Victoria Holt (17 page)

“Very well. It was the third generation of Verringers. The old Queen had died and Scottish James was on the throne. Do you know it has been the curse of our family that we cannot get heirs. I know it is a bit of an obsession with many families who can’t. But it was our particular problem and in those days when a family was new to the nobility it had to be built up on a firm foundation. You see, even now I have no son to follow me; and my brother had two daughters. They like the direct line and the family name to be there because it belongs there and not because one of the daughters has obliged her husband to take it. Well, this particular Verringer of Colby Hall could only get a daughter and she was the plainest creature ever to be seen in Devonshire…so plain that, in spite of her fortune, no husband could be found for her. Now she must get a child, and to do that she must marry and the husband must keep the sacred name of Verringer. Time went on. She was thirty years old and did not grow any more attractive with the passing of the years. Her father was desperate, and one day he sent a band of his servants armed, to hide in the woods and to bring home to him any traveler who was moderately handsome, in good health and looked as though he might be capable of begetting children.”

“You are making this up.”

“I’ll swear that it is one of my family’s legends. Do you want to hear what happened?”

I nodded.

“Well, in time they brought back a young man. He had been riding alone through the forest. He was handsome, vigorous and most attractive in appearance. Only because there had been so many of them and he was alone had they been able to overpower him. When my ancestor saw him he was overjoyed. So was his ugly daughter. ‘Marry my daughter,’ said the father, ‘and you shall have lands and possessions.’ ‘I have lands and possessions, and no wish to marry your daughter,’ said the young man. The father was very angry and ordered him to be put into one of the dungeons—yes, we have a few. They are used for cold storage now. They were to keep him there until he agreed. But the weeks passed and the young man would not agree. No one came to rescue him. My ancestor would not allow him to be starved or tortured because he wanted to produce a perfect child, and since the young man could not be bribed with possessions it seemed as though the plan would founder. But the Verringers have always been noted for their tenacity. The prisoner was brought up from the dungeons and put into one of the best bedrooms. There were fires in the room and he was supplied with the best food and plenty of wine. The Verringers have always kept good cellars. My ancestor realized that it had been a mistake to put the young man into the dungeon. Soft living is much more conducive to seduction. And one night, when the young man had partaken very well of the good things which the wily Verringer had had sent to his table, a potent aphrodisiac was tipped into his wine. He was very sleepy and when he had retired to his bed, the daughter was slipped beside him. During the night she conceived a child.”

“Are you telling me this to show what enterprising men the Verringers are?”

“Partly, but more than that. Listen to the sequel. Strangely enough when the young man knew that the girl was pregnant through his endeavors, he agreed to marry her and there was great rejoicing throughout the Hall. In due course she produced a child—a boy, strong, healthy and as handsome as his father. Strange things began to happen then. Fire was seen over the child’s cradle, but there was no fire there in truth. The child laughed as no newly born baby had ever laughed before; and he grasped everything which came within his reach. They wanted a grand christening, and the chapel was prepared for this. But on the day before this was to take place, the young man went to his father-in-law and said: ‘There must be no Christian ceremony. You do not know who I am. You thought you were playing with me, but in truth it was I who was playing with you. I was aware of your plans; I allowed myself to be caught and brought here so that I might give my seed to your family. Do you guess who I am?’

“The story is that my ancestor fell to his knees in terror for he was unable to look into the face of the young man for when he did so it was as bright as the sun and nearly blinded him.

“‘I am Lucifer, son of the morning,’ said the young man. ‘I have been cast out of Heaven. I am ambitious. I wanted to excel God himself. You are ambitious. You would make yourself powerful beyond all others. You tried to use me to achieve this end. So I have given you a son. Lucifer. And every man-child of your clan in the generations to come will have me in him.’ And that is the way the Verringers are indeed spawn of the Devil.”

“You tell the story very well indeed,” I said. “I felt I was really there. I could see that young man and the denouement.”

