Give All to Love (12 page)

The pig regarded him with such obvious gratitude that he could only chuckle and tuck the rug closer about her. She burrowed under it happily and Devenish crossed to tug on the bell pull before he seated himself at the desk.

In about ten minutes, a shuffling step in the hall apprised him of the fact that Wolfe had negotiated the not inconsiderable distance from the butler's pantry to the study, and was now leaning against the wall outside, recovering himself. After an appropriate pause, the door opened. Somewhat out of breath still, Wolfe reeled in, and waited respectfully to be advised of his employer's wishes.

“Wolfe,” said Devenish, “we are going to give a ball.”

“Haaa … wheee…” wheezed the old gentleman, swaying. “In—Town, sir?”

“Here. And it must be soon, before everyone is completely immersed in preparations for Christmas entertainments.”

Wolfe regarded him with glazed eyes.

Devenish went on, “We shall have to hire more servants, naturally, but I leave all that to you and your staff.”

“Of … c-course, sir. May I ask how—how many we are to—invite?”

“Lord knows. But—oh, at least a hundred couples, I'd think. So we must ready the ballroom.” He frowned. “Jove—is the floor safe?”

“I could not say, sir. No one's been in there for several years. Save to dust.”

“Hmmmn. I'd best go and have a look. Meanwhile, please tell Mrs. Robinson and Signor della Casa so they may begin to mull on the matter.”

He ignored the old man's dismayed look and, aware of his chef's nasty temper, wandered nonchalantly from the room, feeling a most heartless cad.

The Great Hall looked much more livable and welcoming these last years since Josie had badgered him into having the whole central block redecorated and refurnished. He crossed its handsome new floor, his limping steps echoing through the vastness, and made his way to the west hall and the newer part of the great house, passing the main dining room, the morning room, three saloons, and the music room, before he came at last to the ballroom.

A footman who had followed unobtrusively now sprang to fling open the doors, then step aside, maintaining a cool and disinterested attitude that was a relief to his bedevilled employer.

Devenish murmured his thanks, strolled into the ballroom, and recoiled. He had quite forgotten how enormous was this formal chamber. It stretched before him in chill and daunting grandeur, its furnishings shrouded in Holland covers, its four chandeliers looking like so many huge laundry bags hanging from the ornately plastered ceiling. Devenish, who had vaguely remembered two chandeliers, was stunned, and hoped fervently that not all the lustres would need washing, which would surely constitute a tremendous task.

The floor was dusty, but its parquetry still retained an element of shine and it looked solid enough. The pale cream walls were sadly cracked and a touch mildewed here and there, but a coat of paint would fix that, and when the tapestries that once had hung here and were now packed away somewhere for safe keeping were restored, the place might not look too dreadful. Wandering about, Devenish felt like an interloper in his own house, and the eerie sensation that sad and long-dead eyes watched him took possession of his mind as it sometimes did when he was alone in some part of the mansion. He had known the same feeling in his cousin's Scottish castle. He remembered Craig saying comfortingly that some men were more in touch with the occult than were others …

A sudden gust of wind slammed against the west wall, making him start. The room seemed to sway. Staring, aghast, Devenish realized that it was not the walls that swayed. He investigated and found that the “cracks” were cobwebs, blown about by intrusive draughts. “Good God!” he muttered, but he did not keep an enormous staff of servants as was the custom on many great estates, and could scarcely blame his retainers for failing to keep up a room that had not been used for several decades.

The floor creaked as he crossed the room, but all wood floors creaked, surely? He stamped a few times. The creaks were louder, as though the floor were shocked by this unaccustomed usage, and he stamped about in several areas, finding nothing ominous. After all, although some dancers would be considerably more weighty than himself, they would scarcely stand in one spot and jump up and down. He grinned to himself. Josie might. Most, however, would be dancing quite circumspectly. At least, one would hope so. He began to twirl about the floor, defying the sensation of being intimidated by the size of it. Solid enough, but just to be on the safe side, he gave a couple of strong leaps, taking care to land on his left foot.

“By … Jehosophat!”

