Sing Witch, Sing Death Page 17

  "And Potten's wife, with that mark on her face? Had you seen that?" He did not give Pamela a chance to confess what she had previously concealed, continuing passionately, "Damn them! Damn them all! I told Maud I did not want you mixed into this. I did not mind them using me as a point to squabble over, particularly when I realized that Maud would be able to put down the unhealthy influence Potten's wife has been exerting over the coven. God knows how she convinced the others, how she kept them to their purpose, once Maud arrived. I suppose it is because there have been clashes between the Tremaires and the coven in the past. They have long memories, the witches. It might seem good to a lot of them to be rid of a family who had hanged one of them. An object lesson for the future. Even, perhaps, preeminence of this coven over the others. That settles it."

  "What will you do?"

  St. Just laughed harshly, and his eyes slid away from Pamela's. "Exactly what they want—nothing. You are quite right about one thing. If anyone can save the child now, it is only Maud. But none of us are going to be here to act as focal points in a private war."

  Chapter 14

  Morning brought a total release of the tensions that had been tormenting the servants of Tremaire. Pamela saw it in the face of the chambermaid who brought her washing water, in the smile Hayle gave her as she passed him in the corridor. She heard it in the easy tone in which Mrs. Helston was giving instructions to a parlor maid in the drawing room, and in the light tripping of the maid's footsteps as she trotted away to carry out her orders.

  The servants' personal relief was comprehensible. If disaster was to overtake the family, it was no longer likely to be in the form of a catastrophe that would sweep them all away. There would be no storm so violent as to uproot the house, no lightning bolt that would burn Tremaire, and them with it, to ashes. Even if sudden death was meant for the master alone, it would not strike in a place or in a way that might force them to interfere because of their loyalty and therefore involve them.

  "I have been waiting for you," St. Just said as Pamela entered the breakfast parlor. "I wanted to tell you all at the same time that I have decided to take up Sir Harold's offer of combining forces at his house for Midsummer Eve in view of the massive restlessness of the covens. We will leave at two o'clock, which should bring us to the manor in good time for dinner. We shall stay a sennight."

  "What the devil ails you, Vyvyan?" George burst out, startled out of his pose of indifference. "Mean you're going to leave Tremaire empty on Midsummer Eve?"

  "The servants will be here, and Allenby's place is only ten miles away. He is a justice, too, you remember, and can furnish us with official sanction to react against any violence."

  "No!" Hetty exclaimed. "No, I will not be dragged out like a sack of hay. You should have told me yesterday. I cannot prepare for a week's visit in a few minutes."

  "You need prepare very little," St. Just replied indifferently. "This is scarcely a major social event."

  "It may not be to you," Hetty spat, "but it is to me. I have not been out of this house for nearly three months. I will not have my first outing spoiled by your disgusting lack of consideration. I will go tomorrow, and gladly, but not all in a hurry."

  "Hetty's right, Vyvyan," George said. His eyes dwelt upon his cousin with unusual fixity, as though he were searching for something. "Damned short notice. Could have told us yesterday."

  "I did not wish to tell you yesterday," St. Just remarked caustically. "Nor do I intend to endure any argument on the subject. I do not often tell you to do something, George, but I am telling you now."

  George's eyes narrowed, but whatever he had been about to reply remained unsaid. Hetty drew all attention by thrusting back her chair and rising to her feet. "I will not go! I will not!" she cried.

  "Why?"

  "Because you are doing this to make me ridiculous. The whole plan is designed to disgrace me. You know my clothes are not in order. You know that I cannot go from now until two o'clock without eating, and that taking so much as a nuncheon will make me sick if I travel ten miles in that horrible carriage. What will the Allenbys think of a person who causes such a disturbance? A person who cannot come to dinner the first evening of a visit and must be catered to and nursed?"

  "Knowing Lady Allenby, I should say she would be delighted," St. Just answered, but his voice was less hard. "I am sorry," he added. "I admit I did not think of that. Nonetheless, I cannot alter the arrangements. Lady Allenby will understand."

  "You cannot make me go!" Hetty screamed.