“Does it excuse us?”

“Certainly not.”

“I thought that if we had the Devil in our blood we could be allowed a little license.”

“I suppose there are legends like that attached to most families who can trace their line back so far. I believe something like it was said of the Angevin line of the royal family from which so many of our kings came.”

“The story has been passed down through the generations.”

“And no doubt you all thought you had to live up to it.”

“We did not have to work very hard to do so, it appears. But I wanted you to understand that when we do behave badly it is not entirely our own fault.”

What was he telling me? That he was capable of a ruthless act? Murder? I could not shut out of my mind the thought of that unwanted wife lying on her pillows, the bottle containing the fatal dose of laudanum in her husband’s hands. Had he administered it?

“You are pensive,” he said. “You are thinking that you do not accept my excuses.”

“You are right,” I answered. “I do not.”

He sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t, but I did want to explain. What a heavenly night! There is a scent of flowers in the air and you look very beautiful sitting there, Cordelia.”

“It is because it is almost dark.”

“You have always looked beautiful to me in strong sunlight.”

“I think it is time for me to say good night and thank you for a very good meal.”

“Not yet,” he said. “This is such a lovely night. How still it is! Not a breath of wind. It is rarely like this and a shame not to take advantage of it. You dismiss my fantasy. But many people have fantasies in their lives. Have you?”

I was silent. He sent my mind back again to that Suffolk churchyard, and before I could stop myself I was saying: “Something strange happened to me…once.”

“Yes?” He was leaning forward eagerly.

“I haven’t talked about it much, not even to my aunt.”

“Tell me.”

“It seems so absurd. It happened when we were at Schaffenbrucken. There were four of us and we had heard that if we sat under a tree…a certain tree…in the forest at a certain time…it had to be something to do with the full moon, and this was the time of the Hunter’s Moon which was supposed to be especially good…Well, we heard that if we sat under this oak, we might see the man we were going to marry. You know how foolish girls can be.”

“I don’t think it is foolish. I think it would show a very lethargic and incurious mind not to want to see one’s future partner.”

“Well, we went and there was a man…”

“Tall, dark and handsome.”

“Tall,
fair
, and handsome actually. And he seemed strange, remote, perhaps that was because of the story. We talked to him for a while and then went back to school.”

“Is that all?”

“No, I saw him again. It was on the train coming home to England…just in a flash he was there and he was gone. Then he was on the boat coming to England. I was on deck, half asleep, it was night, you see, and then…suddenly it seemed, he was there beside me. We talked, and I suppose I was rather drowsy for when I opened my eyes he was gone.”

“Went up in a puff of smoke?”

“No…just gone…in a natural sort of way. I saw him again near Grantley Manor where we used to live. He talked to me and I discovered his name. He said he would visit us but he did not come. Then…and this is what is really odd; I went to the place where he said he lived and I discovered the house. It had been burned down more than twenty years before. I saw his name on a tombstone. He had been dead for more than twenty years. Don’t you think that is as strange as your family’s trafficking with the Devil?”

“I didn’t…until you got to the visit to the place where he was supposed to live. That is very strange, I grant you. The rest is easy. He came to the forest by chance. You endowed him with all the noble and somewhat supernatural qualities because you were young and impressionable and believed in the legend. He was impressed by you, which does not surprise me in the least. He saw you on the journey. He sat beside you and talked and then his conscience smote him. He had a wife and six children waiting for him at home. So he slipped away unobtrusively. Then he couldn’t resist the temptation to see you again, so he waylaid you. He was to visit you and your aunt and then his better feelings triumphed once more and he went home to his family.”

I laughed. “It sounds plausible in a way, but it doesn’t explain the name on the tombstone.”

“He chose a name at random, not wanting to give you his own for fear some whisper of his adventures reached the ears of his beloved and faithful wife who was waiting for him. Now if I accept your encounter with the mystic stranger, you must accept my satanic ancestor.”

“I don’t know why I am telling you this. I have never told anyone before.”