With a gasp, he spun around. Sir William Little peered at him uneasily from the distant doorway. He gave an inward groan of embarrassment and wished his maligned ballroom floor might open and allow him to sink through. Of all people to discover him leaping about like a looby! “Just—er, testing the floor,” he gulped, knowing his face was scarlet, and advancing to extend a courteous hand to his unexpected guest.

“Oh,” said Sir William, looking relieved. “You give me a nasty turn, Devenish, damme if you didn't! Your butler said you'd come here, and I told him I'd announce m'self. Knew it would've taken him a month of Sundays to bring me! Then, when I saw you hopping about like a curst kangaroo, I don't mind admitting, I thought—”

“Yes. I do not doubt it, Squire. Let's adjourn to a warmer part of the house, shall we?”

When they reached the study, Devenish offered his guest a comfortable chair and a glass of Madeira. “Thinking about giving a come-out ball, you see,” he explained. “For my ward.”

“Delightful little gel,” said Sir William, nodding in his ponderous way. He sipped his wine, acknowledged that it was “damned good,” and added, “Don't imagine you expected to see me again, Devenish. Didn't expect to be here, I don't mind telling you.”

“I'll admit you seemed annoyed when you left, sir,” said Devenish.

“Annoyed, is it?” Little scanned him suspiciously, met an amused twinkle, scowled, grinned reluctantly, and repeated, “Annoyed? Man—I was
enraged!
Went out of here fully intending to write to my solicitor and have the access road closed to you!”

Devenish's good humor evaporated. “You can't do that,” he declared, bristling. “It's a deeded right-of-way.”

“Yes, but it ain't irrevocable! You cross my preserves at two points on that road, and— But, no matter. I did not come to select fleas. M'sister tells me you were very kind when she took her spill yesterday.”

“What did you expect? Lord sakes, any fellow would have been! I'm very sure you would do the same for Miss Storm.”

Gratified, Sir William relaxed his stiff manner. “Aye, I would.” He took another pull at his wine, and settled himself more comfortably in his chair, saying expansively, “Don't usually care much for the fair sex, but m'sister's a
rara avis,
if I say so m'self. Dashed fine woman.”

“She's certainly a handsome creature. I wonder she hasn't married again.”

“Well, it ain't from want of offers, let me tell you, sir!”

“I didn't say it was! Lord, but you're hot at hand!”

“
I
am?” shouted Little, slamming down his glass. “I come here out of the goodness of my heart, and be damned if y'don't turn around and insult m'sister!”

“I did nothing of the kind,” said Devenish angrily, slamming down his own glass. “Devil take you, Little, you've the disposition of a—” He checked. “What's the matter now?”

Staring at the hearth, the Squire asked in a voice of mystification, “What the deuce
is
that?”

Following his gaze, Devenish gave a gasp. Lady Godiva was stirring. If the Squire knew a pig ran tame at Devencourt, he'd be laughing forever! Happily, she dozed off again, whereupon he said airily, “You mean the dog?”

“Dog…?” Sir William stepped closer. “Don't look like no dog I ever—Where's its face?”

“He's a—er, rare type,” said Devenish, adding hurriedly, “I'd not get too close, were I you. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have put—ah, Hercules out.”

“Vicious, is he?” said the Squire, halting. “I'm quite a dog man m'self, y'know. What breed did you say?”

“Eh? Oh—a … Tasmanian Devil.”

“Never heard of it.” The Squire, fascinated, took another step, his gaze fixed on the furry brown shape by the hearth. “Where's it hail from?”

“Van Diemen's Land,” said Devenish promptly, blessing the erring Cornish who, having once been transported, had contrived to bribe his way back to England, and had once or twice engaged in converse with his employer regarding the great Australian continent.

Lady Godiva shifted and emitted a drowsy grunt.

“'Pon my soul!” the Squire exclaimed, and again stole forward.

The rug shifted agitatedly. Devenish cried, “I say, I wish you wouldn't venture so close,” adding a desperate, “He's er, a tiger when roused!”

“Is he, by God! I wonder you allow him in the house at all! Jupiter, but he's an odd-looking chap. Can't wonder at it if he's a bit grumpy, eh?”

Devenish laughed hollowly.

