The Devil and Drusilla

by Paula Marshall

  ‘Your ingenuity fascinates me. Before I am served up to—Apollyon was it not?—perhaps you will inform me what figure the mask I shall wear will represent?’

  ‘Why, Gabriel, of course, my leader’s arch enemy.’ Mr Harrington’s voice was pitying. ‘I am surprised that a man of your learning should need to ask.’

  ‘A man of my learning is wondering what the Devil I am doing here at all,’ riposted Devenish, ‘participating in an act of mummery only fit for a puppet show at a fair rather than as an occupation for supposedly sane men…’

  He got no further. Almost negligently Mr Harrington struck him in the face. ‘You shall not mock my master, Devenish, or those who worship him.’

  With difficulty Devenish kept himself erect and impassive. He saw one of the servants start forward in case he replied to Mr Harrington in kind.

  ‘You may tell your bully boys,’ he said coldly, ‘that I have no intention of inviting their ministrations by trying to give you the thrashing which you deserve. Now I wish to get down to business with you, without further delay. Firstly, I have no intention of telling you whether or not I have informed anyone of your criminal activities, and secondly I have no intention of being served up on Apollyon’s altar for the idle amusement of my more stupid neighbours.

  ‘As to how I shall avoid that I have at present no notion, but I am an inventive man, and I shall have several days to make my plans. That is all.’

  He turned his back on Mr Harrington, who deciding that nothing was to be gained by further action on his part, said in a bored voice, ‘Wattie, see that Lord Devenish is removed to the Abbey’s gaol and when you get him there, try to change his mind for him. Be careful how you treat him for I don’t wish him to be visibly damaged. Also he must be able to walk to his doom and Apollyon’s triumph.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said the largest man of all, a great bruiser of a fellow who was rather disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to have a real go at a belted Earl.

  ‘Come, you,’ he grunted, ‘do as my master bids,’ and he seized Devenish by the arm.

  Devenish wrenched himself free. ‘You may take your dirty hands off me. I am not stupid enough to try to escape when I’m in the company of three felons all of whom are larger than I am. You may lead the way and I will follow.’

  ‘You disappoint me, Devenish,’ Mr Harrington called after him as he left, ‘I had thought you had more spirit. I misjudged you. I see that you are a commonplace coward after all.’

  ‘Oh, a coward perhaps,’ Devenish called after him, ‘but commonplace—never. You do misjudge me there.’

  He wished that he felt as brave as he sounded. He wished it even more later on after the large man and one of his smaller fellows had worked him over without success and left him feeling sick and winded on the floor of the Abbey’s gaol.

  It was a tiny barred cell at the corner of what had, in earlier times, been a kind of guard room, reached only by going through the Great Hall and down a corridor which ended at the room so that a prisoner trying to escape had nowhere to hide.

  His tormentor had yelled at him, ‘You needn’t think that you will defy me forever. I shall go to my master for permission to give you a real beating, and we’ll see how brave you are then.’

  Probably not brave at all, thought Devenish morosely. Whilst the bully boys had knocked him about he had tried to remember some of the tricks which the Master Magician had taught him to hold back pain. Tricks which had enabled him to defy his grandfather until he had decided to beat him at his own game.

  One of them was to detach his mind from his body by slowing his breathing beforehand and thinking of something distant and far away and trying to hold that image even through inflicted pain.

  ‘An old brown man taught me that trick,’ Master Gabriel had said, ‘he called it yoga. He said that you could sit in snow and keep warm if you did it properly.’

  Maybe, thought Devenish wryly, but it was a trifle more difficult when trying to ignore what Harrington’s bruisers were doing to him. But it had succeeded enough for him to hold his tongue and thwart his tormentors—for the time being.

  To prevent himself from thinking about his present desperate situation he tried another trick. He called up Drusilla’s face and her graceful figure—and then he sat beside her in the garden at Lyford House with the sun shining down on them, and the birds calling, so that when the disgruntled chief bruiser came to see how he was faring, he found him lying on the floor asleep, a smile on his face.

