163. The Curse of The Clan - The Eternal Collection

Barbara Cartland

Description

Waif-like and half-starved the beautiful eighteen-year-old Tara has no second name and no family. Orphaned when her mother died tragically in a carriage crash, she was raised in the appalling ‘Orphanage of the Nameless’ in London and has no knowledge at all of the world outside. The drunken Matron of the Orphanage, Mrs. Barrowfield, relies on Tara to control, feed and look after the many orphans while she spends most of the money intended for their food on drink.Then one day Mr. Falkirk comes to inform her that the Orphanage’s owner and patron, the Duke of Arkcraig, has ordered her to Scotland to work in Castle Arkcraig.Arriving, timid and overawed to meet her new Master, she is appalled to find that she has been seriously misled. She is there not to work as a servant but to become the imperiously handsome Duke’s bride – willing or not!All of a sudden she is embroiled in the terrible enmity between the McCraig Clan and the equally warlike Kildonnons and the curse that hangs over them like a black cloud. Worst of all, she finds that she has lost her heart to the husband for whom she had never asked and yet who now seems to be cold and aloof. Has she been rescued from poverty and the horrors of the Orphanage and brought to the Duke’s majestic Castle only to spend a lifetime starved of love? "Barbara Cartland was the world’s most prolific novelist who wrote an amazing 723 books in her lifetime, of which no less than 644 were romantic novels with worldwide sales of over 1 billion copies and her books were translated into 36 different languages.As well as romantic novels, she wrote historical biographies, 6 autobiographies, theatrical plays and books of advice on life, love, vitamins and cookery.She wrote her first book at the age of 21 and it was called Jigsaw. It became an immediate bestseller and sold 100,000 copies in hardback in England and all over Europe in translation.Between the ages of 77 and 97 she increased her output and wrote an incredible 400 romances as the demand for her romances was so strong all over the world.She wrote her last book at the age of 97 and it was entitled perhaps prophetically The Way to Heaven. Her books have always been immensely popular in the United States where in 1976 her current books were at numbers 1 & 2 in the B. Dalton bestsellers list, a feat never achieved before or since by any author.Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime and will be best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels so loved by her millions of readers throughout the world, who have always collected her books to read again and again, especially when they feel miserable or depressed.Her books will always be treasured for their moral message, her pure and innocent heroines, her handsome and dashing heroes, her blissful happy endings and above all for her belief that the power of love is more important than anything else in everyone’s life."

Sujets

• Sgian-dubh
• Orphanage
• Clan
• Highlands

Informations

• Publié par: M-Y Books
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 6
• EAN13: 9781782139218
• Langue: English

