Dennis Wheatley - To The Devil A Daughter

In the morning, contrary to custom, his mother had him called and his breakfast brought to him at eight thirty; so he was dressed and downstairs well before ten. From her he learned that Christina had had a good night, was none the worse for her experiences of the previous evening, and had gone over to her own villa to change her clothes, but had promised to return as soon as she had done so.

A quarter of an hour later she came in through the sitting room window, looking a little subdued but otherwise perfectly normal, and very pretty in a square necked frock made gay with broad bands of red and yellow peasant embroidery. In the morning sunshine it seemed difficult to believe that she was the same girl whose eyes had glared hatred during a fit as a result of having a crucifix pitched to her, in that very room, little more than twelve hours before. But all three of them were uncomfortably aware that no good purpose could be served by refraining from going into the matter, and Molly set about it with commendable briskness.

Tell me, my dear,' she said as they sat down, `how `much do you remember about what happened last night?'

Christina turned her big, frank brown eyes upon her questioner. `A certain amount, but not everything. There are some quite big gaps. I remember your arrival at the Capricorn and how relieved I was; because I felt sure you would get me away from those people. Then I have a vague recollection of your disputing with them about me, and that I became increasingly annoyed with you for wanting to take me home. What occurred after that is completely gone, until I woke up feeling dreadfully ill and found myself in the back of your car. We came in here and I was trying to figure out a way of getting back to the Capricorn without your knowing. Then ... then I had a sort of fit, and from that point on my mind is a blank again until I woke up in bed here this morning.'

`Is it usual for you to have those sort of lapses of memory about much of what has been happening to you the night before?'

`Yes. Somehow at night I seem to be quite a different person. I often get up and roam about, and at such times I get all sorts of nasty impulses of a kind that I rarely have during the day. As far as I know I don't often give way to them, but I can't be quite certain of that, because afterwards I nearly always get these blackouts. The thought of what I may have done during them distresses and frightens me next morning. But to the best of my belief I do remember if I have actually done anything wicked, because I have had numerous instances of that. Any really definite action seems to register permanently in my mind.'

`Can you give us any examples?'

`Well, for one thing, I'm afraid I'm a thief.' Christina lowered her eyes and went on unhappily, `Honestly, I don't mean to be; but several times in Paris I stole trinkets and scent and money from the other girls at night. When I remembered what I had done the following morning I was terribly ashamed. Fortunately I was able to put the things back before my thefts were noticed; and no others were reported. It is that which makes me believe that when I do give way to these awful impulses I know what I have done when I wake up.'

`Was the impulse to steal the only one that came to you?'

`No. I seem to become horribly malicious. My best friend was engaged to be married. One night I stole her love letters that her fiancé had written to her, and burnt them down in the furnace. Several times I used a steel crochet hook to make ladders in other girl's stockings and spilt ink on their clothes, but I was so cunning that they never found out who had done it. Then I became subject to a special feeling about anything connected with religion. It is a sort of hatred and fear. I can't bring myself to touch any sacred object, but . . . but I've defiled them. Three times I did that with little lockets containing holy symbols belonging to different girls. There was a frightful row afterwards, but no one had the least suspicion that I was the culprit.'

`Is there anything else you can tell us about your state during these midnight forays?' Molly asked after a moment.

Christina flushed, and her voice was very low. `Yes. I realise that if you are going to help me I ought not to keep anything back. Sometimes I feel the most awful urge towards immorality but I'd rather not talk about that.'

`Let's go back to last night,' said Molly, promptly changing the line of the conversation. `Do you remember my throwing a crucifix to you, and what happened then?'

`Yes,' Christina replied in a whisper. `As it touched me it felt like a live coal. I sprang up and screamed. Then you said that I was possessed by the Devil.'

`I know it was a terrible thing to say, my dear; but do you think you are?'

`I don't know. At times I've wondered if I am, myself. But why should I be? What can I possibly have done to deserve such an awful fate?'

So far John had not spoken; but seeing that the girl was now very near to tears, he stretched out his hand, took one of hers, and pressed it. `We are sure it's not your fault. Even if it's true even if you have done something to bring it on yourself Mother and I wouldn't stop wanting to help you. And we wouldn't like you any the less.'

`Thanks.' She gave him a faint smile and let her hand remain in his, as Molly added, `John is quite right about that; and my own belief is that it is nothing you have done, but that somebody has bewitched you. Have you ever known anybody who was interested in witchcraft, magic or sorcery?'

`I don't think so. In Paris one of the girls used to tell fortunes with a pack of cards; but one couldn't really call that witchcraft, could one? And she wasn't very good at it. As a matter of fact I could do it far better myself, but I didn't; not when I was there. I gave it up several years ago, because it frightened me. Twice when I was at that school in Somerset I predicted serious accidents; and in one case I saw death in the cards, although I didn't say so, and the person died a month later.'

Molly nodded. `Such an uncanny gift is additional proof that you have some special link with occult powers; and evidently it is not a recent one. How long is it since you took to prowling about at night, and feeling these distressing impulses?'

`Ever since I can remember; but, as I told you the other day, when I was young it took the form of sleep walking. It may have been because I did naughty things at such times that Delia was so unkind to me. I didn't even begin to be aware of what I was doing until I was thirteen, and even then it came as a gradual transition. I must have been over seventeen before I was fully conscious when I got out of bed at nights. But the occasions on which I did so were fairly few and far between, and the impulses I felt were neither as strong nor as wicked. It is only during the past year that I have been getting so much worse. That is what frightens me so much.'

`Have you ever been to a séance, or gone in for table turning and just for a lark called on the Devil to aid your enquiries?'

`No, never.'

`And there is no special episode in your childhood, or anything else you can remember, that might have a bearing on your present state?'

`No. I have already told you everything about my life that I can think of.'

There fell a pause, then John asked, `How about Canon Copely Syle? I wouldn't mind betting that he didn't turn up here by chance, and that the story he told you about your father having had a serious accident was a fake, designed to get you away from your villa. I didn't know it when we met the Marquis de Grasse at Cannes, but Mother has since told me that he is a crook. The fact that the Canon introduced you to him, and his son afterwards tried to get you on to their yacht, makes the case against the Canon pretty black. In fact, it is ten to one that he is at the bottom of the whole business.'