The Devil Rides Out Page 23

  ‘But, my dear, it’s nothing to do with him,’ she protested sadly. ‘It’s just Fate, and you haven’t known me long, so it’s not too late yet for you to keep a hold on yourself, You mustn’t love me, because if you do, it will make you terribly unhappy when I die.’

  ‘You’re not going to die,’ he repeated, and then he laughed suddenly, boyishly, ail his mercurial nature rising to dispel such gloomy thoughts. ‘If we both die tomorrow,’ he said suddenly, ‘we’ve still got today, and I love you, Tanith. That’s all there is to it.’

  Her arms crept up about his neck and with sudden strength she kissed him on his mouth.

  He grabbed her then, his lips seeking hers again and again, while he muttered little phrases of endearment, pouring out all the agony of anxiety that he had felt for her during the past night and the long run from Amesbury in the morning. She clung to him, laughing a little hysterically although she was not far from tears. This strange new happiness was overwhelming to her, flooding her whole being now with a desperate desire to live; to put behind her those nightmare dreams from which she had woken shuddering in the past months at visions of herself torn and bleeding, the victim of some horrible railway accident, or trapped upon the top storey of a blazing building with no alternative but to leap into the street below. For a moment it almost seemed to her that no real foundation existed for the dread which had haunted her since childhood. She was young, healthy and full of life. Why should she not enjoy to the full all the normal pleasures of life with this strong, merry-eyed man-who had come so suddenly into her existence.

  Again and again he assured her that all those thoughts of fatality being certain to overtake her were absurd. He told her that once she was out of Europe she would see things differently; the menace of the old superstition-ridden countries would drop away and that, in his lovely old home in the southern states, they would be able to laugh at Fate together.

  Tanith did not really believe him. Her habit of mind had

  grown so strongly upon her; but she could not bring herself to argue against his happy auguries, or spoil those moments of glorious delight as they both confessed their passion for each other.

  As he held her in his arms a marvellous languor began to steal through all her limbs. ‘Rex,’ she said softly. ‘I’m utterly done in with this on top of all the rest. I haven’t slept for nearly thirty-six hours. I ought not to now, but I’ll never be able to stay awake tonight unless I do. No harm can come to me while you’re with me, can it?’

  ‘No,’ he said huskily. ‘Neither man nor devil shall harm you while I’m around. You poor sweet, you must be just about at the end. of your tether. Go to sleep now-just as you are.’

  With a little sigh she turned over, nestling her fair head into the crook of his arm, where he sat with his back propped up against a tree-trunk. In another moment she was sound asleep.

  The afternoon drew into evening. Rex’s arms and legs were cold and stiff, but he would not move for fear of waking her. A new anxiety began to trouble him. Mocata had not appeared, and what would they think had become of him at Cardinals Folly? Marie Lou knew he had gone to the inn, and they would probably have rung up by now. But, like a fool, he had neglected to leave any message for them.

  The shadows fell, but still there was no sign of Mocata, and the imps of doubt once more began to fill Rex’s mind with horrible speculations as to the truth of Tanith’s story. Had she consciously or unconsciously lured him from Simon’s side on purpose? Simon would be safe enough with Richard and Marie Lou, and De Richleau had promised to rejoin them before dusk-but perhaps Mocata was plotting some evil to prevent the Duke’s return. If that were so-Rex shivered slightly at the thought-Richard knew nothing of those mysterious protective barriers with which it would be so necessary to surround Simon in the coming night-and he, who at least knew what had been done the night before-would be absent. By his desertion of his post poor Simon might fall an easy prey to the malefic influence of the Satanist.

  He thought more than once of rousing Tanith, but she looked so peaceful, so happy, so lovely there, breathing gently and resting in his strong arms with all her limbs relaxed that he could not bring himself to do it. The shadows lengthened, night drew on, and at last darkness fell with Tanith still sleeping. The night of the ordeal had come and they were alone in the forest.

  Chapter 24

  The Scepticism of Richard Eaton

  At a quarter to six, De Richleau arrived back at Cardinals Folly and Richard, meeting him in the hall, told him of Mocata’s visit.

