Love Strikes a Devil Page 9

  For a moment she could hardly believe that it had all happened.

  Vincent was home and he was able to hide in the secret passages where Gervais would not be able to find him.

  She knew now why to be near Gervais had filled her with horror and why she had hated him not only for what he said and did but because of what he was.

  Somehow with God’s help Vincent would be restored to his rightful place.

  Gervais would be driven away, back to Paris, from where he had come.

  At the same time she was well aware that he would not go easily.

  If he had been unsuccessful in having Vincent murdered in India, perhaps he would find it easier to murder him here in England.

  Then she was praying, praying fervently and desperately that while Gervais had failed three times to destroy Vincent, he would not have a chance to try again.

  *

  As soon as Charisa awoke in the morning, she began to think of how she could provide food for Vincent without anyone being aware of it.

  It was not going to be easy.

  She would need to have her wits about her if she was not to arouse the suspicions of the people in the house.

  Then Gervais would be aware that it might be easier to obtain food at breakfast time than at any other time of the day.

  When she went downstairs, she carried with her a wickerwork basket that she often put flowers into

  As she had expected, her father was the only person having breakfast.

  She kissed him good morning and he said,

  “As there appears to be no one about, I suggest you and I go riding. I have an appointment later on, so I have every excuse for not waiting for Gervais or anybody else.”

  “That would be lovely, Papa,” Charisa agreed.

  The Colonel continued to eat his breakfast and read The Times as well.

  The newspaper was propped up in front of him on a silver stand.

  Thinking he would not be interested in her movements, Charisa went first to the sideboard.

  There was the ham that she had taken some slices from last night.

  There was brawn, which was a speciality of Mrs. Jones’s. It had not yet been cut and she took several slices from it.

  When she had done so, she glanced back to see if her father was watching her.

  He was opening the newspaper and she could not even see his face behind it.

  Carefully, she transferred the pieces of brawn into her basket and covered them with a piece of paper that she had put at the bottom.

  She then added several slices of ham and two pieces of toast and between them she put a large piece of butter.

  By the time she had done this, her father had replaced The Times on its stand and Charisa put the basket under the table at the place where she intended to sit.

  She then collected her own breakfast from the entrée dishes on the other sideboard.

  She had nearly finished when, as had happened the day before, the Comte came into the room.

  Before he could say ‘good morning’, Charisa hurriedly rose to her feet.

  She picked up her basket and put it over her arm.

  “I am late,” the Comte said in a contrite voice, “but I cannot believe anyone so beautiful can be so hard-hearted as to leave the moment I arrive!”

  “I have to be ready to take all the jumps in the field where we were yesterday,” Charisa said. “I have challenged Papa to a contest.”

  She fled from the room as she spoke, hoping that the Comte would not want to join them if it was a question of jumping.

  Then she ran up the stairs and into her bedroom.

  She was half-afraid that the housemaids might be there making the bed, but to her relief she saw that they had already done so.

  She pressed the secret catch, opened the panel and put the basket inside.

  Shutting it again, she picked up her riding hat and gloves.

  She came down the stairs just as her father was leaving the breakfast room.

  “Is the Comte joining us?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Not if we hurry!” the Colonel replied.

  His eyes were twinkling and she knew that he enjoyed outwitting the Comte, for whom he had no liking.

  They hurried off to the stables.

  It was with the greatest difficulty that Charisa refrained from telling her father what had happened last night.

  She knew, however, that Vincent was right in thinking that it would be dangerous.

  Besides, as he had said, he had no proof that Gervais had tried to murder him.

  But there was nobody else who would benefit by his death.

  Yet Charisa thought and thought about it.

  But the more she thought, the more difficult it seemed to produce any evidence that would stand up in a Court of Law.

  She could only pray, as she had told Vincent she would do, that somehow, by some miracle, they would find what they sought.

  When she and her father returned to the house, the Comte and Gervais greeted them reproachfully.

  “You knew I wanted to ride with you,” Gervais said to Charisa.

  “You will have to learn country ways,” she replied lightly. “Papa and I always ride early, and besides, he has an appointment this morning.”

  Gervais looked questioningly at the Colonel.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” the Colonel said, “but I have told my Racehorse Manager to come here to see me, otherwise it would mean returning home.”

  “Of course I do not want you to go home,” Gervais said, “so I am delighted for you to make any arrangements which will prevent you from leaving us,”

  “Thank you,” the Colonel half-smiled.

  “How many racehorses do you have?” Gervais enquired. “And are they successful?”

  There was a note in his voice that told Charisa he was really asking if they made any money.

  She turned away as she was thinking how horrible it was that this craving for money should have made him commit murder.

  Madame Dubus joined them a little later.

  It was then Charisa realised that they were all waiting for the party from Paris.

