“I suppose so.”
“Forgive my outburst. But you seem so sympathetic. I am sure you will be very good for Aubrey. He needs someone like you.”
“Oh, I think he is very well able to stand on his own feet.”
She did not answer. She just looked infinitely sad thinking of those lost children, I supposed.
One day I was alone with Stephen. Aubrey had gone to one of the farms on the estate. I was in my room when Amelia came to me and said that Stephen would-like to see me.
I went down to the sickroom. He was seated in a chair wrapped up in blankets. I thought he looked even more ill than he did in bed.
I sat beside him and after we had talked a little Amelia left us alone for a short while.
Stephen said to me: “I am glad that you are marrying Aubrey.”
“I am so pleased you feel like that. Many families disapprove of newcomers to the circle. I had no idea when I met Aubrey that he lived in a place like this.”
He nodded.
“It’s a responsibility. He will be the one to carry on. It is like a chain that has been forged over the centuries. One doesn’t like to think of its being broken. If I’ had had a son …”
He shook his head sadly and I thought of what Amelia had told me.
“But now … I’m glad you’re here. He needs someone … steady .. someone who will look after him and prevent his …” He paused. I believe he was on the point of saying something important, but he changed his mind. He patted my hand, and went on: “I am sure since I have met you … that you are the one for him.”
“Thank you.”
“You will be strong. Strength is what he needs. You see …”
I looked at him steadily, but he was silent.
I prompted him.
“Yes … you were saying …”
The sunken eyes seemed to probe my mind. He was trying to tell me something. Or perhaps trying to make up his mind whether to or not. A great curiosity came to me. I was sure it was something I should know. And it concerned Aubrey.
Then he lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. Amelia came in.
We had tea together.
I wondered what it was he had been going to tell me.
It was late afternoon. There were dark clouds overhead and I thought there would be a storm before the day was out. I was in the long gallery looking at the portraits. I could see how like some of his ancestors Aubrey was. I studied the faces, some pensive, some smiling, some merry, some serious; and they all seemed to be looking out of their canvases assessing me!
It was quite an eerie feeling, standing there as it grew visibly darker. There were moments in this house when I fancied I was being watched, that unseen figures from the past were close to me interested in this girl who had the temerity to attempt to intrude into the family circle.
There was one portrait which interested me particularly, perhaps because the face of the man reminded me of Aubrey’s. His eyes followed me wherever I was, and the expression seemed to change as I watched. I fancied I could see the lips curl up in amusement because the subject of the picture knew that he both fascinated and repelled me. The white curls of his wig hung down almost to his shoulders and were crowned by a wide-brimmed hat which had just a touch of the military about it.
His coat was mulberry-coloured velvet caught in at the waist; beneath it, his waistcoat was elaborately embroidered and almost as long as the coat. It was closely fitted to the waist and then flared out. The buttons were like jewels. His knee breeches were caught just below the knees with ornamental buckles. His legs were well shaped and the buckles on his shoes matched those at his knees. He was a very elegant gentleman.
“Hello!”
I started; and such was my mood that for a moment I thought it was the dandy in the picture who had spoken. I spun round. Aubrey must have come in very quietly and so absorbed was I that I had not heard him. He slipped his arm through mine.
“I think you are rather fascinated by Harry St. Clare,” he said.
“You wouldn’t be the first one, I am sure.”
“So he is Harry St. Clare, is he? He must be quite a distant relative.
That must have been painted about a hundred years ago. “
“That’s true. The hat gives it away. It’s Dettingen.. named after the battle. You ought to know the date. Somewhere in the I740S, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“They were all the rage, those hats, after the battle. And you can imagine that Harry would always be in the height of fashion.”
“Do you know the history of all your ancestors?”
“Only those who distinguished themselves like Harry.”
“How did he distinguish himself? At Dettingen?”
“Not on your life! He was too clever for that. Harry was a Rake. Harry was the Devil Incarnate. He was involved in some fine old scandals and incurred the wrath of his father, grandfather and in fact the whole family.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing that was good. If there was mischief, Harry was in it. He nearly lost the family fortunes. He died young. They said the Devil claimed Harry. I expect he is now having a riotous time in Hell. It would be just what he would revel in.”
“I think you rather like him.”
“Well, aren’t villains always more exciting than saints? Not that we’ve had a great many of the latter in the family. Harry was a member of one of the Hell-Fire Clubs, which were a fashion in those days among the lazy good-for-nothing young men who had the inclination for dissipation and a certain amount of money which allowed them to indulge in it.”
“What did he do?”
“Evil. Dabbled in the black arts. Worshipped the Devil. Indulged in depravity generally. He was a member of Sir Francis Dashwood’s club at Medmenham near West Wycombe. Dashwood built a place in the form of a monastery and there the members worshipped the Devil. Black Mass . depravity orgies. You could never imagine what practices they indulged in. ” Aubrey’s eyes shone with excitement.
“Harry wasn’t content with that. The story is that he formed his own club and went one better than Dashwood.”
“A very clever artist painted the portrait,” I said.
“When you look at it, it seems to come alive.”
“That’s Harry’s character coming across to you. You can see, can’t you, that he is no ordinary man. Now take a look at Joseph St. Clare over here with his daughter Charity. They lived a hundred years before Harry. They are the virtuous St. Clares. But don’t you think Harry is more interesting?”
“I think his is a finer portrait.”
“Don’t deceive yourself. That’s Harry looking out at you. He’s wondering how he can tempt you to folly. He’d like to make you a member of his Hell-Fire Club.”
“How dark it is. It seems to have got worse suddenly.”
He lighted one of the lamps which stood on a console table nearby. He held up the lamp. Harry St. Clare looked malevolent in lamp light.
Aubrey laughed and as I turned and looked at him I thought that with that gleam in his eyes, he bore a strong resemblance to his ancestor.
I shivered and just then I heard the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. He put his arm round me and for a few moments we looked at the picture.
Then he put the lamp down on the table and, turning to me, took me in his arms and kissed me in a passionate and demanding manner. He had never held me quite in the same way before.
I felt faintly uneasy. I looked over my shoulder. It was as though Harry St. Clare were laughing at me.
After dinner that evening Amelia delivered her astounding news.
We had eaten in the winter parlour which we did as there were only three of us. I had gathered that the main dining-room was used only when there were several guests as it was too big for so few.
There was a little ante-room leading from the winter parlour, like a comfortable sitting-room, and here we retired to have coffee.