  St. Just rose to his feet. "You are mistaken," he said, his voice icy with threat. "I most certainly can."

  "St. Just…" Pamela began uncertainly. George stared fixedly at the coffee service without lifting his head.

  The countess cowered back, away from her husband, and licked her lips. "Let me drive myself," she whimpered. "Let me start early and drive myself. The pony cart does not make me sick."

  "I will go with you, m'dear," George offered.

  A sensation of unease, of incipient threat, stirred and coiled tight in Pamela's breast like a snake about to strike. Somehow the mixture of George and Hetty seemed dangerous.

  St. Just shrugged. "It is a long way for you to drive, Hetty, but if you prefer it, I cannot see why you should not take your pony cart. Sarah and your maid can go in the carriage. If you get tired, George can drive. You can drive a mule, can you not? And if the weather changes, you can change places with your maid. I presume you will wish to ride, Pam?"

  Pamela saw the earl's eyes flicker from George to Hetty, and her sense of unease grew. She knew that the combination of George and Hetty spelled danger, but she was afraid to guess whether the threat was against them or against St. Just. She thought of offering to go in the cart instead of George, but knew that Hetty would reject such an idea indignantly, and in the end she agreed to St. Just's arrangements with a wordless nod.

  Her discomfort increased steadily, because it seemed to her that St. Just was also unhappy about the arrangement, although he said nothing. Finally Pamela ran him to earth in the garden and made her offer to take George's place.

  "Hetty would not like it," he said with veiled eyes.

  "But you do not like her driving there," Pamela said. "Why did you permit it, then?"

  "So that we can be together." He uttered a forced bark of laughter. "Could anything be more obvious?"

  Only, what was obvious was that St. Just did not want to be with her. There was no teasing in his laughter, and no feeling behind his words. All through the ride to the Allenbys, it was as if he was not with her at all.

  Whatever was Vy, the true being, had gone, retreated into some inner fastness within the big body, to shut her out, reject her completely. The mind that directed the lips that spoke in answer to her questions was withdrawn. The green eyes, when she demanded they turn to her, were shuttered and soulless.

  Whether or not the move to the Allenby manor would have the effect intended and foil the plots of the witches, certain side benefits were immediately apparent to Pamela. No one could be sunk in a morass of doubts and fears in Lady Allenby's presence. There was fussing and clucking to reply to civilly, cups of tea to be drunk, a house to see and comment upon.

  Most of these benefits accrued to Pamela alone, because the ride in the pony cart had been a mixed blessing. Hetty was not sick, it was true, but she was much exhausted. Soon after she arrived she had retired to her bedchamber to rest.

  Pamela had no sensation of guilt. Although pale with fatigue, it seemed that Hetty had enjoyed her ride. In spite of her weariness, she was much excited, and anticipation of coming pleasure looked out of her round blue eyes.

  The excitement was even more noticeable when Pamela was summoned to give her opinion on Hetty's dinner toilette. The countess was still pale and very fluttered, but so pleasantly, that when Pamela directed the removal of most of the jewels Hetty was wearing in her hair and on her neck, arms, and gown, she did not protest. She giggled merrily and commented that it w
as proof she still could not do without her dear Pam. The remark brought a pang of regret to Pamela. Within the week Hetty would have to do without her. She hoped she would be able to find another adequate companion.

  All through dinner Pamela tried desperately to prune Hetty's speech as she had pruned her ornaments. It was a losing battle. Every time Pamela covered one of Hetty's lapses, the countess said something even more shocking and improper.

  Hetty did not seem able to understand that it was bad manners to denigrate Cornwall in comparison with her own lush West Indian estates; that she offended the Allenbys' morality by praising slavery; that she touched their pride when she said she could buy and sell them, if Vyvyan did not control her money; that she attacked their sense of decency when she hinted broadly how unsatisfactory the relationship between herself and St. Just was. Pamela writhed internally with shame. Had Hetty learned nothing from her? How many times she had told her to talk as little as possible until she knew her company!

