Dennis Wheatley - The wanton princess

Although Roger's mind took in all that she had said, he was still half bemused and his thoughts went back to their last meeting. In a croaking voice he said, 'There have been times when I could not really credit that we had been together in Cadiz.'

'I've felt that, too,' she agreed, 'but knew it must be so; for else how could I have come to be in Gibraltar?'

He smiled, 'I had no such means of proving to myself that our meeting was not a dream. 'Twas to set my awful doubts at rest that I was on my way to England. Since then I have cursed myself a thousand times for failing to take the opportunity to ask you two questions.' 'What were they?'

'From the joy you showed at seeing me again and your reluctance that we should part I have good hopes but.. .’ He hesitated a moment, 'well... I beg you to give me reassurance that you have at last forgiven me for . . . for robbing you of John Beefy.'

'Dear Roger,' the tears again welled up into her splendid eyes. 'About that it is I who should crave forgiveness. On that terrible night you were as drunk as a lord, mad with jealousy of George Gunston and bitterly angry with me for declaring that I would not let you come again to Stillwaters. Poor John was the cause of that and you clearly held him in contempt. All this combined to make me believe that the ruthlessness without which, at times, you could not carry out your missions when abroad, had come uppermost in your drink-addled brain, and you had deliberately swept him from your path. In that I did you a great injustice. But I did not know it until shortly before I sailed for the Indies. I chanced to meet Gunston again, and John's death then being long past we talked of it. He made no pretence of being any friend of yours, but had the honesty to tell me that when two men fight as you and he did, both must watch each other's eyes. That even to look away for a second could mean receiving a deadly thrust. So as your eyes were fixed on his, your lunge could not have been aimed at John.'

'Thank God you realize the truth, my sweet; for, as I've always sworn, it was an accident. Though seeing the state I was in and all that led up to it, I cannot greatly blame you for disbelieving me. But tell me now—why on that day when I escaped from prison and hid in the stable loft at Stillwaters, instead of bringing mc money as you had promised, did you betray me to the tipstaff?'

'Betray you!' Georgina's eyes grew round and her mouth fell open. ‘I... No! Oh, Roger, how could you ever have believed that I would do such a thing. It was that dastardly new groom of mine whom I sent in to Guildford for the money. When he reached the town he heard the town crier ringing his bell and crying a reward for your capture. 'Twas he who brought the tipstaffs to the stable. When I heard what had occurred I was shaking mad with rage. I took my whip to him and lashed him until he fell writhing on the ground. I'd not have stopped there had not others who witnessed the scene restrained me.'

'Oh, Georgina,' Roger hung his head and his voice was very low. 'For having such thoughts of you can you ever forgive me?'

Leaning forward, she kissed him on the forehead, 'My dearest love, without cause each of us has harboured harsh thoughts of the other; so we are both to blame. Yet the bond between us has never really broken. I saved your life by committing perjury for you when you were on trial for murder, and saved it yet again this morning; while you saved me in the Indies then went those many thousands of miles to search for me although you thought then that I had betrayed you. Let us now think only of the future, and of the joys we will again know when in a week or so we are once more to­gether at Stillwaters.'

Roger put his arms round her and held her to him. After a long embrace and many kisses, between which they mur­mured of their abiding love for one another, as she at last drew away from him he noticed that she was wearing a black silk scarf round her neck, and said:

'Why are you wearing that scarf? You have always told me that you hated black, and I've never seen you in it except for mourning.'

Her expression became grave as she replied, 'It is mourning, dear heart. But, of course, you could not know. Our wonderful Admiral, the great Nelson, is dead.'

'Nelson dead!' cried Roger, starting up. 'No, you cannot mean it. 'Tis a mortal blow. All England will be stricken with grief as never before.'

She nodded, 'This frigate is carrying the awful news. I should have come home in the ship that carried your message to Mr. Pitt that Villeneuve was preparing to leave harbour, but in Gibraltar I was laid low by a fever for more than three weeks. Then I had to wait until this ship came out from the Mediterranean on her way home. Not far from Gibraltar we passed the scene of the battle two days after it took place.'

'Battle! D'you mean that Nelson engaged Villeneuve's fleet?'

'Yes. The French were sailing south from Cadiz and on the 21st Nelson caught them off Cape Trafalgar. They had thirty-three ships-of-the-line against his twenty-six; but only fifteen of the Franco-Spanish fleet got away and those were severely damaged. Eighteen were destroyed or captured and not a single British ship struck her colours. Poor Nelson was shot down on his quarter deck in the hour of his triumph; but he lived long enough to know that he had achieved a decisive victory.'

'Georgina! Georgina!' Roger held out his hands to her and he was almost weeping. 'Do you realize what this means, and that we two have helped to bring it about? With Villeneuve's fleet destroyed our dear country is made safe at last. England need no longer fear the horrors of an invasion.' Hoarsely, half sobbing, he burst into song:

'Rule Britannia: Britannia rules the waves

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.'

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First published by Hutchinson & Co. (Publishers) Ltd 1966 Arrow edition 1968

For copyright reasons this book may not be issued to the public on loan or otherwise except in its original soft cover

© Dennis Wheatley Limited 1966

Made and printed in Great Britain by The Anchor Press Ltd., Tiptrce, Essex