Daughters of Castle Deverill (45 page)

‘So, what happened? Why didn’t you win?’

‘That’s where the Devil came in, Mrs Mayberry,’ he said in a voice so quiet and ominous it made Celia shiver. ‘Digby—’

‘If you’re going to talk about my father,’ Celia interrupted irritably, ‘call him
Sir
Digby.’

‘Oh no, Mrs Mayberry, he’ll never be Sir Digby to me. A devil in the Devil’s pay, maybe, as you will see. Back then, we used to hunt. Every day almost – gazelle,
antelope, zebra, elephants and even lions. Yes, even the king of the jungle. While Deverill was in Cape Town in his new palace hobnobbing with Rhodes, Beit and Barnato, we was struggling to make
ends meet. But one day, we was in the Cape, outside the city. We heard of a man-eating lion from a man called Captain Kleist, a German from German South West Africa. This white hunter invited us to
join the posse. It was bad manners to refuse and besides, we needed the diversion. When we arrived with our guns on the edge of the veldt, who did we find but Mad McManus, Spleen and Stone Heart
with this German captain, Kleist. I doubt he was ever a real captain, but I won’t digress. Anyway, there was an awkward moment, but they greeted us like old times and we didn’t blame
them for Deverill. So we set off into the veldt. It was dawn. Still dark and cool. But soon it grew hot. That heat like tar you can hardly move in. On and on we went. First on horse, then on foot.
We saw lions, me and Tiberius, but we never saw that man-eater,
if
he ever existed. Captain Kleist was in command. He split us into pairs. He chose Tiberius and put me with McManus. The
hours passed. Nothing. Mad McManus told me stories of Deverill and his immoral ways, like they say, there’s no honour among thieves. Then just as we were about to give up, it was nearly
midday and too hot to continue, there came shots ringing into the air near by. We ran across the veldt. We called out. Finally we heard Kleist’s voice, shouting for help. We followed it.
There we came upon a terrible scene. Tiberius was lying on the earth, but he wasn’t Tiberius no more. He was beyond dead, Mrs Mayberry. Torn apart, to pieces he was. My brother looked like an
impala with his insides ripped out. Looked like the man-eating lion had got ’im, Mrs Mayberry. Nothing else could have done that and Captain Kleist and Spleen and Stone Heart were already
there just looking and saying nothing. There were no words. Nothing to say. I asked Kleist what had happened. He was with him, after all. But Kleist told me they had split up and he had left my
brother alone. He claimed to have fired at the lion but it was too late.’ Mr Dupree’s voice trailed off and he dabbed his damp forehead with his hanky.

‘A most unfortunate accident,’ said Celia.

‘And so
I
thought for a while,’ replied Dupree. ‘ “A tragedy” Captain Kleist called it and all the others testified to an accident. But I took the body
back to camp and washed it myself. I saw what I wasn’t meant to see, Mrs Mayberry. I saw a bullet hole in his chest, hidden among the wounds, which maybe weren’t even the work of a
lion’s jaws but of a dagger. Perhaps my brother hadn’t been killed by lions, but by man, and those men were your father’s henchmen. Suddenly I knew who was behind it.’ He
narrowed his eyes and glared across the room at Celia, who sat rigidly on the fender, her tea cold in the cup. ‘I told the police and they made their arrest. But it wasn’t Deverill they
arrested; it was
me
.’

‘Why on earth would they think that you had murdered your own brother?’ Celia asked. ‘You weren’t even with him on the hunt.’

‘No, and that’s what I told the police. But Captain Kleist claimed I was with him and McManus, Stone Heart and Spleen all agreed with him. They said it was just me and Tiberius out
there so I was the only one who could have killed him. It was a set-up, Mrs Mayberry. Deverill wanted us out of the way and he got what he wanted, as he always did.’

‘But surely there has to be a motive for killing someone?’

‘Oh, don’t you worry, Mrs Mayberry, Deverill went to great lengths to find one. He dug around and discovered that we were both in love with the same girl in our home town of Hove. We
both wanted to marry her, it’s true, and it was causing a rift between us, but I’d never have killed my brother for her. Some woman testified to having heard me threatening to murder
him if he married her, but if I did it was in the heat of an argument – and that was it. I thought I was done for; I thought the judge would put on the black crêpe and hang me. But
there wasn’t enough proof to hang me. I was charged with conspiracy to murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. While I rotted in a South African jail, forgotten, Deverill made many a
fortune. But it was built on the blood of my innocent brother.’ Celia put down her teacup. Aurelius Dupree stubbed out his cigarette and he did not light another. ‘Now I’m out,
I’ve come for my share,’ he said, looking at her steadily.

