“I am glad to hear it,” the Marquis remarked dryly.
“My father was once given a ‘holey stone’ as a charm to ward off witches,” Roger Clarke went on. “Perhaps I should lend it to your Lordship.”
For a second the Marquis stiffened as if he thought the suggestion an impertinence.
And then he laughed.
“I will chance it!” he said. “What are they saying locally will happen to me because I saved a so-called witch from the duck pond?”
“They are waiting to see if your Lordship dies, or if The Castle falls down.”
The Marquis laughed again.
“The witch is a young girl not more than eighteen,” he said, “and of gentle birth. Quite frankly, Clarke, the position is this – she has been diabolically treated by someone who wished her dead and I am determined to find out who it is.”
Roger Clarke looked startled.
“Do you think it was a deliberate attempt at murder, my Lord?”
“I am sure of it!” the Marquis replied. “Nanny assures me that if the girl had not been using a number of strongly made hairpins to keep her hair in order, she would undoubtedly have died from the blow on her head.”
The Marquis paused to add,
“As it was, two hairpins were driven deep into the skin, but they saved her life.”
“I cannot understand it, my Lord. I know this part of the world and I can think of no young girl who answers to that description. And certainly not one of gentle birth.”
“Are you certain of that?”
“Quite sure. As your Lordship can imagine, since I have lived here all my life, a strange face causes quite a sensation and is something one does not forget easily!”
He smiled before he went on,
“As you will understand, my Lord, the witch is now thought to be an evil spirit of surpassing beauty who has bewitched your Lordship!”
The Marquis was following his own train of thought and after a moment he said,
“Only a man or a woman of great strength could have inflicted such a deep wound on the girl’s head. Also to screw the neck off a young cock would have been beyond the strength of the girl upstairs!”
“But why should any man have wanted to murder a young girl?” Roger Clarke asked, “then lay her on the druid stones? If he was local, he would have known it would immediately arouse the peasants’ fear of witchcraft.”
“I have already thought that it was a deliberate action, myself,” the Marquis remarked.
He walked across the library to stand at the window looking out onto the sunny garden.
After a moment he said,
“I want you to make enquiries, Clarke, as to whether anyone the night before this girl was found saw anything strange in the village of Steeple or in the country round about.”
The Marquis paused before he went on,
“Do you think for instance there might have been smugglers landing at Lawling Creek that night and the girl surprised them?”
“That is a possibility, my Lord, except that Lawling Creek is quite a step from the druid stones. It seems unlikely that any smuggler would take the trouble to carry her there.”
“I agree, unless they wished to ensure that the crime was not connected with them.”
The Marquis thought for a moment. “If I had not happened to pass Steeple at the exact moment when the peasants were dragging the unfortunate girl to the pond, she would have been drowned and no one would ever have heard any more about her.”
“That is true, my Lord,” Roger Clarke agreed. “Then, as likely as not, she would have been buried at the crossroads with her head facing North. Unless of course they decided to throw her into the sea at Steeple Creek, which has happened before now.”
“It has?” the Marquis questioned with interest.
“It may only be gossip, my Lord, but there have been many stories of how, when men fought over local feuds, the loser has landed upon the sands with no evidence to prove he died in any other way except by drowning.”
“That makes the river extremely convenient for the people who live here!” the Marquis commented dryly. “Exactly, my Lord!”
“Well, make what enquiries you can, Clarke,” the Marquis ordered. “I shall expect you at the front door at one o’clock with the horses. Give the order to the stables. I will ride the stallion.”
“I will tell them, my Lord.”
Roger Clarke bowed and left the library.
The Marquis still stood at the window.
There was a frown between his eyes as he apparently contemplated the pink almond blossom petals drifting softly onto the grass.
Then, as if he made up his mind, he walked resolutely from the library and up the stairs to the nursery.
It was now the second day since he had rescued the witch from the villagers and he was well aware of the fact that she was staying in The Castle had caused something like consternation amongst his staff.
The housekeeper had reported to him two cases of hysteria amongst the younger maids and he could see the footmen, who were all local lads, eyeing him apprehensively when they were on duty in the hall or serving in the dining room.
It was almost as if they expected him to grow horns or cloven hooves, the Marquis thought with a smile, simply because he had been in contact with a witch!
As he entered the nursery, Nanny, who had been preparing something on the table, looked up.
It seemed to the Marquis that she had grown younger since his return and he was sure that it was because he had found her something to do.
‘It must,’ he thought with a sudden perception, ‘be very frustrating to sit for years with idle hands in an empty nursery.’
“I was hoping you would visit me, my Lord,” Nanny said. “I’ve something to show you.”
“Your patient has recovered consciousness?”
“No, my Lord, but she’s breathing more naturally and passed a quiet night. I shouldn’t be surprised if she wakes anytime now.”
“I still think you should have let me send for a physician.”
“What would have been the use?” Nanny asked. “He’s nothing but an old sawbones, who I wouldn’t trust to set a broken finger, let alone treat an affliction of the mind!”