  ‘I am not altogether surprised,’ the Duke admitted sombrely. ‘He must be pretty desperate to come here in daylight on the chance of seeing Simon, but of course, he is working against time-now. Did he threaten to return?’

  ‘Yes.’ Richard launched into full particulars of the Satanist’s attempt on Marie Lou and the conversation that had followed. As he talked he studied De Richleau’s face, struck by his anxious harassed expression. Never before had he thought of the Duke as old, but now for the first time it was brought home to him that De Richleau must be nearly double his own age. And this evening he showed it. He seemed somehow to have shrunk in stature, but perhaps that was because he was standing with bent shoulders as though some invisible load was borne upon them. Richard was so impressed by that tired, lined face that he found himself ending quite seriously: ‘Do you really think he can work some devilry tonight?’

  De Richleau nodded. ‘I am certain of it, and I’m worried Richard. My luck was out today. Father Brandon, whom I went to see, was unfortunately away. He has a great knowledge of this terrible “other world” that we are up against, and knowing me well, would have helped us, but the young priest I saw in his place would not entrust me with the Host, nor could I persuade him to come with it himself, and that is the only certain protection against the sort of thing Mocata may send against us.’

  ‘We’ll manage somehow,’ Richard smiled, trying to cheer him.

  ‘Yes, we’ve got to.’ A note of the old determination came into De Richleau’s voice. ‘Since the Church cannot help us we must rely upon my knowledge of Esoteric formulas. Fortunately, I have the most important aids with me already, but I should be glad if you would send down to the village blacksmith for five horseshoes. Tell whoever you send, that they must be brand new-that is essential.’

  At this apparently childish request for horseshoes all Richard’s scepticism welled up with renewed force, but he concealed it with his usual tact and agreed readily enough. Then, the mention of the village having reminded him of Rex, he told the Duke how their friend had been called away to the inn.

  De Richleau’s face fell suddenly. ‘I thought Rex had more sense!’ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘We must telephone at once.’

  Richard got on to Mr. Wilkes, but the landlord could give them little information. A lady had arrived at about three, and the American gentleman had joined her shortly after. Then they had gone out into the garden and he had seen nothing of them since.

  De Richleau shrugged angrily. ‘The young fool! I should have thought that he would have’ seen enough of this horror by now to realise the danger of going off with that young woman. It’s a hundred to one that she is Mocata’s puppet if nothing else. I only pray to God that he turns up again before nightfall. Where is Simon now?’

  ‘With Marie Lou. They are upstairs in the nursery I think-watching Fleur bathed and put to bed.’

  ‘Good. Let us go up then. Fleur can help us very greatly in protecting him tonight.’

  ‘Fleur!’ exclaimed Richard in amazement.

  The Duke nodded. ‘The prayers of a virgin woman are amazingly powerful in such instances, and the younger she is the stronger her vibrations. You see, a little child like Fleur who is old enough to pray, but absolutely unsoiled in any way, is the nearest that any human being can get to absolute purity. You will remember the words of Our Lord: “Except ye become as little children ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.” You have no objection I t
ake it?’

  ‘None,’ agreed Richard quickly. ‘Saying a prayer for Simon cannot possibly harm the child in any way. We’ll go up through the library.’

  Seven sides of the great octagonal room were covered ceiling

  high with books and the eighth consisted of wide trench windows through which half-a-dozen stone steps, leading up to the terrace, could be seen and beyond, a portion of the garden.

  Richard led the way to one of the book-lined walls and pressed the gilded cardinal’s hat upon a morocco binding. A low doorway, masked by dummy bookbacks, swung open disclosing a narrow spiral stairway hewn out of the solid wall. They ascended the stone steps and a moment later entered Fleur’s nursery on the floor above, through a sliding panel in the wall.

  When they arrived the nursery was empty, but in the bathroom beyond they found Simon, with Nanny’s apron tied about his waist, quite solemnly bathing Fleur while Marie Lou sat on the edge of the bath and chortled with laughter.

