Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (10 page)

Yr. affectionate cousin, Yolande

His lady's willingness to pick a date for their wedding had
the effect of lifting a great weight from Devenish's spirits. It was
silly, of course, but lately he had been haunted by the fear that
although she was undeniably fond of him, she meant to cry off. That
terrifying spectre could now be banished forever, thank the Lord! He
thought absently that he must buy a ring for the sweet chit; and that
it would never do for her to jaunter about the countryside without his
escort. The reference to his father's death shadowed his joy, however.
He had always understood that Stuart Devenish had died as the result of
a fall, and that the shock had caused his wife to miscarry and soon
follow both her husband and stillborn child to the grave. A most
frightful tragedy for two young lives to have been so suddenly ended,
and a third never quite begun. But why Yolande should have been upset
by it at this late date was as inexplicable as her remark anent
allowing "the past to remain so."

Baffled, he glanced up, and was further disconcerted to find
both his cousin and his uncle watching him.

Craig, his own hopes shattered, asked quietly, "Have I to
offer you my congratulations, coz?"

"No law says you must, but I'll accept 'em, with thanks.
Sir"—he turned blithely to the Colonel—"since Craig has proven to be
out of leading strings and does not stand in need of my aid, with your
permission I shall go and instruct my man to pack a valise."

"But you have
not
my permission."

Devenish had already started to the door and he swung around
saying a surprised, "What? But, sir, you surely understand that I must
go and—"

"And pester your betrothed? I see no reason for it."

The tone was unwontedly harsh. Taken aback, Devenish said,
"Pester her? Why—no, I hope I will not—"

"I am informed on the best authority that Yolande is escorted
by three outriders, is followed by her maid and personal groom, and
accompanied by Mrs. Arabella."

"Oh, no! That prosing antidote? And if Aunty took her
revolting animal along, poor Yolande will be driven to distraction, I
must—"

"Learn to refrain from speaking disparagingly of a lady?"
snapped his uncle.

Again shocked by that unfamiliarly cold voice, Devenish
flushed scarlet. "I did not mean— That is, I intended no— Oh, gad, sir!
You know very well that the woman is insupportable."

"To the contrary. I know that whatever her small failings, she
is devoted to her niece. Now, have you by any chance forgot there was
more to Yolande's letter than the matter of your betrothal?"

Stunned, Devenish returned to his chair. "No, sir. My
apologies."

Colonel Tyndale thought, "Dammit, there was no call to hurt
the boy!" And knowing his harshness was born of a dread of the next few
minutes, he drew a hand across his brow and muttered, "I'm sorry if I
spoke with unnecessary heat, Dev. But Yolande had told me part of what
she intended to write, and I'll own I don't relish telling you of it."

Much embarrassed, Craig came to his feet. "You will be wishing
for your privacy, sir. I am the one should go. Besides, I've a long
journey before me and might as well get started."

"Journey?" echoed Devenish suspiciously. 'To where, may I ask?"

"Why, it seems I have inherited my father's home in Ayrshire.
I hope I may find it, but—"

"You mean Castle Tyndale?" Devenish sprang up, his eyes
sparkling. "The devil? That's less than ten miles from Steep Drummond!
And I suppose you'd no idea you would be following the same route as my
lady, had you?"

Craig's head tilted back a fraction, and his eyelids assumed a
bored droop. "Since you appear to be betrothed to the lady, I fail to
see your concern. No gentleman could approach her under such
circumstances."

"No
gentleman!"
flared Devenish. "Why,
you slippery Captain Sharp, you'll not pursue her while
I
live to prevent it! If you really seek your blasted inheritance, I'll
ride with you, and let me tell you—"

"You—will—do—no—such—thing!" thundered the Colonel, standing
and suddenly looking to be seven feet tall. "Sit down! Both of you!"

