Devil Water (53 page)

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed; she cocked her head and examined her friend. “In your mysterious past?” she asked. “I believe you know far more about
that
than you’ve ever confided in me.”

“I do, Eve,” said Jenny after a pause. “I’d tell you, if I weren’t bound not to. But you wouldn’t like my past -- or at least Mr. Byrd would so dislike it that he would
never
let me see you.”

“Dear me,” said Evelyn dryly. “What I like and what my father likes are not often similar, as must have occurred to you, nor does my father necessarily know what I know. Still, I’ll not tease you, Jenny. Whatever your dark origin, you retain my affection! And,” she added with a glance at Rob, “I rather approve of yon great bear of a man, though I’m quite sure Lady Betty and my father don’t.”

By six all the guests had left except Rob. He stayed on, not because he did not know how to take his leave, as Betty at first suspected, but because, having finally made up his mind to talk with Jenny, he would not permit any feminine maneuvers to circumvent him.

Betty looked at the girl she had raised and whom she dearly loved. She saw that the pretty face was clouded, and that Jenny -- as she had so often done -- was preparing herself to accept a disappointment. Betty had an impulsive change of heart. The young man was decent, he was respectable, and more harm than good might come from undue opposition.

“Would you like to show Mr. Wilson the garden, Jenny?” she asked suddenly. “It is a pleasant evening. Myself, I must see that Colonel Lee rests.”

She almost regretted her impulse when she saw the leap of delight in the gray eyes, while Rob, bowing, said quietly, “‘Tis a kind thought, my lady. I should like to see the garden.”

The Lee garden was an ordinary town garden; it had a vegetable patch, a few fruit trees, a rose arbor and a sundial. Jenny had been in it a thousand times, but she had never seen it look as it did tonight.

The roses and an apple tree were in bloom. The air smelled of them instead of the smoke and drains it usually did. The air was light and fresh, the slanting sun filtered through it to gild the peeling old wooden benches, the green-stained sundial. It beautified the dilapidated stable mews and the disused coach house. Jenny and Rob walked without a word as far as they could, to the mossy brick boundary wall, where there was a bench, concealed from the house by the rose arbor. Jenny sat down and he sat beside her. A cuckoo called repeatedly from the Marylebone fields; they could hear it above the rumble of traffic.

Rob suddenly turned, and looked down at the girl. “Did you mean to make a fool of me today, Jenny?”

“Oh, Rob!” she cried. “How
can
you ask that! Will you never understand me? And you weren’t a fool. I was proud!”

He brushed this aside impatiently. “Why did you want to see me again? I thought we parted for aye in Coquetdale.”

“Why did you follow me yesterday, from the park to Queen Anne’s Gate?” she asked.

“Because you should not be with Wharton. The man is vile, you don’t know him.”

She tilted her head, her eyes were luminous, they looked up at him steadily. “Was that the only reason, Rob?”

He clenched his heavy jaw, a muscle worked in his cheek; then he made a harsh sound and said, “No, by God, it wasn’t! I’ve seen and followed you before -- these months I’ve been in London. At church and when you take the children walking. So now ye know!”

“And why, Rob hinny?” she said very softly, still looking up at him. “Why?”

“Don’t ye go badgering me into saying what I shouldn’t, as ye did in Whitton Dene,” he said violently, averting his gaze. “Let me go, Jenny! I’m making my own way at last, and soon I’ll get me a proper wife -- a cozy little body wi’ a nice jointure, and a Dad in trade who’ll understand
my
trade.”

“Do you want to hurt me, Rob?” she whispered. “Why must we always quarrel?”

“Why must ye keep questioning when ye know the answers?”

“Turn to me, Rob!” She put her hand on his cheek.

At her touch, he shivered. His head jerked around, he looked her full in the face. “Verra weel, lass --” he said through his teeth.

His arms shot out and lifted her from the bench onto his lap. He bent his head and kissed her with a furious hunger that cut her breath. She trembled and went limp, tears brimmed her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. His violence passed as he felt the tears. His bruising grip on her relaxed, he cradled her against his chest and began to kiss the wet cheeks. “So ye’re greeting now,” he whispered, resting his own cheek against her hair. “Hinny love, diwen’t greet.”

“ ‘Tis for joy,” she said. She raised her face and offered him her lips.

