Bowen Delphi Collected Works of Marjorie Bowen Illustrated

1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-80170-264-5
Verlag: Delphi Publishing Ltd
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 24, 14203 Seiten

Reihe: Delphi Series Fifteen

Margaret Gabrielle Vere Long (more famous under her pseudonym Marjorie Bowen) was an Interwar British author, who penned compelling historical romances and supernatural horror stories. A prolific author, who used multiple pseudonyms and published works across numerous genres, Bowen also excelled as a writer of popular history and riveting biographies. This eBook presents the largest collection of Bowen's works ever compiled, with numerous illustrations, rare texts, informative introductions and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)

* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Bowen's life and works
* Concise introductions to the major texts
* 72 novels, with individual contents tables
* The complete William of Orange, British Spiritual History and Renaissance trilogies - first time in digital print
* Many rare novels appearing for the first time in digital publishing
* Images of how the books were first published, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the texts
* Rare short stories available in no other collection
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the stories
* Easily locate the stories you want to read
* Includes Bowen's rare non-fiction
* The revealing autobiography 'The Debate Continues' - discover Bowen's early misadventures
* Ordering of texts into chronological order and genres

Please note: due to US copyright restrictions, the novels cannot appear in this edition. When new works enter the public domain, they will be added to the collection as a free update.

CONTENTS:

The William of Orange Trilogy
I Will Maintain (1910)
Defender of the Faith (1911)
God and the King (1911)

The British Spiritual History Trilogy
God and the Wedding Dress (1938)
Mr. Tyler's Saints (1939)
The Circle in the Water (1939)

The Renaissance Trilogy
The Golden Roof (1928)
The Triumphant Beast (1934)
Trumpets at Rome (1936)

Other Novels
The Viper of Milan (1906)
Ferriby (1907)
The Master of Stair (1907)
The Sword Decides (1908)
A Moment's Madness (1908)
The Leopard and the Lily (1909)
Black Magic (1909)
Lovers' Knots (1912)
The Rake's Progress (1912)
The Quest of Glory (1912)
The Governor of England (1913)
A Knight of Spain (1913)
The Two Carnations (1913)
and many more -- too many to list

The Autobiography
The Debate Continues (1939)

Autoren/Hrsg.

Bowen, Marjorie

Leseproben

CHAPTER II. THE INTRIGUERS

FLORENT VAN MANDER, comfortable after his dinner, sitting at his open window smoking, and watching the people pass up and down the Kerkestraat, was surprised, not disagreeably, by the servant entering his solitude to announce a visitor owning a foreign name she stumbled over.

Hyacinthe St. Croix — Van Mander had known him in Arnheim when he himself was a magistrate’s clerk there, ambitious, with an eye on the Hague, and the Frenchman a half disavowed agent of the Marquis de Pomponne, some one who had travelled the Provinces several times already, observing, noting, making acquaintances and gathering information where he could.

The young secretary called for candles — he had been sitting in the dark — and closed the window.

On the heels of the maid with the lights came St. Croix, better dressed, more self-confident, more assured in manner than formerly.

The two greeted each other formally.

“I did not know that you were at the Hague,” said Van Mander. “How did you find me?”

The Frenchman laid his hat and gloves on one of the high-backed chairs.

“I was passing through Arnheim the other day — I called upon your uncle and he told me. You have a good post.”

Florent put a chair for his guest and took one himself the other side of the small dark table; between them stood the two heavy branch candlesticks, glimmering each in the light of the other candles that illuminated the small, neat room with its deep window-seat, polished wood furniture, plain engravings on the walls and Delft pottery on the chimney-piece.

Florent refilled his pipe and invited the other to smoke. The two long clays soon filled the chamber with slow, fragrant smoke.

“So you are in the service of M. de Witt,” remarked St. Croix.

“Yes.”

The Frenchman smiled as he pondered on the best means of getting what he wanted from the laconic Dutchman; it was astonishingly difficult, he found, to deal with a nation so blunt and so reserved.

In the silence that followed Florent stared at him stolidly, marking every detail of his appearance, his short red jacket of the newest French fashion showing the laced shirt beneath, the cravat and ruffles of lace, the silk stockings and shoes with ribbon rosettes, the frizzled, fair hair that framed the small-featured, rather insignificant face of Hyacinthe St. Croix.

Van Mander had the national contempt of foreign luxury, but these signs of prosperity annoyed him in a slow kind of way. He knew St. Croix was of the small gentry, no better born than himself, and not so long ago no better dressed; now he contrasted this gay attire with his own serviceable grey and worsted hose, and wished he had been the one to find such profitable employment.

“How do you like M. de Witt?” asked St. Croix suddenly.

“Very well,” said Florent.

The Frenchman regarded him out of narrowed eyes, and asked again, with equal abruptness —

“Have you seen the Prince of Orange?”

“No.”

“But you have heard, since you have been at the Hague, a great deal of him?”

“I have heard of him,” answered Florent.

St. Croix laid down his pipe.

“You have drawn your own conclusions, of course,” he said. “You were always shrewd.”

