The Devil and Drusilla Read online

  De Castellane began to laugh. ‘Oh, you will not like to hear this, but you are your grandfather to the life when he was your age, and I was a boy admiring his amazing sang-froid.’

  Devenish replied drily, ‘Yes, I know. I dislike it, and myself, intensely for resembling him—but nature will have its way. My favour may not be to your taste, but I hope you will grant it. First of all…’

  ‘More than one favour, then,’ returned de Castellane, smiling.

  ‘Oh, I recognise my old tutor’s insistence on exactitude,’ was Devenish’s riposte. ‘First, then, I hope you will agree to inform me of the reason for your sudden departure from Tresham Hall.’

  ‘Only if you will do me a favour. Why do you wish to know?’

  ‘I see that we are at point non plus, here,’ sighed Devenish, ‘for I have no mind to oblige you, other than to say that I wish to solve a series of what I suspect to be great crimes, and you once spoke to me of something which leads me to believe that you might be able to help me.’

  It was plain that Monsieur de Castellane, or Mr Castle as he now called himself, was extremely reluctant to oblige him.

  He hesitated. Devenish said swiftly, ‘I believe that the Black Mass is being celebrated again at Marsham Abbey and that this time it is not the idle joke it may once have been.’

  De Castellane’s whole manner changed. ‘Ah, you merely wish me to confirm what you already suspect…’

  ‘Yes. I have reason to believe that something similar took place all those years ago and that you left as a consequence of it. I would like you to tell me the truth—with the proviso that, if it incriminates you in any way, that knowledge will go no further.’

  De Castellane leaned forward and rang a small bell. ‘Only when we are seated over a glass of port and some ratafia biscuits. You are even more like your grandfather than I first thought, even more intimidating. When I last saw you—’

  He was interrupted by the butler. ‘Pray bring me a bottle of the best port and some ratafia biscuits—and then leave us alone. M’lord and I have many years talking to catch up.’

  After the butler had gone, he steepled his hands under his chin after a fashion which Devenish remembered. ‘Before we speak of the Black Mass, when did the change occur? I remember you as a surly, unwashed cub, confined to the attics of Tresham Hall and regularly thrashed for disobedience. You had only two aims in mind. One was to defy your grandfather by refusing to become the fine gentleman which he wished you to be, and the other to learn as much as you could about everything.’

  Devenish laughed a little ruefully. ‘You may remember that shortly after you arrived to be my tutor I ran away to join the magician at the Fair which arrived at Tresham Magna. He was my old teacher, and before my grandfather arrived to tell me I was his heir, he had promised to take me on as his apprentice. Imagine my horror when, after I had spent a happy evening with him, he returned me to my grandfather. I saw it as yet another piece of treachery practised on me.

  ‘My old master told me that I had a powerful destiny before me as the future Lord Devenish, and that I should remember that the magician’s greatest trick was to deceive people by offering them what they wished to see—or thought that they wished to see. The two things are not the same, he said. I asked him what he meant. He shook his head and told me to work it out for myself.

  ‘It was only later that I understood that my old teacher was doing me a great service. I suddenly grasped that by becoming what my grandfather thought that he wanted me to be was to trick and disappoint him, because what he really wanted was for me to confirm that Augustus Devenish’s only son was as worthless as his father. To turn myself into a fine and educated gentleman meant that I had won a victory over him. Alas, I succeeded only too well—by turning myself into him, a man I despised.’

  He fell silent, staring into the empty hearth. Monsieur de Castellane said gently, ‘I think not. Your grandfather had no self-knowledge. He was a ruthless man who took himself for granted. You, on the contrary, do not. The child you were still lives in you, I think.’

  This piece of insight startled Devenish as he remembered his dreams of the previous night.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said slowly, thinking of Drusilla—and realising, at last, that she might be his salvation. She would prevent him from turning into the old man in the attic.

