To the Devil, a Daughter

by Dennis Wheatley

  In turn she asked him about his work, and he told her that on the whole he thoroughly enjoyed it; but that like every other business it had its irritating moments. In the previous year his directors had given him a real plum—a Canadian millionaire who wanted a permanent home in London, fully equipped regardless of expense, but did not wish to be bothered with any of the details, or even be informed of the colours of the rooms, until he walked into it; but that sort of thing did not happen often. Most of his clients were people compelled by taxation to move from country houses that their families had occupied for generations into medium-sized West End flats. The majority of them had taste; so they were usually not difficult to deal with, and the major trouble in such cases was generally that the furniture they wished to retain was much too big for the rooms; so it often spoiled the final décor. The real headaches were the black-marketeers and other nouveaux riches, who went round on their own, buying ghastly suites or fake antiques, guaranteed to make any interior look garish or pretentious. Yet he declared that he would not for the world be in any other business, as every day brought its new problem that kept his mind alert, and now and then an achievement which gave him real artistic satisfaction.

  ‘Do you ever have to do kitchens?’ Christina enquired.

  ‘Yes, sometimes.’

  ‘How many sinks do you put in a new scullery?’

  ‘Why, one, of course,’ he replied promptly. ‘In these days of small staffs no one would want more.’

  ‘Then if I ever need a kitchen designed I shan’t employ you,’ she laughed. ‘It makes the work infinitely lighter if one has two sinks side by side; and they should both be on a much higher level than most architects place them, to save backache from bending unnecessarily far over.’

  ‘It is certainly a thought,’ he admitted in a slightly chastened tone. ‘I suppose you got the idea from that domestic place you were at?’

  ‘Yes: our kitchen expert had learned her stuff in America, where most wives have to do their own housework. It is scandalous how far behind we are in Britain; and in France things are even worse, in spite of the good cooking. For years past all housework has continued to be far more laborious than it need be. If I ever have a home of my own I shall install all the new labour-saving devices. I’ll have toe hollows instead of protruding bases along the floor level of the cupboards, so that the paint is not knocked off, compo-rubber sinks and draining-boards to save breakage, laundry chutes, a mix-and-whip, an electric dish-washer, and one of those lovely things to throw the garbage into that chews up even bones.’

  ‘We had better go into partnership. You could do all the expensive gadgets on the domestic side, while I crib ideas like the arrangement of those bookcases we saw at the de Grasses last night.’

  Her expression immediately became serious, and she asked, ‘Do you think there is any risk that they may try to get hold of me by force?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he replied with a confidence he was far from feeling. ‘In any case, you may be sure that we shall do our utmost to protect you. Still, it is a possibility that they might lure you away by some trick, and, as a matter of fact, while we were trudging up the hill, an hour back, I had an idea about that.’

  ‘Did you? Tell me what it was.’

  He hesitated a second. ‘Well, if by chance they did manage to entice you away, we shouldn’t be on a very good wicket. I mean, if we had to go to the police and ask them to trace you, they would naturally want to know what authority we had for making such a request, particularly if things pointed to your having gone off of your own free will. They would get down to the job quickly enough if we were relatives of yours, but they might refuse to act at all if they took the view that, as we were only acquaintances, we had no right to stick our noses into your business.’

  ‘I see what you mean; but I don’t see how that can be got over.’

  ‘It can be. I think the germ of the idea came into my mind when we were nattering about marriage. Mama and I could raise Cain, and get them running round in circles, if I could say that you were my fiancée.’

  Christina’s big brown eyes were round with astonishment as she turned them on him. ‘You … you aren’t making me a proposal of marriage, are you?’

  He had been lying full length on the grass, but now he sat up and looked at her with a grin. ‘Sorry, but I’m afraid I’m not. Although I suppose it is presumptuous of me even to infer that I might have raised false hopes in your maidenly breast. I only had in mind that stupid old saying “marriages are made in heaven and engagements to be broken”. Ours, if you thought the idea worth pursuing, would be only for the “duration of the conflict”, and afterwards we should go our own separate ways, seeking more suitable partners to dig our hooks into in earnest. What do you say?’

