Dennis Wheatley: To The Devil A Daughter

`Soon after war broke out the school was moved to Wales, and when I came home the following Christmas I found to my joy that Delia had gone the way of Annie. The house was being run for Father by a middle aged couple named Jutson. Their status was simply that of servants: she was cook housekeeper and he did the odd jobs and the garden. They have been with us ever since. Later I learned by chance that from 1940 Father was well off enough to have a flat in London. Or, rather, that he kept a succession of popsies in flats that were nominally theirs and used to stay with them whenever he went up; so I know very little about his later mistresses.

`The Jutsons are a respectable, hard working couple, but she is rather a sour woman. During the holidays and the Easter ones that followed she did what she had to do for me, but no more. I was fed at regular hours and seen to bed at night, otherwise I was left to amuse myself as well as I could. I think Father has always paid them well to keep their mouths shut about his affairs, because when I ask either of them why he was often absent from home,

or where he had gone to and when he was coming back, hey always used to say “Ask no questions and you'll get to lies ! ” And that has been their attitude ever since.

`That April the real war began and Father decided it would be best for me to remain at school for the summer Holidays. Many of the other parents felt the same way about their daughters, so more than half of us stayed on in Wales, and while the Battle of Britain was being fought we had quite a jolly time. We couldn't foresee it then, but 'or most of us that was only the first of many holidays spent at school. In my case I didn't see my home again for the next five years.

`As part of the drill at school I wrote to Father every week, and occasionally he sent me a typed letter in reply. it was always to the effect that producing war supplies Dept him desperately busy, but he hoped to find time to home down to see me soon. He did, about two or three times a year, but I would just as soon that he hadn't, as we had absolutely nothing to say to one another, and I could almost hear his sigh of relief when the time came for him a catch his train back to London. I must say, though, to always treated me very generously. He allowed me to take any extras that I wished, and I had only to ask for anything I wanted in one of my letters and his secretary could have it sent down.

`The summer that the war ended I was fifteen and I came home at last, but not for long. Apart from a few of Mother's old friends I didn't know a soul, and I hope I haven’t become a snob myself, but I seemed to have moved right out of their class. I no longer talked the same language as their children, and although I tried to get over that, father said he did not wish me to have those sort of people in the house. Within a fortnight I was at a dead end and Hopelessly bored.

`One day Father suddenly realised how isolated I was and took the matter in hand with his usual efficiency. He explained that his own social life was in London, but for various reasons he could not have me with him there; so some other step must be taken to provide me with suitable companions of my own age. He had found a place in Somerset that ran courses in domestic science and was open all the year round. His suggestion was that I should go there for the rest of the summer holidays.

`Anything seemed better than staying at home doing nothing; so I agreed. And I was glad I had. It was a lovely old house and most of the pupils were older than myself; so we were treated much more like grown ups than are the girls at an ordinary school. I liked it so much that I asked Father to let me go back there for good after one last term in Wales. That suited him; so I spent nearly the whole of the next two and a half years in Somerset. Occasionally, just for a change, I spent a week at home, and seven or eight times I was invited to stay at the homes of girls with whom I had become friends. My best friend lived in Bath; another one lived in Kensington, and with her I saw something of London; but such visits were only short ones and at fairly long intervals.

`I was perfectly content for things to go on that way indefinitely, but just before my eighteenth birthday the principal wrote to Father to say that as I had taken all the courses they ran and passed all the exams it did not seem right to keep me on there any longer. Faced with the same old problem of what to do with me, he decided to send me to a finishing school in Paris, and I was there until last December.'

Christina lit another cigarette, and added, `I forgot to tell you that in 1949 old Mrs. Durnsford died and Father bought The Grange....'

She paused and a look of consternation came over her face. `Oh damn, now I've given away the one thing I didn't mean to tell you.'

Molly smiled. `Don't worry, my dear. I won't try to ferret out your name from that, and a little slip of that kind can't really be considered as breaking your promise to your father.'

`No, I suppose not,' Christina agreed. `Anyhow, the fact of his going back there made very little difference as far as I was concerned. The Jutsons now live in the flat over the garage where I was born; but we have no other servants living in, and Father never does any entertaining. On balance, I prefer it out there in the country to living in a suburb of the town, although there are no shops and cinemas handy. When I get back I hope to interest myself in the village, but until this winter I've never lived there or more than a few days at a time; so I've had no chance yet to get to know any of the neighbours except old canon Copely Syle, and I've known him as long as I can remember.'

Again Christina paused, before ending a little lamely, Well, there it is. I really don't think there is anything more to tell you.'

`You poor child.' Molly took her hand and pressed it. I think your father has been terribly selfish in not providing you with a proper home life. You seem to have missed all the jolly times that most young people have on seaside holidays and at Christmas parties.'

`Oh, I don't know. People never miss what they haven't been used to, do they? Except when I first went to school, I've always got on well with the other girls, and most of the mistresses were awfully kind to me.'

`Perhaps; but that isn't quite the same thing. What about your grandparents? And had you no aunts and uncles to take an interest in you?'

`I know nothing about Father's family. I have an idea that he was illegitimate; but if he ever had one he must have broken with it as soon as he began to get on, so that it should not prove a drag upon him. Mother was an only child and her parents died when I was quite young; so I lave no relatives on that side either.!

'Tell me about your father's friends. Although you have been at home so little, you must have met some of them. recalling the sort of people they were might give you a line on what this present trouble is about.'

Christina shook her head. `For the past ten years Father has spent a great deal of his time in London, and the only social life he has is there. He subscribes quite generously to local charities, but after he had to withdraw his candidature for the town council he would never mix himself up with public activities in the district. The only people he has ever asked home as far as I know were senior members of its office staff, and then it would only be to discuss confidential business with them over a drink in the evening.'

`Just now you mentioned a Canon somebody?'

`Oh, old Copely Syle is an exception. He lives only a mile or so from us, on the way to the village, at the Priory. Although, even when we lived in ... in the town, he used to drop in occasionally.'

`In view of your father's bias against religion it seems rather strange that he should have made a life long friend of a canon.'