Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (29 page)

"But—so do you."

Devenish looked up in a shy, shamefaced fashion. "I expect it
sounds purely crazy but—but there
is
something
here. Something not of—this world."

Montelongo folded his arms and, having privately made up his
mind to stay as close to Tyndale as was possible, rumbled, "You speak
of Evil Spirits! Me
very
sure me sleep out!"

"Well, before you do, you Friday-faced fraud, pick up your
box!" said Tyndale. "I can manage this trunk. Dev, can you bring the
greatcoats and dressing cases?"

Laden, they started back to the castle, Tyndale calling to the
groom to take the chaise around to the stableyard which he supposed to
be further along the drive, beyond a stand of elm trees. It began to
rain again as they were climbing the steps, and the wind blew up
gustier and colder.

"First thing—" Montelongo shivered—"me build one fine
campfire."

"Hey!" shouted Devenish, stumbling forward with his load.

He was much too late. The door slammed shut before he reached
the top step.

"Oh—damn!" he groaned. "Hurry and fish out the key, Tyndale!"

Craig set down his trunk and began to grope in his waistcoat
pocket.

Montelongo offered a disgruntled, "Me lay twenty pounds you no
find it! This place bad magic!"

"Nonsense! I'm sure… I put it— No! By Jove! I left it in the
lock!"

Montelongo uttered a triumphant exclamation. Tyndale said
indignantly, "I didn't take your bet! Put down that box and help find
the thing, you pagan mushroom!"

Amused by this appellation, Montelongo put the box down and
began to prowl about, keen eyes searching. Fearing the worst, Devenish
dumped the greatcoats atop the bedding and made his way to a window.
Shielding his eyes with both hands, he peered inside. "Never mind the
key," he called. "It's lying on the floor just inside the door. Craig,
you dolt, you must have dropped it!" He tried the window. "Locked,
blast it! Well, we'll have to try the others."

Up to a point, the idea was a good one. A few windows could be
reached from the wide front steps; the rest, however, proved to be set
too high to be investigated. At some time in the recent past the castle
had been fitted with comparatively modem windows, but the three that
were accessible were also securely locked. Montelongo was dispatched to
the stables in search of a ladder, while Devenish and Tyndale roamed
the building, looking for a likely means of entrance. By the time
Montelongo reappeared, carrying a serviceable ladder, they were all
soaked, but no closer to entering Tyndale's new home. It was, in fact,
another half-hour before they were able to do so, having been obliged
to break one of the panes so as to reach the lock.

"An inauspicious beginning," grumbled Devenish, peering around
the dimness of a cold, shrouded saloon.

"It will be more inauspicious did someone see us creeping in
and fancy us to be burglars," Tyndale pointed out, crossing to the door.

Montelongo hurried to unlock the main door and carry the boxes
inside. He and Tyndale then took up the large trunk and prepared to
haul it upstairs. Devenish, his arms full, kicked the door closed and
followed them to the stairs. "I hope there's some food about," he
remarked. "Ain't too hungry now, but by—"

"Look out!" shouted Tyndale. He and Montelongo dropped their
burden and leaped aside. The trunk they had earlier deposited on the
first landing had apparently not been securely settled. It had
gradually yielded to the pull of gravity and now came hurtling down the
stairs to fetch up with a crash against its fellow, missing Devenish by
a hair. It was a sturdy trunk, metal-bound and heavy, and he whistled
his relief that it had missed him.

"Are you all right?" Tyndale asked. "Why in the deuce didn't
you jump for it?"

"I was behind you, if you recall. Did not see the blasted
thing coming. What the devil made it shoot down like that?"

Tyndale glanced up to the landing. "I suppose we must have
failed to anchor it securely. We were in such haste to bring the things
in out of the rain."

"Almost," grunted Montelongo, "Mr. Devenish got brain box
broken."

"Yes." Tyndale scanned his cousin frowningly. "And I wonder
what people would have said of that!"

"Oh, pshaw! You would scarce murder me with a trunk, coz!
Besides, Monty was here—he could swear it was purely accidental."

"You think folks believe word of ignorant savage?" Montelongo
uttered a scornful, "Hah!"

