The Devil And Drusilla. Paula Marshall
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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.’
Drusilla had already been busily admiring m’lord’s splendour. Beside him everyone looked provincial, or as though they were striving to appear as fine as he did—but had failed. Only Robert in his sensible countryman’s clothing had not sought to compete with his friend and master.
Devenish was turned out so as to emphasise that even an event as small as this was worthy of his full attention. His bottle-green coat, his cream-coloured breeches, his perfect boots, his splendid cravat—a waterfall, no less—and his carefully dressed hair, gave him the air of just having sat either for a portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, or for a fashion plate designed to sell a Bond Street tailor’s wares.
Now she smiled at him and the parson, saying in her quiet, pleasant voice, ‘Since we have met, m’lord, allow me to present to you one of our guests—that is, if you have not already met him informally. I mean Mr Leander Harrington.’
She gestured at that gentleman who had just walked up to them.
‘No, indeed,’ said Devenish languidly, ‘I have not yet had the honour.’
‘No introductions needed,’ interjected Mr Harrington before Drusilla could speak. ‘I do not subscribe to the pantomimes of an outworn society, you understand, Devenish. And since we each know to whom we are speaking, that is enough. We are men together, no more and no less.’
‘Well, we are certainly not women,’ drawled Devenish, ‘so I must agree with you in that, if nothing else. On the other hand, if Mrs Faulkner had not mentioned your name beforehand I would have been reduced to asking my good friend Stammers here who the devil you were!’
Several of the bystanders, previous victims of Mr Harrington’s Radical views, sniggered behind their hands at this put down.
Nothing ever put Leander Harrington down, though. He smiled. ‘Remiss of me, I suppose, not to mention that I am Harrington of Marsham Abbey—for what such titles are worth. I am but