The Devil and Drusilla Page 26

  He dodged into the shadow of the hedge in case someone at Marsham Abbey might have guessed who the unknown Sathanas might have been. Perhaps, by some mischance, Leander Harrington had survived and guessed that he had escaped from his prison cell. It was scarcely likely even though stranger things had happened. But his body would not obey him, he was beginning to sway as he stood.

  The horsemen stopped when they reached him. One of them said, ‘There’s a beggar in the road. What’s he doing at this hour of night?’

  Devenish recognised the voice. It was Vobster, Drusilla’s most trusted man. He had Master Giles with him. Where could they be going at this time of night? He thought that it might be safe to speak to them. He had no real suspicion that any of Drusilla’s staff might be involved in Leander Harrington’s mischief—and besides, Giles’s presence would probably protect him.

  ‘Vobster,’ he said. And then, without him willing it, he muttered hoarsely, ‘Help me.’

  It was Drusilla who recognised his voice, changed though it was. Joy ran through her. The supposed beggar was Hal. A Hal who was barefoot and dressed in rags. He was alive, but hurt, and even from a distance he smelled of fire. Her relief on seeing him was so strong that she almost fainted. Common sense kept her steady, for her first duty was to help him.

  ‘Hal!’ she exclaimed—and for Vobster’s benefit, ‘Lord Devenish!’ She slipped from her horse, throwing the reins to the astonished Vobster, who, turning in his saddle, exclaimed, even as Drusilla embraced Hal, ‘By God, the Abbey’s on fire. I wondered why the night was so light!’

  Neither Drusilla nor Devenish heard him. Devenish muttered, ‘For God’s sake, Giles, don’t kiss me. It ain’t proper. You’re too old.’

  ‘It’s not Giles, it’s me,’ said Drusilla incoherently. ‘Giles is at home in bed. Oh, Hal, what in the world has happened to you? Where have you been?’

  ‘Nothing, nowhere,’ he mumbled, passing a hand over her face and then down her body. ‘Yes, it is you, Drusilla. What are you doing out at this hour?’

  She stood back from him, ‘I might ask you the same question. I’ll answer yours later when we have seen you safely home. Vobster, dismount and help Lord Devenish on to your horse. We must get him to Tresham Hall as quickly as possible. He’s at the end of his tether.’

  She might have guessed that distressed as he was, Hal’s tongue would still be as sharp as ever. ‘No, I’m not,’ he told her, ‘I slipped my tether some time ago. Thank you, Vobster, don’t coddle me. I’m not yet dead.’

  ‘Nor yet truly alive, either,’ retorted Vobster, noting how m’lord swayed after he had hoisted him into the saddle. ‘Good God, what have you done to your feet, m’lord?’

  ‘Walked on them,’ Devenish riposted as though he were back in his drawing room, sharpening his wits on others. ‘That’s what feet are for. It’s just that they prefer shoes—especially on rough ground.’

  Only he knew of the effort he was having to make to stay conscious and coherent—although his two helpers were aware that staying on horseback was draining him of his remaining strength.

  ‘Walk his horse for him, Vobster,’ Drusilla ordered sharply, ‘and watch that he doesn’t fall off. We were on our way to Tresham Hall to give Rob Stammers some information which might help him to discover where you had disappeared to. He and I have been worrying over your whereabouts for the last few days.’

  She did not ask him about poor Martin. He would tell her of that later, and in the light of everything she feared that the news must be bad. For the moment they must concentrate on getting him safely back home so that they might decide what action to take against Leander Harrington and his fellows.

  Back on Pegasus again, Drusilla rode alongside Hal to keep watch over him. He turned his head, and said, his voice a little clearer. ‘I thank you for your consideration for me—and Rob’s too. By the by, I like you in boy’s clothes, but I prefer you in dresses. Why the get-up?’

  ‘Riding at night,’ she told him briefly, ‘best if rogues think that Vobster has a boy with him and not a woman. Now save your strength for riding.’

  ‘Shrew,’ he threw at her with something of his old sharpness, but his smile was gentle, and his eyes told her of his pleasure at seeing her.

