Devil's Desire

by Laurie McBain

  "No, Sir, I just missed my step over the edge of a cliff," David explained with a rueful smile lurking in his eyes.

  The other man looked startled and then Smiled. "I'd hate to lose you, my boy―still got your sea legs? Feel like I'm walking at an angle myself."

  "I don't believe I shall ever be able to walk nor­mally again. Still feel the deck beneath my feet."

  His commander laughed― hearty laugh that crinkled his eyes into slits, the myriad lines etching the corners that blended into one crease. He was deeply tanned, his face aged from the sea and weather. He looked at the young man sitting across from him with piercing eyes-eyes that were accus­tomed to looking far into the distance for land, or the flag of another ship.

  "I gather, since you are back so early, that our friend did not show up?"

  "Right, Sir. It was just a load of brandy and other goods. No sign of any strangers," David answered dejectedly.

  "Well, one will show eventually―or our friend will decide to travel across the Channel himself. Ei­ther way we shall be prepared. And it is absolutely vital now, more than ever, that we apprehend them. I have received news from London that certain top secret information has been leaked, and certain documents are missing. It is of the utmost importance that we recover this information and put an end to this spy ring," he said in a deadly voice.

  "But how could they have gotten hold of such in­formation?"

  "We've been fortunate to catch the traitor in the Ministry―an Under-Secretary of small import, yet high up enough to come within contact of important information. He will stand trial. His usefulness is at an end―to all concerned. However we have kept it quiet so as not to panic our quarry. We do not want them to flee and take that information with them­ something Napoleon would sell his soul to obtain, if indeed he has not already sold his soul to the Devil."

  "Do we know who has that information?" David asked, a muscle twitching beside his eye. "Is it Blackmore?"

  "No, so far the good Squire has only transported French spies to and from England, along with his other smuggling. He has not dirtied his hands with the actual spying itself," David's superior said with disgust. "Although he might as well have. Giving good English gold for his contraband is the same as putting it in Napoleon's pocket."

  "Who is the spy?"

  "We were fortunate to get a full confession out of the ex-Under-Secretary. Odd how little courage these spies have when faced with an actual enemy in front of them. They work best in the dark when they can sneak away like a snivelling dog," he spoke sneeringly, distaste curling his lip. "We were informed that he passed the information to a French­man posing as an émigré, and is at present a guest of our country. In reality, he is one of Napoleons top agents. His name is D' Aubergere, and claims to be a Count or something to give him access into so­ciety. He is now a guest of the good Squire," he add­ed, looking meaningfully at· David "You realize what that means?"

  "Yes. Our Frenchmen will undoubtedly be awaiting his friend from across the Channel, so he can pass on the information and receive new orders. Or he will personally take the information to Napoleon, to receive full recognition for his daring." David pounded his fist on the hard wood fable angrily. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go in there and arrest him."

  "We can't do that, unfortunately. It would give me great pleasure, believe me. However, I doubt whether he has the evidence on his person―it will be well concealed. And we've no proof―except for a frightened traitor's confession that D'Aubergere does indeed have it. Even if we should arrest him, the documents would be in Blackmore Hall. These French are a wily lot―he will have hidden it safely away. Can you imagine the Squire not making use of that? Another spy would be dispatched to re­trieve it―at quite a price I should imagine, if I read the Squire correctly. And I am sure he will know the worth of what he holds."

  His commander stared thoughtfully at the flickering light as David sat dejectedly, feeling helpless to act.

  "No, we must move with caution. They do not know that the hounds have caught scent of the fox," the older man added with a gleam in his eyes. "They feel secure in their cloak of deception. As far as they are concerned they have nothing to fear, and they would not take the risk of causing specula­tion now, by acting rashly and taking risks. They will play it safe―not chancing discovery. The Count will either wait for a contact, or travel over to France with the information himself. I suspect it might be the latter. Ego has been the downfall of many a man―and this Frenchman is no exception. However, with something as important as this packet . . . well, I am afraid they might send for a French war ship to pick him up. They would not risk being picked up by the Coast Guard with some­thing of such vital importance. So we must wait, as D' Aubergere waits. And under no circumstance can D' Aubergere be allowed to pass on the documents. We will give him enough rope to get them out of concealment and then he will hang himself as we catch him red-handed, along with Blackmore and his smugglers. Although, I'm sure the good Squire will deny all knowledge of D'Aubergere's clandestine ac­tivities―claiming he has been duped, and most foully deceived, but we will get him yet," he prom­ised ominously, "for it will be hard to explain why a cache of contraband is hidden in his summer house. Thanks to you we know about this smuggling operation. Just luck you picked up this lead while you were in France. Now, more than ever it is fortunate we know about Blackmore. I think we shall crack this ring yet"