The scathing note in Nanny’s voice made the Marquis smile.
He knew of old of her sentiments when it came to doctors and he remembered that, when he was a boy, however ill he might be, she would never allow one in The Castle.
He looked down at the table and seeing a number of herbs he knew that Nanny was preparing one of her famous tisanes.
“You know, Nanny,” he said jokingly, “it would never surprise me if you were ducked for being a witch! If you had not had the protection of the castle walls, I am convinced it would have happened long ago!”
“More than likely!” Nanny agreed complacently. “As long as there are ignorant, half-witted people around, who believe that anyone who uses nature’s method of healing is in league with the Devil, anything might happen!”
“And what magic potion is this that the poor, wretched girl will have to swallow?” the Marquis teased.
“It’s something that will do her good, Master Oswin,” Nanny said tartly, “and that’s all you need to know!”
The Marquis smiled.
“But that wasn’t what I wanted to show you.”
Nanny put down the knife she was chopping the herbs with and went to the white chest of drawers that stood against the far end of the nursery.
From the top of it she picked up a handkerchief and brought it to the Marquis for his inspection.
“I found this in the pocket of her gown. I’ve washed and pressed it. As your Lordship sees, it tells us her Christian name.”
The Marquis looked at the handkerchief with interest.
It was a very fine muslin and he could see that it had been neatly hemmed.
In one corner embroidered very skilfully with tiny stitches that might have been made by fairy fingers
was a name.
“Idylla!” the Marquis said aloud. “That, unless I am mistaken, comes from the Greek word which suggests perfection. It would seem, Nanny, that our visitor thinks well of herself!”
“Or rather, her parents thought well of her, my Lord!” Nanny corrected. “I don’t suppose she chose her own name.”
“No, of course not,” the Marquis admitted.
He wondered if it was a clue that Roger Clarke would have the answer to.
There could not be many women in this part of the country called Idylla, which was in fact a name he himself had never heard before.
While he was looking at the handkerchief, Nanny had opened the door of the night nursery and gone inside. Now the Marquis heard her call him.
“My Lord!”
There was something urgent in her voice that made him walk quickly into the room.
The blind was half-lowered to keep out the brilliance of the sunshine. Nevertheless, it was easy to see clearly the figure lying in the narrow bed, her head against a white pillow.
The girl’s hair was dark and silky against the sheets, which Nanny had pulled nearly up to her chin.
Framed by it, her face with its pointed chin looked somehow ethereal and insubstantial despite the scratches that were still visible on her cheeks.
The Marquis had seen her yesterday after she had been washed and he had thought then that she looked so fragile that he would not be surprised if she died during the night.
Now as he looked down, half-expecting that she was in fact dead, he realised that Nanny had called him for a very different reason.
Idylla, if that was really her name, had her eyes open.
The Marquis looked at her. He had expected, simply because she had been called a witch, that her eyes would be green, but instead they were surprisingly a vivid blue.
It was such an unusual combination with dark hair and dark eyelashes that they made her seem quite unlike anyone he had ever seen before.
“You are awake!” Nanny said gently. “There is no need to be frightened. I will give you something to drink.”
She turned to the table at the side of the bed as she spoke and the Marquis saw that she had prepared one of the healing potions which she invariably gave to anyone who was ill.
He could recall the sweet taste of them since Nanny had always disguised the many herbs she used with the sweetness of honey. The Marquis remembered being only too willing to drink down as many glasses as she wished to give him.
Idylla’s eyes seemed not to have moved since the Marquis had first looked at her and he had the impression that she was not seeing clearly, only staring at the light.
Then, as Nanny put her arm behind her and lifted her a little so as to hold the cup to her lips, she made a little sound as if of pain.
She drank from the cup at first tentatively, then took several sips before Nanny laid her back against the pillows.
“That’s better!” she said soothingly. “Now go to sleep.”
As if she was willing to obey the note of command in Nanny’s voice, Idylla closed her eyes.
Once again the Marquis noted how long and dark her eyelashes were against the transparency of her cheeks. Then, when it was obvious that she had fallen asleep, he turned and walked quietly from the night nursery.
Nanny followed him.
“You see, my Lord? There was no need for any blundering physician. She’ll be all right in a day or two.”
“As I have said before,” the Marquis replied, “you are an old witch, Nanny. I was quite right to leave her in your capable hands.”
“You can be sure of that,” Nanny replied, “and I’ll tell you one thing, my Lord. If we know nothing else about Miss Idylla, she’s a lady born and bred.”
“How can you be so sure?” the Marquis asked.
“It’s not only her looks, my Lord, her long fingers and her well-arched insteps, which are signs of the type of stock she’s come from. It’s her clothes!”
“Her clothes?” the Marquis questioned.
“Everything she was wearing under her gown, my Lord, was handmade by someone who understands how to sew properly. Something the girls today are seldom taught! Beautifully made her things are and edged with lace. Not very expensive, mind you! But they’re the choice only a lady would make. I assure you, my Lord, I know what I’m talking about!”