  It was an operation which Simon performed on every visit that he had made to Cardinals Folly so Fleur was used to the business and regarded it as a definite treat; but this tubbing of his friend’s child was a privilege which De Richleau had never claimed, and as he entered Fleur suddenly exhibited signs of maidenly modesty surprising in one so young.

  ‘Oh, Mummy,’ she exclaimed. ‘He mussent see me, muss he, ‘cause he’s a man.’ On which the whole party gave way to a fit of laughter.

  ‘Sen’ him away!’ yelled the excited Fleur, standing up and clutching an enormous bath sponge to her chest.

  De Richleau’s firm mouth twitched with his old humour, as he apologised most gravely and backed into the nursery beside Richard. A few minutes later the others joined them, and the Duke held a hurried conversation in whispers with Marie Lou.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘If it will help, do just what you think. I will get rid of Nanny for a few minutes.’

  Walking over, he smiled down at Fleur. ‘Does Mummy watch you say your prayers every night?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she lisped. ‘And you shall all hear me now.’

  He smiled again. ‘Have you ever heard her say hers?’

  Fleur thought hard for a moment. ‘No,’ she shook her dark head and the big blue eyes looked up at him seriously. ‘Mummy says her prayers to Daddy when I’se asleep.’

  He noddedy quietly. ‘Well, we’re all going to say them together tonight.’

  ‘Ooo,’ cooed Fleur. ‘Lovely. It’ll be just as though we’se playing a new game, won’t it?’

  ‘Not a game, dearest,’ interjected Marie Lou quietly, ‘Because prayers are serious, and we mean them.’

  ‘Yes, we mean them very much tonight, but we could all kneel down in a circle couldn’t we and put Uncle Simon in the middle?’

  ‘Jus’ like kiss-in-thering,’ added Fleur.

  ‘That’s right,’ the Duke agreed, ‘or Postman’s Knock. And you shall be the postman. But this is very serious, and instead of touching him on the shoulder, you must hold his hand very tight.’

  They all knelt down then and Fleur extended her pudgy palm to Simon, but the Duke gently laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Your left hand, my angel, in Uncle Simon’s right. You shall say your prayers first, just as you always do, and then I shall say one for all of us afterwards.’

  The first few lines of the Our Father came tumbling out from the child’s lips in a little breathless spate as they knelt with bowed heads and closed eyes. Then there was a short hesitation, a prompting whisper from Marie Lou, and an equally breathless ending. After that, the little personal supplication for Mummy and Daddy and Uncle Simon and Uncle Rex and Uncle Greyeyes and dear Nanny were hurried through with considerably more gusto.

  ‘Now,’ whispered De Richleau. ‘I want you to repeat everything I say word for word after me,’ and in a low, clear voice he offered up an entreaty that the Father of All would forgive His servants their sins and strengthen them to resist temptation, keeping at bay by His limitless power all evil things that walked in darkness, and bringing them safely by His especial mercy to see again the glory of the morning light.

  When all was done and Fleur, tucked up and kissed, left be tween Mr. Edward Bear and Golliwog, the others filed downstairs to Marie Lou’s cosy sitting-room.

  De Richleau was worried about Rex, but a further ‘phone call to the inn failed to elicit any later information. He had not returned, and they sat round silently, a little subdued. Richard, vaguely miserable because it was sherry time and the Duke had once again firmly prohibited the drinking of any alcohol, asked at length: ‘Well, what do you wish us to do now?’

  ‘We should have a light supper fairly early,’ De Richleau announced. ‘And after, I should like you to make it quite clear to Malin that none of the servants are to come into this wing of the house until tomorrow morning. Say, if you like, that I am going to conduct some all-night experiments with a new wireless or television apparatus, but in no circumstances must we be disturbed or any doors opened and shut.’

  ‘Hadn’t we … er … better disconnect the telephone as well?’ Simon hazarded. ‘In case it rings after we’ve settled down.’

  ‘Yes, with Richard’s permission I will attend to that myself.’

  ‘Do, if you like, and I’ll see to the servants,’ Richard agreed placidly. ‘But what do you call a light supper?’

