They had taken him to a Convent where the nuns were caring for a number of wounded men too ill to be moved to the hospitals in Toulouse or Bordeaux.
They had at first, Rodney related, thought it would be impossible to save his life, but, when gradually after some months he could think and speak, he found he had lost his memory.
"I had not the slightest idea of my name or even that I was English," he explained.
"And you did not remember me?" Beryl asked.
He had his arms round her as he told them the story. Now he looked down at her with an expression of love in his eyes that made Torilla know that her cousin"s happiness was a.s.sured for all time.
"You were, my darling, the first person I remembered and when I came back to sanity," he said, "I saw your lovely face very clearly, but your name escaped me."
"It is the a same as a yours," Beryl added with a little sob.
"I only knew that later," Rodney answered and kissed her forehead.
"Go on!" the Countess begged, "I must hear the end of the story."
"It was only three weeks ago," Rodney said, "that suddenly something which must have blocked my mind cleared and I remembered everything! I awoke one morning to know my name, my Regiment and who was my wife!"
His arms tightened around Beryl as he went on, "I knew then that the only thing that mattered was that I should get back to you, my precious."
"Why did it take you so long?"
"To begin with, as I had no money, I had to get to Paris," Rodney replied, "I knew that the British Emba.s.sy would help me, and I was not mistaken. Our Amba.s.sador believed the story I had to tell and paid my fare back to England."
"And quite right too," the Earl remarked.
"When I reached Dover, I bought an English newspaper to see what had been happening here," Rodney went on, "and almost the first thing I read was the report that my wife was to be married the following day."
"Oh, darling were you a horrified?" Beryl questioned.
"I was determined to stop the wedding," Rodney said firmly, "and I have succeeded."
"You are not a angry?" she asked in a very small voice, "that I should have agreed to a marry anyone a else?"
She had forgotten, Torilla realised, that there was anyone else present and she was speaking to Rodney as if they were alone on a magical island.
And that in fact was where they were, she thought, alone and together and what was outside the circle of their happiness was of no significance.
There was so much more to hear, but Rodney was quite positive in what he wished to do.
"I want a bath, my darling," he said to Beryl, "and afterwards I would like to rest. Tomorrow morning early we will go home."
He saw the question in her eyes and added, "I would not want my mother to suffer any longer."
"No, of course not," Beryl agreed, "and I want to see your mother and father"s happiness when you walk into the house after they have mourned you for so long."
Everything was arranged just as Rodney wanted it and Torilla knew that that was exactly how Beryl"s life would run in the future.
Because she loved Rodney he would always be her Master. The Social world had seen the last of the "incomparable" a the girl who had Social ambitions and who wanted to be an important hostess covered in diamonds.
All Beryl would want in the future was to be with Rodney and together they had the only thing which really mattered a their love.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
The stagecoach trundled down the Great North Road, stopping at every village and crossroads.
It had left London at seven o"clock from The Lamb at Islington and Torilla knew they would be stopping soon at Baldock for the pa.s.sengers to have a light repast.
She was almost oblivious to the discomfort of sitting squashed between two countrywomen and hardly noticed that a small boy was dropping pieces of chocolate on her muslin gown.
Deep in her thoughts, she had only aroused herself when the coach reached Hatfield to think of Beryl and Rodney and knew how happy they must be together.
She had not left London immediately after the interrupted wedding, as she had meant to do, because the Earl had hurried back to Hertfordshire and her aunt had looked rather helplessly at the huge collection of presents.
"These will all have to go back," she sighed, "and although the servants can pack them up I will have to find the addresses of the senders."
"I will help you, Aunt Louise," Torilla said and for once the Countess seemed grateful for her a.s.sistance.
They worked hard for the next three days and when only a few anonymous parcels remained without addresses, the Countess said, "I only hope some of our so-called friends will have the graciousness to return these gifts to Beryl and a Rodney."
There was a note in her voice, which told Torilla all too clearly how deeply her aunt regretted that Beryl had not made the brilliant Social marriage she had hoped for.
"Beryl is very happy, Aunt Louise," she said, and it was in fact an a.s.surance she had repeated a dozen times already.
"She had so many chances," the Countess replied, "but Rodney Marsden a !"
It was unnecessary for her to say more.
Then, as if a thought suddenly struck her, the Countess said briskly, "Now I have time to think about you, Torilla, and I am sure that Lord Arkley has not forgotten you. We must ask him to dinner."
Torilla had risen to her feet.
"I must go back to Papa, Aunt Louise. He is a expecting me."
The Countess considered for a moment.
"Perhaps Lord Arkley, like everyone else, will have left London now that the Prince has gone to Brighton."
She looked at Torilla as if appraising her looks, then she added, "Go to your father now if you wish, but I will write to him and invite you to stay in September. Then Torilla, I will entertain for you."
Torilla realised that her aunt was transferring her ambitions for Beryl to herself, but she knew it was hopeless to say that she had no intention of marrying anyone other than one person a and he had disappeared!
She had half expected, although she thought it might prove impossible, that the Marquis would send her a note or possibly a verbal message after Rodney had stopped the wedding.
But the Marquis had become invisible.
