Lucky Logan Finds Love

Marcus Logan was fast asleep.

Belinda was breathless as she touched his shoulder, saying,

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Marcus Logan awoke instantly as a man would who was used to danger.

“What is it? What is happening?” he asked. Belinda replied in a low voice,

“There are – two men – coming up the stairs to – k-kill you!”

Author’s Note

THE famous legend of the Golden Fleece was based on the expedition in about 1200 B.C. to seize gold being

washed out of the river sands with the aid of sheepskins in the region known as Armenia.

Rich deposits were known in Lydia and the lands of the Aegean besides Persia, India, and China.

Russia became the leading producer of gold in 1823 and for fourteen years provided the majority of the

world’s supply.

Copper, the most useful of metallic elements was discovered first in 8,000 B.C. during the Stone Age.

Platinum received little recognition in ancient times, although deposits in heavy river sands were

uncovered in the sixteenth century after the Spanish Conquest of South America.

Carl Claus in Russia was the first person to demonstrate the existence of this rare metal in 1844.

It became important to the manufacture of jewellery, and dental alloys consumed large amounts of

platinum which, to the ordinary purchaser, was exceedingly expensive.

Chapter One – 1870

Walking back home through the woods, Belinda tried not to be enchanted by the sunshine coming through

the leaves.

She tried not to think of the small animals scuttling through the undergrowth.

It was something about which she often told herself stories at night and which became almost real.

Today, however, all she could think of was that there was no money and the servants were wanting

their wages.

But her stepfather had not returned from London. She had been expecting him for nearly a week. That

week had passed, but still there was no sign of him and she was becoming apprehensive.

After her mother had died, everything in Belinda’s life had changed.

Up until then she had been very happy, even though she missed her father desperately.

Sir Richard Wyncombe had been a brilliantly clever man who regretted having only one child.

However, he was determined to make her, not only the daughter he loved, but also the son he had never had.

He had married late because he had led such an interesting life travelling about the world.

He had enjoyed meeting people from many different countries and being admired and listened to by

them all.

Sir Richard had, in fact, been one of the world’s greatest experts on Oriental languages.

He had always hoped that he would have a son who would follow in his footsteps.

He had translated into English some of the most interesting and unusual books that had ever been

written and he had visited places where none of his contemporaries had thought of going.

Then he had fallen in love.

He was forty when he met a beautiful woman, who was entranced by his handsome looks and

mesmerised by his brain.

It seemed to his friends amazing that Sir Richard should have waited until that age before he lost his

heart.

But when he saw Virginia Shelborn for the first time, he knew that nothing else in the world was of any

importance.

They were married with what their relatives considered unseemly haste and were blissfully happy.

Virginia was unusually intelligent and, although she had been a great Social success since she grew up

because of her outstanding beauty, many of the men she met were alarmed and put off by her brain.

She was too clever for them, but she was exactly what Sir Richard Wyncombe required.

She listened and learnt from him.

At the same time, she stimulated his mind in a way no other woman had ever been able to do before and

so for the first time in his life Sir Richard settled down.

He had been left an attractive house by one of his relatives who had no children, together with a small

estate in Hertfordshire.

He and his wife both rode, but they were not interested in the rather fast set of people who hunted. The

Master of their local Hunt was a Duke, and his followers were all part of the Social Beau Ton of London.

Instead, they enjoyed the beauty and quiet of their garden and Virginia helped her husband with his

latest book on Oriental languages.

When Belinda was born, Sir Richard knew he had another pupil.

His daughter was to say later that almost before she was out of the cradle she was learning to speak to

him in Urdu and in Persian.

He was certainly an unusual and exciting father and Belinda could hardly believe it was possible when

he died unexpectedly of a heart attack on his sixtieth birthday.

Her whole world seemed to fall to pieces.

Her mother felt the same and she wept bitterly until she seemed gradually to fade away, day by day.

At fifteen, Belinda found she had to cope with the household, the estate and the horses.

She tried to keep up the standards set by her father.

First of all, there were the lonely evenings, when in the past she had sat and talked to him. Sometimes it

was the early hours of the morning before they went to bed.

Her mother had encouraged her to duel with her father in words.

Now that she was widowed, she seemed to have nothing to say, unless they were talking about the past.

Then two years after her father’s death, Captain D’Arcy Rowland came unexpectedly into their lives.

Belinda met him first when she was out riding, accompanied by a groom.

They found him in one of the nearby woods.

He was looking ruefully at the hoof of his horse, which had dropped a shoe.

Belinda had to draw her own horse to a standstill because he was blocking the path and she said politely,

“Good morning! Is there anything we can do to help you?”

The gentleman, who was bending down, looked up.

She thought he had the most raffishly handsome face she had ever seen.

She did not know that Captain D’Arcy Rowland was one of the most sought-after men in the whole of

London.

He came from a good family and in his own way had taken London by storm.

Because he was amusing, original, and somewhat outrageous, every Hostess was eager to entertain him.

The men who frequented Whites and Boodles found him good company.

It was impossible for D’Arcy Rowland to resist a pretty face.

At the same time, he was an undoubted sportsman.

No Englishman could ignore a man who was an outstanding athlete and he was a superb horseman and

a champion card player.

When D’Arcy Rowland heard Belinda’s soft voice, he had looked up expecting to see a young country

wench and was astounded by her beauty.

She was very lovely in the fresh unspoilt manner of a spring flower.

While her groom took his horse to the blacksmith, Belinda invited D’Arcy Rowland back to her home.

There he met her mother.

As the acknowledged Knave of Hearts in London, D’Arcy was not interested in young unfledged girls.

But Virginia Wyncombe was a very different matter.

She was sitting in the drawing room surrounded by flowers.

She had arranged them to try to cheer her up. She was wearing an elegant muslin gown, which revealed

the grace of her figure and her tiny waist. Her fair hair was glinting in the sunshine coming through the

windows.

Because she had grown thin from unhappiness, her huge grey eyes seemed to dominate her lovely face.

She had always been beautiful and now she had reached the full bloom of her beauty.

D’Arcy Rowland found his breath taken away.

He was staying with a Duke who lived only a few miles away.

Now he spent almost every hour of the next few days with Virginia Wyncombe.

He flattered her, flirted with her and eventually made love to her.

Virginia Wyncombe seemed overnight to be lifted from her depression.

She became in Belinda’s eyes somebody very different from the mother she had known before. Belinda

was too inexperienced to realise that for the first time in her life, her mother was with a man of her own age.

She was no longer sitting at the feet of one who was older and wiser than herself.

Belinda quickly realised she was not wanted when D’Arcy Rowland was there.

She would leave them alone together as soon as a meal was finished and would then occupy herself

either in the garden or in the house.

Sometimes she would hear the lilt in their voices and their laughter.

Even when she was present she was aware that their eyes seldom left each other’s.

Three weeks after D’Arcy Rowland had first come to The Gables, he and Virginia Wyncombe were

married.

It was a very quiet wedding in the village Church. It was where Belinda had been christened and

confirmed and where she and her mother worshipped every Sunday.

In a whirl of excitement, the newly married couple went off to Paris for their honeymoon.

Belinda was left feeling that once again her world was shattered.

It had never entered her mind that her mother would marry again.

However, because she was extremely intelligent, she understood. It was not an insult to her father’s

memory that her mother should have fallen in love.

It was a case of two people each finding the other part of themselves and it would have been impossible

for them to go on living without each other.

They came back from Paris glowing with radiance.

It made the whole house, Belinda thought, vibrate with love.

Then D’Arcy Rowland wanted to introduce his wife to his friends in London and almost immediately

they left again with the many trunks that her mother had accumulated on her honeymoon.

They contained, Belinda discovered, a great number of gowns.

Each one was so beautiful that she felt it was almost wrong for them to be worn.

Her mother looked so exquisite in them that she was like a fairytale Princess and it was impossible for

Belinda not to accept that her stepfather was a real Prince Charming.

“I like him, Papa,” she said to her father’s portrait after they had gone, “and I know you would like him

too. He is witty and makes one laugh and, what is more important than anything else, he has made Mama

happy again.”

She felt somehow her father would understand.

She then asked herself what was going to happen to her.

It was quite obvious that D’Arcy did not wish her to accompany them and in any case, she was still too

young to be a debutante.

During the next year she saw very little of her mother.

She and D’Arcy would come back occasionally, often bringing a party with them and Belinda had to

make a tremendous effort to have the house ready to receive them.

She would engage help from the village and fortunately there was an older woman in one of the cottages

who had been a maid in an aristocratic mansion and Belinda would hire her to come to maid the lady guests.

The men were all rather like D’Arcy – dashing and raffish.

Some of them, Belinda thought, were like the heroes she had read about in her books.

One reminded her of Charles II, another the Earl of Rochester and a third, she suspected, but was far too

polite to say so, was a Casanova.

They teased her and paid her compliments and undoubtedly they all overwhelmingly admired her

mother.

But every time she returned home, Belinda thought that she had changed more and more.

She looked different with her face powdered and rouged and her lips reddened with a salve and she

talked in a different kind of way that Belinda could hardly believe.

She was flirtatious, and, at the same time, so attractive that Belinda could understand why the men

found it impossible not to keep gazing at her.

Belinda thought some of the women who came to the house parties were outrageous.

It was the way they talked and the manner in which they seemed determined to hold a man’s attention.

They would touch him with their long thin fingers and they would look at him provocatively from

under their mascaraed eyelashes.

D’Arcy Rowland was in his element.

He was an excellent host – Belinda could see that, but at the same time, he made certain it was he and his

wife who held the stage.

Everybody else was the audience.

Champagne flowed and the dishes at dinner and luncheon were the best and most expensive obtainable.

Her mother and stepfather brought a great deal of it down from London – paté, caviar, truffles and

other delicacies.

Then utterly unexpectedly, so that it was a shock that stunned both her husband and her daughter,

Virginia died.

They had come down from London for Christmas and it had been bitterly cold on the journey.

When her mother arrived, Belinda could see that she was shivering and she had a cold.

She had helped her to undress and looking at herself in the mirror, her mother said,

“How can I have a cold just when I have a party arriving tomorrow. Nothing can be more unbecoming!”

“A party, Mama? But you did not tell me!”

“Only four people, darling,” her mother replied, “and another two will be arriving the day after.”

Belinda hoped that the people from the village who always helped would not refuse to come, but they

might want to spend Christmas at home.

She did not say anything and only assisted her mother into bed.

She was thinking how beautiful she looked with her fair hair falling over her shoulders.

She was wearing a diaphanous nightgown that was almost transparent.

“Would it not be wise, Mama, to wear something warm over your shoulders?” she asked. “I have had a

hot warming pan in the bed all day and the fire was lit first thing this morning, but it is still very cold.”

Her mother shivered.

“I am freezing!” she complained. “At the same time, D’Arcy does not like me to wear wool or anything

stuffy like that. I will be all right.”

She climbed slowly into bed and pulled the linen sheets up to her chin.

“I will go and fetch you a warm drink of honey and lemon,” Belinda said. “I am sure that will help you.”

She had then left her mother.

In the morning D’Arcy Rowland woke Belinda to say they must send for the doctor.

When the doctor came, he shook his head.

“Your mother has a very high temperature,” he told Belinda. “You must keep her warm and I’ll send you

some medicines that I hope will help her.”

He walked to the front door and as he reached it, he added,

“I’ll call in again this evening. I am worried about her, very worried!”

Belinda looked after him in consternation.

She could hardly remember when her mother had last been ill and it was not like the doctor to sound so

anxious. He had always been a cheerful man who told his patients to forget their ailments and laugh at their

pains.

Meanwhile Captain D’Arcy had to be busy entertaining his guests and Belinda had to do her best to try

to take her mother’s place.

“In another year you will be the belle of every ball in London,” one man told her.

“Of course she will!” D’Arcy Rowland added before Belinda could reply.

“How could I possibly introduce you to anything that was not the top of her class and, of course, an

undoubted champion!”

They all laughed at this.

But while Belinda blushed, she only hoped that what they were saying was the truth.

The next morning while she was still asleep her stepfather came into her bedroom.

He had woken her by opening the door.

“What is it, Step-Papa?” she asked. “Does Mama want me?”

For a moment it was impossible for D’Arcy Rowland to speak.

Then he said in a strangled voice she could hardly hear,

“Your mother – is dead! She died in her sleep.”

Virginia Rowland left behind her two people who were stricken agonisingly because they had lost her.

The villagers who attended the funeral wept because they had lost the person they referred to as “The

Pretty Lady”.

When D’Arcy Rowland and Belinda came back to the house, it seemed empty and even eerie.

It was impossible when she went into the drawing room for Belinda not to expect to find her mother

sitting in her favourite chair.

Or running down the stairs to greet D’Arcy Rowland joyfully when he came back from riding. Or

moving about the garden looking like a flower herself as she picked the blooms to bring into the house.

D’Arcy Rowland put up with the situation for two days, but then he left for London.

“I will be back at the end of the week,” he promised Belinda.

It was, however, a month before, at last, he returned.

Belinda knew as soon as she saw him that he had been drinking too much and having too little sleep.

His raffish appearance that had made him so attractive had gone and he looked dissolute.

She was not really surprised when he told her that he had come home only to collect some clothes.

He returned to London almost immediately.

He was away this time for three weeks and Belinda was incredibly lonely.

She had, several months ago, become too old to continue being taught by a Governess., as, although

Miss Dawkins was an exceptionally well-educated woman, there was little more she could teach her.

The same applied to the Vicar, who had tried to carry on some of the lessons her father had taught her.

His knowledge, however, was limited to Latin and Greek and Belinda was already proficient in both those

languages.

She was now eighteen.

She knew that if her mother had been alive, they would now be planning her debut in London.

Then she would have been presented at a Drawing Room in Buckingham Palace, but now she was in

deep mourning and there would be no presentation and no balls.

Nor were there the invitations she might have had from her mother’s and D’Arcy’s friends in the

County.

To be in deep mourning was a fashion set by Queen Victoria and Belinda looked dolefully at her black

gowns and longed to throw them away.

She did not realise that they accentuated the whiteness of her skin and the gold of her hair, but all they

did was to remind her that she had lost both her father and her mother.

She was now all alone, day after day, week after week.

Then D’Arcy came back.

She thought he seemed much more like his old self, being witty and making her laugh.

He told her stories about the parties that were taking place in London and he told her of the plays being

performed in the theatres and who were the latest beauties to captivate the Social world.

However, he did not stay long.

Before he left, although he said nothing to Belinda, she was aware that he had taken her mother’s

jewellery from the safe.

The day he was leaving she said to him,

“I hope, Step-Papa, you will give me some money before you go. The servants have not been paid their

wages for two weeks.”

She paused a moment and sighed before continuing,

“There is also a very fine horse for sale that I would like to buy to replace Rufus, who is getting old.

Perhaps you could have a look at him before you leave tomorrow?”

For a moment there was silence.

Then D’Arcy Rowland replied,

“I realise Rufus is getting a bit long in the tooth, but frankly, my dear, we cannot afford to buy any more

horses at the moment.”

Belinda looked at her stepfather in surprise.

She had never worried about money.

She had always known that her father was well off.

They could have anything they wanted, although their tastes were certainly not extravagant.

She did not speak, but she guessed that her stepfather guessed what she was thinking.

“I have been going through a rather bad patch lately,” he said as if he must explain. “I lost a packet on

several dead certainties and I have not been particularly fortunate with baccarat just when it is essential that I

should be!”

“But surely there is money in the bank?” Belinda questioned.

There was an uncomfortable silence before D’Arcy Rowland replied,

“Actually we are overdrawn, and the Bank Manager has written to ask me to put things straight as soon

as possible.”

It was then, like a flash of lightning, that Belinda knew why her stepfather had taken her mother’s

jewellery from the safe.

She had not liked to ask him the reason, although she knew he had taken it. She had thought that

perhaps he intended to have it reset for her to wear.

Without stopping to think, she said the first words that came into her head.

“And so you are selling Mama’s jewellery? Oh – no! No! You cannot do that!”

Her stepfather went to the window and stood with his back to her.

“I am sorry, Belinda, but I have to. It is not only the bank, but I also owe money in the Club which, as

you know, is a debt of honour.”

Belinda drew in her breath.

Her father had explained to her a long time ago what a debt of honour meant to a gentleman. Most

important was that he should never owe money to a fellow member of his Club or to a brother Officer.

Then neither of them spoke for a long time.

Then Belinda asked in a frightened whisper,

“W-what are you – going to do?”

Captain D’Arcy turned round and he was smiling.

“You are not to worry yourself,” he said. “I will see to it. I shall have some money by next week and I will

come back here. If the horse you want is still for sale, I will buy it for you.”

He paused before he added,

“You might tell the owner that is what I intend to do.”

“You are sure you will be able to do that?” Belinda asked him eagerly.

“Of course I am sure!” he answered. “Has my luck ever failed me?”

He put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“You are a good girl,” he said. “Once you are out of mourning and don’t have to look like a dismal crow,

I will see that you are asked to all the smartest balls and that all my friends in London give dinner parties for

you.”

Belinda knew that the friends to whom he referred were the women he had spent his time with before

he had fallen in love with her mother.

Once or twice Virginia had mentioned it to her daughter.

“All your stepfather’s lady friends are jealous of me,” she had sighed, “and I find it very flattering that he

should have left them for me.”

“He loves you, Mama!” Belinda said softly.

“Yes, I know,” her mother answered, “and I am very happy. At the same time, darling, you must

understand that I miss your father and I loved him too. He was a very wonderful man.”

She did not say the actual words – that he was really too old for her.

However, Belinda knew perceptively that she was thinking it.

She had been interested in the women her stepfather had known previously.

Her mother had showed her sketches of them in The Ladies’ Journal and she described to Belinda how

lovely they were. One had dark hair, one red, but the majority of them were fair.

“Your stepfather loves fair-haired women,” her mother had added.

As she spoke, she looked at herself in the mirror and Belinda also learnt that the beauties accepted very

expensive presents.

Only gloves or fans were conventionally accepted gifts, but she had the feeling these women usually

expected something far more extravagant.

Now, for whatever reason, the money that had been in the bank had gone and she had no idea how they

could possibly manage without it.

Captain D’Arcy did not return the following week as he had promised.

In fact, several weeks went by, and Belinda was becoming frantic.

She knew the name of his Club and she contemplated writing to him there, but then she was afraid he

would think it insulting if she suggested that he should return home.

But the servants were complaining that they had received no wages and the shops in the village and the

nearest town were asking for their bills to be paid.

‘I shall have to write to him – I shall have to!’ Belinda thought, as she came round the side of the house.

Then with a leap of her heart she saw in the distance coming up the drive there was a chaise drawn by

two horses.

She recognised the horses.

They were the pair her stepfather had taken when he had first left for London after her mother’s death

and they were undoubtedly the best horses in the stable.

Now they were bringing her stepfather home. That was what she wanted more than anything else.

She hurried round to the front of the house and onto the steps.

As the chaise drew up outside, she was waiting to greet him.

The groom jumped down from the box to open the door and her stepfather, looking very smart and

exceedingly handsome, climbed out.

Belinda ran down the steps and kissed him on the cheek.

