Moonspun Magic (28 page)

He looked at her a moment, then said quietly, “I should like to speak to some old acquaintances, Victoria. Would you take Damaris to Fletcher's Pond? I will join you within thirty minutes.”

She cocked her head to one side, but said quickly enough, “Certainly. We're off, Damie.”

Victoria heard murmurs as she eased Toddy into a trot. “Aye, Master Rafael will put a stop to this nonsense.” “Good thing the lads back—a long time away.” “But what of the baron?”

“What a mare's nest,” Rafael said to George Trelion, a young man who now owned his own farm. “I heard that this poor girl was simply the latest in a long line.”

“Aye,” said George, a man of few words. “Hard to know how many.” Rafael now remembered that George had also been a boy of few words as well. He changed the topic, inquiring after George's family. He managed to ease his way back to the mayor, Mr. Meledor. He remembered how he and Damien used to steal fruit from Meledor's orchard, and the round of buckshot that had barely missed them one late summer's night.

“Aye, a horrible thing it is, Mr. Rafael.”

“Have you any ideas at all of the identity of the men involved?”

“Not a clue. There's a great deal of speculation, of course, always is in these sorts of situations. It's still everyone's belief, even the magistrate's, Sir Jasper Casworth—can you remember Sir Jasper?”

Rafael nodded, picturing a desiccated, bent old man who habitually pursed his lips.

“Well, yes, Sir Jasper believes that all the members of this so-called new Hellfire Club wear masks so
that even the members don't know who the other members are.”

“That would seem wise,” Rafael said, but he couldn't believe that they didn't know each other. Impossible, that, but he didn't disagree.

“Indeed, my boy, indeed.”

“Have they done anything else save rape young girls?”

“They did murder,” said Mr. Meledor in his most portentous voice. “Yes, murder, and that's how we found out about them paying fathers to rape their daughters. One of the girls died, bled to death, and the father was very upset, you might say.”

“He didn't say who had paid him for his daughter?”

“He didn't know,” said Mr. Meledor in some disgust. “Said it was all done through letters. Stupid man.”

“Does anyone have any idea of how many men are involved in this new Hellfire Club?”

Mayor Meledor cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his fleshy jowls. “Well, after that one girl died, another started talking. She said eight men had had her.”

After a while Rafael shook the mayor's hand, nodded to other folk he recognized, spoke to some old friends, then took his leave. He pushed his stallion as fast as he could gallop toward Fletcher's Pond.

As for Victoria, she'd managed to dismount from Toddy's back without oversetting either herself or Damaris. It was a glorious early October day. “Careful not to fall into the pond, Damie,” she told the wriggling small girl, a litany that Victoria doubted ever penetrated the child's head.

“I want to feed Clarence,” said Damaris.

“You will, love, you will. I can hear him.”

Victoria spread out a blanket beside the tablecloth
to wait for Rafael. She was thinking about the horrible rape when she heard his stallion approach.

He dismounted Gadfly beside Toddy and tethered him to a low yew bush.

“Hi, Victoria. Hey, Damaris, do you need more bread for those greedy ducks?”

Victoria said as she looked up at him, “Did you hear the people saying that you would put a stop to all of this?”

“Yes, I heard them.”

“You're very popular. I can't imagine why no one ever spoke of you to me during the past five years.”

“I can.” After giving Damaris more bread for the ducks, he eased down beside Victoria. “It's easy enough to understand. You were Damien's ward. It was known that Damien and I parted on neutral terms, at the very best. No one would dare speak of me to you, particularly since Damien appears to have inspired resentment. It's really that simple.” He paused a moment, pulling up a blade of grass and rubbing it between his long fingers. “I heard people referring to Damien. It seemed to me that they disliked him, perhaps feared him, certainly didn't trust him. Do you know what he has done to inspire such feelings?”

She shook her head. “People in St. Austell have always been kind to me and to Elaine, only just a bit more standoffish with her. I really don't know.”

“I shall have to find out, I see.”

“Before you become a detective, should you like to eat your luncheon?”

Rafael gave her that smile of his and nodded. He once again counted on his fingers, sighed, and held up one finger.

“It's just one, Victoria. How would you like to—”

“Rafael. Don't you dare say what you are thinking.”

The stupidities begin when one takes men seriously.

—J
EAN
G
IONO

R
afael was abstracted. Normally, Victoria reflected, whenever he played her lady's maid, he would kiss her neck, light nipping kisses, and his hands would rove over and around the button fastenings. This evening, however, he planted only one rather perfunctory kiss on her left earlobe, straightened, and absented his mind.

When she sat down in front of her dressing table, she eyed him in her mirror. “All right, what's bothering you?”

He actually looked startled. “However can you think that anything is wrong?”

She laughed at his bewilderment. “Do you think I'm blind? Do you think I have no knowledge of you at all? It's rather obvious to me, Rafael. If nothing were bothering you, you would be bothering me until I was swatting at your hands as fast as I could.”

