Love Strikes a Devil

by Barbara Cartland

  It had certainly never occurred to any of the previous Mawdes, who had in turn inherited The Priory.

  The house and everything in it had been a sacred trust and had been passed on from one generation to the next all down the centuries.

  They had at one time or another to deprive themselves of extravagancies like horses, a house in London, and expensive entertainments.

  Charisa was, however, quite sure that never for one moment had they thought that they could sell their heritage.

  It must be passed on to the next heir in the same state of perfection that it had come to them in.

  ‘Papa must stop him,’ she pondered.

  And then she wondered if in fact it would be possible for the Colonel to do so.

  She moved from the window back into the room to look up at her picture.

  Just as she had as a child she thought that she herself was one of the small angels flying about the infant Jesus.

  They were all worshipping Him and at the same time protecting Him.

  “That is what you have to do now,” she said aloud, “protect The Priory and everything in it.”

  She had a sudden longing to pray and she wanted to be sure that her prayers were heard.

  Bessy had left her wearing a pretty negligée that matched the nightgown she had on.

  And she thought that it would take her no more than a few minutes to slip downstairs to the Chapel.

  She wanted to pray there as she had always done when she was staying at The Priory.

  There were in fact two Chapels at Mawdelyn Priory.

  One was the big Chapel, which had been built for the monks and which could hold a hundred people with ease.

  Then there was a small Chapel that had been erected over the tomb of the first Abbot. It was very small and only about twelve people could worship there comfortably.

  Because it was seldom used, Charisa, when she was staying at The Priory, nearly always prayed there.

  She felt that the monks who still watched over everything that happened in The Priory were glad that the small Chapel was not forgotten.

  It was easy for her now to slip along the wide corridor where her bedroom was situated.

  She walked down a narrow staircase at the end of the main building and at the bottom of it there was a passage that led to the Chapel.

  She reached it and opened the door.

  The evening sun was coming through the beautiful stained glass windows and the rest of the Chapel where there were no windows was in shadow.

  There were no flowers as Charisa knew there would be in the big Chapel.

  As she walked towards the altar, the sun was in her eyes.

  She felt that the golden light came from Heaven as if to welcome her.

  She reached the altar steps and knelt down.

  Then she looked up.

  She was expecting to see the lovely ancient gold cross with jewels that was believed to have belonged personally to the first Abbot.

  She could not see it.

  Feeling that it was because of the sun in her eyes, she put up her hand to shade them.

  Now she could see more clearly.

  It was then she realised that the cross had gone.

  And so had the six gold candlesticks that had always stood on either side of it.

  Chapter Four

  “He has sold them!”

  Charisa gasped the words and looked again as if she could not believe her eyes.

  How was it possible that Gervais could have sold anything so precious and so completely unique to The Priory?

  Abbot Mawdelyn had been christened after a fifteenth-century Saint who had performed a number of miracles during his lifetime.

  But Charisa had always thought that the Abbot himself was also a Saint.

  Connoisseurs frequently came to The Priory to admire the pictures and its other glorious treasures.

  They believed that the cross and the candlesticks had been a present to Abbot Mawdelyn.

  It was difficult to pinpoint exactly the year they had been made, but they were certainly of the right period.

  There was no other Church or Chapel in the whole of England that possessed a finer decoration for its altar.

  When Charisa was a child, she would watch the sunlight glinting on the jewels and she believed they were telling her that her small prayers were heard.

  Now to see the altar bare was a shock.

  She wanted to cry because something so precious was missing.

  As she knelt again to pray, she wondered what she could do about it.

  She knew that it would upset her father, but he had no authority over Gervais.

  He was not a Trustee of the estate, although, of course, he could communicate with those who were. He knew them well, but they were now very old men.

  They could not be continually watching over the contents of The Priory to see that nothing was lost.

  “What shall I do?”

  She asked the question aloud and then realised that it was a prayer.

  Then, as she knelt there with the sunshine enveloping her, she had the feeling that her prayers had been heard.

  Not only that, but the Abbot himself was near to her.

  She could not explain exactly what she felt and yet she was very conscious of a spiritual presence.

  Strangely enough she was sure that it was warning her of danger.

  She did not understand, but the warning was definitely there.

  She could feel it just as she had felt the streak of repugnance when Gervais kissed her hand.

  “What – can I – do?” she asked. “Tell me – what I can – do?”

  She tried to listen with her heart as her mother had taught her to do.

  “When God speaks,” Mrs. Templeton had said, “we do not hear it with our ears as we hear human voices, we hear it within ourselves. It is really the voice of our soul.”

  “Help me – please help me – ” Charisa prayed now.

  She felt to her surprise that the Abbot was telling her that for the moment she should do nothing.

  ‘But surely Papa could persuade him not to sell anything so priceless?’ she argued in her mind.

