Her heart sank. She said miserably, “And what if it is not possible to prove it?”
“Then I shall be so crude as to go to your papa over your grandfather’s protest, lay my claim before him, and beg his understanding.”
He smiled at her confidently, but her answering smile was wan, for she sensed that his hopes for a happy resolution to their problems were as forlorn as her own.
The General said kindly, “Never despair, Yolande. We’ll all throw our efforts into discovering the truth of matters. Between us—” He paused as a knock sounded.
The door swung open, and Devenish entered to say cheerfully, “Only look at who we found coming up the drive!”
Colonel Alastair Tyndale strode briskly into the room, shook hands with Drummond, bestowed a kiss upon Yolande’s cheek, looked with obvious shock at Craig, and exclaimed, “Good God! Dev wrote you was better, but you look in very queer stirrups still, poor fellow. The effect of this beastly climate, I suppose.”
“There speaks a fugitive from London’s clammy fogs!” Drummond retaliated, laughing. “Devenish, be so good as to pour your uncle a glass of Madeira. You’ll stay with us, of course, Alastair, and very welcome. But what brings you up here? We’d understood you didnae plan a trip.”
“No more did I.” The Colonel raised his glass to the assembled company and sipped the wine appreciatively. “Three things brought me. The first, naturally, was to see for myself how Craig goes on. Secondly, I received a rather strange letter from a lady who lives on your estate, Andy. And, thirdly”—he reddened and said with boyish shyness—“and to me most importantly, to announce my forthcoming marriage.”
Sir Andrew, in the act of sampling his wine, spluttered and choked. Devenish, who had put down the decanter, fumbled with the stopper, caught it, juggled it frantically, but dropped it, fortunately onto the carpet. Yolande clapped her hands and cried a joyous, “Oh, how lovely! To Lady Grenfell, sir?”
“Thank you, at least, my dear,” he said, his eyes glinting with amusement at these reactions.
“At your age…?” wheezed the General.
Devenish, utterly incredulous, gasped, “The Silver Widow? B-but—she’s the most sought after lady in Town!”
“And the best catch, I heard!” Craig grinned broadly. “Congratulations, sir!”
“Thank you, Craig. Have I quite bowled you out, Dev?”
“What? Oh—er, no, of course not, sir. I only thought—That is to say, I didn’t think— Well, what I mean to say is—at your time of life, who would guess you’d do such a thing?”
“Devenish!” said Yolande indignantly. “Uncle Alastair is in the prime of his life! And is, besides, a very handsome gentleman. Lady Grenfell has been setting out lures for him this age!”
Colonel Tyndale laughed. “Oh, no! You put me to the blush. I count myself a very lucky man.”
“Well, so you should, by Jove!” said the General heartily, coming around the desk to shake his hand again and pound him on the back. “A beautiful lady, The Grenfell. I’ll own my eyes have strayed in that direction a time or two since poor Stephen got himself killed, although I know she is too young for me, despite that pretty silver hair of hers.”
Recovering himself, Devenish hastened to also offer congratulations but, shaking the hand of this man who had been his family for so long, chided, “What a sly dog you are, sir! I do think you might have let me know you was contemplating becoming a Benedick. I was never so taken in.”
“To tell you the truth, Dev, I should probably have delayed my announcement until after you and Yolande are wed. But now that is … imminent…” He was struck to silence by the sudden bleakness in his nephew’s eyes and, glancing quickly at Yolande, saw her face flushed and distressed.
“The lady won’t have me, sir,” Devenish imparted with a forced grin. “Prefers a dashed Colonial bumpkin, if you can credit it.”
It was the Colonel’s turn to be bowled out. His gaze flying to Craig’s grave features, he gasped, “Does she—by God!” And then, ruefully, “Gad, but I properly wedged both feet into my mouth!”
“Not at all,” said Devenish, filling a sudden awkward silence. “But, it’s as well I’d intended to remove to Devencourt before the summer’s out.”
The Colonel frowned. “No need for that, Dev. There’s more than enough room at Aspenhill for all of us.”
“Do you seriously expect me to live bodkin between two newlyweds?” Appalled by such a prospect, Devenish made a swift decision. “I’ve a lady of my own now. You’ve not met my—my ward, sir.”