“It’s the night…a night for confidences. Do you feel that? The darker it gets, the more clearly I can see into your mind…and you into mine.”

“But what explanation could there be?”

“You talked to a ghost…or a man who was acting as one. People do strange things, you know.”

“I am sure there is a logical explanation to your story…and to mine.”

“Perhaps we shall find the answer to yours. Mine is a little too far back to prove except that our deeds are living evidence of our progenitor’s existence.”

I found myself laughing. The port is very heavy, I thought, and I was aware of a pleasant lassitude and the certain knowledge that I did not want the night to end just yet.

He said, as though he read my thoughts: “I am very happy tonight. I want this to go on and on. I am not often happy like this, you know, Cordelia.”

“I have always thought that true happiness came through service to others.”

“I see the missionary forebears peeping out.”

“I know it sounds sententious, but I am certain it is true. The happiest person I have ever known is my aunt, and when I come to think of it she is always unconsciously doing something for someone else’s benefit.”

“I want to meet her.”

“I doubt you ever will.”

“I shall, of course,” he said, “for you and I are going to be…friends.”

“Do you think so? I have a feeling that this is an isolated occasion. We are sitting here in the darkness with the stars above and the smell of flowers in the air and it is having an effect on us. We are talking too much…too freely…Perhaps tomorrow we shall regret what we have said tonight.”

“I shall regret nothing. Life has been smooth for you, Cordelia, once you were rid of your missionaries. The fairy godmother aunt provided you with your dress so that you could go to the ball; she turned the pumpkin into the coach and the rats into horses. Cinderella Cordelia is going to the ball. She is just meeting the Prince and he is not an elusive spirit who is nothing but a name on a tombstone. You know that, don’t you, Cordelia?”

“Your metaphors are taking such a wild turn that they are waking me up and reminding me that it is time I said good night.”

“You see,” he persisted, “there was no fairy godmother for me. Mine was a harsh childhood. All the time one had to excel. There was no tenderness…ever. It was tutors who had to get results. There was always correction…physical mostly. I was in a prison…like the handsome young man who turned out to be the Devil. I was wild, adventurous, wicked often, always seeking for something. I don’t know what. But I think I am beginning to. Then I went to Oxford and lived riotously because I thought that was the answer. I was married…very young…to the suitable young girl who was as ignorant of life as I was. I had my duty to perform, which was the same as that of my ugly ancestress. I had to produce the boy. My brother had married young. He had the two girls, as you know. For myself there was nothing, and my wife had a riding accident three months after our marriage and was incapable of bearing children after that. I am not going to say that I was miserable, but frustrated, always…dissatisfied. She died. We buried her the day you came here.”

“I know,” I said gently. “You were coming from the funeral.”

“I had to get away. I couldn’t stand any more of it. Then I saw you in the lane.”

“And forced me to retreat,” I said lightly.

“I caught a glimpse of you as we went past. You looked wonderful, different from anyone I had ever known, like some heroine from the past riding in that carriage.”

“Boadicea?” I suggested lightly.

“I wanted to know you from that moment. And then when I found you lost…”

“You took me for a long ride round the town.”

“I had to talk to you for as long as possible. And now…this…”

I thought then of the handsome woman and the child I had seen in the garden of Rooks’ Rest, and I said, “I believe I have met a friend of yours.”

“Oh?”

“Mrs. Marcia Martindale. She has a beautiful little girl.”

He was silent and I thought: I should not have said that. I am getting careless, not thinking before I speak. How could I have ever told him about the stranger in the forest? What is happening to me?

I was startled suddenly as a black shape flashed over my head. It was eerie and I had the sudden feeling that in this ancient home there must be ghosts who could not rest, spirits of those who had met violent ends. Perhaps his wife…

“What was that?” I cried out.

“It was only a bat. They are flying low tonight.”

I shivered.

“Innocent little creatures,” he went on. “Why do they inspire people with fear?”