‘Or what? You’ll sell your story to some dirty rag and sully my father’s reputation? He’s dead, Mr Dupree.’

‘Dead men still have reputations and families live off them. I only want what is mine and I
will
have my share,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Your father can’t
give me back my life, but he can make my last years as comfortable as possible. He owes me twenty grand, Mrs Mayberry. That’ll see me out. Not greedy, me. Just want some comfort before
I’m gone.’

Celia stood up. ‘I think I have heard enough fiction for one day.’ She walked over to the door and opened it. ‘O’Sullivan, please will you show Mr Dupree out.’ Mr
O’Sullivan appeared in the hall, much to Celia’s relief. ‘Mr Dupree is just leaving,’ she said in a weak voice. When she turned back into the room Mr Dupree was right beside
her. She gave a small jump as he stood so close she could smell the tobacco on his breath.

‘He didn’t pull the trigger, Mrs Mayberry, but he paid the piper. He should have hanged. I will be back,’ he said. ‘I will be back to claim what is mine.’

Celia left the castle and set off into the hills. The winter winds were cold and brisk, raking icy fingers through the long grasses and heather. The air was damp. A light
drizzle began to fall. Celia strode on as fast as she could. With her head down and her gaze lost somewhere above the ground just ahead of her, she marched into the grassy nooks and valleys she had
explored as a little girl with Jack O’Leary, his pet hawk and his dog. She remembered how she, Kitty and Bridie had watched the birds and Jack had taught them all the names. Loons,
shearwaters, grebes and lapwings – she could recall some of them even now. They had lain in wait for badgers, their bellies flat against the earth, their whispers full of excitement and
anticipation. They had played with caterpillars, which Bridie had called hairy mollies, spiders and snails and sometimes, on balmy summer nights, they had rolled onto their backs and gazed at the
stars and Celia had felt the gentle stirring of something deep within her which she could not explain. She had been drawn into the velvet blackness, into the bright twinkling of stars, into the
eternal vastness of space. The sweet scent of rich soil and heather had risen on the warm air and she had felt giddy with wonder. But those days were gone and innocence had gone with them. Now all
she felt was fear.

Whether or not her father was guilty of murder she didn’t know. But what
was
certain was Aurelius Dupree’s demand for money; money she didn’t have. The scandal of his
story, if told in the press, would finish her mother off for sure, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell her sisters, or Harry or Boysie – she couldn’t share her father’s
shame with
anyone
. Celia was left no choice. She
had
to find the money somehow; and she had to find it alone.

Aurelius Dupree had not only made an impossible demand, he had stripped her father of his humanity and exposed him as a brutal monster whose greed had led him to take an innocent life. A monster
Celia did not recognize, or want to.

She marched on, deeper into the hills, desperate to lose herself in the mist now forming in the vales in eerie pools of expanding cloud. Eventually she walked into the trees, to hide among their
sturdy trunks and branches. Tears blurred her vision, but the mossy ground was soft beneath her feet and the scent of pine and damp vegetation filled the air and began to soothe her aching spirit.
Blinking away her despair and looking about her she saw that the forest was beautiful – and what is beauty if not love? The mystical energy deep within the land seemed to wrap its arms around
her, giving her an unexpected feeling of strength – a feeling of not being alone. She stopped thinking about Tiberius Dupree and her father, murder and money, and gazed at the wonder of the
living earth she had never really taken the trouble to notice before. There were birds in the trees, creatures in the undergrowth and perhaps hundreds of pairs of eyes watching her from the bushes.
As a pale beam of sunlight shone through the thicket, falling onto the path ahead of her, Celia surrendered to the effervescence of nature and let the power of this strange presence, so much bigger
than herself, carry her pain away.