Colonel Tyndale’s jaw dropped. Then he uttered a hearty laugh. “Young varmint! You really had me for a moment. Lord, if there was ever a here-and-thereian less qualified to take on an adopted daughter!”
“How I am maligned!” mourned Devenish. “I assure you, sir, Josie don’t share your opinion of me. Does she, Craig?”
“Viewing you with the trusting eyes of childhood,” said Craig with his slow grin, “I’d say she has endowed you with halo and wings.”
“Oh, Dev!” cried Yolande with delight. “Do you really mean to make her your ward? She will be in heaven!”
“The devil!” exploded Sir Andrew. “She’s mine, you rogue! I’ve already spoke for her!”
“Yes, but I’ve stolen her away, sir.”
“You mean … it really is true?” the Colonel stammered. “But—”
From the door no one had heard open, Enderby announced, “Mrs. MacFarlane!” and absented himself before his indignant employer could request that the gardener’s wife be denied at this particular moment.
Yolande went at once to welcome the little woman, exclaiming, “Good heavens! I completely abandoned you when you came last week! I do pray you will forgive me such disgraceful conduct.”
The hand she took was like ice and violently trembling. Mrs. MacFarlane’s sharp eyes darted about the room, finding curiosity in some faces, amusement in others, and annoyance in the eyes of the General. She mumbled a response to Yolande and nodded to Alastair Tyndale. “I seed you come, sir, and I reckoned I’d best do it the noo, before I—I lose my … courage. It’s—” she drew herself up, gripped her hands tightly, and finished—“it’s right ye should all be here.”
Yolande’s heart began to race. She said, “Do sit down, ma’am, and tell us whatever troubles you.”
Mrs. MacFarlane allowed herself to be settled into a comfortable chair, but when Yolande made to draw back, she tightened her hold on the girl’s hand and said huskily, “It’s yourself has brought me to this pass, Miss Yolande. Your gentle ways and kind words, even in your own sorrows, were an endless barb in my immortal soul! The Good Book says ‘there is no peace unto the wicked’ and so it is. So I’ve come here.” Tears began to glitter in her eyes. She bit her lip and finished threadily, “I didnae think I’d find the courage tae come again.… I only hope I can—can go through wi’ it!”
Intent now, the General returned to the chair behind his desk. Alastair Tyndale sat on the leather sofa, Craig stood behind Yolande’s chair, and Devenish settled his shoulders against the bookcase.
“I expect,” Mrs. MacFarlane began nervously, “I expect ye all ken I lived at Castle Tyndale when I was a wee bairn.”
Devenish tensed, pushed himself away from the bookcase, and the smile vanished from his eyes, to be replaced by a keen stare. Yolande reached up, and Craig at once took her hand in a strong, brief clasp.
Pleating and unpleating a fold of her dress with trembling fingers, Mrs. MacFarlane quavered, “I should’ve told … years syne … what happened that day, b-but—”
“By thunder!” the General ground out, leaning both hands on the desk top as he bent forward. “You saw it? Now, why in the name of— Why did ye not come forward? Why did your parrrents nae speak?”
His tone of voice and fierce mien caused the little woman to become even more nervous. She shrank and pressed both hands to her lips, a stifled moan escaping her.
Colonel Tyndale said, sotto voc
e, “Easy, Andrew. Easy.”
Craig and Devenish exchanged glances of flashing excitement.
Yolande stood, and clinging to Craig’s arm, whispered, “Oh, my dear—I have prayed for this, but … I am so afraid!”
He patted her hand and drew her closer.
“We are more than grateful to you, Mrs. MacFarlane,” said Colonel Tyndale kindly. “But—can you tell us why nothing has been said in all this while?”
She blinked at him. “Me mum and dad didnae dare speak, sir. They was terrified they’d be turned off. And besides, we’re only simple folk. It—it don’t always do tae—tae tell truth to the Quality.” Her drawn face twisting with emotion, she wailed wretchedly, “Oh, if ye but knew how I longed tae speak oot! All these years I’ve knowed the truth! I’ve knowed the murderer!”
Craig was jolted as though he had been struck. “Murderer?” he echoed, his hopes crashing.
“Whatever ye’ve tae tell us,” said Sir Andrew, his own heart sinking, “ye’ll be fairly dealt with here, ma’am. As well ye know.”
