Chapter 21

21

Rafe watched Sophie walk away from him with a disturbing mixture of emotions churning in his breast. She was so brave, he thought, so resolute. And undeniably reckless, in a manner that seemed to call up some echo of her wildness from him too. It must be her, because the rest of his life was so controlled and ordered.

She was, he supposed, a criminal in most people’s eyes. A thief. Moreover, she carried a knife, and seemed confident in her ability to use it. He had not the least idea how she had survived alone for so long and found her way here at last. But he found he didn’t care – no, that was wrong; he could guess at how much she must have suffered and he cared very much about that, he devoutly wished none of it had come to pass, but he didn’t care about her history otherwise. He would not dream for a moment of judging her for any of it. He’d even considered offering to help her tonight, but then instantly realised that this was something she needed to do by herself. He could see that the impulse to revenge had sustained her for years and that it would be very wrong to take any part of that away from her. This was her moment, not his. He was desperately worried for her safety, though, and prayed that all her ingenuity and fierce determination would be a match for Wyverne’s ruthlessness.

Should he spend the night here, as he never did, or ride over to the rectory as he’d originally intended? It was a dilemma – if he stayed, he’d be here in the morning when the theft was discovered, and could perhaps help Sophie if she needed him. But he had not slept here in years, and if Wyverne heard of it, as he surely would in the end, he’d think it excessively strange. Knowing the way the man’s mind worked, he thought that his instant assumption would be that Drake had been bedding someone here, and that was why he had changed his fixed habits and remained. And might not his thoughts then turn to Sophie as a likely candidate, since she was the only new arrival? Could drawing attention to her thus put her in further danger?

Rafe resolved at last that it was best to go, to behave as though there was nothing unusual at all about this night as far as he was concerned. It might be useful, if matters really grew desperate in the aftermath of the theft, to sow a tiny seed of doubt in his father’s mind, and divert attention away from Sophie and all the other inhabitants of the house. If the Marquess was busy wondering if his own heir had robbed him, had taken the jewels and instantly spirited them away from the estate to God knows where before their loss was even suspected, he might spend less time worrying about everyone else, including Sophie. He must know that Drake hated him, and why; the idea might give him a few extra anxious moments.

Having decided, he made his way through the dark, silent house towards the stables – he had his own keys and always locked up behind him, he wouldn’t contemplate leaving a door open and risking any of the staff suffering for his neglect – and saddled his sleepy mare before trotting sedately off across the moonlit lawns and around the side of the lake. He paused for a moment when he reached the great triumphal arch at the top of the rise and, almost against his will, gazed back towards the house. There was not a light to be seen anywhere inside and nothing modern or sordid about it from this distance; it looked like some magnificent and pure temple to the ancient gods. It was so piercingly beautiful as it sat there slumbering, the tall, pillared central section with its imposing flight of steps and triangular pediment cast in sharp relief by the light of the moon, that once again his heart ached to see it. He would be ambushed every now and then like this by his love for the place, and his desire that everything could be different, so that he could look on it just once with unalloyed pleasure. But he doubted that that would ever be possible, and certainly it could not be while his father lived and while Rosanna shared the house with him.

He shook his head and rode on, through the arch and down the ride to the village. The rectory was never locked and he had a standing invitation to spend the night there; it was possible that Simon, who kept very late hours and seemed to need little sleep, would still be up reading, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to face his friend just now. The Reverend Mr Venables was a curious mixture of innocence and shrewdness, and would undoubtedly be able to see at a glance that Rafe’s mind was disturbed. And there was so much he couldn’t tell him.

He stabled Cinnamon, the other horses whickering quietly in welcome, and made her comfortable, whispering to her soothingly as he went about his tasks, taking longer than he needed in the rather cowardly hope that Simon must surely be abed by now. But he wasn’t – he could see the light under the door of the study when he had closed the front entrance carefully behind him. He sighed and went to tap softly on the panel.

Simon’s cheerful face turned to him as he came in, his spectacles gleaming in the candlelight. He was perhaps ten years older than Lord Drake, his former student, a short, plump, balding little man with a sunny disposition that was written quite plainly on his face. ‘You’re about late, Rafe!’ he said. ‘I’m glad to see you. Will you take a glass of brandy with me? You look as though you could do with it.’

Rafe crossed to the desk and poured a small measure for each of them from the decanter that sat ready. ‘Carousing into the small hours, I see,’ he said drily, sinking into one of the comfortably shabby armchairs by the small fire and stretching out his booted legs. It had been a long day.

‘Hardly,’ said his friend with a smile. ‘I was writing my sermon, and I rather lost track of time, hunting down an interesting reference in St Augustine… But it isn’t important. You look as though you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. I hope your grandmother is not unwell?’

‘She’s fine,’ Rafe reassured him. ‘She seems most content with her new companion.’ There had been no need to add that last sentence. He hadn’t wanted to speak of Sophie, of Clemence, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

‘Good heavens, she has another? I cannot keep track of them.’

‘I thought I’d mentioned that a new companion arrived a short while ago,’ Rafe said, a shade too airily.

‘You hadn’t, in fact.’

‘Ah.’

‘I apprehend that this new arrival is not a particularly elderly lady like some of her predecessors?’ Simon was smiling at him as he spoke, and he felt himself colouring under the benign scrutiny.

Rafe laughed ruefully. ‘It is useless to attempt to hide anything from you, is it not?’

‘I didn’t think you were actually trying very hard. Do you wish to speak of her?’ And then Simon’s cherubic face clouded over and he said, ‘If she is someone you think you could be… interested in, then Wyverne Hall is surely no place for her. Lord Wyverne himself is hardly respectable – and I understand that he has guests, and can all too easily imagine what manner of persons they must be. Are you concerned for her safety – is that why you look so troubled?’

