A Call of Love

CHAPTER ONE 1880-1

CHAPTER ONE

1880Lord Kenington woke with a start and remembered that he was at sea.

He had been very tired when he came aboard the P & O Liner, which was taking him to India.

After eating a supper brought to his cabin by his valet, he had climbed into bed. He knew that he had a great deal to think about and decide on when he was alone, but instead he had fallen asleep.

Now, as he glanced at the clock beside him, he saw that it was well into a new day.

He had been extremely busy before he had come on board.

The Prime Minister had asked him if he would go out to India and bring back to him a personal report on the situation on the frontier of that country.

India was of huge importance to Great Britain and there was an unmistakable menace from the Russians.

The Cossacks, riding magnificently across Southern Asia, were coming nearer and nearer to what was always considered the brightest jewel in the British Crown.

Queen Victoria herself had told Lord Kenington that she wanted a much more intimate report than she had been currently receiving and the Prime Minister had spent several hours discussing his mission with him.

Now, having rung for his valet, Lord Kenington got up and began to dress, having decided that he would go down to breakfast rather than have it in his cabin.

He had made it a rule never to talk while he was dressing. He always disliked chatter early in the morning and his valet therefore handed him his clothes one by one without saying a word.

Then he walked out and onto the deck for a little fresh air before he went to the Saloon for breakfast.

They were a long way down the English Channel and he realised they would soon be in the Bay of Biscay, which was invariably rough however bright the sunshine.

As he was an excellent sailor, a rough sea did not worry him, in fact he rather enjoyed it.

As he walked round the deck, he thought by the time he reached India he would be sadly short of exercise.

In London he would normally ride his exceedingly fine horses in Rotten Row early in the morning and, when he was in the country, he had an early breakfast so that he could ride for at least two hours before he started work.

He should, at the age of twenty-eight, have been enjoying himself, like most of his friends, with the beauties in Mayfair who were hotly pursued by the Prince of Wales.

Lord Kenington had, however, found recently that however beautiful a woman might be, in a short while she became boring.

Although it might seem absurd, he really preferred working to making love.

This suited the Prime Minister and the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, who both regularly consulted him on various matters of State. If there was trouble in Paris, it was said almost automatically,

“Oh, send Kenington over to see what is wrong,” and then the Prime Minister would insist that the same rule applied to most other countries in Europe.

He had inherited his brain and air of authority from a long line of impressive ancestors, who had played their part in English politics from the moment they were born.

When Lord Kenington’s father died and he came into the title, there was no doubt that young Charles was a ‘chip off the old block’.

At Eton he had always been top of the class and at Cambridge University he had been awarded a First.

“The trouble with you, Charles, is that you have too many brains for your age,” one of his friends said to him. “You make us all feel stupid and we naturally resent it.”

Lord Kenington had smiled, but did not reply and he knew only too well that his friends would be more than willing to accept his many invitations to shoot, to hunt and to take part in the steeplechase that was one of the great events in the spring.

At his home, which was one of the finest ancestral houses in the whole of England, everything ran perfectly like clockwork.

He was not required to give very much personal attention to it and this left him free for the political and diplomatic world in which he had made his name. Invariably he was involved in every crisis, whether it happened in London, Europe or Timbuktu.

His mother had been delighted when he told her that he was going to India.

“Whether you like it or not, dearest Charles,” she said, “you will have a rest on the way out and on the way back for at least seventeen days each way. That is what I have been wanting for you for some time.”

“Wanting for me, but why Mama?” he had asked. “You are not suggesting that I am not in good health?”

“I still think you are spending far too much time in so many consultations and private meetings,” she replied. “I am looking for the day when you bring home a wife and then have at least three sons to inherit your name and your glorious homes.”

Lord Kenington had thrown up his hands, “Oh, not that again, Mama!” he complained. “I am sick to death of being told I should marry and settle down! As you well know, if I did so, I would be bored to tears and would probably leave my wife at home and go round the world on my own.”

His mother had laughed, but at the same time there was an anxious expression in her eyes. She felt, as mothers often do, that her beloved son, and he was the only one, was wasting his youth.

He was so handsome that it seemed absurd that he was shut up day after day with men old enough to be his father on matters she felt they should know better than he.

Now there was trouble in India, but as his mother had said plaintively,

“There is always trouble there. I cannot think why they cannot solve it themselves without you having to be called in.”

“It is a compliment, Mama. In fact I would have been hurt and surprised if they had not asked my opinion.”

There was nothing his mother could say except to beg him to rest when he had the chance.

