Journey to a Star

CHAPTER ONE 1894-1

CHAPTER ONE

1894The Marquis of Oakenshaw yawned. It was very airless in St. James’s Palace and the Levee was taking rather longer than usual.

The Prince of Wales was in a jovial mood and therefore talked to almost everyone who was presented to him, his laughter ringing out again and again in the low-ceilinged chamber.

The Marquis who had seen it all happening before was not particularly impressed by the pageantry and the splendid appearance of the soldiers, sailors, diplomats and Ministers present.

He was thinking that as it was an unusually sunny day for January he would much prefer to be in the country riding one of his spirited horses over the Park or racing some of his special friends on his private course.

He was so deep in his thoughts that he started when the Levee ended and the Prince of Wales began to move towards the door.

The Marquis hurried to his side thinking, as he did so, that the Prince was growing more and more portly every year and there was no doubt that what he himself called his ‘Fancy clothes’ would soon have to be replaced or let out.

The Marquis himself was very different.

As he liked to ride light and to race his own horses whenever possible, he kept his weight down.

This meant being abstemious when it came to the huge meals that were served at Marlborough House and by every hostess who wished to entertain the Prince of Wales’s set.

The Marquis thought, again stifling a yawn, that long drawn out meals bored him just as much as long drawn out Levees and other Court functions.

It was difficult, therefore, for him to sound enthusiastic when the Prince suggested,

“I hope, Vivien, that you are dining with me tonight. The Princess is away and I am looking forward not only to entertaining my old cronies at dinner but to finding some amusement later among the glittering lights.”

This meant, the Marquis knew, that they would go to some theatrical party which always amused the Prince and they would doubtless end up in one of the many Pleasure Houses, which would welcome them with open arms.

He told himself almost petulantly that he was too old for such frivolities and so was the Prince.

But His Royal Highness still enjoyed the glitter and tinsel of the stage and the so-called glamour of the ladies of the town with the enthusiasm of a young Subaltern.

“It sounds delightful, Sire,” the Marquis replied.

The Prince chuckled as they walked down the ancient oak stairs of the Palace that had been trodden by Royalty for over four centuries.

A carriage was waiting in the courtyard to convey the Prince the very short distance to Marlborough House.

As he drove away, the Marquis and the other courtiers, statesmen and equerries who had seen him off, bowed their heads in the manner due to Royalty, then relaxed as the horses carried the heir to the throne out of sight.

“Well, that is over,” one of the Gentlemen-in-Waiting said to the Marquis, “and now thank God I can get out of this uncomfortable uniform.”

“I intend to do the same,” the Marquis concurred.

He had turned away towards where his own carriage was waiting for him when the Gentleman-in-Waiting said,

“Oh, by the way, Oakenshaw, I almost forget, the Foreign Secretary asked if you would call to see him at the Foreign Office before luncheon.”

“What about?” the Marquis asked in an uncompromising tone.

“I have no idea,” was the reply, “but knowing his Lordship I imagine it will be something he wants done – yesterday!”

The Marquis gave a short laugh with little humour in it.

He was well aware that Lord Rosebery with his ability, his rank and his wealth would have reached power even without the drive and the enquiring brain that made him in many ways, remarkable.

Mr. Gladstone had called him ‘the man of the future'.

When he was promoted to the post of Foreign Secretary, Lord Rosebery’s powers of oratory had won him many admirers and great popularity in the country.

This was accentuated by the fact that his racehorses were superlative and constant winners.

That he included amongst his close friends the much younger Marquis of Oakenshaw was not surprising, for they were both fine sportsmen and both had a sense of humour that enabled them to laugh not only at their contemporaries but at themselves.

As the Marquis’s carriage, which was lightly sprung and drawn by two outstanding horses, drove towards the Foreign Office, he was wondering why Lord Rosebery, with whom he had dined only a few days ago, should wish to see him again in such a hurry.

He would have liked to go back first to his house in Grosvenor Square to change, but, if Lord Rosebery said his need of him was urgent, then it would obviously be a mistake to keep him waiting.

The horses drew up at the Foreign Office and one of Lord Rosebery’s private secretaries came hurrying down the steps to greet him, saying as he did so,

“Good morning, my Lord. The Foreign Secretary will be very grateful you were able to come to him so quickly.”

“Good morning Cunningham,” the Marquis said, having met the young man before. “What is the excitement?”

“I think his Lordship will want to tell you that himself,” Mr. Cunningham replied.

He led the way along the high-ceilinged corridors to open the door of his Chief’s office with almost a flourish, as he announced,

“The Marquis of Oakenshaw, my Lord.”

Lord Rosebery gave an exclamation of pleasure and rose to his feet as the Marquis walked towards him.

“Thank you for coming, Vivien,” he said. “I must say you look very resplendent. What was the Levee like?”

“Rather more boring than usual,” the Marquis replied sardonically.

He sat down, as he was expected to, in a chair opposite the desk as Lord Rosebery resumed his seat and said,

“Thank you for coming. I expect Stanhope told you it was urgent.”