As she did so, she knew before he could say anything and before he had even entered the house, that

everything was wrong.

She felt her heart sink.

“How are you, my dear?” he asked. “I am sorry that I could not come any earlier, but I was prevented by

a great number of different problems.”

“You are here now, Step-Papa, and that is all that matters,” Belinda replied. “I was hoping and praying

you would come soon.”

She spoke urgently.

She saw by the expression in his eyes and the tightening of his lips that it was something he did not want

to hear.

He walked into the hall and put his hat down. When Bates, the butler, appeared to welcome him home,

he merely said sharply,

“Bring me a bottle of champagne to the drawing room!”

Bates hurried to obey his order.

D’Arcy Rowland walked into the drawing room, and Belinda followed him.

He walked to the window to stand with his back to her.

She knew that what he was about to tell her was something disastrous, something that struck her with

terror even before she had heard it.

Chapter Two

THE door opened and Bates came in with the champagne on a silver tray and he put it down on a table in the

corner of the room.

He poured a glass of the sparkling wine from the bottle.

As she watched, Belinda realised that the ice bucket was missing and she had the idea that her stepfather

had taken it back to London with him.

Bates offered the glass of champagne to D’Arcy Rowland and he drank it down as if he were very thirsty.

When the Butler had withdrawn, Belinda asked,

“Tell me what is wrong, Step-Papa. I know there is something you have to tell me.”

D’Arcy Rowland turned from the window when he had finished the champagne and without speaking,

he walked across the room to fill his glass again.

Then, as if he had to answer Belinda’s question, he cried out,

“I am finished! Completely finished! I have not a penny left in the world!”

Belinda could hardly believe what she was hearing.

Then, because her legs felt suddenly as if they could no longer support her, she sat down rather heavily

on the sofa.

“W-what do – you – mean?” she asked.

“Exactly what I have just said,” her stepfather replied. “I told you the last time I was here that things were

difficult. Now they are so bad that it means I shall be sent to prison.”

Belinda gave a little moan.

“I cannot – believe – it! How can – this have happened? Where is the – money we always – had?”

“It has all gone,” D’Arcy Rowland replied in a hard voice, “and a great deal more besides.”

Belinda clasped her hands together, trying to remain calm.

She felt that her brain was whirling.

She drew in several deep breaths before she stammered,

“I suppose we have – something in the – house you could sell?”

“The house has gone too!”

Belinda stared at him.

“Gone? H-how is – that – possible? It belongs to – me!”

“I know,” D’Arcy Rowland retorted, “but I pledged it at the bank with its contents and – ”

He paused for a moment.

Then, as if he forced himself tell the truth, he added,

“I said that you understood the situation and I forged your – signature.”

“But – how could you do such a – thing,” Belinda gasped.

Her stepfather did not answer and she said,

“Could I not – somehow – claim it back and say it was a – mistake?”

“If you do that, I shall be arrested for forgery in addition to other things for which I am being dunned,”

D’Arcy Rowland replied. “I think the penalty for that is penal servitude!”

Belinda wanted to scream.

Instead, she was silent until in a trembling voice she asked,

“What can – we do – if the house has – gone and we have no money – we have – nowhere to go!”

There was silence until her stepfather muttered,

“I suppose I should apologise to you, but words are hopelessly inadequate. My only excuse is that I loved

your mother as I have never loved another woman.”

Now there was a little warmth in his voice as he went on,

“As I expect you know, there have been dozens of women in my life. But your mother was different.

When I lost her, I thought I would go mad!”

There was an agony in the way he spoke that Belinda did not miss.

“In fact, I did go mad,” he continued. “I went to London and tried by every means in my power to forget

what I had lost. I gave parties that cost money and presents to women who made me sick because they were

not your mother.”

He looked at Belinda for a moment, saw her stricken eyes, and added,

“I suppose I should not be telling you this, but you may as well hear the truth. I indulged in every

depravity available, simply to try and cure the ache in my heart. But I failed.”

“I-I think I – understand,” Belinda murmured.

“It is only now that I realise I have not only destroyed myself, but you,” he said. “The duns are waiting to

take me before the Magistrates, and the bank has given me one month to find what I owe them before they

foreclose on this house and we are thrown into the gutter!”

Belinda gave a little cry.

Then she asked,

“What about the – servants? Bates has been with – us for nearly – forty years and Mrs. Bates is – not

strong. They will never – find another position and – will end up in the workhouse.”

“Where we will join them,” D’Arcy Rowland said sharply.

“There must be – something we can do – something!” Belinda whispered.

She was fighting against the horror that was seeping over her.

She was trying to use her brain as her father had taught her to do.

“There – must be – something!”she repeated.

“There is something,” her stepfather answered, “if you will agree to it.”

He finished his glass of champagne as he spoke. Putting it on a table, he sat down on the sofa beside her.

“Perhaps,” he said in a conciliatory tone, “I should have told you the situation more gently, but I wanted

you to understand first what we are up against before I told you that there is one ray of hope at the end of a

very dark tunnel.”

He was now speaking in the way he had always spoken to her mother.

Belinda knew it made him irresistible, as there was something unusually attractive about his voice.

She had once heard one of the men who stayed at the house state,

“D’Arcy can charm the birds off the trees and how often has he done so, I wonder?”

Everybody had laughed.

Belinda thought now that he was going to try and charm her and she had the distinct feeling it would be

something that she should resist.

At the same time, she was asking herself how she could possibly give up her home, the house her mother

had made so beautiful and which her father had always been so proud of.

She could hardly believe that her stepfather should have forged her name.

She knew he was right in saying that forgery was considered a very serious offence in the Criminal

Courts and he would undoubtedly receive a very long sentence of imprisonment.

As if he realised what her thoughts were, D’Arcy Rowland said,

“I have always known you were very intelligent, Belinda. That is why I think you will understand now

what I am going to ask you to do.”

He looked at her pleadingly before he went on,

“I swear it is the only possible way by which you can save me and, incidentally, yourself.”

Belinda pressed herself against the cushions behind her so that they gave her support and she tightened

her fingers until they hurt.

Every instinct in her body made her want to scream at her stepfather and she might even burst into tears

because she felt so helpless.

Then she could see her father teaching her the languages that had meant so much to him and she could

hear him describing the characteristics of the people who spoke them.

He had summed them up so cleverly and he made a picture which his young pupil could readily

understand.

‘I must be calm – I must listen to every word and not think about myself,’ Belinda thought.

“I expect you have heard of Marcus Logan,” her stepfather began, “and doubtless read about him in the

newspapers?”

Belinda knew exactly what he was saying.

The story of Lucky Logan had been repeated over and over again every time he made some new

discovery.

He had been written up not only in the financial columns of every newspaper, but was also headlined in

the main news pages.

Marcus Logan had been sent home to England from India to go to school and his father was the

Governor of Bombay.

It was a long journey, as the ship had to sail all the way round the Cape of Good Hope.

Marcus, however, enjoyed himself, as there were several other boys of his age also returning to England.

They played deck tennis and every other kind of game available and they were delighted when the ship put

into the port of Cape Town to be able to go ashore.

They then set out to explore what they could of that part of Africa.

Because there was no hurry, as the ship had stores to take aboard, they went climbing up a nearby

mountain.

They had climbed some way when there was a storm of tempestuous rain, but fortunately there were

some small caves on the mountainside where they could shelter.

Three of the boys rushed into the nearest one and filled it so that there was no room for Marcus.

So he looked around and saw that there was a smaller cave he could crawl into. He could not stand

upright, but at least he was out of the rain.

Once he was inside, he found he could just sit up. The cave smelt of some animal and he thought the

floor would undoubtedly be dirty.

He took off the woollen scarf he was wearing round his neck, spread it out and sat on it.

The storm did not last very long.

When it had passed, the boys in the next cave shouted to Marcus that they should go back to the ship.

He crawled out and only when he was outside did he remember his woollen scarf, so he darted back into

the cave.

He pulled the scarf out and found when he picked it up that there was a stone caught in the wool.

It was a nicely shaped stone, so instead of throwing it away, he pushed it into his pocket.

After the boys had hurried back to the ship, Marcus thought no more about the stone in his pocket until

he undressed that night.

It was then that he looked at the stone more carefully.

It was unlike any stone he had ever seen before. He had a strange feeling, a kind of perception that was

to grow very much stronger as he grew older.

It told him there was something about the stone that was important to him.

He put it into a drawer in his cabin and forgot about it until he arrived back in England.

There he went shopping in London with the relative whom he was staying with.

On an impulse he went into a jeweller’s shop and it was one where his mother had bought some of her

jewellery and he had been with her when she had taken a bracelet to be mended.

Marcus explained who he was to the assistant who had served her and was respectfully received. A chair

was brought for him to sit on and then the assistant asked him,

“What can I do for you, sir? And I very much hope your lady mother is in good health.”

Marcus said that she was in rude health.

Then he brought the stone he had found in Africa out of his pocket.

“Can you tell me anything about this stone?” he enquired of the assistant.

The man behind the counter looked at it, picked up his eyeglass and looked at it more closely. Excusing

himself, he then went to speak to the Head of the firm in another room.

Marcus looked around, thinking how pretty the jewels were and he remembered how lovely his mother

had looked wearing her diamond tiara and necklace. It was at a time when his father had received a

deputation of Maharajahs and their Suites.

He saw the assistant come hurrying back.

“I wonder, sir,” he said, “if you would step into the Private Office and meet our Chairman, who happens

to be here today? He is very anxious to speak to you.”

Marcus was surprised.

But he followed the assistant into a small well-furnished room at the back of the shop.

It was, although he was not aware of it at the time, where only the richest and more important

customers were served.

Two men were sitting at a long glass cabinet in which some exceptionally fine jewels were displayed.

They both rose as Marcus entered and shook him by the hand.

The Chairman introduced himself and added,

“I should be extremely interested, Mr. Logan, if you would tell us where you found this remarkable

stone you have brought to show us?”

“It was on the voyage home from India,” Marcus replied.

And because they seemed so interested, he told them how it had become attached to his woollen scarf

when he had sat in the cave.

The Chairman laughed and remarked,

“You did inadvertently what has been done for centuries. In the deep caverns it was the custom in order

to retrieve precious stones, to throw down the dead carcase of an animal, possibly a sheep, so that the

diamonds would adhere to it.”

Marcus looked at him in astonishment as he went on,

“Eagles in their search for food would go down to tear off pieces of the meat and carry them to their

nests.”

He paused briefly,

“The seekers for diamonds would shoo them away, dig the gems out of the fur, then leave the eagles to

their meal.”

“Diamonds?” Marcus exclaimed. “Are you telling me that the stone I have brought you is a diamond?”

“We have, of course, had only a perfunctory glance at it before it is cut and polished,” the Chairman

replied. “But I think, Mr. Logan, it is an exceedingly fine diamond! And larger than anything we have seen so

far from Africa!”

That was the beginning.

Because the story was so fascinating, it followed Marcus Logan wherever he went.

He was a hero at Eton, although they teased him and as he grew older, people would ask him cheerily,

“Found any diamonds today?”

He finished at Eton and went on to Oxford.

During his vacations he was able to travel. He could not go very far, but he found some small gems of

interest in Austria and amethysts in Scotland.

He knew that his instinct guided him.

As somebody said later, he could almost smell out a gem before he had even dug for it.

After his last journey, Queen Victoria had accepted the gift of a diamond and had it added to the

Imperial Crown.

By the time Marcus Logan was twenty-nine, he was one of the most talked about men in the whole of

Great Britain.

He had amassed an enormous fortune that did not seem of particular interest to him, but he had

travelled to a great number of places in the world that no one had expected would produce fine gems.

Yet with ‘Logan’s magic touch’ they poured out a profusion of them.

D’Arcy Rowland spoke now of some of his achievements which actually Belinda knew already. She had,

like millions of other people, found the story of Lucky Logan’s discoveries very exciting. Although it might

be a year or more before he was expected to reappear, the newspapers were always waiting for him.

LOGAN’S BACK would be the headline in every newspaper.

D’Arcy Rowland stopped enumerating Logan’s varied successes and Belinda knew that he was at last

coming to the point of the story.

She could not imagine what it would be.

Yet she was listening and at the same time praying with all her heart that there was some way she could

save her home.

“Nobody knows,” D’Arcy Rowland began, “when Logan goes off on one of his explorations or where he

is going, but I have found out from a friend of mine who is on the Stock Exchange more or less what

happens.”

He glanced at Belinda and saw that she was listening and carried on slowly,

“First of all, either somebody informs him or he guesses, where the gems are likely to be found. He does

not go himself, but sends out people he can trust and who have worked for him for some time to look at the

land and to buy where he wishes to investigate.”

“Buy?” Belinda asked, thinking it sounded very expensive.

“I know what you are thinking,” her stepfather replied. “What Logan is seeking is to be found mainly on

rocky and mountainous land which cannot be cultivated.”

Belinda nodded, thinking that sounded reasonable.

“They buy for him,” D’Arcy Rowland continued, “any number of acres and of course very cheaply. I

guess that his agents say it is for rearing goats or for cutting down trees for timber. Anyway, no one has the

slightest idea what is finally intended.”

Belinda thought it strange, but she did not interrupt.

“Then when Logan goes out himself,” D’Arcy Rowland said, “it is his amazing perception which tells

him after only a perfunctory inspection whether he is on the right track.”

He smiled,

“In fact, the rumour is that sometimes there is hardly any searching or digging. He just knows where the

right place is, then he leaves two or three men to look after his property and comes back to civilisation.”

“I don’t – understand,” Belinda complained.

“I am coming to the explanation,” her stepfather answered. “What Logan does then is to go to a finance

house which is to be trusted with the exploitation of his new discovery.”

He paused a moment,

“Sometimes it is in the country where he has bought his new property. Sometimes he comes to the City

of London. Then he floats a Company in which he takes sixty percent of the shares.”

Belinda gave an exclamation.

Now the story was beginning to seem clearer.

“The moment the formation of the Company is made public, because of Logan’s fantastic reputation,

the other forty percent sell like lightning – in fact, it is almost impossible to ‘get in at the bottom’.”

Belinda drew in her breath.

“And that is what – you want to do – Step-Papa?”

“Of course I do!” D’Arcy Rowland replied sharply. “If I can find out the name of the place where he has

discovered what he is searching for, then all I have to do is to telegraph Stock Brokers in the country where it

is situated or alternatively buy up every share I can at the London Stock Exchange.”

Belinda looked at her stepfather before she asked quietly,

“What – with?”

“It is intelligent of you to ask that question, Belinda. Of course you will understand that I will have to

share my discovery with somebody who can put up the money. Even so, if I can obtain the information I

want, I can become a rich man overnight!”

It all sounded to Belinda rather frightening.

“I am told on the best authority,” D’Arcy Rowland said, “that Logan is now on his way home from

abroad and should be in England in the next week or so.”

“And that will help you?”

“The only person who can do that is you, my dear,” D’Arcy Rowland replied.

Belinda’s eyes opened wide.

“I? But – how?”

“Let me explain,” her stepfather replied. “In 1823 gold was discovered or produced for the first time in

Russia. It has been contributing significantly to the world supplies since then.”

He stopped a moment thoughtfully.

“In fact, if it were not for the difficulty of communicating with the Russians, we should know a great

deal more about the mineral resources of that country than we do now.”

“Do you think,” Belinda said, “that Mr. Logan has been looking for – diamonds in Russia?”

“I think he has been looking for gold,” her stepfather corrected her. “That would be a new departure for

him and yet, who is likely to be more successful in finding it than he?”

“I suppose it is quite possible that he could be as successful with gold as he has been with diamonds,”

Belinda commented.

She still could not think how this affected her until her stepfather said,

“That is what you have to find out and I want to know it before his discovery is made public by the City

financiers.”

Belinda stared at her stepfather.

“How can I – possibly find out – anything like that? I don’t even know – Mr. Logan.”

“That is immaterial,” D’Arcy Rowland replied. “And actually he is Lord Logan. He inherited the title

when his father died two years ago.”

He gave a deep sigh.

“As I have said, this is my only chance – otherwise, rather than submit to what lies ahead of me, I will

put a bullet through my brain.”

“No – no – Step-Papa! How can you say such a – thing?” Belinda cried. “And you have not – told me

how I can do what you want.”

She knew her stepfather made an effort to speak to her in the same beguiling tone as he had used before.

“I was in Whites,” he said, “in the depths of despair, thinking it was a place I would never be able to go to

in the future.”

He smiled at her before continuing,

“Then one of the members I was having a drink with said, not to me, but to the man next to him,

‘You don’t happen to know of anybody, old boy, man or woman, who speaks a number of languages,

do you?’

The man’s friend laughed before he answered,

‘No, I am afraid not. But why would you want anyone like that?’

‘It is not for me, the first man replied, ‘but for Lady Logan.’

‘Lady Logan!’ his friend exclaimed. ‘You don’t mean Lucky Logan’s wife? I did not know he had one.’

‘No, he is a bachelor,’ was the answer. ‘It is Marcus Logan’s mother who is getting old and wants a

reader’.”

“He drank some wine before he carried on,

‘When her son comes back from abroad, he brings her all sorts of treasures from the places where he has

been looking for diamonds. But her eyesight is now so bad that she can no longer read the ancient

manuscripts he brings her or the books that describe the religions and the people he has been associating

with.’

‘Oh, I see,’ the man who had asked the question replied. ‘Well, I am afraid I cannot help you, but there

must be somebody in the Club who can do so.’

They looked at me,” D’Arcy Rowland went on, “and I laughed.”

“‘I expect,’ I said, ‘she will have to go and get some old crony out of the British Museum to help her. My

languages are few and far between’.”

He did not tell Belinda that his friend had suggested somewhat pointedly that he knew, at any rate, one

language well and that was the language of love.

“What I did discover,” D’Arcy Rowland went on, “was where Lady Logan lived. I sent her a letter which

purported to come from a young woman who said she had heard what was required and was proficient in a

great number of languages.”

Belinda was still.

“Are you saying, Step-Papa, that – this is what you are – asking me to do?”

“I am not asking you,” D’Arcy Rowland replied, “I am begging you on my knees to go and see Lady

Logan and ask her to employ you as her reader.”

“You mean – she replied – to your – letter?”

“I sent it with a messenger who waited for an answer. Lady Logan replied she would be delighted to see

the person who had written to her as soon as it was convenient.”

“So that is why you have come home.”

“Exactly!” her stepfather agreed. “Before I left London I made an appointment for Miss Belinda Brown

to call on Lady Logan tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock.”

“Brown ?”Belinda questioned.

“Of course you must not go under your own name,” her stepfather replied, “and Brown was the first one

which came into my mind.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Belinda said in bewilderment. “What am I supposed to do besides translate the

manuscripts and books aloud to her?”

“What you have to do is quite simple. You have to find out where Logan has been and if, which it will

be, his search for gold has been successful.”

“But you are not – sure that he has been – searching for gold!”

“That is so. So that you have to also find out. If, as I suspect, it is in Russia, we can make a fortune before

the shares of his new discovery go on the market and then all our troubles will all be over!”

Belinda just stared at him.

“How can I – possibly find out – anything like that?”

