Read Online Bewitched (Bantam Series No. 16) by Barbara Cartland - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Cartland
Ads: Link
“which was why I had not included it in the Catalogue.”
The Marquis opened the book, turned the pages and remarked: “I see it has a comparative list of the Gypsy and Hindustani language. Some of the words seem very similar.”
“That is true,” Saviya said. “For instance I would describe you in English as a very important man, or Prince. The word is Rajah in Hindustani and Raja in Romany.”
“I shall have to study this,” the Marquis said, “but at the moment I am extremely hungry and also thirsty. Will you join me in a glass of wine, Reverend?”
“I shall be delighted, My Lord.”
“And I hope, Saviya,” the Marquis said, “that you will have luncheon with me.”
She hesitated for a moment, then answered:
“I would like that.”
“It is no use my inviting you, Reverend, is it?” the Marquis asked.
The elderly man shook his head.
“You know with my poor digestion I can eat only once a day.”
“I had not really forgotten,” the Marquis replied.
They went into the Salon, and after The Reverend had accepted a small glass of Madeira, he returned to the Library.
Saviya looked at the Marquis’s shining riding-boots and said: “You have been riding. I have admired the magnificent horses in your stables.”
“I imagine that you ride?”
She smiled and answered:
“It is something I enjoy doing more than anything else except dancing.”
“I hope to see you do both.”
They went into luncheon and the Marquis wondered how she would eat. Surely, he thought, a Gypsy would not know either the etiquette or the proper behaviour expected at a Gentleman’s table.
But it would have been impossible, he realised, for Saviya to do anything that was not graceful or elegant. He noticed, however, that she did not pick up a knife or fork until she could follow him.
Yet it was cleverly done and anyone who had not been observing her closely would not have noticed that she was imitating not only his choice of cutlery but also the manner in which he used it.
But after a time the Marquis forgot to watch Saviya for any faults she might commit. He was too much interested in what she was saying to think of anything else.
He had little difficulty in persuading her to talk of her travels. The Marquis was an expert at drawing a woman out, obtaining her confidence and making her feel so secure and happy in his company that she could trust him with her innermost secrets.
Usually he did not exert himself unduly in this way, but he knew without consciously thinking of it that he had the power at his command.
Because he was quite certain that Saviya had never had luncheon alone with a man before, and certainly not in such agreeable circumstances, it was easy to make her talk.
She told him of how the Gypsies trekked across Europe, moving from country to country, often having to flee from cruel persecutions by the Authorities, but usually welcomed by the ordinary people, because of their special crafts, sorcery and horse-dealing.
“My father is a great authority on horse-flesh,” Saviya said, “and he has often been commissioned to buy animals in one country and send them to another.”
“How big is your tribe?” the Marquis asked.
“When we left Hungary for Russia, there were two hundred of us,” Saviya replied, “but usually we number but forty to fifty as we are here in England.”
“Do you sleep in tents?”
“We used to,” she answered, “but now we have something new.”
“What is that?”
“We have acquired caravans. There are not many in England yet, but in Europe a number of Gypsies have them. Caravans have always been used by the Circus people, but they are so attractive and comfortable that now all the Gypsies that can afford it wish to own one.”
When luncheon was over the Marquis and Saviya went to the stables and he at once realised, as he might have expected, that she had a special way with horses.
“What magic do you use on a restless or savage horse?” he asked, when she
The Marquis opened the book, turned the pages and remarked: “I see it has a comparative list of the Gypsy and Hindustani language. Some of the words seem very similar.”
“That is true,” Saviya said. “For instance I would describe you in English as a very important man, or Prince. The word is Rajah in Hindustani and Raja in Romany.”
“I shall have to study this,” the Marquis said, “but at the moment I am extremely hungry and also thirsty. Will you join me in a glass of wine, Reverend?”
“I shall be delighted, My Lord.”
“And I hope, Saviya,” the Marquis said, “that you will have luncheon with me.”
She hesitated for a moment, then answered:
“I would like that.”
“It is no use my inviting you, Reverend, is it?” the Marquis asked.
The elderly man shook his head.
“You know with my poor digestion I can eat only once a day.”
“I had not really forgotten,” the Marquis replied.
They went into the Salon, and after The Reverend had accepted a small glass of Madeira, he returned to the Library.
Saviya looked at the Marquis’s shining riding-boots and said: “You have been riding. I have admired the magnificent horses in your stables.”
“I imagine that you ride?”
She smiled and answered:
“It is something I enjoy doing more than anything else except dancing.”
“I hope to see you do both.”
They went into luncheon and the Marquis wondered how she would eat. Surely, he thought, a Gypsy would not know either the etiquette or the proper behaviour expected at a Gentleman’s table.
But it would have been impossible, he realised, for Saviya to do anything that was not graceful or elegant. He noticed, however, that she did not pick up a knife or fork until she could follow him.
Yet it was cleverly done and anyone who had not been observing her closely would not have noticed that she was imitating not only his choice of cutlery but also the manner in which he used it.
But after a time the Marquis forgot to watch Saviya for any faults she might commit. He was too much interested in what she was saying to think of anything else.
He had little difficulty in persuading her to talk of her travels. The Marquis was an expert at drawing a woman out, obtaining her confidence and making her feel so secure and happy in his company that she could trust him with her innermost secrets.
Usually he did not exert himself unduly in this way, but he knew without consciously thinking of it that he had the power at his command.
Because he was quite certain that Saviya had never had luncheon alone with a man before, and certainly not in such agreeable circumstances, it was easy to make her talk.
She told him of how the Gypsies trekked across Europe, moving from country to country, often having to flee from cruel persecutions by the Authorities, but usually welcomed by the ordinary people, because of their special crafts, sorcery and horse-dealing.
“My father is a great authority on horse-flesh,” Saviya said, “and he has often been commissioned to buy animals in one country and send them to another.”
“How big is your tribe?” the Marquis asked.
“When we left Hungary for Russia, there were two hundred of us,” Saviya replied, “but usually we number but forty to fifty as we are here in England.”
“Do you sleep in tents?”
“We used to,” she answered, “but now we have something new.”
“What is that?”
“We have acquired caravans. There are not many in England yet, but in Europe a number of Gypsies have them. Caravans have always been used by the Circus people, but they are so attractive and comfortable that now all the Gypsies that can afford it wish to own one.”
When luncheon was over the Marquis and Saviya went to the stables and he at once realised, as he might have expected, that she had a special way with horses.
“What magic do you use on a restless or savage horse?” he asked, when she
Similar Books