  ‘Tell me,’ said de Castellane, watching, ‘can you still do your magic tricks? You used to amuse me with them when learning palled.’

  Devenish smiled. After a moment he leaned forward and pulled a golden guinea from de Castellane’s ear, and another from the pocket where he kept his watch. He tossed them at his old teacher. ‘As you see, I keep in practice. It amuses me.’

  ‘And me. You were always an inventive lad—as your grandfather often complained.’ The port had arrived and they began to drink it.

  ‘Excellent,’ murmured Devenish, ‘but then your taste always was—and now, the Black Mass.’

  ‘Like many things,’ de Castellane said, ‘it began as a joke and ended as something different. Beaufort Harrington was the instigator. He said that he wanted to form a drinking circle like Sir Francis Dashwood’s Hell Fire Club which would meet in the crypt. To give it spice we would also perform a parody of the Black Mass which is itself a parody of the Catholic church service. We were deceived. He had a deeper cause in mind.

  ‘Like his son, Leander, who was then a young man, he believed in a new order—never mind that the ending of the old one in France had been so bloody, as I could testify. England would be different, he thought, and since being a devout Christian and believing in God was not bringing a new world order about, then why not invoke the Devil and see if he would be more obliging.’

  De Castellane sighed. ‘He was not to know that many of the French aristocrats and gentry had believed the same thing—my maternal uncle for one. Some practised the Black Mass, some became Freemasons. Whether or not the Devil brought about the Revolution they desired is a matter for conjecture—but if he did, then the price that was paid for it by his aristocratic worshippers was their heads, as my maternal uncle discovered when he mounted the guillotine.

  ‘But in our early days at Marsham we knew nothing of this. Many of the local nobility and gentry met in the crypt when the moon was full, dressed up and drank, including your grandfather and me.’

  He paused. Devenish, his fine brows arched, said, ‘My grandfather joined in this simple mummery?’

  ‘Yes, and simple mummery it was, at first. Your grandfather soon grew bored and ceased to attend the meetings. He said that he was too old. I, however, continued. Remember I was young and needed some amusement in life to keep me happy—but, alas, the meetings slowly began to change, and I was the only one who understood what was happening. Beaufort Harrington was gradually introducing the real Black Mass, and was corrupting his followers as he did so.

  ‘Black candles appeared, the cross was placed upside down on a desecrated altar, and the Mass was said backwards by the local priest. And then one month I attended to find that the final abomination had been introduced. A village maiden was stretched across the altar and the Communion cup was placed upon her naked body. Beaufort Harrington wore a Devil’s mask with the horns of a goat and young Leander acted as acolyte and swung the censer. At the end of the ceremony Harrington Senior pledged us all to secrecy on pain of death. Surprisingly most of his audience were far gone enough to go along with him.

  ‘I was horrified, for by the next moon I was sure that there would be blood sacrifices to the Devil, and what had started in play was going to end in death. On reaching Tresham Hall I went straight to your grandfather and told him what had begun to happen—and what I feared the end might be. He was horrified. You must understand that he was a stern ruthless man, cruel even, as you well knew, but he was not a wicked one. Murder was something which he would not tolerate.

  ‘He sent for Beaufort Harrington and told him that the club must be disbanded. That he was Deputy Lieutenant of the count
y and would not hesitate to use his powers if Harrington defied him. The result might even mean that some of the leading actors in the Club would swing for blasphemy.

  ‘Beaufort Harrington swore at him, and at me. He shouted that m’lord might stop him, but the day of reckoning would arrive for us both. M’lord would perish on the guillotine which would be set up in London, and he would have his revenge on me for informing on him to m’lord. But m’lord prevailed—as he always did. He told Beaufort Harrington that this way the matter could be settled without scandal and ruin besmirching us all. But Beaufort Harrington stuck his face in mine as he left and told me that the Devil would come for me before long to punish me for my treachery. M’lord took him seriously and said that, much though it grieved him, I must leave Tresham Hall at once, for he was sure that by hook or by crook, Beaufort Harrington would have me killed.