  "The villagers are in this against their will, you know," David told him. "They aren't even receiving just pay for their labors. That scoundrel Blackmore has forced them to work for him. They'd starve oth­erwise. It's abominable that a man like Blackmore could become so powerful. And yet there is a filthy rich Marquis living not more than a few miles west of here, and he does nothing to help the village that is his responsibility. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if he were involved in this too!”

  "I shall certainly put in a word for the villagers, never fear," the commander promised. "I know the Marquis of St. Fleur, and although he is rather wild, I do know that he is honorable―he no doubt hasn't the slightest idea of what is amiss,"

  "Oh, Sir, I should warn you that there are a few nasty customers working with Blackmore that I'd not care to tangle with, unless well-armed. They're from London or thereabouts―not local, and a meaner bunch of characters I've yet to meet," David advised. "It could get messy if there's a fight."

  "I've my men. We'll handle that rabble in short work. I'd better be off, the boat will be waiting for me," he said, rising and then looking about the un­prepossessing hut. "Sorry you've got to put up here. Couldn't you stay in the village in some decent place?"

  "No, I'm afraid not. You know how suspicious the county folk are of strangers. I was born and raised in a village up north, and because my parents were not of the district I was always considered an outsider. to be as conspicuous as a stableboy in Almack's, if I stayed in St. Fleur," he declared. "I've had less, Sir, and it's a hardship I'll gladly bear, to catch this nest of rats."

  "Good boy, I've complete faith in you. Signal me if anything unforseen should crop up. Keep close watch, for I need not stress the importance of this affair."

  He buttoned his coat closer about his throat and left the hut, giving a farewell wave to the young man who had to remain within its inhospitable walls.

  'Ay, now the plot thickens very much

  upon us.

  George Villiers

  Chapter 11

  The small village of St. Fleur nestled within the mouth of the bay, the slate-roofed stone cottages peeking out beneath the surrounding walls of the red cliffs. as the small houses and shops snuggled to­gether against the harsh winds and waves that beat against the unprotected town.

  Elysia rode Ariel along the stony path at the sum­mit of the cliff and watched as a small boat put out to sea. The men were hopeful of a big catch to help feed their families throughout the long, harsh, win­ter months, Tracings of smoke from countless chim­neys rose skyward smudging the blu
e of the sky. A sky clear, for the first time, of storm clouds and rain, with a crispness that lingered and-promised frost. Elysia breathed deeply of the sparkling air, sniffing the pungent smell of the tall pines and subtle aroma from the wood fires burning in the village homes.

  "I say, this part of the country is indeed aptly named―Land's End. It seems like the ends of the earth here," Charles Lackton said wonderingly, as he gazed about. "It's so desolate! Why would any­one want to live way out here?" He shook his head in disbelief.

  "Possibly no one new has settled here in the past five hundred years, except the Squire. These vil­lagers can probably trace their origins back to the earliest people who lived here, called the Celts―or at least as far back as the Normans," Elysia ex­plained knowledgeably to Charles as .his eyes widened.

  "But how do you come to know all of this?"

  "I'm an intellectual," she said in an apologetic tone, a twinkle in her eyes, as she noted her ad­mirer's shocked expression, "did you not know?" Elysia felt as if she were confessing to some hideous crime, but she was not about to feign stupidity.

  "But you cannot possibly be! Why, you are far too beautiful to be intelligent," Charles exclaimed in bewilderment.

  "Oh, and I suppose all I should have is a pretty face and be a shallow-brain-not knowing chalk from cheese?"