  Lady Allenby was a chatterer herself, and neither she nor her husband would have blamed Hetty for the spate of words that poured from her, had the sentiments been more in accord with their principles and feelings. The look of recoil and pity in William Allenby's face as he realized the price St. Just had paid to retain his estate was all too clear.

  Even the older couple were unable to master their feelings completely. There was a faint expression of distaste around Sir Harold's eyes and around Lady Allenby's mouth as they listened to Hetty give tongue. Once Sir Harold's eyes moved to St. Just's stony countenance with sympathy; once Lady Allenby's eyes met Pamela's, and she looked away hastily, with the guilt that an impossible hope and preference brings.

  Again and again Pamela tried to draw George into the conversation. In the past George had always seconded her efforts to school and protect Hetty, and his raised brow and languid voice had always curbed her best. Tonight George was just as usual except for one thing—he seemed totally deaf to the improprieties Hetty uttered.

  The agonizing dinner at last came to an end. The ladies withdrew and left the gentlemen to their wine. Pamela braced herself to draw Hetty aside and tell her bluntly that she was making a fool of herself. The trouble was that Pamela feared that a direct warning, in the mood Hetty was in at present, might make her misbehave even worse out of spite.

  Before Pamela could find an excuse for a whispered word or two, however, she realized that a direct reprimand would not be necessary. Hetty had suffered another change of mood, and she fell silent as soon as they came into the drawing room. A civil question from her hostess brought several short, unexceptional sentences from her, pleasant but lacking in animation. The next question, however, received only a monosyllabic answer and a deep sigh.

  "Is something wrong. Lady St. Just?" Lady Allenby asked.

  "No, only…"

  "What is it?"

  "I am ashamed, but I am so very tired."

  "Hetty is a very poor traveler," Pamela confirmed, not wishing Lady Allenby to think Hetty was insulting either the dinner she had eaten or the company she was in.

  "I suppose I should not have allowed you to come down to dinner. It was thoughtless of me," Lady Allenby said. "You must go up to bed at once."

  "I could not think of being so rude," Hetty protested faintly. "If I sit quietly, I am sure my strength will return."

  "No, no, for then you will exert yourself to make conversation or play cards, and then you will be more exhausted than ever tomorrow. If you go to bed now, you will be fresh as a daisy in the morning."

  Was there, Pamela thought caustically, a certain relief in Lady Allenby's manner? Pamela was ashamed of it, but she certainly felt relief herself. She hoped Hetty had not noticed, and watched her keenly for a sign of hurt. There was, she discovered, not hurt, but a sense of satisfaction under Hetty's feeble protest.

  "Let me ring for your maid," Lady Allenby urged now.

  "Oh, no, do not trouble, please. She is probably waiting in my room already. She is a most excellent creature, most considerate of me. Indeed, she said that I did not look myself and that she would be ready in my room if I wished to retire early."

  Lady Allenby blinked a little at this panegyric, which was in direct contrast to Hetty's previously voiced complaints about Cornish servants, but good manners made comment impossible.

  Pamela covered the awkward pause and made any remark at all unnecessary by rising to help Hetty from her chair and saying smoothly, "I will go up with you."

  "Oh, no, do not trouble, dear Pam. Really, it is not necessary. It is silly to disturb yourself and leave Lady Allenby alone. I am not such a dolt that I cannot find my bedchamber."

  "But I must." Pamela laughed. "You are so tired you cannot see straight, Hetty. We cannot have you tumbling down the stairs again, you know."

  As she said it, a qualm of fear seized Pamela. She knew why Hetty was rejecting her attentions. Mary had gone to the Midsummer Eve gathering, and Hetty was covering for her. And still there was that double, tearing doubt. Was Mary's work to harm St. Just or to protect Hetty? Both St. Just and Hetty were behaving peculiarly.

  "Let Lady Pamela go with you," Lady Allenby put in. "I can support my own company for half an hour. I am quite used to it, and indeed, you are paler than ever."

  That was true, although it seemed to Pamela from the one glance Hetty gave her before she lowered her lids that she was more angry and frightened now than tired. However, it was clear that to object further to Pamela's company would raise questions in Lady Allenby's mind.

