The Devil and Drusilla Page 12

  Giles hung his head a little and muttered beneath his breath, ‘More than you know, Dru.’

  Aloud, he said, ‘I do know this. Devenish would never hurt you, but I am not sure of Sir Toby.’ Even Giles was not quite certain where this last remark came from. He only knew that he liked Devenish and did not like Sir Toby. He hoped that Dru was not thinking of marrying him.

  Much better that she married Devenish, but he had enough sense not to tell her so.

  Drusilla might have defended Toby to Giles except she was beginning to find his constant denigration of Devenish tedious. It implied that her own judgement was faulty if it needed to be made. She tried to examine both men impartially and came to the not-very-helpful conclusion that Toby was a lightweight and Devenish was a mystery!

  She told him so before dinner on their last day at Marsham Abbey. The dinner was a formal one and was to set the seal on what Mr Harrington rightly proclaimed had been a happy week.

  Not that she referred to Toby, only to Devenish’s own consummate air of total control—based upon what?

  ‘Tell me your secret,’ she said, ‘for I have the feeling that I should like to be as much in charge of my world as you are of yours.’

  ‘It’s an illusion,’ he told her gravely. ‘In reality I am driven by time and chance like all humanity.’

  ‘An illusion?’ queried Drusilla. ‘How so? The magician pulls strings, as it were, to produce his. What is your secret?’

  Devenish looked down at her laughing face and slowly smiled. He took his handkerchief from his sleeve, showed it to her, crumpled it up in his hand so that it disappeared from view, and then opened his hand—which was empty.

  ‘No secret,’ he told her, watching her surprised face carefully, ‘a trick, that’s all.’

  ‘But where has it gone?’ she asked, bewildered.

  ‘Here,’ he said, and apparently plucked the handkerchief from her sash before handing it to her.

  He had never performed such an illusion before an audience in his adult life, although it was a trick which he had learned at the age of twelve from a travelling magician, and one, among others, which he occasionally practised in private. His reward was Drusilla’s amusement when she returned the handkerchief to him.

  ‘It was a parable you were offering to me, was it not?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Devenish said, not surprised at all by the speed of her understanding.

  ‘To prove that things are often not what they seem.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Giles, who had been watching, his jaw dropped, said, ‘Will you teach me how to do that, Devenish?’

  Devenish shook his head. ‘A magician, however lowly, never gives away his tricks.’

  Giles had not been the only spectator. Leander Harrington, standing by, had watched the little scene with interested eyes. For the first time he wondered whether he had been correct to dismiss Devenish as a shallow fool.

  Chapter Eight

  Drusilla, like Giles, found being home again a trifle dull. She missed sparring daily with Devenish, as Giles missed the society of other than his immediate family. Miss Faulkner, on the other hand, was relieved.

  She had been persuaded to think that, contrary to her early beliefs, Lord Devenish was a bad influence on both Giles and Drusilla. Mr Harrington, who for his own devious reasons, had no wish to see a marriage between the owner of Lyford House and the owner of Tresham Hall had, quite subtly, suggested to her that m’lord Devenish was not a suitable person for Mrs Faulkner to marry.

  ‘It is not, I think,’ he had said in his most magisterial tones, ‘that I consider Lord Devenish to be an evil, or a wicked man, but neither is he the sort of person whom I consider dear Mrs Faulkner ought to marry.’

  He then retailed to her all the lying gossip about Devenish—and some embroideries of his own—which he could remember, and in the doing convinced poor Cordelia that she had been very wrong to try to push for a match between them.

  She was careful, however, not to criticise him overmuch to either Drusilla or her brother because she was well aware how much they valued his friendship. On the other hand she no longer echoed Giles’s admiration and said nothing if Drusilla appeared to second it.

  Giles was particularly restless when he returned home and Miss Faulkner privately thought that it was Devenish’s fault. He either mooned about the house or spent long hours away from it, doing goodness knows what.

  She bearded him late one afternoon when he had reappeared after several hours’ absence from the house.

  ‘And where have you been, young sir?’ she asked him. ‘You have been gone so long we were growing worried.’