  "Well I'm no needle-wit either. I just know what I need to. Do me no good to know any more―don't know where I could put it―feel as if I know too much as it is. Reckon I know just enough to get me through each day," Charles speculated.

  "Do you not want to know about history and lit­erature? Do you never open a book?" Elysia asked in disbelief.

  Charles looked thoughtful for a moment "No, don't believe I do. Last book I opened was at Eton, and precious few there, either. Don't do me any good. I'm not one to be quoting poetry and such nonsense to the ladies, like some I know," he dis­claimed. "And what's the sense in learning about people who died centuries ago? Can't tell me which hand to play―or which vest to wear with my puce coat? Never heard tell of anybody winning at Newhall on a tip from Caesar, or one of those Greek philosophers."

  "Well Charles, I suppose you are correct―it prob­ably would not have done you any good," Elysia agreed in resignation, feeling slightly resentful Charles had access to all the schools of higher learn­ing, yet shunned them―while she and countless other females would relish the opportunity to enter those sacred-yet forbidden-portals of knowledge.

  She smiled at Charles. Elysia couldn't help but like him, with his openly boyish face and easy smiles. She didn't feel like she had to be constantly on guard with him. He reminded her slightly of Ian. Only Ian was older; but there was that same boyish look about him, as with Charles. Dear Ian. If only he were here, Elysia thought sadly, glancing out at the great expanse of sea that stretched away to the horizon, blending into one with the sky.

  Charles sat silent. She was so exquisite, he thought agonizingly, as he felt a surge of primitive jealousy towards Lord Trevegne. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He felt tongue tied while with her, even though she was younger than he was. His ardent gaze lingered on the curve of her mouth, and the long, sweeping, dark lashes that veiled her green eyes. Why, he actually felt like writing a poem to her beauty! He who had scoffed at those other moonstruck Lotharios' idoliz­ings. He continued to stare bemusedly as he com­posed a poem in his mind―the lines seeming to come like magic out of that vast emptiness. Yes, yes! That was fantastic, he thought proudly. Byron would be insanely jealous of this. It really wasn't so hard. He couldn't understand why there was such a fuss made about nothing―any fool could think up something flashy. Now, if only he could remember it by the time he got back to his room, so he could copy it down. He'd have to get some paper too, and a quill and ink, then . . .

  "Charles? Charles. . . ," Elysia spoke softly, waving her. fingers· before his somewhat glazed-looking eyes. "Is there something amiss?"

  "Oh, I do beg your pardon," Charles mumbled in a flustered state.

  "Shall we continue our ride?" Elysia asked, hiding a smile as she turned Ariel and headed back towards the road, glancing back over her shoulder to see Charles hurrying his mount to catch up with her. She laughed aloud with pure enjoyment It felt wonderful to be alive and carefree. For the moment she would only think of clear blue skies and the fun of having a personable young man infatuated with her. She wouldn't think of the hopelessness of her marriage―or what she could possibly do about it

  Elysia jumped Ariel over a low, stone wall and headed up into a thicket, hearing the sound of Charles close upon her heels. She disappeared from sight as she gained the trees, the shadows playing across the narrow path as she continuously ducked and weaved, dodging low-hanging branches.

  Suddenly Elysia heard a shot ring out―the sound shattering the quiet of the woods, and then she felt a searing pain in her side and gasped as she saw the blood staining the green velvet of her habit A branch reaching out into the path caught her and swept Elysia from Ariel's back, knocking the breath out of her as she hit the carpeted floor of the forest the dead leaves cushioning her fall

  Elysia lay still, as a blackness swirled about her, and she struggled painfully to regain her breath. The earth seemed to vibrate deafeningly and she felt as if she were being shaken to pieces.

  Charles dismounted in seconds, and ran to the prostrate figure lying dazed upon the ground his face was drained of all color as he knelt down next to Elysia and saw the red seeping from her side. "Oh, my God? She's been shot!” he breathed, not daring to touch her. She looked dead, he thought wretchedly, wondering what in the world he was going to do, when her eyelids .flickered slowly open and she gazed up into his face with confused eyes.

  "Charles?" Elysia gasped out breathlessly.

  "Yes, I'm here." He picked up her limp hand-icy cold, and rubbed it comfortingly between his big warm palms. She just couldn't die. She mustn't, he thought in desperation, feeling a knot of sickness churn in his stomach.