  She learnt that they were to arrive in time for luncheon.

  “I made arrangements for my friends to stay in London last night,” she heard Gervais telling her father, “as it was too late for them to come here. They stayed at Claridge’s, where I was quite sure they would be comfortable.”

  “Yes, of course,” the Colonel agreed.

  “I have sent carriages to meet them at the Station,” Gervais went on, “and Mr. Sheldon assures me that they will arrive here at around twelve thirty.”

  “It will be pleasant for you to have your friends around you,” the Colonel said, “and perhaps it would be better for Charisa and me to return home.”

  It was with difficulty that Charisa prevented herself from giving a cry of horror.

  She had forgotten that she had told her father that she wished to go home as soon as possible.

  But now Vincent was in the house and depending on her.

  It was impossible for her to leave.

  Before she could say anything, however, Gervais exclaimed,

  “But how can you suggest anything so unkind? Of course I want you to stay, Colonel, and I am longing for Charisa to meet my friends. Please, don’t even think of leaving me.”

  “And I will not allow you to do so,” Madame Dubus chimed in in a caressing voice.

  She looked up at the Colonel and slipped her arm through his.

  “Do you not realise, mon brave,” she asked, “that we all love you very much and enjoy more than it is possible to put into words having you with us?”

  “That is exactly what I was going to say myself,” Gervais murmured.

  There was nothing the Colonel could do but say that he was very flattered by their kindness and, of course, he added that he was looking forward to meeting the party from Paris.

  They arrived in the carriages punctually at h
alf past twelve.

  When Charisa saw them, she realised that they were just what she had expected.

  First of all the women appeared, and they were as smart and gushing as Madame Dubus, but at the same time there was something about them that Charisa did not like.

  She supposed that it was because they were friends of Gervais.

  She was sure too that her mother would not have approved of them.

  The three men were very much like the Comte.

  They were overdressed, ingratiatingly complimentary and had hard bold eyes that somehow made her feel embarrassed.

  The fourth man, she realised at once, was Gervais’s Private Chaplain.

  He was wearing a cassock and, when he took off his flat-brimmed clerical hat, she saw that the top of his head was bald and his hair at the sides was white.

  As Gervais introduced him, she sensed that there was nothing spiritual about him.

  She looked at his coarse-featured face, the darkness under his eyes and the heavy lines at the sides of his lips.

  It was strange, but he appeared somewhat debauched.

  He certainly accepted freely the glasses of champagne that were being handed round and three times his glass was refilled before they went into the dining room for luncheon.

  The conversation was, she supposed, witty, but there were so many innuendos that she found it hard to follow.

  Gervais’s friends certainly seemed fond of him. They listened with respect to what he had to say and appeared always to agree to anything he suggested.

  The women, like Madame Dubus, flirted with the men including her father.

  The men paid her extravagant compliments and Charisa was conscious all the time, however, of an expression in their eyes that she did not like.

  It was difficult to interpret what it meant, but she knew that she shrank actively from looking at them.

  Luncheon was as usual delicious and she was wondering how to procure some food for Vincent.

  And there was certainly nothing she could take from the dining room.

  They went back into the salon.

  Charisa realised a large plate of pâté sandwiches that had been handed round with the champagne was practically untouched.

  She looked at it, wondering how she could get it to Vincent and had a sudden idea.

  Picking up the plate, she walked towards the long windows.

  “Where are you going, mademoiselle?” one of the Frenchmen asked as she passed him.

  “To feed the birds,” Charisa replied. “I will not be a moment.”

  Before he could rise from his chair to accompany her, she slipped out through the window.

  She ran along the side of the house and in through a garden door.

  As she ran up the stairs, she was sure that at this hour the staff would have finished and she would see no one.

  She reached her own room, locked the door and opened the panel.

  There was no one there.

  The basket that she had left Vincent his breakfast in was waiting for her and was empty.

  She picked it up and was just about to put the pâté sandwiches into it when Vincent appeared.

  He was looking very different from how he had looked last night.

  Shaved, his hair brushed and in his own clothes, he looked very handsome.

  “How is my Guardian Angel this morning?” he asked. “And thank you for my breakfast.”

  “I am afraid you will have to make do with pâté sandwiches for luncheon,” Charisa answered, “and I have to take the plate back.”

  “You are being wonderful,” Vincent answered, “and you know how grateful I am.”

  He put the sandwiches into the basket and said,

  “I don’t much care for the look of those people who arrived today from Paris!”

  “You saw them?” Charisa queried.

  “I had a glimpse of them when they entered the hall and then I moved away.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “It is always a mistake to stare at anyone in case they become instinctively aware of it,” Vincent replied.

  “Yes, of course, you are quite right,” Charisa agreed. “But I want you to see the awful little man whom Gervais describes as his – ‘Private Chaplain’.”

