The Devil's Daughter

by Marguerite Bell

  Her brother Bruce agreed with her that Sussex roads were becoming impossible, but once again Lord Capel said nothing. He did, however, firmly decline to partake of any tea, and while the others were sitting comfortably over theirs walked to a window in an alcove and stood staring out into the night.

  Just before nine o’clock Lady Fanny started to yawn ostentatiously, and declared that she was for bed. Harriet jumped up immediately and offered to accompany her upstairs, alarmed no doubt by the prospect of exhaustion overtaking the Duke’s daughter on the way to her room, but Fanny smiled at her sweetly and said that her maid would be waiting up for her and she was perfectly capable of mounting the stairs without assistance from anyone.

  “Stay and play backgammon with Bruce,” she urged, smiling almost knowingly at Bruce. “He tells me you are such an expert he was quite unable to defeat you when he played with you last night. How is it you have become such a deadly opponent, Miss Yorke?”

  “My father insisted that I play all parlour games as well as he did himself,” Harriet replied.

  “Indeed?” Lady Fanny strove hard to smother a yawn. “Then my father, His Grace of Coltsfoot, will delight in playing chess with you at some time when the two of you have become acquainted. Pray remember that that is an obligation I have laid upon you.”

  She waved a hand airily to the room at large, wished them goodnight and tottered towards the door. But when Lord Bruce prepared to set up a table for backgammon Harriet said hastily that she would prefer to withdraw to her own room, too, and Lord Bruce’s expression of acute disappointment made her feel most uncomfortable as she prepared to climb the stairs. She wished she had not made such a favourable impression on him, for he was a lonely man, and when she departed he would be more than ever aware of his own loneliness, and that was not a fitting reward for a veteran of Waterloo. Surely Lady Fanny could have found him a suitable wife if only she had made the smallest effort?

  Before she reached the head of the stairs Harriet caught the sound of voices, and she realised that the two men she had left behind in the drawing-room—one of whom had not even wished her goodnight—were already talking to one another. She wondered whether they were discussing plans for the Marquis’s highly necessary departure from his own country.

  Breakfast was scarcely over in the breakfast-parlour the following morning when a clattering of hooves on the drive interrupted the peaceful consumption of tea and coffee and freshly-made toast, and sent Lady Fanny to the window to discover who it was who had arrived. She had already astonished everyone by putting in an appearance at such an early hour, when her normal custom was to lie abed until nearly noon; and now, apparently, she was in such a state of agitation to get pressing matters over and dealt with, leaving her free to return to London, that her first thought was in connection with her brother, and her immediate fear was that a bevy of Bow Street Runners had already scented him out and had arrived to achieve his arrest.

  But with a gasp of relief when she peered from one of the open lattices she recognised the ducal emblem on the near-side door of the glistening carriage drawn up at the foot of the front door steps. A very elderly gentleman was being assisted to alight by a tall young man in a many-caped coat and curly-brimmed beaver hat, and while Harriet, who was beside her at the window, recognised the tall young man as Charles Cavendish, Lady Fanny plainly recognised a very much more personal connection.

  “It is Papa!” she whispered. “Now, what in the world—in the world—has brought him here at this most awkward moment?”

  “Very likely he has come to say goodbye to your brother,” Harriet replied, because that was the only explanation that occurred to her.

  “If that is so it will cause him a heart attack, for Richard is the light of his eyes, the successor to his Dukedom, and his one reason for continuing to live.”

  Although Harriet found it a little difficult to reconcile a desire to live with the probability of sustaining a heart attack she murmured sympathetically. Lady Fanny clasped her hands in agitation and declared that it was all quite unfair.

  “You haven’t the least idea what it is like to possess a father who dotes on only one member of his family,” she lamented, “and that member quite unworthy. If Richard was a little more considerate I might find it easier to forgive him, but as it is I hold it strongly against him. And now I have to deal with my papa!”

  She left the window and crossed the room so swiftly that she was in the middle of the hall waiting to receive him with open arms when the Duke crossed the threshold and stood looking about him with a certain amount of distaste. He glanced upwards at the cobwebbed rafters and then downwards at the unpolished floor boards, and the expression on his face became increasingly dubious. Being very tall and still fairly upright for his years he had to bend his head to avoid cracking it against a beam; and beside him Charles Cavendish, who had lent him the support of his arm, had to do precisely the same thing, while out of the tail of his eye he caught sight of Harriet only just emerging from the doorway to the breakfast-parlour.

  Instantly his whole expression registered the utmost approval.

  “Your servant, ma’am,” he said, as soon as he had released the Duke into the charge of his daughter. “I never expected to find you here!”

  “And I certainly never expected to find myself here,” Harriet replied, colouring in some confusion because the occasion of their last meeting had been attended by some exceedingly unorthodox circumstances.

  Fanny was embracing her father in the middle of the hall and chiding him at the same time for making such a taxing journey, which in point of fact was no more than a matter of forty miles or so, over the border into Hampshire. But when he replied testily that he had a right to do precisely as he pleased, and if his son was going into exile then it was only a normal and natural thing that he should wish to extend to him his blessing which he could take with him, and which might provide him with some solace during the years of his exile, she simply shook her head at him and assisted him into the breakfast-parlour. There he allowed himself to be lowered into a chair at the head of the table, declared that he had already breakfasted, and announced that in any case his son wasn’t going into exile, because the damned fellow he shot at was going to live after all.