She closed her eyes for an instant, then began almost inaudibly. “I was only six, then. I minded my ma verra well, usually. But—I’d a toy. Me brother Ian had carved it out fer me, and—and it was me most favourite, but Ma didnae like tae see me always playing with it, and bade me tae put it by and tend tae me chores and schooling. She was teaching me tae read and write.” She sat with head bowed, her eyes fixed on the hands that wrung and wrung in her lap. “I hid it, though,” she said chokingly. “I daren’t leave it aboot or it would’ve been taken and burnt, so—so I hid it, and every afternoon when Ma was busy with her sewing of Miss Esme’s pretty things, I’d go and—and take oot me toy. And play with it. Oh!” She gave a wail and clutched her head in near frenzy. “’Twas wicked! I ken that well!”
“Poor soul,” said Yolande, touched by such anguish. “As if anyone could condemn so natural a thing. You were scarcely more than a babe, and likely had very few toys. Was it a doll your brother made for you?”
For a moment the unhappy woman seemed too lost in remorse to hear the gentle words. Then she looked up at the girl’s sympathetic face and answered, “No, miss. But it was my only real toy. Och, but I thought it the finest Diabolino ever…”
Baffled, Craig murmured, “Finest—what?”
“Diabolino,” rasped the General, more than a little impatient with all this talk of toys. “A wooden ball on a string that is swung up so as to fall into a cup.”
“I was playing that day,” Mrs. MacFarlane muttered, her wide gaze very obviously looking back into the past that so terrified her. “I heered someone coming. I was awful scared, for me ma had always told me I was never tae go up to the battlements. So I ran so fast as ever I could, and hid on t’other side of the tower. Only … I dropped me toy.”
Again, she paused, and now the room was so still that the soughing of the wind outside sounded like the voice of a hurricane. They waited, breathlessly, for no one dared to ask that Mrs. MacFarlane resume her tale lest her obviously teetering intellect should be pushed too far and completely give way.
“Stuart Devenish, it was,” she said in a half whisper. “And he walked over tae stand where he always did, looking oot tae sea. I remember praying he’d soon go inside, but he didnae. And then—then Mr. Tyndale come. He was running almost, and I could tell he was cross again. Mr. Devenish turned round and said, ‘Hello, Jonas’ in his nice, friendly way, but Mr. Tyndale started ranting and cursing. And all this time I was sae afeared they’d see my toy, for it was close by them.”
Under his breath the General snorted, “The devil fly away with the toy!” He asked, “Can you recall ma’am, what the two men were discussing? I suppose ’tis a lot to expect of a lady who was only six at the time.”
“I can remember,” she said, her stare still fixed and vacant, “as if it was yesterday.”
“Can you, by God!” breathed Devenish, moving to stand beside his uncle.
“Miss Esme—Mrs. Devenish, I should say,” muttered Mrs. MacFarlane, “was increasing, ye’ll mind. Her brother wanted her back in London Town. ‘She dinna look right, Stuart,’ he said. ‘I be afeared fer her! If ye’ll nae go, let me take her back with me.’ Mr. Devenish said he couldnae allow it, for ’twould be a weary way fer her tae travel. He was verra quiet and calm, and the quieter he was, the angrier Mr. Tyndale got. I was sure as they were going tae start fighting, and so was Mr. Devenish, fer he said, ‘Jonas—mon, ye dinna understand! I canna take her back! I canna!’ Mr. Tyndale shouted, ‘Will not, ye mean!’ and he took hold of Mr. Devenish’s arm and said, ‘Ye want her tae die, sae ye can get your hands on her fortune!’ Mr. Devenish told him he was a fool, and then he said in a funny sort of voice, ‘If she must die, it will be here, where she’s been so happy.’ I remember it was all quiet then, and they stood there, staring at each other. And Mr. Tyndale asked what was meant by that, and Mr. Devenish says, near weeping-like, ‘I’m going tae lose her, Jonas. The doctor says she canna survive this birthing.’”
