The Blue Eyed Witch Read online

  They had in fact just been talking to the Prince and were moving into the garden because the marquees had become so uncomfortably warm, when, at the opening of the tent, they almost bumped into a man who was just entering it.

  Idylla was holding the Marquis’s arm and he felt her start, then cling to him almost convulsively and saw the reason for it. Caspar Trydell was standing just in front of them.

  If Idylla was perturbed at seeing him, he was certainly taken aback at seeing her.

  For a moment he was rigid and his face seemed almost contorted with surprise and another emotion the Marquis did not wish to put a name to.

  Then, with what was obviously a superhuman effort at self-control, he looked straight at the Marquis and said, “I am surprised to see you here, Aldridge. I understood you had taken up residence indefinitely in Essex!”

  “I found it difficult not to be present on such an auspicious occasion,” the Marquis replied.

  “Of course,” Sir Caspar said, “but doubtless Essex will miss you.”

  His words were casual enough in themselves, but he spoke with an undercurrent of enmity that was very obvious and seemed to hang on the air between the two men. Then Sir Caspar bowed and, without looking again at Idylla, walked away.

  The Marquis sensed that she was trembling and he drew her outside into the garden.

  “That – man!” she gasped in a strangled voice. “He – killed Grandpapa!”

  “That is what I suspected,” the Marquis said, “but I wanted you to identify him.”

  He was speaking calmly and soothingly and he drew Idylla away from the crowds to a quiet part of the garden where they could sit down on a seat.

  “I could – not be – mistaken,” she faltered, “and I think he – recognised me!”

  “I know he did and I felt sure that, when you saw Caspar Trydell, you would know he was the man who took you and your grandfather out in the boat.”

  Idylla did not speak and he went on as if giving her time to compose herself, “I had the feeling that, having come to London, he would not return to the country. His servant, Bates, told me that he had sent orders for the house to be closed.”

  “Because he wished to avoid me?” Idylla asked.

  “He was sure you would recognise him,” the Marquis said, “and that is why he tried to abduct you.”

  “What – will he – do now?” Idylla asked in a very small voice.

  “I will tell you what I intend to do a little later. For the moment I want you to forget Caspar Trydell and enjoy yourself.”

  Because Idylla thought that by making a fuss she would spoil the party for the Marquis and his pleasure in seeing his friends, she controlled her fear and anxiety in a manner he thought was quite exceptional.

  She was very pale, but she managed to talk intelligently with the gentleman who sat on her other side at dinner. He declared to all and sundry that she was ‘entrancing’ and would be acclaimed an ‘Incomparable’ by the bucks of St. James’s before the week was out.

  Finally, the enormous dinner with the innumerable courses the Prince enjoyed came to an end and the guests moved into the garden in search of fresh air.

  There was to be dancing and a special floor had been laid under the trees that sparkled with fairy lights, as did the flowerbeds and the edges of the paths that led to arbours discreetly arranged in the shrubbery.

  “I think this is where we can escape without being noticed,” the Marquis said quietly.

  “Will the party go on for a long time?” Idylla enquired.

  “I should be very surprised if it concludes before five o’clock tomorrow morning,” the Marquis replied.

  She looked at him in astonishment, but, without making any farewells to their hostess, he took her round to the front of the house where the carriages were waiting.

  It was still comparatively early and, as they drove back to Berkeley Square, Idylla sighed, slipping her hand into the Marquis’s, “I would have liked to dance with you.”

  “We will do that another night,” he answered, lifting her hand to his lips so that he could kiss each finger, one after the other.

  “Perhaps I will not – dance well enough,” Idylla said a little hesitatingly, “but Mama taught me and she was a very good dancer when she was young.”

  “I am sure you will find that our steps match perfectly,” the Marquis assured her, “as we match each other in everything else, my precious one.”

  When they entered Aldridge House, the butler announced, “Lady Constance asked me to inform your Lordship that she has retired for the night. I don’t think she expected your Lordship back so early.”

  The Marquis acknowledged the information with a nod of his head and drew Idylla into the library.

  The windows were open into the garden which looked very quiet and peaceful in the moonlight after the twinkling lights and noise of Mrs. Fitzherbert’s.

  The Marquis put his arm round Idylla’s shoulders and drew her to the window.

  After a moment he said, “Do you trust me, my precious?”

  Idylla looked up at him in surprise.

  “You know I do!” she answered. “I trust you and I love you!”

  “And I love you!” the Marquis replied. “I did not know that any woman could be so sweet, so adorable and so utterly and completely desirable!”

  His voice deepened on the last word and there was a flicker of fire in his eyes as he looked down at her.

  “What are you – trying to say to – me?” Idylla asked.

  With her usual perception where he was concerned, she knew there was something on his mind.

  “I want you to do exactly what I tell you to do,” the Marquis said.

  “But you know I will do that,” she replied.

  “It may seem a little strange,” the Marquis went on, “and it may even seem difficult, but I promise you, my sweetheart, it will not be dangerous, and I shall protect you even if I am not actually standing beside you.”

