Barbara Cartland: The Patient Bridegroom

It was then in February 1872 that the Viceroy arranged a visit to the Andaman Islands and a tour of the convict settlement at Port Blair.

It was the aide-de-camp’s job to see that the most stringent security measures had been taken for his visit and everything went off well.

Later in the afternoon the Viceroy visited another island of the group and then, when the official day’s arrangements were over, he crossed back to the principal island and climbed up Mount Harriet.

Only Michael was eager to go with him. It was a stiff climb to an altitude of more than one thousand feet.

The two men refused to ride ponies and walking reached the top.

They sat down for ten minutes to admire the sunset and the Viceroy exclaimed,

“How beautiful, how very beautiful!”

By the time the party had descended back to the waterfront, it was completely dark.

A launch was waiting to take the Viceroy back to his ship. The torch-bearers led the way and the Viceroy walked between Michael and the Chief Commissioner of the Andamans.

Just as the Viceroy was stepping forward to board the launch, the Commissioner gave an order.

The guards who had cordoned off the pier opened their ranks to let him through.

Before they could close up again, a tall Pathan rushed through the opening and jumped, as someone said at the time, ‘like a tiger’, on the Viceroy’s back.

He stabbed him twice between his shoulders.

The man was dragged away, but the Viceroy staggered to the side of the pier.

He raised himself out of the shallow water, saying,

“They have done it!”

A few minutes later he collapsed and the back of his coat was dark with blood.

He was lifted into the launch, but by the time the ship was reached he was dead.

To Michael it was a nightmare and he could hardly believe what had happened.

The man he had loved and admired would never again say to him,

“Come on, Michael, you and I can do it together.”

After the funeral his one thought was to get away from his memories and what had been the happiest time of his life.

He decided that he must return home and the voyage back home was very different from his passage out to India.

The Suez Canal had been opened in 1869, the year following his arrival, and so now the new ships of the P. & O. took only a little over seventeen days to reach England.

Michael had everything he possessed packed and he went aboard the first available ship.

His perturbed thoughts were still on the dead Viceroy, who was in Michael’s mind ‘the ‘Ideal Viceroy’. That was what one of his most distinguished successors was to call him.

It did not, however, ease Michael’s sense of loss.

He thought that never again would he be with someone who could arouse in him such an enthusiasm and a sense of gaiety in everything he undertook.

By the time the ship in which he was sailing had reached Tilbury, the first agony had softened a little.

He was now looking forward to seeing his own Castle and estate again.

He felt very sure that his uncle would, as he had promised him, have kept everything in perfect order.

He would go first to The Castle, which had been his home since his birth and would find it exactly as he had left it. The servants who had looked after him and had called him ‘Master Michael’ would be there waiting for him.

He would then ride the horses of which his father had always had a full and outstanding stable.

As Michael had left India so hurriedly, he had not arranged for anyone to meet him at the Port.

After the short journey from Tilbury to Central London, he took a train to Oxford and engaged a Post chaise to take him out to Rayburne Castle.

He paid for the best chaise available, which was drawn by two strong horses

He arrived at The Castle in under an hour, which he considered very good timing.

He thought as he entered the drive that the lodges appeared to be empty, which surprised him.

And the drive itself seemed rough and uncared for.

When he then saw The Castle, it seemed for a moment, in the sunshine, to look as it had always done, outstandingly beautiful and silhouetted against the fir trees behind it.

It had been a Castle since the thirteenth century, but each generation of Rayburnes had added to it and in their own way improved it.

Finally in the eighteenth century the tenth Earl had the whole façade altered.

The original Castle stood at one end of it and the rest of the building, which by now was very symmetrical, was given a new façade.

It made it not only even more beautiful but far more impressive.

The renovation was all designed by the Adam Brothers, who were known as the greatest architects of their time.

Now, with the sunshine glittering on the windows, the young Earl felt his pride swelling up within him. Not even in India had he seen a Palace more impressive or in more exquisite taste than his own home.

The Post chaise carried him over the bridge that spanned the lake and into the courtyard beside the front door.

Eagerly the Earl jumped out to pay the driver and gave him a generous tip.

As he did so, he was astonished to see that moss was growing on the steps leading up to the front door.

Several of the windows on the front of The Castle were cracked and broken.

The door was open and, as the Post chaise drove away, the Earl walked into the hall.

It was then that he stood still as if he was shocked into immobility.

The hall, which he remembered as being particularly fine, was now dirty and undusted.

There were ashes in the huge fireplace and an atmosphere of neglect, which he thought must be part of his imagination.

There appeared to be no one about and he well remembered that there were always two liveried footmen on duty in the hall and the butler was always within call.

Finally he found his way to the kitchen.

It was there from Marlow and Mrs. Marlow, who had been butler and cook since he was born, that he learned the ominous truth.

From the moment that he had left for India and his uncle had taken over, Basil Burne had started to economise on everything.

He dismissed most of the staff, not only in the house but on the estate.

“We couldn’t believe it, Master Michael,” Mrs. Marlow related in a tearful voice, “and I kept thinkin’ you’d come back from India and stop what that wicked man was a-doin’.”

What that wicked man was doing, the Earl was to discover, was to take every penny that he possessed and put it into his name.

Holding Power of Attorney, Basil Burne had sold every share that his nephew owned.

At the same time he sold everything he could find in The Castle that was not entailed on to succeeding Earls.

Fortunately there was not a great deal that was not entailed.

But things that had belonged to his mother had gone and his father’s superb collection of snuffboxes of which he had been exceedingly proud.

Early next morning, after a sleepless night, the Earl drove into Oxford to see his father’s Solicitors.

It had not been a fast journey.

There were only two horses left in the stable, which had been kept by his uncle for him to use up to the last minute before he disappeared. They were getting on in age and would travel only at a pace that suited them.

Without any help the Marlows had looked after Basil Burne as best they could.

He told them bluntly that they could stay with him and he would provide their board and lodging, but they would have no wages.

“No wages!” the Earl exclaimed in horror.

“What could we do, my Lord?” Marlow asked. “If we left, it meant the workhouse.”

“I cried and cried and pleaded with him,” Mrs. Marlow joined in, “but he wouldn’t listen. There was no one we could turn to for help.”