"And if my pagan was Caucasian as you or I," said Tyndale
grimly, "this little island is largely populated by people who consider
those dwelling in the next
county
to be
'foreigners' and as such, quite untrustworthy. Can you not imagine how
much confidence they would repose in the word of a
Canadian!
A
man in
my
service, known to be very
loyal to me?"

The cousins looked at one another.

Devenish said rather uncertainly, "Well—nothing happened."

"No. But do you know, I begin to think your presence is a
decided hazard. To me! Are you quite convinced you'd not prefer to
return to your gentle Sussex?"

"Perfectly sure. All you have to do, coz, is make very sure
nothing happens to me."

"That may well prove to be a two-edged sword," Tyndale warned,
his eyes sombre.

"Fustian!" Never one to remain glum above a minute, Devenish
scoffed, "We shall likely go on comfortably enough."

The evening that followed was, however, somewhat less than
comfortable. As a result of their perfunctory tour of inspection, the
book room was selected as the initial headquarters. The dining room was
warmer, but the long table was rather daunting, and Devenish had taken
an aversion to the tapestry that hung above the long oak credenza
against one wall. This monumental work depicted a boar hunt undertaken
by a number of individuals caught in unlikely poses, their flat, pale
faces and gory pursuits causing him to express the conviction that
never had he seen such a set of rum touches, and that to spend an
entire evening with them staring at him was more than he could endure.
The book room, despite a pervasive odour of mildew, was a large chamber
made considerably less forbidding by the addition of a modern
pegged-oak floor and, when some fine Sheraton chairs were unearthed
from dusty Holland covers, was pronounced more the thing.

While Devenish and Tyndale embarked on a search for candles,
Montelongo descended into the lower regions in the hope of finding
firewood. He returned in a great hurry, clutching a scuttle full of
logs and shavings, and with his bronzed features markedly pale. He
insisted that he had been "watched" throughout his foragings, and
advised Tyndale that much as he appreciated his situation, if the Major
decided to dwell permanently at Castle Tyndale, he would be obliged to
find himself a new valet! Tyndale laughed at him, and said his megrims
were the result of the roast pork they had enjoyed at dinner last
evening, but he noted that the Iroquois was even less loquacious than
usual, and that often during the balance of the evening, his dark gaze
would flash uneasily to the dimmer corners of the large room.

As soon as the fire was established, the box of bedding
provided by the housekeeper at Steep Drummond was brought in to be set
by the hearth. By that time, the pangs of hunger were at work and a
small table was also borne over to the fireside to serve their dining
needs. Thanks to the friendship Montelongo had struck up with General
Drummond's irascible French chef, they were enabled to eat quite well.
The chef had provided a basket containing slices of a fine ham, some
excellent cheeses, two fresh loaves with an ample wedge of butter, a
cold roast chicken, some grapes from St. Andrew's succession houses,
and two bottles of a fair Burgundy. The inroads made on this fare by
three healthy young men served to impress upon them the need for
Montelongo to journey into the village next morning. A discussion as to
the supplies needed resulted in the compilation of a list, at the head
of which were a cook, housekeeper, footman, and two maids, these
prospective employees to repair to the castle immediately.

The food, wine, and warmth produced a pleasant feeling that
all was not as black as had at first appeared. Evening deepened into
night, and they chatted drowsily, but always at the edges of two minds
nibbled the sly demons of unease. Devenish, his easy grin and cheerful
commonplaces giving no least sign of his inner apprehension, could not
dismiss the grievous cry they had heard that afternoon, and Montelongo
alternately pondered the rapid and unexplained descent of the heavy
trunk and his persistent sense of being under constant but invisible
surveillance.

The candles were burning low before Tyndale stood, stretched,
and said he was going up to bed.

"Up where?" asked Devenish, staring at him.

"I think I'll take the large bedchamber on the west front. It
has apparently been prepared for me, and I fancy it must have been the
master suite."

"But—it will be freezing up there! Why not bed down here
tonight, and'—"

"I will be damned," said Tyndale, "if I'll allow myself to be
scared into bivouacking in my own house!"

