Deliver us from Evil (53 page)

Milady clenched her fists; then, with a visible effort to contain her fury, she turned away. 'It is precisely because you have inherited the Pasha's powers,' she whispered, 'that you must come with us now, to discover the book and see if you can read it.'

Lord Rochester yawned. '
I
am not in the mood.'

Robert stepped forward to join Milady. He was clutching at his stomach; for his pain had returned, borne on the wings of Lord Rochester's pleasure. 'And yet you know,' he said coldly, 'that time is running out.'

'Let it.' Lord Rochester yawned again. 'For as
I
have just said, Signor Devilfuck
-
I
am not in the mood.'
He stretched; then sighed, as though the tedium of the business had grown suddenly too oppressive to endure. 'You go to London,' he ordered. 'Discover the book. Keep it for me there. The plague, it is said, is dying out, and the Court will soon be returning to Whitehall - when it does, then so shall
I
. It is best you go ahead, and prepare for my arrival - for that is how minions should ever serve their lord.'

Milady breathed in deeply. Robert saw her place her hand within her cloak, and he thought of the delicate knife that she always wore there, thought she was preparing to draw it from its sheath. But again she stifled her rage, and slowly turned and crossed to the door. Once there, though, she paused and glanced back. 'You should enjoy your pleasure,' she hissed suddenly, 'while you are still able to, my Lord. It will not long provide you with an excuse for folly and pride. For enjoyment in our breed, if taken too fast, is like the sting of a bee: once lost, it converts its owner to a drone.' She studied him a moment more, then dropped a sudden curtsy, in London, then, my Lord. We shall expect you there.'

'. . . the misguided follower climbs with pain

Mountains of whimseys heaped in his own brain;

Tumbling from thought to thought,

falls headlong down

Into doubt's boundless sea
..
.'

The Earl of Rochester, 'A Satyr Against Mankind'

‘
I

hey left that same night. Milady's rage continued icy but seemed tempered as well with a nervous, febrile excitement, so that she was forever leaning out from the window, marking with impatience the passage of the miles. Robert had never seen her so agitated; and he began to wonder what it was she might be hoping for, from a book which she had once desired to see destroyed. Certainly, there seemed no place in her mind for their former minuet of love: she would hold him sometimes, or lay his head upon her lap, stroking his hair; but he could see in her eyes that the game had been suspended, that their dance had broken up. The book, the book; she thought of nothing but the book. And so Robert, absorbing her distraction, found his own mind darkening as well, as though his doubts and fears were a swarm of locusts, stripping him bare once again of all his hope.

Arriving in London, he saw that the marks of the plague did indeed seem less violent; and that life, like the flow of blood through long-cramped limbs, was returning to the streets. The plague's decline puzzled Robert; nor did he contemplate it altogether with relief. For he could not believe that a visitation so deadly in its origin could merely fade away; and he remembered the Marquise's promise of a further terror related to the plague. What that might be, he dreaded to think; but he also knew, approaching Mr Aubrey's address, that he was still unwilling to pay the price she had demanded. For if they did find the book - if Lord Rochester could read its secret script - what need then would they have of the Marquise?

And Robert knew, the moment they had introduced themselves to Mr Aubrey and explained their mission to him, that the book was theirs indeed. For although Mr Aubrey seemed a little flustered, staring at the two of them with evident consternation, he had known at once which book it was that they had meant; and after stammering nervously for a couple of seconds, he had turned and passed into a box-cluttered room,
I
do apologise,' he muttered,
I
have only lately arrived in town. So much still to do - and so little time - for
I
have never been - alas - the
best ordered
of men.' He began to rummage through the boxes, so that books and papers were soon being scattered round the room, until at last -when it seemed that every scrap had been exhumed - he gave a sudden cry of triumph and rose up from his knees. 'Here!' he exclaimed. He brandished a book above his head. 'Was this the one you meant?'

Milady seized it from him hungrily. 'Yes, yes, this is it.' But as she opened the pages, she shook her head, and disappointment darkened the eagerness in her eyes. She pointed to the script, and glanced round at Robert. He studied it for a moment and then, like her, he shook his head.

'Alas,' said Mr Aubrey, squatting on a box,
I
am afraid it is hopeless. No one even knows what the script itself might be.'

Milady narrowed her eyes, in that case,' she murmured, 'you would not object if we were to .
..
borrow
...
it a while?'

'Well,' Mr Aubrey stammered, clearly startled,
I
. . . well, that is to say .
..
goodness me
...'

'We would, of course' - she reached inside her cloak - 'be willing to pay.'

She tossed the purse across and, as Mr Aubrey inspected it, his eyes began to goggle. 'Well
...
ha ha
...
to borrow it, you say?' He swallowed, then shrugged, then shrugged once again, it is not as if-ha ha -
I
ever read it,
I
suppose. So yes,' he nodded quietly, 'yes! -borrow it, please! For of what value has it ever been to me? None.
None!
Although . . .' - he frowned, and suddenly paused - 'there was,
I
suppose, that one occasion once . . .'

Robert interrupted him. 'What occasion, sir?'

'Oh, it was nothing, nothing at all . . .' Mr Aubrey stammered and laughed. 'But there was once,
I
remember, a series of crimes
..
.'

'And these crimes, sir?' Robert interrupted him again, not bothering now to conceal his excitement. 'Were you asked to help solve them by a militia captain?'

Mr Aubrey gazed at him, startled. 'Why, yes, sir,' he nodded.

