The Devil And Drusilla

And so she told Drusilla when he had left them. ‘You do know, my dear, that his nickname is Devilish, and that he is sometimes called Satan. He is supposed to be as hard as nails, and to have the tongue of a viper. As usual, I have to believe that, yet again, rumour lies.’

‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ remarked Drusilla as coolly as she could in an effort to reprove herself for her strong reaction to him.

She paused a moment before resuming. ‘We know little of Lord Devenish other than that he is a charming and considerate person to entertain to tea and muffins. We can scarcely judge of him correctly on such a slight acquaintance.’

‘Oh, you are always so commonsensical, my love. For once allow your feelings rather than your reason to command you.’

Drusilla could not retort that to give way to her feelings might be most unwise where Lord Devenish was concerned—it would be too dangerous—so she wisely said nothing.

‘Forgive me, Rob, if I dashed away as soon as I arrived, but driving in a closed carriage, even for a short distance, always gives me the megrims. I needed to be out—and I was happy to be so. Particularly since I happened across a most charming local family, all bread-and-butter innocence—Mrs Drusilla Faulkner and her young brother, Giles. It was the lad’s misfortune to fall from his horse. Assisting them made me late for my meeting with you’

‘Now, you are not to sneer at them, Hal. They are all that you criticise them for being, and to know them would do your black heart good!’

‘If my black heart were susceptible to tea, muffins and a spinster lady, as well as the brother and sister, then you might be right,’ drawled Devenish, pulling a chair round and sitting astride its seat. ‘Now, pray inform me what has been all a-bubble here that you send for me so peremptorily.’

He made nothing of being called Hal. It had been his childhood name and the only person in the world allowed to use it was square, solid and dependable Robert Stammers who was examining him so quizzically.

‘Before I begin to do so I would wish you to allow one of your labourers, Caleb Hooby, to speak to you on a matter related to the misgivings which had me ordering you to do your duty here at last.’

‘Reproaches, reproaches, Rob, they are all I ever hear from you, but, yes, send him in. I suppose that he has a story to tell?’

‘That he has, and I would prefer him to tell it to you.’

‘Very well, and I had best sit behind your desk, looking as solemn as befits the Lord of All visiting the peasantry both high and low.’

Caleb Hooby proved to be a middle-aged man, decently dressed and nervously turning an old-fashioned brown wide-brimmed hat in his hands.

‘Most kind of you to allow me to speak to you, m’lord, most kind.’

Devenish waved his hand. ‘No matter, pray begin.’

‘It’s this, m’lord. See, I have a daughter Kate, a pretty child, but naughty, just turned sixteen. A sennight since she disappeared late one afternoon. She told her mam that she was off to walk with a neighbour’s girl, Ruth Baker, and would not be long. Not long, she said, m’lord, not long, but she never came back, and Ruth said as how she never met our Kate, nor had arranged to meet her.

‘Not hide nor hair of her has ever been seen since. I feared that she had run away. She had been a wild thing this last few months, and would not be checked. I thrashed her the day before for not helping her mam with the little ‘uns as she should, and mayhap that caused her to leave us. Her mam found that her few bits of clothes had gone, too. One of the labourers on Master Harrington’s estate said that he had seen a lass like her waiting at the crossroads where the London coach picks up passengers.

‘And then, this morning, her mam found her little box of treasures still in the cupboard in the room she shares with the little ‘uns. And when she opened it, it was full of her little bits and pieces, as well as the few pence she saved to buy trinkets for herself and the little ‘uns when the pedlar came round. But what worried us was, why did she leave the money behind if she were going to London? And where got she this, m’lord, as I shall now show you.’

Silent before the man’s anguish, Devenish watched him fumble in his breeches pocket, before he added, ‘And why should she leave such a valuable thing—and her savings—behind if she was off to London to make her fortune? For that was a jest of hers in happier days.’

So saying, he drew from his pocket something that shone and glittered in the bright afternoon sun, which filled the room, and laid it on the desk before Devenish.

Devenish picked it up. It was a necklace of thin fine gold, with a small pendant diamond in a delicately beautiful setting. He examined it carefully and handed it to Robert, who gave a low whistle, and said, ‘Is this as valuable as I think it is?’

