The Time of the Hunter's Moon

by Victoria Holt

  “Are you telling me this to show what enterprising men the Verringers are?”

  “Partly, but more than that. Listen to the sequel. Strangely enough when the young man knew that the girl was pregnant through his endeavors, he agreed to marry her and there was great rejoicing throughout the Hall. In due course she produced a child—a boy, strong, healthy and as handsome as his father. Strange things began to happen then. Fire was seen over the child’s cradle, but there was no fire there in truth. The child laughed as no newly born baby had ever laughed before; and he grasped everything which came within his reach. They wanted a grand christening, and the chapel was prepared for this. But on the day before this was to take place, the young man went to his father-in-law and said: ‘There must be no Christian ceremony. You do not know who I am. You thought you were playing with me, but in truth it was I who was playing with you. I was aware of your plans; I allowed myself to be caught and brought here so that I might give my seed to your family. Do you guess who I am?’

  “The story is that my ancestor fell to his knees in terror for he was unable to look into the face of the young man for when he did so it was as bright as the sun and nearly blinded him.

  “‘I am Lucifer, son of the morning,’ said the young man. ‘I have been cast out of Heaven. I am ambitious. I wanted to excel God himself. You are ambitious. You would make yourself powerful beyond all others. You tried to use me to achieve this end. So I have given you a son. Lucifer. And every man-child of your clan in the generations to come will have me in him.’ And that is the way the Verringers are indeed spawn of the Devil.”

  “You tell the story very well indeed,” I said. “I felt I was really there. I could see that young man and the denouement.”

  “Does it excuse us?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “I thought that if we had the Devil in our blood we could be allowed a little license.”

  “I suppose there are legends like that attached to most families who can trace their line back so far. I believe something like it was said of the Angevin line of the royal family from which so many of our kings came.”

  “The story has been passed down through the generations.”

  “And no doubt you all thought you had to live up to it.”

  “We did not have to work very hard to do so, it appears. But I wanted you to understand that when we do behave badly it is not entirely our own fault.”

  What was he telling me? That he was capable of a ruthless act? Murder? I could not shut out of my mind the thought of that unwanted wife lying on her pillows, the bottle containing the fatal dose of laudanum in her husband’s hands. Had he administered it?

  “You are pensive,” he said. “You are thinking that you do not accept my excuses.”

  “You are right,” I answered. “I do not.”

  He sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t, but I did want to explain. What a heavenly night! There is a scent of flowers in the air and you look very beautiful sitting there, Cordelia.”

  “It is because it is almost dark.”

  “You have always looked beautiful to me in strong sunlight.”

  “I think it is time for me to say good night and thank you for a very good meal.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “This is such a lovely night. How still it is! Not a breath of wind. It is rarely like this and a shame not to take advantage of it. You dismiss my fantasy. But many people have fantasies in their lives. Have you?”

  I was silent. He sent my mind back again to that Suffolk churchyard, and before I could stop myself I was saying: “Something strange happened to me…once.”

  “Yes?” He was leaning forward eagerly.

  “I haven’t talked about it much, not even to my aunt.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It seems so absurd. It happened when we were at Schaffenbrucken. There were four of us and we had heard that if we sat under a tree…a certain tree…in the forest at a certain time…it had to be something to do with the full moon, and this was the time of the Hunter’s Moon which was supposed to be especially good…Well, we heard that if we sat under this oak, we might see the man we were going to marry. You know how foolish girls can be.”

  “I don’t think it is foolish. I think it would show a very lethargic and incurious mind not to want to see one’s future partner.”

  “Well, we went and there was a man…”

  “Tall, dark and handsome.”

  “Tall, fair, and handsome actually. And he seemed strange, remote, perhaps that was because of the story. We talked to him for a while and then went back to school.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No, I saw him again. It was on the train coming home to England…just in a flash he was there and he was gone. Then he was on the boat coming to England. I was on deck, half asleep, it was night, you see, and then…suddenly it seemed, he was there beside me. We talked, and I suppose I was rather drowsy for when I opened my eyes he was gone.”

  “Went up in a puff of smoke?”

  “No…just gone…in a natural sort of way. I saw him again near Grantley Manor where we used to live. He talked to me and I discovered his name. He said he would visit us but he did not come. Then…and this is what is really odd; I went to the place where he said he lived and I discovered the house. It had been burned down more than twenty years before. I saw his name on a tombstone. He had been dead for more than twenty years. Don’t you think that is as strange as your family’s trafficking with the Devil?”

  “I didn’t…until you got to the visit to the place where he was supposed to live. That is very strange, I grant you. The rest is easy. He came to the forest by chance. You endowed him with all the noble and somewhat supernatural qualities because you were young and impressionable and believed in the legend. He was impressed by you, which does not surprise me in the least. He saw you on the journey. He sat beside you and talked and then his conscience smote him. He had a wife and six children waiting for him at home. So he slipped away unobtrusively. Then he couldn’t resist the temptation to see you again, so he waylaid you. He was to visit you and your aunt and then his better feelings triumphed once more and he went home to his family.”