“Ah.” He grinned, and managed something of his normal lecherous look.

“Tell me. Is it the incident with this Hellfire Club?”

Rafael gave it up. He might as well tell her a bit of it. She might have some ideas. “Yes. I just
happened to see Dr. Ludcott. He spoke to me of it. It turns out that the girl, Joan, remembers a roomful of people dressed all in black, their heads and faces also covered in black. Then she was being laid on a long table and went to sleep. Obviously they drugged her.” He paused a moment, looked at the Aubusson carpet intently, and added, “Did you know that Joan Newdowns is fourteen years old?”

Victoria winced. “I knew she was young, but . . . “Oh, God, that's awful, Rafael. Did she recognize any of their voices? Can she remember anything that might help?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then said, much to her astonishment, “Yes, she did.”

“You're jesting. Truly?”

“Yes. She's not certain, of course, but just before she went to sleep, she heard all of them talking—arguing, she thinks. She told her mother she heard David Esterbridge. Dr. Ludcott, when Mrs. Newdowns told him of it, nearly dropped with apoplexy on the spot. He doesn't know what to do, which is why he cornered me. Who, he was whining, would believe a fourteen-year-old girl?”

“Everyone would if it were anyone other than Squire Esterbridge's son. Their family's been practically an institution for generations, and the squire—well, everyone likes him immensely.”

“Exactly. An interesting problem.” Rafael paused, looked at Victoria with a serious expression, and said quite calmly, “As I told Dr. Ludcott, no one would possibly imagine a bunch of hooligans or lower-class ruffians raping a girl the way this was done. Or the way any of the others were done. First, such a group wouldn't have the money to pay the fathers. No, the ritual and the outward secrecy of the black masks makes it very unlikely. Ludcott agreed, but was very unhappy about it, as you can well imagine. I also
suggested to him that he keep quiet about it for the moment. Impossible to confront either David or Squire Esterbridge. A waste of time, certainly, and it would cause an unlimited amount of bad feeling. One also has to wonder why they chose to call themselves the Hellfire Club, aping that infamous group of men some forty years ago. No, it's wild young men hereabouts who are responsible. And they must be stopped. Thus my obvious distraction, Victoria, at least to you.”

“You're forgiven. Did Joan Newdowns recognize anyone else's voice?”

“No. Then again, Esterbridge is one of the few young bloods hereabouts who spends a bit of time in St. Austell. Joan's mother does sewing for Mrs. Lemarth on Front Street, and Joan visits her quite a bit. It's natural that she would see and hear David Esterbridge.” He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. “As a matter of fact, it's possible that David is the one who spotted Joan Newdowns as their next rape victim.”

“So this is why you wanted a ball.”

“I doubt your mind spends much time in the shade, sweetheart. Let's say that it will give me the opportunity to see all these wild gentlemen and plant, shall we say, a few seeds of my own hellfire.”

“You wanted the ball
before
this occurred to Joan Newdowns.”

He cursed softly, then tried for an indifferent grin. He failed, of course. Victoria watched him shrug himself into an exquisite coat of black satin.

“And since you wanted the ball before this occurred, it's obvious to me that someone in London asked you to involve yourself in this Hellfire Club business. Am I right?”

Rafael negligently straightened his cravat, his
example of the Oriental, and not excessively successful. He didn't say a word; in fact, he started humming.

“You were asked to involve yourself because of the peer's daughter. I assume that simple peasant girls wouldn't receive such attention, but a peer's daughter? Yes, indeed, so you agreed to look into the matter.”

He turned then and she found herself momentarily forgetting everything except him. His linen and cravat were snowy white. He looked delicious to Victoria. She imagined herself undressing him very slowly, her fingers finally on the buttons of his breeches, and she shivered with her fantasy.

“What is that all about?” Rafael asked, smiling at the dreamy expression on her face. To his surprise, she flushed deeply. “Oh ho. I must know now, Victoria. Could it be that you are thinking about what I'm going to do to you at dawn tomorrow?”

“If you would know,” she said finally, giving him a look of great dislike, “I was thinking about what I would do to you.” There, she thought, seeing that he was clearly taken aback, she'd finally gotten the last word.

“Tell me,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth, his gray eyes intent on her face. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

She lowered her eyes a moment, shaken by his intensity. “It wasn't all that complete. Truly.”

“What had you completed?”

“Very well, I was picturing myself taking off your clothes very slowly and looking at you very thoroughly.”

His eyes silvered and darkened.

“And unbuttoning your breeches.”

It was some moments before he managed to say, “I did ask you, didn't I? Let's go down to dinner
before I let you and before I ravish you with but half a day to go.” He offered her his arm.

She said as she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, “I want you to promise me that you will be careful. I would appreciate your telling me all about your, er, assignment, but I'm patient. Will you be careful?”

“I'm always careful,” he said. And that, Victoria thought, was that.

Before joining Elaine and Damien in the drawing room, Victoria and Rafael visited Damaris.