Devenish did not answer him, but said in a voice quite unlike his usual mocking one, ‘Tell me the truth, Hooby. Have you ever seen this before?’

‘Nay, m’lord. Never. What should a poor fellow like me have to do with such trinkets?’

‘And you never saw your daughter wearing it?’

‘Neither I nor my missis, m’lord. Who would give her such a thing? She was walking out with Geoffrey Larkin until a month or two ago, but she quarrelled with him. She said as how he was a rough fellow, and not for her.’

‘And she had not walked out with anyone since?’

Hooby nodded agreement.

Without warning his face crumpled and tears stood in his eyes. ‘What has she been adoin’ of, m’lord? For Lily, her next sister, allows as how she has been leaving her bed at night and coming home she knows not when, bein’ asleep herself. And now I learn this very day that more’n one maid round here has left her home and not been seen again. I am afeared for her, m’lord, and ask your help.’

‘Which I shall give you, so far as it in me lies. You will leave the necklace with me, for it might help us to discover who gave it to your daughter and why.’

‘Oh, m’lord, I fear I know why she was given it: as payment—which makes me fear the more for her.’

‘Yes. I understand. But until we know more, we can neither fear the worst nor hope for the best. I have only been at Tresham for a few hours, but I shall make it my business to get to the bottom of this. Go home, comfort your wife and pray for good news.’

Robert saw him out and turned to Devenish, who was propping his chin with his hands and staring into space.

‘That did you credit, Hal,’ he said abruptly. ‘Why cannot you always speak so?’

‘What?’ he exclaimed, staring at Robert as though he were returning from a long way away. ‘Oh, you mean how I spoke to Hooby. Few people in this world deserve any compassion, Rob. When they do, I offer it to them. For the rest—’ and he shrugged.

Robert was gloomy. ‘So, your verdict is the same as mine. Some harm has come to her, I fear.’

‘As does poor Hooby. And do you think this business of a disappearing wench is linked with that of the others—or with anything else? I have already learned that Jeremy Faulkner met a strange death.’

He thought it wiser not to admit—even to Robert—his knowledge of the other deaths and his conversation with Lord Sidmouth.

‘As well as several servant girls, two men have disappeared over the last few years—one of them Jeremy Faulkner and the other Harrington’s valet. Complete mystery surrounds the whole business. The numbers are slowly rising and no one seems to be able to discover the reason, and that is why I became uneasy, Hal, and sent for you.’

‘And is Kate Hooby the first of my people to disappear?’

‘As it chances, yes.’

Devenish rose and paced restlessly round the room. ‘If we were living in a Gothic novel written by Mrs Radcliffe or Monk Lewis, we might suspect that a mysterious animal stalks the woods between Tresham and Marsham Abbey seeking and finding prey. But since this is southern England and the only mysterious animal around here is that huge mongrel which you still favour, then we must dismiss that supposition.’

He came to a stop by a map table on which lay a gazetteer of the district.

‘Allow me to refresh my memory of my estates and those which march with them before I speak with you further. I fear that poor Hooby depends on a broken reed if he thinks that I may be able to help him. No matter. On Saturday, Rob, we shall both attend the fête given by Mrs Drusilla Faulkner in the grounds of Lyford House in order to empty our pockets—and keep our ears open.’

He gave a short scornful laugh and said, ‘But I am not hopeful, Rob, not hopeful at all, despite my brave words to that poor fellow.’

Chapter Three

‘How good of you, my dear Mrs Faulkner, to allow your beautiful grounds to be invaded by so many. Even for such a good cause as the poor children of the parish it is most magnanimous of you.’

Mr Williams, the incumbent at Tresham Magna, a portly middle-aged man, beamed kindly at Drusilla and wished that he were twenty years younger and unmarried that he might offer for such a treasure.

He turned to Devenish who had just strolled over to them, Robert walking at his rear, and said, ‘I do not know, m’lord, whether you have had the honour to be presented to our hostess yet, but if not—’

Devenish cut him short. ‘Oh, but we have met already, quite informally, so it is, unfortunately, too late for all the usual niceties, as I am sure Mrs Faulkner will agree.’