  Slowly, the three of them set off for Tresham Hall. Both of them wondered how much the man riding alongside Drusilla had to do with the fire at Marsham Abbey which was turning night into day.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Seen in the brighter light of the drawing room at Tresham Hall and not under the lesser glow of the full moon, Devenish’s condition was parlous.

  When he had told Vobster that he wished to enter the Hall without anyone seeing him, Vobster put his finger beside his nose and winked at him.

  ‘Easy, m’lord, easy,’ he said. ‘No names, no pack drill, though.’

  Despite his exhaustion Devenish grinned at him. ‘Oh, I know the tricks the servants get up to in order to sneak in and out the house. I’ll look the other way.’

  Vobster shinned up a drain pipe, reached a window above one of the side doors to the hall, did some intricate manoeuvring with his hands, and had the window opened in a trice. Some moments later he opened the back door to let them in.

  After that he left Devenish and Drusilla alone in the drawing room whilst, following Devenish’s instructions, he slunk up to Rob Stammers’s suite of rooms to tell him that m’lord had returned.

  Oddly it was Rob who was most distressed at the sight of Devenish’s fire-blackened face, his light growth of beard, his badly bruised torso, glimpsed through his tattered shirt, and his torn and bleeding feet. Drusilla had been so relieved to find him still alive that his battered and unkempt state scarcely mattered to her. Hal was with her and she was with Hal, and she knew instinctively that the last thing which he wished was to be fussed over.

  Devenish’s relief that Rob had never formed part of the Brotherhood was great—even when he could not persuade him that he did not wish to be treated like a year-old babe about to snuff it at any minute.

  ‘Sit down, sit down,’ Rob ordered him distractedly. ‘For God’s sake let me get a doctor to you—and your valet. You should be in bed. And what is Giles Faulkner doing here at this hour—and Vobster?’

  ‘For God’s sake, no,’ retorted Devenish. ‘I came home late, you understand, and did not wish the whole house woken up to accommodate me. I got myself to bed alone often enough when my grandfather was alive, that I have not forgotten the trick of it. As for Giles Faulkner, he is in his own bed, and if you are so flustered by my fortunate return that you don’t recognise his sister, you are scarce fit to hear my sad tale.’

  ‘You didn’t recognise me, Hal,’ said Drusilla pertly.

  ‘Ah, but I was only half-conscious in the moonlight. By the by, before I enlighten you all as to my adventures I should prefer to go to my room in order to assume the appearance of a civilised man and not a savage. While I am doing that you might order some food and drink, not just for the pair of us, but for Master Giles and Vobster, who are only here because they rode out to see the fire at Marsham and, by great good fortune, met me on the way and saw me safely home.’

  ‘Master Giles?’ queried Rob, ‘I thought that you said that Giles was Drusilla. And to what fire are you referring?’

  ‘Indeed, so she is. For our purposes, though, Mrs Faulkner is safely in bed at Lyford, not Giles. I am in fine fettle or shall be when I am dressed and Vobster is the splendid fellow he always is. Truth has many faces.’

  These Hal-like jokes set Drusilla laughing if no one else.

  Rob said impatiently. ‘What fire?’

  ‘Oh, the fire is at Marsham Abbey. I should be surprised if any of it is left standing by morning. Forgive me, I must make my lies truth. And creep quietly—and alone—to my room to do so.’

  Rob groaned when he had gone.

  ‘Can either of you tell me where he has been and what he has been doing? He really ought not to go upstairs on his own but in thi
s mood there is no gainsaying him.’

  Only Drusilla understood that there was an undercurrent of something very like hysteria beneath Devenish’s determined jollity. She said, ‘We know nothing. He will tell us everything when he returns, I am sure.’

  ‘Oh, you may be sure of one thing only,’ said Rob, full of gloom. ‘He will not do that, he never does. I will go and arrange some food and drink for us all—and tell whoever is about that m’lord is back.’ He paused. ‘Did he say anything about Martin?’

  ‘He said nothing about anything,’ returned Drusilla. ‘He was near to collapsing. How can he be so lively now?’ Vobster nodded his head vigorously in agreement with her before taking himself off to the kitchen for his own meal.