“Torie.”

“Yes, love, oh how very sweet you smell. Did Nanny Black give you your bath?”

“Yes, and it's you again, Uncle Rafill.”

“Perhaps you'd best just call me Uncle, Damaris.”

“Uncle,” the child dutifully repeated. She threw her arms round Victoria's legs, then allowed Rafael to lift her high in his arms and toss her into the air. The squealing brought Nanny Black quickly into the nursery.

“Oh, it's you, Master Rafael, Miss Victoria. The child was a grubby mess, but she could speak of nothing but all her fun. Time for your bed, little miss. Come along now.”

Damaris didn't have any intention of docilely following Nanny Black to bed. She set up a tantrum that would have shortly brought every servant to the nursery, believing murder was being committed.

“Enough, young lady.”

Damaris stopped mid-yell. She stared at Rafael. She tried one final cry, only to be cut off. “I said, Damaris Carstairs, that your performance is ended. You will kiss me and Victoria good night. Then you will obey Nanny Black. And that is the end of it, my child.”

To Victoria's absolute astonishment, Damaris gave Rafael a very brief pouting frown, then grinned at him. She followed his orders to the letter.

“Goodness, that was impressive,” said Victoria as Rafael led her out of the nursery.

“Like sailors, children need to know their limits,” said Captain Carstairs. “What is appropriate on board ship—or in the nursery—and what is not.”

“As reigning adult in the nursery just now, you decided she'd gone beyond the limits.”

“Yes.”

“I can't quibble about that,” Victoria said, and sighed.

“That also applies to women.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Limits, Victoria, limits. On board ship, in the nursery, in the bedroom, limits are the essence of control.”

“I'm going to hit you with that naked marble statue of Diana.”

Rafael merely smiled, then said abruptly, “I don't care for ‘Torie.' I don't like it. I shall have to come up with something else, something quite original, of course.”

“Oh, dear,” Victoria said, “I dread to hear it. Have you any ideas as yet?”

“Nary a one, but I will contrive.”

Dinner at Drago Hall that evening was enlivened by Rafael's telling of young Joan Newdowns' rape by men in a new, revived Hellfire Club. He was doing it on purpose, of course, Victoria thought.

“Unfortunately, the child didn't recognize any of the bastards, er, excuse me, Elaine—”

“That's all right. I fully agree with you. They are animals, crude, malicious, sadistic beasts.”

“All that, my dear? Admittedly, it was not at all
well done of them, but surely it was some sort of lark.”

So, Rafael thought, Damien also believed it the work of moneyed young gentlemen.

Victoria stared at Damien. Even though she'd experienced attempted rape at his hands, she was still shocked that any man wouldn't condemn such an act, at least overtly, in civilized company.

“Age really doesn't matter,” Rafael said easily, “but the child was, after all, only fourteen years old. I wonder what kind of man would find it a
lark
to ravish a child?”

“A very twisted, sick man,” said Elaine. “Would you care for some salmi of grouse, Rafael?”

“I wonder if there have been other incidents?” Victoria said, waiting to hear what Damien would say. Two could play this game, she wanted to say to her husband.

Rafael found himself looking from beneath his lashes at his brother. He too had been appalled to hear Damien speak so cavalierly about the girl's rape.

Damien said nothing until he took a long drink of his wine. “Actually,” he said easily, “I barely remember the incident. It was quite a few months ago, wasn't it, my dear?”

“Yes, but one doesn't tend to forget something like that so easily. Do you think it's related to this incident? Do you think it's a bizarre revival of the infamous Hellfire Club?”

Damien looked bored, an unusual reaction, his brother thought, given the subject matter. “I neither know nor particularly care, Elaine. It has nothing to do with me. Rafael, may I have a bit more of the stewed partridge?'

Victoria couldn't keep her tongue still. She said, “But it has to do with all of us. No one could
possibly condone what was done to that child. My god, Damien, Dr. Ludcott said that she had been drugged and that many men raped her.”

Damien gave her a twisted smile. “I shouldn't have wanted to be the last.” He quickly held up his hand. “Acquit me, brother, ladies. I was only jesting—”

“—a very poor jest.”

“Yes, well, I meant nothing by it. But really, all of you, the girl is of little importance, after all. Just a village girl, just—”

“I believe that's quite enough,” Rafael said quietly, in the same tone he'd used with Damaris. “You're upsetting both Victoria and Elaine.”

“I certainly wouldn't wish to do that,” said Damien, giving his pregnant wife a fond smile. “My heir must be kept safe and healthy at any cost. Elaine knows that, as do I.”

“Tomorrow,” Rafael said abruptly, “Victoria and I will travel to St. Agnes. There is a property there I wish to inspect. Oddly enough, there are the remains of a medieval castle still there, and the name still visible—Wolfeton. Of course, a manor house is on another section of the property, built in the early seventeenth century, I believe, by offshoot scions of the De Moreton family.”