  ‘It is a bit shattering to have all one’s girlish dreams about first proposals rendered farcical like this,’ she said, half seriously. ‘But I do see your point about an engagement giving you the right to get a hue and cry going, should I disappear. I’d feel bound to make it a condition, though, that we should tell your mother that there is nothing serious between us.’

  ‘Of course. And Conky Bill, too. I wouldn’t like either of them to think later that I had bilked you. But we ought to put up a bit of a show to establish our state of bliss in the minds of the retainers.’

  She gave him a rather dubious look. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’

  ‘Why, the usual concrete evidence that you are about to be made into an honest woman.’ As he spoke, he drew a gold signet ring from the little finger of his left hand and held it up. ‘Here! Let me slip this on your engagement finger. It was my father’s, and I regard it as one of my few treasures. So for God’s sake don’t lose it. You can flash it in front of that old Catalan woman of yours and Angele. Tell them that I mean to buy you something more spectacular when we get home, but that in the meantime it is the symbol of my undying love.’

  ‘All right then,’ she laughed, and held out her left hand. It was shapely, but large, and he had considerable difficulty in working the ring over her knuckle. At length he succeeded, and as it slipped down to the waist of the finger he muttered: ‘That’s done it; but you have got big hands for a girl, haven’t you?’

  She flushed to the roots of her hair and retorted angrily, ‘Yes! And large feet, and a snub nose; so you’re jolly lucky not to have got me for keeps.’

  His eyes showed surprise and immediate contrition. ‘Damn it all, Christina!’ he exclaimed. Then, putting out both hands, he took her by the shoulders and looked straight in her face. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. I swear I didn’t! You’ve got the loveliest eyes I’ve ever seen, and if you only knew it, that funny nose of yours is one of your best features. It gives you an individuality that awfully few girls have got.’

  ‘You don’t mean that. You are just trying to be nice to me now, to make up for having been unintentionally nasty.’

  ‘I do mean it. And your lips are as soft as any I have ever kissed.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘You know, when one gets engaged to a girl it is usual to kiss her. That’s always done, even in boy-and-girl affairs that are not intended to come to anything.’ Next second, before she had a chance to resist, he slipped his arms round her, pulled her to him, and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

  For a long moment she lay passive in his embrace, then he withdrew his lips, smiled down at her and said, ‘You are not doing your best, darling. That’s not a patch on the kisses you gave me the other night.’

  Instantly she pulled away from him. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she cried, ‘How horrid of you to remind me of that!’

  ‘Why?’ he asked, momentarily at a loss. ‘You are the same girl, and there is nothing to be ashamed of in what you did.’

  ‘I was not myself then, and you know it.’

  He gave a little shrug. ‘If you take my advice, then, should a chap ever make love to you seriously and you want him for a husband, you will let him kiss you only when you are, as you put it, not
yourself.’

  Christina’s cheeks were scarlet as she murmured unhappily, ‘But it isn’t normal. It’s not decent. No girl could do that sort of thing and not be ashamed of it afterwards—at least not until she was married.’

  Smiling slightly, John shook his head. ‘My dear, I’m sure you really believe that, but you are talking the most utter rot. I give you my word of honour that grown-up people who are going places together nearly always kiss that way—even when they haven’t the faintest intention of getting married. There is no harm in it, and it’s part of the fun of life. You might just as well say that, because as children we have no urge to smoke or drink, it is wicked of us to take to it when we get older. Learning to kiss properly, and enjoying it, is just one of the normal processes of becoming a man or woman. You did enjoy being kissed by me the other night, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Christina whispered. ‘I … I … of course I did.’

  ‘Then stop being a baby, and let me kiss you again.’ As he spoke, he drew her gently into his arms and this time kissed her parted lips.