“You have to find it out the moment he arrives,” her stepfather told her sharply. “If he says he has been

to Russia, all you have to do is to discover the name of the place he has come from, then communicate it

immediately to me. Then, when the story breaks and I can make a fortune before Logan himself does, you

can come straight home.”

There was silence.

Then Belinda said,

“What you are – asking me to do is to be – a spy! Of course I could not do such a – thing! Papa would be

– horrified!”

D’Arcy Rowland sat up straight.

“I should have thought, although I may be mistaken, that your father would be far more horrified at the

idea of your begging the cottagers in the village to give you something to eat while I fester in some filthy

prison. Is that what you really want?”

Belinda gave a little cry of horror.

“Of – course not!”

“There is no alternative,” her stepfather said. “If you fail – well, at least we have tried to save the sinking

ship.”

He paused before he went on,

“If you succeed, then I can only swear to you on everything I hold sacred – which is your mother – that I

will never get myself into this sort of situation again.”

Belinda did not answer.

After a moment D’Arcy Rowland got up and walked across the room to the window.

He stood as he had before, looking out into the garden and he was silhouetted against the sunshine.

Belinda looked at his broad shoulders, dark hair and narrow hips tapering down to his long legs. She

knew without his saying so that he would rather die than go to prison.

Then it was as if she could see her mother’s face looking pleadingly at her.

She thought that there were tears in her beautiful grey eyes.

She had loved D’Arcy Rowland, loved him in a different way from how she had loved her first husband.

D’Arcy had made her happy – so happy that her laughter had filled the house.

One could feel the vibrations of love the moment one came in through the front door.

‘I have to save him,’ Belinda decided and she was not thinking of herself.

“Very well, Step-Papa,” she said, “I will do as you suggest, but if I make a mess of it, you will know that I

have tried.”

D’Arcy Rowland turned round.

“You will? You will really do it?” he asked.

Belinda knew from the way he spoke that he had been doubtful.

Yet, could any woman, she wondered, refuse D’Arcy Rowland anything he asked?

He sat down on the sofa, where he had been sitting before and in a very different tone of voice from

what he had used previously, he suggested,

“Now we have to make plans and I have a feeling that everything is going to be all right.”

“But what are we to do in the meantime about the – servants and the – bills?” Belinda stammered.

“I was thinking about that while I was coming here,” D’Arcy Rowland replied. “I was wondering if there

is not something in the house that was not included in the inventory which your father had made when he

left the house and its contents to you.”

“But – you said it is mortgaged to – the bank.”

“I know,” he replied, “but I am sure we can find something. Or perhaps it would not be noticed if we

pawned something, which can, of course, be redeemed the moment you give me the information I need.”

As he spoke, he did not look at her directly and Belinda knew that was what had happened to the

George III silver wine cooler.

He had doubtless taken other objects of which she was so far not yet aware.

She felt as if she was sinking deeper and deeper into a muddy pool.

But it was no use now to speak of principles or honesty.

“I am – sure you can find – something,” she said.

At the same time she felt ashamed.

Chapter Three

Belinda and her stepfather had a quiet and rather dismal luncheon.

Mrs. Bates was in a flutter because she had not expected Captain Rowland to come home.

Belinda felt that to eat anything at all would choke her.

She was wondering all the time if she could find something anywhere in the house that her stepfather

could pawn.

She knew that Bates was hoping for an opportunity to ask him for the wages he was owed.

She was aware that her stepfather was thinking, as she was, if there was anything valuable that would

not be claimed by the bank.

When they left the dining room, they walked into the drawing room before D’Arcy Rowland said

sharply,

“We might as well make a tour of the house. I have had a copy made of the inventory that I gave to the

bank. Anything that is not on it is, of course, ours.”

Belinda knew that when her father had had the inventory made it had been a very comprehensive one.

She could not remember anything of value that she or her mother had bought since his death. What was

more, as her mother had been away so much after her marriage to D’Arcy Rowland, it had never entered her

mind to buy anything new.

In any case she had always thought her home was perfect and complete.

Now, helplessly, she looked at her stepfather and asked,

“Where shall we start?”

He had taken the inventory from the table where he had left it when they went into luncheon. He was

turning its pages with a grim expression on his face.

It was then that Belinda asked with some trepidation,

“What did you – buy with the – money you obtained from Mama’s jewellery?”

She thought that perhaps her stepfather would be angry at the question.

Yet somehow she felt she had to know.

She could not bear to think that the jewels her mother had worn and had been so fond of had been

spent on one of her stepfather’s fast friends.

“I will tell you exactly what I did with it,” her stepfather replied in a hard voice. “A man who, I know, has

made a great fortune for himself, told me that he had heard of a gold mine in Arizona. It was scheduled to

produce enormous quantities of gold. He told me its prospects were fantastic and, because he has been so

successful in the past, I believed him.”

Belinda, listening, knew without his telling her what the outcome of this venture had been.

“I put all the money from your mother’s jewels into this gold mine,” D’Arcy Rowland said angrily.

“Then three weeks ago, I was told that the mine was not producing what they expected and they intended to

abandon the whole project.”

Belinda gave a little cry.

“How could – you have been so mistaken in the – first place?”

“That is exactly what I asked myself,” he replied. “I have lost every penny and there is nothing I can do

about it.”

For a moment Belinda felt sorry for him.

Then she told herself it was very wrong of him to gamble everything in such a reckless manner.

D’Arcy Rowland turned over some more pages of the inventory.

Then he said,

“There is nothing left in the safe worth tuppence. I have already pawned everything that was valuable.”

Belinda did not reply.

She only felt helplessly that things were even worse than she had anticipated.

Suddenly her stepfather gave an exclamation,

“I have just remembered,” he said, “that when I took your mother’s jewellery from the safe I found

nothing there belonging to your father!”

Belinda looked at him in surprise as he went on,

“He must have had a gold watch and of course some cufflinks! Where are they?”

“I-I suppose,” Belinda said slowly, “they will be upstairs in the room to which they were moved when

you – married Mama.”

D’Arcy Rowland shut the inventory.

“Then we will go and have a look at them.”

Belinda wanted to protest.

She felt it was wrong to allow her stepfather to search through her father’s personal possessions for what

he could sell off.

Then she told herself sensibly that nothing could be worse than what had happened already.

“I will get the key,” she volunteered.

She knew her mother had put it in a drawer of her desk that stood in the morning room.

She went there and, as she touched the desk, she thought of her mother and wondered if she was aware

of the terrible predicament he was now in.

“Help us, Mama!” she prayed. “You will understand better than anyone how ghastly– everything is.”

She opened the drawer and found the key to the room to which her father’s clothes and personal

possessions had been moved.

She walked back into the hall.

She found her stepfather was waiting expectantly and he started up the stairs without saying anything.

The room in question was at the end of the corridor past the main bedrooms.

It was a small single room that in the past had been slept in only when they were very overcrowded at

Christmastime.

Belinda unlocked the door and went in.

She crossed to the windows, pulled back the curtains and raised the blinds.

It was a pleasant room, if small and she saw that her father’s hats were all laid out on the bed.

She knew his suits would be hanging in the wardrobe, his shirts and other garments placed in the chest

of drawers.

D’Arcy Rowland walked to the dressing table. He pulled open one of the small drawers and gave an

exclamation.

“Just as I thought! Your father’s gold watch! This should be worth a fair amount!”

As he spoke, he drew from the drawer the gold watch and chain that Sir Richard had always worn.

It gave Belinda a sharp pain to see it grasped in her stepfather’s hands.

But she knew there was no use in protesting and saying it was something she would like to keep.

D’Arcy Rowland put the watch down on the dressing table.

He started to open the other boxes the drawer contained.

There were several pairs of gold cufflinks and a set of elaborate and obviously expensive waistcoat

buttons.

He regarded the two pearl studs with satisfaction.

“Well, it is better than nothing!” he remarked.

“At least it will give us the money to pay the servants,” Belinda said quickly.

Her stepfather hesitated.

She knew that he was thinking that his need was greater than theirs.

Then, almost as if her father told her what to do, she opened another small drawer on the other side of

the dressing table.

In it was her father’s notecase. He had always carried it in the inside pocket of his coat.

She opened it and gave an exclamation.

There were three notes in it, two of ten pounds and one of five.

Without speaking she showed her stepfather what she had found.

“Twenty-five quid!” he exclaimed. “Well, thank God, at least we will not starve!”

Belinda put the notes down on the table and looked further into the drawer.

She remembered that her father before he undressed always took the loose change out of his pockets and

put it into one of the drawers.

She looked and, as she expected, there were three sovereigns and several florins behind the notecase.

These too she placed on the dressing table, saying,

“I insist, before we do anything else, that we pay the shopkeepers in the village what we owe, and give

Bates and Mrs. Bates their wages.”

She thought her stepfather was going to refuse and continued,

“I know that is what Mama would want us to do. What happens in London is your business, but the

local shopkeepers cannot afford to give credit and we cannot deprive the Bateses when they have been with

us for so many years.”

Expecting an argument, she was surprised when her stepfather replied,

“You are quite right, Belinda. After all, it is your father’s money and you must do with it as you think

best. But if I could have the watch and the cufflinks, I can ‘keep the wolves at bay’ until you find out what I

want to know about Logan.”

Belinda could not help thinking that it was a rather forlorn hope.

However, she was relieved that she had not to fight him over the money for the village shops and the

servants.

She picked up the notecase and the loose change from in the drawer.

He was looking avidly round the room.

It was then he noticed that in one corner was a stand with a collection of walking canes in it. Belinda’s

father had bought them in various parts of the world when he had travelled before he had married.

There was only one amongst them that he used ordinarily.

D’Arcy Rowland walked across the room to examine them.

“These are interesting,” he remarked, “and should certainly fetch a tidy sum from a collector.”

“Then take them with you to London,” Belinda suggested.

Even as she spoke, she knew that she could not bear to discuss her father’s belongings with him any

further.

Carrying the money in her hand, she went from the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Mrs. Bates was washing up and Bates, in his shirtsleeves, was drying the dishes as she handed them to

him.

They looked up in surprise as Belinda entered.

“I have brought you your wages,” she said, “and my stepfather apologises for having kept you waiting for

so long and I think there is enough here to pay what we owe Mr. Knight and Mr. Geary.”

As she spoke, she put the money she was carrying down on the kitchen table.

She was aware as she did so that the Bateses were looking at it with delight.

“I’m sure that’ll be enough, Miss Belinda,” Bates said. “The shops in the village’ll be pleased to have their

bills paid.”

“Perhaps you would be kind enough,” Belinda said, “when you have finished helping Mrs. Bates, to pop

down to the village and settle our accounts right away.”

Belinda was thinking that the sooner the money was out of the house the better.

“And glad they’ll be to have it, Miss Belinda,” Mrs. Bates said. “Things be bad enough these days without

having bad debts!”

Belinda did not answer.

She merely returned to the hall to find her stepfather was coming down the stairs, carrying her father’s

canes.

He put them down on a chair so that it would be easy to transfer them to the chaise in which he had

arrived.

Belinda wondered if he had any money to pay the groom who had accompanied him. He was a lad from

the village and had gone home after he had stabled the horses.

She hoped the boy did not know anything about her stepfather’s financial troubles and it would be a

mistake, she knew, for their situation to be gossiped about in the village.

Her stepfather walked into the drawing room and Belinda followed him.

“What we must do,” he said, “is to leave early tomorrow morning so that you can call on Lady Logan

either just before luncheon or immediately afterwards.”

He gave a somewhat twisted smile before he added,

“Perhaps before would be better. She might invite you to a meal which at least would not cost you

anything!”

“Do you – think,” Belinda asked in a small voice, “that if she accepts me as her reader I will be able to

start with her – straight away? Or will I be coming back – here?”

“I said in my letter that you were available immediately,” D’Arcy Rowland replied. “Therefore it is up to

you to make it clear that when you came to London you brought all your luggage with you and left it with a

friend.”

“At what time are we leaving?” Belinda asked.

Her stepfather calculated for a moment.

Then he said,

“If we start off soon after eight o’clock, I can get you to Regent’s Park at noon.”

“Regent’s Park?” Belinda repeated. “Is that where Lady Logan lives?”

“Her son has bought her one of the most attractive houses in London,” her stepfather replied. “There are

only six houses built in the centre of the Park and Lady Logan lives in one of them.”

Belinda was not particularly interested.

All she was thinking of was that if she had to leave for London so early, she must go upstairs now and

pack, besides which, she also wanted to be alone.

There was not only the shock of learning about her stepfather’s terrible predicament, but also the

distress it had caused her to see her father’s personal items interfered with.

Just as she had never gone back into her mother’s room because she knew it would upset her, so she had

avoided the place where her father’s belongings had been kept.

She knew if she saw them she would only cry and her father would tell her she was making herself

unnecessarily miserable.

Now the whole horror of all that her stepfather had done swept over her.

She felt she could no longer go on talking to him.

“I-I must go and – p-pack,” she said in a strangled voice and ran from the room.

Upstairs in her bedroom she locked the door, threw herself down on her bed and wept bitterly.

She had not cried since her mother’s death. Instead, she had summoned up a self-control of which she

was sure her father would have been proud.

She had tried to believe that her mother was not dead, but near her.

Now she felt as if she had been abandoned by both her mother and her father.

However hard she tried, she would lose her home and her stepfather would go to prison.

‘How can – this have – happened? How – can it?’ she asked herself despairingly.

It was then her whole body shook with a terror that made it impossible to think and she could only feel

as if she had reached the end of the world.

Finally, when she could cry no more, her brain began to think more clearly.

She thought that her stepfather’s plan was such a wild one that it was unlikely to come off and she told

herself that she would have to find some other way of saving both her home and herself.

What it would be she had no idea.

Yet she knew her father would expect her to explore all likely possibilities before giving up and

accepting the inevitable.

She remembered how he had told her once that he had lost his way.

It was in a remote part of a country where the natives were hostile. He had three bearers with him,

carrying his luggage, who were so terrified that they wanted to run away.

“It must have been very frightening, Papa,” Belinda had said.

“I admit it was a very uncomfortable situation to be in,” her father had replied, “but I knew I had to keep

my head and not let the men with me be aware that I was worried. It was, I am sure, the prayers I sent up to

the Power that is always there, if we seek it, that saved me.”

“Do you mean, Papa,” Belinda asked, who was quite young at the time, “that you think God, when you

prayed to Him, told you what to do?”

“I am sure of it!” her father answered. “It was a question of which way to go, right or left. I learnt later

that had I taken the wrong path, we would not only have lost our lives, but also our heads, for the natives

there were head-hunters!”

“Oh, Papa – how frightening!” Belinda had exclaimed.

“I lived to tell the tale,” her father said, “and I am telling you the story, my dearest, so that you will

remember that however difficult things may seem, you must never give up.”

Belinda remembered his words so clearly.

She felt now as if he was telling her again so that she would know she was not alone and the Power

above that he believed in was there to help her.

She lay back against the pillows.

She felt as if her tears and what her father had said had swept away her terror of the future.

‘Perhaps something will turn up,’ she told herself, ‘and if ‘Lucky Logan’ can use his intuition, so can I!’

She climbed out of bed, washed her face and started to pack.

Because she was afraid she might never be able to come back to the house, she packed nearly everything

she possessed.

Then she looked at her books. They were on shelves which had all been specially made for them in a

corner of the room.

They were mostly books and manuscripts her father had written himself. Some had been published,

some he had intended to polish up for publication, but had never got round to it.

It was impossible for Belinda to take them all with her.

‘I am sure I can claim them as personal presents,’ she thought.

But she was not certain if that would be legal. Finally she packed three of the ones she loved best.

Then, for the first time since her mother had died, she went to her bedroom.

Lady Wyncombe’s gowns were still hanging up in the wardrobe room that opened out of the bedroom.

They were as she had left them.

Just as Belinda would not go back into her mother’s room after her death, so she knew that her

stepfather had never opened the door.

He slept in what had been the best spare room and it was at the opposite end of the corridor from the

room he had shared with his wife.

Without waiting for orders, Bates had moved his clothes into the dressing room attached to that

bedroom.

Now Belinda could smell the fragrance of her mother’s favourite perfume, which was lilies of the valley.

It brought her back so vividly that Belinda wanted to cry again.

She could not bear to think of her mother’s gowns being handled by strangers or perhaps sold by the

bank to the villagers or whoever cared to bid for them.

There were the trunks in the wardrobe room that her mother had brought back from Paris after her

honeymoon.

Belinda packed everything into them and there were not only her mother’s clothes.

There were her brushes, combs, bottles half-filled with perfume and a great number of trinkets. There

were small presents that Belinda and her father had given to her at Christmas and on her birthdays.

She had treasured everything she had received from them ever since her marriage.

There was so much to pack that, when Belinda had finished, she felt exhausted.

She told herself that they at any rate had not been in the inventory.

They belonged to her and if she was left with nothing else, then at least she could wear her mother’s

clothes.

She would feel that her mother was with her even if she were living in an attic.

She closed the cupboard doors.

Then, having strapped down and locked the trunks, she went downstairs.

Her stepfather was in the drawing room and the inventory which he had obviously been reading again

was on the table beside him.

“Hello, Belinda! Where have you been?” he asked.

“I have been packing up Mama’s clothes, because whatever else you may have pledged to the bank, those

are mine!”

Belinda spoke defiantly.

Her stepfather, without looking at her, merely responded,

“Yes, of course. They are obviously not part of the inventory your father had made.”

As if he had suddenly thought of something, he asked,

“What about furs? Your mother had some fine furs when I married her and I bought her some sables in

Paris.”

“Those are also mine!” Belinda replied firmly.

In case her stepfather argued, she added quickly,

“How could we ever allow anybody else to wear Mama’s things in which she looked so lovely?”

Her stepfather rose from the chair.

There was a sudden crash and Belinda knew that he had thrown his empty champagne glass into the

fireplace.

Then he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

She realised as he went that he was not angry with her.

He was railing against Fate for taking the one woman he had ever really loved away from him.

Belinda gave a deep sigh.

‘I am sorry if I hurt him, Mama,’ she said in her heart, ‘but he should not have placed us in this dreadful

position!’

Even as she thought about it, she looked round the room that her mother had made so pretty.

It was a room she had loved ever since she had been a child.

Then she went to the window and looked out into the garden.

It seemed impossible with the sun sinking a little lower in the sky that so much beauty was no longer

hers.

She felt as if she knew every flower that bloomed in the garden, every blade of grass on the green lawns.

The birds were going home to roost in the trees. She had listened to them ever since she was born.

‘It is mine! My home!’ she told herself defiantly

Once again, because she was tilting at a windmill, she felt like bursting into tears.

Then, as if her father was beside her, she knew that if she was to save her home and her stepfather, she

had to be intelligent about it.

She had to fight, and crying was only a sign of defeat.

“I must – save it! I – must!” she murmured aloud

As she said the words, a bird flew across the garden just ahead of her.

It swooped upwards, silhouetted for a moment against the sun.

She felt it was an omen, an omen that told her that, however dark things might seem, if she looked up,

there was light.

“I will fight – and I will –win!” Belinda shouted out aloud.

She turned from the window and walking from the room, went in search of her stepfather.

