Love Strikes a Devil

by Barbara Cartland

  “I should hope so,” her father said somewhat stiffly. “It is ridiculous for young men to rise so late when they are in the country.”

  He spoke in his ‘Regimental Voice’ and Charisa laughed.

  Then she went upstairs to change from her riding habit into a pretty thin gown.

  “’Tis goin’ to be hot today,” Bessy murmured as she helped her dress.

  “I like the heat,” Charisa answered, “but I will be certain to take a sunshade when I go into the garden.”

  “You do that, miss,” Bessy said, “it’d be a crime to spoil your lovely skin.”

  Charisa smiled at her and went downstairs.

  As she did so, she wondered if, as there appeared to be no one about, pâté sandwiches had been put again in the sitting room.

  She knew that there would be plenty of champagne for the guests before luncheon.

  She reflected that she might be unable to get Vincent anything else from luncheon.

  So she decided to take a few sandwiches now and later in the day try to find him something more robust for dinner.

  She reached the door of what was known as the ‘Reynolds Room’.

  It boasted several portraits by that famous artist on the walls.

  She was just about to open the door when she thought that if Gervais was in there alone, she had no wish to join him.

  She turned the handle very cautiously so that she could slip away if he was indeed there.

  As she did so, she heard him say,

  “We will have the Service tonight and after that Charisa will have to marry me.”

  Charisa stiffened and stood still.

  “Of course she will!” she heard Madame Dubus say. “Nobody else would offer for her!”

  They both laughed.

  Very quietly Charisa closed the door.

  Then, because she was frightened, she ran upstairs.

  What did Gervais mean by saying that she would have to marry him?

  And why would no one else wish to propose to her?

  She could not imagine what on earth he and Madame Dubus meant.

  At the same time she could feel her fear of them seeping through her body.

  She reached her bedroom and, running in, she closed the door and locked it behind her.

  Then she opened the panel in the wall. if Vincent was not there, she would have to find him.

  However to her relief he was standing just inside and the basket that she had left for him after breakfast was in his hand.

  “Oh, Vincent,” she exclaimed, “I am – f-frightened!”

  “Frightened? Why? What has happened?” he asked.

  “I-I went downstairs – and thought I would – bring you some – pâté sandwiches – from the Reynolds Room.”

  She was speaking so breathlessly that Vincent stepped through the panel and put down the basket.

  “What upset you there?” he then asked her.

  “I heard – Gervais and – Madame Dubus – talking.”

  “Tell me what they said.”

  Charisa repeated their words.

  Because they scared her even more than they had already, she put out her hand to hold onto him.

  His fingers closed over hers.

  Then, as she finished repeating what Madame Dubus had said, he quizzed her sharply,

  "What did you say was the name of the French woman with Gervais?”

  “Madame Dubus, Ariste Dubus. She came – here with Gervais. I thought – you must have – seen her.”

  “I saw her,” Vincent replied, “but I did not know her name.”

  He spoke in such a grim manner that Charisa looked at him questioningly before she said,

  “What – does it mean? What – are they – planning? Why did Gervais – say that after the Service – I would have – to marry him?”

  For a moment Vincent did not reply.

  Then he enquired,

  “Where is your father?”

  Charisa looked at him in surprise.

  “He came upstairs to change – when I did. He will be in – his room.”

  “Fetch him,” Vincent demanded. “Fetch him quickly!”

  “B-but you said – I was not – to tell him – ” Charisa began.

  “Do as I say!” Vincent asserted in an authoritative tone. “Bring your father here as quickly as you can.”

  Charisa wanted him to explain why he had changed his mind, but she thought, if she did not do as he asked immediately, her father might go downstairs.

  She unlocked her bedroom door and ran down the corridor.

  Her father’s room was only a little way from her own.

  When she reached it, she saw with relief that he was still there.

  So was his valet.

  “I want to speak to – you, Papa,” she stammered. “It is – important.”

  Wilkins tactfully withdrew.

  The moment they were alone, Charisa went up to her father and put her hand on his arm.

  “I want you to – come with me, Papa, and try – not to be very – surprised at – what you see.”

  “What are you talking about?” the Colonel asked. “Has that swine been upsetting you again?”

  “No – no – it is not – Gervais,” Charisa answered. “But please – come at once to – my room.”

  The Colonel picked up his gold watch that was lying on the dressing table and put it in the pocket of his waistcoat.

  Then he said,

  “You are being very mysterious, my dear, but, of course, I will do anything you want.”

  Charisa slipped her hand into his.

  Hurriedly they walked down the passage to her room.

  She opened the door and the Colonel followed her in.

  She was not surprised to see that Vincent was not there. She knew that he would be hiding in case he should be seen by one of the housemaids.

  Charisa closed the door and her father started to say,

  “Now, what is all this about – ?”

  The panel opened as he was speaking and Vincent appeared.

  For a moment the Colonel just stared at him speechless.

  Then he exclaimed,

  “Vincent, my dear boy! You are alive? Why did you not let us know?”