He kissed her this time, deep yet gently. “Feel joy then, my lass, if you can. I canna. ‘Tis fear I feel. Foreboding. There’s trouble coming nigh us, hinny, I knaw it -- I tried to play me pipes yestere’en -- they wilna work. The chanter’s cracked.”

“Robbie, Robbie,” she whispered. “That’s naught, it can be mended. ‘Tis not like you to talk thus. And there can’t be trouble and fear when there is love.”

“Ah, there
can
be! Ye wouldn’t knaw. Ye’re but a bairnie yet.”

“I’m not!” she cried. “Kiss me, and I’ll show you if I am.” She twined her arms around his neck.

They did not hear St. George’s clock strike seven, they did not hear a call from the house. They did not hear the crunch of hurrying footsteps along the gravel path; for an instant more they did not notice Lady Betty, who stood transfixed, staring at them.

“Merciful heaven!” cried Betty in a voice shaking with anger. “I’d never have believed this! Jenny, you little slut!”

Rob rose with the girl still in his arms. He put her down carefully, then stood away from her. “Jenny’s no slut, my lady,” he said in a heavy flat tone. “ Tis all my doing, and all I can say in defense is I didna mean to.”

“We love each other, my lady,” said Jenny pushing back her disordered hair.

“Nonsense!” Betty turned her angry eyes from one to the other. “A chit of a girl like you knows nothing of love. And though I see you’ve hot blood, I should think your pride would control
that
when it comes to lolligagging in the shrubbery like a serving-wench.”

“Harsh words, my lady,” said Rob. “Jenny doesn’t deserve them.”

“As for
you!”
cried Betty, still too much outraged to listen. “You, Robert Wilson, since I can’t control
your
behavior, I shall have to keep Jenny under constant watch, so as to prevent this disgusting sort of thing!”

“No need of that,” said Rob quietly. “I give you my solemn word I’ll never try to see Jenny again. I know she’s not for me, and I ask you to believe me, my lady.”

Betty swallowed. She encountered his direct level gaze, and did believe him. “Very well,” she said in a more temperate tone.

“But what about
me?”
Jenny cried. “I love Rob, I always have.”

“Ye’ll get over it, hinny,” said Rob with a wan smile.

“But I’ve tried and I didn’t!”

Betty recognized the note of hysteria and spoke gently. “Be reasonable, my dear. I don’t know what you have in mind. You couldn’t possibly marry this man, and indeed he obviously recognizes this himself. Many things seem tragic at fifteen, I know, but Rob is right -- and with determination you will get over it.”

For an instant as Betty spoke, she had a qualm. There had been another young girl, once, who had fallen in love and been told to “get over it.” Yet there was no resemblance at all.
That
love affair had been eminently suitable.

“I’ll be going, my lady,” said Rob, “and I’ll never trouble you again. Farewell, Jenny.” He took her hand and kissed it quietly. “God be with you.”

He heard Jenny give one agonized sob, as he walked past the stable mews to the alley which led back to George Street. Rob felt Jenny’s sob constricting his own chest. He walked aimlessly, dragging his feet, until he found himself in front of St. George’s Church. He wandered inside, for no particular reason except that it was quiet and cool. He sat down in a pew and bowed his head.

A spineless fool he’d been once again. Why had he gone to the Lees’ today? Why had he allowed his desire for the girl to get out of hand in the garden? “The woman tempted me,” he thought wryly. Adam’s ready excuse. But Adam was a weak man, and I am not. This hankering for what could never be his -- a hankering far worse now since their kisses in the garden -- this shameful weakness should be extirpated now, once and for all. I’ll wed Peggy Miller, wed her as soon as they’ve called the banns, he thought. No, sooner -- we can have a Fleet marriage -- any parson’ll do it there. He turned his mind resolutely to Peggy, her father was a well-to-do surveyor, Peggy was comely, even-tempered and well educated, she’d make a good wife for a rising young master-builder. She’d not disgrace him even when he got his own house and land as he meant soon to do. Wi’ Peg in my bed I shall forget Jenny, he thought. Still, he was not comforted. Underneath ran the formless foreboding, and the anxious wonder as to why he had found his chanter broken when he went to play the pipes. The pipes had been made by Jem Bailey, the Faw. It was not so easy to make another chanter, the proper wood for it did not grow near London. He rose abruptly, cursing himself for sickly fancies. Action was needed and the first thing to do was go seek Peggy Miller.