  The bruiser was disgruntled because Mr Harrington had refused to let him work m’lord over seriously, saying that it was likely that he had, in truth, not told anyone of his suspicions, and for the time being he might be allowed to stay in the gaol unharmed.

  He kicked m’lord awake, bade him stand up, and then he tied his hands behind his back—’No point in letting him be too comfortable,’ Mr Harrington had said, ‘pain might take the edge off that nasty tongue of his.’

  What neither he nor his bruiser knew was that Devenish had immediately tried another trick to see whether he could still perform it. The ability to hold his hands in such a way that the person tying them was unaware that at any time his victim could free himself if he wanted to.

  Devenish did not want to escape now, but it was pleasant to know that he could still work the trick. Who knew when it might come in useful?

  And in the meantime he worried when and if Rob Stammers would realise that he was missing—and what he might then do—if he were not already lost to the Brotherhood…

  Rob Stammers did not worry overmuch when Hal did not return at night as he said that he would. It was likely that his business had taken longer than he thought and that he would return on the next day.

  When he did not, nor on the day after that, either, he began to worry. He worried even further when one of the stable lads came to tell him that the whip which Jack Martin, Hal’s groom, had always carried with him, had been found on land about half a mile from the byway which Hal and Martin had taken.

  ‘Two miles down the byway it were,’ said the lad.

  ‘How do you know it was Martin’s whip?’ asked Rob reasonably. ‘After all, one whip is much like another.’

  ‘Not that one,’ said the lad positively. ‘It had a chased silver handle with Jack’s initials on it. M’lord gave it to him for faithful service. He treasured that whip, did Jack, he’d not be parted from it—so what was it doing there?’

  He passed the whip over Rob’s desk to prove that he was telling true, as he later said to the other lads when Rob sent him away.

  Rob stared at the whip. ‘Nothing else?’ he asked. ‘You found nothing else there?’

  The lad shook his head. ‘Oh, there’d been a party of men on horseback recently in the stand of trees by the byway, not far from where the whip was found. It’s a queer do, master, that it is. Why would Jack leave his whip there?’

  Why, indeed? Hal was missing, and Martin had been with him. And Hal had admitted that the business which he was engaged on was dangerous.

  What was the business? Rob did not know.

  Had Hal ever reached London?

  He would send a messenger to Innescourt House to check whether Hal had arrived there, and if he had whether something had occurred which had caused him to delay his return. After that he would go to the spot where Martin’s whip had been found and use the skills which he had learned in Spain to try to discover any clues which might offer an explanation as to how the whip came to be there.

  On the way he would call at Lyford House to ask Mrs Faulkner whether Hal had said anything to her which might throw light on his mysterious journey to London.

  Drusilla came down from Giles’s bedside when Rob Stammers was announced. Giles was still unconscious. He was lying there so peacefully with no sign of injury on him that the doctor had just told her that it was almost as though he didn’t want to wake up.

  Which was very unlike Giles who, despite his crippled leg, was always livel
y and ready for anything, as he had once said.

  Rob had been informed by the butler of Giles’s sad condition and immediately offered her his commiserations. ‘You must not lose hope,’ he told her, ‘when I was in Spain I heard more than once of soldiers who had suffered a head injury which left them unmarked but unconscious and who later recovered quite suddenly.’

  He didn’t tell her of the ones who hadn’t recovered. He could only hope that Giles was one of the lucky ones.

  Drusilla said wearily, ‘He really is the most unfortunate boy. Vobster tells me that his accident was due to no foolish act of his—which is some comfort, but not much.’

  She thought that Rob was looking as harried as she felt, and wondered why. She was soon to find out.

  ‘I’ve come about Hal,’ he began. ‘I mean Lord Devenish. I know that you and he are great friends these days. He set off for London suddenly two evenings ago without giving me any information as to why his errand was so urgent. I wondered if he had let slip to you any hint of what he might be about.’