Rafe didn’t answer him directly. He had no intention of telling him everything, but nor did he wish to lie. He said, ‘Last night Wyverne insisted, as you know he sometimes does, that my grandmother and her companion attend a dinner party he was holding. One of his guests did not let five minutes pass before he propositioned the young lady – Mademoiselle Delavallois.’

Simon exclaimed in horror, his innocent face creased with distress. ‘I am excessively sorry to hear that! Could you do anything at all to protect her?’

‘I wished to, naturally, but as matters turned out I did not need to. Mademoiselle Delavallois immediately threatened to stab the creature in the leg with a fork, and he was so convinced that she was serious that he left her alone after that. Of course she was obliged to suffer the company of Lady Wyverne and her cronies for a little while longer, as was my grandmother, but at last they both escaped unscathed.’

Mr Venables could not help but smile, though his brow was still furrowed. He shot Rafe a sharp glance. ‘You overheard the shocking insult that the poor young lady was forced to endure?’

‘I saw it from across the dinner table, and she told me afterwards how she had defended herself.’ Too late Rafe saw the neat trap that had been set for him. ‘Yes, Simon, we have conversed privately – several times, in fact. Was that what you desired to know?’

It was his friend’s turn to look disconcerted. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. Would it be inappropriate, or perhaps too hasty, if I said that I would be very happy if you brought this young lady here to meet Elizabeth and the children? I am sure they would be happy to know her, and it might be good for her to have friends nearby, if she should ever need them.’

Rafe gazed down into his brandy glass, swirling the golden liquid before he drank a little. ‘I know you’re concerned for me, and for her. But the situation is more complicated than I can possibly tell you, and – I don’t believe it’s a good idea. If I brought her here, everyone at Wyverne would soon know of it, and the last thing I want is to attract his attention – my father’s attention – to her. At present he barely seems to have noticed her existence, and I think I would prefer to keep it that way.’

‘You fear… Good heavens, Rafe, how much longer can you continue in this life? That a man should be worried that his own parent would force his attentions?—’

‘I know. That’s not precisely my concern, though, because he does not… It is very hard to speak of such things, but if I cannot say them to you, who in the world can I tell? In plain words, then, it is my understanding from what I have heard whispered by the servants that my father does not now lay hands upon a woman – not his wife, not anyone else. What he does do…’ Rafe picked up his glass again and drained it. ‘What he does do is watch. He watches others while they couple, he orders that they should do so for his entertainment. And so I do not fear direct harm to Mademoiselle Delavallois from him, but that does not mean I think her safe at Wyverne by any means.’

‘Good heavens! My dear fellow, what can I say? Of course, even I have heard stories…’ Simon murmured unhappily.

‘I dare swear they’re all true. Tonight he arranged that Lady Wyverne and some notorious ladybird from London should stage a reenactment of Messalina and Scylla’s famous contest, which you may recall from Suetonius. If you have not read it, my dear friend, I am sure even you must have heard of it.’

The rector gasped and grew pale. ‘I must believe you if you tell me so, but I confess I can scarcely credit it. That such shocking things should happen in London I suppose I always knew, but that they should take place here in Buckinghamshire, in my own parish…’

Rafe laughed mirthlessly. ‘Come, Simon! The Hellfire Club became active here long before my father was born, so there is a history of such deeds in this area, though I am not aware that he ever attended its meetings. But I’m sure he did if he was able – can you seriously doubt it?’

‘West Wycombe is more than forty miles away!’ Mr Venables protested naively, as if the distance served as some protection.

‘Perhaps Sir Francis Dashwood’s doings there merely served as inspiration, then,’ Rafe said drily. ‘It hardly matters, after all. I don’t, in fact, have any evidence to suspect Wyverne of Satanism. The things I know he’s done are quite bad enough. Tonight… I feel events are moving to a crisis, Simon. He seems to have less and less restraint, and I have a sense of impending doom. I have wondered lately if he is… unwell in a specific fashion, as the promiscuous way he has lived makes all too possible, and his mind is affected by his malady. I need not go into greater detail, I’m sure. But I don’t see what in the world I can do about any of it.’

The rector was plainly deeply troubled by all he heard, and did not think to tell Rafe that his fears were foolish. ‘I can see that there is sadly little that can be done. You could take the young lady away, that’s one thing – bring her here, perhaps.’

‘Thank you. But there is also my grandmother to consider. I cannot leave her unprotected. You must see that.’

Simon said dubiously, ‘Perhaps your father would not now object…’

Rafe shook his head. ‘He’s told her a thousand times that he will never let her go. She believes him to be entirely serious, and she must know him best. I would have had her safe with me years ago if it were otherwise. And I might risk incurring his grave displeasure for her sake, and steal her away, if it were not for the fact that I have Charles and Amelia to think of. You know he would have the full weight of the law on his side if he ever took it into his head to take them back. I am just their half-brother. He is their father, and a man of great power. Thank heaven they are not here just now to be drawn into the crisis I sense is coming. Is it a sin, tell me, reverend sir, to wish for another person’s death, and that person one’s own father?’

‘My conscience tells me it must be,’ said his friend sadly. ‘But I cannot find it in my heart to reproach you for it. I can only pray that you are wrong and that matters can reach some happy conclusion without any further pain being caused to anyone, though I confess I cannot imagine how this might come to pass.’

And you do not know all, thought Rafe grimly. You do not know the full depths of Wyverne’s depravity, nor Rosanna’s, and you know nothing at all of what Sophie did tonight, and the terrible danger she faces as a result. ‘Nor me,’ he said tersely. ‘Nor anyone. Pour me some more brandy, would you?’