She felt that she had to comfort and support him. It was what her mother would want.

She thought, too, that she must give him some of the strength that she herself had just drawn from her

father.

“Never give up!”

The words seemed to be ringing in her ears as she walked across the hall.

Chapter Four

Belinda put on the jacket that went with her gown and a small hat that would not blow away in the wind.

She came downstairs and saw that outside was the chaise with the two horses her stepfather had taken to

London.

Bates had brought her luggage down and strapped it on the back.

George, the groom, grinned at her when she appeared, and she said,

“Good morning, George. How are you? I expect your family was pleased to see you.”

“That they was, Miss Belinda,” George replied. “And ’twere nice to be ’ome.”

Belinda climbed into the chaise and D’Arcy Rowland picked up the reins.

George, who had been holding the horses, jumped up on the small seat behind and they drove away.

Belinda had not said anything to Mrs. Bates or to Bates about coming back.

She felt that, if she admitted she was to be away for a long time, she would burst into tears.

As they drove down the drive, it was with difficulty that she prevented herself from looking back and

saying goodbye to the house she loved.

She had the awful feeling that she was stepping from the past into the future and she had no idea what

was waiting for her there.

As they drove through the gates, she had a sudden thought and said to her stepfather in a whisper,

“Are these horses still ours?”

He shook his head.

“I sold them three weeks ago to a friend of mine who kindly lent them to me so that I could bring you

back to London.”

Belinda did not reply.

There was nothing she could say.

She only thought that the bottom had fallen out of her world and she was falling with it.

Almost as if she had asked the question, her stepfather added,

“I persuaded my friend to engage George, as I could no longer afford to pay him. He is a good lad and

excellent with horses.”

Belinda knew that this was true.

She thought that perhaps it was a good thing that there was only Rufus and one other old horse left in

the stables. Bates could easily manage them, but if there were more, he would have to ask for more help.

They drove on in silence.

Belinda tried to enjoy the beauty of the countryside and the hedgerows in blossom. There were lambs in

the fields and the birds were building their nests.

She had the terrifying feeling that in going away from her home and everything that was familiar to her,

she would never be able to return.

They drove on and on.

She knew her stepfather was determined to take her to London quickly.

He was eager for her to start spying on Marcus Logan.

She tried not to think of how degrading it was for her father’s daughter to stoop to doing something of

which he would violently disapprove.

There was, however, no alternative.

As she had thought yesterday, she was sure that her stepfather had been truthful when he said he would

not face prison and that he would rather die.

They reached the outskirts of London and now the horses were beginning to tire.

For the first time, Belinda thought of her appearance and asked,

“Will I be able to tidy myself before I visit Lady Logan?”

“Of course,” D’Arcy Rowland answered. “I have thought of that.”

He did not explain.

About a mile farther on he turned in through some gates that belonged to a house that stood back from

the road.

“A friend of mine lives here,” he explained, “and I asked her permission for you to tidy yourself up and

have a cup of coffee before we proceed any further.”

Belinda was glad.

But when the horses pulled up at the front door, she was surprised by the sight of the servant who was

waiting to receive them.

He was dressed in the most fantastic livery she had ever seen.

He seemed also, she thought, to be on very familiar terms with her stepfather.

“Nice to see you, Cap’n,” he said. “The Mistress were a-wonderin’ where you be when you turns up like a

bad penny!”

D’Arcy Rowland gave a short laugh, but did not reply.

The servant walked across the hall to open a door on one side of it.

“’Ere be ’is Nibs’!” he announced cheerfully. “Now you can stop worryin’ as to what’s become of ’im!”

D’Arcy Rowland walked into the room ahead of his stepdaughter.

A woman was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace and Belinda stared at her in astonishment.

Although it was late in the morning, she was still wearing a garment that was elaborate but quite

obviously a dressing gown.

As she moved, Belinda saw that she was still wearing a nightgown beneath it. Her face was painted and

her long eyelashes were mascaraed and her red hair was caught back in a bow at the nape of her neck.

She gave a cry of delight as soon as they entered the room.

Jumping to her feet, she ran towards D’Arcy Rowland.

“How can you have neglected me for so long?” she complained. “Until your message came saying you

would call here this morning, I thought you must have died!”

“I very nearly have,” D’Arcy replied.

As he spoke, he put his arm around the woman and kissed her cheek.

She touched his face affectionately with her hand.

“Well, you’re here now,” she said, “and – who is this?”

There was a suspicious query in her voice as she looked at Belinda.

“This is my stepdaughter about whom I told you in my note,” D’Arcy Rowland replied.

“Stepdaughter?” the woman queried. “She looks suspiciously pretty to be that sort of relation to you!”

“Nevertheless, it happens to be true,” D’Arcy Rowland answered. “Let me introduce you. Belinda – this

is a very famous and glamorous lady who entrances large audiences at the Drury Lane Theatre every night.”

He paused a moment before he added,

“One day I must take you to see her. Her name is Madame Yvonne to you as well as to everybody else in

London.”

Madame Yvonne laughed.

“If your stepdaughter can sit in the stalls, then why have you not been to see me? I couldn’t believe you

would disappear like that!”

“It’s a long story,” D’Arcy Rowland replied, “and what I would like to suggest, Yvonne, is that Belinda

goes upstairs and washes away the dust while you give me a glass of champagne.”

“It’s waiting for you, you naughty boy!”Madame Yvonne said. “And Jim’ll take that pretty creature up to

Lottie.”

She glanced across the room as she spoke.

It was then that Belinda realised that the servant in his flamboyant livery was still standing by the door.

It was obvious he had been listening to every word of the conversation.

“I’ll look after the young lady,” he promised.

Belinda realised that neither her stepfather nor Madame Yvonne were paying her any further attention.

She joined Jim at the door.

They walked out into the hall and he led her to the foot of the stairs.

“I’d no idea ’is Nibs ’as a stepdaughter,” he said conversationally. “I suspect ’e keeps quiet about it, as it’d

make ’im seem old to ’ave one!”

Belinda did not know how she should reply to this.

Jim was moving quickly up the stairs and she followed behind him and when they reached the landing,

he shouted at the top of his voice,

“Lottie! Where are you, Lottie?”

For a moment there was no reply and he moved farther along the corridor.

Then out through a door came a maid elegantly dressed and wearing a muslin cap trimmed with lace.

She wore a gown which fitted her so tightly that it showed off the curves of her breasts and over it there

was a saucy little apron, also trimmed, like her cap, with lace.

“What d’you want?” she demanded.

Then, when she saw Belinda, she obviously prevented herself from saying anything further.

“We’ve got a visitor,” Jim said, “and the young lady’d like to clean ’erself up. I suppose you’d look after

’er.”

“’Course I will,” Lottie agreed. “Come this way, miss. I’ve just finished tidyin’ up the room.”

She went back through the door from which she had emerged.

Belinda followed her and suppressed a gasp of astonishment.

Never had she imagined that any room could look so fantastic.

It was as if it were part of a stage set rather than a real bedroom.

There was a huge bed draped with pink silk and white muslin curtains, all of which were decorated with

frills, ribbon and bows and there were also bunches of silk roses.

The bed cover matched them and again there were the bows, ribbons, and flowers.

The initial ‘Y’ in the centre sparkled with diamante.

The candelabra beside the bed were supported by gold cupids and they had diamante glittering on their

heads and on their loincloths.

The mirror on the dressing table was surmounted with cupids holding wreaths of flowers and most of

the furniture in the room was of carved wood brilliantly gilded.

Besides this there was a profusion of flowers. Some were in vases, others were in baskets on the floor.

As she looked at them, Belinda realised that there had also been an enormous amount of flowers in the

room downstairs. She had, however, been too overcome by the appearance of Madame Yvonne to notice

them at first.

Now she looked round the room, thinking that her hostess must have copied it straight from a scene at

the Drury Lane Theatre.

Lottie followed the direction of her eyes.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” she remarked. “And a nice job I’ve got keepin’ it clean and tidy wiv gentlemen comin’

in at all hours of the night, an’ not wantin’ to move out in the mornin’!”

For a moment Belinda wanted to question what she was saying.

Then she blushed and said quickly,

“Please may I wash my hands?”

“Course you can, miss, and we’re very up to date. Like the Frenchies, it’s all out of sight.”

She opened a door as she spoke.

Belinda saw there was a washstand on which there was a very pretty china basin and ewer and there was

also a profusion of bottles of every sort and description.

She guessed that most of these contained perfume, others doubtless held what Madame Yvonne used

on her face.

Lottie poured out some water that was still warm from a brass can into the basin.

Then she found a clean face flannel and Belinda took off her hat and washed her face and hands.

It had been very dusty on the roads and without asking, Lottie brushed down her clothes as well as her

hat.

“Thank you,” Belinda said, “and would it be possible for me to have a glass of water to drink?”

“’Course!” Lottie answered, pouring some out from an elaborate crystal jug. “And there’s coffee for you

downstairs, or p’raps you’d rather ’ave champagne?”

“Thank you,” Belinda replied, “but I would rather have coffee.”

She went back into the bedroom and put on her hat again.

She was thinking as she did so that she had never seen so many things on a dressing table before. There

were not only more bottles of scent, but trinkets of every sort and description.

There was also a stack of newspaper cuttings.

She thought they must be reviews of Madame Yvonne’s performances in the theatre, but she

recognised, however, that it would be a mistake to ask questions.

Only when she had tidied herself did she say to Lottie, who was moving about the bedroom,

“I think I had better go downstairs now. I have an appointment to keep and I must not be late.”

“I ’opes ’e’s tall, dark, and ’andsome,” Lottie remarked cheekily.

For a moment Belinda did not understand what she insinuated.

Then she replied quickly,

“It is a business appointment.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lottie said. “We all ’as them! With looks like yours, you should be ’avin’ a bit of fun.”

She opened the door before she added,

“You never wants to miss a chance, miss, and they don’t always turn up just when we wants ’em.”

Belinda walked out into the corridor.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” she mumbled and hurried down the stairs.

As she did so, she realised that the carpet over them was a vivid red. It matched the curtains that covered

the windows on either side of the front door.

Madame Yvonne, she thought, certainly liked having everything as brilliant as possible. She knew her

mother would have thought the house was tawdry and vulgar. She was very glad it was not here that she

would have to work as a reader.

She did not want to think about the innuendos Lottie had made.

Jim was waiting for her by the door of the drawing room.

“Feelin’ better now, are you, miss?” he asked. “I’ve brought your coffee as ’is Nibs said, but if you asks

me, a drop of fizzy’d make you feel real better.”

He opened the drawing room door as he spoke. As Belinda entered, she saw her stepfather move quickly

away from Madame Yvonne.

They were standing in front of the fireplace.

She realised that he must have been kissing her and felt for a moment a sense of disgust.

How dare her stepfather kiss a woman like this actress when he was still in mourning for her mother!

Then she remembered how he had told her that he had tried in every way he possibly could to forget her

mother, but had failed.

She supposed, therefore, that Madame Yvonne was one of the failures.

Yet it did not appear so at the moment.

It was, however, with a great effort at composure that she walked across the room to where her

stepfather and Madame Yvonne were standing.

As she reached them, Madame Yvonne sat down on the sofa, saying,

“Wow. Here she is – and looking even prettier than when she arrived. Are you sure, D’Arcy, that you

tell the truth when you say she’s your stepdaughter?”

“Now, would I lie to you?” D’Arcy Rowland asked in his most beguiling voice. “And would I be so

foolish as to bring anyone here who could in any way cause you any displeasure?”

“You’d do anything if it suited you,” Madame Yvonne replied. “But what are you going to do with this

young woman now that you have brought her to London? There is no place for her at the theatre – I can tell

you that!”

“She has no wish to go on the stage,” D’Arcy replied quickly. “She has an appointment with a lady who

requires a reader and Belinda is proficient in your language and many others besides.”

“My language?”Madame Yvonne exclaimed. “We will see about that!”

She turned towards Belinda and spoke with the rapidity characteristic of the French.

She reeled off a dozen questions, asking her where she came from, how old she was and where she was

going.

She was obviously testing her to see whether what D’Arcy Rowland had told her was true or false.

Without any hesitation, Belinda replied just as quickly as Madame Yvonne had spoken.

She spoke in perfect French with an obvious Parisian accent.

It banished the suspicion from Madame Yvonne’s eyes.

When she finished speaking, Madame Yvonne clapped her hands.

“Tres bien, Mademoiselle!” she approved.

She turned to D’Arcy Rowland.

“All right, D’Arcy,” she admitted, “I believe you!”

“And now,” he said with a certain amount of complacency in his voice, “we must leave you. But I will

return once I have dropped Belinda off at her destination.”

“You promise that?”Madame Yvonne asked.

“I promise!” D’Arcy Roland replied. “And thank you for the champagne.”

He lifted Madame’s hand as he spoke and actually kissed it.

Belinda was watching him.

“Déjeuner will be ready when you return,” Madame Yvonne murmured, “but don’t be too long. You

know I have to be at the theatre by six o’clock.”

“I shall be as quick as I can,” D’Arcy promised.

He would have turned away, but Madame Yvonne caught hold of his hand.

“I have missed you, mon cher,” she said in a low voice.

Because she felt embarrassed, Belinda walked away towards the door and, as she reached it, her

stepfather hurried after her to pull it open.

“Come along,” he said sharply. “You must not be late for your appointment.”

They climbed into the chaise and only as they drove off did D’Arcy Rowland say,

“There was nowhere else I could take you. For, as you well know, we cannot afford to book into a

hotel.”

Belinda knew he was trying to apologise and she said quietly,

“It is all right, Step-Papa, I understand.”

“It is something you should not understand!” he growled angrily. “God knows, I do not know which

way to turn and everything I do seems to make things worse!”

“Perhaps it will all come right – in the end.”

Even as Belinda spoke she thought it was a forlorn hope, yet somehow she wanted to comfort him.

Of course everything he had done was wrong. Of course he had behaved abominably.

Yet, at the same time, there was something about his frankness and his despair that despite herself

touched her heart.

‘I ought to hate him for what he has done to me,’ she mused.

She realised, however, that like the dozens of other women he knew, she was reacting to his charm. He

admitted his foolishness and she knew he felt helpless to cope with the situation.

It was not far to Regent’s Park.

As Belinda saw the trees ahead, she was suddenly conscious of the significance of what she was about to

do.

If she failed, she might be signing her stepfather’s death warrant.

She herself, as he had predicted, would have to go to the workhouse or starve.

She felt a sudden panic sweep over her.

‘I cannot do it! I am sure I shall make a mess of it and perhaps things will be worse than they are already,’

she thought desperately.

As if he were aware of what she was thinking, D’Arcy Rowland said,

“I think you are very brave, Belinda, and your father would be proud of you. Most girls would be

screaming and crying because they were afraid, but you are behaving just as I knew you would.”

“I-I wish that were – true, Step-Papa,” Belinda replied in a low voice.

“It is true,” he answered. “I have been watching you and I know that no one and I mean no one would

have behaved as marvellously as you have, since I confessed what an intolerable situation I have landed you

in.”

He gave a deep sigh.

“It is my fault, of course, it is my fault, but I hope one day I will be able to repay you and that is what I

am praying I shall be able to do.”

He was speaking with an undoubted sincerity.

Impulsively Belinda put her hand on his arm.

“I am praying so too, Step-Papa. I know Mama will help us and whatever happens we must not give up

hope.”

As she spoke, her stepfather tooled his horses through some iron gates.

She knew that they had reached the house where Lady Logan lived.

Belinda was well read.

She was therefore aware that when Nash had designed his magnificent Crescent, it was he who had

designated that the Park should be called after the Prince Regent.

She knew, too, that besides the Crescent, which was the finest piece of domestic architecture in London,

Nash had designed six houses in the Park itself.

They had been lived in originally by Government Officials and gradually over the years they had been

sold into private hands and at least three of them rebuilt.

As her stepfather drew up his Chaise beside the front door, she saw a house that certainly bore the

hallmark of Nash himself.

It was surrounded by a garden exquisitely kept and ablaze with colour and there were tall trees on the

green lawns.

It all appeared so perfect and might have come out of a picture rather than being there in reality.

There was a portico over the front door that had been opened by a footman.

He was wearing a very different livery, Belinda noticed, from that worn by Jim.

It was quite plain with knee breeches, silk stockings, a white wig and white gloves.

He helped Belinda out of the chaise.

As she walked into the house she turned back.

Her stepfather had not moved from the driving seat, but was waiting.

She had not really understood when he had said,

“Don’t forget that your name is Brown and you have been working for Lady Selby, who will, if

necessary, provide you with a reference.”

Belinda did not speak and he went on,

“Her Ladyship was kind enough to send you in her chaise which also carried your trunks, so that if you

are engaged you can be ready to move in immediately.”

Belinda had only half-listened to what he was saying.

She had been deep in her thoughts.

Now, as she walked behind the footman across the hall, she felt very small and alone.

She was wondering desperately what she should say when she was interviewed.

A footman opened a door and in a quiet respectful voice, he announced,

“Miss Brown, my Lady.”

The room was very different from the one she had just left and was a traditional drawing room not

unlike her mother’s.

She was instinctively aware that everything in it was valuable and it professed a perfection all its own.

A woman in black was seated at the fireside.

Belinda walked towards her, aware that Lady Logan was small with dead-white hair.

As she reached her, Belinda dropped a curtsy.

“Good morning, Miss Brown,” Lady Logan said in a soft pleasant voice. “It is kind of you to come to see

me so quickly. Please sit down.”

Belinda sat on the edge of a chair next to Lady Logan’s.

She looked at her and realised that Lady Logan must have been beautiful when she was young. Now her

face was lined and her complexion was very pale, as if she were in ill health.

As she waited expectantly, she had the feeling that Lady Logan was finding it hard to see her at all

clearly.

“What I have been looking for,” Lady Logan began, “is somebody who can speak languages that are not

usually taught in schools. You say in your letter that is what you can do.”

“I know quite a number of different languages, my Lady,” Belinda replied, “and I find it easy to learn

new ones very quickly.”

“You look too young to have so much knowledge,” Lady Logan remarked, “but I am sure you have been

told that before and it is always annoying to have people saying so.”

Belinda gave a little laugh because it was so true.

“I would like you now to read me a little from a book that my son gave me which is written in Persian.

Is that one of the languages you are familiar with?”

Persian was one of the languages that her father had taught her and she remembered his showing her a

book he had brought back from Teheran. It had been exquisitely illustrated in the seventeenth century.

Lady Logan handed her the book, and as Belinda took it, she realised it was of the same period.

Gently she turned over the pages one by one.

To her delight, there was a poem that had also been in her father’s book.

He had made her translate it.

It was therefore easy for her to read it slowly in her clear musical voice.

It made every word she spoke sound as romantic as the author had intended.

As she finished, Lady Logan exclaimed,

“That was very clever of you, Miss Brown, but I find it difficult to believe that anybody could translate

from a strange language so easily and so well!”

Belinda chuckled.

“I must be honest, my Lady,” she said, “and admit that I have read that poem before. It was in a book

belonging to my father. But if you wish to test me, I shall read something else with which I am not familiar.”

