Author’s Note

      Penang is a tiny turtle-shaped island at the Northern extremity of the Straits of Malacca and is one of the most beautiful places in the world.

      Washed by the warm clear waters of the Indian Ocean, it is fringed by golden beaches and coconut palms.

      It was to Penang that brave and adventurous men came, after it was discovered by the English Captain Francis Light in 1786.

      They made huge fortunes, built enormous mansions in the English style and settled in happily with the Malays and the Chinese.

      At the time I have written about in this book two infamous Secret Societies were being hunted by the Authorities. They committed murder and fought dangerous duels for the newly found wealth in the country.

      Penang was of great importance to the East India Company and it became an important Trading Post for the whole of the British Empire.

      It is now a popular holiday resort, but there are many monuments, houses and buildings to remind one of its fascinating history and I would hope an even more fascinating future.

      chapter one ~ 1869

      The train came into Victoria Station and Lord Selwyn stepped out with a deep sigh of relief.

      He was home!

      There was no carriage waiting to meet him at the Station, but fortunately travelling with him was a French Diplomat, who was to be met by a carriage sent by his Embassy.

      “May I give you a lift, my Lord?” he asked politely.

      “I would be most grateful,” Lord Selwyn replied. “As I have already informed you, I left sooner than I had expected and did not have time to notify my secretary that I was returning earlier than I had previously arranged.”

      The Diplomat smiled.

      “I have always been told, my Lord, that it can a dangerous thing to do.”

      Lord Selwyn laughed.

      “Not as far as I am concerned, but, of course, you are right in principle.”

      They stepped into the Embassy carriage.

      Lord Selwyn noted it was not only very smart but was drawn by two well-bred horses.

      They were not the equal of his own. At the same time they were a credit to whoever had purchased them.

      As he sank down against the well-padded back seat, he thought that tonight he would see Maisie Brambury.

      She had been in his mind ever since he had left England.

      Then while he was in Paris he had made what he knew was the most important decision of his life.

      He would get married!

      For years and years he had fought against what at first had been subtle hints from his family and then pleadings for him to be married.

      He could not imagine in any way why there should be any hurry for him to do so.

      Except, of course, that he was distinguished, extremely wealthy and also owned one of the finest Georgian houses in the country.

      It was obvious, therefore, that sooner or later he will have to produce an heir to succeed him.

      He had decided many years back that the idea of being tied down was abhorrent to him.

      He wanted to be free, untrammelled and most definitely unencumbered by a wife.

      He had gone to Paris on a delicate Diplomatic mission that had been assigned to him by Lord Clarendon, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.

      He had been determined to forget all about Lady Brambury.

      Paris, he well knew, would be full of women who wanted to flatter him into spending his money. At the same time they made sure that he felt every penny of it had been well spent.

      Although he had adhered strictly to the business in hand, which was very characteristic of him, his evenings were totally free.

      It was then that he started to search for the attractive courtesans whom he had met on his last visit.

      They welcomed him with open arms and he went from party to party and inevitably from bed to bed.

      It was only yesterday morning that he had finally decided that enough was enough.

      If he was honest, and he usually was honest with himself, he had to admit that the magic of Paris had this time not been there for him.

      He had forced himself to enjoy what in the past had been spontaneous excitement and what the French called very rightly joie de vivre.

      At first he had asked himself what was wrong.

      He just had to admit that instead of the alluring dark eyes looking passionately into his, he could see only the blue of Lady Brambury’s.

      He could hear only her voice, soft and childlike, as she talked to him brightly on any and all subjects.

      ‘I am being a fool!’ he told himself and drank a little more champagne.

      Nothing that the French could provide seemed now to satisfy him.

      The food he had enjoyed at various parties was superlative and even better when he took some charmer to the famous Maxim’s or Le Grand Vefour.

      No one, he thought, could be more alluring than the French Demi-Mondaines.

      They were chic and they were witty and with a fascination that was all their own.

      They made every man feel like a King.

      But all he could hear was a little voice saying,

      “I am so – alone and the – Social world – frightens me!”

      Two blue eyes looked at him helplessly and he felt that he wanted to protect Maisie and there was only one sure way that he could do so.

      “But marriage is not for me!”

      He just wondered how often he had said those words to his relatives, to his men friends and to too many women for him to count.

      He had everything that he could possibly want in his life.

      He was never lonely in his impressive house in the country nor in his delightful London mansion in Park Lane.

      As he was exceedingly intelligent, he enjoyed reading.

      While his contemporaries rushed off to their Clubs rather than be alone at home, Lord Selwyn could sit reading in his library long into the night.

      “You must be careful, my dearest, not to ruin your eyes,” his mother had said when she was alive. “You will not look so handsome if you have to wear spectacles.”

      Lord Selwyn had laughed.

      There were many years for him to enjoy his reading, he thought, before his eyes began to fail him.

      Reading books always gave him as much pleasure as did a beautiful woman.

      Moreover, he often thought cynically that they lasted a great deal longer.

      All his love affairs came to an end simply because he found that there was nothing to talk about except love.

      He was of the opinion that the English language was regrettably extremely limited on the subject and the women who gave him their favours were undeniably beautiful and had figures like young Greek Goddesses.

      But while his body responded to their beauty, he found that his brain was being critical also, although it was a strange word, ‘deprived’.

      When he thought of marriage, he realised that it would be impossible for him to listen to what he would call ‘banal conversation’.

      It was what he would have to do from first thing in the morning to last thing at night.