“What has happened?” the Marquis enquired. “Has war broken out in Europe or have the Russians invaded India?”

“Nothing quite as bad as that,” Lord Rosebery replied with a smile, “but I want your help in Siam.”

“Siam?” the Marquis exclaimed. “I thought the trouble there was settled.”

“It is – or soon should be, but at the same time I need you to visit Bangkok on a mission of goodwill.”

The Marquis put back his head and laughed.

“I will say one thing for you, Archibald, you are always full of surprises. I might have expected you to ask me to go to Paris or Cairo, but certainly not Siam.”

Lord Rosebery settled himself a little more comfortably on the other side of the desk and his eyes were twinkling as he added,

“I am not asking you to put yourself out unduly. I thought perhaps your yacht, which is doubtless gathering barnacles from lack of use, would be a comfortable means of travel and you could anchor in the river as the French managed to do with their gunboats last year.”

“I heard about that,” the Marquis remarked, “and a nice mess they made of it. I understand that after we had sent a couple of warships into the vicinity everything quietened down.”

“It did,” Lord Rosebery agreed, “and I might have known, Vivien, that you would be well informed.”

He was silent for a moment and he looked with a speculative eye on the handsome young man opposite him. Unexpectedly he said,

“With your brain and your knowledge of the world, why do you not play a more prominent part in politics? We need you.”

The Marquis smiled, which swept the bored look away from his face.

“I think the answer is,” he replied, “that those long-winded speeches in the House of Lords are as boring as those who make them.”

Lord Rosebery laughed.

“All right, I will not push you into doing anything in Parliament if you will help me, as you have before, outside it.”

“Do you really wish me to go to Siam at this particular moment?”

“If it is inconvenient,” Lord Rosebery replied, “I am sure I can surmise the reason you are reluctant. Is she very alluring?”

“She is.”

He was thinking as he spoke that Lady Bradwell, who had just come into his life, had an allure that he thought and hoped was different from that of anyone he had met before.

The Marquis’s love affairs, which were continuous, fiery and passionate, never lasted long because invariably he became bored with the sameness of them.

At the age of thirty-three he was still unmarried for the simple reason that he had not met any woman he could seriously contemplate being in his life indefinitely.

In the majority of his affaires de coeur, there was no question of marriage.

But he found that even the attractive, witty and much acclaimed beauties that came into his life with a flattering eagerness were, as soon as he knew them well, so identical in their outlook and their conversation that all too quickly he began to yawn.

“Good Heavens, Vivien,” his closest friend Harry Prestwood had said to him only the week before. “What the hell do you expect out of life? What are you looking for? And if it comes to that, where did Daisy fail you?”

He was speaking of a lady who had been unanimously spoken of as the greatest beauty of the century and who had, like so many women before her, lost her heart and in consequence her head, over the Marquis.

The Countess had a complaisant husband who preferred the country to London and after ten years of marriage closed his eyes to his wife’s private amusements so long as she upheld the dignity of his name in public.

Because of the Marquis’s raffish reputation, which would have been more suited to the reign of George IV than that of Queen Victoria, any woman even seen with him was enough to start the gossips chattering.

But he had attempted to be very circumspect where Daisy was concerned for the simple reason that he was well aware that since they were both notable people from the public point of view, their association if noticed, was bound to be sensational.

But Daisy fell obviously in love and they began to be talked about. So, because the Marquis disliked the innuendos of his friends and the snide remarks of the gossip columnists, he brought the affairs to an abrupt end.

When he wished he could be very ruthless and very determined. Once he had made up his mind, no amount of tears, pleading or recriminations would alter it.

“How could you do this to me?” Daisy cried, when he told her he thought it best that they should not see so much of each other.

“I am afraid there is nothing else we can do,” he replied.

“I love you,” Daisy said, “I adore you. I never thought it possible I could love a man as I love you.”

“You are certainly very flattering,” the Marquis answered, “but you cannot afford to damage your reputation either in public or at Marlborough House.”

Daisy had stiffened and for a moment her blue eyes were swimming with tears as she looked at the Marquis incredulously as if she doubted he was speaking the truth.

“What do you mean about Marlborough House?” she enquired. “The Prince would never say anything against me – as you well know.”

“Last night at dinner the Princess asked me very pointedly,” the Marquis replied, “when your husband was returning to London.”

Daisy was silent.

She was well aware that to antagonise the Princess would be disastrous Socially and, though she thought it unlikely that the beautiful Alexandra would become an enemy, she had never been as friendly as Daisy would have liked.

As if he knew he had scored an important point, the Marquis said quietly,

“I want to thank you, Daisy, for the happiness you have given me and I hope we shall always be friends.”

As he spoke, he knew he sounded pompous, but there was nothing else he could do.

The truth was that he was not so concerned with Daisy’s reputation as with the fact that she no longer attracted him as she had at first.

He could not understand why all too quickly every woman in whom he was interested seemed after a very short time to repeat and re-repeat what she said until he could anticipate almost every word before it passed her lips.

He did not wish a woman to be too clever – God forbid! Nothing was more infuriating than a blue stocking.