“I am not going to test you any further,” Lady Logan replied. “I know you are exactly the sort of reader I

am looking for and it will be delightful to have someone young with me.”

She gave Belinda a little smile before she went on,

“I was so afraid I would have to have somebody old and crotchety who would read the books my son

gives me as if it was a duty rather than a delight.”

“If all your books are like this one,” Belinda remarked, “I can assure you it will be an inexpressible

delight for me to read them.”

“Then it is settled,” Lady Logan said with satisfaction. “How soon can you come to me?”

“I can come at once,” Belinda answered. “The carriage that brought me here has my trunks strapped to

it. And if you did not want me, I had really nowhere to go in London.”

“Then of course you must stay here.”

Lady Logan rang a little bell that stood on a table beside her.

Belinda noticed it was not only made of gold but also encrusted with precious stones.

She thought this was another present that her son had brought back from somewhere in the East.

The door opened and an elderly servant appeared.

“Please have Miss Brown’s trunks brought in, Dawson,” Lady Logan ordered. “She is going to stay with

us.”

“That’s very good news, my Lady,” Dawson replied, “and I’ll see to it they’re taken upstairs at once.”

He went from the room and Lady Logan commented,

“My servants are all so good to me. They have been wonderful since my eyesight has deteriorated. They

were hoping, as I was, that I will find somebody as charming as yourself to be my reader.”

Because she was being so kind, Belinda suddenly felt guilty.

She was here under false pretences. She was deceiving this charming old lady by purporting to come as

her reader.

Then she told herself severely that a guilty conscience would not help her situation.

She had come here as a reader and she would play her part as conscientiously as she could.

The problem would arise when Marcus Logan himself appeared, but, because it frightened her, she did

not want to think about it.

She looked towards Lady Logan.

“Please let me have some more of your other books that you have been unable to read,” she suggested.

“Then we can choose the one that we enjoy most before we go through them one by one.”

Lady Logan laughed.

“You are making it a game, Miss Brown, which I shall enjoy. I used to be a great reader, but now I find it

impossible to see the words, even when the print is quite large.”

“That is how I am going to help you, my Lady, and you must not let it worry you. I expect you have

been to the best oculists, but my mother always said that a herb called ‘eyebright’ could sometimes help

people’s eyes in a quite miraculous manner.”

“I have never heard of it,” Lady Logan said, “but you know what doctors are like. When I complain, they

just give me something that makes me feel sleepy and rather stupid.”

“Mama was very good with herbs and we grew them in the garden. She thought that doctors’ medicine

often did more harm than good.”

“I am sure that is true, so you must order me some of this eyebright and I will try it. Even if I cannot see

to read, I might be able to see you more clearly.”

“I feel very sure that eyebright will help you,” Belinda said, “and we must work very hard with your

eyes.”

Lady Logan gave a little chuckle.

“I see I am not only going to have a reader, but also a physician!” she said. “How can you know so much

at your age? I know you are very young, but how old in fact are you?”

Belinda hesitated and then she told the truth.

“I am nearly nineteen, but my father, who was a very clever man, taught me languages almost as soon as

I could talk. We lived in the country and my mother had an herb garden of her own.”

As Belinda spoke, she felt a pang of distress.

Now she had left home, there would be no one to tend the herb garden and the weeds would grow in

abundance and swamp the more delicate of the herbs.

Then she told herself that that was a very small item to worry about.

Unless she was successful in what her stepfather was asking her to do, she would never see her home

again.

Afraid of her thoughts, she picked up the book that Lady Logan had given her.

“I am sure I shall find some more poems in this book and I would like to read you another one.”

“It is something I will look forward to,” Lady Logan said, “and I can tell you right away, Miss Brown,

that I think your voice is charming.”

She gave a little sigh before she added,

“So many young people today have such hard voices, which makes me fear that their characters are very

much the same.”

“Then I hope my character matches my voice,” Belinda replied. “But that, my Lady, is something you

will find out when you get to know me better.”

“Which is what I want to do. And I feel quite certain, my dear, that your character will be just as

beautiful as your voice.”

Belinda opened the book.

She was thanking God in her heart that everything so far had gone so well.

‘I am here,’ she thought, ‘and I know Mama would have liked Lady Logan and is pleased that I am in this

beautiful house.’

She turned over the pages of the book.

She was trying hard not to think of her stepfather going back to Madame Yvonne and her exotic pink

bedroom.

Chapter Five

The house was entrancing everywhere she looked.

Belinda kept wishing that her father could see it and tell her about the pictures, the furniture and the

carpets.

In fact everything.

She was shown into a bedroom that was very attractive.

It was not large, but to her delight it overlooked the garden.

It made her feel somehow that she had not left everything behind her in the country and the flowers, the

birds and the bees were all there with her.

They had luncheon in the beautiful dining room that had been designed by Nash and Lady Logan talked

of the development of Regent’s Park, and, of course, her house.

“I like living in the country best,” she said, “and my son has bought a large estate in Oxfordshire. The

house is lovely, as I know you will think when you see it.”

It flashed through Belinda’s mind that that was something she would never do if she found out quickly

all that her stepfather wanted to know.

“I really had no wish to come to London,” Lady Logan went on, “but it was necessary for me to have

special treatment on one of my legs. Also it means I am here when my son arrives home from his travels.”

“But this is not unlike being in the country, my Lady” Belinda remarked.

“That was what my son thought. He said, ‘Mama, if I cannot give you the broad acres, at least you shall

have the flowers’.”

Lady Logan gave a sigh.

“He is such a wonderful son. I am so very very lucky to have him.”

“I hear he is very clever,” Belinda hazarded.

“So everybody says. He is like his father. I try to understand what he tells me about the places he has

been and that is where you will have to help me.”

“I suppose, as you have a book from Persia,” Belinda enquired, “that he has been there.”

“Yes, that was his last trip and he brought me back some beautiful Persian carpets which are really too

good to put on the floor!”

She paused before she added with a smile,

“He bought me a book that describes why the Persian carpets became so famous and that is something

else I want you to read to me.”

“I shall enjoy that, my Lady,” Belinda answered.

“I find it very strange,” Lady Logan said, “that though so young, you should be good at so many

languages. You say your father taught you, but even so, I was afraid that I was going to have an old Professor

who had retired from University or, even worse, somebody whose real job was in the British Museum.”

Belinda laughed.

“I am glad I am neither of those persons, but it will be exciting for me to translate the books your son

has brought you from so many different places in the world.”

There was silence as they went on eating.

Then Lady Logan said,

“Marcus, as you say, is very clever. Everybody talks about him as being ‘Lucky Logan’, but I cannot help

wishing he would marry and settle down and have a family.”

“I suppose that is what we all want,” Belinda remarked.

“That is true,” Lady Logan agreed. “I want to have grandchildren, but so far Marcus never seems to lose

his heart.”

Belinda had read about men who worked in the City who were despised by the aristocracy as being ‘in

trade’.

It was obvious that Marcus Logan was a gentleman and yet she wondered if her father would have

approved of him.

Lady Logan was still talking about her son and his travels.

“I suppose no one else has seen so many strange places,” she said, “but even as a small boy he was

adventurous. Once he ran away from home for two days and I was frantic!”

‘I am sure he is selfish,’ Belinda thought, ‘as well as everything else.’

Instead of admiring Lord Logan, she began to think he would be conceited, autocratic and money

grabbing.

When Lady Logan paused in her endless praise of him, she asked,

“Why is your son so eager to be rich when he was brought up in luxury?”

Lady Logan looked at her in surprise.

“That is not true. Did no one tell you that because my father-in-law was so extravagant, when my

husband and I were first married we had very little money?”

Belinda was surprised.

“I had always thought from what I had read that you were rich and prosperous.”

Lady Logan laughed.

“My husband was a soldier and although he became a Governor in India, we were always having to

economise because he had so little money of his own.”

Lady Logan was silent, as if she were gazing back into the past.

Then she said,

“I remember how we saved and saved in order to send Marcus to Eton and Oxford. I used to alter my

gowns so that I need not buy new ones. It always amused me when people complimented me on my

‘fashionable gown!’”

Belinda laughed.

“Seeing you in this wonderful house, I can hardly imagine you having to do that, my Lady.”

“Everything you see here is due to Marcus,” his mother answered. “When my husband retired, we had

only a very small house in the country, little more than a cottage.”

“But everything changed when your son discovered a diamond!”

Lady Logan laughed again.

“It was not as quick as all that. We were very excited by his discovery, but I thought perhaps it would be

unlucky to sell it. So we waited until Marcus started his other discoveries when he was at Oxford.”

There was a soft look in her eyes as she added,

“I will show you the brooch which contains the first amethyst he found in Scotland.”

“I would love to see it,” Belinda replied.

“The gems that he found in Austria and were his second discovery were sold to pay for his next trip

which took him to Crete.”

Belinda was just about to ask another question when Lady Logan suggested,

“I will leave Marcus to tell you the stories of his other discoveries when he comes home. As I expect you

know, we have to be very careful about what we say to the world outside, which, for some reason I don’t

really understand, is trying to make money out of him.”

Belinda felt guilty.

She was deliberately trying to uncover information about Marcus Logan from his very gentle and sweet

mother.

‘I hate doing it,’ she reflected.

When Lady Logan went up to rest after luncheon, Belinda walked down the corridor to the library.

“It is where Marcus likes to sit when he is at home,” Lady Logan had explained, “and I am sure, my dear,

you will enjoy seeing the books that are there, many of which he has collected on his travels.”

Belinda opened the door of the library, which was at the far end of the house.

As she walked in, she knew it was exactly as she had expected it to be and she would have been

disappointed if it had been any different.

The room was beautiful in itself.

Long and narrow, it had a finely decorated ceiling from which hung a crystal chandelier.

There was a marble mantelpiece that she was sure had been designed by the Adam brothers. Over it

hung a picture she recognised as being by Holbein.

The other walls were all lined with books.

The sun coming in through the long windows made their leather covers a kaleidoscope of colour. There

were rugs on the polished floor that she thought Marcus Logan must have brought back from Persia.

Arranged around the room were several comfortable armchairs and a sofa.

The books provided the rest of the furnishings, the exception being a beautiful Regency flat-topped

desk with gold feet and elaborate drawer handles.

She looked round, thinking that if nothing else, this room would be a compensation for having to leave

her home.

She went from shelf to shelf, finding, as Lady Logan had said, a great number of books from Oriental

countries.

Some of them looked as if they were so old they had come from Monasteries or perhaps ‘Lucky Logan’

had been presented with them.

That would be from people who wished to show their gratitude for the prosperity his discoveries had

brought them.

There was also a number of English history books and then, to her surprise, a few novels by Sir Walter

Scott.

She thought it unlikely that Marcus Logan ever wasted his time reading romances, as he would

concentrate, she thought, entirely on the paths he travelled which led him to the Temples of Wealth.

Looking among the shelves, she found some books from Persia that resembled the one from which she

had read to Lady Logan. Because they were so beautifully illustrated with hand-painted designs, she felt they

must have been done by Priests.

Picking one out of the shelf, she went and sat down in an armchair.

She was finding what she was reading extremely fascinating, when the door opened.

She heard somebody come in.

She did not look up, supposing it was a servant.

Then, as the footsteps came slowly towards her, she raised her head.

Standing looking at her was a tall handsome man who was regarding her quite obviously with surprise.

She was wondering who it could be, when he asked,

“Who are you? I cannot believe you are actually reading the book you hold in your hand!”

Belinda stared at him.

A sudden thought crossed her mind and she asked hesitatingly,

“You – are not – you cannot be – ”

“Marcus Logan? Yes, I am,” the newcomer said, “if that is what you are questioning, and I would like an

answer to mine.”

A little belatedly, Belinda, remembering she was just an employee in the house, rose to her feet.

She was still holding the Persian book in her hand as she stammered,

“I-I am Belinda – B-Brown.”

She stumbled over the last word because she almost forgot it.

As Marcus Logan seemed to be waiting for more, she added,

“I have just – come as a – reader to – your mother.”

“A reader?” Marcus Logan exclaimed. “That is something new!”

“Lady Logan wanted somebody who could translate the books you have given her,” Belinda explained,

“and I have – attained the – position.”

Unexpectedly Marcus Logan laughed.

“You can speak Persian?” he asked. “I don’t believe it!”

“It happens to be true,” Belinda said, “and I am proficient in other languages, including those of

countries where, I understand, you have travelled.”

Marcus Logan sat down in an armchair.

“We must discuss this,” he said, “and, as I have learnt that my mother is resting, I do not want anybody

to disturb her by telling her I have returned.”

Belinda sat down opposite him.

She thought as she did so that he was not in any way like she had expected him to be.

A picture had formed in her mind of a dark, rather hard-faced man who would look stern and serious

and he would undoubtedly treat her as a somewhat tiresome and ignorant young woman.

Sitting opposite her was instead a smart young man wearing clothes in the latest fashion.

His face was distinctly English.

He was handsome with an attractive twist to his lips, as if he laughed at life and found it exceedingly

enjoyable.

Impulsively, because she was so surprised, she asked,

“Are – you really ‘Lucky Logan’? I did not – expect you to look as you – do.”

Only as she spoke did she think that perhaps she was being rude.

She had said the first thing that had come into her mind.

Marcus Logan laughed again.

“I am not pretending to be who I am and I should be interested to hear what you did expect.”

Belinda felt embarrassed.

She knew it was impertinent for somebody who should be discreet and subservient to have spoken in

such a way.

But she was so used to expressing her thoughts freely and impulsively at home.

Because Lord Logan was obviously waiting, she said after a moment,

“I-I suppose I thought – you would be very – serious and so intent on making – money that you rarely –

thought about anything else – my Lord!”

Marcus Logan’s eyes twinkled.

“I had no idea,” he said, “that that was the impression people get from reading the rubbish that is written

about me in the newspapers.”

“Is it – rubbish?” Belinda enquired.

“Of course it is!” he answered. “What they don’t know, they invent! While I have made, as doubtless you

have read, many discoveries which have benefitted a great number of people including myself, I have enjoyed

every minute of my travels, just because I love travelling.”

“I never thought of that, my Lord,” Belinda admitted.

“I suppose nobody else has either, but it happens to be true.”

“And yet you have found – diamonds and other valuable minerals in the countries you have been to”

“I have made little countries prosperous that were badly in need of the money,” Lord Logan replied. “If

you want the truth, that is why I have gone East rather than West because so much there has been unexplored

and the people themselves are badly in need of help.”

“I never – expected you would – think like that.”

“So you have been thinking about me?”

It was a question that frightened her.

There was a pregnant pause before Belinda said,

“I am – naturally, interested, mu Lord, especially as I was coming here hoping your mother would

engage me as her reader.”

“And who told you she wanted one?” Lord Logan asked.

This was a question Belinda had not expected. She tried frantically to remember what her stepfather had

said.

Finally, because it was easier, she told the truth.

“My family,” she said hesitatingly, “has – had bad news and I found I had to – earn my own living.”

“And this was the first place you came to?”

Belinda nodded.

She had the idea that his eyes were penetratingly taking in her appearance and the expensive gown she

wore.

He seemed to be trying to work out why she should need to earn money as his mother’s reader.

It suddenly struck Belinda as strange that neither she nor Lady Logan had talked about what wages she

would receive.

She was sure that it had been very impractical of her.

It might also make Lord Logan suspicious.

She put aside the book and said,

“I think – perhaps I should – go to see if – her Ladyship needs me.”

“If that is an excuse to leave me,” Marcus Logan replied, “I find it slightly insulting. In any case, I have

been informed by the servants that my mother is sleeping and will not be woken until four o’clock.”

“D-do you – want me to stay?” Belinda asked.

She was longing to go, frightened that he would question her further.

At the same time she was nervous of doing anything that was not correct.

Looking at her, Marcus Logan thought she was the prettiest young woman he had ever seen.

Yet he was aware that her eyes were frightened and he was curious to know why.

“I would like you to stay, Miss Brown,” he said aloud, “for the simple reason that I want to discuss with

you what you are going to read to my mother – ”

He paused a moment and then continued,

“I think I can tell you better than anyone else what her tastes are in reading.”

“Yes – of course, my Lord,” Belinda said meekly.

She twisted her fingers together as she spoke, hoping she would not say anything foolish or make the

man facing her in any way suspicious.

There was no reason, she tried to reassure herself, why he should be.

However, her conscience was pricking her and she was terrified that he might be aware of it.

“What I want you to tell me,” Marcus Logan said, “is which languages you are proficient in. In return I

will tell you which of my books are the most interesting.”

“I can speak Persian – ” Belinda began,

“You have been there?” Marcus Logan interrupted.

“No, I have never had the opportunity of travelling, but I can speak the language and read books written

in that language with very little difficulty.”

“How is that possible?”

Belinda smiled.

“My father taught me because he lived in Persia for some years as a young man. He loved the country

and the people.”

“And in what other languages are you proficient?” Lord Logan persisted.

Knowing his parents had lived in India, Belinda answered,

“I can speak Urdu and I can read some, though not all, of the Buddhist literature.”

“And you enjoy that?” he enquired.

“I think Buddhism is a fascinating religion,” Belinda answered, “or perhaps the right word is the most

‘fair’ of all the religions.”

“Why do you say that?”

Belinda told him that she thought that the theory of reincarnation, or the Wheel of Rebirth, was the

only way one could justify some people being born into comfort and luxury and positions of power, whist

others were starved and neglected, having no hope of rising from the gutter until they died.

She knew as she spoke that Marcus Logan was looking at her not only with astonishment but also with

interest.

Then they were arguing over the rights and wrongs of reincarnation and the possibility of it being the

answer to mankind’s existence.

He was deliberately drawing her out, although she did not realise it and finding out if her ideas were

superficial or her understanding went deeper.

Belinda defended her beliefs aggressively.

“How can it be fair,” she asked, “for someone to enjoy life to the full, to fend for himself entirely without

a thought for others and repent only on his deathbed?”

Her voice was scathing as she added,

“He then says he is sorry for the sins he has committed and he walks straight into Paradise.”

“If that is not true,” Lord Logan asked, “what do you think is fair?”

“He should come back with his talents and his debts,” Belinda answered. “He should pay off the latter in

another life until he is worthy of leaving this dimension for the next.”

She was expecting Marcus Logan to refute such an idea, but instead he clapped his hands.

“Bravo!” he exclaimed. “I can see you have studied the Buddhist Philosophy and I agree it is difficult not

to think that you are on the right track, even though you have never left England.”

Because she had been quite heated in her defence of her thoughts, Belinda felt a little embarrassed.

“I suppose I must seem very ignorant to you,” she said humbly, “because I have been able only to think

and to imagine what you have actually seen and heard and learnt at the very source from where it comes.”

“What is important is that you have thought,” Marcus Logan said, “and may I tell you, Miss Brown, that

I can hardly believe anyone so young can have thought so deeply.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Belinda answered. “It is very kind of you to say that, but I realise only too well

that the more you know, the more you understand how much more there is to learn.”

“That is what I have found and that is why I travel from place to place, always learning and always

discovering.”

He made a gesture with his hand.

“That is something even I myself do not understand,” he said. “When I am in a country that is

desperately poor and where I know that the average man has little chance of rising from the gutter,

something that I cannot explain tells me how I can help them.”

