Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (11 page)

His voice shredded, and when he resumed his tale, he spoke in
so low a tone that his hearers were obliged to lean forward to hear
him. "There is," he said, "a side stair that winds up around the
northwest tower. And there are occasional windows… narrow, and very
deep." He turned abruptly, to stand with head down and shoulders
hunched. "I see it… still… So terrible. A sudden—darkness, passing the
window. And this—this awful, despairing scream…"

White as death, Devenish sprang up. "God in heaven! Sir— what
are you saying? Was my father—
murdered
?"

For an interminable moment, the Colonel did not answer.
Surreptitiously, he, dragged his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped
it across his face. With a deep, quivering breath, he turned to face
them again, his lean features drawn and haggard. "We found Jonas lying
in a dead faint on the battlements. For two days he was as one in a
daze; quite unable to tell us what had happened. When he at last could
speak of it, he admitted he had flown into a passion and warned Stuart
he would hold him personally responsible if anything happened to Esme.
Stuart, it seems, turned on him at last, and demanded he cease
frightening his sister with his morbid imaginings." The Colonel sighed.
"I knew Jonas so well. It would have taken no more to inflame him."

"And because—because of that perfectly justifiable remark,"
gasped Devenish, "he flung my father from the parapet?"

"He swore he did not. He said he struck Stuart with his open
hand only, and at once repented the blow, but that Stuart leapt back,
stumbled, and fell."

His fists clenched, Devenish admitted reluctantly, "I suppose
that—could be so."

The Colonel said nothing.

Watching him tensely, Craig probed, "There is more, I think,
sir?"

"How I wish there were not," groaned the Colonel. "Some of the
men Jonas had set to clearing debris from the beach saw Stuart fall.
They insisted he had not stumbled, but that they had distinctly seen
him hurtle backward as though violently pushed. That he had, in fact,
been struck with such force he'd had no chance to catch at the
battlements or attempt to save himself, but had soared straight back
and down, to his death."

His face set into a grim mask, Devenish fought rage and
horror, to ask brusquely, "But the battlements are crenellated, are
they not?"

"True, lad. But the crenels atop Castle Tyndale reach to the
floor." The Colonel glanced at Craig. "A crenel is the space between
the merlons atop battlements. In many instances, the crenels are
constructed a few feet from the floor."

"But at Castle Tyndale," Devenish rasped, "they have no lower
wall. My poor father had not even that slight chance of saving himself."

The Colonel pointed out miserably, "It would not have helped,
Dev."

Devenish swore and turned a contorted face to his cousin. The
Colonel was also watching Craig, and he was startled when the bowed
head was raised to reveal the cheeks streaked with tears. "I wish," the
Canadian said painfully, "I only wish to God—I had
known
."

"Well,
I
know!" Devenish stood and
glared down at him. "From the first moment I saw you, I loathed you! I
thought it was because you had hurt Yolande. And later, I supposed it
was because of the way you ogled her! But it goes far deeper! Your
miserable wretch of a father murdered mine! And the hatred between us
is—"

Craig had also come to his feet, his expression only a little
less enraged than that of his cousin. "Foul-mouthed clod! What proof
have you of his guilt?"

"It was proven long ago! Murder, cousin! Murder most hideous!
And I swear that I—"

"
Be still
! Both of you!"

Colonel Tyndale's cry knifed across that savage room. Devenish
flung around to face him, rebellion written clearly in his face. Craig
started and drew a hand across his wet brow.

"By your leave—
gentlemen
," the Colonel
said angrily, "I will finish my unhappy tale and be done with it!" The
cousins remaining silent, he went on, "Within two months of the
tragedy, my beloved sister suffered a miscarriage and died. The doctor
tried to ease the blow by saying she would have died in childbed at all
events. It was untrue. Esme had lost all will to live. When Stuart was
killed, her heart broke. The most… pitiful thing was that"—his voice
became husky with emotion again—"that she blamed
herself
!
That sweet, gentle child who was born to love and to be loved. If she
had not wed in the face of Jonas' opposition, she used to cry, if she
had only obeyed him—none of it would have happened. But that was not
the truth of it!"

