horse, she thought that might also apply to the Marquis and a faint flush rose in her cheeks.

  Suddenly he was aware that he could read her thoughts and he told himself that he had never had a more sincere or more unexpected compliment.

  And yet in a way he could understand that to somebody as perceptive as Indira, the T’ang Dynasty horse she held in her hands with its expression of pride and vigour was undoubtedly what he aimed for in himself.

  Indira stroked the arched neck of the horse and then she gave it
back to the Marquis with a little sigh, saying,

  “Thank you, my Lord. I have never seen a more perfect example of T’ang sculpture. I feel that, although we know it was originally a tomb figure, it actually lives.”

  The Marquis took the horse from her, wrapped it again in its silk shroud and replaced it very carefully in the drawer.

  “I think we both know from our studies,” he said, “that there is no such thing as death, only life in different spheres.”

  He was not looking at her as he shut the lacquered doors of the cabinet, but he was aware that she was staring at him wide-eyed before she said in a voice that seemed to vibrate between them,

  “How could I have been so stupid as not to realise that before? Of course you are right! I have not lost – Papa, he is – still with me!”

  The Marquis turned to look at her and saw that her eyes were shining almost as if there was a star hidden in their depths.

  Then, without saying anything more, she turned and went from the library. He knew that she felt for the moment as if she must be alone and could not speak to anybody of what she was feeling.

  As he stood there, thinking it was the strangest and most unexpected conversation he had ever had with a woman, what Indira had just said came back into his mind,

  “I have not lost Papa, he is still with me!”

  Thinking back, he could not remember there having been anything said last night on her arrival about Lord Farncombe being dead and he was quite sure that it had not been reported in the newspapers.

  The Marquis was very precise in his reading, as he was in everything else and, when the newspapers arrived he read the headlines, the editorials, the Parliamentary Reports, then the Court columns and the obituaries of distinguished people, which were printed on the same page.

  He was therefore convinced that there had been no mention of the death of the Earl of Farncombe, whom he had never met, but who he was well aware was spoken of highly when people talked about India.

  Ever since the victories of Colonel Wellesley – now the Duke of Wellington – at the end of the last century and the rapid expansion of British control of India, it was a frequent topic of conversation in the House of Lords and at the Foreign Office, where the Marquis was often entertained.