  Again the warning was there.

  There was danger and she was to do nothing, just be prepared and, of course, pray.

  She did not understand and then covered her face with her hands as if to blot out the sun.

  She prayed insistently with her whole being that The Priory would not be hurt and that it would be as beautifully Holy as it had always been.

  Then, as she finished her prayer, she knew that the spirit of the Abbot, which had been beside her, had gone.

  The sunshine, however, still enveloped her and strangely she felt happy.

  ‘Perhaps it will be – all right,’ she thought a little doubtfully.

  Slowly she rose from her knees and walked down the short aisle past the ancient pews.

  As she reached the door, she turned to look back.

  The altar was still enveloped with a golden haze and she thought that God had sent the sunshine to take the place of the cross and the candlesticks as if to reassure her that He was watching over The Priory.

  Charisa stood for a long time just gazing at the altar.

  Then slowly she climbed up the stairs and back to her bedroom.

  Only when she lay on the bed did she realise that she had just had a very odd experience and it was something she thought that she would always remember.

  She wanted to tell her father about it, but if she did so, she knew that it would worry him.

  He would be horrified at the disappearance of the cross and the candlesticks.

  She was sure, moreover, that the Abbot wanted her to keep it a secret to herself.

  ‘It is all very strange,’ she thought.

  At the same time she felt that she had been blessed.

  Of one thing she was quite certain, the Abbot and the monks were watching over The Priory.

  *

&n
bsp; The next morning the sun was shining and Charisa knew that it was going to be a very hot day.

  She remembered that Gervais had said that he wanted her to go riding with him.

  She therefore put on one of her light summer riding habits before she went down to breakfast.

  She was not surprised when she entered the breakfast room to find that the only person present was her father.

  “Good morning, my dearest!” the Colonel said. “I think we are alone. Dawkins told me that Madame will be breakfasting upstairs and our host has not yet even been called.”

  Charisa laughed.

  “It seems peculiar for anyone in England to wake so late,” she said, “but I expect that Gervais is used to the gaieties of Paris, which I understand go on until dawn.”

  She thought that her father looked disapproving, and quickly changed the subject to horses.

  “Gervais did say he wanted to ride with me, Papa. Which horse would you recommend for him and, more important, which one for me?”

  Her father instantly started to describe what he thought were the outstanding qualities of the horses he had bought for the old Marquis just before his death.

  They had arrived only that week.

  “I do wish that Vincent was alive,” he remarked. “He was a magnificent rider, indeed one of the best I have ever seen.”

  Charisa made a little murmur of agreement and her father went on,

  “I always thought that one day, when he had left the Army and taken his rightful place here, we would build a Racecourse.”

  He paused and then continued,

  “It is something which is very much needed in this part of the country and I would greatly enjoy it myself.”

  “What a wonderful idea, Papa,” Charisa enthused. “Perhaps it is something that Gervais also would enjoy.”

  “I doubt that,” her father replied. “He is a ‘Park rider’ and would not be an experienced jumper. “And I have the feeling, although I may be wrong, that he is not really a very enthusiastic horseman.”

  Charisa looked at her father in consternation.

  “I hope that is not true. What would The Priory be like without its stables and exceptional horses?”

  As she spoke, she wondered if Gervais would sell the horses if he really needed money.

  Because the idea perturbed her, she said to her father,

  “I was wondering, Papa, if you are really going to help Gervais financially. It seems as if he can hardly manage without you.”

  There was silence while the Colonel obviously thought about what he should reply.

  Then he said,

  “I have not the faintest idea of what Gervais wants to spend money on and to be honest, after what Matthews said to me, I have no intention of giving him a blank cheque.”

  “I know what you mean, Papa,” Charisa said in a low voice, “and I am sure – you are right.”

  She was just about to say more when the door opened and the Comte came in.

  “Good morning,” he greeted them. “I see I am late, but don’t be cross with me. The sun is shining and Mademoiselle looks even more beautiful than she did last night.”

  “There is no hurry,” Charisa said. “I expected to go riding with Gervais, but I hear that he has not yet been called.”

  “I think he is likely to sleep until midday,” the Comte replied, “so you must allow me to take his place. I am looking forward to seeing the horses.”

  He glanced at the Colonel before he went on,

  “I am told that your father contributed to them as well as to some of the other delightful possessions that Gervais has been lucky enough to inherit.”

  “Who told you that?” the Colonel asked sharply.

  “Gervais, of course, and I know how very grateful he is to you for your kindness to his uncle.”

  The Comte spread out his hands in a typically French gesture as he added,

  “Can you imagine what it was like for him to learn that he was heir to this magnificent house, its contents and vast estates?”

  “I can understand that he was delighted,” Charisa said a little coldly.