  Hetty went out docilely, leaning on Pamela's arm. Pamela considered telling her that she would hold her tongue about Mary's whereabouts, but she could not make such a promise. She would be unable to keep it if harm befell anyone at the gathering.

  The maid was not in Hetty's room, just as Pamela expected, but the countess's night clothes were all laid out; the fire, which Hetty never did without, no matter how warm the night, was burning; and Hetty's drops were ready on the table. One thing alone was out of place. A purple velvet dress of marvelous, if vulgar, splendor was carefully laid out across a chair.

  "You see, she has just stepped out for a moment," Hetty said sharply.

  Pamela looked away from the dress with an effort. She had corrected Hetty so often today that she was sure a comment on it would precipitate a quarrel. Nonetheless, if Hetty planned to wear that dress tomorrow, it could not be permitted. She had made a bad enough impression without that! Pamela opened her mouth to speak, and shut it again. Let the problems of tomorrow be dealt with tomorrow.

  "Mary has gone for water for my drops. What are you waiting for?" Hetty cried. "Mary knows I like my water cold and fresh from the pump. Go away. I wish to be alone. I can barely keep my eyes open."

  "Shall I help you undress, then?"

  "Why are you spying on me?" Hetty screamed. "Why can you not leave me alone? You know what a dreadful strain this day has been to me. Go away!"

  Pamela wanted to say that she was not spying, but the allegation had struck her dumb. It was not that she was insulted, only that she realized if Hetty accused her of spying it was because there was something to spy about. It was impossible to say another word to Hetty; to remain in her room would throw her into hysterics.

  If the maid was gone, there was no way now of finding out what Hetty was hiding. Besides, it might be something totally innocent. Pamela returned to Lady Allenby in the drawing room with an abstracted mind. Her training in social behavior, however, held good. She heard her voice replying to questions and making conversation that her mind did not seem to direct.

  The sun had set while Pamela was taking Hetty upstairs, and now, with the last of the fight fading, Lady Allenby rang for the candles to be lit, remarking on how long it took to grow dark in the summer.

  "It is lovely outside, but in the house it is most unsettling," she chattered gently. "I hate to draw the curtains and shut out the last of the twilight, but one cannot really see in it, although it is so pretty. Usually
we go and sit outside for a while, but on Midsummer Eve Harold does not like to do that."

  "Midsummer Eve is a high celebration among the witches."

  "Yes, something connected with the old druidical beliefs. I do my best to know nothing about these things and to urge our people to place their faith in God instead of these dreadful pagan rites, but they will cling to it. Of course, the few who are willing to talk about it at all tell me that there is no denial of God in the spells they say for a good harvest. They are very insistent that no black witchcraft is involved."

  This subject had Pamela's full attention. A gleam of hope came to her. "Do they think that black witchcraft would spoil the harvest spells, or anything like that?"

  "Perhaps they do. I don't really know. Lady Pamela. Truly, I try not to think about it at all. The best one can do is concentrate on teaching the children to have the right faith, and keep hoping. Do you know whether Lady St. Just intends to enlarge the Sunday school in the village? It has gone downhill sadly since Vyvyan's mother died. She did not feel quite as I do, but she had great influence among the people and did much good."

  Pamela was disappointed at not receiving more information about the Midsummer Eve rites, but anything concerning St. Just was of interest to her. Every bit of information would be something to think over and remember when she was gone.

  "Lord St. Just's mother died very young, did she not?"

  "Yes." Lady Allenby's face developed an expression of reserve. "It was a great pity. However, the foundations of her work are still there, I am sure," she said briskly, "and if the present Lady St. Just would only…"

  The voice became an indistinguishable murmur in Pamela's ears. She had been warned quite definitely off the only two subjects that could interest her tonight. Or was it that Lady Allenby, desiring only too much to discuss these things, was too well-bred to do so with a stranger?

  Pamela made a suitable reply about Hetty's probable interest in the Sunday school and began to pray that the gentlemen would not take much longer over the wine. Lady Allenby was a very kind person, and at any other time Pamela would have been deeply absorbed in what her experience could teach of the Cornish people, but not tonight.