  Idylla looked up at him in bewilderment.

  “What are you saying to me?” she asked. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  The Marquis paused a moment before he replied, “I want you, darling, to walk into the garden alone. I want you to walk casually onto the lawn and stand there turning your head up towards the stars just as you might do when you are thinking of our love and from where it comes.”

  Idylla looked at him in perplexity.

  “You want me to do – this – now?”

  “I want you to do it exactly five minutes after you have heard me leave the house,” the Marquis replied with a note of authority in his voice.

  “Leave the house?” Idylla exclaimed. “But where are you going?”

  “I have told you to trust me,” he answered. “And to believe that I will not leave you and that you are safe – completely safe, however it may appear to the contrary.”

  He ceased speaking and putting his fingers under her chin raised her face to his.

  “There is one thing to remember and one thing only,” he said, “and that is that I love you with all my heart and all my soul. You are mine, Idylla, and I will never lose you.”

  His lips sought hers and he felt a quiver of excitement run through her because she was in his arms.

  It was a long kiss and a passionate one.

  When finally he released her, her lips were parted and he knew that her heart was beating tumultuously and her eyes were soft with the feelings he evoked in her.

  “I love you! I adore you!” she whispered. “I did not know it was possible to feel like this – and still be upon earth!”

  “Then go and look at the stars, my precious one,” the Marquis said, “and imagine that I am carrying you to the moon and we are leaving behind everything that is wicked and evil.”

  He turned away from the window as he spoke and looked towards the clock on the mantelpiece.

  “Wait exactly five minutes after you have heard the carriage drive away. I will leave the door o
pen so that you cannot be mistaken.”

  Idylla looked at him with a puzzled expression in her eyes. But he knew because she loved him so completely that she would do as he wished and would never argue or plague him with questions as another woman might have done.

  ‘It is the little things as well as the big ones that make real love so different from the false,’ the Marquis thought to himself.

  He walked across the hall, took his hat from the butler, and stepped into the carriage which was waiting for him outside.

  Idylla heard the front door close and looked at the clock.

  It was almost exactly half after eleven.

  She walked across the salon to close the door. Then she stood looking round the candlelit room and thought, as she had done ever since coming to Aldridge House, what a perfect background it was for the Marquis.

  It was impossible to imagine how the decorations could be improved or what better pictures could replace those that hung on the walls or the treasures that were arranged in every salon.

  ‘Everything about him is so magnificent and at the same time he is so human and understanding, kind and gentle,’ Idylla told herself.

  She had no idea that a great number of people would have been greatly surprised at hearing the Marquis described in such terms.

  “I love him! I love him!” she whispered, and watched the clock until it was exactly five-and-twenty minutes to the hour.

  Then slowly and casually she walked through the open window and down the three steps which led into the garden.

  It was very quiet for London, she thought, and the trees silhouetted against the starlit sky gave her the impression of being in the country.

  There was the fragrance of flowers and she half-expected to hear a nightingale sing.

  She moved across the grass that felt like velvet beneath her satin slippers.

  When she reached the centre of the small lawn, she turned her face up to the stars as the Marquis had told her to do and imagined he was carrying her towards the sky and his lips were on hers.

  Her imagination was so vivid that a man advancing from the shadows had almost reached her before she realised he was there and she dropped her eyes to look at him.

  She gave a start of sheer horror and her hands went up to her breasts.

  It was Caspar Trydell! She could see the evil in his face, combined with the murderous hatred that she had last seen when he struck her grandfather on the head and bludgeoned him to death.

  “You!”

  She was not certain whether she said the word aloud. She only knew that the mere sight of him made it impossible to move, impossible to breathe.

  “Yes, it is I!” Caspar Trydell answered in a low voice that sounded like the hiss of a reptile. “And now you are going to die, as you should have died before!”

  As he spoke, he put his hand inside his evening coat and, as he drew it out again, something glittered in the moonlight.

  Idylla knew what he was about to do, but she could not move, could not cry out.

  She was held by the evil that exuded from him, the evil she had felt encroaching upon her night after night until the Marquis had given her the cross to wear.

  Caspar Trydell raised his arm.

  “Die!”

  At that second a voice behind him called out authoritatively, “Stop!”

  It was not a shout, it was a word of command that seemed to vibrate through the air and Caspar’s instinctive reaction was to turn his head.

  He saw advancing towards him the figure of Colonel Trumble, the High Sheriff from Essex, and from the shrubs on either side of the garden there appeared four Bow Street Runners in their red uniforms.

  He looked round in a furtive manner, seeking an avenue of escape, only to see the Marquis walking down the steps of the house behind Idylla, a pistol in his hand.

  “Sir Caspar Trydell, I charge you with the murder of the Reverend Algernon Salford, Vicar of Gore, and with the attempted murder of your niece, Idylla Trydell. Also of being under suspicion of the murder of her father, John Trydell, your brother!”