Florent was flattered and excited; he managed to show neither feeling.

“I have drawn some conclusions,” was all he admitted.

“On the position of the Prince — and of M. de Witt?”

“I have only been at the Hague a week — —”

But Hyacinthe St. Croix knew fairly well the man he dealt with.

“Come,” he said in an intimate tone that swept aside evasion, “you know as well as I do that this Government must fall.”

The words gave the young secretary a shock. He sat silent, sucking his pipe, not wishing to admit that he was startled.

The Frenchman leant back calmly in his chair.

“The whole feeling of the country is against M. de Witt,” he continued. “You must have seen it.”

It occurred to Florent, in a vague, impersonal sort of way, that the Grand Pensionary’s secretary had no right to be listening to these things, or even to be speaking at all to a Frenchman intriguing for his Ambassador; but he told himself that he served success, and success did not seem to lie with M. de Witt.

“Yet we are at peace at home and abroad,” he remarked, to probe the other.

St. Croix smiled.

“You think of the Triple Alliance,” he said.

“True — only signed this year,” returned Florent. “Still there is always France.”

“Also do not be too sure of England,” said St. Croix. “Despite the Triple Alliance — she stands very well with France — I could tell you something — —”

Florent Van Mander looked him straight in the face.

“Do you mean that France and England might combine for the restoration of the Prince of Orange?”

The Frenchman lifted his eyebrows.

“Upon conditions — they might. If there were a war what could M. de Witt do?”

Van Mander thought a moment.

“He beat England in ’56 — but now — —”

“He could do nothing against France — that is obvious.”

“Yes, it is obvious,” admitted Florent.

“And the prospect is threatening.”

“I know — —”

“Well, you see the part the Prince will play?”

There was a little pause, then the Dutchman said slowly —

“He is King Louis’ cousin and King Charles’ nephew — —”

“You take me,” replied St. Croix, “the Prince is related to their Majesties — and he has no cause to love M. de Witt.”

Florent drew a quick breath.

“You think he … would work for France?”

“Can there be a doubt of it?” smiled St. Croix.

There was no answer from Florent. He laid down his pipe and sat still, considering.

Rumours, whispers, hints were taking at last tangible form: this young prisoner, pupil of M. de Witt, was to be the instrument to deliver the country into the rapacious hands of France. Well, there was little cause to wonder; indeed he had almost guessed it. The Prince had, as St. Croix said, little cause to love either M. de Witt or his Republic.

He raised his grey eyes and looked into the Frenchman’s face —

“These are strange things to say to a Dutchman and a servant of M. de Witt.”

St. Croix answered quickly —

“But you serve success.”

At these words, that he did not recall having ever uttered to this man, Florent was again silent. It was perfectly true; he was at the beginning of his career and ambitious; he had no desire to follow a falling cause. The Republic was no more to him than the Prince, he told himself; and there was no reason that he should not, out of the crisis that threatened, earn a place and distinction for himself.

St. Croix observed him closely. He was not afraid of having said too much, for he had read his man, some years before, in Guelders.

“It seems I serve the wrong master now,” said Florent at last, with a grim set to his mouth. “I must not look out for fortune in the train of M. de Witt.”

The Frenchman answered slowly and with meaning —

“There is fortune, and great fortune, to be found in the service of M. de Witt, by men like you who know how to look for it.…”

Once more Florent was silent. He kept his eyes fixed on the dark surface of the table, where the reflected lights of the candles glimmered. He thought that he understood.

“The Prince,” continued St. Croix, “and the power behind the Prince, can be very well served by one in the pay of M. de Witt.”

Florent was now sure that he understood. Not by being loyal to his master, but by betraying him was he to satisfy his ambitions. The way of success lay not with the Grand Pensionary — but with the Prince, who was another name for France.

For the moment his instinct was to resent this calm suggestion that he was the willing instrument of foreign intrigue, but quick reflection showed him the folly of it. St. Croix knew him; some time past, in Guelders, he had taken money for such information of Dutch politics as he could command. His hesitation took another form.

“How am I to know that this Prince of yours is worth serving — at a risk?” he said.

“You know that France is worth serving.”

“Buat died,” remarked Florent dryly, “for tampering with France.”

“Buat was a fool,” returned St. Croix; “and we do not want any knight-errantry from you — one of M. de Witt’s secretaries cannot fail to be useful — you will see how.”

“Yes, I see how,” answered Florent; “but at present M. de Witt represents the Government and the law, and the Prince is a powerless cipher — —”

“Not so powerless; we are in touch with him, he commands a section of the nobles — and he has the name.”

Florent, hearing again the words used by Sir William Temple, started inwardly. It was curious that the name that owed its prestige and its weight to the fact that it was the name of the man who had first given Holland her liberty was to be used now to aid in her downfall.

“He is a boy,” said Van Mander quickly. “He has been brought up by M. de Witt — educated as a republican — —”

St. Croix smiled.

“Is M. de Witt clever enough to train a prince into a commoner? I do not think so.”

Interest shone in Florent’s grey eyes.

“How far has the Prince gone — with France?”

“He is of an extraordinary caution — he...