“It is your instinct – or rather your perception,” Belinda murmured beneath her breath.

“Exactly! But I cannot imagine how you are aware of it.”

Again, almost as if she was talking to her father, Belinda said what came into her head.

“I think everybody has perception or what the Egyptians call The Third Eye. But the trouble is, they

have not learnt how to use it. They are, therefore, afraid to follow their instincts and are prepared to believe

only something that is printed on a piece of paper.”

Marcus Logan laughed.

“I can hardly believe,” he said, “that I am having this conversation with you, looking as you do.”

“If you recall what we have just said,” Belinda replied, “we are both aware that looks have nothing to do

with it.”

Marcus Logan put his hand up to his forehead.

“I still don’t believe this conversation is taking place,” he said, “not here, in England, where what I am

expecting to hear is which horse won the Derby, what new law has been brought in by a political party and

the very latest gossip about the beautiful women who shine in the Social world.”

Belinda gave a little laugh.

“I am sure it is all there, waiting for you, my Lord, but I am afraid, as I have been living in the country,

the only question I can answer is that the winner of the Derby was called Caesar.”

“I did in fact hear that,” Marcus Logan admitted, “as soon as I set foot on English soil. It was this, of

course, that put my own news into its proper place – at the bottom of the ladder!”

Belinda drew in her breath.

It was his news that she was waiting to hear.

But she was not surprised when he did not say any more.

He only rose from his chair and walked to the bookshelves.

“Now I am going to test you a little further,” he said, “and ask you to read me a few lines from any book I

choose, of those originally given to my mother.”

Belinda also rose.

“I know you are longing to catch me out, my Lord, but I am just hoping that I shall be as lucky as you

have been.”

“If anybody calls me ‘Lucky Logan’ again,” he exclaimed, “I think I shall hit them! It is a name which has

haunted me wherever I go and always ends with my having to put my hand in my pocket.”

“And do you mind doing that?” Belinda asked him.

“That means you are asking me whether or not I am a ‘skinflint!’”

“No, of course, I did not mean it like that! I was simply thinking that you were lucky that your pocket

was full.”

“There you go again!” he said in mock despair. “Actually I must be honest and say that I am delighted

that I am not as poor as I was when I started.”

“Lady Logan has told me that you were not always rich, as everybody assumed you were,” Belinda said

gently. “It must be very gratifying to know you can look after her now and that she can live in a lovely house

like this.”

“I chose this as a background or should I say a frame for her,” Lord Logan said quickly. “She is a very

wonderful person and I have tried to compensate her for losing my father and having only one son instead of

the large family she would have so enjoyed.”

“She is very, very proud of you,” Belinda said.

“That is why I must never fail her,” he replied simply.

*

Later Belinda went upstairs to see if Lady Logan wanted her.

She thought, as she did so, that she had enjoyed a very strange conversation with Lord Logan.

He was, she knew now, totally different from what she had expected.

He had made her read from a number of books. He had, she knew, been astonished that she really could

translate so quickly and so accurately.

“I don’t believe you are real!” he commented several times. “I shall wake up and find I have been

dreaming this!”

Belinda was delighted that she had managed without a great deal of difficulty to translate everything he

gave her.

She noticed, however, that he did not produce any book in Russian.

She wondered if it was because he had never been there or else that he had no wish for her to know that

he had.

She had the idea that every book he produced was from countries he had visited over the years.

She had no real grounds for thinking so and yet that was what she felt.

She knocked gently on Lady Logan’s door.

It was open and she went in to find that she was nearly dressed.

“I hear my son is back,” she said before Belinda could speak. “Have you seen him?”

“Yes, indeed, Lady Logan,” Belinda answered. “He came into the library.”

“Obviously then you have met him and now I must hurry down to be with him. I hate to miss a minute

of his company when he has been away for so long.”

Belinda knew she did not want her to accompany her and she went to her own room.

She wondered if perhaps now that he had returned, Marcus Logan would suggest that his mother

should dispense with her services.

She realised, a little to her surprise, that she had no wish to go.

She had been horrified at the idea of coming here in the first place when her stepfather had suggested it.

Now she had to admit to herself that she found Marcus Logan extremely interesting.

He was very different from the man she had thought he would be and when they had argued, he had

been really enthusiastic about it.

He was not in the least condescending, as he might have been.

‘He is so knowledgeable. He has learnt everything he knows at first hand. I have been only a pupil,’

Belinda told herself.

She wondered why she had ever imagined that he would be dull and pedantic and, although it was

perhaps not exactly the right word, rather sinister.

When her stepfather had talked about it, it had seemed rather creepy that he should have this strange

perception for finding precious stones.

In her mind this had become mixed up with witch doctors, wizards, sorceresses and strange religions

that made peculiar sacrifices to their Gods.

It was therefore astonishing to find that Lord Logan was young, smart and obviously enchanted with

life.

As they looked at the books, he described the people living in some of the places he had been to. He

made it seem so real that Belinda could almost see a picture of it.

There would be Mosques and Temples, camels moving through narrow streets, donkeys carrying great

burdens. There would be small children with huge dark eyes, playing in the sand.

‘He is so lucky to have been able to go there himself,’ she thought. ‘I can only make my mind translate

what I read into a picture of what is happening in another part of the world.’

She wondered, now that Marcus Logan had returned, whether as a now superfluous reader she would

be banished to her own room.

She remembered that when she was young her Governesses had always dined in the schoolroom.

‘I suppose I am now on the same level and therefore I must not complain,’ she told herself.

She could not help thinking it would be very exciting to hear Lord Logan talking about the places he

had just visited.

As she thought about it, she remembered why she was in this beautiful house in the middle of Regent’s

Park.

The instructions her stepfather had given her before he had deposited her here flowed into her mind.

“I will arrange for there to be a Hackney Carriage outside the gates,” he had said. “It will ostensibly be

waiting to be hired, but actually it will be waiting only for you.”

Belinda was listening and waiting for him to explain.

“The Hackney Carriage will bring you,” her stepfather went on, “to wherever I am staying. I am not yet

certain where that will be, but tonight it will be with Madame Yvonne.”

He was speaking as if he were thinking it out for himself.

Quickly, as if he was embarrassed at what he had said, he went on,

“As I cannot afford to pay for anything myself, I am forced to rely on my friends.”

“Yes – yes – ” Belinda murmured.

D’Arcy Rowland then continued,

“The driver of the Hackney Carriage will be told where he is to bring you the moment you know where

Logan has just come from.”

He tightened his grip on the reins as he continued,

“And for God’s sake, don’t waste any time. Run from the house immediately, just as you are. Jump into

the carriage, and then I will be able to set the wheels in motion, which will make us both rich enough to laugh

at everything and everybody!”

It had sounded quite easy at the time.

Now Belinda was once again struggling with her conscience.

Lady Logan had been kind enough to engage her.

Marcus Logan had obviously accepted her.

But in the process he had interested her, as she had never been interested by a man before.

‘How – can I betray – them?’ she asked herself with a little sob.

Chapter Six

There was a knock on the door, and when Belinda called out, “come in,” a footman stood there.

“’Scuse me, miss,” he said, “but her Ladyship asked me to tell you that tea’s ready in the drawing room.”

Belinda felt her heart give a little leap.

She was to go downstairs.

“I will come down at once!” she replied.

The footman closed the door and she hurried to the mirror to see that her hair was tidy.

Then she ran down the stairs as if her feet had wings.

Lady Logan was sitting in her favourite chair. A tea table was laden with silver and an amazing amount

of different delicacies to eat.

Marcus Logan was sitting opposite his mother and, as Belinda entered the room, he rose to his feet.

“Ah, here you are, Miss Brown!” Lady Logan said in her gentle voice. “I know you have met my son.”

“We met in the library,” Marcus Logan said, “where, quite correctly, Miss Brown was reading a book of

Persian poetry.”

Lady Logan smiled.

“She has already read me some of the poems from the book you brought me back from Teheran and

they were delightful!”

“I thought you would enjoy them, Mama.”

“Would you please pour, Belinda?” Lady Logan asked. “My eyes are so bad that I either pour too much

or else not enough tea into the cup.”

Belinda looked at the tea service.

She realised it was very like the one they had used at home until her stepfather had pawned it.

She tried not to think of that as she picked up the teapot and she recognised it as being George III silver.

Marcus Logan came and stood beside her so that he could pass the cup of tea she poured out to his

mother.

He then took one for himself.

“It is so exciting to have you home, dearest,” Lady Logan exclaimed. “I always worry when you are away,

although you have told me often enough not to do so.”

“You know I always turn up eventually, Mama, and this time rather sooner than I anticipated.”

“You have been successful?” Lady Logan asked.

He nodded.

“I suppose I must not ask you where you have been,” his mother continued.

Belinda held her breath.

This was what she was waiting to hear.

“I will tell you all about it later,” he replied. “At the moment I am more interested in what Miss Brown

thinks of this house.”

He looked at Belinda as he spoke.

She realised he had adroitly diverted attention from the question his mother had asked him.

“Of course,” she replied. “I think it is magnificent! It is very exciting to think that it was designed by

Nash!”

“I think what is particularly interesting about it,” Marcus Logan remarked, “is that for some unknown

reason he made every room on the ground floor connect with the next.”

“Which is more characteristic of the houses of the Queen Anne period,” Belinda remarked.

Marcus Logan smiled.

“I might have known you would have that answer, Miss Brown! You have now surprised me even more

than you had already.”

Lady Logan was listening and she asked,

“Is Miss Brown surprising you with her knowledge, Marcus? I am astonished at the number of

languages she had managed to learn while she is still so young.”

“Fortunately,” he answered, “I rather enjoy surprises.”

“So do I,” Lady Logan agreed, “provided they are pleasant ones! I must show Miss Brown what you have

just brought me.”

As she spoke she picked up an object that she had put on the seat of the armchair in which she was

sitting.

“Look, Miss Brown,” she said, “is it not beautiful?”

Belinda took it from her and saw that it was an icon.

It was obviously very old because the picture of the Virgin was painted on wood, but the frame was

particularly attractive because it was set with numerous precious stones.

Belinda was sure they were all to be found in the mountains of Russia.

“It is beautiful!” she exclaimed.

At the same time, she felt disappointed.

It was obvious that Marcus Logan had come from Russia.

In which case he would not, as he had said to her, have been helping some poor country that badly

needed the money.

She had read the recent dramatic reports in the newspapers of the enormous amount of gold that had

been mined in Russia recently.

Her father had told her, too, that Russia was now the biggest contributor of the world’s supplies of gold.

“I have a great many other things for you, Mama,” Marcus Logan was saying, “but I have to give Grover

time to unpack.”

“Of course,” Lady Logan replied, “and how is that nice man?”

“Very efficient, as ever,” he replied, “and he bullies me even more than you do!”

“Oh, dearest, how can you say such things!” Lady Logan exclaimed. “I bully you only because I think you

do too much and go too far and do not look after yourself as well as you should.”

“Grover sees to all that and I assure you he over-cossets me more than any wife.”

Lady Logan laughed.

“I must explain to you, Miss Brown,” she turned to Belinda, “that Grover has been with my son ever

since he left Oxford. He is an extraordinary little man and because his mother was Chinese while his father

was English, he speaks almost as many languages as my son does!”

“How fascinating!” Belinda cried.

“Everything about Grover is amazing,” Lady Logan said, “and incidentally, he is a master of all those

strange methods of self-defence.”

“What my mother means,” Marcus Logan interposed, “is that Grover is a champion at Ju-Jitsu and

Kung-Fu. I find him very useful, I can assure you, when I am in a tight spot.”

Belinda looked at his broad shoulders.

She thought that he would be an unpleasant opponent for anyone who might assault him.

At the same time, she was sure that there were people who tried to steal from him the diamonds or other

gems they thought he carried on his person.

Alternatively they might try to force him to tell them the secrets of his discoveries.

To her surprise, Marcus Logan read her thoughts and then said to her quietly,

“What you are thinking is true, but I don’t want to upset my mother.”

Belinda’s eyes widened in astonishment.

Then she told herself that his remarkable intuition helped him to find what was hidden in the earth.

Similarly it revealed to him what other people were thinking.

She thought, however, that it would be wisest to say nothing, so she merely enquired whether Lady

Logan would like another cup of tea.

“No, thank you, my dear,” she replied. “What I intend to do now is to lie down before dinner and, as my

son must be tired after his long journey, we will dine early so that he can have a long rest.”

Marcus Logan’s eyes twinkled and Belinda knew that he was amused.

He did not reply, but walked across the room to open the door for his mother. He went out into the hall

and took her to the foot of the stairs.

Belinda wondered if she also should retire to her room.

She was not certain what she was expected to do, so she picked up the empty teacups and replaced them

on the tray.

As she did so, the butler came in to take the tray away.

When he had done so with the help of two footmen, Marcus Logan came back into the room.

Belinda said quickly,

“If you wish to work, of course I will go upstairs.”

“There is quite a lot of work waiting for me as well as a number of invitations on my desk in the

library,” he replied, “but for the moment I feel lazy and I would prefer to talk to you.”

It was what Belinda wanted and she sat down eagerly.

“Now tell me about yourself and your family, Miss Brown” Marcus Logan began.

Belinda shook her head.

“You know quite well that is a boring subject, my Lord, and I would much rather listen to your

adventures which to me seem like something out of a Fairy tale. One day you will have to write it all down in

a book.”

“Many people have suggested that and I fear that ultimately I shall be forced into doing what I don’t

really want to do.”

“Then you should tell the stories to somebody else for them to write them down for you. Think how

much your children and your grandchildren will enjoy learning about all your adventures.”

Marcus Logan held up his hands.

“Now you are bullying worse than my mother! I have as yet no children or grandchildren, so I shall keep

my adventures to myself and enjoy them without feeling they are being scrutinised by a pack of unbelieving

critics!”

“Now you are being modest, my Lord. It is most unfair for you to do all the discovering, when people

really want to discover you.”

They were duelling in words.

They continued talking until it was time for them to go upstairs and change for dinner.

Belinda found that a bath had been arranged for her in her bedroom and she thought how lucky she was

to be in this lovely house.

She was enjoying even more luxury than she had been used to at home.

Then she remembered the reason why she was here and immediately it was as if a cold hand clutched at

her heart.

It had been so fascinating talking to Marcus Logan that she had forgotten for the moment what she had

to find out.

She had even forgotten the penalty if she did not do so.

Because she had no wish to think about it, she put on one of her prettiest gowns.

She went downstairs eagerly.

When her stepfather was away from home, there had been so many evenings when she had dined alone.

There was nobody to talk to and only by concentrating on a book in her father’s library had she been

able to forget how much she missed her mother.

She was certainly not disappointed when they went in to dinner.

The food was delicious.

Marcus Logan was obviously intent on entertaining his mother and making her happy.

He told her and Belinda amusing stories of the troubles he had encountered on his travels.

How his ship had developed a leak and how he and the crew had to spend hours bailing it out before

they reached land in safety.

Then a camel that he had found impossible to control ran away with him.

There had been a wild antelope that had blocked the entrance to a cave in which he was sheltering.

When he had tried to make it go away, the animal had found it impossible to turn round.

They were such amusing tales that he kept them both laughing heartily.

Belinda found it hard to believe that the meal could have come to an end so quickly.

They went into the drawing room, where coffee was served and Marcus Logan drank a small brandy.

Then Lady Logan stated,

“I must go to bed, and so must you, dearest. I am sure you have had very little sleep in the past few days.”

“That is true,” he agreed. “So to please you, Mama, I will go to bed now and leave all the work that is

waiting for me until tomorrow.”

“That is very sensible,” Lady Logan answered.

“I shall have to go out early tomorrow morning,” he went on, “before you are called, so do not expect to

see me again before teatime.”

Belinda felt herself stiffen.

She was quite sure that Marcus Logan was planning to visit the City.

He would start forming a Company, the shares of which would instantly be bought up by all his

admirers.

‘I have to find out exactly where the mine or whatever it may be, is,’ she told herself.

All three walked slowly from the drawing room. Lady Logan was leaning on her son’s arm.

When they reached the hall, Marcus Logan instructed the footman on duty,

“I am not going out again tonight, Henry, lock up and go to bed.”

“Very good, my Lord,” the footman replied.

“And tell Dawson I shall want breakfast at eight-thirty.”

“I’ll tell him, my Lord.”

Marcus Logan escorted his mother up the stairs and Belinda followed them.

Her bedroom was reached first and Lady Logan called out,

“Goodnight, Miss Brown. Sleep well and it is delightful having you here with me.”

Belinda curtsied.

“Thank you, my Lady,” she answered. “It has been a very happy and exciting day for me.”

Marcus Logan wished her goodnight too.

Belinda smiled at him as she went into her bedroom, knowing that they would walk on down the

corridor, reaching first Lady Logan’s room.

At the far end was the Master suite which would be occupied by her son.

Belinda had been planning as they came up the stairs.

When everybody was asleep, she decided she would go down to the library and see what was on Marcus

Logan’s desk, although she could not believe that he would leave any evidence of his new discovery lying

about.

Yet, unless her stepfather was to go to prison, she was compelled to find out and it was no less

important for her, unless she was to lose everything she possessed.

She had to discover in which part of Russia Marcus Logan’s latest discovery lay.

When she thought of the immensity of the country, she recognised that her information had to be

accurate.

She decided not to undress.

However, she had been in her bedroom for only a few minutes when the maid who was looking after

her came in.

There was nothing Belinda could do, therefore, but allow her to hang up the gown she had been

wearing.

Then she put on a nightgown and climbed into bed.

“What time’d you like breakfast, miss?” the maid enquired. “There’ll be no ’urry ’cos ’er Ladyship seldom

wakes afore ten o’clock.”

Belinda thought it would seem pushy if she went downstairs to have breakfast with Lord Logan.

“Perhaps I could have my breakfast up here,” she replied to the maid, “at nine o’clock, if that is not too

late.”

“No, course it’s not, miss, I ’opes you sleep well.”

The maid left the room and Belinda lay back against the pillows.

She knew she had to wait until the house was silent before she went downstairs, but she was afraid of

going to sleep.

After a little while she got out of bed and pulled back the curtains.

It was a clear night. The sky was ablaze with stars and the moon was rising above the trees.

It all looked very beautiful.

She only wished there was not a hard stone in her breast because she was afraid of what she had to do

and because she hated deceiving the two people who had been so kind to her all evening.

‘I know it is – wrong, Mama,’ she said to her mother while looking up at the stars, ‘but how – can I let

Step-Papa go to – prison?’

She thought, as she had thought before, that it was something he would never do.

Somehow she had to save him.

Finally she went back to bed, lit a candle, and read one of her father’s books that she had brought with

her.

It was one he had translated from a manuscript that he had obtained from an ancient Monastery in

Tibet. It was on Buddhist philosophy.

Belinda tried to concentrate on the wise words that had inspired the followers of Buddha.

But it was very difficult.

Finally, when the clock told her it was nearly midnight, she was certain that everyone in the house

would be asleep.

The servants’ accommodations were in the other wing and there was no likelihood of their seeing her go

down the stairs.

She put on her dressing gown that was made of satin and trimmed with little frills of lace.