  Vincent stared at her.

  “Private Chaplain?” he questioned.

  “I have not had time to tell you,” Charisa replied, “but the Vicar whom we all love – and I am sure you must remember him – ”

  “Of course I do!” Vincent interrupted.

  “He is very upset,” Charisa went on, “because Gervais has told him that he is not to hold the monthly Services in the Chapel because – he has sent for his own Chaplain.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Vincent remarked, “and I shall certainly have a look at this man.”

  He was frowning and Charisa said quickly,

  “I must take the plate and go back. I told the Frenchman – whose name I cannot remember – that I was taking the pâté sandwiches to feed the birds.”

  Vincent laughed.

  “Whatever you call me, I am very grateful. Thank you, Charisa!”

  She closed the panel door and hurried down the stairs and back into the garden.

  As she sauntered casually back into the salon, she realised that the party were all talking in French and they were laughing uproariously at some joke.

  From the expression on her father’s face, she was sure that it was somewhat risqué.

  As she put the plate down on the table, Gervais rose from where he was sitting.

  Walking towards her, he put his arm round her waist.

  “I want you to look at my lovely young cousin,” he said to his friends.

  Because he was touching her, Charisa felt once again the same revulsion that she had felt before.

  This time, knowing that he was a murderer, it was now even more intense.

  She would have moved away, but he would not let her go.

  “Have you ever seen anyone so beautiful, so innocent or so pure?” Gervais was asking.

  He was speaking in French so that it did not sound quite as crude as it would have done in English.

  At the same time Charisa felt embarrassed.

  “How could anyone not worship such beauty?” Gervais went on. “And that is why I know you will think that I am a very lucky man to have such an adorable and lovely – relative.”

  There was a pause before he uttered the last word.

  Charisa knew that what he wanted to say was fiancée.”

  Determinedly she moved away from him and went towards her father.

  She was not certain if he had heard what Gervais was saying because Madame Dubus was whispering something in his ear.

  She stood in front of him and then put out her hand to take his.

  “I have something very important to talk to you about, Papa,” she said. “Please – come with me.”

  Her father looked surprised, but he rose to his feet.

  She slipped her arm through his and drew him towards the door.

  Only when they were outside did she say,

  “I am sorry. Papa, to take you away, but Gervais was talking about me to his friends in a vulgar manner that made me feel uneasy – and I had to get away.”

  “I understand,” the Colonel said, “and I think Gervais had too much to drink at luncheon. It is best to take no notice of him.”

  “That is what – I wanted to do.”

  “I suppose, if we were sensible, we would go home now,” the Colonel remarked.

  Charisa was silent.

  She was wondering whether it would be possible to persuade Vincent to go with them.

  Then she knew that it was impossible.

  The only chance he had of finding anything against Gervais was to be on the spot, to stay in the house without anybody being aware of it.

  With an effort she said in a very different tone,

  “No, of course not, Papa. I am being foolish, a
lthough, quite frankly, I find all these extravagant compliments embarrassing.”

  “Of course you do,” the Colonel nodded.

  He put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her against him.

  “We will stay for another twenty-four hours,” he said, “and after that, whatever Gervais may say, we are going home.”

  Charisa did not answer.

  She was only praying that twenty-four hours would be enough for Vincent to find the evidence he wanted.

  Then it would be Gervais who would be leaving The Priory and not them.

  Chapter Six

  Charisa rose earlier than usual.

  And when she went into the breakfast room, there was nobody there.

  The servants did not wait at breakfast and she knew, therefore, that she had the room to herself until her father appeared.

  She quickly filled her basket with even more of the cold dishes than she had done yesterday.

  She had just put two rosy peaches into the basket and slipped it under the table as she had the day before when her father came into the room.

  “Good morning, my dearest,” he began. “We are the first as usual and I suggest that we go riding again before anyone in the party joins us.”

  Charisa was aware as he spoke that he had taken a dislike to Gervais’s French guests and she had thought at dinner that he was looking at them disapprovingly.

  Despite the blandishments of Madame Dubus, he was uncomfortable.

  Charisa that thought he would insist on going home this morning.

  But when they did so, what would happen to Vincent?

  ‘He must have found out something by now,’ she thought to herself.

  She hurried over her breakfast and then she went upstairs, ostensibly to fetch her riding hat and gloves.

  She opened the panel in her bedroom and put the basket inside.

  She had hoped that Vincent would be waiting for her, but there was, however, no sign of him.

  There was nothing she could do but go downstairs again to where her father was waiting for her.

  They had a delightful ride and the horse that Charisa was mounted on took the jumps better than she had ever taken them before.

  As her father had no engagements, they did not return to The Priory until it was growing late in the morning.

  “I should think everyone is up by this time,” Charisa commented as they rode up to the front door.