“Tasmanian Devil, y'say … I'll have to tell m'sister. She's quite an authority on—” He checked as the “Tasmanian Devil” contorted, reared up, and stood there, the picture of the grotesque. “Lord—what an ugly brute! Which end is— By Beelzebub! He's got a curly tail!”

Devenish stifled a groan. “Sir—I do apologize, but it really ain't safe! You'd best—”

The “Tasmanian Devil,” hearing a friendly voice, trotted in the direction of it, squealing indignation at being unable to see. With a little yelp of alarm, the Squire hopped onto his chair. Lady Godiva, eager to come at the source of the friendly sound, gave a great shake. Even as Devenish, fighting hilarity, made a dart for her, the rug flew off.

“It's a triple-damned
pig!
” howled Sir William, springing down and turning a purpling face on Devenish's mirth. “Playing a curst May game with me, was you?
Tasmanian Devil?
” He brandished his fist. “I'll Tasmanian Devil you!”

Laughing helplessly, Devenish gasped, “No, but—sir, I—I really—”

“Think it's damned funny to make me hop up on chairs, eh? Having a good joke? Damn and blast your eyes and limbs, we'll see who laughs longest!” Livid with fury, Sir William stamped towards the doors, bellowing about the goodness of his heart and the gibbering damned idiots hereabouts. He wrenched the doors open and strode onto the terrace. “Pigs running loose in the damned house! I'll Tasmanian the damned—” At this point, recalling his hat, he turned about.

It was an unfortunate move. Clinging to the desk, sobbing and wiping his eyes, Devenish looked up in time to see Lady Godiva trotting after the Squire, doubtless having mistaken him for her owner. Sir William's sudden about-face took her—and him—by surprise. He uttered a shocked yell. Equally shocked, she darted for safety. Between his legs. A crash, a howl, and Devenish was sprinting for the terrace. For the third time in two days, he bent above the prone victim of a bad fall. Between roars, Sir William glared at him and waved his arms about.

“I say, sir,” said Devenish, genuinely repentant. “I'm most devilish sorry. Here—let me help—”

“Do not
touch
me!” bellowed the Squire apoplectically. “Don't put
one
 … damned
finger
 … on me!”

“Come now, sir. You know I did not mean it. Oh, very well. Can you stand alone, then?”

“
Stand?
Damn your ears! I cannot
move!
My
back!
Oh, hell and damnation! My back's
broke!
”

Chapter 6

“
Je vous assure,
this was the case most special,” said Guy Sanguinet, leaning heavily on his crutch as he accompanied Devenish along the east corridor.

“I can believe that,” said Devenish with a smile. “From what he told me, Lyon is fairly beside himself with eagerness to offer for Josie. I know he would be here if it was at all possible. When old Belmont decides the boy has had time to recover, it is on the instant, isn't it!”

“
Oui.
My Lord Belmont, his communiqué it say that this is a case
très bien
for Lyon. It seem this unfortunate former Naval officer have carry the musket ball in his leg since the war. It is high above the knee, and when they try to remove it, the success it not come, and he say—never again!”

“Don't blame him a bit,” said Devenish, slowing his pace to accommodate his struggling friend, but knowing Sanguinet too well to offer his arm. “Lots of poor fellows died under the knife. Still do. The shock, I'm told.” He shuddered. “Once was enough for me, I don't mind telling you!”

“Ah, but you had no choice,
mon cher
Alain. You could not for all of your life walk about transfixed by the crossbow bolt my brother tell Gerard to put in you.”

Devenish grinned. “Dashed hard on my tailor, I grant you. Am I to deduce, then, that our brilliant lad has been summoned to town to watch Belmont remove the musket ball after all this time?”

“No.” Guy paused. “Pardon, Alain. This new way of progressing—I have not yet quite master it. And your house—it go on everlasting, no? Our situation now is this—my son does not go to watch. Nor is the bullet to be removed. The leg it must come off, and Lyon,
mon ami,
have what Belmont call ‘the hands,' so—”

“Jupiter! D'you mean that Lyon is to
perform
the surgery?”

Guy nodded, his hazel eyes alight with pride. “Almost this it is so. He goes to assist Lord Belmont. As you would say—famous!”