  From the distance came the faint clink of metal against small stones as a peasant hoed one of his terrace plots, and once a seagull circled overhead; but no one came to disturb them. John sat with his back against the bole of the tree, his right arm round Christina, and her head lay on his shoulder. Few places could have been nearer the ideal for a first lesson in kissing, and once Christina let herself go she proved an apt pupil; but John was careful to keep matters on the level of a game not to be taken seriously. He had set out to take the girl’s mind off the grim anxieties which he knew must lie at the back of it. That he had succeeded was clear, and he was thoroughly enjoying the process, but he said nothing which she could take as an indication that he was falling in love with her, as he feared that being so inexperienced she might think him in earnest and later, perhaps, suffer from disappointment.

  As the sunny afternoon wore on they became drowsy and, still embraced, fell asleep. John was the first to wake and, glancing at his watch, saw that it was after five o’clock. With a gentle kiss he aroused Christina, and said: ‘Wake up, my pretty. It’s time for us to be going. We ought to have started before, really.’

  As she disentangled herself and began to tidy her hair she shivered and replied, ‘Yes, I suppose we ought. Although the sun is still shining, it has turned quite cold.’

  ‘At this time of the year it always does at this hour. The sun loses its power and the wind changes, bringing the icy currents down from the snow on top of the mountains. More elderly people die of pneumonia on this coast than anywhere else in the world. They only have to once forget to take an overcoat with them if they are going to be out after five o’clock, and they’ve had it. I don’t wonder you’re chilly in that light frock. Come on now! We’ll step out and get your circulation going.’

  She stood up and brushed down her skirt, while he crammed the empty bottle and glasses back into the basket. Two minutes later they were on their way down the hill, but its steepness prevented their pace from being much faster than that at which they had come up; so it was well past six when they arrived back at Christina’s villa to collect the things she had packed that morning.

  John carried the suitcase across, and in Molly’s sitting-room they found her with Colonel Verney. He was a tall, rather thin, man, and, as he stood up to be introduced to Christina, would have appeared even taller but for a slight stoop that was habitual to him. His hair was going grey, parted in the centre, and brushed smoothly back. His face was longish, with a firm mouth and determined chin; but the other features were dominated by the big aggressive nose that had earned him the nickname of Conky Bill—or, as most of his friends called him for short, C.B. His eyebrows were thick and prawn-like. Below them his grey eyes had the curious quality of seeming to look right through one. He usually spoke very quietly, in an almost confidential tone, and gave the pleasing impression that there were very few things out of which he did not derive a certain amount of amusement.

  To Christina he said, ‘Well, young lady, I hear you are being pursued by bad men, but I usually eat a couple for breakfast; so you must lead me to them. Perhaps we can have a little talk after dinner, then I’ll have a better idea how to set my traps.’

  Christina smiled in reply. ‘I don’t think there is much I can tell you that I haven’t already told Mrs Fountain, but I’ll answer any questions you like.’

  Taking her by the arm, Molly said, ‘Come along, my dear. Last night we had to pop you into bed just anyhow; so I’ll come up with you to your room and see that you have everything you want.’

  C.B. and John had already smiled a greeting at one another; so the latter followed the two women out of the room with Christina’s bag. When he returned two minutes later, the tall Colonel said: ‘Well, young feller! How’s the world been treating you?’

  ‘I’ve no complaints, sir, thanks,’ John replied cheerfully. ‘And it’s very nice to have you with us again.’

  ‘To tell the truth, I was delighted when your mother rang up. I was due to spend the next few days getting out a lot of tiresome statistics, and it gave me just the excuse I needed to unload the job on to one of my stooges.’

  ‘I’m very glad you could come, sir. This seems a most extraordinary business, and I can’t make head or tail of it.’

  ‘You mean the Black Magic slant to it, eh? Well, I don’t suppose you would. Those boys are experts at keeping their lights under bushels; so the general public rarely hears anything about them—except from an occasional article appearing in the press, and they generally write that off as nonsense.’

  ‘May I give you another drink, sir? Then perhaps you would tell me something about it.’