"Who said anything about being scared?" Devenish demanded,
jumping up and snatching up blankets and sheets. "It just seems stupid
to leave such a fine fire."

With a broad grin, Tyndale shrugged. "Then by all means, stay
down here."

Devenish glared at him and stalked from the room.

The bedchamber he had selected was next to Tyndale's. The
large canopied bed was free of Holland covers but not made up.
Grumbling to himself, Devenish began to spread his blankets atop the
mattress. Montelongo stalked in, stared from the blankets to Devenish,
and with one sweep of his long arm cleared the offending articles away.
Devenish meekly assisted him in the business of sheets and blankets and
eiderdown, each in its correct order of business, until a very tidy
arrangement had been completed. The Iroquois departed while Devenish
was disrobing, and came back a few minutes later, carrying a warming
pan which he tucked between the sheets while eyeing the young man
appraisingly. "You," he imparted, "peel good. For small white man."

Devenish stiffened and prepared to devastate him with some
well-chosen words. There was a twinkle in the unfathomable dark eyes,
however, and it was dashed difficult to devastate anyone while one's
teeth chattered so. Clambering hastily between the sheets, his feet
encountered the comfort of the warming pan and he forgot indignation.
"You," he shivered, "are—are a j-jewel! If ever you l-leave my cousin,
come to me. My own man stayed with the m-military when I—er—left it,
and now that I'm to be sh-sh-shackled, I'll have to find myself a
valet."

Montelongo thanked him gravely and went off to the adjoining
room, where he advised Tyndale he meant to stay by him all night, just
in case an uninvited guest should put in an appearance. Tyndale
chuckled and enquired as to who was protecting whom, but he was
disturbed, nonetheless. He had never before seen the proud Indian show
fear.

Devenish had set his candle on the table beside his bed and
had instructed Montelongo to leave it burning. The room was so large,
however, as to make the circle of light pathetically small. He found
himself straining his eyes into the surrounding darkness, whereupon he
closed them and tried to go to sleep. It had been a long, tiring day,
and downstairs he had almost dropped off several times, but now that he
wooed slumber his brain became fiendishly wide awake, his thoughts
whirling helter-skelter fashion from one worry to the next. The shadows
of past events weighed heavily on his mind until he felt crushed by
sympathy for the mother he had never known, and for his father's sad
death.

Outside, the night seemed full of movement and noise; the rain
pattered, the wind sighed in the chimney and set the windows to
rattling. Normal noises, of course. Certainly nothing to cause alarm.
He concentrated on his beloved Yolande… her sweet face, and those
heavenly eyes that could be so tender, or… sometimes, so vexed with him…

He could not have said what woke him, but he started up
suddenly, his heart thundering. The candle was out, the room
oppressively dark with only the lighter squares of the windows
relieving the gloom. The storm was still blustering. Perhaps a branch
had come down, or a gate had slammed somewhere. He pulled the eiderdown
closer around his ears and settled down again.

"Alain… Alain… !"

His breath congealed in his throat. His eyes shot open and he
lay tensely unmoving, Tyndale never called him by his Christian name.
Monty certainly would not. And besides—it had been the voice of—
a
woman
! How stupid! He must have dreamed—

"Alain… oh—Alain… my son…" His mind reeled. He thought
dazedly, "My God! My
God
!" And leaping out of
bed, grabbed for his tinderbox, only to pause, frozen with new terror.

A faint glow shone from the mantel. By that unearthly light,
he could see his mother's portrait distinctly. His own infant likeness
and the rose arbour wherein they had posed was gone, and there was only
her face, transformed into a nightmare countenance like some hideous
caricature of the beauty that once had been. The eyes stared from
great, hollow sockets. The cheeks were sunken, the mouth gapingly
down-trending as if in a despairing scream. Only the hair was as lovely
as before, of itself seeming to render the other features even more
ghastly.

Devenish wet dry lips and battled a sick weakness. "M-m-mama…
?" he croaked.

"Avenge me…" came the poignant moan. "Alain… avenge us… !"

The outer door crashed open. Tyndale, holding up a branch of
candles, and with Montelongo's dark face peering apprehensively over
his shoulder, said, "Dev? Are you all right?"