Barbara Michaels - The Wizard’s Daughter

"Will you join me in a hearty gallop, then?" Carlton inquired.

Marianne gave him a sweet smile. "Unfortunately I am engaged. M. Victor has promised to show me the castle and tell me thrilling tales about the family."

M. Victor choked on a crumb and turned crimson in the face before he got his breath back. Finally he managed to gasp, "Honored… I had hoped, indeed," and a few other phrases indicative of pleasure – and surprise. Marianne did not mind. She wanted to make sure Carlton knew he was being snubbed.

To her annoyance he did not appear to be at all hurt.

"After luncheon, then. You cannot mean to spend the entire day roaming these dusty halls; a few hours of it will make you anxious for some fresh air, I assure you."

Marianne was forced to agree to the appointment. She knew the lawyer's sudden interest in her equestrian skills was only a device to get her alone so he could discuss the business he had mentioned. She assumed he had discovered, or believed he had discovered, something to her detriment, so she was not particularly anxious to hear it.

At Victor's suggestion she changed her fresh muslin gown for something more practical. The uninhabited parts of the castle were dusty and unheated.

At first Marianne rather enjoyed the tour. The Great Hall of the old keep, with its minstrels' gallery and ten-foot fireplaces, was thrillingly Gothic in character. It was in the Portrait Gallery, beyond the Hall, that she first noticed a change in Victor's behavior.

Most of the pictures were old, the newer portraits having been scattered through the other rooms. Some were so ancient that the features of the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Devenbrooks could scarcely he made out. Victor had not exaggerated when he boasted of knowing the family legends. Many were tales of desperate deeds and desperate men, dark rumors of revenge, treachery, and murder.

They came to a full-length portrait of a woman, or rather a sort of Scottish Fury; a voluminous plaid draped her stately form, her dark hair writhed around her head as if blown by a gale, and in her upraised hand she held a trunkless head. Gouts of painted blood dripped from this ghastly trophy, whose eyes were fixed in a horrid stare.

"Good heavens," Marianne exclaimed. "How dreadful!"

"The fourth Duchess, nee Lady Flora MacMonihan," said Victor. "Known before her marriage as the Iron Maiden of Monihan. The reference is to an antique device of torture -"

"I have heard of it." Averting her eyes, Marianne would have moved on. Victor caught her arm.

"Don't you want to hear about the lady? The head is of her former lover, Angus MacGonigal, who had annoyed her by abandoning her for another. They say she had it sent to the home of his betrothed and served up to the girl at dinner. She went raving mad."

"No wonder." Marianne shuddered. Victor casually slipped an arm around her waist.

"Ah, they were barbaric times, to be sure. Not like -"

"Sir!" Marianne pulled away from him. "What are you doing?"

" 'Tis begging your pardon I am. The place is chilly and I thought -"

"You thought wrong. I have seen enough." She turned and started back the way they had come. With an agile leap Victor barred her path.

" 'Tis shorter by the way I'll be showing you. Ah, now, don't pout at me, that's a darling; I'll be behaving myself after this."

His manner left a great deal to be desired, but he did not try to touch her; and since Marianne was uncertain of the precise path they had taken, she decided to follow him.

They passed through the heavy oak door at the end of the Portrait Gallery. Victor shut it carefully behind them and proceeded along a stone-flagged corridor lighted only by narrow slits high in the wall.

" 'Twas the passage to the old kitchens and scullery. Indeed but the food must have been icy cold before it reached the Banqueting Hall."

He continued to chatter, interspersing bits of historical information with courteous warnings about broken flagstones and other impediments to walking. The darkness imperceptibly thickened as they went on, but Marianne was caught completely off guard when he suddenly turned and folded her in his arms, pressing her against the cold stone wall.

"Come, now, it's private we are, and no one to see us at all, at all. Give us a little kiss to start, me darling, and then we'll -"

Momentarily Marianne was paralyzed, not so much by what was happening but by her memory of what had happened in the past. However, the tutor's breath, though far from pleasant, was not heavy with wine fumes; his fumbling hands had not the maniacal strength of Bagshot's. Turning her head to avoid his wet lips, Marianne freed one hand, doubled it into a fist, and brought it down on Victor's cheek.

He let out a howl of pain and relaxed his hold. Marianne twisted away. Three quick steps brought her to the door which she could dimly see through the gloom. She threw her weight against it; after a moment's resistance it yielded, admitting a flood of light from the windows in the hall beyond. This she recognized as a portion of the more modern wing, not far from the main staircase. This path had indeed been the shortest way back; Victor had been truthful on that score., at least.

"Wait." The tutor's voice, close behind her, made her turn quickly. She was no longer afraid, for a hearty scream would undoubtedly fetch help. What a contemptible-looking creature he was, nursing his cheek with one hand, his shoulders bowed and his eyes narrowed.

"Stand back," she said. "I don't want you near me."

"And no doubt you'll be off to Her Grace and tell her what happened."

"No doubt."

Victor made a sudden move. Marianne opened her mouth, prepared to cry out for help. But he made no attempt to seize her. In a way, what he did was worse. He dropped to his knees and clasped his hands. Marianne saw, with a thrill of disgust, that his eyes were overflowing with tears. He burst into a tempestuous appeal, of which, between his brogue and his sobs, she understood only the gist. He groveled, he apologized abjectly, he assured her no such thing would ever happen again. It was her fault, because her beauty had driven him mad; but it was his fault since nothing could excuse such vile, unmanly conduct. He begged her not to have him dismissed from his position.

The young Duke needed him, his "poor old mother in Killarney" would die of starvation and heartbreak…

"Oh, do stop it," Marianne exclaimed. "Stand up and act like a man instead of a baby, and perhaps…"

Victor's sobs cut off. His tears had been genuine enough; his face was drenched, and when he wiped at his eyes with his dusty hands, trails of mud ran down his cheeks.

"Is it granting me mercy you are?"

"Well…" Seeing his eyes again overflow and his lips tremble, Marianne said disgustedly, "I will say nothing of this so long as there is no repetition of it. Only keep away from me in future."

She left him still on his knees babbling protestations of undying but respectful gratitude.

Ludicrous as the performance had been, Marianne had no impulse to laugh. She had been thoroughly repelled, and when, on reaching her own room, she saw that the sleeve of her dress bore the marks of the tutor's dirty hand, she stripped it off so quickly she burst half the buttons.

It was later than she had thought. She was still scrubbing vigorously at her face and arms when Annie knocked to tell her luncheon was served.

She had not expected that Victor would have the effrontery to appear for luncheon., nor did he. This was an informal meal when no visitors were present; the family came or not as they pleased. Lady Annabelle was always accompanied by one or more cats when she attended the meal. Today Marianne was glad to see that her companion was the enormous red Horace. He at least could be trusted to remain in his mistress's lap.