  “I have so much to tell you, Colonel,” Vincent said, “but no one knows that I am here except Charisa.”

  “I don’t understand,” the Colonel said. “We were told that you were dead!”

  “I know,” Vincent replied grimly, “and it is only by a miracle, or rather three miracles, that I am alive to tell you exactly what happened.”

  The Colonel was just about to say something, when Vincent turned towards Charisa.

  “I want you to go downstairs, Charisa, and behave as if nothing has happened. In fact make yourself very pleasant to everybody including Gervais.”

  Charisa made a little grimace and he went on,

  “I know, I know, but your father and I are going to deal with everything and later we will tell you what we have planned.”

  Charisa wanted to beg him to let her stay.

  But then she thought that it might prove dangerous and she must therefore do as she was told.

  “I will – go downstairs,” she said a little reluctantly, “but promise me – you will – tell me what – you and Papa are – planning to do.”

  “If I cannot tell you before,” Vincent said, “go up to your room and lie down at about five o’clock.

  Say you have a headache and don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “I will do – that,” Charisa muttered.

  She touched her father’s arm affectionately before she moved towards the door.

  “It is wonderful to have Vincent back, Papa,” she said in a low voice.

  Then she went out into the corridor and he heard Vincent lock the door firmly behind her.

  She so wished that she could stay to hear what they were saying.

  It was agonising to have to go downstairs and be friendly with all Ge
rvais’s French guests when she thought that something positive was happening at last.

  It still puzzled her as to what Gervais had meant by saying that she would have to marry him after the Service.

  It seemed very odd that they be should holding a Service on a Friday night.

  Perhaps since his Private Chaplain had arrived from Paris, Gervais thought that he should hold one for his French guests

  ‘I wish I could hide somewhere behind the panelling and hear what Vincent and Papa are saying,’ she ruminated.

  Resolutely, because she knew that she must obey Vincent’s orders, she went into the Reynolds Room.

  The house party was, as usual, drinking and their glasses were replenished as soon as they were empty.

  It was now nearly time for luncheon.

  Charisa was expecting it to be announced at any moment when her father came into the room.

  She thought that he deliberately did not look at her. And then he walked to where Gervais was sitting with a glass of champagne in his hand.

  “I hope you will allow me, Gervais,” he began, “to order my carriage, as I have to go home immediately.”

  “What has happened, Colonel?” Gervais enquired.

  “I have just been informed that there has been an accident involving one of my staff, who has been injured.”

  He paused to say insistently,

  “You will understand that I must see that the doctor is summoned and find out if the injury is really serious.”

  “Yes, of course,” Gervais agreed, “but surely you can wait until after luncheon?”

  “It is very kind of you, but I will have something to eat at home,” the Colonel replied.

  “Well, I hope it is not too serious,” Gervais seemed to sympathise, “and, of course, you will come back as quickly as you can. We will look after Charisa in the meantime.”

  “I am sure you will,” the Colonel answered.

  He walked across the room to Charisa and said,

  “Don’t worry, my dear. It is old Eliza, who was never steady on her feet.”

  He pressed her fingers as he spoke and Charisa exclaimed,

  “Oh, I am so sorry, Papa, but I am sure that Dr. White will look after her.”

  “Of course he will and I will not be any longer than I can help.”

  He kissed her cheek.

  She knew by the pressure of her father’s hand that he was approving the attitude that she had taken.

  Yet, as he went from the room, she longed to go with him.

  She realised why he was taking his carriage as if he had been going home alone, he would have ridden.

  That he was taking his carriage meant that he was taking Vincent with him.

  But where were they going and why?

  It was difficult, because she was thinking about her father and Vincent, to listen to the compliments she was being paid or to respond to the witty remarks the Frenchmen on either side of her at luncheon were making.

  Because she was feeling so anxious, she had no idea what she ate or drank.

  She found herself continually glancing across the table at the Chaplain.

  He appeared to be drinking more than usual and looked, she thought, very unpleasant.

  It seemed extraordinary that Gervais could not have found a more attractive-looking man.

  When luncheon was over, Gervais offered to take them driving on a tour of the estate.

  As they had all had a great deal to drink, they agreed to his suggestion somewhat half-heartedly.

  Finally, with the exception of the ladies and the Chaplain, they set off in three different vehicles.

  The Frenchman offered to race Gervais, but he declined.

  “I want you to admire my possessions,” he insisted, “and just be careful of how you treat my horses.”

  “How he enjoys being a rich man.” the Comte said to another Frenchman.

  He spoke in a low voice so that Gervais did not hear him.

  As she walked away, she was praying that Gervais’s enjoyment would not last long.

  She, of course, had to drive with him.

  Fortunately, because the chaise was fairly large, there was room for the Comte as well.

  She, however, felt squeezed between the two men.

  Because such proximity to them made her feel almost physically sick, she said very little.

  All she could think of was that Vincent and her father were planning some way that Gervais could be brought to justice.

  She had no idea what it could be.

