Love Strikes a Devil

by Barbara Cartland

  He paused before he continued,

  “The Chief Constable, General Sir Mortimer Stanbrook, was saying to me only a few weeks ago that the speech you made at the Yeomanry Dinner was one of the best they have ever listened to.”

  “That is very gratifying,” the Vicar smiled, “and you know, Colonel, that both my wife and I would be very unhappy if we had to leave here.”

  The Colonel rose to his feet.

  “Leave it to me, Vicar. Gervais does not understand English ways and I will make sure that he does not discontinue the monthly Services in the Chapel. I will also make it very clear to him in no uncertain terms that we need you.”

  “I knew I could rely on you, Colonel,” the Vicar said in a tone of relief.

  He put out his hand and the Colonel shook it.

  “Now, don’t worry,” he said. “As we all know, ‘new brooms sweep clean’. In fact I have already found that the new Marquis is much too quick off the mark in more ways than one!”

  Charisa thought that this was very true.

  She rose and kissed the Vicar on the cheek as she said,

  “Papa is quite right. We cannot do without you. I know there is not a single person in this part of Berkshire who will not say the same thing.”

  “Thank you, Charisa,” the Vicar replied.

  As they drove away, he waved to them from his front door.

  Charisa could see that he looked very much happier than when they had first arrived.

  As they passed through the gate and were back on the road to the village, she said to her father,

  “Gervais must be mad if he is thinking of sacking the Vicar when he is so brilliant and outstanding.”

  “I suppose Gervais had no idea of that,” the Colonel replied. “It never occurred to me that I should tell him how important the Vicar is in local affairs.”

  “You must tell him now, Papa, and make him stop his own Chaplain from coming to England.”

  When her father did not speak, Charisa added,

  “I never imagined that Gervais would be particularly religious.”

  “Nor did I,” the Colonel agreed. “But don’t you worry your pretty little head, my dear, I will find out what all this is about and make Gervais see sense.”

  “I hope we are not in for any more shocks,” Charisa remarked. “I did not tell you, but Mrs. Bush hinted yesterday that there might be changes in the staff.”

  “Good Heavens!” the Colonel exclaimed. “He is not thinking of getting rid of her or of Dawkins. If he does that, the roof will cave in!”

  “That is what I thought,” Charisa said. “Oh, Papa, do talk to him as soon as possible and make him understand that he will ruin The Priory if he tries to change things. No one wants modern ideas or modern people, when everything is perfect just as it is!”

  “I will do my best,” the Colonel said. “At the same time, as you well know, the Marquis of Mawdelyn can be a law unto himself.”

  “Not if he is going to hurt our people,” Charisa retorted quickly.

  Her father did not reply.

  She knew from the way he pressed his lips together and the angle at which he held his chin that he was annoyed.

  They were also the signs that he was ready to go into battle and she thought that it would be a very brave man who would defy her father when he was fighting for something he believed to be right.

  Shortly they arrived at The Priory.

  As they walked up the steps, the Marquis came into the hall to greet them.

  “It is delightful to see you back,” he said, “and after all you will not be bored by me alone because two of my friends have just arrived from Paris. They are so looking forward to meeting you and I know that you will find them as amusing and interesting as I do.”

  He took them into the drawing room and Charisa saw there were two people there, a man and a woman.

  As she walked towards the woman, she thought that she had never seen anyone so smart and indeed so unusual.

  “Ariste, my dear,” the Marquis was saying, “may I introduce to you my lovely cousin, Charisa Templeton, and her father, Colonel Lionel Templeton, who has been helping me with my new responsibilities.”

  The lady held out her hand as the Marquis finished,

  “Madame Ariste Dubus is one of my oldest and most cherished friends.”

  “I am enchanted to meet you!” Madame Dubus said to Charisa.

  Looking up at the Colonel from under her long dark eyelashes, she simpered,

  “And, of course, Colonel, Gervais has extolled your virtues, which I can see at a glance was undoubtedly justified.”

  She spoke good English, but with a definite accent.

  She was not exactly pretty. But she had a distinct allure that was inescapable.

  Charisa was aware that the way she spoke and looked at her father was extremely flirtatious.

  The Marquis then drew forward a young man.

  “And here is another old friend,” he said, “who is the same age as myself and has been almost like a brother to me. Comte Jean de Soisson and I were at school together and, of course, we both left with flying colours!”

  The Comte shook hands.

  Then, as Madame Dubus talked to the Colonel, he concentrated on Charisa.

  “You are lovely!” he exclaimed. “You would conquer all Paris from the moment you set foot there!”

  “I am quite happy to remain in England,” Charisa replied, “although you may well find it rather dull.”

  “Not if you are here,” the Comte replied.

  She thought that the way he looked at her was somewhat bold and she moved away from him towards her father.

  He had, however, been swept across the room by Madame Dubus.

  They were standing at the window and he was pointing out to her the beauty of the garden.

  The Marquis was at the grog tray, pouring out glasses of champagne.