  ‘Nowhere,’ he said defensively, ‘just to the little copse beyond the park with my book,’ and he held it up. ‘It’s too hot to frowst indoors.’

  ‘Now you know that your sister does not like you to disappear on your own. With that poorly leg of yours, it’s not safe.’

  ‘Oh!’ and charming Giles was, for once, a trifle nasty. ‘Well, I’ll have you know that I can walk further on my one good leg and one poorly one than you can on your two well ones.’

  Since this was unfortunately true, Miss Faulkner was left with nothing else to say to him—although she complained to Drusilla later.

  Drusilla heard her out patiently, saying, ‘We can’t mollycoddle him too much, you know. It is merely asking for trouble.’

  To Miss Faulkner’s further complaint that it was all due to Lord Devenish’s bad example and his spoiling of him, Drusilla felt constrained to reply, ‘I was not aware that Lord Devenish was urging him to take long walks.’

  ‘He is encouraging him to be rebellious, which comes to the same thing.’

  Drusilla sighed. What with Giles’s adoration of m’lord, Miss Faulkner’s new-found dislike of him, and her own repressed feelings of desire which he had aroused, his arrival among them had caused a rare commotion.

  ‘He’s growing up, Cordelia. He’ll soon be a man, and we must let him learn to make his own mistakes.’

  But even Drusilla became worried one fine afternoon when Giles did not turn up for nuncheon—something very out of character for a young man who loved his food.

  Miss Faulkner was in a fine old taking, bustling about agitatedly and visiting the stables—something which she rarely did—to discover whether any of the outdoor servants had seen him since early morning.

  She found Drusilla in the dining room, looking out of the window, nuncheon untouched on the table. She turned as Miss Faulkner entered, saying, ‘I have questioned the housekeeper and most of the indoor servants. He has not been seen since shortly after breakfast. He took his book with him and told Jenkins here—’and she waved a hand at the tall footman by the door ‘—that he was going to the copse to read in the shade, the day being so hot. I have sent one of the other footmen to fetch him in. He may have forgotten the time.’

  ‘Forgotten the time, indeed!’ snorted Miss Faulkner, disbelievingly, secretly a little pleased that her forebodings were proving true. ‘I doubt that greatly for I have never known Giles miss a meal before. He has always been a great one for favouring his stomach.’

  ‘Well, I refuse to be too worried until the footman returns—Giles with him, I hope. I don’t believe that he can have gone far.’

  But when the footman returned it was without Giles, and Drusilla was compelled to admit that Miss Faulkner had been right to be worried about him. A search of the grounds, and the land beyond the grounds, was immediately set in train.

  Although, thought Drusilla, we shall all feel very foolish if he shortly wanders in saying that he did not mean to frighten us by falling asleep because his book was so boring.

  The afternoon wore on, however, with no sign of him. One of the grooms rode over to Tresham Hall to see if he might have decided to visit Lord Devenish on foot. M’lord was out for the day, visiting the Lord Lieutenant, Rob Stammers said, and they had not seen Giles since the end of the Marsham house party.

  When late
afternoon found him still missing Drusilla was almost frantic, and Miss Faulkner had turned from being a tower of strength into a watering pot.

  ‘I fear I may have somehow brought this about by worrying overmuch about him!’

  A sentiment which Drusilla roundly told her was fit only for a sensational novel. She refused to lose heart, but even her stoic calm was beginning to falter when time continued to pass and there was still no sign of him.

  By dusk her spirits had reached their lowest ebb. She was standing on the terrace, wearing her oldest boots, after walking over to Tresham Minor to ask whether he had visited Mr Lawson, when she saw Vobster and Green coming across the park carrying Giles between them, his arms around their shoulders.

  She ran down the steps, Miss Faulkner faltering behind her, to discover that Giles was semi-conscious, that his head was bloody, and that he had lost his boots, jacket and watch. They had found his book thrown down on the path nearby.

