by Joan Smith
Griffin showed them carvings—some of them quite scandalous, of full-grown naked women with enormous breasts and men with enlarged organs. Myra averted her eyes at these specimens. Griffin also displayed weaving, native clothing, and the feathers of strange birds. He described the natives’ diet and living conditions, causing a few shudders among the ladies. The guests asked random questions while the tea tray was brought in. At ten-thirty, they began making preparations to leave. Soon no guests remained except Mrs. Arbuthnot and Griffin. The lady was loath to leave. She could see as clear as day that Myra was going to jilt Griffin, and was eager to try her hand with him.
“You did not tell us about the macumba doll, Lord Griffin,” she said, looking at the curious object.
“I did not wish to scandalize the vicar,” he replied. “That is an object of revenge. When the followers of macumba wish to harm or even kill an enemy, they fashion a doll in the enemy's likeness.” In a mischievous mood, he added, “This one was made by a fellow who was jilted by his lady. He made this image of the usurper, and added a lock of his hair. The hair you see is human. For the magic to work, there must be something belonging to the victim. The victim's enemy then sticks pins in the doll,” he continued, looking not at Mrs. Arbuthnot, but at Dunsmore.
Griffin removed a pin from the doll's arm. “This, I fancy, gave the victim a lame arm. If he had stuck it here,” he said, removing the pin and inserting it in the head, “he would have caused a migraine. Here"—he put the pin in the ankle—"a lame leg. And when he inserted it here,” he said, plunging it into the heart, “the victim, already weakened by injuries, dies a horrible, slow death."
“What a horrid story!” Mrs. Arbuthnot exclaimed, clutching her heart. “Surely it cannot work!"
“Strangely, it does, if the victim believes. It is all in the mind, you see. I have personally seen victims wither on the vine from this very cause."
“But why would the victim give the doll maker a lock of his hair?” the widow asked.
“He does not give it. It is obtained by stealth. It need not be hair, incidentally. A piece of personal clothing will do, if it has touched the victim's body."
Myra shivered.
“This macumba is extremely powerful,” he continued. “Look to your locks, ladies!"
Mrs. Arbuthnot realized she had outstayed her welcome, and took a reluctant leave. “You must call one day and tell me more about this fascinating business, Lord Griffin,” she said, before leaving.
“I look forward to it, madam."
Mrs. Newbold accompanied the parting guest to the door. In the saloon, Griffin turned a steely eye on the duke and said, “Now that we are alone, at last, we can have some meaningful conversation. I think you know what I mean, Duke? Myra?"
Chapter Eleven
The duke and Myra sat huddled together for safety on the sofa. “I told you I need some time to make up my mind,” Myra sulked.
From the corner of his eye, Griffin noticed Alice, sitting with her eyes like saucers and her ears on the stretch. “Leave us, Sal. This is private."
She flounced out of the room and met her mama in the hall, just returning from the door. Mrs. Newbold grumbled, “I am sorry I invited that Arbuthnot creature. She is tossing her bonnet at Griffin, certainly."
“What of it? You want Myra to marry the duke, do you not?"
“Indeed I do, but that is not to say I want to see Griffin make a misalliance. Did you see her rolling her eyes at him? And staying until the last dog was hung. No breeding.” She began hurrying toward the saloon.
“Don't go in, Mama. They are getting down to brass tacks now."
The mother slapped her palms to her cheeks.
“Mercy! Thank goodness they waited until the guests had left. Mrs. Arbuthnot would have spread the story all over the village. Tell Myra I am waiting in my bedroom to hear what happens."
“I'll tell her."
Alice waited until her mother had left, then drew a chair up outside the saloon door, hidden from view of those within, and made herself comfortable to listen. She heard Griffin say, “Time is up, milady. You must fish or draw bait."
Alice felt her heart tighten to a hard ball in her chest. For a moment, no sound came from the saloon. She leaned forward in her chair to peer around the door frame. Myra sat fiddling with the ribbons on her gown. “Well, what is it to be?” Griffin demanded gruffly.