  The High Sheriff’s voice seemed like an indictment of doom and Sir Caspar stared at him wildly.

  Then swiftly, so quickly that it was impossible for anyone to stop him, he plunged the long pointed stiletto which he held in his right hand deeply into his chest.

  He staggered and as he fell Idylla felt the Marquis pick her up in his arms.

  *

  Later when they were alone and Idylla was sipping a glass of wine which the Marquis insisted she should have, she asked him, “Why did – you not – tell me?”

  “I was so afraid something would go wrong and I should have raised your hopes unnecessarily,” the Marquis answered.

  “You knew it was – he who had – killed Grandpapa?”

  “I knew, but I needed more proof unless you were to be subjected to a long and searching cross-examination in the courts. That would have been inevitable if you were the only witness.”

  “But how did you guess who Papa was?” Idylla enquired.

  “I began to think that my friend John might have been your father,” the Marquis replied, “when you told me you lived on the other side of the river. John and I used to race each other across that stretch of water when we were young and, if your mother was half as beautiful as you, my darling, I was sure that, if he saw her, he must have fallen in love.”

  “Mama was far more beautiful than I could ever be.”

  “It is impossible for me to believe that,” the Marquis smiled.

  He kissed her forehead before he went on, “I wanted to find the proof of their marriage which would have been in the Register. That was what Caspar was looking for when he ransacked the Vicarage.”

  “He did that?” Idylla exclaimed in surprise and the Marquis then remembered that he had not told her what had occurred.

  “Everything will have been tidied away again by now,” he said comfortingly. “But, darling, you will not be going there again.”

  “But have you proof that Papa and Mama – were married?” Idylla questioned. “You did not find a record of it in the Register?”

  “Because your mother had removed that page and the one which recorded your birth. I have only just learnt that she deposited them both with your grandfather’s Solicitor in Chelmsford.”

  As he spoke, the Marquis drew an envelope from his pocket and put it into Idylla’s hands.

  “If you still doubt me,” he said, “and still need proof that you are legitimate, my darling love, here it is!”

  Idylla opened the envelope and drew out the two missing pages.

  There they were and she could read them for herself.

  Her eyes were shining as she looked up at the Marquis.

  “Mr. Chiswick brought the letter here this morning,” the Marquis explained. “You had gone upstairs to dress for the party and I did not wish to disturb you. I therefore persuaded him to give me the letter which was addressed to you. It was to be given to you in the event of two things happening.”

  “What were they?” Idylla asked.

  “The first, that you should be married,” the Marquis said, “the second, that you should survive your mother and your grandfather, which you have done.”

  “But why? Why did Mama not tell me who my father was?” “Mr. Chiswick explained to me,” the Marquis answered, “that your mother told him she had been threatened by a person to whom she would not give a name. There is no doubt in my mind that it was the threat of death, but she was also told that, if she spoke of her marriage, you would die.”

  The Marquis’s arms tightened as he continued, “Mr. Chiswick said that, when your mother went to see him, she was very frightened, but she was brave enough to hand him this letter with the instructions that you were to receive it when you married.”

  The Marquis smiled.

  “And that is what is going to happen, my darling. We will be married as quickly as it can possibly be arranged.”

  Idylla
stared down at the pages of the Register as if she could hardly believe they were real and then she said, “Was it because Mama was threatened – that made you think Sir Caspar had also killed Papa?”

  “Your father had the same injuries on his head as you and your grandfather,” the Marquis replied. “I was convinced it could not be a coincidence. I know now that Caspar Trydell killed his brother, thinking that he would then inherit the estates.”

  The Marquis’s voice sharpened as he went on, “Only when Caspar discovered on Sir Harold’s death that everything he possessed had been left first to John, then to any issue John might have, did he realise that you were the rightful heir.”

  Idylla looked at him in astonishment.

  “You – you mean – I now own the Trydell estates?”

  “Yes, my darling! But I think you can incorporate them very easily and comfortably with the estate next door! We will certainly make better provision for your grandfather’s parishioners than Caspar made.”

  Idylla gave a little inarticulate murmur and hid her face against the Marquis’s shoulder.

  He took the glass from her hand and set it down on a table and held her very close against him.

  “All the unhappiness, the fear and the horror you have been through are over,” he said. “The world is a cleaner place now that Caspar Trydell is dead!”

  “I need not be – afraid of anything any – more,” Idylla said, “not even of being a – witch!”

  “Caspar put you on the druid stones,” the Marquis explained, “because he thought you were dead and he wished in some perverted way to defame your corpse and at the same time incite the villagers to further brutality towards witches.”

  The Marquis felt Idylla tremble and he added, “We can forget all about it. It is past and done with, except for one thing.”

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “That however many crosses you may wear round your neck, you have, my lovely one, bewitched me!”

  He smiled and held her closer still as he sighed, “I am under your spell – a spell from which I can never escape and I am convinced it will keep me enslaved for the rest of my life.”