  He roused himself enough to give Drusilla a rueful half-smile. ‘Sorry, Dru,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Exactly like the master,’ Vobster told her when Giles had been carried to bed and the doctor sent for. He had been dragged into the undergrowth—as Jeremy had been—and it was only because they had remembered how his body had been concealed, that Vobster and Green had searched it thoroughly instead of walking by it. Giles had been groping around, dazed, trying to stand up, when they had found him.

  ‘Not far from the stream by Halsey’s Bottom,’ Vobster ended.

  ‘By the stream near Halsey’s Bottom,’ echoed Drusilla. ‘Whatever was he doing there?’

  Halsey’s Bottom was a field next to Halsey village which consisted of a dozen labourers’ cottages and was part of Devenish’s estate.

  ‘Who knows, madam?’ said Vobster. ‘He might have been carried there, of course.’

  ‘But why?’ exclaimed the distracted Drusilla. ‘Who would want to hurt Giles?’

  ‘For his possessions, madam. Like the late master. He told us when we found him that he had no notion of what had happened to him. He thought that he was having a nightmare and was trying to get out of bed.’

  Giles confirmed this to her later, after the doctor had been, his head had been bound up and he had been given laudanum to relieve his pain.

  ‘I can’t remember anything much after I left the copse to go for a walk,’ he mumbled, when Drusilla asked him if he had any notion of how he came to be attacked, or why he was so far afield. ‘Only that the weather was fine and I was tired of reading. I remember thinking that a little exercise might do me good—and after that, nothing.’ He gave her a small, wan smile.

  Vobster and the doctor had both warned her that this might be the case. Vobster had been in the Army as a boy and said that soldiers wounded in battle, particularly in the head, often lost their memories of recent events when they recovered.

  ‘Some lose them altogether,’ he told her glumly.

  Fortunately this was not the case with Giles. But since he was unable to tell her anything, and the laudanum was beginning to take effect, she left him to sleep. Sleep, the doctor had said before he left, was a great healer.

  I wish it would heal me, thought Drusilla sadly, later that night. The attack on Giles had revived all the dreadful memories associated with Jeremy’s disappearance and death and, like Devenish a few nights earlier, she found sleep a long time in coming and her dreams unhappy when it finally came.

  Devenish did not learn of the attack on Giles until he was eating breakfast in his room. He had arrived back late on the previous night from his visit to the Lord Lieutenant and Rob had already retired.

  ‘Something you ought to know of, Hal,’ Rob said, after he had discussed the business of the day. ‘Giles Stone disappeared yesterday afternoon, and was found much later by a pair of grooms from Lyford House. He had been attacked and left unconscious by the stream at Halsey’s Bottom. I gather that they had the doctor to him immediately; although he is not in danger, he has taken a nasty blow.’

  Devenish stopped eating to stare at Rob. ‘Do I gather that this is a similar attack to the one on his brother-in-law?’

  ‘Indeed, very similar. He was found far from home and had been robbed. The thief, or thieves, took his watch, his jacket and his boots and shoved him into the undergrowth. Vobster remembered how his late master had been hidden and had ordered the search to be very thorough.’

  Devenish immediately thought of poor Drusilla. First her husband—and now this.

  He flung his napkin down and rose. ‘I shall visit Mrs Faulkner immediately. She will need to be comforted. Whilst I change into riding clothes I beg you to order my best horse to be saddled and ready for me. And, for once, I shall take a groom with me. After all that has passed I don’t think it safe to ride, or walk, unaccompanied. Do you do the same, Rob.’

  Rob’s eyebrows rose. This was most unlike Hal, who usually took little note of possible danger. He shrugged his shoulders. Well, even the steadiest of us have their whim whams, was his internal comment as he went to do Devenish’s bidding.

  Drusilla seemed her normal serene self when Devenish arrived at Lyford House. If her face was a little pale and there were mauve shadows beneath her eyes, well, that was to be expected. But her voice and manner were composed when she greeted him.

  ‘It is very good of you, m’lord,’ she said, after Devenish had enquired as to Giles’s condition, ‘to come over so promptly. He will be pleased to learn of your concern.’