  He was putting his question so tactfully that for a moment Drusilla was not quite sure of what he was asking her.

  ‘Has he confided in me, you mean?’

  ‘Exactly. For once, he has said nothing to me, and now I need to know what his business was.’ Rob did not immediately wish to tell her that he thought that Devenish might be missing.

  ‘He has said nothing of this recent visit, but…’ and she hesitated ‘…he did ask me to do something for him not long ago. Before I tell you what it was I must ask you to be truthful with me. Do you suppose Lord Devenish to be in any danger?’

  She had almost said Hal, but she remembered that Devenish had trusted her with the letter, and not Rob, so she must go warily.

  ‘Now, why do you think that possible?’ exclaimed Rob, a little surprised.

  ‘You have not answered my question,’ returned Drusilla.

  ‘Yes. I will tell you more only when you have told me what Devenish said to you.’

  ‘On the contrary, I shall tell you nothing until you tell me why you think that he is in danger.’

  Rob stared at her. Behind her demure appearance she was one of the most strong-minded females whom he had ever met. Was that why Hal was attracted to her? Like calling to like. He gave in.

  ‘Very well. The morning after the house party ended Hal set off for London with Martin, his most trusted groom. He said that he was on an urgent, and perhaps dangerous, errand and would be back the same day—even if he had to travel through the night. So far he has not returned—which is very unlike him. He is punctilious over such matters. This morning one of the stable lads found Martin’s whip abandoned not far from the byway they would have followed en route for London.

  ‘Martin’s friends assure me that he would never willingly have been parted from his whip and I am bound to ask myself if some mischance has befallen them. I have sent a messenger to London to find out whether they ever reached Innescourt House. When I have left you I shall go to the place where the whip was found to see if I can discover anything more.’

  Drusilla sat down—and motioned to Rob to do the same. She remembered how urgent Hal had been when he had given her his letter. She looked at stolid Rob sitting opposite to her, his face anxious, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee, a sure sign of distress in a man: she had seen Jeremy doing it.

  She would trust him. Without more ado she told of Devenish having left the letter for Sidmouth with her, and her promise that she would forward it if any harm came to him.

  ‘He did not tell me,’ said Rob, a trifle bitterly. ‘He did not trust me—God knows why he couldn’t. We have been friends for so long.’

  Drusilla leaned forward to put a hand on his. ‘I am sorry to inform you that he told me that he could trust nobody and the reason that he gave the letter to me was because it was not possible for me to know anything of what he was about. Oh, he didn’t say that directly, but it was the only meaning I could put on what he did say.’

  ‘And you have the letter?’

  ‘Yes. In a safe place.’

  ‘And if everything points to him being in danger, or needing help, you will send it on to Lord Sidmouth.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And you have no notion of what is in it?’

  ‘None. He implied that it would not be safe for me to know.’

  ‘In God’s name,’ exclaimed Rob, exasperated, ‘what can he be hiding—have you truly no idea?’

  ‘Only that I think that it has something to do with Jeremy’s murder, the disappearing girls and the attack on Giles. He never said so, it is simply what I am supposing.’

  ‘Then we must open the letter before you send it on because I can think of no connection at all between them.’

  ‘No, I promised that I would not.’

  Rob struck his hands together. ‘You will not reconsider?’

  ‘I cannot,’ she said simply. ‘Only if you could tell me that his life is at stake if I don’t.’

  Rob groaned. ‘I don’t even know that he is missing, or that his life is at risk. I only feel that something is wrong.’

  They stared at one another. Drusilla said, ‘He told me that the letter is to go only to Sidmouth—it was too dangerous otherwise.’

  ‘Because he didn’t trust me,’ exclaimed Rob violently. ‘But now you know that you can.’

  ‘No,’ said Drusilla, ‘I don’t. For you might be pretending to be concerned about Hal in order to get the letter from me and read it. If he had wanted you to know what was in it, he would have told you.’