  ‘Just enough to keep up our strength. A little fish if you have it. If not eggs will do, with vegetables or a salad and some fruit, but no meat or game and, of course, no wine.’

  Richard grunted. ‘That sounds a jolly dinner I must say. I suppose you wouldn’t like to shave my head as well, or get us all to don hair shirts if we could find them. I’m hungry as a hunter, and owing to your telegram, we had no lunch.’

  The Duke smiled tolerantly. ‘I am sorry, Richard, but this thing is deadly serious. I am afraid you haven’t realised quite how serious yet. If you had seen what Rex and I did last night, I’m certain that you wouldn’t breathe a word of protest about these small discomforts, and realise at once that I am acting for the best.’

  ‘No,’ Richard confessed. ‘Quite frankly, I find it very difficult to believe that we haven’t all gone bug-house with this talk of witches and wizards and magic and what-not at the present day.’

  ‘Yet you saw Mocata yourself this afternoon.’

  ‘I saw an unpleasant pasty-faced intruder I agree, but to credit him with all the powers that you suggest is rather more than I can stomach at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, Richard!’ Marie Lou broke in. ‘Greyeyes is right. That man is horrible. And to say that people do not believe in witches at the present day is absurd. Everybody knows that there are witches just as there have always been.’

  Eh!’ Richard looked at his lovely wife in quick surprise.

  ‘Have you caught this nonsense from the others already? I’ve never heard you air this belief before.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said a little sharply. ‘It is unlucky to talk of such things, but one knows about them all the same. Of witches in Siberia I could tell you much-things that I have seen with my own eyes.’

  ‘Tell us, Marie Lou,’ urged the Duke. He felt that in their present situation scepticism might prove highly dangerous. If Richard did not believe in the powers that threatened them, he might relax in following out the instructions for their protection and commit some casual carelessness, bringing, possibly, a terrible danger upon them all. He knew how very highly Richard esteemed his wife’s sound common sense. It was far better to let her convince him than to press arguments on Richard himself.

  ‘There was a witch in Romanovsk,’ Marie Lou proceeded. ‘An old woman who lived alone in a house just outside the village. No one, not even the Red Guards, with all their bluster about having liquidated God and the Devil, would pass her cottage alone at night. In Russia there are many such and one in nearly every village. You would call her a wise woman as well perhaps, for she could cure peop
le of many sicknesses and I have seen her stop the flow of blood from a bad wound almost instantly. The village girls used to go to her to have their fortunes told and, when they could afford it, to buy charms of philtres to make the young men they liked fall in love with them. Often, too, they would go back again afterwards when they became pregnant and buy the drugs which would secure their release from that unhappy situation. But she was greatly feared, for everyone knew that she could also put a blight on crops and send a murrain on the cattle of those who displeased her. It was even whispered that she could cause men and women to sicken and die if any enemy paid her a high enough price to make it worth her while.’

  ‘If that is so I wonder they didn’t lynch her,’ said Richard quietly.

  ‘They did in the end. They would not have dared to do. that themselves. But a farmer whom she had inflicted with a plague of lice appealed to the local commissar and he went with twenty men to her house one day. All the villagers and I among them-for I was only a little girl then and naturally

  curious-went with them in a frightened crowd hanging well behind. They brought the old woman out and examined her, and having proved she was a witch, the commissar had her shot against the cottage wall.’

  ‘How did they prove it?’ Richard asked sceptically

  ‘Why-because she had the marks of course.’

  ‘What marks?’

  ‘When they stripped her they found that she had a teat under her left arm, and that is a certain sign.’

  De Richleau nodded. To feed her familiar with, of course. Was it a cat?’

  Marie Lou shook her head. ‘No. In this case, it was a great big fat toad that she used to keep in a little cage.’

  ‘Oh, come!’ Richard protested. ‘This is fantastic. They slaughtered the poor old woman because she had some malformation and kept an unusual pet.’

  ‘No, no,’ Marie Lou assured him. ‘They found the Devil’s mark on her thigh and they swam her in the village pond. It was very horrible, but it was all quite conclusive.’