When his two dismayed nephews had complied, he went to the
sideboard, fortified himself with a glass of cognac, and strode back to
the mantel, blinking a little because of the unaccustomed haste with
which he had swallowed the strong liquor. For a moment he stood there,
swirling the brandy in his glass and frowning down at it. "You will not
like what I have to tell you," he said slowly. "It should have been
told long since, but from the contents of your solicitor's letter,
Craig, I collect you have never been informed, and I'll own I have kept
the truth from you, Alain." He looked deliberately from one
apprehensive young face to the other, and sighed. "You were aware that
my brother and sister were twins," he began. "I suppose of the two of
us boys, I resembled my father more closely. I was the stolid plodder,
while Jonas was handsome and light-hearted, but with the devil's own
temper—always into some mischief or other. Despite our different
natures, we were deeply attached, but between Esme, your mother, Dev,
and Jonas, Craig's father, there was a bond such as I have seldom seen
between brother and sister."

Devenish said, "I knew they were twins, of course. And I
believe you said they looked alike."

"Very much. Your mama was a singularly beautiful girl. I
remember…" The Colonel frowned, his eyes becoming remote and sad. "I
remember Jonas bragging that with her looks his twin would wed no less
than a duke, and even he would scarce be good enough for her!"

"Instead of which," Devenish put in, "she married the younger
son of an impoverished house. Her twin must not have thought much of my
papa, eh, sir?"

Alastair's sombre gaze drifted to him. "Jonas was furious, and
did all in his power to prevent the match. He even appealed to my
father, but by that time—" He shrugged. "He was such a wild young
rascal. He had already been out twice, and was obliged to flee the
country and stay abroad for six months as a consequence of one of those
meetings."

"Killed his man, did he, sir?" asked Devenish, his eyes
sparkling. "By thunder, but he must have been a dynamic fellow! I wish
I might have seen a likeness of him."

Craig threw a faintly bored glance at him. The Colonel, vexed
by the interruption, said, "You would have, save that my father had
every trace of Jonas destroyed, or so he thought. Esme kept a miniature
of him, and after her death I acquired it." He walked to the small
table beside his chair and opened the drawer. "I intend to bequeath it
to you, Craig. But I will ask that you allow me to keep it until my
death." He looked down at the small painting with wistful eyes, then
held it out.

Craig glanced at it, his own eyes enigmatic. "I have a larger
one in Canada. Thank you, sir."

The Colonel's brows lifted slightly, but without comment he
handed the miniature to Devenish.

The result was a breathless exclamation. Paling, Devenish
gazed down at a man that, save for the style of dress, might have been
himself. The fair curling hair, the wideset deep blue eyes alight with
laughing impudence, the straight nose and sensitive mouth were almost
identical. Only in the set of the chin was there a difference;
Devenish's inclined to be more square than that of his long-dead uncle.
"The resemblance," he gasped, "is—is—"

"Uncanny." The Colonel nodded, retrieving the miniature and
gazing at it. "I told you they were twins, and you take after your
mama, rest her soul." He glanced at Craig, wondering if the boy might
resent that close resemblance, but the strong face was without
expression.

Devenish asked, "Sir, what happened? If the attachment between
my mother and her twin was as deep as you say, I would have thought
Uncle Jonas could have influenced her against the marriage."

"Do not imagine that he did not try." Tyndale replaced the
miniature in the drawer and closed it, but remained standing, hands
linked behind him, facing these two so dissimilar young men, and
dreading what he must tell them. "Perhaps the most ironic thing about
it," he went on, "was that Jonas had introduced them, for all through
school and University, Stuart Devenish was his dearest friend. Jonas
reproached himself bitterly for that, but it was too late; Esme adored
her brother, but she had her share of spirit and determination, and
nothing would sway her from Stuart. She told me once that the instant
she laid eyes on him, her heart was given. And I am very sure it was
the same with him. They delayed their wedding, hoping Jonas would come
home for the ceremony, but he refused, and they were married in his
absence. A year later, Alain was born. Jonas was still in Belgium. When
he did return he seemed less vindictive towards Stuart. It was not his
way to hold a grudge, for he was all fury one minute and sweet
contrition the next, so I began to hope the breach might be mended.
During Jonas's absence, Stuart's elder brother had been killed in a
racing accident and Stuart had inherited Devencourt, the family's
country seat in Gloucestershire. My dear sister delighted in the house,
but she had never forgotten our happy days in Scotland, and it was
there that you were born, Alain. You were at Castle Tyndale again when
you were nearing your first birthday, and when Jonas came back from
Belgium I told him I meant to journey to Ayshire for the occasion. I
could scarce have been more pleased when he agreed to accompany me."