He paced to stand before Devenish and glare at him until his
nephew recoiled a step, his own fury giving way to consternation. "The
crime—if such it was," the Colonel grated, "grew from my brother's
ungovernable temper! And be warned, Dev!
I will not
stand by and see it happen again! So help me, God, I swear it!"

Devenish said a cautious, "Surely, you are confused, sir! It
was Stuart Devenish,
my
father, who was foully
murdered. It is Craig on whom your wrath—"

"No! It is very apparent to me that Craig has little of Jonas
in him.
You
are the one has inherited that
unpredictable temperament!" He jabbed a finger at his aghast nephew and
accused, "You—as I told you at the start—take after your mama. My
brother's twin. In you, I see again his undisciplined impetuosity, his
fierce pride and swift rages. I have struggled these twenty years and
more to break you of those tendencies. I have watched irresponsibility
drive you from one disaster to the next. I'll not now stand by and see
you exact vengeance upon your innocent cousin! No, by God! Sooner would
I have you clapped up in Bedlam!"

Devenish gasped and, shaking his head speechlessly, shrank
away until he stood against the wall, staring with stricken eyes at
this relentless stranger he had known so many years, and knew not at
all. "But—but, Uncle," he faltered, "you know— you
must
know that I never deliberately— I mean, a few practical jokes, I—I
admit. But I would not—intentionally—really hurt anyone, save in
self-defence."

"No more, I doubt," Craig's quiet drawl intervened, "did my
father."

Two distraught faces jerked towards him. The Colonel
exclaimed, "You knew all of this?"

"I would to God I had! I might have understood him better. I
might even have been able to help him."

Colonel Tyndale stepped closer. Devenish did not move, but
demanded, "Then what do you mean?"

Craig looked from one to the other, and asked hesitantly, "How
old—do you suppose me to be?"

Watching the Canadian narrowly, the Colonel said, "Three and
twenty, though I'll own you appear older."

"I am twenty-eight."

"That's not possible!" flared Devenish. "Unless—" With a
surprising degree of eagerness, he asked, "Do you tell us you are
adopted? That you were my uncle's stepson, perhaps?"

"No. I do not say that. You remarked, sir, that my father was
obliged to flee the country because of a duel, just before his twin
married Stuart Devenish. My mother was the cause of that duel."

"Was she, by thunder!" breathed the Colonel. "He knew her—
then
?"

"She was his wife."

"That is not possible, by God! Jonas may have been ramshackle,
but he'd not—I cannot believe that he—" The Colonel checked, scowled,
drew a bewildered hand across his brow, and groaned. "He
would
!
Devil take him! I loved the young fool, but… he would! And yet—why the
secrecy? Was she— your pardon, boy, I mean no disrespect but—was she—"

"Rankly ineligible?" With a prideful smile, Craig said, "She
was fair as the morning, my father used to say. A tall, softly spoken,
serene lady. The daughter of a—Yankee merchant." He heard a muffled
exclamation from Colonel Tyndale and went on scornfully, "She was
everything any man could ask in a wife, but my father knew well what
his family would think. The daughter of a foreigner. Worse, a foreigner
engaged in trade. No background; no title; no ancient name! He was
already in deep disgrace. It was more than he dared do to acknowledge
his marriage at that time; his father would have cut him off without a
penny. Always, he hoped to redeem himself. He used to tell my mother
that if he could win the old gentleman over, he would broach the
marriage to him, gradually, and that once my grandfather met Mama, and
me, he would have to acknowledge us."

"But…" faltered the Colonel, "the—duel… ?"

"A rascally acquaintance of my father's discovered that Mama
was, as he thought, Papa's mistress. My mother had been sent to Paris
for 'a European finish' prior to wedding a wealthy man of her father's
choosing. The aunt to whom she was entrusted knew of the marriage, but
had agreed to keep it secret." He frowned, and said thoughtfully, "I
think she was not very wise. Be that as it may, this rascal threatened
blackmail. When Father threw him out, he came to England. My mother was
beside herself with fear. She was sure the old gentleman would disown
him, and if they were both cut off, she did not know how we could live.
Her terror enraged my father, He followed the man to England and,
before he could speak with Grandfather, called him out and shot him. It
was a fair fight, sir. You may remember that my father was wounded in
the encounter?"