She stopped speaking, and there was a long, hushed pause. Then, she went on slowly, “Mr. Tyndale wouldnae heed him at first. He kept ranting it was all none but lies, and Mr. Devenish kept saying it was truth, and he looked so sad and sounded so—sort of lost, that I reckon poor Mr. Tyndale had tae face it at the last. He put his head in his hands and began tae weep. Mr. Devenish tried to comfort him, but he was fair crazy with grief. He shouted, ‘If ye knowed she would die, why did you get her with child?’ And he marched smack up tae Mr. Devenish, like he meant tae throttle the life frae him. Mr. Devenish said he hadn’t knowed until a few days syne, fer the doctor hadnae told him of it. But Jonas Tyndale wouldnae listen. He screamed oot that Mr. Devenish was nae better than a murderer. That he’d murdered Miss Esme. Lor’, but I was scared! He was throwing his arms aboot and raving sae wild. Mr. Devenish grabbed him and said sharp-like, ‘Have a care, mon! Ye’re tae close tae the edge!’ Mr. Tyndale pulled free and then—he hit Mr. Devenish. Not hard-like. More as if he didnae want tae be held. But … but Mr. Devenish jumped back and then … and then…” She cowered, bending over and rocking to and fro in a paroxysm of grief.
Through that hushed silence, Tyndale said, “And then my uncle stepped on your toy. Is that it, ma’am?”
Devenish gave a gasp of horrified comprehension. The General whispered, “My God! Oh, my God!”
Mrs. MacFarlane looked up and gulped, “Aye, sir. Oh, how terrible it were tae see him fly back like that! And … and tae think I done it! I murdered your poor papa, Mr. Devenish! A eye fer an eye, says the Good Book. And … and here I be, sir, I owned up … at last.…”
Chapter XVI
SPRAWLING COMFORTABLY ON THE BED in his nephew’s spacious bedchamber, Colonel Alastair Tyndale watched Devenish bestow gratuities on the abigail who had cared for Josie during their stay at Steep Drummond, pinch her blushing cheek, and escort her to the door as though she were a duchess. “The boy has changed,” he thought. “A month since, he’d have demanded a kiss!” And, as Devenish closed the door and turned to take up his hat and gloves, he said, “I apprehend that you’re eager to be on your way, Dev. But—will you please spare me a minute before you go?”
“Of course I will, sir,” said Devenish, regarding him fondly. “Are you quite sure you won’t ride with us? Lord knows there’s room in the coach, and nothing would please me more. Or Josie.”
“Thank you, my boy. But I’m promised to help Craig plan the refurbishing of the castle. Still—since you mentioned the child, it is of her that I wish to speak.”
He hesitated, and Devenish, limping to pull up a chair, straddle it and watch him over the back, was fairly sure of what was going to be said. He was correct.
Cautiously feeling his way, the Colonel said, “I’ve no wish to discourage you, for it’s a fine thing you plan. But—you really have no notion of what may lie behind her, you know. Blood will out. In a few years you may regret your kindness.”
“Forgive me,
but I cannot agree, sir. You’d not believe how Josie has blossomed since I found her. And I’ve a notion there’s good blood in her. She may, I think, be of French parentage, for she sometimes will speak the language, and with a flawless accent.”
The Colonel’s brows went up. “Will she, indeed? I take it you have questioned her in the matter.”
“Oh, yes. But to no avail. She remembers only that she was stolen, and—” He frowned. “And—brutality.”
“Poor mite! Small wonder she worships you.”
Devenish grinned. “All the ladies worship me,” he quipped. And thought, “Save only the one I worship.…”
The Colonel knew him well and thus knew how deep was the wound he had suffered. He kept silent for a moment, dreading to add to that hurt, and at last, tracing the design of the eiderdown with one well-manicured finger, asked softly, “Have you told her you mean to make her your ward?”
“Er—no. Not yet, sir. I—er, I thought I would break the news on our way back to Devencourt.” He stared rather blankly at his uncle’s muscular hand. The truth was that he still had not really decided to adopt Josie. At the back of his mind was the thought that he’d see if he could land a position on the staff on an ambassador. His blasted leg would keep him out of the military, but he’d as soon leave England for a while. He might even go out to India, as Justin Strand had done; which reminded him that he must drop in on Justin and see if a date had been set for his wedding. Everyone seemed to be getting leg-shackled these days … lucky dogs.…
“If you do tell her,” murmured Colonel Tyndale shrewdly, “and later change your mind, I think it would break her heart.”
Devenish started and, glancing up, found those keen blue eyes fixed on him as piercingly as they had done when as a small boy he’d quailed before the Colonel’s desk. He wondered resentfully if the guv’nor really could read his mind, and, aware he was flushing, said, “Whatever I do, sir, you may believe she will be well taken care of.”
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