She was, however, not thinking of her appearance as she pushed back her hair from her forehead and

then very very cautiously she opened her door.

There were, as she expected, lights in the sconces on the walls in the corridor and also in the hall.

Walking silently in her heelless slippers, Belinda tiptoed along the corridor that led to the library.

She opened the door.

To her relief, she found that the servants had not extinguished the candles that stood on the

mantelpiece. They were burning brightly, but the rest of the room was in darkness.

She could see clearly a large pile of papers on the Regency desk and she went to the mantelpiece to pick

up one of the candles.

Just as her hand was about to touch it, she heard an unexpected noise that made her start.

She thought for a moment that somebody was coming into the room and so she looked quickly at the

door behind her.

Then she was aware that the noise was coming from one of the windows.

It was not very loud.

Yet she had an undeniable feeling that somebody was attempting to open it.

The windows as designed by Nash should have been long with square panes of glass, but in the library

they had been removed and replaced by casements.

These opened outwards and had smaller panes that were not really in keeping with the period.

Belinda had noticed this when she had first come to the library and she had wondered why Marcus

Logan did not change them back to the original design.

Now, undoubtedly, somebody was attempting to force the catch and open a window.

Belinda thought it must be burglars and she wondered how she could obtain help.

Then she was afraid that if she ran towards the door of the library, she would be seen.

As if she was being helped by what her father had said was a Power greater than himself, she

remembered what Marcus Logan had said.

Nash had designed this house so that every room communicated with the next and she knew then that

on the far side of the fireplace there would be a door.

Because she was frightened, she ran to the door.

Fumbling for the handle, she opened it and went into the adjoining room.

As she did so, there was a sharp but not particularly loud crash.

Whoever had been trying to open the window had clearly succeeded.

Belinda, safely behind the door, did not run straight for help. She thought she would first find out if she

was right in thinking it was burglars.

Perhaps, instead, it was one of the servants who, coming back late, had found the doors locked.

She peeped through the crack of the door she had not fully closed.

Climbing over the windowsill was a man.

He was followed by another, and she knew at once that they were burglars, certainly not anyone

belonging to the household.

The first man was large and rough-looking. He wore a handkerchief partly concealing his chin. Belinda

guessed it could be pulled up over his nose so that only his eyes were left uncovered.

By the light from the candles she could see that the man who had followed him looked very different.

He was thin and his face was decidedly foreign.

She heard him say in a voice she could only just hear,

“Wait a moment! It’d be a mistake to be too hasty.”

He spoke with a strong accent and, as he turned back towards the window, Belinda was sure that he was

Russian.

Now he was speaking to somebody outside. Although she could not hear what he said, she thought that

two men answered him.

He then walked back to the first man, who was standing looking around him.

“Now you understand,” he said forcefully but in a low voice, “that you must not kill him until we have

learnt what we want to know. And don’t speak, for voices carry. Just make him incapable of calling for help

till we get him into the carriage.”

“I understands,” the big man replied. He was obviously English. “You tells me this afore and I says I

wouldn’t kill ’im.”

“You’d better not!” the Russian said. “But you don’t know your own strength. I’ll go first. I know the

way.”

They walked towards the door.

It was then Belinda realised the significance of what she had overheard.

Quickly she moved away from the door she had been listening behind and into the next room.

To her relief, it was not in darkness.

The curtains were not drawn and the windows were covered only by pale-coloured Holland blinds. She

could see her way between the pieces of furniture.

Opening a connecting door with the next room, she reached another door that opened into the hall.

She had been terrified in case the men had got there before her.

As she sped up the stairs, she thought she could hear them moving slowly and very carefully so that their

footsteps would not be heard.

She reached the landing.

Running faster than she had ever run in her life, she opened the door of the Master suite at the far end of

the corridor.

It was hot and Marcus Logan had gone to sleep with the curtains drawn back and the windows open.

She could see him clearly lying in a huge four-poster bed draped with velvet curtains.

He was fast asleep.

She was breathless as she touched his shoulder, crying,

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Marcus Logan awoke instantly as a man would who was used to danger.

“What is it? What is happening?” he asked.

Belinda replied in a low voice,

“There are – two men – coming up the stairs to k-kill you!” she said breathlessly. “One is English – and

the other, I am sure – is Russian.”

Marcus Logan did not ask questions.

He merely leapt out of bed with the swiftness of an athlete.

He thrust one of his pillows under the bedclothes. Then he started to put on a dark robe that his valet

had left lying over a chair.

“Get behind the bed curtains!” he whispered to Belinda.

She obeyed him and walking quickly round the bed, she slipped behind the thick velvet curtains on the

other side of it.

From there she looked back at him.

She thought he would be taking a revolver out of a drawer, but to her surprise and consternation he

bent down to pick up a heavy poker.

It was lying beside a highly polished shovel and some tongs in the fireplace.

Belinda felt that such an ordinary weapon would not be enough against the Russian, as she suspected

from the way he had spoken that he would carry a pistol or a sharp dagger.

‘How can he be so foolish?’ she asked and wanted desperately to beg him to protect himself better.

She knew, however, that by this time his two attackers would have reached the top of the stairs and

would be coming down the corridor.

As the Russian had said, voices carry a long way at night and she realised that she must say nothing.

She was trembling, and her hands holding on to the curtains were clenched because she was so

frightened.

Then, almost as if her father was beside her, she started to pray.

It was a frantic prayer that Marcus Logan would be given the strength to overpower the men.

As she prayed, she had a sudden strange feeling that Marcus Logan was praying too.

He was using the Power that helped him, just as her father had done when he was in danger.

Then slowly, very slowly, the door opened.

Belinda dared not look directly at it.

By peeping from behind the curtains, she could see the Russian peer into the room.

There was complete silence.

Belinda guessed that thinking Marcus Logan was asleep, the Russian was changing places with the big

strong Englishman.

He was to go in first and it was he who was to render Lord Logan unconscious.

If he had been lying there as she had found him, he would probably have received a violent blow on the

head.

He would have known nothing more until he regained consciousness.

Then he would have found himself a prisoner in the carriage that was waiting for him outside.

Slowly the Englishman took a step forward into the room.

Marcus Logan, who was standing behind the door, did not move.

It was with the greatest difficulty that Belinda did not scream at him.

She could not understand why he was letting the man get so far.

The Englishman reached the bed and looked down at what looked like a body under the bedclothes.

It was then that the heavy brass top of the poker caught him a violent blow on the back of his head. The

big man fell forward without a sound.

Even as he did so, Marcus Logan swept round the open door and punched the Russian with all his

strength.

He struck him violently on the point of his chin with the expertise of a pugilist.

It sent the man crashing onto the floor, completely unconscious.

Throwing aside the poker, Marcus Logan pulled the hands of the unconscious Englishman behind his

back.

“Quickly!” he called to Belinda. “The ropes that pull back the window curtains!”

She ran to the window to obey him and handed him first one rope and then another.

He tied the hands of the Englishman together behind his back, then his ankles.

He then turned to the Russian.

Belinda took the ropes from the bed curtains, which, like those from the window, were of heavy velvet.

Having secured the two men, Lord Logan went to one of the drawers.

He took out two linen handkerchiefs and gagged them both.

As he finished tying a knot behind the Russian’s head, he said,

“This will prevent them from making a noise and upsetting my mother.”

“There are – two more,” Belinda now told him, “waiting outside the – library window with a – carriage

they – intended to take – you away in.”

Marcus Logan looked at her and smiled.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I will see to them and I will also have these unpleasant characters

removed.”

As he spoke, he pulled violently on the bell pull beside his bed.

Belinda knew he was ringing for his valet, and, as if to confirm it, Marcus Logan added,

“Grover and I will cope with everything and, as I do not want you to be involved in this mess, I suggest

you go to bed now, before he appears.”

Belinda looked up at him.

“You were – marvellous!” she sighed. “But you are – quite certain that – the others will not – hurt you?”

“Quite certain!” Marcus Logan replied. “And thank you, Miss Brown, for saving my life!”

As if he knew she was reluctant to leave him, he took her by the arm.

He drew her out of the room and down the corridor.

He opened the door of her bedroom and said,

“Go to sleep now, and I promise you nothing will happen that you need worry about.”

Belinda looked up at him.

“Please – be – careful!” she whispered.

“I promise you I will be,” Marcus Logan replied.

He looked into her eyes and saw the anxiety in them by the light coming from candles in the corridor.

Then he bent his head and kissed her.

For a moment Belinda could hardly believe it was happening.

Then, as she felt the pressure of his lips, the moonlight seemed to strike through her breasts.

Feelings she had never known before vibrated within her whole body.

The terror that had been within her vanished and became a wild rapture.

Marcus Logan’s arms tightened.

His lips became more demanding, more possessive.

Then, as Belinda felt the world move dizzily around her, she was free.

“Go to bed!” Marcus Logan said in a deep voice. “We will talk about all this tomorrow.”

He pushed her gently into the room and closed the door behind him.

She could hear his feet running down the corridor.

She groped her way in the darkness towards the bed.

She found it and lay down without taking off her dressing gown.

As she did so, she knew she had fallen in love.

It was incredible, unbelievable!

While it was something she had often thought about and dreamt about, she had never imagined it

would be what she was feeling now.

“I love – him!” she whispered in the darkness.

She knew that even as the words moved on her lips, it was hopeless.

Marcus Logan was as far out of reach as the stars in the sky.

“I love him! I love him!” she whispered again.

She knew it was the perfect love that she had read about in books, but for her there could be no happy

ending.

Chapter Seven

Belinda awoke and looked at the clock beside her bed.

She felt it could not be true.

It was nearly eleven o’clock and no one had woken her.

She rang the bell and, when the maid appeared, she asked her incredulously,

“Is the clock wrong or is it really nearly eleven o’clock?”

“It’s all right, miss,” the maid said. “His Lordship told me you weren’t to be called, but allowed to sleep

on till you woke.”

Belinda felt herself relax.

“And her Ladyship?”

“Her Ladyship woke early and said goodbye to ’is Lordship and went to sleep again. Her won’t want to

see you, miss, till lunchtime.”

The maid went from the room.

Belinda wondered whether she should ask if anything strange had happened during the night.

Then she told herself that Marcus Logan and his valet would have dealt with the men outside the house.

They would have carried the two who were unconscious downstairs and none of the other servants

would have been aware of it.

One thing he would want to avoid would be a scandal of any sort.

At the same time, she could not help feeling anxious.

Perhaps the men who were waiting with the carriage had attacked him.

She found herself thinking of him all the time she was waiting for her breakfast.

When it arrived, she enquired tentatively,

“Did his Lordship leave early – this morning – as he intended?”

“Of course!” the maid said with a surprised note in her voice. “His Lordship be always on time and ’e

hurried away soon as ’e’d finished breakfast.”

He was safe.

He had not been harmed and in some magical way of his own he had coped with the whole unpleasant

episode.

‘I saved him!’ Belinda thought triumphantly.

She felt a warm glow of satisfaction.

If she had not heard the men trying to break into the library, he would have been spirited away by the

Russian and his English accomplices.

After that, it was probable that he would never have been seen again.

‘How can such – terrible things – happen?’ she asked herself and she knew the answer.

It was because everybody all over the world was greedy for money.

Like her stepfather, some of them were prepared to do anything in order to have it.

She felt both embarrassed and ashamed of deceiving Lady Logan as well as her son.

However, she reasoned, if she had not been there, he would now be a victim of the Russian.

The maid brought her some hot water and then she dressed.

She went downstairs to wait for her employer to join her.

Lady Logan came down looking, Belinda thought, a little tired.

“I am late today,” she admitted when she had greeted Belinda, “but I did not sleep well. I think it is

excitement at seeing my son. As you know, I cannot help worrying when he is away for so long.”

“Of course you worry, my Lady, but now he is home, you must try to persuade him to stay in England

for a long time.”

Lady Logan sighed.

“That is what I want to do, but it is difficult – very difficult!”

She did not say any more and they walked into the dining room.

It was a small luncheon, but a delicious one.

Belinda talked because she did not want to think.

She was aware that every nerve in her body was waiting for the moment when Marcus Logan returned.

Even to think of the way he had kissed her made her thrill.

She tried to tell herself sensibly that it was just because he was grateful to her for saving his life – any

man would have kissed a woman in the same circumstances.

After luncheon Lady Logan said she was going to lie down, as she always did.

“I want to feel fresh and well for Marcus when he comes home,” she explained as they went from the

dining room. “But if you will come upstairs with me, I will show you the other presents he has brought me.

They are very unusual.”

“I would love to see them!” Belinda smiled.

They went into Lady Logan’s bedroom which was arranged so that, with the exception of the bed, it

looked just like a sitting room.

On a small table a variety of objects were arranged.

As Lady Logan walked towards it, she sighed,

“Marcus always brings me such original presents. I think these are even more intriguing than any I have

had so far.”

She picked up a snuffbox that Belinda felt certain was Russian. The lid held a picture of a handsome

man who she thought would be one of the Czars. The box, which was made of gold, was decorated with

emeralds and diamonds.

“It’s so lovely!” she exclaimed, as she turned it over in her hands.

“That is what I think,” Lady Logan agreed. “And here is another icon, though not as pretty as the one I

showed you last night.”

The picture depicting the Virgin and Child was not so well painted and the frame was carved instead of

being decorated with jewels.

“Marcus said,” Lady Logan went on, “that in the place he just came from, the people had little to sell

except for their carvings and this is characteristic of their work.”

She put something into Belinda’s hands as she spoke.

Belinda, however, was still looking at the icon.

She put it down and then looked at what she was now holding and was very still.

What Lady Logan had given her was a tiger carved very skilfully in wood.

The tiger was snarling and the teeth were cleverly worked. It was painted and it looked different from

the usual carving of wild animals done by primitive people.

Belinda did not speak.

She was just staring at it and, as she did so, she knew unmistakably the answer to where Marcus Logan

had been.

Among her father’s possessions at home on a shelf were souvenirs he had brought back from his travels.

He had, when she was quite small, given Belinda a carved tiger to play with.

It was identical in every detail to the one she was now holding in her hands.

She could remember that when she was older her father had told her it had come from Zenjira.

“It is a very small country,” he had told her, “on the West of Turkestan and just North of Afghanistan.”

“And what is Zenjira like, Papa?” Belinda had asked him.

“I found the inhabitants interesting,” her father answered, “because the people came from Turkestan, the

Volga basin, South Russia and even the Southern part of Siberia.”

Belinda remembered that she had laughed.

“And do they speak all those languages, Papa?”

“They have a language of their own,” her father answered, “which you will find described in one of my

books. It is a mixture of all the languages of all the people who have settled in Zenjira. They are determined to

preserve their independence and to resist the menace of Russia, who is always trying to aggressively expand

her boundaries.”

As the conversation came back into Belinda’s mind, she knew exactly why Marcus Logan had gone to

Zenjira. He had undoubtedly found some natural resource there which would make them prosperous.

Belinda put the tiger back on the table.

She knew that having discovered the information her stepfather needed, she must leave immediately.

Lady Logan’s maid was there to help her Mistress prepare for her rest on the sofa.

“I am not going to undress, since I got up so late,’ Lady Logan said, “but I will be down at teatime, when

I expect my son will have returned.”

“That is when he said he would be back,” Belinda concurred.

She went to her own room.

Shutting the door behind her, she put her hands up to her eyes.

She was trying to think, trying to decide what she should do.

She realised that speed was important.

Marcus Logan would have gone to the City and she must inform her stepfather that she knew in which

country he had been prospecting. D’Arcy Rowland had told her she was to leave at once without taking her

luggage or anything else with her.

The Hackney carriage would be outside.

But Belinda knew that she could not go in such a way.

Lady Logan would worry as to what had happened to her.

Marcus Logan had taken a great deal of trouble to keep her unaware of what had happened last night.

Belinda locked her door.

She fetched her trunk from where it had been placed in a cupboard and threw into it everything she had

brought with her.

She did not bother to fold her gowns, but just pushed them into the trunk.

On top she put her brushes, her shoes, and everything else.

She put on her hat and picked up her handbag which contained no money.

She ran down the stairs.

Going into the room beside the front door, she sat down at a desk that boasted a large golden inkpot.

There was also some writing paper engraved with the name of the house.

Quickly she scribbled a note to Lady Logan,

“I deeply regret, my Lady, that I have to leave immediately, as I have have received bad news from my

home. Please forgive me for departing in such a way and thank you for all your kindness.

I shall always remember how happy I have been with you in this beautiful house.

I remain,

Yours sincerely,

Belinda Brown.”

She almost wrote Wyncombe’ by mistake, but there was no time to write the note again. She merely

changed the W into a B.

She addressed an envelope to Lady Logan and went out into the hall.

There were two footmen on duty.

She guessed that the butler, who might have been curious had he been there, would be resting after

serving the luncheon.

She gave the note to one of the footmen and to the other she said,

“Outside the gates you will find a Hackney Carriage that I know is there, because I saw it a moment or so

ago. Will you please ask the driver to come round to the front door and have my trunk fetched from my

room. I have to leave unexpectedly.”

The footman looked surprised, but he was trained to do as he was told.

He ran off towards the gate, whilst the other footman put down the note for Lady Logan on a table and

went upstairs for Belinda’s trunk.

A few minutes later she drove away and she told herself that she had wasted very little time and her

stepfather could not really blame her for bringing her belongings with her.

She had no idea where she was going, but obviously the driver of the Hackney carriage did.

They went quite some distance through several large squares until he drew up in a narrow street and

Belinda vaguely thought from what she had learned of London that it was not far from Piccadilly.

As the horses came to a standstill, she saw a little farther up the street a familiar face.

It was George, who had come to the country with her stepfather.

She saw that he was standing beside the horses which had brought her to London.

She did not wait to speak to George, but hurried from the Hackney carriage to the door of the house.

To her surprise, it was open and even stranger there was no servant in attendance.

There was a very narrow hallway and staircase immediately in front of her.

She could hear men’s voices and laughter.

She realised that the flat where she thought she would find her stepfather was upstairs. There appeared

to be only a door below which would lead down to the basement.

She walked tentatively up the stairs, hoping she had come to the right place.

It was obvious from the din that her stepfather was entertaining or being entertained by friends.

She reached the landing.

Ahead of her was an open door. Through it she saw a large room that seemed to be filled with men.

She hesitated.

She looked frantically for D’Arcy Rowland and then she saw him lying back in an armchair, a glass in

his hand.

He raised it and shouted so that he could be heard above the noise,

“A toast! A toast! To ‘Lucky D’Arcy’ – raise your glasses!”

There was a shout of laughter.

The men, and there must have been about ten of them, lifted their glasses and shouted,

“To ‘Lucky D’Arcy’ – for he’s a jolly good fellow!”

Because she felt shy of intruding, Belinda waited.

Then a door on her left opened.

She saw a man who looked like a valet or a porter standing there.

Behind him was a bedroom where she imagined her stepfather must have been sleeping.

She moved to the doorway, saying as she did,

“May I speak to you for a moment?”

The man opened the door fully for her and Belinda walked into the room, far enough into the room to

be able to speak without her voice being lost in the noise coming from the sitting room.