When she returned to the castle she felt immeasurably stronger. She went straight to the nursery to see her children. As they fought for her attention and wrapped their small arms around her,
she thought of Archie and their dream of filling the castle with a large and boisterous family.
That
would never happen now. She had two daughters who would forever connect her to their
father, but brothers they would never know.
Whatever happens,
she thought as she kissed their soft faces,
I will not let the troubles affecting
my
life ruin yours.
She’d sell the castle if she had to and make a new home somewhere else. Surely it wasn’t the bricks that made the home, but the people inside it, and it was love that held them all
together – and they could take that anywhere.

With this renewed sense of determination she travelled to London to meet with Mr Riswold, the solicitor, and Archie’s bank manager and stockbroker, Mr Charters. She explored every option,
but when she left for Ireland she realized that selling the castle was the only option. It was time to take her head out of the sand and face up to the truth: she was on the brink of bankruptcy and
only selling her beloved castle could save her.

At the beginning of spring O’Sullivan appeared at the sitting-room door where Celia was having tea with the Shrubs. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs Mayberry, but there is a
gentleman at the door who wishes to see you.’ For a moment her heart plummeted at the thought of Aurelius Dupree returning for his money and she blanched, but O’Sullivan had
specifically said ‘gentleman’, which Mr Dupree most certainly was not.

‘Did he give a name?’ she asked.

‘He did, madam, but I’m afraid I cannot repeat it.’ When Celia frowned, the butler wrung his hands. ‘It is a foreign name, madam.’

Celia smiled. ‘Very well. Ask him to wait in the library.’

‘Oh, don’t make him wait on account of us,’ said Hazel. ‘We must be leaving.’

‘Yes, we have lots to do, don’t we, Hazel?’ said Laurel.

‘We most certainly do,’ Hazel agreed. ‘We are going to call in on Grace, who has a horrible cold. I’ve made her a tincture.’

‘It’s an old recipe of Adeline’s,’ Laurel told her. ‘It works wonders.’

‘Oh, it does,’ Hazel agreed.

‘Well, if you really don’t mind,’ said Celia, watching the two women get to their feet. In their feathered hats they looked like a pair of geese. They both smiled, for they
were extremely happy these days, and as compatible as they had been before the arrival of Lord Hunt.

‘Not at all. Thank you for the tea and cake. Isn’t it lovely that it’s spring at last,’ said Hazel.

‘It’s put a spring in my step,’ laughed Laurel, secretly thinking that spring wasn’t the
only
thing that was putting a bounce in her step.

‘In mine too,’ Hazel agreed, and neither sister knew that Lord Hunt had put a leap in both.

The Shrubs and the mysterious foreign gentleman passed in the hall. The Shrubs chuckled like chickens as the handsome gentleman gave a low bow and smiled, revealing bright white teeth.
Ballinakelly hadn’t ever seen the likes of him, they thought excitedly as they set off for Grace’s. They’d be sure to give her the tincture as well as an enthusiastic description
of Celia’s glamorous visitor.

Celia waited for the gentleman with the unpronounceable name to be shown into the room. She straightened the skirt of her blue tea dress and stood with her hands folded, not knowing what to
expect. Nothing could have prepared her, however, for the arresting charms of Count Cesare di Marcantonio. The moment he stood in the doorway he filled it with his wide, infectious smile, warm eyes
and honey and lime cologne. Celia was stunned, she had not expected a man such as this. He strode up to her, took her extended hand and brought it to his lips, bowing formally. When he said his
name, his pale green gaze looked deeply into hers and held it firmly. Celia didn’t think she had ever met a man who exuded such self-confidence.

‘Please, do sit down,’ she said, gesticulating at the sofa. Dressed in an immaculate grey suit with a yellow waistcoat and matching silk tie, he chose the sofa, sat back against the
cushions and crossed one leg over the other, revealing stripy socks and very shiny cap-toe shoes. ‘Can I offer you something to drink? A cup of tea perhaps, or something stronger? My husband
used to drink whiskey.’

‘Whiskey on the rocks, please,’ he said and O’Sullivan nodded and left the room.

‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ said Celia, but she knew why he had come; there could be no other reason.

‘I am interested in buying your beautiful home,’ he said.

Celia’s cheeks flushed with emotion. She had made the decision to sell in January but a small part of her was still in denial. That small part still hoped that Aurelius Dupree’s
demand for money and Archie’s enormous debts would just go away. But here was a wealthy foreign count who had come to realize her fears. ‘I see,’ she said, lowering her eyes.