  “‘Delighted’ is hardly the word,” the Comte replied. “It saved him from virtual starvation. He jumped so high with joy that I thought he would touch the moon!”

  Charisa thought that it would be more becoming if Gervais had at least expressed some sort of regret at his uncle’s death.

  After all the Marquis had always been very kind to him, paying his debts over and over again.

  “It was very fortunate for Gervais,” the Comte continued as if he was a little envious, “that his cousin should have been killed in India. One might almost say that it was a most remarkable coincidence that he should have died so conveniently when Gervais was at his wit’s end.”

  “I was very fond of Vincent,” Charisa said quietly, “as was everybody in the house and in the village. They wept bitterly when they heard the sad news about his death.”

  “You have a saying in England, I think,” the Comte replied. “It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Gervais is a very lucky chap!”

  There was no doubt now of the envious note in his voice.

  Charisa, although she had not finished her breakfast, rose from the table.

  “Shall we go and look at the new horses, Papa?” she asked. “I know you have a great deal to tell me about them.”

  “Will you not wait for me, beautiful lady?” the Comte pleaded. “I want to see you riding like an Amazon or, should I say, like a Goddess!”

  “I think we should wait until our host appears,” Charisa suggested. “In the meantime Papa and I will not be riding, but just viewing the horses.”

  She walked from the room as she spoke and her father followed her.

  As he closed the door so that he could not be overheard, he said in a low voice,

  “Insolent young puppy! He has no right to talk to you in that familiar manner.”

  “I quite agree, Papa, and I thought it very bad manners to talk as he did about Gervais when he is his guest.”

  “Why must we have all these foreigners in The Priory, of all places?” the Colonel asked beneath his breath.

  Charisa did not reply.

  She knew as they walked towards the stables that he was thinking about Vincent, just as she was.

  She could remember only too well how brilliantly he rode and yet he had always been very kind to her when they went riding together.

  He would not allow her to take jumps that were too high for the horses that she was riding and he would always wait for her if his mount was faster than hers.

  She was sure that her father was right and that Gervais and the Comte were only ‘Park riders’.

  That meant that three-quarters of the well-bred, horses, many of them with an Arab strain in them, would be wasted.

  She wondered if she should suggest to her father that Gervais might sell the horses and that he should buy them.

  It seemed somewhat ironic when he had bought them for the Marquis in the first place, but she could not bear to think of their being scattered.

  Perhaps they would go to owners who did not appreciate how fine they were or might even be cruel to them.

  She knew that her father would never sell a horse without knowing its intended owner and being certain that the new owner would be as careful with the animal as he had been.

  Once again, almost as if she could feel him beside her, she thought that the Abbot was telling her to remain silent.

  But for what reason she could not understand.

  She and her father spent a happy time in the stables going from stall to stall with the Head Groom.

  They made a fuss of the horses, going over their finer points as they had often done before.

  It was an hour and a half later before they were joined by Gervais and the Comte.

  They were both looking excessively smart, too smart for a ride in the country, where no one would see them.

  The best
horses were brought out first for their inspection.

  And then they set off.

  They went first to the gallops that were just behind The Priory.

  Charisa had to admit that Gervais looked very well on a horse and so did the Comte, but they both refused to jump the hedges into the next field.

  When the Colonel and Charisa did so, they made an excuse.

  Gervais claimed that he wanted to get to know his horses well before he did anything spectacular and the Comte maintained that he was not in the mood for being too energetic.

  Finally they rode home after looking at one of the farms that Gervais had not seen before.

  As they did so, Charisa knew that she was right about him.

  He rode only because it was the thing to do and he enjoyed the admiration that he would receive if an audience was present.

  Otherwise riding meant very little to him and he had actually shown more interest in the farms than anything else.

  He wanted to know what profit they was making, and if they were cultivating enough land to make sure of a good harvest.

  The Colonel answered all his questions.

  At the same time Charisa was well aware that her father was not happy.

  When they returned to The Priory, Madame Dubus was downstairs and she was looking even smarter and more elegant than she had done yesterday.

  Yet her red lips and mascaraed eyelashes looked distinctly out of place in The Priory.

  She met them in the hall.

  She kissed Gervais and the Comte affectionately before she turned to greet the Colonel.

  “I missed through sheer laziness seeing you ride, my dear Colonel,” she said, “but it is something I will not neglect to do another day as I have been told how magnificent you look on a horse.”

  She was flirting with him again.

  Before the Colonel could reply she turned to Gervais,

  “I have news for you, mon brave. Our friends are arriving tomorrow. I know how pleased you will be.”

  “All of them?” Gervais asked at once.

  “All of them!” Madame Dubus confirmed.

  Listening, Charisa knew that the way she emphasised her words had a special meaning for Gervais. She thought too that his dark eyes lit up with a strange excitement.

  “They will be very very welcome,” he declared.