  Charisa had expected that there would be tea, but now she wondered if that was too English a meal for the Marquis.

  Perhaps he had told Dawkins not to bring in the magnificent silver tray with its early Georgian kettle, teapot, milk jug and sugar basin.

  In which case there would be no delicious scones, sandwiches, iced cakes and brandy snaps. She had come to expect all these as a feature of teatime at The Priory.

  Gervais came across the room, a glass of champagne in each hand.

  “I am sure you need this, Jean,” he said to the Comte, “and a glass will do you good, Charisa.”

  “Thank you, no,” Charisa replied. “It is too early and I would prefer a glass of lemonade.”

  “I think you are making a mistake,” the Comte said. “This is particularly fine vintage that I have just brought over from France at the request of my friend, Gervais, and it is well worth the large number of francs it cost.”

  Charisa did not answer.

  She was thinking that Gervais was so hard up and already trying to rely on her father and it would therefore be a mistake for him to spend a great deal of money on drink.

  It was also the sort of thing that would be gossiped about in the village and eventually in the County.

  Madame Dubus was still talking in a confidential manner to the Colonel.

  Then the Marquis brought Charisa her glass of lemonade and she sat down on the sofa.

  The Comte joined her, sitting, she thought, rather nearer to her than was necessary.

  “I have always known that English girls were enchanting,” he was saying, “but now I am captivated, entranced and dazzled by one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen!”

  “You can hardly expect me to believe that,” Charisa replied, “when in England we are always told that Frenchwomen are more entrancing than any others in the world and certainly more chic.”

  “Chic is something you can acquire, but beauty is what you are born with,” the Comte replied.

  The Marquis, who was listening, laughed.

  “That is good, Jean!” he exclaimed.
“I have never known you at a loss for words and what you say sounds even better in English than it does in French!”

  “I assure you I could say even more ardent things to Mademoiselle in French,” Jean replied, “if I was sure that she understood them.”

  “If you are asking whether or not I speak French,” Charisa replied a little coldly, “I can tell you that I am able to do so quite adequately.”

  Her mother had also insisted that she speak French with a Parisian accent.

  “Then prove to me that your voice is even lovelier in my language than in your own,” the Comte replied as if it was a challenge.

  “I will speak in French merely in order to show you that you are not superior in being bilingual,” Charisa said in French.

  The Comte de Soisson laughed and clapped his hands.

  “Bravo! That is magnificent. Now I know that I am not superior, but merely a humble supplicant at your feet!”

  Charisa felt that he was somewhat ridiculous.

  Like Gervais he was overdressed and in a way too smart, especially for the country.

  She was quite sure that the Mawde relatives would disapprove of him not only as himself but even more as a friend of the Head of the Family.

  Gervais was taking glasses of champagne to Madame Dubus and the Colonel and now they came back from the window to join the others round the fireplace.

  “I see, my dear,” the Colonel said to his daughter, “that you are being sensible in drinking lemonade rather than champagne. I feel ashamed at breaking my Regimental rule of no alcohol until the sun goes down.”

  The Comte laughed.

  “You English are always denying yourselves the things that are pleasant, amusing and delicious simply because you are afraid of enjoying life to the full, as we do in France.”

  “It depends on what you call enjoyment,” the Colonel said a little heavily.

  The Comte raised his glass.

  “Let’s start with wine and women,” he said, “the rest comes naturally.”

  The Colonel smiled, but Charisa realised that he was feeling a little out of his depth.

  The Comte was talking as if he was giving a performance on the stage and the same might well be said of Madame Dubus.

  She put her hand on the Colonel’s arm as she said,

  “Very soon, my dear English Colonel, you must come to Paris as my guest and I will amuse you with delights that will be more exciting and more intriguing than anything you have ever dreamt of!”

  Once again she was fluttering her long eyelashes.

  She was also pouting her lips in a manner that made it obvious that she wished to flirt with the Colonel.

  They talked until Charisa suggested,

  “I think I would like to go upstairs and have a little rest before dinner.”

  It was something she never did at home, but she felt uncomfortable because of the way that the Comte was gazing at her.

  She also disliked the intimate way that Madame Dubus was talking to her father.

  She knew how it would have upset and shocked her mother and she thought too that he was somewhat uneasy.

  ‘I don’t like these people,’ she told herself. ‘I certainly hope the rest of the party will be different.’

  She knew for certain that they would not fit in with the rest of her family and they would undoubtedly be shocked.

  Madame Dubus was expostulating that she must not leave them, but the Marquis said,

  “There is no hurry. Dinner will not be until half past eight, and that is very much earlier than if we were in Paris.”

  Charisa knew that this was true, but she perceived it to be quite late by English standards.

  However, she was too polite to say so.

  She merely walked towards the door.

  And there was nothing the Comte could do but open it for her.

  She walked slowly up the stairs.

  She did not need to be told that she would be in the room that she always occupied at The Priory.