  ‘M’lord knew that I wished to found an Academy and he advanced the money for me to do so, and sent me off immediately to London, giving me enough to start me off. He lent me more later. He even helped me to carry off my future wife who was unhappy at home—that is her portrait over the mantelpiece—and that was the last I saw or heard of Tresham Hall and Tresham Magna, or anyone from them after m’lord wrote me his last letter, until you arrived today.

  ‘I changed my name to Castle for I have been happy in England and have no wish to return to a few barren acres in Northern France.’ He paused again before adding slowly, ‘I have told you everything. I trust that it has been of assistance to you because the telling of it has disturbed me more than I would have thought possible.’

  ‘And me,’ returned Devenish. ‘For matters are as I thought. Leander Harrington has revived the meetings in the crypt, is practising the Black Mass and this time there has been no one to prevent the inevitable ending. Sacrifices to the devil are being made: a number of local girls have disappeared, and I have reason to believe that one, possibly two, men may have been murdered to prevent them from informing the authorities of the Club’s activities. A local lad was assaulted and left for dead—presumably because it was thought that he might have heard something incriminating.’

  De Castellane sighed and said heavily, ‘As Shakespeare might have said of your grandfather and me, “We have scotched the snake, not killed it.”’

  ‘You were not to know that it would revive again so many years later.’

  ‘True. What made you to think of me in this connection?’

  ‘Oh, I was browsing in the Library and came across Madame de Sévigné’s Letters. You may or may not remember that you spoke to me of the great scandal involving Madame de Montespan, the poisons and the Black Mass. And then I remembered that you had disappeared mysteriously, too. I spoke to Rob Stammers and he told me that you had left after a grand brouhaha involving you, my grandfather and Beaufort Harrington. I wanted to meet you again, and some instinct told me that you might know something useful.’

  ‘Some instinct, eh? Another talent you share with your grandfather. Perhaps you disliked each other so much because you were so alike. Are you married, yet?’

  ‘No,’ and then abruptly, without further thought, ‘but I hope to be, soon. When I’ve decided what to do with the knowledge you have given me.’

  ‘For the sake of you and your future wife, go carefully. You are in danger, m’lord.’

  ‘Hal, call me Hal. You used to. I have been in danger before—and have survived.’

  ‘Do not underrate the wicked powers of those who believe in the Devil, Hal. They will stop at nothing. And if they have murdered…’

  ‘Oh, I am sure they have committed murder,’ and he told his old friend and tutor of Jeremy Faulkner and where he had found the murdered man’s ring. He said nothing of Drusilla for he did not want to tempt fate further by suggesting to de Castellane that she might consent to marry him.

  They finished the bottle of port between them, and then de Castellane demanded that he stay to dinner, to which he agreed. There he met the Cheyne girl, now a mature woman and the mother of three children who sat quietly at table with them and made Devenish dream a little of the children Drusilla might give them and how he would try to ensure that their childhood was happier than his had been.

  And yet he knew that it had given him steel—too much kindness might have meant that he ended up like his worthless father! Truly to do the right thing by one’s self and everyone else required the most delicate of balancing acts—something which he must not forget when he returned to Tresham Magna armed with what de Castellane had told him.

  His first target would be that amiable fool, Sir Toby Claridge, who was bidding fair to follow his late friend, Jeremy Faulkner, to an unhappy end unless someone rescued him first.

  But to rescue him might mean Sir Toby swallowing some bitter pills first.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lord Devenish’s great house party was the talk of the district. This was partly because no one had ever expected him to return to Tresham Hall after such a long absence, and partly because everyone of any note had been invited.

  It was rumoured that he hated the place: older people spoke of the cruelty with which his grandfather had treated him, and that on the very day of the funeral the young Lord had walked out of the front door, vowing never to return. Yet here he was, and prepared to stay for some time—if his staff could be believed.

