Devilish Page 0,29

novelty had worn off for Diana, it had disappeared.

She smiled for the children. "There's a handle at the back of the rock. If you turn it carefully just twenty times, you will see."

"I know what it is," Charlie declared, reaching the handle first. "It's an automaton like the ones Uncle Bey has!"

The marquess had a number of automata? She wouldn't have thought him a man for toys, and the devices were expensive and rare. At least the children would be unlikely to be alarmed at the figure's lifelike behavior. She remembered being frightened when first seeing this one in action on her sixth birthday.

When they reached twenty she told them to stand clear and then pushed down the lever that started it.

The wheeze of the machinery was audible, but it still startled when the child turned his curly head to look at them, blink, and bow in greeting.

One child whispered, "Oh."

He turned then, eyes first then head, toward a bird sitting on the rock behind him. The bird came to life, spreading its wings for a moment, then raising its head to start a trilling song. The boy turned forward again and began to beat time on his drum, toe tapping, body moving a little in time with the music. Sometimes his eyes moved from drum to audience as if gauging their appreciation.

Then, with a twang one hand went limp while the other tapped on.

"Oh!" It was all three children at once.

Diana leaped to switch it off. Silence settled with the figure caught eerily looking at her as if in reproach. "Oh dear," she said.

"Oh dear, indeed," said a voice behind and she turned to see the marquess in the doorway. "Unwise to play such an instrument without carefully checking it over, Lady Arradale."

He came over and touched the curly hair. "Pauvre enfant." He traced the arm that had stopped, running fingers down the blue suit of clothes, then raising the jacket. "If you will permit, mon brave."

One of the children giggled, but they all pressed close to look at the complicated rods and wheels that disappeared into the rock where the principal mechanism lay.

One rod hung loose.

"Not too serious a problem," he said, looking up - at the children, not at her. "But it shouldn't be played again until it has been thoroughly checked."

He rose smoothly and spoke to Diana. "A very fine object, my lady. Made by Vaucanson, perhaps?"

"I don't know. My father gave it to me for my sixth birthday. I didn't know it was still here." She turned to Eleanor. "I think you should pick another toy to unwrap, dear."

In moments, Eleanor had uncovered a small theater complete with puppets and the three children were engaged in devising a play. Diana turned back to the marquess, regretting - though only for a moment - her sober dress. Begone, folly! "You wished to speak to me, my lord?"

"I came up to visit the children."

Diana gave thanks for her unenticing dress.

He turned back to the automaton. "I am curious about this. You must know how precious it is. Why is it up here, neglected?"

"I have no idea. I enjoyed it, but something about it made me uncomfortable, so when it disappeared, I suppose I didn't ask. Looking back," she added, "I think my mother did not like it."

"I see why."

She stepped up beside him to share his view of the figure, but saw nothing unusual. "Why?"

He looked down at her. "It is a boy child."

Diana stared at the innocent thing. "My father would never have meant that," she said, but she could see how it might have seemed to her mother. She'd been wife - and a rather unworthy one, too, being merely the daughter of a local gentleman - to a man of great title and long heritage. In ten years of marriage, she had produced only one child, and that a girl.

Had her father meant this subtle reproach? Diana had always been aware, despite loving parents, of the fierce hope for a son. It had only been when she was about twelve that her education for future responsibilities had begun. That had marked the point of abandoned hope.

The marquess gently raised the drummer boy's chin. Because of the mechanisms, she supposed, it moved hesitantly, rather as a shy child's head might. The wide blue eyes ending up looking into his. "A pretty infant," he said, "with a marked resemblance to the portrait of you as a child that hangs in the countess's bedchamber."

With a breath, Diana