  “What!” Fanny exclaimed, and everyone listened and held their breaths because it seemed very likely their ears had deceived them.

  The Duke of Coltsfoot lay back in his chair and smiled in a highly gratified and satisfied manner.

  “It’s true,” he insisted. “Devil take me, it’s perfectly true, and the best piece of news I’ve had to impart in a lifetime. Charles here will support me, for it was he who dropped all his engagements and rode hell-for-leather into Hampshire to break the news to me as speedily as possible. I’ve told him I can never show enough gratitude to him, and the two of us set off for this benighted spot which seems to me to have fewer charms every time I come to it. But if Bruce doesn’t mind living here, and it doesn’t drive him to distraction, then he can have it for all I care—and for all, I’d be prepared to wager, Richard cares!”

  “Yes, Father,” Fanny agreed impatiently. “But what of Greville Aintree?”

  “Sitting up in bed and astounding his doctors because he’s taken on a new lease of life, or so it seems. All that bad blood he lost must have done him more good than half-a-dozen leeches.”

  “But we were assured that he was dead—”

  The Duke waved an impatient hand.

  “Poppycock! Fellow can’t be dead and alive at the same time, can he? And I tell you he’s very much alive! Ask Cavendish over there, he’ll tell you there ain’t no doubt about it.”

  Lord Bruce and Charles Cavendish were entering into an earnest conversation just inside the doorway, and Harriet could tell by their expressions that they were both experiencing an inordinate amount of relief. Harriet herself could hardly believe what she had just heard ... For it meant that she was no longer a murderess. She had not, after all, killed
a man, or been in any way responsible for his death, and the relief in her case was so tremendous that she had to put out a hand and grasp at the back of a chair for support.

  The Duke of Coltsfoot, having broken his news and been exceedingly gratified by the response, decided that after all he could enjoy a second breakfast, and Lord Bruce carved him a plateful of ham and cold mutton, and made a descent into the wine-cellar to search amongst the empty bins for a bottle of something which might possibly have been overlooked during the past few days when Hollowthorne was forced to entertain the Marquis, and which his Grace could be expected to describe as “tolerable”. And while he was conducting his search the duke recollected the most urgent reason for his visit, and demanded to know where Lord Capel was hiding himself.

  “Damn it, there’s no danger from the law now that the whole thing is over,” he declared, “and I won’t even read him a lecture if he gives me his word that he’ll never engage in anything so foolhardly again. I forgive him freely,” he assured his daughter, “and that’s remarkably generous when he might have been the death of me. My doctor has issued so many warnings on the condition of my heart that you’re all well aware that I have to be treated gently, and Capel has a duty to consider me above everything else. Which makes his conduct all the more reprehensible, and naturally I have been deeply pained.”

  “I’m sure you have, Papa,” Lady Fanny said soothingly.

  A thought occurred to the Duke, and he looked suddenly anxious.

  “Charles said something about the boy receiving a scratch, but it wasn’t anything worse than a scratch, was it? He’s all right? He’s not lying upstairs in a serious condition? Dying, perhaps—!”

  “No, no, Papa, he’s all but completely recovered.”

  “Then why hasn’t someone told him that I’m here? Why is he taking such an unconscionable time remembering his duty and letting me see for myself that he’s all in one piece? Devil take it, he’s my heir! I’m fond of the boy—”

  “Which is extra ordinarily generous of you, your grace, when I’ve done so little to deserve your affection,” the Marquis observed from behind his chair. “And I owe you many apologies for causing you so much concern.”

  Harriet, who had not so far been introduced to the latest distinguished visitor, withdrew discreetly as father and son clasped hands and regarded one another in a manner that showed how strong was the bond of affection between them, and Lady Fanny followed her from the room. She slipped a hand into Harriet’s arm and guided her towards the garden door as they crossed the hall, and as they emerged into the soft brilliance of the morning and the flower-scented atmosphere her ladyship confessed that she had wanted to have a word with her, for they had many things to discuss “Now that my father is here and that wretched Aintree is to live after all we must begin to make plans,” she said. “There is no longer any nightmare hanging over us to cause Richard’s departure for the Continent, for it is fairly certain he will return with my father to Coltsfoot, and I shall suggest to him that after a short filial stay he opens up Capel. The house is one of the most beautiful in the country and simply ideal for house-parties on the grand scale, and with Lady Rowena Harmsworth returned to this country it is more or less incumbent upon him that he involves himself in a great deal of entertaining.”

  She glanced quickly sideways at Harriet, as if to ascertain that she not only had her complete attention but that she understood fully the implications in what she had just said.

  “Lady Rowena is almost unbelievably beautiful, and it has always been my dearest wish that she will one day become my sister-in-law. I’m sure you appreciate how very happy I now am that this might very soon become possible.”

