Those Who Love

by Denise Robins

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

"Tell Auburn... I... loved him so!" -- These last words from a dying girl still haunted Dr. Noel Frensham; still made him bitter. The voyage back from India had been a memorable one for Frensham. Racked with a terrible sickness, he had come very close to death. Convinced that his hours were numbered, he had persuaded a pretty fellow passenger, Peta Marley, to marry him, hoping to repay her goodness with the money he would leave her after his death. But amazingly he had recovered. It was then that Peta told him of her love for Auburn Lyell. She pleaded with him to annul their marriage and set her free. But Noel had seen death on one young innocent face because of this man, and he was determined to prevent it happening again.

Release date: March 27, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 192

Sample

IT was with very mixed feelings that Peta Marley boarded the liner at Bombay that Saturday morning.

Her main sensations were of relief because the heat in the train these last few days and nights, travelling from Calcutta, had been terrific, and down on the quay, dotted with swarms of screaming natives, the temperature and the noise were unbearable. Certainly it was good to come on board an English ship and find sudden peace; cool, washed decks under the striped awnings, cool-looking, immaculate officers in their white uniforms, and a nice English stewardess waiting to see what she could do for you in your cabin. That was a relief, and so were the first few moments sitting on the edge of the bed mopping a streaming face, combing back damp curls, and realising that the other bed wasn’t to be occupied.

Peta would have the cabin to herself—as far as Gib. anyhow. Thank heaven for that!

The suspicion of a breeze blew through the porthole and made Peta gasp and shut her eyes.

“That’s good!”

“Is this your first voyage, miss?” asked the stewardess.

“No,” said Peta. “I came out here a year ago to take a job in Calcutta, but like a fool I found the climate too much, and I’ve spent most of the time in and out of my bed.”

“You’ll be all right now. The voyage’ll pick you up,” said the stewardess, feeling sympathetic, because she thought that the young lady looked a little frail. The sun tan was deceptive. Such a pretty young thing, too, with her slim figure, her dark curls, and big expressive eyes with lashes such as the stewardess had only seen on film heroines.

When the stewardess left her alone, Peta forced her limbs into action and in an exhausted fashion began to unpack her suit-case. The first thing she drew from it was a small framed snapshot of an extremely good-looking man leaning against a palm, smoking. Then her expression changed and a more vital look came over her small face. Her eyes assumed a rapture which she expressed in a whispered breath:

“Auburn!”

But almost immediately the vitality departed. She became listless again, put the photograph down, and in a half-resentful fashion began to throw silk pyjamas, brush and comb, and sponge bag on to the bed.

Gone were all the feelings of relief that she was on board ship and about to go home.

She even felt a sensation of panic at the idea of leaving this India. For all its noise and heat and the climatic conditions which had defeated her, it was a place of glamour, of colour, and had been glorified for her because it was here she had met Auburn Lyell.

She had said good-bye to Auburn in Calcutta, and since then had known no real peace of mind. With painful vividness she recalled the hot, turbulent station and Auburn, who came to see her off, holding both her hands and telling her that they would soon meet again. She was leaving him behind, but he would be in England before she was, for he was flying over. He might even meet the liner at Tilbury, he had said. He wanted more than anything to see her again. When the train started and she was leaning out of the window, he seized both her hands and kissed them, ran along the platform with the train, still pressing his lips to her palms until he could do so no more.

“Au revoir, you sweet thing, and bon voyage!” he had called after her, waving his topee wildly.

She had huddled back in the corner of the train ashamed of her tears, ashamed of the intense feeling which he roused in her. She was in love with him. She had no right to be, she told herself, because he hadn’t asked her to marry him. But he was going to ask her. She was pretty sure of that. He had suggested it on that night at the club when Mrs. Bradley, who was Peta’s employer, had kindly allowed her to accompany them to a dance, and they had left the small boy to whom Peta was nursery-governess in charge of an ayah.

At that dance, Auburn had taken Peta in his arms and sealed her lips with the kisses of a lover—the first Peta had known. He had told her that she was a little witch and that she had cast a spell over him and that there wasn’t another girl in the world who had ever made such a complete slave of him.

He had made her admit that she was in love with him, too, and that she wanted to meet him again when they were all in England. And after that she hadn’t seen much more of him. Her peace of mind had been shattered and she had fallen in love only to be confronted by a dozen minor misfortunes, all of which prevented her from meeting Auburn. First of all he had gone away on business, and going away in India meant days of travel. Then she, herself, had gone down with severe fever, and, while she was still recovering, Mr. Bradley had received an urgent cable which took him back to his business house in London. Mrs. Bradley and the boy went with him. They had not wished to leave the young governess behind, but she had a touch of dysentery, and the doctor had advised her not to travel till she was fitter.

Peta had had to do what she was told, but it was not much fun being left in a nursing-home in Calcutta, besides which she felt a failure, although the Bradleys had been very kind and had told her that her job would still be open to her when she rejoined them in London. But it wasn’t the thought of her job that worried her half so much as the thought of Auburn Lyell. Mrs. Bradley, who had known him for years, had warned Peta that “Burn,” as he was nicknamed, made love charmingly to most pretty women and meant nothing by it.