“I need a little more time."
Griffin's voice rose in frustration. “You have had two weeks!"
The duke jumped up from his chair. “Now see here, Griffin! There is no need to badger the poor girl. You can see what a state she is in.” Myra began sniffling. He passed her his handkerchief.
Griffin said, “What I see is that Miss Newbold cares for no one but herself. We have been hearing of her racking indecision for long enough, but it does not prevent her from dawdling about the shops in the village. You may be content to drag at her heels until you are old and gray, Dunsmore. I have better things to do."
“Any gentleman who has better things to do than drag at—that is to say, to tend to the woman he loves, is not a gentleman."
Griffin's head turned slowly to cast a menacing look at his adversary. When he spoke, his voice was like ice. “Are you saying I am not a gentleman, Dunsmore? That is a highly provocative statement."
Dunsmore, realizing what he had said, began to reverse his position. “I did not mean—Naturally—I mean to say—"
“If one of us is not a gentleman, I would bequeath that questionable distinction on yourself, Duke. It was you who made up to another man's fiancée during his absence, and had not even the common courtesy to withdraw your offer when the lawful fiancé returned."
“Dunsmore is not unlawful,” Myra said heatedly.
“But I love her,” Dunsmore said.
“So do I,” Griffin said, looking from one to the other. “What do you suggest we do about it? I think we must leave it up to the lady.” He went to Myra and removed the handkerchief from her fingers. She lifted her eyes to him. There was not a trace of a tear, but only a wildly triumphant excitement. Their eyes met and held. She saw the frustration in his, and the dawning knowledge. As he realized her stunt, the frustration firmed to anger.
Myra tossed her head and said, “Don't think I will marry you if you call Dunsmore out, for I shan't. You are behaving like a savage, Griffin."
Griffin's eyes slewed to the duke. “Then perhaps I shall just call him out for the fun of it. My blood lust has not been satisfied recently."
Dunsmore looked from his beloved to his tormentor, and wished he were a hundred miles away. Griffin would actually enjoy a duel. What chance had he against a man who killed wild boar with a spear? Griffin could break his neck with his bare hands, and enjoy it. All well and good for Myra to chastise Griffin. She was not the one who would have to face him across the “court of twelve paces."
“Can we not settle this like gentlemen?” he said in a weak voice.
A diabolical smile seized Griffin's features. “My fiancée has just told me I am not a gentleman. I am a savage—and you—” He hunched his shoulders in dismissal of Dunsmore's claim to gentility. When this did not rouse the duke to ire, he turned back to Myra. “I shall have my answer by noon tomorrow. Not a minute longer. If I do not hear from you by then, Myra, I shall assume you have come to your senses, and sent our wedding notice to the papers, in which case I shall not expect to find you here, Duke,” he said, tossing a menacing glance to Dunsmore. “You understand my meaning?"
Myra looked at her protector with a fiery eye, tacitly demanding that he fight for her.
“Naturally, I shall leave if Myra does not choose me,” the duke said, and escaped while he could. He was too upset to wonder what Alice was doing at the doorway.
Myra jumped up, but before following Dunsmore, she turned her wrath on Griffin. “Don't think you can bully me in this fashion, Griffin. I will not be subject to your whims."
“If you marry me, madam, you will do exactly as I s
ay."
She felt a thrill at his strong words, and the black eyes burning into hers. Griffin heard her shallow gasps, and saw her breast heave. He saw the feverish glow in her eyes, and hoped all might not be lost yet. She had never looked more beautiful. The intensity of the moment lent a new vividness to her charms. He must have been mistaken earlier, when he thought she was only toying with him for her own vanity's sake.
“Myra, darling. You know it is me you love,” he said in ardent accents. He drew her, unprotesting, into his arms, and kissed her ruthlessly.
In the hall, Alice watched with a curious sense of detachment, as if she were at the theater. It did not seem real to her yet. Later she would assimilate the meaning of this ardent embrace, but for now, she just watched, anticipating the emptiness that would come later. At least the torment of futile hoping was over, and she could begin to forget Griffin. Myra was going to marry him. She would try to be happy for him—for them.