  I laughed. “It sounds plausible in a way, but it doesn’t explain the name on the tombstone.”

  “He chose a name at random, not wanting to give you his own for fear some whisper of his adventures reached the ears of his beloved and faithful wife who was waiting for him. Now if I accept your encounter with the mystic stranger, you must accept my satanic ancestor.”

  “I don’t know why I am telling you this. I have never told anyone before.”

  “It’s the night…a night for confidences. Do you feel that? The darker it gets, the more clearly I can see into your mind…and you into mine.”

  “But what explanation could there be?”

  “You talked to a ghost…or a man who was acting as one. People do strange things, you know.”

  “I am sure there is a logical explanation to your story…and to mine.”

  “Perhaps we shall find the answer to yours. Mine is a little too far back to prove except that our deeds are living evidence of our progenitor’s existence.”

  I found myself laughing. The port is very heavy, I thought, and I was aware of a pleasant lassitude and the certain knowledge that I did not want the night to end just yet.

  He said, as though he read my thoughts: “I am very happy tonight. I want this to go on and on. I am not often happy like this, you know, Cordelia.”

  “I have always thought that true happiness came through service to others.”

  “I see the missionary forebears peeping out.”

  “I know it sounds sententious, but I am certain it is true. The happiest person I have ever known is my aunt, and when I come to think of it she is always unconsciously doing something for someone else’s benefit.”

  “I want to meet her.”

  “I doubt you ever will.”

  “I shall, of course,” h
e said, “for you and I are going to be…friends.”

  “Do you think so? I have a feeling that this is an isolated occasion. We are sitting here in the darkness with the stars above and the smell of flowers in the air and it is having an effect on us. We are talking too much…too freely…Perhaps tomorrow we shall regret what we have said tonight.”

  “I shall regret nothing. Life has been smooth for you, Cordelia, once you were rid of your missionaries. The fairy godmother aunt provided you with your dress so that you could go to the ball; she turned the pumpkin into the coach and the rats into horses. Cinderella Cordelia is going to the ball. She is just meeting the Prince and he is not an elusive spirit who is nothing but a name on a tombstone. You know that, don’t you, Cordelia?”

  “Your metaphors are taking such a wild turn that they are waking me up and reminding me that it is time I said good night.”

  “You see,” he persisted, “there was no fairy godmother for me. Mine was a harsh childhood. All the time one had to excel. There was no tenderness…ever. It was tutors who had to get results. There was always correction…physical mostly. I was in a prison…like the handsome young man who turned out to be the Devil. I was wild, adventurous, wicked often, always seeking for something. I don’t know what. But I think I am beginning to. Then I went to Oxford and lived riotously because I thought that was the answer. I was married…very young…to the suitable young girl who was as ignorant of life as I was. I had my duty to perform, which was the same as that of my ugly ancestress. I had to produce the boy. My brother had married young. He had the two girls, as you know. For myself there was nothing, and my wife had a riding accident three months after our marriage and was incapable of bearing children after that. I am not going to say that I was miserable, but frustrated, always…dissatisfied. She died. We buried her the day you came here.”

  “I know,” I said gently. “You were coming from the funeral.”

  “I had to get away. I couldn’t stand any more of it. Then I saw you in the lane.”

  “And forced me to retreat,” I said lightly.

  “I caught a glimpse of you as we went past. You looked wonderful, different from anyone I had ever known, like some heroine from the past riding in that carriage.”

  “Boadicea?” I suggested lightly.

  “I wanted to know you from that moment. And then when I found you lost…”

  “You took me for a long ride round the town.”

  “I had to talk to you for as long as possible. And now…this…”

  I thought then of the handsome woman and the child I had seen in the garden of Rooks’ Rest, and I said, “I believe I have met a friend of yours.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mrs. Marcia Martindale. She has a beautiful little girl.”

  He was silent and I thought: I should not have said that. I am getting careless, not thinking before I speak. How could I have ever told him about the stranger in the forest? What is happening to me?

  I was startled suddenly as a black shape flashed over my head. It was eerie and I had the sudden feeling that in this ancient home there must be ghosts who could not rest, spirits of those who had met violent ends. Perhaps his wife…

  “What was that?” I cried out.

  “It was only a bat. They are flying low tonight.”

  I shivered.

  “Innocent little creatures,” he went on. “Why do they inspire people with fear?”

  “It is because they get into one’s hair and are said to be verminous.”

  “They wouldn’t hurt you if you didn’t hurt them. Oh…here he is again. It must be the same one. You’re looking really alarmed. I think you believe they are messengers from the Devil. You do, don’t you? You think I have summoned them up to do my bidding.”

  “I know them for bats,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I like them.”

  I was saying to myself: I must go in, but there was something in me pleading for a little longer. I wanted to stay out in this magic night and learn more about this man, for he was revealing a great deal about himself. I had thought of him as brash and arrogant. He was; but there was something else about him—a sadness, even a vulnerability, something which touched me in a way.