Rob quitted the church, and had taken three steps on the sidewalk, when a man brushed past him, walking up George Street. There was something both furtive and familiar about the man. Rob turned and watched him for a moment. “Wuns!” he said to himself. “ ‘Tis that foreign rapscallion o’ the Duke’s.”

Rob turned and followed the mincing, meager figure. It was after eight, yet still light. Rob stayed well behind, though Serpini doubtless wouldn’t recognize him after all these years. I’m mad, Rob thought -- I’m going daft as ould Snawdon. The slinking creature was on some harmless business for the Duke which would take him to Hanover Square, or even beyond. It was, however, no surprise to Rob when Serpini crossed the street and after another furtive look around stood staring across at the Lee mansion. Rob stopped too, while passersby jostled him, sedan chairs whisked past him, a coach and two great drays rumbled along beside him on the cobbles. The Italian disappeared down the alley for a bit, then he came back, and continued to lounge across the street from the Lees. He curled himself over the areaway fence of the house opposite, pulled out a pipe, lit it, and began to smoke. Rob watched frowning. Why didn’t the fellow knock at the Lee door, if he bore a message from the Duke? What was he waiting for?

Rob’s uneasiness grew. The Italian showed no sign of moving. Could it be he was waiting for darkness? But why?

A sickening suspicion gripped Rob. He turned and strode a block down George Street until he reached Conduit. He looked to the right and saw the Duke of Wharton’s unmistakable coach drawn up before a small dingy brick house which Rob well remembered. It was in this house’s upper story that Wharton diverted himself with meetings of his Hell-Fire Club. The meetings had been the subject of much ribald comment in the Duke’s servant hall while Rob was in service there.

The favorite footman -- a pretty boy -- had been taken along to the “club” by the Duke. The footman later reported a farrago of childish obscene nonsense, to which Rob had scarcely listened. There had been something about a dark room fixed up like a Catholic chapel, but with the crucifix hanging upside down -- and a naked woman painted on the altar. There had been several cowled figures like monks, swathed in red. The Duke was dressed as a priest. The red monks used a skull full of brandy as a Communion cup. They had gabbled the Lord’s Prayer backward, the footman said, and a shocking din it made. There had been more to it than that -- something the footman hinted at with lewd winks and sniggers -- a fair young virgin -- a mock marriage to the priest -- a couch brought on -- the maiden tied to it -- “Christ!” said Rob aloud, standing there on Conduit Street. “He wouldn’t dare, filthy as he is -- even he wouldn’t
dare --”

Rob walked slowly along past the Duke’s coach. The coachman and footmen sat impassively, the horses stamped a little, the coach was empty.

“Is his grace in the house?” said Rob to the postillion, whom he had never seen before.

“Aye,” said the lad. “Wot’s it to yer?” As he spoke two chairmen ran up and rested their chair before the brown brick house. A man got out whom Rob recognized at once -- Francis Charteris, the vilest rogue in England, and the Duke’s chief crony at the Hell-Fire orgies.

Rob walked back to the corner of George Street, and standing there tried to think. Should he warn Jenny? Yet he had sworn never to try to see her again, and he didn’t wish to frighten her either. Lady Betty then? Even if she let him in she’d never believe a fantastic tale such as this; she would think him demented, or, that he was inventing pretexts for breaking his word. Moreover, he did not really believe himself in the monstrous thing which half of him feared.

He glanced up George Street and saw that Serpini had disappeared. I
am
going daft, Rob thought. It’s all a mare’s nest. Nevertheless, he suddenly hailed a hackney, and instead of giving Peggy Miller’s address as he had meant to, he gave the address of his former lodgings in the City. In the old chest he’d left there were bits of the Duke’s livery -- the coat and badges, the wand he’d used as running footman. He was still undecided, unwilling to make a fool of himself; yet suddenly he urged the coachman to hurry, hurry towards the City. And he made a lightning plan. If his suspicions were unfounded there’d be no harm done.

At eleven o’clock that night, Jenny was deep in exhausted sleep, intensified by a draught Lady Betty had given her. Jenny slept alone in a tiny room off the nursery and back stairs. Stupefied by emotion and the drug, she had forgotten to lock her door, and Briggs walked in when she didn’t rouse to his discreet knocks. He shook her hard by the shoulders.

“What is it?” she cried jumping, and gaping at the manservant’s stupid face.

“Ye’re wanted below, miss,” said Briggs. “Sh-h-h- ‘tis a secret.”