“I’m in no need, thank you, but if I might wash up a bit before seeing his lordship-?”
Before I could say more, Shade was let in, and he greeted Wentworth-who seemed equally delighted to see him-as an old friend. The greeting further relieved my mind. I was by then beginning to appreciate Shade’s ability to judge character.
The footman reappeared to say my room was prepared. Wentworth said that I should ring whenever I was ready, and he would personally escort me to his lordship’s rooms.
The room I was given was clean and comfortable, if not in the style I expected of Lord Varre. Merritt was waiting for me, and began to help me to make myself more presentable.
As I dressed, I noticed that the figure of a large dog was carved in black marble and set into the mantelpiece.
“Our Shade to the life, isn’t it, sir?” Merritt said. He then informed me that he believed the stables were in good order, as was the household, then paused and added, “Although I will say, sir, that none of them is very old, Mr. Wentworth being the exception, and no one else in service here for long. They’re none of them from nearby, the locals apparently having a fear of the place.”
“A fear of it?”
“Something to do with illness in the place, sir. Strikes it regular, they tell me.”
“Are you uneasy, Merritt?”
He gave me a look of disbelief. “What, me, sir? After facing Boney and his friends for half my life? I should think not, sir.”
I smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Wentworth escorted me down a hallway, Shade following. The butler seemed to think nothing of the dog accompanying me. My anticipation grew. Now, untroubled by fever or fear of dying, I would be able to express myself more clearly. I would have answers to my questions.
He took me to a small antechamber, then opened a second door and ushered me into a large bedroom, heavily draped and darkly paneled, lit only by a single candelabra. Still, the light was enough for me to see the face of the man on the bed. I came to a sudden halt, shocked.
The man was not Lord Varre.
He was a man of perhaps sixty years of age, although illness might have added years to his appearance. He was propped up by pillows, pale and thin.
I was on the verge of offering profound apologies when I remembered that the butler had known my name. If I was mistaken, then how had he come to expect my arrival?
“Come in, come in, Captain Hawthorne,” the man on the bed said, his voice soft but clear.
I moved closer. I studied his face and saw a definite resemblance to the man who had rescued me at Waterloo. Lord Varre was surveying me with as much interest as I had him.
“Wentworth,” he said, “please see that we are not disturbed.”
“Certainly, sir. I shall be just outside your door should you need me.”
The butler gently closed the door behind him.
“I am doubtless not whom you expected to see,” the man on the bed said, then sighed. “I suppose you were looking for a much younger man?”
“Your son, I presume?” I said.
“No, sir. I am Marcus deVille, Lord Varre. The man you met was Lucien Adrian deVille, known by his family as Adrian-my great-great-great-oh, who knows how many generations he encompassed? A grandfather of mine, you might say.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Aye, who could blame you? Come here and sit by me, and I will tell you what little I know.”
I obeyed. Shade came with me, and was recognized. Again he was greeted as a member of the household.
“Excuse me, but did this dog once belong to you?” I asked.
“Shade? Oh no, no. He was owned-if he can be owned-by Adrian, the man who introduced himself to you as Lord Varre. As I understand it, Shade has now attached himself to you. In this house, he will be treated as royalty. I owe him a great deal.”
He suffered a coughing fit. I helped him to a glass of water.
“Thank you…I will speak plainly,” he said. “I am in ill health, and haven’t time to tell you all you should know, let alone fill your head with a lot of rubbish that will do you no earthly good. I take it you can sense that I am not long for this world?”
This was true. “You are gravely ill, sir, but I believe you will see at least another dawn.”
“More than I hoped for,” he said, unperturbed, “but still not so very long. So let me begin by saying that I know you are nearly immortal, will not age, are able to recover from any wound or illness, and have another gift besides-which Adrian thought a rather stupid request, when most men would have asked for lovers or wealth. He asked for wealth when the gift was given to him. But you, you weren’t so selfish, were you?”
“Perhaps, as he said, I was merely stupid.”
“Do you regret it, being able to help the dying?”
“No,” I answered at once.
He smiled, and fell silent for a moment.
“You are more than he bargained for, Captain,” he said at last. “And I’m glad of it. Let me tell you a strange tale. Centuries ago-I know not how many-a young man became enamored of potions and magic and the dark arts. He was a brilliant scholar and gathered every manuscript he could, and sought out alchemists and necromancers and objects reputed to have magical powers. He learned of an old man who lived in a small village and was rumored to be a sorcerer. This young man had already made a habit of pursuing every rumor he ever heard of those with supernatural powers, although he was already quite cynical about these matters. He found a great deal of fakery among those who claimed to be magical. This particular old man did not try to baffle him with incense or drugs. Indeed, he simply said he had been waiting for him.
“He gave the young man a ring, a mourning ring, and near midnight, took him to visit a cemetery. The young man was not frightened, as some might have been, and spent his time admiring the ornate crypts of the aristocrats who were interred there.
“‘I wish I were wealthy,’ the young man said, and looking slyly at the crypts added, ‘and alive to enjoy it.’
“The old man said he had expected no less-nor more-of him. Soon a great black dog appeared, and although he never admitted it to another, I have read the young man’s journals, and know that at last he was frightened.”
Lord Varre began coughing again. “Perhaps,” I said, giving him another sip of water, “we should continue this after you’ve had a little sleep?”
“No, no,” he said. He lay back and closed his eyes, but went on with his story.
“I imagine you know the bargain the old man offered him. That dog was Shade. A cemetery dog. They are rare. Some are harbingers of death, I’m told. But that is not Shade’s role, as nearly as I can tell. He protects you. He has some special connection to those in your line, who have the power to talk to those too injured or ill to speak.
“Adrian had little patience for such work, though. He was surprised to learn that the sorcerer had died not long after they had met, and had left his fortune to Adrian. In this way, Adrian did indeed become vastly wealthy.
“There were problems, though. He soon realized that his lack of aging was noticed by those around him. He would need to travel. He was always a restless person, so he did not mind this. As he roamed the world, braving places others feared, he saw endless opportunities and began to make money in shipping and trade.
“As he traveled he continued his studies of black magic and potions. I have never been certain where he was born. At times, I have believed he was Spanish, as some of his oldest documents are in that language, and he seems to have called himself Hidalgo de Seville for a time, but that may easily have been yet another name he created for himself.
“Wherever he was from, wherever it was he went, at some point he decided to come back to England. He made himself useful as a warrior. Unable to be much disabled by his wounds, he became a valued and feared knight, and earned the title of Baron Lucien Adrian deVille, Lord Varre. He was given these lands. The original house is long gone, but the attic and cellars are full of his papers and other belongings.