  The whole house had been made ready for the guests. State rooms had been re-opened and cleaned, chandeliers had been taken from their bags, as had pictures and statues, most of them not seen since the old Lord’s funeral. Wagons, carriages and workmen streamed up the drive, bringing with them food, new linen, and the means of repairing what had been neglected. Devenish had given orders immediately after his grandfather’s death that only the living quarters of the staff were to be kept up.

  ‘Oh, it’s just like the old days when his grandfather was alive,’ twittered Miss Faulkner, as she made ready to travel the short distance from Lyford House to Tresham Hall. She had returned from visiting her friend refreshed, and determined not to annoy Drusilla—although she still suspected Lord Devenish’s motives.

  He had visited Lyford House on the very afternoon of his return, shortly before Miss Faulkner was expected to arrive—which was fortunate because he needed to speak urgently and privately to Drusilla. He found her on the lawn, drinking tea with a much-restored Giles, who said brightly, ‘Oh, shall I leave you now? I have a book indoors which I am longing to return to, and you will not mind me going, I’m sure.’

  Devenish’s mouth twitched. This was a little more tactful than Giles’s last excuse—by a slight margin.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Stay for a time and tell me how you are faring.’

  ‘Oh, I am quite recovered,’ returned Giles eagerly. ‘Drusilla allowed me to ride again yesterday, but she is making a frightful pother about me going out on my own. It’s a great trial being followed everywhere by two hulking footmen, I can tell you. I feel about six again.’

  ‘Very wise of your sister,’ drawled Devenish at his most provoking. ‘I’m sure that she thinks one attack on you is quite enough.’

  True to his word, tea and small talk over, Giles left them alone.

  ‘He was right,’ said Devenish. ‘I do wish to be alone with you, but not for the reason which you and he might suppose. I have a favour to ask of you, of which neither he, nor anyone else, must know.’

  He took from the inner pocket of his beautiful coat a letter and handed it to her. Drusilla accepted it, saying nothing, although her eyes were questioning him.

  ‘You will see that it is addressed to Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary. If anything untoward should happen to me I must ask you to forward it to him immediately by your most trusted messenger.’

  He fell silent. Drusilla spoke at last. She did not gasp at him, hold up her hands and exclaim hysterically, ‘Oh, m’lord, whatever can you mean?’

  Instead she said quietly, ‘Of course I will do as you ask. But you spoke of somethi
ng untoward happening to you. May I know what that could be and why? Are you truly in any danger?’

  He leaned forward, and as always, took her hand in his, clasping it round the wrist so that he could feel the steady beat of her pulse.

  ‘Most admirable of women,’ he told her, ‘not to bombard me excitedly with frantic questions—but, instead, to go calmly straight to the heart of the matter. Which is most apropos of you for I do not feel, that at the moment, I can answer other than to say, I might be in danger, but I may not tell you why, for your own safety. I can only ask you to trust me and forward the letter if, unfortunately, it becomes necessary.’

  ‘And does this strange request—for it is strange—arise out of the real reason why you returned to Tresham—and does it have anything to do with the attacks on Jeremy and Giles?’ she asked him, still quite composed.

  Her shrewdness surprised as well as pleased him. ‘I see that you have guessed at least one of the reasons why I returned to Tresham Hall. And now, you must trust me,’ he said urgently, ‘although I may not, for your own safety, answer your question. Are you able to do that, Drusilla? Trust me, without needing to know more? Because if you cannot, then you must return my letter to me and I must find someone who will do as I ask—though God knows who that might be—for I know no one else whom I can trust.’

  He was so strange and serious that Drusilla said softly, making no effort to remove her hand from his, ‘Since, Hal, you are so insistent I shall, of course, agree to carry out your request and question you no further.’

  She did not say, May you not even trust your very good friend, Rob Stammers? She knew that they were very good friends by their manner with each other—but it was not for her to question him after she had promised him that she would not.