Jack Higgins - Pay the Devil

As he moved to step up to the driver’s seat, the door opened behind him and closed again. Clay turned slowly, his hand sliding into his pocket. The tall man was facing him and he held up a hand and smiled. ‘No trouble, Colonel. I only came to thank you for not killing my brother.’

Clay took a quick step forward and brushed back the man’s unbuttoned coat, revealing the butt of a pistol sticking out of his waistband. ‘I noticed where you had your hand,’ he said wryly.

The other nodded. ‘Sure, and I saw that you’d noticed.’

Clay shrugged. ‘He was in no danger. I’m not in the habit of killing boys. A whipping would be more in his line.’

‘When his father hears of this day’s work, he’ll get that and perhaps more,’ the big man said. He held out his hand and Clay took it. ‘Kevin Rogan, Colonel. I knew your uncle well.’

Clay’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Would you be kin to Shaun Rogan – Big Shaun, as I believe they call him?’

Kevin Rogan smiled. ‘My father – why do you ask?’

‘I met a friend of his in New York,’ Clay told him. ‘A man called O’Hara – James O’Hara. He gave me a package for him. If Dennis had stolen it, I wonder what your father would have said to that.’

A strange smile appeared on Rogan’s face. ‘You’ll be doubly welcome if you visit us with news of James O’Hara, Colonel. There’s a track starts at the back of Claremont House. Follow it three miles over the moor and you’ll come to Hidden Valley. Rogan soil, every foot of it bought and paid for.’

‘Perhaps tomorrow,’ Clay said. ‘Tell your father to look for me.’

He pulled himself up into the driver’s seat and slapped the weary horse lightly with the reins. It started to move forward into the gathering dusk. As they turned past the tiny church at the end of the street, he glanced over his shoulder. Kevin Rogan waved at him and then opened the door and went back inside.

The house loomed unexpectedly out of the night, a dark mass beyond a low wall, and Clay turned the coach in between stone pillars from which the iron gates had long since disappeared.

The drive circled the house and ended in a large, walled courtyard where Clay brought the coach to a halt. It was then that he received his first surprise. Light showed through the mullioned windows, reaching out into the rain and shining upon the wet flagstones.

He jumped down to the ground and Joshua climbed out of the coach and joined him. ‘What do you make of it, Colonel?’

Clay shook his head. ‘I couldn’t say, but we can soon find out.’

The door opened to his touch and he entered into what was obviously the kitchen. Beams supported the low ceiling and logs blazed in the great stone fireplace, casting shadows across the room. Clay went and warmed his hands, a slight frown on his face.

Joshua busied himself with lighting an oil lamp, one of two which stood upon the table. As it filled the room with soft light, he gave a sudden exclamation. ‘Look at this, Colonel.’

Clay moved across to the table, as Joshua removed a white linen cloth revealing a loaf of bread, eggs, a side of ham and a pitcher of milk. A small sheet of blue notepaper carried the words welcome to claremont in neat, angular handwriting.

Clay studied the message for a moment. ‘No name,’ Joshua said, stating the obvious. ‘Now wouldn’t you call that a strange thing?’

Clay raised the sheet of notepaper to his nostrils and inhaled the fragrance of lavender. His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I thought it looked like a woman’s writing.’

‘But who is she?’ Joshua demanded.

Clay shrugged. ‘A Good Samaritan. She’ll declare herself in her own good time.’

Joshua lit the other lamp and illuminated the entire room. There were pictures on the wall, a carpet before the fireplace and comfortable chairs. There was an atmosphere of peace over everything, as if the man who lived here had been happy.

‘One thing’s for sure,’ Joshua said. ‘That man Burke didn’t know what he was talking about.’

Clay nodded. ‘I don’t think my uncle’s last days can have been too unpleasant.’

He took one of the lamps and crossed to a door in the far corner. It opened directly onto a flight of wooden stairs and he went up them quickly, Joshua at his heels carrying the other lamp. He opened the first door he came to and went in.

The room was small, but comfortably furnished as a bedroom, with a carpet on the floor. The mahogany wardrobe was empty and so were the drawers in the tallboy, but the blankets on the bed had recently been aired and the sheets and pillows were clean and white.

For no reason that he could put his finger on, he knew that this had been his uncle’s room, and for a moment he stood in silence by the window, staring out into the night, trying to form in his mind a picture of the man he had never seen.

There was a slight cough, and he turned to find Joshua standing in the doorway. ‘I’ve checked the other rooms, Colonel. There are five, all told. The room next door is furnished with a bed made up and ready for use. The others are empty.’

‘Then that takes care of both of us,’ Clay said. ‘Anything else along the corridor?’

Joshua shook his head. ‘Just a blank wall at the end.’

Clay led the way back downstairs. ‘I should say these were once the servants’ quarters. Presumably they were the only rooms fit for use after the fire.’

He crossed the kitchen to a door on the other side and tried to open it. It refused to budge and then he noticed the large key in the lock. He turned it quickly and the door opened without any further trouble. He was standing in a stone-flagged corridor that smelt cold and damp. Somewhere he could hear rain falling and he moved along the corridor, the lamp held out in front of him.

He mounted a short flight of stone steps and opened the door at the head of them. Immediately, he felt rain on his face and hastily placed one hand protectively over the open end of the lamp.

He was standing in what had obviously been the entrance hall of the house. A great stairway lifted into the darkness on his right and before him lay the scattered, dangerous mass of debris that had once been the roof and upper storey.

For a moment, the irony of the situation struck him. That seven hundred years of his family’s turbulent history should come to this and that he, the last of his name and born in an alien land, should stand among the ruins of a great house. A sudden gust of wind caused his lamp to flicker wildly and he turned back down the steps, closing the door behind him.

As he went back into the kitchen, Joshua came in from the courtyard, a bag in each hand. He placed them carefully on the floor and straightened. ‘I think you ought to have a look in the stables, Colonel,’ he said. ‘You’ll find something mighty interesting there.’

Clay followed him out into the courtyard. The stables lay on the other side, their great doors standing open to the night, and he saw that Joshua had taken the coach and horse into shelter. A lantern hung from a nail and Joshua lifted it down. ‘Over here, Colonel.’

There was a soft whinny from the darkness, and when Joshua raised the lantern, Clay saw a horse standing in one of the stalls. It was a beautiful animal, a black mare with a coat like satin. A thrill of conscious pleasure went through him as he gently ran his hand across its hindquarters.

‘Another gift from our Good Samaritan?’ Joshua said.

Clay smiled. ‘She can make this kind of gift any time she wants. That’s one of the finest bits of horseflesh I’ve ever seen.’

‘Things get more surprising round here minute by minute,’ Joshua said.

He replaced the lantern on its nail and started to unhitch the coach horse. Clay moved forward quickly. ‘I’ll see to that,’ he said. ‘You get a meal started.’