Did he mean anything by his love-making to her? Yes, surely he did! When he came to see her off, he had repeated all the marvellous things he had said at the club when he had first made passionate love to her.

Peta, sitting alone in her cabin waiting for the ship to sail, alternated between hope and despair, and wondered if she had been absurd to frame the snap-shot which he had given her, or absurd to find herself remembering with such poignancy that tall, lithe figure, the gay brown face which looked even browner because of the bleached fairness of his hair and the brilliant blue of his eyes.

“Stop being a little fool, Peta Marley,” she admonished herself fiercely, “and remember that Auburn Lyell has heaps of money, knows masses of pretty women and wouldn’t be serious about an impecunious nursery-governess!”

She was not in the least cut out to be a nursery governess, and she knew it. She was too spirited and fond of life, and it couldn’t be said that a daily existence with a spoilt little boy, teaching, washing, ironing and sewing, was in the least enthralling. But she had no alternative. She was the daughter of a retired doctor, a widower, and had received just an ordinary good education and been trained for no career. When her father had died a year ago, leaving her practically penniless, she had entered a general hospital, taken some training, and been forced to retire because she was not strong enough to stand it. After which she took the first job that came her way, and considered herself very lucky to go abroad with the Bradleys as a nursery-governess to their son, Derek.

Someone parted the striped curtain which hung in the doorway, and came into the cabin. A Goanese steward with two suit-cases, followed by a slightly built man in grey flannels, unmistakably British.

Peta confusedly pushed behind her some lingerie which she had been unfolding and rose to her feet.

The steward said:

“Cabin No. 14. First Class—must be right. Not for lady. This is for gentleman.”

The Englishman said:

“I’m frightfully sorry, there must be some mistake.”

Peta said:

“I was shown in here. I’m sure this is my cabin. It was booked for me in advance by Mr. Bradley, of Calcutta.”

The man in grey pulled out a sheaf of papers, dropped his passport, picked it up again, and searched for the necessary paper to prove that he had not made an error.

“Frightfully sorry,” he repeated. He had a charming voice and beautifully shaped hands, two things which Peta was quick to notice. She judged people on their voices and their hands. “My name’s Frensham. Dr. Frensham.”

Ah, thought Peta, the medical profession! Hence the nice hands. And it gave her a friendly feeling, dear old Daddy having been a doctor. She gave the intruder that swift, sudden smile which lit up her rather serious young face.

“Well, one of us must be wrong,” she said.

Noel Frensham examined his papers. He was in no mood to notice that the girl was young and pretty or had an intriguing smile. He was much too tired and hot, and feeling far from fit. He said abruptly:

“I booked at the last moment, and was told that I couldn’t have a cabin to myself, but was to share one with a Mr. Peter Marley.”

Light dawned on Peta, and she suddenly bubbled with laughter.

“How absurd! My name is Peta Marley, but it’s P-E-T-A. That’s the mistake they’ve made.”

Noel Frensham returned the papers to his pocket and looked at the girl in an exasperated way.

“I see. So sorry for disturbing you. A silly mistake.”

The steward, quick to sense a man who would tip generously, dropped the suit-cases and said:

“If the sahib will wait here—he need not trouble. I go to the office to make other arrangements. Think I can find cabin for sahib alone.”

“Well, thank the Lord for that,” said Noel Frensham crossly.

The steward fled. Peta said:

“Isn’t the heat ghastly. …” Then, being an observant person, saw that the doctor’s thin face wore a distinct pallor, and that as he stood there, he flinched as though in pain.

She added quickly:

“Are you feeling all right? Would you like to come in and sit down?”

He accepted the invitation because the narrow ship’s passage with its glaring white walls was suddenly swimming round him. He sank on to the edge of one of the beds in Cabin No. 14, and wiped his face. Peta looked down at him anxiously, poured him out a glass of water and handed it to him.

“I expect it’s tepid,” she said, “but there’s nothing else.”

He took the glass she handed him and thanked her. Now he became aware that this girl had a sweet manner and soft, kindly eyes. His crossness evaporated. He felt ill and worn.

“Silly of me,” he said, “but I precious nearly fainted just then.”

Peta shook her head at him.

“Physician, heal thyself!”

He gave a wry smile.

“Not so easy. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve had a confounded pain for the last fortnight.”

“Haven’t you seen anyone?”

“Not had time. Been on holiday, hunting elephants, right away from civilisation. Only just got back in time to pick up this boat. Thought it would be better to get back to London if I was going to be ill.”

“Oh, but I hope you’re not,” said Peta. “So rotten when one doesn’t feel well. I’ve had a lot of fever myself since I’ve been in India, and it does take it out of one, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, pulled a cigarette from a thin gold case and lit it. Peta noticed that he had a clever forehead, the dark hair springing back vitally from it; keen hazel eyes, and a touch of austerity about the firm mouth.