Extrait

Author’s Note.
The State Visit of King George IV to Edinburgh in 1822 organised by Sir Walter Scott was an unqualified success.
There is a portrait of the King, by Sir David Wilkie, in full Highland dress, wearing the Royal Stewart tartan in which he appeared at the levee at Holyrood Palace.
Although His Majesty, who always liked to dress up, was delighted with his appearance, those who saw him found the effect of the flesh-coloured tights that he wore under his kilt somewhat ludicrous.
My descriptions of the festivities in the Scottish Capital are factual and come from a book published in Edinburgh the same year.
Chapter One ~ 1822
“It’s very pleasant to see you here again, Mr. Falkirk.”
“It has been a long time, Mrs. Barrowfield. Let me think now, it must be at least six years.”
“Seven to be exact since you last paid us a visit. But, as I always says, I never forget a face or a friend and I’ve always looked on you as a friend, Mr. Falkirk.”
“I am honoured, Mrs. Barrowfield.”
The Scotsman gave the large blowsy woman a slight bow and then, clearing his throat as if he intended to get down to business, he began,
“You must wonder why I have called on you today.”
“It did cross my mind,” Mrs. Barrowfield replied with a laugh. “After all I could hardly flatter myself it was to see me bright eyes. Nevertheless we must celebrate.”
She rose as she spoke from the ancient creaking chair at the side of the hearth and crossed the room to open a cupboard.
From it she brought out a bottle of port and two glasses and, setting them on a round tray, brought them towards her visitor. She placed them beside him on a table, which he looked at anxiously as it seemed decidedly unsteady.
The room where they were sitting was poorly and sparsely furnished and badly in need of a coat of paint.
However, it was littered with cheap knick-knacks such as middle-aged women collect and the brightly burning fire gave it some semblance of cosiness.
“Will you play host, Mr. Falkirk?” Mrs. Barrowfield asked with just a touch of coquetry in her words.
He picked up the bottle of port, glanced at the label apprehensively and poured Mrs. Barrowfield a full glass and himself a little over a quarter.
”You’re very abstemious,” his hostess remarked.
“In my position it’s essential to keep a dear head,” Mr. Falkirk replied.
“That I can understand,” Mrs. Barrowfield conceded, “and how is His Grace?”
There was a little pause before Mr. Falkirk replied,
“It’s on His Grace’s instigation that I am here.”
“His Grace’s?” Mrs. Barrowfield raised her eyebrows. “I was hoping you’d come on an errand of mercy from the Duchess.”
Mr. Falkirk looked surprised and Mrs. Barrowfield explained,
“His Grace’s mother, Duchess Anne, took a great interest in the Orphanage, as I’m sure you remember. We received turkeys at Christmas and seldom a year passed that she did not entrust me with extra money to be spent on improvements. But with her death all that came to an end.”
“I must admit her contributions to the Orphanage had escaped my notice,” Mr. Falkirk remarked.
“I thought perhaps they had,” Mrs. Barrowfield replied with a note of reproach in her voice, “but I’d hoped that the new Duchess would carry on the tradition.”
Mrs. Barrowfield took another sip of port before she added,
“After all, it’s very much in the family, isn’t it? The Orphanage was started when Duchess Harriet, His Grace’s grandmother, found that one of her kitchen maids was ‘in the family way’ and rather than turn her out into the snow, built ‘The Orphanage of the Nameless’.”
She laughed.
“Those were the days, Mr. Falkirk, before the War when there was plenty of money and generous hands to dispense it.”
Mr. Falkirk shook his head.
“Things are not so easy now, Mrs. Barrowfield, as I am sure you are aware.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Mrs. Barrowfield said sharply. “I pinch and save, save and pinch, it’s nothing but endless cheese-paring. The income that the Orphanage receives is just the same, but prices have gone up. Food is double what it was when I was a girl.”
“I am sure that’s true,” the Scotsman murmured.
“When I came here to help the Matron I was fifteen and already had three years’ experience in another home. I thought I was bettering myself.”
Mrs. Barrowfield laughed raucously.
“I assure you, Mr. Falkirk, I had no intention of spending the rest of my days in this place, but this is where I be ended up and now I am Matron and with little or no help because we can’t afford it.”
“I had no idea that things were so difficult, Mrs. Barrowfield,” Mr. Falkirk said. “Why have not the Guardians of the Orphanage written to His Grace?”
“Them!” Mrs. Barrowfield exclaimed rudely. “They’re either dead or don’t care!”
She saw the surprise on Mr. Falkirk’s face and explained,
“Colonel McNab died three years ago, Mr. Cameron has been in ill health and is nigh on eighty. Lord Hirchington lives in the country and I haven’t seen a sight or sign of him since Her Grace died.”
“I can only promise,” Mr. Falkirk answered, “that I will bring your position to the notice of His Grace as soon as I return to Scotland.”
“I’d be very grateful if you would,” Mrs. Barrowfield said in a different tone. “Do you know how many children I have here at the moment?”
Mr. Falkirk shook his head.
“Thirty-nine!” Mrs. Barrowfield cried. “Thirty-nine and practically no one to look after them except myself. It’s not right, that it’s not! I’m getting on in years. Things aren’t as easy for me as they used to be.”
She drank down her glass of port and reached for the bottle.
Looking at the high colour of her face, the puffiness under her eyes and the two or three extra chins that had developed since he last saw her, Mr. Falkirk guessed that Mrs. Barrowfield consoled herself constantly.
And if it was not the cheap port with which he had no intention of ruining his stomach, he thought it would be gin, which was quite rightly, in his opinion, known as ‘mother’s ruin’.
But nothing of what he was thinking showed itself in his calm expression as he sat in an armchair facing the Matron of the Orphanage and thinking that it was time he came to the point of his visit.
He was a tall well-built man and had in his youth been outstandingly handsome.
With his hair greying at the temples and with a trim figure without an ounce of extra flesh, he looked extremely distinguished and as the Duke of Arkcraig’s Comptroller was much admired.
“I will certainly put your problems in front of His Grace,” he repeated, “but what I came to ask you – ”
He was interrupted before he could go further by Mrs. Barrowfield saying,
“You can tell His Grace that we’re losing our reputation for supplying strong healthy apprentices for those who need them. Only last week the owner of several tailoring shops came to see me and said, ‘I want two of your best lads, Mrs. Barrowfield, and none of that knock-kneed anaemic rubbish you gave me last year! What happened to the boys I let you have?’ I asked. ‘God knows!’ he replied. ‘Always ailing and snivelling, they were no use to me. I turned them off and without a reference!’”
Mr. Falkirk looked grave.
“That is certainly something that should not happen, Mrs. Barrowfield, from an Orphanage which has been under the direct patronage of His Grace’s family for over thirty years.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying to you, Mr. Falkirk,” Mrs. Barrowfield said. “It’s an aspersion, as you might say, on His Grace’s reputation and even though you lives far away from us we have a great respect for Scotland and its Noblemen.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Barrowfield.”
“That’s why I was hoping,” Mrs. Barrowfield continued, “that you could persuade the new Duchess to visit us.”
“The Duchess is dead!”
“Dead?”
Mrs. Barrowfield’s mouth opened and she looked, Mr. Falkirk thought, not unlike a surprised turkey cock.
“Yes, dead,” he said quietly. “Her Grace died a few weeks ago in France.”
“Well, I never! You could knock me down with a feather! And her little more than a bride. Let me see now, she and His Grace couldn’t have been married for more than a year.”
“Ten months to be exact,” Mr. Falkirk said in a dry voice.
“And now, poor lady, she has gone to her maker! It seems a crying shame, it does really! And I never so much as sets eyes on her.”
There was silence.
Then, as if he feared that Mrs. Barrowfield was about to ask a number of questions, Mr. Falkirk said,
“His Grace has gone North and he asked me when I followed him to bring with me one of your orphans.”
“One of my orphans?” Mrs. Barrowfield exclaimed. “I suppose His Grace wants one of the lads to work in the kitchen or in the pantry. Let me think – ”
“No, that was not His Grace’s instructions,” Mr. Falkirk interrupted. “He requires one of your girls, but she must be over sixteen.”
“Over sixteen? You must be joking!” Mrs. Barrowfield cried. “You know as well as I do, Mr. Falkirk, we don’t keep them a day over twelve, if we can help it. Push them out younger, if we can.”
She paused before she went on,
“And, although I says it as I shouldn’t, the girls from here are noted as having good manners. At least they know how to speak with respect for their elders and betters, which is more than you can say for most young people today.”
“That is true enough,” Mr. Falkirk agreed, “but His Grace was quite certain that you would be able to supply him with the type of young girl he needs.”
“I always understood from the Duchess Harriett that you had all the young people in Scotland you needed,” Mrs. Barrowfield said. “Her Grace took two of my girls once when the house in