He had gone on to Carlton House, which was understandable, but no one had heard anything of him since, and now sitting in the stagecoach Torilla could not help wondering if perhaps he felt humiliated by what had occurred. Certainly it had given the gossips something to sn.i.g.g.e.r about and Torilla was sure that it was the main topic of conversation from St. James Street to Chelsea.
Up to the last moment of leaving London she had wondered and hoped, but there had been nothing for her except two letters from Barrowfield, the first being from her father. His letter was ecstatic with a happiness she had not seen in him since her mother died.
Buddle air pumps were being installed in the mine, new machinery introduced to remove the water, the props had all been reinforced or replaced. Davy safety lamps were provided and the miners themselves could hardly believe the difference that increased wages had made in their lives.
It was left, however for Abby to tell Torilla that her father was in much better health than when she had left Barrowfield.
"The Master"s putting on weight," Abby wrote, "which is due to the fact that he is no longer so worried about the sick and needy.
"The Relief Fund which his Lordship set up has lifted from him the care of the children, the crippled and the very old. But them c.o.xwolds, of course, are still getting more than their fair share!"
Torilla had laughed, knowing how much Abby resented the manner in which the c.o.xwolds extorted money from her father, then went on reading, "I expect you know his Lordship"s doubled the Master"s stipend and now I"ve got two young girls to help me in the house and the food is like your dear mother used to order when we lived in Hertfordshire."
Torilla had given a little sigh of satisfaction.
Then she asked herself, as she had so often done before, whether any man could be so wonderful, so kind or so generous as the Marquis had been.
"I want to thank him," she thought and wondered almost despairingly whether she would ever have the opportunity. The stagecoach drew up outside The Royal George and the pa.s.sengers hurriedly climbed out.
"Twenty minutes, ladies and gent"men!" the guard said and everyone rushed into the inn determined to be served first.
It was only as she alighted, carrying her small valise, that Torilla realised the mess the child had made of her gown, and that after sitting for so long she felt hot and uncomfortable.
Inside the inn she asked a chambermaid if there was a room where she could change and was taken upstairs to a bedchamber that was not in use.
Torilla did not hurry. She knew that the food would not be very appetising and she was not particularly hungry.
She washed in cold water, then, taking a fresh gown from her valise that she had intended to put on for supper that evening, she took off the one which showed all too clearly the imprint of chocolate-covered fingers.
She tidied her hair in the mirror and saw her eyes wide and worried and with a suspicion of sadness in their depths looking back at her.
"Perhaps he does not a want me any a more?" she questioned and turned away because it was an agony even to imagine such a thing.
It was so hot that she did not put on her bonnet, but, carrying it with her valise, she went downstairs again.
There would only be time now, she thought, to ask for a cup of tea.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs she found the landlord waiting for her.
"This way please, madam," he said.
She put down her valise, thinking she would pick it up when she came from the coffee room.
The landlord opened a door and she walked in.
Only when she was inside did she realise that she was in an empty room except for one person standing at the far end of it.
He turned to face her and for a moment neither of them could move.
Without speaking the Marquis held out his arms and she ran towards him like a homing pigeon.
He held her so tightly that it was hard to breathe.
As Torilla raised her eyes to his, he looked down into them and she felt a thousand candles suddenly light the whole room.
Then he was kissing her wildly, frantically, pa.s.sionately as if they had stood on the brink of disaster and yet by some miracle had been saved from destruction.
It was as marvellous and Divine as the kiss he had given her before, but now it was more intense, more poignant, and she knew that her love was a force that had grown so strong that it was like a tempestuous sea or a burning fire.
"I love you! I love you!" she wanted to cry out.
But the Marquis"s lips drew her heart from her body and made it his and there was nothing in the world but him and he was Love itself.
Only after a long, long time did he raise his head to say in a voice deep and unsteady, "My precious, my little love, I thought I had lost you."
"Oh, Gallen!"
She hid her face as she spoke against his shoulder and the tears were running down her face from sheer happiness.
"It is all right my darling," the Marquis said. "It is all over,"
He kissed her hair as he added "I am so grateful, so unspeakably grateful, that the agony has pa.s.sed and we can be together."
"To-gether?"
Torilla echoed the words through her tears.
Then he kissed her again, a long slow possessive kiss, which made her feel as if her whole body melted into his a Some time later they sat at a small table and ate and drank, although what it was Torilla had no idea.
She could only look at the Marquis and feel that she was held captive by the expression in his eyes.
She had not known it could be possible for him to look so young, so happy and so carefree. The lines of cynicism had gone and there was a radiance in his face that she knew was echoed by hers.
It was even difficult to speak. They could only look at each other and feel as if they had died and been reborn. Once Torilla put out her hand to touch the Marquis.
"You are really a here?" she asked.
"That is what I want to say to you, my wonderful, beautiful perfect little love."
When the meal was over, the Marquis drew Torilla to her feet and, holding her by the hand, he walked from the private room along the pa.s.sage to the yard.
She saw that his phaeton was waiting there drawn by the superb chestnut horses she had seen were his when she was at The Pelican Inn.
Now there was no groom, only the ostlers from the inn were at the horses" heads.