65 A Heart Is Stolen by Barbara Cartland Read Free Book Online Page B

remember him – died last year and the house is now empty. Lord Moorland, who was a friend of his late Lordship’s is bedridden and has not left his home for a twelve-month.”
    “There are no other large houses of a similar sort with pickings such as these criminals found here?”
    “No, my Lord.”
    The Marquis thought for a moment, then he asked,
    “What about the Admiral?”
    “Do you mean Admiral Wadebridge, my Lord?”
    “Of course!”
    “He has been dead for nigh on six years, my Lord.”
    “I thought he must be,” the Marquis remarked. “What about his son?”
    “Your Lordship did not know that he was killed at the Battle of the Nile?”
    “I had no idea. Although I suppose he was an hereditary enemy, considering the animosity between my father and the Admiral, I am sorry he should have lost his life.”
    “He was a fine man, my Lord, and with his death I believe the Navy lost a great Captain.”
    The Marquis looked at his agent sharply.
    “You knew him?”
    For a moment there was a pause as if Mr. Markham regretted the warm manner in which he had spoken. Then he said a little hesitatingly,
    “Yes, my Lord. I knew Captain Wadebridge. It would be difficult to live here without doing so.”
    The Marquis smiled.
    “I can understand, Markham, that you must find it very lonely here, but I suppose you have your own family?”
    “Your Lordship must have forgotten that I am unmarried.”
    “I am sorry, Markham, it had in fact slipped my memory,” the Marquis apologised.
    He wondered what his connection with Flagstaff Manor might be and remembered how the Admiral had renamed his house as a gesture of defiance to annoy his father.
    Again Mr. Markham seemed to hesitate before he said,
    “Captain Wadebridge’s son, my Lord, is of course in the Navy, but he is, I believe, in the West Indies at the moment.”
    “I seem to remember that there was a girl,” the Marquis said, frowning in an attempt at concentration.
    “Yes, my Lord, that would be Miss Ivana.”
    “I never met the children at The Manor,” the Marquis said, “but she would have been younger than myself. I imagine that Ivana, if that is her name, must have grown up by now.”
    “I am sure your Lordship is right,” Mr. Markham said. “Would your Lordship wish me to inform the Magistrates of what has occurred last night?”
    The Marquis had the feeling that he was deliberately changing the subject and, because he felt Mr. Markham had no wish to answer any more questions, he asked,
    “What does Miss Wadebridge do with herself all day? She can hardly be living alone at The Manor, unless her mother is alive.”
    “Mrs. Wadebridge died many years ago, my Lord.”
    “Then who else is at The Manor?”
    “I really cannot say. Although I knew Captain Wadebridge, the two houses do not communicate.”
    There was a note in Mr. Markham’s voice that told the Marquis that for no reason he could ascertain he was on the defensive.
    There must be something strange about the Wadebridges, he thought, but then there always had been.
    In the old days he had only to mention the name to have his father roaring with anger at the iniquities of something the Admiral had said or done. He was quite certain that the Admiral did the same thing when he thought of the Marquis.
    Later generations were surely too sensible to carry on a feud that had kept the blood pulsating through two old hearts and had given them an interest in life they would not otherwise have had.
    “I wonder,” the Marquis said reflectively, “whether the highwaymen who robbed Sir Anthony and me so successfully last night, also called on Miss Wadebridge? It would have been frightening for her if they did so. After all, if we could not compete with them, what could she do?”
    “I feel, my Lord, it is extremely unlikely that there would be anything in Flagstaff Manor to interest the type of criminal who came here.”
    “Why should you think that?” the Marquis asked.
    “Surely it is obvious,