“I am the stepdaughter of Captain D’Arcy Rowland,” she explained, “and I would like to speak to him

alone.”

The man, who was middle-aged, smiled.

“Then you be Miss Belinda Wyncombe!” he said. “I’ve ’eard the Cap’n speak of you. I looks after ’im

when ’e can afford it. ’E be very ’appy at the moment.”

“What has happened?” Belinda asked tentatively.

“I ’spect the Cap’n’ill want to tell you ’isself,” the man replied, but ’e’s jest come into a fortune and comes

back ’ere with ’is friends in tow wiv a case of champagne and ’e’s got no time for anythin’ else.”

“He has come into a fortune?” Belinda repeated beneath her breath.

“S’right, miss. Some mine as be in Arizona or some such place. It’s turned out to be full of gold and the

Cap’n thinks ’e’s the richest man on earth!”

“Oh, I am glad!” Belinda exclaimed.

There was a sudden burst of laughter in the room next door.

Then the men were singing, although she did not recognise the song.

“What I suggests you do, miss,” the valet said in a fatherly tone, “be to come back when ’e’ll be more like

’isself.”

He grinned before he added,

“There be a lot of bottles still unopened.”

“I am sure you are right,” Belinda murmured.

If her stepfather’s mine had ‘turned up trumps’, then there was no need for him to be told where Marcus

Logan had been.

The valet, without saying any more, walked out onto the landing and closed the door into the sitting

room.

He took her down the stairs, letting her escape without any of the men seeing her.

“Thank you,” Belinda said.

Then, as she started to go outside, she stopped.

“Did Captain Rowland come back here in a carriage drawn by two horses,” she asked, “which he

borrowed several days ago?”

“That’s right, miss.” the valet replied, “and I don’t suppose ’e’ll be wantin’ it again today.”

Belinda hesitated and then she said,

“Would it be possible for you to loan me two sovereigns which you can get back from my stepfather

later?”

“’Course, miss!” the man said breezily. “I ’spect you’re as skint as the Cap’n bin this last week. Thing’s a-

gonna be better now – much better!”

There was a glint in the valet’s eyes. It told Belinda that he was hoping to benefit from his Master’s new

found wealth.

He pulled two sovereigns out of his pocket and put them into her hand.

“Thank you! Thank you very much!” Belinda said. “I am very, very grateful to you.”

“That be all right, miss and you come back tomorrow. I’ll tell the Cap’n you called.”

Belinda did not answer, but hurried out into the street.

The Hackney carriage was nowhere in sight and she guessed that her stepfather would somehow have

paid him in advance.

She wondered how he had managed to do so.

George was still there and she went up to him.

“The Captain will not be requiring you any more today, George, and I wonder if you would be kind

enough to take me home.”

“Home, miss?” George asked in surprise.

“I know it is a long way. Are the horses up to it?”

George nodded.

“They’ll be all right, miss. I’ll take ’em gentle like.”

“Then let us go,” Belinda suggested. “I have some money for you if you will do this for me.”

“Aw, that’s all right, miss.”

Belinda, however, was thinking that they might want to stop for something to eat along the way.

She, fortunately, had had luncheon, but she doubted if George, having been driving her stepfather,

would have had anything since breakfast.

She climbed into the chaise and George picked up the reins.

Then they were off.

As they drove out of London, Belinda was thinking that she was driving away from the greatest

adventure she had ever had.

It was something she had never expected, but she would never forget it.

She could still feel the rapture that had enveloped her when Marcus Logan had kissed her and she knew

it would remain with her for the rest of her life.

Belinda arrived home as the sun was sinking and the birds were going to roost.

The horses were tired, but they had given them a short rest at a Posting inn.

Belinda had insisted on George having something to eat, whilst she had ordered only coffee for herself,

thinking it extravagant when she had so little money.

She intended at the end of the journey to give George one of the sovereigns.

That would leave ten shillings for Mrs. Bates to buy the food she would require the next day.

It might be some time, she thought, before her stepfather came home.

At least she need not be afraid now of losing the house that belonged to her.

After Bates had welcomed her back, she went straight to bed.

She was very tired, but she lay awake, thinking that everything that had happened was like a dream.

The wonderful thing was that her stepfather’s good luck had saved them both from the horror of what

might have happened.

By a miracle his mine had, after all, produced gold.

‘Step-Papa will come home soon and tell me all about it,’ Belinda thought.

Then after she had bravely kept her emotions under control for so long, the tears came.

She wept because she would never see Marcus Logan again.

She wept because she was alone.

Her mother, she believed, had saved her and her stepfather from poverty.

Yet she would not be able to save her now from a misery that was like a dagger piercing her heart.

A long time later, pretending that Marcus Logan’s lips were on hers and his arms were holding her, she

fell asleep.

*

The next morning Belinda was ashamed of her tears.

She was ashamed, too, of her yearning for a man who she was certain would never think of her again.

He would have come back from the City, having ensured that, through his discovery, the people of

Zenjira would be prosperous and they would be able to resist any aggressive movements by the Russians.

‘So why,’ she asked, ‘should he be interested in me?’

She had already told herself a hundred times that he had kissed her out of gratitude and for no other

reason.

‘I had only just met him,’ she reasoned. ‘He must have met thousands of women on his travels, who

were far more interesting than I could ever be.’

Mrs. Bates called as she always did at half past eight.

Belinda got up and went downstairs.

The flowers had died in the drawing room, so she emptied the vases and went into the garden to pick

some more.

She tried not to think of how beautiful the garden was in Regent’s Park.

She tried, too, to ignore the fact that so many things in her own home were dilapidated and they could

not be compared with the perfection of Marcus Logan’s fabulous possessions.

He had said that what he had collected was a frame for his mother.

‘He would be very attentive and kind to his wife, if he had one,’ Belinda thought and she shied away

from the thought of Marcus Logan kissing another woman as he had kissed her.

She went into her father’s study and found the carving of the tiger from Zenjira and it was almost

identical to the one Lady Logan had shown her.

She took it from the shelf and held it in her hands.

She was thinking of how important her discovery would have been had not the good news of the gold

mine in Arizona reached her stepfather first.

‘I am glad, so very glad,’ she thought, ‘that although was I was prepared to betray Marcus Logan, in the

end there was no necessity for me to do so.’

She put the tiger back in its place on the shelf and went out again into the garden.

The beauty of the flowers and trees somehow comforted her.

It had comforted her when her mother had died. Again her mind was working and telling her that she

could still, in her own way, be in touch with her mother.

But she would never be able to reach Marcus Logan.

‘He is haunting me!’ she thought angrily.

There was, however, nothing she could do about it.

As if Mrs. Bates knew how wretched Belinda felt, she cooked her favourite dishes for luncheon and

dinner.

She found it almost impossible to eat.

But as she did not want to hurt Mrs. Bates’s feelings, she managed to slip some of the food at both meals

into her napkin and she then went down to the bottom of the garden to leave it for the birds.

When she went up to bed, she felt that it was the longest day she had ever spent.

The loneliness was intolerable!

‘When Step-Papa arrives,’ she decided, ‘I will tell him that I want to go away. If he is really so rich,

perhaps he could arrange for us to visit France or other parts of Europe.’

Then she knew with a sinking of her heart that the last thing her stepfather would want to do would be

to leave England.

He would wish to remain in London, enjoying himself with his friends, still, in his own way, trying to

forget her mother.

‘What can I do?’ she asked the stars before she went to bed and the rising sun when she got up.

To occupy herself she picked even more flowers.

She filled all the vases in the house and made every room look beautiful.

The fragrance of roses filled the hall and the staircase and welcomed anybody who came in through the

front door.

“Now, Miss Belinda, what would you like to eat today?” Mrs. Bates asked her.

Belinda longed to say that she wanted nothing, but she knew that would upset her.

“I would like you to surprise me,” she answered finally, “and thank you both for being so kind.”

“Bates and I be worried about you,” Mrs. Bates replied. “It ain’t like you, Miss Belinda, to be so quiet and

look so pale.”

“I will soon be all right,” Belinda replied. “The long journey to London and back has upset me.”

“It’d upset anybody,” Bates said. “And London ain’t the right place for you, Miss Belinda, and that’s the

truth!”

After a luncheon that she had to force herself to eat, Belinda went into her father’s study.

She picked up the tiger again and sat holding it in her hands.

She was imagining Marcus Logan buying it in Zenjira, having used his intuition to find diamonds or it

might have been gold.

Anything that would bring prosperity to the people who were so poor.

‘Only he would do anything so wonderful,’ she mused.

She gently stroked the wooden back of the tiger.

Because she was thinking of Marcus, the tears were once again flooding into her eyes.

As she tried to prevent herself from crying, she heard the door open.

She had no wish for Bates to see her tears and hastily she climbed to her feet.

She walked towards the shelf, intending to replace the tiger.

She wondered why Bates was standing silent just inside the room and turned her head.

Then she was still.

It was almost as if she was turned to stone with the tiger still in her hand.

It was Marcus Logan who stood there.

He did not speak.

He only looked at her and, as her eyes met his, she felt as if the whole room was lit not by the sunshine,

but by a light that came directly from Heaven.

Its brilliance was so dazzling that it enveloped them both.

There was nothing in the world except themselves.

Belinda could never remember afterwards whether she moved or Marcus did.

Somehow she was in his arms and he was kissing her.

Kissing her wildly, passionately, possessively, until they were both breathless.

She was incapable of asking him why he was there or how he had found her.

All she knew was that her body had come alive with the same ecstasy he had given her before.

It was moving from her breast into her lips.

It was as if he carried her into the sky and the world was left behind them.

She gave him not only her heart but her soul, and she was his.

After what might have been a few minutes or a century of time, Marcus asked in a voice that was deep

and unsteady,

“How could you have gone away from me as you did? How could you have done anything so damnable

as to leave without telling me who you were?”

He did not wait for her answer, but kissed her again.

After what seemed a very long time, she managed to ask,

“H-how did you – manage to – find me?”

He smiled before he replied,

“If I can find precious stones, gold and a dozen other things, do you imagine I could not find you,

however difficult you made it?”

“But – you are – here!”

“ I am here,” he said, “but it might have been far more difficult had you not left your father’s book

behind.”

Belinda gave a little cry.

“I never – thought of it – but of course – I left it on the table by my – bed!”

“I could not believe you had gone,” Marcus said again, “leaving only that note for my mother which told

us nothing.”

“Y-you wanted to – find me?”

He looked down at her.

“Can you really ask me such a ridiculous question? I was frantic, desperate, in case I had lost you forever!

How could you be so cruel?”

“I-I did not think you would – want to find me – or that I meant – anything to – you,” Belinda

murmured.

Marcus moved his lips against her forehead.

“I knew when I kissed you,” he said, “that you were the woman I had been looking for all my life but

thought I would never find.”

Belinda drew in her breath.

“That is – how I felt about you – but how could I – know that you felt the – same about – me?”

“For once,” Marcus replied, “you were not using your intuition. I used mine when I found I had lost the

most precious jewel of all and it is quite simply called – love!”

Belinda put her cheek against his shoulder.

“Did you – really think – that? I thought – that after all – the many women you must have met I could –

never mean – anything in your life.”

Marcus laughed.

“You are flattering me and at the same time being somewhat insulting!”

Belinda looked up at him wide-eyed.

“My intuition never fails me,” he said. “Or it has not done so, up until now. I knew, almost from the

moment I saw you and we talked together, that you were someone very very special.”

He paused before he added quietly,

“It was like the feeling I have when I know there are jewels, gold or platinum in the ground.”

“Platinum?” Belinda asked.

“That is what I found in Zenjira.”

It was then Belinda remembered why she had run away and that Marcus did not know she was really a

spy.

She moved from his arms and walked across the room to look out of the window into the garden.

“I-I have – something to – tell you,” she started.

“I am listening!”

“Perhaps – when you hear what I have to say – you will not love me any – more.”

“That would be impossible – but go on!”

“I came as a – reader to – your mother,” Belinda admitted in a small voice he could hardly hear, “in order

to spy on – you!”

“So that is why you looked so frightened!”

He moved, as he spoke, to stand beside her at the window.

He did not touch her, but because he was so near, he felt her quiver.

Irresistibly the rapture was moving within her.

“M-my stepfather – spent all the money my father left me,” she stammered, “and even – mortgaged this

house to the bank – so that it was no longer mine and – I had nowhere to g-go.”

Marcus did not speak.

She went on, feeling that she was destroying her only chance of happiness.

But she knew she had to tell him the whole truth.

“He thought that the only way he could – save us was to find out – before you floated a Company on the

– Stock Exchange – what it was you had recently – found and – where.”

To her surprise, Marcus Logan laughed.

Then his arms were round her, pulling her close to him.

“So that is what made you frightened! My darling, people have been trying that trick ever since I first

discovered diamonds. But, strangely enough, they have never managed to get ahead of me.”

Belinda was finding it difficult to speak, but she forced herself to say,

“It was – wrong – I know it was wrong and Papa would have been – furious with me – but I had to – try

to save my stepfather from – going to prison – and for us – both being absolutely – penniless.”

“As soon as I discovered who you were,” Marcus said, “and at the same time hearing that Captain

Rowland had come into a fortune, I guessed it was something like that that had made you run away.”

“You found – all that out – through Papa’s book?” Belinda asked. “But – how?”

“I was always suspicious of your name being ‘Brown’,” Marcus said. “You not only stammered over it

when you spoke it, but you also made a mess of it when you wrote that note to my mother.”

He kissed her hair before he added,

“The inscription in the book read,

‘To my beloved daughter, Belinda, on her tenth birthday,

from her affectionate father, Richard Wyncombe’.”

“So having found out who I am,” Belinda murmured, “you then learnt what had – happened to my –

stepfather!”

“That was not very difficult,” Marcus answered with a smile. “He is so overjoyed at owning shares in the

most fabulous gold mine yet found in Arizona that he is proclaiming it to the treetops – or rather in Whites

Club, of which I also am a member.”

Belinda gave a shaky little laugh.

She knew exactly how exuberant her stepfather was.

“But my concern is not with him, but with you, my darling. Are you alone here?”

“Yes,” Belinda answered. “I was so happy with Mama, but it was terribly – lonely for me when she

married Captain Rowland – and even worse when she died.”

“And will you be very happy with me?” Marcus asked.

Belinda looked up at him questioningly.

“Are you quite sure you love me?” he added.

“I-I cried last – night because – I thought I would never – see you – again,” she whispered.

He kissed her gently before he declared,

“We will be married immediately and then we will go to my house in the country which I am so looking

forward to showing you.”

Belinda put her hands on his shoulders.

“Are you – certain – quite certain that you are – safe and those men will not – try to hurt you again?”

“It is something they no doubt would like to do,” Marcus replied, “but they will all be given long

sentences for breaking, entering and carrying dangerous weapons.”

Belinda gave a little cry.

“I knew – they were – trying to – injure you!”

“But you saved me,” he answered quietly, “and that is what you have to continue to do in the future.”

“How – can I do – that if you are – going round the world finding things – like gold and platinum which

– others wish to – possess? I don’t think I could – bear it!”

“There is no more need for me to go round the world, unless some very special reason arises for doing

so,” Marcus said. “For the moment, at any rate, I am going to spend my time in the country, making love to

you and breeding horses, which is something that has always been of interest to me.”

“Do you really – mean that?”

“I mean it,” he stated firmly, “and if I do go abroad, you will come with me.”

He paused a moment and then went on,

“If you are going to protect me, you may as well do it on the spot, rather than sitting at home and using

your intuition to know whether I am alive or dead!”

He was teasing her, but because she was afraid for him, she moved a little closer.

“Please – you must be very very careful of yourself. I could not – bear to lose you as I lost – Papa and

then Mama.”

“You loved your parents and that is how our children must feel about us,” Marcus said. “And if nothing

else, my lovely one, a family will make me want to stay at home.”

He smiled at her and then continued,

“As it is, I would rather be with you than do anything else in the whole world!”

“That is what I – wanted you to say,” Belinda cried. “Oh, Marcus – I love you – I love you!”

Then he was kissing her incessantly, passionately and demandingly and they were flying into the sky.

There was no danger, no fear, only Love.

The Love that joins two people with their hearts, their bodies and their instincts that can never be

denied.

Together they were one for all Eternity and beyond into every life they had yet to live.

OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES

The Barbara Cartland Eternal Collection is the unique opportunity to collect as ebooks all five hundred of

the timeless beautiful romantic novels written by the world’s most celebrated and enduring romantic author.

Named the Eternal Collection because Barbara’s inspiring stories of pure love, just the same as love

itself, the books will be published on the internet at the rate of four titles per month until all five hundred are

available.

The Eternal Collection, classic pure romance available worldwide for all time .

1. Elizabethan Lover
2. The Little Pretender
3. A Ghost in Monte Carlo
4. A Duel of Hearts
5. The Saint and the Sinner
6. The Penniless Peer
7. The Proud Princess
8. The Dare-Devil Duke
9. Diona and a Dalmatian

10. A Shaft of Sunlight
11. Lies for Love
12. Love and Lucia
13. Love and the Loathsome Leopard
14. Beauty or Brains
15. The Temptation of Torilla
16. The Goddess and the Gaiety Girl
17. Fragrant Flower
18. Look Listen and Love
19. The Duke and the Preacher’s Daughter
20. A Kiss for the King
21. The Mysterious Maid-servant
22. Lucky Logan Finds Love

THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND

Barbara Cartland, who sadly died in May 2000 at the grand age of ninety eight, remains one of the world’s

most famous romantic novelists. With worldwide sales of over one billion, her outstanding 723 books have

been translated into thirty six different languages, to be enjoyed by readers of romance globally.

Writing her first book ‘Jigsaw’ at the age of 21, Barbara became an immediate bestseller. Building upon

this initial success, she wrote continuously throughout her life, producing bestsellers for an astonishing 76

years. In addition to Barbara Cartland’s legion of fans in the UK and across Europe, her books have always

been immensely popular in the USA. In 1976 she achieved the unprecedented feat of having books at

numbers 1 & 2 in the prestigious B. Dalton Bookseller bestsellers list.

Although she is often referred to as the ‘Queen of Romance’, Barbara Cartland also wrote several

historical biographies, six autobiographies and numerous theatrical plays as well as books on life, love, health

and cookery. Becoming one of Britain’s most popular media personalities and dressed in her trademark

pink, Barbara spoke on radio and television about social and political issues, as well as making many public

appearances.

In 1991 she became a Dame of the Order of the British Empire for her contribution to literature and her

work for humanitarian and charitable causes.

Known for her glamour, style, and vitality Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime. Best

remembered for her wonderful romantic novels and loved by millions of readers worldwide, her books

remain treasured for their heroic heroes, plucky heroines and traditional values. But above all, it was Barbara

Cartland’s overriding belief in the positive power of love to help, heal and improve the quality of life for

everyone that made her truly unique.

LUCKY LOGAN

FINDS LOVE

Barbara Cartland

Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd

This edition © 2012

Copyright Cartland Promotions 1993

eBook conversion by

M-Y Books

Table of Contents

Cover

Lucky Logan Finds Love

Author’s Note
Chapter One – 1870
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES

THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND
Copyright

true