Myra gave herself up to the punishing kiss for as long as her senses could stand it. In the end, she did not know whether she was more afraid or thrilled, but she knew Dunny never had this effect on her.
“Oh, Griffin!” she moaned softly at his collarbone. “You will give me a little longer to make up my mind, won't you?"
The words were like a dash of ice water. He released her from his arms. She turned aside shyly, but not before he saw the sly look in her eyes. He gazed a moment at her conniving face, and was struck with the fact that her chin was a little more forward than he had ever noticed before. It was more apparent in profile.
“I am afraid not, Myra. In fact, I must know one way or the other now, tonight."
“But you said tomorrow at noon."
“Gentlemen can change their minds, too. Tell me, now." His voice was pitched low, but not soft or tender.
She heard the lash sting of his words, and pouted. “You must know I am too upset to think straight now, Griffin, after that mauling."
“My wife must be able to keep her head in greater perils than an embrace. Who knows what our future might hold? One encounters wilder animals than an infatuated lover in primitive countries. Lions, tigers, elephants in heat."
“But you said you would not go back to Brazil!"
“I do not intend to. You did not extract a promise from me about Africa, however."
“Africa!"
“I have not yet visited the dark continent."
“You promised you would stay home, Griffin!"
“I fear that is a promise I will not be able to fulfill. It would be unfair to misrepresent our future to you."
“If you are going to be like that, then I shan't marry you, and that's final!” she declared, and waited for him to reassure her.
Griffin shrugged his shoulders. “So be it."
She ran from the room to follow Dunsmore. Alice, her mind reeling from the sudden change in the situation, managed to say, “The duke went to the library.” Myra ran after him.
* * * *
“Why did you not stand up to that bully?” Myra demanded, when she ran the duke to ground in the library.
Dunsmore firmed his shoulders and regarded her with a critical eye never directed her way before. “There is much in what Griffin says, Myra. He and I look like fools, sitting on our hands while you parade us about in turn. You must make up your mind."
Myra, having just whistled one excellent parti down the wind, was not about to lose the other. “But I have made up my mind, Dunny darling. I told him, just now."
A smile trembled on his lips, all criticism forgotten. “Did you really? You mean—you have chosen me!"
“Of course I did, old silly. It was you all the time.” She saw the question in his blue eyes, and added swiftly, “I just realized I could never marry him. Never! He frightens me to death."
“Me, too."
“I did not realize it until Griffin acted so horrid tonight, with all that talk of sticking pins in dolls."
Dunsmore reached for his handkerchief to wipe his beaded brow. His face froze, and he said in a hollow voice, “He's got my handkerchief! He'll kill me!"
“Whatever do you mean, Dunny?"
“I gave my handkerchief to you, and he took it. He'll make one of those dolls and stick pins in it. Oh, my God! My arm is going stiff already.” He fell back against the sofa cushions and began massaging his left arm with his right hand.
“He could not possibly have made a doll already!"
“I feel pins in my fingers."
“What you have to do is prevent yourself from believing it, Dunny. If you don't believe it, it cannot hurt you."
“It is growing more numb by the minute!"
“Or you could ask for your handkerchief back."
The duke did not even bother to reply to this idea. He was in enough pain that he wanted to get upstairs to bed, before he lost the use of his legs as well.
* * * *
In the hallway, Alice stood a moment, adjusting to what she had just witnessed. Disbelief and anger warred within her, untouched with euphoria. Her first anger was for Myra, but as she thought of that scene, it occurred to her that really Griffin was to blame. Myra was right; he had become too primitive for England. He could have carried the day, if only he had behaved himself. But that was the way with Griffin. He always went that inch too far. She watched a moment as he packed up his trunk, then walked into the room. “You made a fine botch of that, Griffin,” she said brusquely.
“It was high time she make up her mind."
“She had made it up. She was going to choose you, until you let your temper get away on you."