He must not wear himself out over troubles which, as everybody knew, were inevitable, as the British Empire expanded more and more every day.

However Lord Kenington had set off optimistically.

He was determined to solve all the problems that awaited him and yet, as his mother had foretold, he was glad of the rest he would be obliged to take on the voyage.

He said to himself as he drove to Tilbury,

‘At least I will have a chance to read.’

He devoured books, his mother said, in the way that a hungry animal devours its food and he had put a pile on one side for his valet to pack with his clothes.

Now, as he had walked round the deck for the third time, he thought he should go into breakfast and he would then see what his fellow passengers were like.

He had been invited to sit at the Captain’s table, which was a compliment, but he had managed to refuse by saying he had so much work to do and he might therefore be erratic in the times he came into meals.

So he had been given a table to himself on one side of the dining room and he then had a good view of the other passengers from where he was sitting.

They were, he realised at once, very much what he had expected.

They were all First Class passengers, including a number of Officers returning from leave, also Subalterns going out for the first time and excited at being sent to the East. There were inevitably a good number of middle-aged couples and large women who talked too loudly and were somewhat over-dressed.

The breakfast was reasonable, but not particularly imaginative and he did not waste much time over it.

When he rose from his table, one of the Stewards hurried to open the door for him and he thanked him as he walked out.

He had intended to go back to his cabin to collect a book he was reading and take it on deck.

But, as he passed the library, he thought it would be a good idea to see if there was anything he liked the look of before the rest of the passengers took the best books away.

He turned and went into the library, which was no more than a small cabin.

It was well stocked with books, even though they were not the sort that he would be likely to read. A large number were novels and there was a shelf of guide books.

These were particularly popular with people going to the East, who had not brought one themselves and so they read them avidly from cover to cover. And, as this ship was a new one, the books were new too.

Lord Kenington thought there might conceivably be a book on India he had not read, although he had ordered his secretary to purchase all those that had been recently published.

He was looking along a shelf in the library, when a voice beside him said, “Please can I talk to you, my Lord?”

Lord Kenington looked round and saw that there was a young woman standing beside him.

At a first glance he thought she was very pretty, but he realised from the expression in her eyes and the way she spoke that for some reason she was fearful.

“Yes, of course,” he replied. “And what can I do for you?”

“It is just,” she said in a voice that shook a little, “that – I want to be seen talking to you. As you – are so important, my Lord, perhaps it will make the man – who is frightening me go away.”

“Frightening you? Why should he do that?”

The girl, for she was obviously quite young, looked over her shoulder and, as there was no one in the library or as far as she could see outside, she answered,

“He has been pestering me ever since I came on board and I was very scared last night.”

She paused for a moment and, as Lord Kenington did not speak, she went on,

“When I saw you at breakfast, I thought, as you are so well known that if he saw me speaking to you, he would perhaps – keep away from me.”

The words seemed to just fall from her lips and he realised that she really was very frightened.

“Let’s go out on deck,” he suggested. “Then you can tell me about this man. This place is so small that, if we talk in here, anyone who comes in is bound to overhear what we are saying.”

“That is most kind of you. I knew, because I read about you in the newspapers, that you are so distinguished that anyone would be afraid to annoy you in any way.”

Lord Kenington smiled.

“I wish that was true. So let’s find a place to sit where we will not be disturbed.”

They went out on deck and he found a place that was sheltered from the wind and, once they were sitting down, no one could sit near to them.

He felt, as he looked at her, that she was obviously a lady and that she was even prettier than he had thought her to be when she first spoke to him.

“Now tell me,” he began, “what all this is about.”

As she drew in her breath, he added,

“Surely you are not travelling alone? Is there not someone chaperoning you?”

“It was all arranged,” she said, “that I should be looked after by the Dean of Worcester and his wife who were going to India. But unfortunately he was taken ill at the last moment and they had to cancel their journey.”

“So you came alone. That was not very wise.”

“I know, my Lord, but I was so anxious to get out to Papa and I did not think anyone would take any notice of me.”

As she spoke, she looked round, almost as if she expected the man to be standing nearby and watching her.

“Then what happened?” Lord Kenington enquired.

“Last night when I was having dinner alone and, as I had stupidly refused to go to the Captain’s table, he came to sit down beside me and started to talk. I thought he was very pushy and I said very little. But afterwards he insisted on taking me out on deck. Then he became familiar.”

She stopped and he saw the colour come into her cheeks.

“I suppose you are saying,” he said quietly, “that he tried to kiss you.”

“He tried – but I ran away,” the girl replied, “and locked myself in my cabin.”