“I can well believe that, Nanny.”
“And mark my words, my Lord, when you find out who Miss Idylla is, she may prove to be a Princess in disguise!”
Now the Marquis threw back his head and laughed. “You are not only a witch, Nanny, you are also a romantic!”
“And why not?” the Nanny asked truculently. “Not that it’s any use my being romantic as far as you’re concerned, my Lord! Every time there’s been a letter from London I’ve hoped and prayed to hear news of an engagement.”
“Good Heavens!” the Marquis exclaimed. “Why have you been so intent upon marrying me off?”
“Because it’s only natural that you should settle down and rear a family. You’re thirty, Master Oswin. Time most gentlemen are Christening their third or fourth! But you without one to your name, and me waiting with an empty cradle!”
The Marquis laughed again.
“Even to please you, Nanny, and to fill your empty cradle, I refuse to shackle myself to some tiresome young woman who will undoubtedly prove to be a dead bore as soon as the honeymoon is over.”
There was a cynical note in the Marquis’s voice that made his old Nanny look at him sharply.
“Now come along, Master Oswin,” she said. “You’re not telling me you’ve not a wide choice.”
“Who has been talking?” the Marquis enquired.
“We’re not so benighted at The Castle that we don’t hear what’s going on in London,” Nanny snapped. “And that’s plenty, if I’m not mistaken! You’re not your father’s son for nothing!”
The Marquis stiffened.
He always disliked references to his father’s amatory adventures, which had been the talk of the previous generation, just as his occupied the minds of the present one.
Then he knew that Nanny, who had loved him ever since he was a baby, was perhaps the only woman in the world who desired his happiness utterly unselfishly.
If any other woman who cared for him prayed for his happiness, it was only because it would include herself.
Apart from the obvious desire of Nanny to hold his son in her arms, she loved him, as the Marquis knew, with a devotion that was entirely maternal.
He could not remember his mother, who had died when he was three years old and it was Nanny who had given him the only affection he knew during the years while his father ignored him whenever possible.
She had cossetted and scolded him, spoilt and punished him. She had taught him his first lessons and, even when he had thought himself too old to have a nanny, she had always been there in the background.
Someone who waited as eagerly for him to return from school as he longed to escape from it!
He realised, as he was thinking, that Nanny had been looking at him with eyes that missed very little.
“You have grown hard and cynical, Master Oswin,” she said. “What you want in your life is love!”
“There is too much of that,” the Marquis replied quickly.
“Not of the right sort, I’ll be bound!”
And because invariably Nanny had the last word, he could not help smiling.
“You are right – you are always right!” he said. “They have not been the right sort, Nanny, and that is why I have come home to you.”
“That’s sensible,” Nanny said with satisfaction. “What you want is plenty to occupy your mind and something to do, my Lord, and I don’t mean all those high jinks that occupy you in London! Too much drinking and too many late hours are very bad for you, as you well know!”
“As well I know!” the Marquis repeated.
“You’ll find plenty here to keep you busy, if y
ou look for it,” Nanny said. “And when you have time, find out about Miss Idylla. If there’s one thing I dislike, it’s a mystery!”
“That is exactly what I intend to do,” the Marquis answered and went downstairs.
He had not missed the fact that Nanny had prefaced her patient’s name with the respectful ‘Miss’.
He was well aware that this was something he should intimate to the rest of the household and, when he reached the hall, he said to the butler,
“I know you will be glad to hear, Newman, that Nanny has discovered the Christian name of our visitor.”
“Indeed, my Lord?”
“It is Idylla and you may inform the household that in the future the young lady upstairs will be referred to by everyone as ‘Miss Idylla’.”
“Very good, my Lord.”
The butler hesitated a moment and then he added,
“Two of the lads from the village, my Lord, have asked permission to terminate their employment and Mrs. Darwin tells me one of the under-housemaids also wishes to leave.”
“Let them go and fill their places with those who are not so bigoted and uncivilised.”
The Marquis raised his voice a little as he went on, so that the footmen on duty in the hall could hear what he was saying.
“Let me make this quite clear, Newman. If a servant does not show any guest in my house, whoever he or she may be, the utmost respect whether in their presence or not, then I shall expect the senior staff to dismiss them immediately! Is that understood?”
“I’ll convey your instructions, my Lord, both to Mrs. Darwin and to Mrs. Headley in the kitchen.”
“Tell Mrs. Headley that the food I have enjoyed so far has been excellent!” the Marquis said. “I have never eaten better salmon than the one served last night.”
“Thank you, my Lord! I’m sure Mrs. Headley will be very gratified. She’s been extremely nervous, as your Lordship will understand, that the food at The Castle might not measure up to the standard your Lordship enjoys in Berkeley Square!”
“The two are incomparable,” the Marquis said. “Kindly reassure Mrs. Headley that I am not only extremely pleased with the meals she has served so far, but I am also finding them a very pleasant change!”
The Blue Eyed Witch Page 6