  The food and drink arrived for the three of them before Devenish did. When he walked in he looked, except for his golden beard, as though he had been riding in Hyde Park. He had met a footman on his way downstairs who had stared at him and had asked if m’lord wished for his valet to help him to change out of the clothes which he had travelled in.

  ‘I told him I might need him later,’ Devenish said. His high spirits seemed to have deserted him along with his rags. He sat carefully down and drank a glass of wine before eating a little of the food—a large beef sandwich and a chicken leg. He felt weary unto death, wanted his bed and oblivion, but he owed Rob and Drusilla some sort of explanation.

  ‘Harrington kidnapped me as we rode down the byway the day I went to London. He killed poor Martin so as to silence him and intimidate me. He took me to the Abbey because he had blackmailed Toby Claridge into telling him that he had informed me that he—and what he called the Brotherhood—were celebrating the Black Mass there. He was fearful that I would tell the authorities of his many murderous crimes. And Drusilla, my love, you should know that your poor husband behaved honourably—and that was why he was killed, as was Harrington’s brave valet.’

  Drusilla said impulsively, ‘Which agrees with what Giles told me not two hours ago. I had thought that he might be dreaming.’

  ‘Giles? How did Giles come to know of this?’

  ‘Oh, I forgot. While you were missing Giles had a bad fall, was brought home unconscious and remained like that for several days. This evening he came out of his coma and straight away remembered that Betty had been telling him about Mr Harrington and the Black Mass at Marsham Abbey when they were attacked. I thought that Mr Stammers, who had come to me because he was worried about your apparent disappearance, ought to know immediately—even though it was possible that Giles might have been dreaming.’

  ‘So that was why you were on the road with Vobster, dressed in your brother’s clothes. What a resourceful creature you are, Mrs Faulkner. You quite saved my life when you suddenly appeared out of nowhere just as I feared I was about to fall into a coma myself!’

  He became silent and leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. He opened them again to say softly, ‘Remind me to thank you. Where was I? Yes, Harrington kidnapped me, imprisoned me and decided to sacrifice me to the Devil tonight, instead of one of the girls. I should simply disappear or—like your husband, whose death he had brought about—be found dead, far from home, murdered by thieves on the way to London.

  ‘Fortunately I managed to escape from the prison in which he held me, shortly after the ceremony began. I had to escape through the Hall, something which provided me, I thought, with a major problem. Happily, when I reached it, it seemed that one of the flambeaux which illuminated the Hall had fallen from its moorings on to the altar and started the fire. In the confusion I was able to escape unseen. And then Drusilla and Vobster found me.’

  He smiled at them as he finished telling this lying tale. ‘Fortune was truly with me.’

  Rob and Drusilla stared at him.

  ‘And that,’ said Rob at last, ‘is exactly what happened? You just walked out?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he stared back at them unblinkingly, ‘I certainly walked out—remember my poor feet.’

  ‘And you’re sticking to that?’

  ‘Only to you. No one else will know other than that I visited London, sent poor Martin to work for me on one of my estates in the north and then came home. It would benefit no one to know the truth.’

  ‘I’m exceedingly happy to learn that you are so wedded to the truth, Hal,’ said Drusilla sweetly. ‘I would never have thought it of you.’

  The look that Devenish flashed her for this quip was so loving that it quite shocked Rob.

  ‘How well you know me,’ he murmured.

  ‘What story will the Brotherhood tell?’ asked Rob anxiously.

  ‘What story can they tell? There they were, having a jolly little drinking party—just like old Dashwood’s Hell Fire Club—when, lo and behold, by pure mischance they were suddenly engulfed in fire.’

  ‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ announced Rob gloomily, ‘but I suppose that come hell or high water—your pardon, Mrs Faulkner, I keep forgetting that you’re not Giles—you’ll stick to it. A pity that the Abbey had to burn down, though.’

  ‘Fiat justitia, ruat coelum. Let justice be done, though the heavens fall,’ was Devenish’s response to that.

  He gave a great yawn, behind a discreetly placed and beautiful hand. Food and drink were having their way with him.

  ‘Bed for you,’ announced Drusilla briskly, as though he were even younger than Giles. ‘Even liars deserve a good night’s rest.’

  ‘Particularly liars,’ agreed Devenish. ‘It’s such hard work. You and Vobster will spend the night here, I trust.’