"Yes, I… good heavens!" said the Colonel, still amazed by
these disclosures. "Then—you must have been… three years old when Alain
was born?"

"About that, sir."

"All very interesting," put in Devenish, brusquely, "but I'm
damned if I see what it has to do with your belief that he was innocent
of my father's murder."

"After we went to Canada," Craig explained, "he was a man
tormented. Often I heard my mother striving to comfort him. The truth
was kept from me, but I did know that he had been forbidden ever to
return to England, or even to use his family name, and as boys will, I
imagined all manner of terrible crimes lurked in his past. Mama knew,
but she never spoke of it to me. I watched my father age long before
his time. Always, he was homesick and flayed by conscience. I suppose
it proved more than the poor man could bear. He took refuge in drink,
and I—all prideful intolerance—despised him for it. The lower he sank,
the deeper was my mother's grief, and the more I—May God forgive me! If
only I had known!"

The Colonel shook his head. "You were not to blame, boy. Do
not scourge yourself."

"I could have been more understanding," Craig muttered. "He
had so many fine qualities, I should have reasoned that—" He cut off
that useless grieving and drew his shoulders back. "In some things, we
do not get a second chance, do we, sir?"

"No," the Colonel sighed. "Is this why you feel Jonas was
innocent? Guilty men can be flayed by conscience too, you know."

"True. But once, in one of his bad moments, I heard him tell
my mother repeatedly that he was not guilty of something. I knew from
his manner that it must have been something very bad." He hesitated, as
if reluctant to continue, then added, "I do not know how it was in his
youth, but all my life I found him a deeply religious man. I—I confess
that it disgusted me. To see him in his cups on Saturday night, and at
church first thing on Sunday. I did not—understand. But I do know that
he believed in God, and felt that there is another life beyond this
one. I was in the room when he lay dying, and the Vicar asked him to
repent his sins. My father roused and said, quite proudly, 'The worst
sin of which I was ever accused, I did not commit.' "

Craig paused, looked into his uncle's intent face, and said
earnestly, "I suppose, naive though I was, I loved my father, and could
not bear to see him—as he became. But, I
did
know
him, sir. And I know he would not have lied at such a moment. I will
take my oath that my father did not intentionally cause his brother's
death, Devenish—" He stopped. Devenish was gone.

"I can only beg of you," said Mrs. Arabella Drummond, absently
stroking the dog who sprawled beside her on the rocking carriage seat,
"to put the matter quite out of your mind. I believe Dr. Jester to be a
very fine man. You will recall, my love, that when I took that horrid
chill last winter, he was so obliging as to come to the house in the
middle of a most frightful storm."

Her nerves rather strained, Yolande pointed out, "He thought
you had the pneumonia."

"Yes." Her aunt giggled. "It was naughty of Sullivan to give
him that impression, though she was motivated by loyalty to me, you
know, and I am sure that as a physician and healer, he must only have
been glad I had instead nothing worse than a cold. I think I must have
been
close
to pneumonia, however, for I suffered
so that poor Sullivan thought it would put a period to me. But Dr.
Jester's medicine—though it tasted ghastly! I wonder why medicine must
always taste ghastly… ? Not that that is either here or there, of
course. The medicine was most efficacious, and I particularly recall
that the doctor was not in the least irked, in spite of being so young
a man, and having drove such a distance. And only think, my naughty boy
bit him when he came up to my bed!" She pulled the fox terrier's ear,
and cooed, "
What
a scamp you are, to be sure!"

Socrates opened one eye and peered around to discover if it
was time to eat. Disappointed, he lay down his head and went back to
sleep.

Her attention having wandered, Yolande made no comment. Mrs.
Drummond slipped her hand into her muff once more, tilted her head, and
frowned. "I do not think that was quite the point I had meant to make."

"We were speaking of Rosemary," said Yolande, stifling a yawn.