  Devenish had kissed her hand on his arrival, and was now seated opposite to her. Above her head was a portrait of the late Jeremy Faulkner, a handsome enough man, but his face was not a strong one, Devenish thought.

  He spoke kindly to her, asking her for full details about Giles’s disappearance and his discovery by Green and Vobster.

  Drusilla was only too glad to have a sympathetic ear. She poured out her story of the previous unhappy afternoon, adding, ‘I suppose that I didn’t worry about his absence soon enough, but since he has taken to disappearing for long periods since we got back from Marsham Abbey, I assumed that he was walking and reading in the grounds near home. By the time we realised that something was amiss a great deal of time had passed. It was fortunate that Vobster and Green found him when they did.’

  Fortunate, indeed, thought Devenish, and being a man who took nothing on trust, he also thought, Exactly what has Master Giles been up to lately? There is more amiss here, perhaps, than his sister realises.

  Aloud, he said, ‘If he is fit enough to receive me, I should like to visit him. But the decision is yours, madam.’

  Drusilla hesitated for a moment, and then said with a sudden smile, ‘I can think of nothing better. His delight at your kindness must surely outweigh any possible strain entertaining a visitor might cause. I shall take you to him at once—and afterwards you will stay for nuncheon, perhaps. I am alone, Miss Faulkner is spending the day with an old friend.’

  Devenish bowed and followed her up the stairs. By agreement she left him on the landing while she entered Giles’s bedroom, and he heard her ask, ‘Giles, my dear, are you strong enough to receive a visitor?’

  ‘Depends on the visitor,’ he replied, ‘I don’t think that I could wear Miss Faulkner. She will be sure to put the blame on me for being attacked!’

  ‘No, it’s not Miss Faulkner. I rather think that it’s someone you might wish to see,’ and she beckoned Devenish in.

  ‘Good Lord, Dru, why didn’t you tell me it was Devenish you were babbling about! I’m always ready to see him.’

  Giles was sitting up in bed, his face white, and his head bandaged, but evidently still his old irrepressible self.

  ‘Sit down, do,’ he exclaimed as Drusilla tactfully left them alone together. ‘And, before you go, try to persuade Dru that I really do need more than gruel to keep me in trim. It’s not my stomach that’s been damaged, it’s my head.’

  ‘Happy to see you as lively as ever,’ drawled Devenish. ‘I had thought to find you on
a bed of pain.’

  ‘Well, I was last night,’ declared Giles, leaning back on his pillows, for he was not feeling quite as well as he was claiming to be. ‘But I’m much better this morning—or I would be if this confounded headache would go away.’

  ‘It will,’ Devenish told him, ‘but you must co-operate with your sister and the doctor. Drusilla has quite enough to worry her without you playing the goat. And, by the by, without taking poor Miss Faulkner’s part, what were you doing, larking around Halsey’s Bottom?’

  Giles closed his eyes and leaned back in an invalidish manner, before saying feebly, ‘Do you know, I don’t remember. Everything after I left the copse at the back of the house to go for a walk has quite gone from my mind.’

  ‘Everything? You’ve no notion of where you were going, or of who might have struck you?’

  ‘No, indeed.’

  ‘Or how you came to be at Halsey’s Bottom, so far from home?’

  Giles blinked and sank even further back into his pillows, trying to look weak and wan.

  ‘Why do you keep asking me that, Devenish? I have already told you, no.’

  Devenish leaned back himself. ‘So you said. Now, why do I believe that you are not telling me the truth? Oh, I accept that you have no memory of the attack, or even of a short time before it. What I don’t believe is that you were carried any distance to Halsey’s Bottom by those who attacked you. In the middle of the night, perhaps, but in the day, no. I think that you know very well why you went there.’

  Giles muttered something unintelligible. Devenish leaned forwards, cupping his ear in a parody of a deaf old man. ‘Eh, what’s that, then? Your sister tells me that you’ve been disappearing for long periods of time lately. Where to, and why? And don’t you want the villain who did this to you caught? He’ll not be if you don’t tell the truth about your doings.’

  ‘I’m ill. I don’t like to be badgered and questioned,’ whined the goaded Giles pathetically.