  It was a room that she particularly loved because it had been decorated with great taste by her mother.

  She had been allowed to choose the curtains she wanted and some of the furniture.

  Charisa had also begged the old Marquis to let her have a painting that she loved above all others.

  Even when she was very small she used to stand entranced in front of a painting by Louis Cranach and she thought that Rest on the Flight to Egypt was the most beautiful and exciting picture that she had ever seen.

  It portrayed the Holy Child in the arms of Mary, His mother, and with Joseph standing behind them. All around them flying and running over the ground were angels with their wings outstretched.

  It had captured Charisa’s imagination.

  When the Marquis allowed her to have it in her bedroom, she would lie in bed and look at it in the morning. She also said her prayers to it at night.

  The room itself was in the oldest part of The Priory and the walls were covered in panelling which had been painted white.

  Everything else in the room was in colours that blended with the Cranach picture.

  The curtains were the deep blue of the Madonna’s robe.

  The pink, the blue and the colour of the ground where the Holy Family were resting were all to be found in the exquisitely woven carpet.

  The curtains of the bed fell from a golden corolla on which there were floating angels.

  As she entered the room, Charisa saw that the gardeners had brought into the house for her all the flowers she loved.

  There were lilies that had just come into bloom, vases of which stood on either side of the fireplace and there were white roses on the chest of drawers.

  It all looked as it always had whenever she came to The Priory.

  The only exception was that on the dressing table there was a vase of the same orchids that the Marquis had sent to her home.

  As she looked at them, she realised that she had not thanked him.

  It was something that she must apologise for when she went down to dinner.

  She had come upstairs earlier than expected and the elderly housemaid, Bessy, who usually looked after her, came bustling into the room, saying,

  “I thinks as ’ow you was still downstairs, Miss Charisa, but it’s nice to ’ave you in your own room again and no mistake!”

  “It’s nice to see you too, Bessy,” Charisa said. “How are you?”

  “Run orf me feet, miss, and that’s the truth!” Bessy replied. “I don’t know if I’m on me ’ead or me ’eels with everythin’ done topsy-turvy from what it’s bin before.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Charisa asked as Bessy undid her gown.

  “Breakfast at eleven o’clock so we can’t get into the bedrooms as we’ve always done,” Bessy answered. “Lunch when ’alf the afternoon’s gone and now it’s dinner gettin’ on for midnight!”

  The way Bessy spoke was so funny that Charisa could only laugh.

  “French times are different from ours.”

  “And so are French folks,” Bessy claimed. “You should see the trunks the French lady ’as brought with ’er. You’d think she’d come to stay for the next five years!”

  “I can see she is very smart,” Charisa commented.

  She could not help noticing even to herself that there was a cold note in her voice.

  She had already decided that she did not like Madame Dubus.

  She did not like the Comte de Soisson either. And then she thought that she was being particularly insular.

  It was always a great mistake not to expect foreigners to be different and not to appreciate the difference rather than disparage it.

  Now she said to Bessy,

  “I said I wanted to rest before dinner, but actually I thought it would be pleasant to be up here, read a book and look at my picture.”

  “I thought you’d be wantin’ to see that,” Bessy smiled. “‘Miss Charisa’s picture’ is what us always calls it downstairs and ever so p
retty it is too, what with all them small angels ’oppin’ about.”

  “I have loved it ever since I can remember,” Charisa said, “and while I am here I am going to look at all the other pictures in the Gallery as if I had never seen them before.”

  “You’d better be quick about it then,” Bessy said, “’cos when you looks again, they might not be there!”

  Charisa was still.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Bessy lowered her voice.

  “I ’ears ’is Lordship’s bin askin’ Mr. Sheldon which are the pictures that can be sold.”

  Charisa stared at her in astonishment.

  “Sold?” she exclaimed. “But surely he knows that they are all entailed like everything else in the house.”

  “’Is Lordship apparently says, ‘there must be some things that ain’t on that damned inventory.’”

  As Bessy spoke, she put her fingers up to her lips.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Charisa, but them’s was ’is Lordship’s exact words.”

  Mr. Sheldon ran both the house and the estate and Charisa was quite certain that, if the Marquis had been talking to him, it had to be in private.

  Everything he said had therefore been overheard by servants who were listening at keyholes.

  It did not surprise her as she knew that the servants would have been extremely curious about everything the new Marquis said and did.

  At the same time she was horrified that Gervais, so soon after his arrival, should be talking of selling anything.

  She thought that she would tell her father at once.

  If it was a question of selling the pictures, he must make sure that they were offered to him first.

  Then she wondered why the Marquis wanted so much money.

  Had he commitments in France or was it just extravagance.

  When Bessy had left her, she did not lie on the bed.

  She stood at the window, gazing out at the garden.

  It was quite obvious why the Marquis wanted to marry her, also why he was already hoping that her father would continue to help finance the estate, as he had done in the past.

  That he might sell the pictures or any of the other treasures in the house, was something that would never have occurred to the old Marquis.