'Was his name Captain Foxe?'

'Why, yes, sir,' Mr Aubrey nodded again.

Robert stood frozen for a moment; and suddenly he felt tears prickling his eyes, knowing that his father had not been utterly forgotten, hearing his name be recognised after so long, so long. Robert blinked back his tears. 'Captain Foxe,' he whispered, 'was my father, sir.' He stepped forward and gripped Mr Aubrey's arms. 'Do you not remember me? My name was Robert Foxe.
I
came once to fish for chub in your stream.'

Mr Aubrey gazed at him in astonishment,
I
. . . you
...
well -
I
do declare.' He frowned. 'You are very much changed, sir, indeed.'

indeed,' Robert smiled. 'Even my name.'

'Yes, yes.' Mr Aubrey nodded. 'For
I
might then have recognised it, when you left it with my servant. And yet
I
had thought you were dead - for they told me you were - and that is why . . .' He began to rummage through his pockets and he drew out a key. 'That is why . . .' He hurried out through the door, ran up the stairs; and then Robert heard crashing from the room above, until at length Mr Aubrey came hurrying back down the stairs. 'Here, sir,' he cried waving a thin sheaf of papers, if
I
had known you still lived -
I
swear it -
I
would have sought you out long, long before.'

'Why,' Robert asked, as he took the sheaf, 'what is this?'

'A letter from your father.'

Robert stared at it in astonishment. 'When did he write it?'

'On the day that he died.' Mr Aubrey swallowed; then he flushed bright red, and seemed convulsed by his shame, if only
...,'
he stammered, 'ifonly
I
had known
..."
He reached for Milady's purse; thrust it back into her hand. 'Please . . . the book
...
it is the merest compensation,
I
know
..."

But Robert took the purse and handed it back; then reached inside his pocket for a purse of his own. As he passed it across, he raised the letter from his father to his lips. He kissed it softly and, as though by transfusion, felt his courage and his sense of resolve redoubled. He thought of his father, of his undaunted will; and he prayed that but a portion of that spirit might be his. Then he offered up a silent vow that, wherever the way ahead might lead, there he would follow it, even to the very bowels of Hell; for he would not, he could not be turned aside now.

It was Robert's determination to keep the book from Lightborn, for he suspected that if he did not, then the precious manuscript would soon afterwards be delivered into the hands of the Marquise. Milady agreed; and it was therefore resolved that, rather than linger in London, they would rent from Mr Aubrey his abandoned Broadchalke home. Pausing only to leave a message for Lord Rochester in Whitehall, they embarked straight away upon the Western road. As their carriage lumbered past Mortlake, Robert saw how Milady gripped the book tightly against her chest, like a tigress guarding her kill; nor would she release her hold until it was clear that no one was pursuing them, and that their discovery was safe.

In the first weeks after their arrival in Broadchalke, however, Robert barely glanced at the precious book; instead he lavished all his care upon the letter, which he imagined, as he read it, he heard spoken by his father. For it had been written, he supposed, to sound from beyond the grave: to plead for his support, to inform him and inspire. Certainly, in almost everything his father had described, there seemed confirmation of the Pasha's tale; confirmation - and hints as well of something more. For Robert could be confident now, as he had suspected earlier, that Stonehenge was indeed the focus of a mighty line of power; and that Tadeus had known this, and had sought to make the power his own. His inspiration, Robert thought, could only have been in Prague; for it was there that Tadeus had practised his arts; and doubtless too had served to rescue his god. Yet the question of how he had done so remained unanswered, along with other mysteries which the letter could not resolve. For the book itself was still unread; and thereby continued the greatest mystery of all.

Then one morning a letter came from Lord Rochester, announcing his intention to arrive the following week. Milady read out the letter with a fierce and naked joy. As she did so, Robert found himself wondering again about the nature of her obsession with the book, for her eagerness - as she stalked the house later, waiting for Lord Rochester to come - seemed as desperate and predatory as the Marquise's had been; and yet when he asked her, she would toss her head, and deny that she wanted anything for herself, it is only for you, sweet Lovelace - all for you.' Robert did not choose to press her; for her mood, since their arrival in Bro
adchalke, had been brittle, and
her temper short. Yet despite his fears to the contrary, she seemed not to love him any the less, for she would sometimes hold him in her arms as they worked, or surprise him with a kiss; and Robert, for a moment, would hope their minuet had been resumed. But again he knew better than to press her; for if he did, her eyes would turn to molten ice, and she would shrug him away and glide out from the room. Later he would hear her footsteps, pacing to and fro across the room overhead; and he would wonder all the more what her hopes were from the book, and why she should await them with such impatience and concern.

The week passed, and a second, and then a third; and then at last Lord Rochester arrived. His cheeks seemed flushed and, as he entered the house, Robert felt a tingling in his veins and a stabbing in his stomach,
I
apologise,' said Lord Rochester, glancing at him.
I
had forgotten your guts can sense when
I
have killed. Yet in truth,
I
had but little choice in the matter, for
I
have lately been drunk for several weeks on end. How the devil else was
I
to cleanse the fumes out from my head?' He glanced across at Milady, who was waiting at the table, the book by her side. 'Let us trust it enables me to read the poxy thing.'

He sat down, and opened the book; but it was clear at once that he could not decipher the script. He stared at the book in silence for a minute; then he closed it again, and leaned back in his seat, it may be,' he said at length,
I
shall need another kill.'