“I had ample provocation."
“If you had just said something nice, instead of scaring her with talk of lions and tigers. You never mentioned Africa before."
“One never knows what the future might bring. I do not rule Africa out. I will not have my life, and my work, circumscribed by a vain woman."
“You knew what Myra was like all along. She never hid her distaste for travel to primitive places. I used to wonder why she did not leap at the chance of marrying you, but I begin to see she is wiser than I. You are a primitive beast. I think you had best return to the jungle and marry Princess Nwani, for you are no longer fit for civilized society. Frightening poor Dunsmore like that—"
“The man is half woman. How can she tolerate his sniveling and simpering? He would not last a day in Brazil."
“It is extremely unlikely he will ever be in Brazil. This is England, Griffin, and you won't last long here if you do not lick yourself into shape. Your barbarism was amusing at first, but the novelty begins to wear thin. If you had behaved decently tonight, you could have won Myra back. Instead you frightened her out of her wits with that attack, you very likely gave Dunsmore a heart attack, and you lost any chance of marrying Myra. Try, if you can, to do one decent thing and speak to the duke. Tell him you do not plan to fight a duel; you are bowing out, like the gentleman you used to be."
"Bruxa!"
“Broosha yourself!” she said angrily, and stalked from the room before the tears sprang to her eyes.
Chapter Twelve
The duke's condition worsened. The numbness flew from his left arm to his right. His original fear of having a duel forced on him was not forgotten either. If Myra chose Griffin, Dunsmore was to leave Newbold Hall, but the outcome if Myra chose himself had not been settled. A duel was by no means out of the question, even if his shooting arm had seized up on him entirely. Mrs. Newbold was of inestimable help to the duke in the way of possets and embrocations. His health was her major concern, as soon as she had sent the wedding announcements in to the London papers and sent out the invitations.
For two days, not a word was heard from Griffin. It was assumed he knew of the wedding, for the announcement was also sent into the local paper. Myra and her mama were busy tending the duke in his misery, and making wedding preparations. Alice also had her duties to perform, but she found time to wonder how Griffin was taking the news.
<
br /> “He has not returned to London,” Alice said. “I met Nancy Warwick this morning when I was getting the liniment for Dunsmore, and she told me she had seen Griffin in the village an hour earlier."
“I daresay he was buying more pins to stick in Dunny,” Myra said, with an angry toss of her curls. Now that she had definitely settled on the duke, Griffin was talked down as a positive ogre.
“Don't be so foolish,” Alice scoffed.
“The doll and pins work if the victim believes, and Dunny does believe it. Do you not remember how Griffin glared at Dunny when he was telling about the man who stole another man's sweetheart? Then he grabbed Dunny's handkerchief right out of my hand. Poor Dunny is in a cold sweat, waiting for the pin to strike his heart. If Griffin thinks I will marry him after he has murdered Dunny, he will be sorely disappointed."
Alice knew the black magic art was a bag of moonshine, but as Dunsmore believed it, someone would have to make Griffin remove the curse. She was sorry she had given him such a dressing down. He might refuse to do it, to spite them all. She feared Griffin would soon sheer off to London, and wanted to see him before he left. She had her mare saddled up at once and cantered over to Mersham Abbey.
The spring weather had turned to summer. Wildflowers spangled the meadow, and the sky overhead was tinged with a pale petal pink. She was already uncomfortably warm in her riding habit. At the stable, Lafferty told her his lordship was in the conservatory, and she went in search of him.
Inside the glass-walled conservatory, it was punishingly hot. Alice unbuttoned her jacket and removed her bonnet as she moved through the rows of plants, looking for Griffin.
She found him bent over a table, at work examining specimens brought home from Brazil. His gardener had potted the seeds, and some had already sprouted. Griffin looked up and smiled to see Alice, all pink and disheveled from her ride, with a riot of curls dancing at her cheek. She did not look so very different than she had when he left five years before. At closer range, her open jacket revealed a more mature figure. He noticed that she had grown into a well-formed lady.