  ‘Certainly not. To make our lies convincing I must return home before anyone knows that I am not Giles.’

  ‘Only if you allow Rob and one of the grooms to accompany you. There will be such a fine old commotion over the fire that I doubt whether robbers will be out in force tonight.’

  His eyes closed again. He looked, Drusilla thought, tired unto death. Regardless of Rob’s presence she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Be off with you,’ she murmured softly, ‘before your lies catch up with you.’

  He nodded sleepily. ‘Off with you, then. I shall call on you as soon as I am a civilised man again. You promise to receive me?’

  ‘Ever and always.’

  Rob accompanied her to the stables. ‘What an unlikely tale,’ he said gloomily. ‘I’d stake my life that Hal was the prime cause of the fire.’

  Drusilla shook her head at him before she mounted Pegasus. ‘No, indeed. We must believe what he told us. Him being so truthful always—and Lord of All Around into the bargain.’

  It was her turn to be looked at in wonder by Rob. He said slowly, ‘Why, I do declare that you are as bad as he is. You’ll make a fine pair.’

  ‘You anticipate,’ said Drusilla severely. ‘For tonight it is enough for him to get some rest and for me to go home.’

  Which she did.

  Lord Sidmouth read Devenish’s two letters. The first one, which Drusilla had forwarded to him, and the second one, which Devenish wrote on the morning of his return, telling him the same tale as he had told Rob and Drusilla about his escape and Mr Harrington’s fortunate death. Like Rob and Drusilla he did not believe a word of it, but scandal had been avoided and that must suffice.

  He put them both in the fire and then wrote m’lord Devenish a letter of thanks—‘…which must, I fear, be your only reward. I was sorry to learn that the Abbey had been destroyed, but it’s a small price to pay, given the circumstances of its destruction.’

  In his London home Mr Castle, late a French nobleman, read in his paper that ‘news has come to us of a sad tragedy which has occurred in Surrey. Marsham Abbey has been burned down, as a consequence of a footman’s carelessness in affixing flambeaux, it is said. The owner, Mr Harrington, had been entertaining a gentleman’s club in his Great Hall, and by great good fortune only four persons had perished in the flames.

  They were Mr Leander Harrington, the owner of the Abbey, long known for his good works and high principles
and Parson Lawson, a young theologian of great promise, confidently expected to become a Bishop. Two of Mr Harrington’s most faithful servants had also perished in the flames. Some few gentlemen had suffered burns, but were all reported to be on the mend.’

  Mr Castle put his newspaper down and thought of the resolute man whom he had so recently entertained. ‘A likely tale,’ he told himself as he lit his pipe. ‘But it will do. Like grandfather, like grandson.’

  Devenish had said that he would visit her when he was civilised again, and Drusilla hoped that she had interpreted his last burning glance at her correctly. Yet two days had passed, the third had now arrived and neither he nor any word came from Tresham.

  Giles, now up, and as rampant as ever, said reproachfully, ‘I’m surprised that Devenish hasn’t visited us since he came back from London. I would dearly love to talk to him about the fire at Marsham. There’s the oddest rumour going about. Jack Clifton said that when Sir Toby Claridge was visited by the apothecary to be treated for his burns on the night the Abbey was destroyed, he was not himself and babbled about the Devil suddenly appearing and setting fire to the Great Hall. When the constables asked him about it yesterday he claimed that he had said no such thing. That the apothecary was light in the attic through over-excitement.

  ‘And Dr Southwell, Devenish’s librarian, who was also there and was slightly burned, said it was all a nonsense. Just someone’s carelessness with the flambeaux.’

  I wonder, Drusilla began to think, and then stopped herself sternly. I will not speculate, it’s not fair to Hal. If he had wanted us to know anything, he would have told us.

  She had not informed Giles of her late-night journey in his clothes and the faithful Vobster had been sworn to silence about the night’s events by Hal and Rob Stammers before he had escorted her home.

  ‘I say, Dru,’ Giles had begun again. ‘How would it be if I rode over to Tresham Hall? I’m sure Devenish will know a great deal about how Marsham Abbey came to burn down. He is a local JP, you know.’