  And then…suddenly we were no longer alone. She came into the courtyard. She was dressed in a riding habit and was bareheaded; her beautiful reddish hair was caught up in a kind of snood.

  I recognized her at once.

  “Jason!” she cried in a strangled voice which conveyed sadness, despair and acute melancholy.

  He rose to his feet. I could see that he was very angry.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  She flinched and stood back a little; her very white hands on which she wore several rings were crossed over her breast, which heaved with emotion.

  She said: “I heard there was an accident. I thought it might be you, Jason. I have been frantic with anxiety.”

  She looked magnificent and yet she managed to be pathetic at the same time. I believed I was looking at the one-time cherished mistress who could no longer please as she once had, was aware of it and heart-broken because of it.

  He said in a low voice: “I must introduce you to Miss Grant, who is from the girls’ Academy.”

  “We have already met,” I said. “And you must excuse me. I must go to see Teresa.” I looked straight at Marcia Martindale. who seemed to express anguish, sorrow and despair all at the same time. “One of our girls had a fall from her horse. That is why I am here. She is asleep in this house and I am here to look after her.”

  I saw the look of relief on the woman’s face. It was certainly the most expressive face I had ever seen. Her feelings were there for everyone to see.

  “I trust…” she began.

  “Oh, it is nothing much,” I said quickly. “The doctor was afraid of concussion and it was thought better to keep her here overnight. Mrs. Keel is watching over her until I go up. Well, good night and thank you, Sir Jason, for your hospitality.”

  I hurried out of the courtyard and went into the house, trying to find my way to the blue room. My exhilaration of a short time ago had sunk to depression.

  What had happened to me in the courtyard? There had been some enchantment about the night. It was the darkness, the food, the wine…his personality, my inexperience perhaps…his conversation which I found stimulating. I must have been completely bemused to imagine for a moment that he was not the man I knew him to be from all that I had heard about him.

  He now had to face the mistress whom he had deserted for an evening’s adventure with someone who was new to him.

  It was just what I would expect of him!

  She had shattered something, that woman. It was just as well for she had brought me back to reality. I hoped I had not been too indiscreet and tried to remember what I had said. How had he managed to carry me along with him? I had almost begun to like him.

  I saw a maid on the stairs and asked her to show me the way to the blue room, which she did.

  Mrs. Keel rose from her chair as I entered.

  “She’s fast asleep. Hasn’t stirred the whole time,” she said. “Are you staying here now?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I shall sleep on one side of the bed. It’s big enough. I shan’t disturb her and if she wakes I shall be there.”

  “That’s right,” said Mrs. Keel. “Well, I’ll say good night.”

  She shut the door quietly. I still felt bemused. It was the food and wine, I told myself. It had nothing to do with him.

  There was a key in the door.

  I turned it, locking myself in with Teresa.

  I felt secure then. Tomorrow if Teresa was well enough—and I knew she would be—we would go back to the school and I, no less than Teresa, would have to forget about our little adventure.

  ***

  I lay beside Teresa, but sleep was elusive. I felt stimulated and excited and was wondering what Sir Jason and Marcia Martindale were saying to each other down there. I co
uld imagine the recriminations. I should like her to know that there was no need for her to lose any sleep on my account. I was not the sort to be taken in by a plausible philanderer. Yet while I was talking to him—although I had been wary and believed that I could see through him with the utmost ease—I had to admit that I had been a trifle fascinated. He was blasé, ruthless, what would be called “a man of the world,” and I realized—and so did he—that I had had little experience of such people. There had been no doubt that he was stressing his interest in me. But innocent as I might be I was fully aware that a man like Jason Verringer would be interested in that certain way in many women at the same time.

  How foolish I had been to think—just for a short while—that he had a special feeling for me. What struck me as so very strange was that I should have told him about my adventure with the man in the forest when I had not even talked to Aunt Patty about that. It had been because we had been sitting there while it grew darker and darker and the bats flew overhead. If it had been broad daylight, I should never have talked as I did.

  Well, it was over. It had come to an abrupt ending with the dramatic appearance of his mistress.

  Forget the man, said my common sense. Go to sleep.

  I closed my eyes and tried. I had locked the door because I had a suspicion that he might come into the bedroom perhaps on a pretext of explaining Marcia Martindale’s sudden appearance. But Teresa was here…a sleeping chaperone. The door was locked and she lay beside me in her sedated sleep.

  At last I dozed.

  When I awoke it was dark. I could not remember where I was for some moments, then memory came flooding back.

  “Teresa!” I said softly.

  “Yes, Miss Grant.”

  “So you’re awake.” I sensed her anxiety and I went on: “You’re not badly hurt, Teresa. You’re going to be walking round normally in a day or two.”

  “I know.”

  “Well then, just try to go to sleep. It’s the middle of the night. There’s nothing to worry about. We shall stay here until the morning and then Emmet will come to collect us.”