  Elysia looked into Charles' frightened blue eyes, all amusement wiped from them. She could breathe easier now. She must send Charles for Alex―he would know what to do. Alex, yes Alex would know.

  "Listen, Charles. You must go and get Alex," she stated calmly with full confidence in her decision.

  "But I couldn't leave you here, alone!" Charles ex­claimed in horror.

  "You must. You've no other choice, and I can't possibly ride back, Charles."

  Charles looked down at her, indecision written across his face. He stood up, having come to a re­luctant decision. "Very well, I'll go, but I don't care for it one bit. Leaving you unattended goes against my better judgment―and what will Lord Trevegne ­think of me going off and leaving you alone and hurt. It ain't gentlemanly." He shook his head in be­wilderment. "I shall ride like the wind, Lady Elysia. I shan't be long, that I promise." He stared down at her, his gaze anguished. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable before I go?"

  "No, I'll be fine," Elysia managed to whisper as a shiver shook her. The ground was cold and damp from the rains, and the woods were cool under the protection of the trees.

  Charles quickly took off his coat and wrapped it about Elysia's shaking shoulders before he ran to his horse, mounting and charging off into the trees like an avenger, barely missing a low-hanging branch.

  Elysia managed a grim smile and hoped her res­cuer would not also have to be rescued. She closed her eyes. The sun, peeking through the branches overhead, found an avenue, and poured its blinding light down onto her face and into her eyes. She moved her legs experimentally and bit her lip as she felt a sharp jab of pain in her ankle. It must have caught in the stirrup as she had fallen from Ariel Ariel? Where was he?

  Elysia turned her head worriedly and then relaxed as she saw him standing nervously a few yards away, neighing softly, as he glanced at his mistress lying still on the ground. "Steady boy, it's all right, fella," Elysia crooned, in a soft voice that steadied and reassured the
great beast. He put his head down and began to crop the grass contentedly.

  Elysia had no awareness of the passing of time as she felt the sun's warmth beat down upon her face, until the brightness beneath her lids disap­peared―as if a shadow had moved across the sun. Elysia slowly opened her eyes and stared up into a face bent above her―a familiar face, with the sun creating a halo behind the head.

  It was strange that she did not feel any differently. She had always thought that when she died she would sink down into a darkness, and all pain would disappear. One would just float away―yet she was still feeling pain, and the hard uncomfort­able ground beneath her back. But how could she be alive and seeing what she was before her? Elysia groaned in disbelief, whispering almost incoher­ently, "I don't feel dead―and yet, I must surely be, for I am seeing you, once again." Her words were cut off by a sob rising from deep within, "Oh, Ian, my dear Ian. In death we meet again."

  "My dear sweet one," a voice murmured comfort­ingly, "you are not dead, I'm not dead. Here, touch me, feel me. I'm warm―and alive." He took one of her cold, shaking hands and pressed her fingers to his tanned throat where she could feel the strong pulse beating wildly.

  Elysia's eyes filled with tears, and overflowing, they coursed down her pale cheeks. "Ian?" she said tentatively, afraid that he would disappear if· she raised her voice any louder.

  "Yes, I am here Elysia, my sweet sister. But what are you doing here―and more important, how badly are you injured?" He ran his eyes over her figure searchingly, the blue of his eyes darkening to black as he spotted the blood staining her side. His lips tightened in anger as Elysia moaned softly when his gentle fingers deftly felt her wound.

  "I do not believe the shot is still in―it seems to have passed through the fleshy part of your side. Fortun­ately, it did not damage any internal organs, but you have lost some blood. You fell from Ariel, did you not? That did you no good. I'm going to try to stop the flow―it will hurt, and then I shall have to get you to a doctor, "Elysia. I can't leave you here," he spoke in a commanding voice. Elysia absently noticed the new note of authority in her brother's voice, and she winced as he pressed his handkerchief against the wound. He had grown into a man during the last few years, she thought proudly through a haze of pain, seeing his broad shoulders and matured face with its new lines of experience written on it. "Ian, someone has already gone to fetch help," she told him as he finished his bandaging.