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“See, Master Physician,” de Tichborne chuckled. “We have finesport this night, hey? Dost thou care to make a wager? I reckonshe'll set the levy at maybe half a sack o’ grain afore the deviltakes her unto his breast!”
“I ca
“Hold! If thou makest to leave, as God is my witness, I'll runthee through with my sword!”
Jankyn fell back. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket andwiped it across his brow.
The old woman crawled on.
And on.
And on.
Squire Roger de Tichborne became increasingly uneasy as his wifetraversed the border of the lengthy field before him and passedbeyond it to the next, pulling herself up the long sloping side,across the far end, and now back down toward him. By the orangeglow of her torch, he could see that her knees were bleeding andtears streamed down her face.
“Fie! From whence doth the crone's strength come?” he muttered.“The devil himself, I'll warrant! The damned enchantress!”
“By the saints, my lord,” the physician said, slurring his wordsslightly. “How many acres hath the Lady Mabella encompassed?”
“If she returneth to us before the brand is extinguished, nighon twenty-three!”
Painful inch after painful inch, the dying woman crawled theremaining length of the border until, finally, she dragged herselfacross the carriageway and collapsed onto her face at deTichborne's feet. The torch crackled, guttered, and died.
The squire poured the last dregs of wine down his throat thenthrew the bottle aside with savage force.
He looked down at the woman, his lips curling back from histeeth.
“Attend her!”
The physician crouched and pulled Lady Mabella over onto herback. Her eyes rolled then fixed intently on her husband. Her lipsmoved.
“What?” de Tichborne snapped. “Doth she speak?”
“Aye, my lord. She biddeth thee bend closer.”
The aristocrat snorted but, nevertheless, squatted on hishaunches.
The old woman whispered: “Two fields of wheat, sir. Twofields!”
Her husband hissed vehemently.
“Thinkest thou that I would honour my word to a slattern andsorceress? Foul necromancer! Scold! Shrew! Two fields of wheat tothe poor? Never! They shall receive naught from me!”
“Then listen thou to my final words, O husband,” Lady Mabellawhispered. “From my heart, I curse thee and thine, and this curseshall hold true through all the ages. Should the allotted dole failfor e'en a single year, there shall be seven sons born to thishouse, aye, and nary a one shall sire a man-child. Seven daughtersshall follow, and the name of de Tichborne will thus be lost forall time. And the house itself shall fall into ruin, until naughtbut wind-borne dust remains of thy family!”
Her eyes closed and a rattle sounded from her throat.
The physician looked up.
“The Lady Mabella is dead, my lord.”
“And may the devil have her eyes!” The squire looked across thewheat fields. “Hang it! Twenty-three acres, Jankyn!”
“Wilt thou accede to the lady's wish, then?”
“I have but little choice. The witch's curse is upon the familynow.”
He looked up at the stars and muttered: “Heaven grant mercy uponthose who follow!”
Sir Richard Francis Burton sat with his mouth open, his wineglass held inches from it. He blinked, took a breath, and gasped:“Good God! The man was an animal!”
Henry Arundell agreed: “A cad of the first order, and hisbrutality has had a lasting influence, for every year since hekilled his wife-let us not pretend he did otherwise-the Tichborneshave paid the dole, with the exception of a short period that beganin 1796.”
“What happened then?”
“The seventh baronet, Sir Henry, who'd been travelling overseasfor some considerable time, returned to Tichborne House, stoppedthe dole, and declared the estate off-limits to all. For the nextfew years, he lived as a recluse, not emerging from hisself-imposed isolation until the Napoleonic Wars. By this time, theeldest of his seven sons had produced only daughters and the otherswere childless. When a large part of the manor fell down, Sir Henryrealised that the curse was upon him. He immediately restored thea
“You say he travelled,” Burton interjected. “Do you knowwhere?”
“Mainly in the Americas, I believe. Anyway, despite theresurrection of the dole, the Tichbornes’ misfortunes weren't quiteover. While fighting in France, Sir Henry's third son, James,married an ill-tempered girl named Henriette-Felicite. Though shebore a male heir to the estate-Roger Charles Doughty Tichborne,born in January of 1829-her marriage to James soon faltered.”
Arundell broke off as a waiter approached. “Shall we order?” heasked Burton.
The king's agent, who'd been absorbed in the other man's tale,waved his hand distractedly and said: “Yes, yes, of course, pleasedo.”
Henry Arundell requested a chicken vindaloo and Burton, hardlycaring what he ate, asked for the same.
“So this Roger Tichborne is the prodigal who's lately been thepreoccupation of all the journalists?”
“Yes. He was doted on by his mother and raised as a Frenchman.He didn't learn to speak English until he was about twelve yearsold, and always spoke it with a strong French accent.
“A second son was born, too. A surprise, really, consideringthat James and his wife grew to hate each other. This one, Alfred,was a weak-willed lad, and was all but ignored byHenriette-Felicite, who remained devoted to her firstborn.
“To return for a moment to the grandfather, Sir Henry; when hedied, one of his other sons, James's elder brother Edward, becamethe eighth baronet. Edward had changed his surname to Doughty as acondition of an inheritance. This is where my family comes into it,for after becoming Sir Edward Doughty, he married my aunt,Katherine Arundell, and they had a child, ‘Kattie’ Doughty, in1834. She became romantically involved with young Roger Tichborne,who had, after being educated at Stonyhurst Jesuit School, joinedthe Sixth Dragoon Guards, and was spending his furloughs atTichborne House. My aunt objected strongly to this romance on thegrounds that Roger lacked prospects and didn't act in asufficiently English ma
“Having been ba
“ What?” Burton cried, causing an outbreak of tut-tutting fromthe surrounding tables.
Arundell looked at him in astonishment then shook his head. “No,no, Burton,” he said. “It's just a fancy. There's never beenanything to substantiate it-certainly no such gem has ever beenseen, and, considering the family's current finances, it obviouslydoesn't exist.”
“Frankly, I hardly know what to think!” Burton revealed.
“Why so?”
“Because the-the-well, it doesn't matter-suffice it to say thatI've experienced rather a profound coincidence!”
“Anything I should know about?”
“No. Yes. No. Um-my apologies, sir, I'm somewhat at a loss. Afew weeks ago there was a rather daring diamond robbery-”
“I don't remember that.”
“It wasn't reported. Scotland Yard has been keeping it quietwhile the investigation proceeds. I had some involvement with theaffair, and my subsequent inquiries suggest that the missingdiamonds are co
“Ah.”
“I wasn't told the aristocrat's name.”
“So now you're thinking it was Sir Henry Tichborne? I'm sorry todisappoint you but, really, the whole thing is nothing but a fairytale.”
Burton cleared his throat at the mention of fairies.