  “Oh, yes, indeed, my lady,” Harriet murmured, without revealing either by tone or expression that she was not in the most fervent agreement with her. It was true that she kept her eyes downcast, but as she could have been admiring the borders that was easily understandable.

  Lady Fanny gave her arm a little friendly squeeze.

  “Then there is Bruce ... Not my favourite brother, but so very worthy. And he did suffer so very dreadfully during that terrible engagement at Waterloo—indeed, I sometimes think that it has altered him completely. But no doubt with time and under the happiest possible circumstances he will regain a little of his old delight in living. He was never precisely enamoured of our sex, but he has everything to commend him in the marriage stakes. Naturally, should he marry, his financial position will have to be secured in some way, but that will be up to my father.”

  Harriet remained silent, and Lady Fanny continued:

  “And now we come to you, my dear Miss Yorke ... you who have done so much for Richard that you actually endangered your own reputation a little unwisely. However, so few people know about this that I’m sure it will do you no real harm, and in any case I have so many plans for you that you have nothing to worry about. I suggest that you return with me to London when I leave here tomorrow, and Verbena can join us in a short while. I had the notion of accommodating you both in the old schoolroom in my house, but it is now in use as a bedroom and would afford you very cramped quarters since the whole house is very small. But all that can be resolved when we have settled the little boy’s future, and made certain that Robert is to stay at Oxford.”

  “Then it is your intention that Lowthan Hall should remain closed, ma’am?” Harriet suggested, feeling suddenly that everything had got out of hand, and it was all the result of her impetuous journey to London. “That will mean dismissing the servants, will it not?”

  “Oh, no, my dear, nothing as unpleasant as that, since I’m sure that most of them have been employed at the house for a considerable time. And in any case Sir Robert will take over there as soon as he is of age, and there will be the question of somewhere to spend his vacations. In the meantime my brother will administer the estate, or his lawyers will attend to it, and I give you my word there will be no difficulties over finance or anything of that sort. In the past it was unfortunate that Capel did neglect his duties in this matter, but since it has been pointed out to him—and I have done my share, I assure you, to convince him how badly he has erred (quite unintentionally, I give you my word)—that the pass to which his negligence reduced the de Courceys was highly reprehensible, he is determined it shall not occur again. He has been very much shocked and concerned to learn the true facts, and is under an obligation to you, my dear, because you took such a positive step to bring the matter to his notice.”

  Harriet supposed the step she had taken had been very positive, as well as highly unconventional, but since her knowledge of the Marquis was now very much greater than it had been when she set out from Sussex she was not prepared to accept that he was “very much shocked and concerned”. It was likely that he had an unpleasantly guilty feeling, but that was as much remorse as she was prepared to allow him.

  “I’m sure Sir Willoughby, if he was alive, would be very grateful to you, ma’am,” she said quietly.

  Lady Fanny betrayed a sudden desire to ally herself with her brother in this matter by exclaiming pettishly:

  “That wretched man! Why on earth he had to burden Richard with his brood of children I cannot think. It was entirely due, I am convinced, to some profound mistake in the very beginning.”

  “Have you made any effort to find out from the Marquis himself why he accepted such a charge?” Harriet enquired.

  Lady Fanny regarded her pityingly.

  “My dear girl, of course I have, but his explanations are a little vague, and I suspect that it was his good nature that was imposed upon. He really is extraordinarily good-natured and generous, you know, when he is not in one of his more difficult moods. And fortunately if he marries Lady Rowena she will know precisely how to handle him, and it is unlikely he will make any similar mistakes. My only fear is that she will not take at all kindly to the acquisition of three unknown wards, one of them still very much a child ... That may present a problem which could be a little diff
icult to overcome.”

  Charles Cavendish was coming along the path towards them, and Lady Fanny hailed him with some relief, disliking the thought of major problems ahead, but confident that she had settled the problem of Harriet with a good deal of subtlety and finesse. And if all her plans worked out there would be cause for rejoicing in the family, and one member of it at least would have cause to be grateful to her.

  The Duke decided to remain for at least one night at Hollowthorne, and as there was a scarcity of suitable bedchambers Harriet willingly gave up hers to his grace in exchange for a very much smaller room into which she personally carried her own belongings. She also assisted Mrs. Rawlins with the making up of the bed for his grace, and lent further assistance in the kitchen. Later in the day she was presented to the somewhat autocratic old gentleman who immediately mistook her for a housemaid, having come upon her while she was smoothing the coverlet on his bed and settling the lace-edged pillows; and when Lady Fanny, who effected the introduction, said very clearly that she was a young friend of her own the Duke of Coltsfoot seemed immeasurably relieved because, as he afterwards confided to Charles Cavendish, she was a “damned pretty little piece”, and he wouldn’t have to chase her round the kitchen table if he wanted a word with her.

  When he learned that her father had served under Nelson with a considerable amount of distinction he wanted to have more than a mere word with her, and invited her to sit beside him in the drawing-room after dinner and recount as many episodes about her father as she could recall. Afterwards, when he learned she played chess, he was highly delighted, and she was not allowed to take part in any other activity throughout the whole course of the evening until, with a few skilful moves, he had succeeded in beating her.