The Temptation of Torilla by Barbara Cartland Page B

doing things that she might afterwards regret?
    Torilla suddenly felt very apprehensive, then she shied away from her own thoughts.
    Beryl talked a lot of nonsense, but undoubtedly she would continue to be just as sweet, kind and generous as before, although it was to be admitted, susceptible to flattery.
    ‘And who could blame her?’ Torilla wondered, ‘when she is so beautiful – so amazingly beautiful.’
    She remembered her mother saying once,
    “Beryl is like a picture by Rubens – all brilliant colours. You, my darling, are an exquisite watercolour that creeps into one’s soul so that you find it difficult to think of any other painting as being so lovely.”
    Torilla thought at the time that her mother was only consoling her because Beryl attracted so much more attention than she did.
    Now she thought that Beryl was, in fact, with her gaiety, her sparkle and her vivacity very like a brilliant breathtaking picture by a great master.
    Then, as if she wished to change the subject, Torilla asked,
    “What shall we do with all these flowers? The lilies are perfect!”
    She picked up a big bunch of them as she spoke and looked down at them, their fragrance seeming to have a mystical quality about them.
    “You had better have those put in your bedroom if you like them so much,” Beryl replied, “but throw the rest away. There are too many flowers in the house as it is.”
    “Oh, no! You must not do that!” Torilla exclaimed.
    She had always thought of flowers as being alive and liable to suffer as much as human beings could, and she hated it when the servants forgot to water them or they were thrown away before they were dead.
    “I will see to them,” she said, knowing that Beryl was not listening.
    There was the sound of voices in the hall and her cousin started to her feet.
    “It is Gallen!” she exclaimed. “I thought he would come today! Oh, how exciting! Now you can see him.”
    She rushed across the room to pull open the door.
    “Gallen! Gallen!”
    Torilla heard her exclaim.
    “How wonderful that you are here! I have been so looking forward to seeing you!”
    A man’s deep voice replied, but Torilla could not hear what he said.
    Standing with the lilies in her arms she was steeling herself for the moment that made her whole body feel tense.
    The horror the Marquis of Havingham evoked in her was like a live coal burning in her breast.
    She hated him – she hated him so intensely that she thought if it was within her power she would strike him dead.
    Last night, when she had gone to bed, she had prayed with a fervency she had never used before that something would prevent him from marrying Beryl.
    How could she allow anyone she loved marry a man who would commit such crimes against human beings as the Marquis was committing against the miners and their families?
    She had always pictured him as fat and gross with lines of debauchery under his eyes.
    She had imagined him sitting at a table weighed down with food and drinking red wine, which was the colour of the blood of those who sweated for him in the darkness and dust of his filthy pit.
    ‘How can any man be so bestial, so heartless?’ she asked herself.
    The miners of Barrowfield were not only overworked but also underpaid. She knew that the overseer, who she supposed had been appointed by the Marquis, also tricked them.
    There were many ways in which the miners could suffer so that those in charge of them could line their pockets.
    There were always wage deductions to pay for the candles and the powder they used. An overseer could, if he chose, make the men buy candles from him for one or two pennies above the market price.
    This, Torilla had learnt from her father, was what happened in the Havingham mine.
    Payment for broken tools reduced a man’s wages and the overseer could demand a sum far in excess of the current market value of the goods.
    The Vicar had been very explicit about the iniquity of this.
    “They are charging a shilling for a