He paused, smiling nostalgically. "Shall I ever forget that
reunion? Stuart had been deeply troubled by the quarrel and was more
than willing to let bygones be bygones, but I'll own I was a little
apprehensive. My father was ailing, and was at that time dwelling in
Cornwall because of the milder climate. He had already announced the
disposition of his estates. Because of his impatience with his heir,
Aspenhill, which should by rights have gone to Jonas, had been deeded
over to me, and Jonas was the legal owner of Castle Tyndale. As a
result, he had every right to demand that Stuart leave. However, he
marked the resemblance immediately he saw you, Alain, and when he
learned they had named you after him, he was so proud it was—I see I
have surprised you, Craig. Your cousin is called Alain Jonas Devenish,
you were unaware, eh? Your own middle name is Winters, you said?"

Craig drawled with a touch of irony, "To be precise, sir,
Craig Stuart Winters Tyndale."

"Now—by thunder!" muttered the Colonel. "So the affection held
true—in spite of everything."

Eager to hear the rest of the story, Devenish prompted, "Not
so unusual, surely? They had been friends in childhood and were now
brothers-in-law. But something occurred to disturb this truce, did it,
sir?"

Behind his back, the Colonel's hands tightened. "Yes. The
castle. Ah, you may well look surprised, but Jonas was possessed of odd
fancies at times. He had always disliked the place, and had told me on
several occasions that he never would live there, and that our father
had given it to him out of malice because it was haunted; as indeed,
legend has it. He could not be easy there, and once—God! Why did I not
heed him?—he said he felt the Sword of Damocles poised above his head,
and he had best get back to town before it fell!"

He was silent, lips tightly gripped together, eyes gazing into
a past that only he could see. Watching him, Craig saw the gleam of
sweat on the high forehead, and his own inner apprehension deepened.

"About a week after the birthday party," the Colonel resumed,
"Esme became slightly unwell. She was increasing, and at first none of
us was too much concerned. It was just a cold, she said. But she was
slow to recover. Jonas blamed the climate and asked Stuart if he could
take Esme back to Town. In point of fact, I doubt his fears were
justified. It was cold, but it was a dry cold, lacking London's
penetrating dampness, and it was my impression that my sister throve in
the place. Jonas, however, became more and more worried."

"Was my father not concerned at all, sir?" Devenish asked
curiously.

"He was willing that Esme should come back to Town. He
worshipped her and would have done anything she desired. But Esme
wanted her child to be born in Scotland. As I said, she was a
strong-minded girl, and she only laughed at what she called Jonas's
'fey fancies.' As the weeks went by, Jonas grew more and more irked by
Stuart's refusal to order his wife to leave Castle Tyndale, and I must
admit I also was becoming anxious for Esme's welfare. Jonas began to
sneer that Stuart dwelt under the cat's foot—that sort of nonsensical
talk. It was I think inspired partly by worry for your mama, Dev, and
partly by his own fear of the castle. Fortunately, Stuart's disposition
was amiable, and he could usually tease Jonas out of his dismals. But
one day…"

Again he paused. The room was hushed, and the soft rain which
had begun to fall sounded very loud as it pattered against the window.
The cousins exchanged an uneasy glance, already half guessing what was
to come.

"Stuart," the Colonel said heavily, "loved the sea, and it was
his habit to go up to the battlements every day, weather permitting,
and look out over the cliffs. He was there one afternoon when Jonas
came to me in great agitation, saying that Esme had fainted in her
dressing room, and that with or without her consent he intended to take
her down to London at once and place her under the care of a most
excellent physician. I was alarmed, naturally, and I made haste to my
sister's room, while Jonas went rushing in search of Stuart. I found
Esme laid down upon her bed, with her woman fussing over her. I could
hear Jonas and Stuart shouting. I remember thinking, 'My God! What a
time to quarrel with poor little Esme lying here so ill!' and I started
up to the battlements to try to quiet them."