  Her logic was impeccable—and, for a female, remarkable. Fortunately Rob did not tell her so or she would have been even firmer with him than she was already being.

  ‘Until you tell me that you are sure that Hal is missing, I shall not send the letter. If you are, then I shall forward it—unopened, as he wished.’

  Rob rose. ‘Very well. I shall go immediately to where Martin’s whip was found. If I discover anything to suggest that Hal is in danger I shall return at once. Otherwise I must wait until my messenger returns from London—and in the meantime we are doing nothing for Hal.’

  ‘It was his choice,’ said Drusilla simply.

  ‘Yes, the obstinate devil.’ Rob was too annoyed to be polite. Oddly Drusilla thought that this did him credit and she was prepared to believe him honest, but she must still do what Hal had wished.

  Rob rode away in a vile temper, the astonished stable lad who had found Martin’s whip behind him. He had always known Mr Stammers to be the mildest of men but he had bellowed orders at him like a madman and ridden like the devil himself to the place where Martin’s whip had been found.

  Rob dismounted warily and walked around trying to disturb the undergrowth as little as possible. Not far from where the lad said the whip had been found were the marks of something heavy having been dragged along. Men on horseback had been there—and more than one of them. He tracked around and through the stand of trees where there were again, as the lad had said, evidence of horsemen, and then he examined the byway.

  Unfortunately it had not rained recently and the ground was dry so Hal and Martin had left no hoof marks behind them. Other than the discovery of the whip, there was nothing to indicate that Hal or Martin had ever been there.

  Rob swore. The whip in itself, without any other evidence, proved nothing. And who, in the smiling landscape around them could have a reason to attack someone as powerful as Devenish? As he had told Drusilla he could not, for the life of him, see any connection between young Faulkner’s death, the disappearance of the girls and the attack on Giles.

  There was no point in returning to Lyford House and Mrs Faulkner. The only thing left to him was to cut his losses for the moment and wait for his messenger to come back from London.

  On the way home he met Leander Harrington, attended by one of the large fellows whom he favoured as servants. He took the opportunity to stop him, and say, ‘We are well met. I wonde
r if Devenish said anything to you when you were at Tresham Hall to indicate why he might suddenly need to go to London. After all, you are a JP and I thought that he might have confided in you.’

  For some reason—he had always been a cautious man who played his cards close to his chest—Rob did not mention his recent conversation with Drusilla, nor even that he had visited her.

  Mr Harrington smiled easily at him. ‘No, indeed, he said nothing to me. I was not aware that he was going to London—which explains why I have not seen him lately. Is the matter so urgent that it cannot wait until his return?’

  Rob could not say, ‘I have a strong feeling that something was wrong,’ it might sound feeble. Nor did he wish to babble about whips, so he held his tongue over that, as he had done over visiting Drusilla.

  He was not to know it, but it was just as well that he had remained silent.

  Mr Harrington stared after him as he rode away and said casually to his attendant. ‘It’s a good thing that the full moon is tomorrow night. It doesn’t leave very much time for Stammers to go running round after his absent patron. In forty-eight hours we shall be safe—and m’lord will no longer be a danger.’

  He turned his horse for home, thinking happily of Devenish sitting half-starved and impotent in his prison cell at the Abbey.

  He would not have been so cheerful had he known of the letter sitting quietly in a pigeon hole in Drusilla Faulkner’s escritoire.

  Drusilla returned to her vigil over Giles after Rob had left her. His nurse told her excitedly that ‘Master Giles opened his eyes for a moment and looked at me. He closed them almost at once. I tried to talk to him but he cannot hear me.’

  This was little enough in the way of good cheer over Giles’s condition, but it was the first time that he had shown any sign of life which must offer them a little hope.

  Drusilla sat by his bed and talked quietly to him, his lax hand in hers. She spoke of his dogs, of her promise that, taking Devenish’s advice, she would arrange for him to study at Oxford.