  ‘Do, John.’ C.B. began to refill a very clean, long-stemmed pipe. ‘Mine’s a gin-and-French. But why so much of the “sir” all of a sudden? I know I’m an old fogey, but you’ve known me long enough to call me C.B. You always used to when you were a little chap.’

  John grinned. ‘Ah! But I’ve done my military service since then, and we were taught that we should always call the Colonel “sir” at least three times before slapping him on the back.’

  ‘Not a bad precept either. Come and sit down, and tell me what you make of this girl Christina, and the set-up next door.’

  ‘I don’t think there is much to tell about her villa.’ John handed the Colonel his drink, then perched himself on the sofa. ‘The old gardener who looks after the place and caretakes when it is empty has been there for years. Maria, the Catalan bonne, is a rather surly type, but as she was engaged by Christina’s father there doesn’t seem any reason to suppose that there is anything fishy about her. We know definitely now that the de Grasses are simply acting as the Canon’s agents, but –’

  ‘How do you know?’ put in C.B. quietly.

  ‘Because Jules de Grasse told me so himself,’ John replied, and went on to give an account of the visit he had received that morning.

  ‘Sounds good enough—on the face of it,’ commented the Colonel. ‘All right. Carry on.’

  ‘I was only going to add that, while we haven’t the ghost of an idea why the Canon wants to get hold of Christina, I believe we would be more than halfway to solving the whole problem if we could find out what is wrong with the girl herself.’

  ‘Good reasoning, John. Your mother is convinced that it is a case of possession: but what do you think?’

  ‘I’m damned if I know. There can be no question about these changes in her personality. I’ve seen them for myself. During the daytime she is a nice kid—straightforward, good-natured, and as far as worldliness goes you wouldn’t put her age as much over seventeen. But at night she becomes utterly different—bold, sensual as a cat and, according to her own account, evil-minded and malicious. If we were still living in mediaeval times I suppose one would regard possession by the Devil as a perfectly reasonable explanation; but it is a bit much to swallow in these days, isn’t it?’

  ‘For you, perhap
s; but not for me. I’ve seen scores of such cases, John; and at this very moment there are hundreds of people in our asylums whose apparent lunacy is really due to an evil spirit—or, to call it by its right name, which I prefer, a demon—having got into their bodies.’

  ‘Well,’ John gave a faint smile, ‘as you and Mother are both so positive that such things still happen I suppose I must accept it that they do. But if what you say about the asylums is correct, why is no attempt ever made to get the devils out of all these poor wretches?’

  ‘Because the modern medicos refuse to recognise the facts. Even if they did they wouldn’t know how to set about it; and for that matter very few other people would either.’

  ‘When Mother and I were talking about it last night, she seemed to think you would.’

  ‘Lord bless you, no! I’m no exorcist. I’ve never dabbled in Magic–Black or White—in my life. I regard it as much too dangerous.’

  ‘Does that mean you won’t be able to do anything for Christina?’

  ‘That depends.’ Conky Bill’s voice became low and slightly conspiratorial. ‘If I can get a half-Nelson on the Black who has bewitched her, I could. Even a few facts about minor breaches of the law might enable me to pull a fast one. There is nothing that these birds dislike so much as the police taking an interest in their affairs, and given something to go on there would be a good chance for me to exert enough pressure on them to get the spell taken off.’

  ‘You think Mother’s right, then, about her having been bewitched?’

  ‘I am accepting that theory for the moment.’

  ‘But why in the world should they pick on a girl like Christina? She has never been mixed up in spiritualism, or anything of that kind.’

  ‘Ask me another, young feller. But I expect we shall find that there is a tie-up of some sort. On the other hand, any girl who has so few intimate relationships is always particularly vulnerable. Nine times out of ten they are the ones who disappear; because they have no friends and relatives to start a hue and cry about them. If those people at the place where she was at in Paris had been crooks, she might have been shipped off to Buenos Aires, and her father would have been none the wiser for months afterwards.’