Here, she was sure, was no ordinary man. No common practitioner. She was certain he was a man with a reputation. Frensham. She could not recall having heard the name. But there were so many hundreds of specialists—brilliant at their jobs and not known to the general public. This man might be any age. His figure was youthful, and so were his eyes, but the clever face was slightly lined, and the dark hair just tinged with grey behind the temples.

Noel Frensham, lighting a cigarette, was thinking:

“I wish to God I thought I had a touch of fever and nothing else. But I believe I picked up some mysterious bug in that infernal safari. Confound all the elephants in India. I want to get on with my work when I get home.”

The Goanese came running back and announced that he had found a cabin alone for the doctor sahib. Noel Frensham rose and repeated his apologies to Peta for the interruption.

Then she was alone to continue her unpacking, to forget the sick doctor, to remember nobody but Auburn Lyell, and to ask herself feverishly whether he would keep his promise to see her in London, or whether by the time he got back he would have forgotten her name!

THE next time Peta saw Noel Frensham was a couple of days before they reached Aden. It was a terrifically hot morning. The sea was hard and blue like a glittering stone in the sunlight. Most of the passengers lay gasping under the awnings on deck. But Peta felt restless. A queer, unsatisfied feeling which had been hers since she left Bombay—and Auburn. Despite the intense heat, she wanted to take exercise. She was really feeling quite herself again. The two days at sea had done her good, given her back her appetite. In a white linen dress showing her sun-brown back, and with a wide-brimmed linen hat on her head, she walked along the deck and eventually found, in a deserted spot, the doctor who had claimed her cabin by mistake. He was lying in a deck-chair—like one dead. He had that grey, exhausted look which had worried her when she first met him, but when he saw her, he came to life, nodded, and gave a faint smile.

“Ah! It’s you. Hullo! How goes it?”

“Hullo,” she said, a trifle shyly, and, with her hands stuck in the pockets of the linen dress, looked down at him. Two pairs of eyes regarded each other through sun-glasses. Noel Frensham said:

“You’re too energetic to be true. I can’t move. I can hardly breathe.”

“Aren’t you feeling any better?”

“Not much.”

“Seen the ship’s doctor?”

“Huh huh! I had a few words with my worthy colleague last night. He just thinks I’m run down and got a bit of fever.”

“That isn’t what you think, is it?” said Peta with some insight.

“To be frank, no,” said Noel. “Not that I have the least idea what is wrong, but I’m full up now with various dopes, and once we’re through the Suez Canal I dare say I’ll feel different. I’d like to see a grey sky and feel a few spots of rain on my face, wouldn’t you?”

“‘England, my England!’” quoted Peta.

“One doesn’t really appreciate all that the poets say until one has been abroad any length of time!”

“Perhaps not,” she said. “But I loved being in India. I thought it was wonderful. The climate was too much for me, which was maddening. It is sickening to have a willing spirit and weak flesh.”

Noel Frensham took off his glasses and wiped them wearily.

He was feeling that way himself at the moment. And there was nothing he loathed more than sickness of body when his mind was abounding with vitality, with unlimited thirst for knowledge and the keen zest for life.

“Don’t stand up,” he said suddenly to the girl beside him. “Sit down and have a talk.”

She pulled a chair up near him, laced her arms behind her head, and drew a long breath. The ultramarine blue of the water looked a strange hot purple through her tinted glasses.

“Where do you practise!” she asked. “I’ve a friendly feeling for the medical profession, because my father was a doctor.”

Noel Frensham tried to forget that he ached in every bone in his body and interested himself in the girl. She was rather a dear, he thought. He liked her lack of affectation. So she was a doctor’s daughter, was she? He encouraged her to talk about herself. Peta proceeded to tell him sufficient to acquaint him with the type of life she had been leading. Fairly dull. She had had an ordinary sort of upbringing, a lot of domestic responsibility after the death of her mother when she was only sixteen and a half, and enforced economy once her father, who had practised in the suburbs, had retired. Then, after his death, Peta’s attempt to stand a hospital training, and subsequent failure. He was sure that she was not fitted to be a hospital nurse, this child with her slim, frail body and rather intense young face. Not the type. How old was she? Twenty-one or two. He grimaced. He was nearly double her age and felt it.

Noel Frensham was a psychologist, interested in the healing of mind as well as bodies. And before Peta Marley had talked much more about herself he realised that there was less for Peta to worry about, as far as her constitution was concerned, than there was in her mental attitude. She was the reverse of the typical modern girl with her premature knowledge about life arid her contempt for Victorian sentimentality. Peta Marley was more Victorian than any young woman who had yet come his way. A soft, gentle thing with a romantic outlook. Not too good in these days, mused Noel Frensham, when it pays to be hard-boiled. And because she was gentle, she was sure to get more than her share of the knocks. Somehow he didn’t like the idea of her having to work for her living and take any job that was offered. She spoke of the Bradleys. They were exceedingly nice to her and generous. But she dreaded the idea of looking after their spoiled son and heir for years! Noel sympathised. And what about her. . .