  ‘With Vincent in his rightful place as the Marquis of Mawdelyn, everything will be so different,’ she mused.

  She knew that she would have enjoyed every moment of driving with Vincent round the estate, but Gervais was interested only in what was bringing in money.

  It was money she was sure would not be expended on The Priory and certainly not in doing anything for those he employed.

  He swept past the men working in the fields without raising his hat to them as Vincent would have done.

  When they stopped at a farm, she thought that he was unnecessarily aggressive in the way he spoke to the farmer.

  He ignored the man’s wife, even though she curtseyed respectfully to him.

  ‘I hate him! I hate him!’ Charisa was saying to herself over and over again as they drove home.

  “You are very silent, Charisa,” Gervais commented unexpectedly.

  “I am a little tired,” Charisa replied. “I think when we get back I will lie down before dinner.”

  “That is a very good idea,” Gervais agreed, “because tonight I want you to look even more beautiful that you have ever looked before.”

  “Why tonight especially?” Charisa asked him.

  “I will give you the answer to that later,” Gervais replied.

  “You always look beautiful!” the Comte chipped in in a caressing voice. “In fact if you can look lovelier than you do at this moment, I shall find it hard to believe that you are really human.”

  “At the moment I feel very human!” Charisa said. “I think it must be the sun that has given me a headache.”

  “Then go and lie down as soon as we get in,” Gervais said, “and before dinner I will send you up a special drink which will make you feel like dancing among the stars!”

  Before Charisa could speak, the Comte laughed.

  “You are being poetical, Gervais.”

  “I have every reason to be,” Gervais replied, “because I am looking forward to this evening.”

  “So indeed am I,” the Comte said, “in fact more than I can say in words.”

  “What is happening this evening?” Charisa asked.

  “Something very important,” Gervais said, “and that is why you must look beautiful.”

  They arrived back at The Priory as he spoke and he pulled in the horses.

  As Charisa climbed out, she was aware that Gervais and the Comte were exchanging glances as if they were sharing some secret joke.

  Because she was intimidated by what they were saying, she ran up the stairs. She felt as if she was enveloped by something dangerous.

  When she reached her bedroom, it was a relief to find that Bessy was already there.

  “I have a headache, Bessy,” she said, “and I am going to lie down until it is time for dinner.”

  “Now, that be sensible,” Bessy exclaimed. “I says you’d find the sun too much for you today.”

  She undid Charisa’s gown at the back.

  When she had put on a pretty lace-trimmed nightgown, Charisa got into bed.

  Bessy lowered the blinds a little and said as she left the room,

  “I’ll see you’re not disturbed, Miss Charisa, and you ’ave a good bit of shut-eye. It’ll do you good.”

  As soon as she had gone, Charisa jumped out of bed and locked the door.

  Then she opened the panel, hoping that she would find Vincent waiting inside.

  There was, however, no sign of him. Disappointed, she got back
into bed feeling more frightened than ever.

  It was, in fact, nearly an hour later before the panel opened and Vincent came into the room.

  Charisa gave a cry of delight and sat up in bed.

  “Vincent,” she exclaimed. “I thought – you had – forgotten me.”

  He came towards her and sat down, as he had done before, on the side of the bed.

  Then he took her hand in his and said,

  “I have been thinking about you every moment since I left here.”

  “And I have – been thinking – of you,” Charisa answered.

  She looked up at him and felt his fingers tighten on hers.

  In that moment she knew that she loved him.

  She had always loved him, she thought, even when she was a child.

  But she had not realised it until this moment.

  She felt as if it was a revelation that came to her from Heaven.

  For a moment they just gazed at each other.

  Then Vincent said,

  “You have been very brave and wonderful. Now I am going to ask you to be even braver than you have been already.”

  “Why?” Charisa asked. “What have you and Papa – been planning?”

  “Ever since I came back,” Vincent said in a low voice, “you know that I have been trying to find some way that I could claim my rightful position as the Head of the Family without being murdered by Gervais.”

  “I know that,” Charisa sighed, “and I have – been desperately terribly afraid of what – he would do if – he knew that you were – here.”

  “It was you who told me today what we could do,” Vincent replied, “but it is not going to be easy.”

  “Tell – me what it is – tell me quickly!” Charisa urged him.

  “You heard Gervais saying that there was to be a Service held here tonight,” Vincent said. “That ‘Service,’ Charisa, will be a Black Mass!”

  Charisa stared at him in astonishment.

  For a moment she could not remember what a Black Mass was.

  Then, as she did remember, she gave a cry of horror.

  “You mean – you cannot mean – !”

  “Gervais is a Satanist!” Vincent answered. “I blame myself for not remembering that one of my friends hinted at it a long time ago after he had been to Paris.”

  “A – Satanist,” Charisa exclaimed beneath her breath.

  “You gave me the clue,” Vincent explained, “when you told me that the woman he brought here was Madame Ariste Dubus. She is the sister of one of the most notorious Satanists in Paris, who uses drugs which induce hallucinations.”