Unable to bear his gloating expression for another instant she tried to wrench herself free, throwing herself sideways, but she couldn’t move. Smiling he reached down and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him again. ‘I have an idea. You like my museum. I think we will visit it together. Would you like to travel with me through the secret byways of the medicine man, the dark tunnels of the shaman, the hidden paths of the witch doctor? I know them all.’ He laughed quietly. ‘I know how to enter them and I know how to leave them and I know how to entrap someone’s soul forever in the mists and shadows of their darkness. All I have to do is to suck your soul into mine with the time-honoured seal of possession, the traitor’s kiss.’
Desperately she tried to wriggle away from him, pushing frantically at his chest, but he grabbed her wrists in one hand and with the other again forced her to look at him. Slowly, smiling all the time, he leaned forward and pressed his lips once more against hers.
She held her breath, fighting him, trying frantically to squirm away from him, kicking, wrenching, but it was no good. Her strength was failing; the world was starting to spin and at last, unable to stop herself, she drew in a long gasping breath of the smoky essence of the man above her and immediately she was whirling away into the dark.
When she opened her eyes all was black. Her head was throbbing and she was very cold. She tried to speak but no sound came and all around her the silence was profound. Cautiously she tried to move her limbs. Her body felt stiff and bruised and she was very afraid.
‘So, you came with me.’ The voice in her ear was very close.
‘Where is this? What’s happened?’ She managed to speak at last.
‘I have brought you to see my museum.’ She heard a movement beside her. ‘Wait. I’ll light the lamp.’
She sensed him move away, heard the rattle of matches, saw a flame. Seconds later a gentle light filled the room as he settled the glass chimney over the wick.
‘How did we get here?’ She found she was standing in the middle of the floor near the case of Egyptian artefacts. A glance down told her she was still dressed in her nightgown. The ring was still on her finger.
‘We flew.’ The sardonic look in his eyes did not escape her.
‘I see.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I’m dreaming. I know I’m dreaming. Did you drug me?’
He put his head on one side. ‘All it would have taken was a few drops of laudanum in your milk.’
She groaned. ‘And you’ve been here all along? Skulking somewhere in this great castle playing games? No! I don’t think so!’ She was suddenly furious at her own fear. ‘So, what are you going to do with me now? You’ve made it clear you see me as ancient and ugly so no doubt my virtue is not in danger.’
‘I seem to remember that your virtue is already lost.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘But I would be more inclined, Louisa, to wonder if there is a threat to your life.’ He folded his arms. ‘No one knows where you are. And I am in America.’ He gave a laconic smile. ‘Should you disappear no one would ever find you. No one would even know where to look.’
She stared at him. His eyes were like clear glass, the pupils pin pricks in the lamplight, the sensuous mouth set in a thin hard line. ‘Are you saying you want to kill me?’ Her brow creased with puzzlement but her fear strangely had eased a little. She felt distanced from him; unreal.
‘Your life or death is a matter of indifference to me, Louisa. As it should be to anyone who understands the nature of the soul and its journeyings. The thought of death merely serves as a lever to lesser mortals who value this transitory life.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘I am prepared to bargain. The tears of Isis for a human life.’ He was watching her carefully. ‘The gods of the underworld may not take my bargain so lightly when they weigh your soul in the balance and find it was you who stole the sacred ampulla.’
‘I have stolen nothing.’ She managed to straighten her shoulders. ‘The tears of Isis as you call them are safe. As is your ring. So far. You on the other hand appear to be planning robbery with violence. Something which I would have thought would weigh heavy when your turn comes.’ She turned away from him and walking towards the case of Egyptian treasures she lifted the lid and stared down at them. ‘And your threat means little to me, my lord. You forget that if you kill me, you send me to join Hassan. I can think of no greater joy.’ She glanced up at him and it was her turn to smile. ‘You care so little for human life. That makes you fundamentally evil, in my book.’ She turned away again. ‘Take care, my lord, for your soul. I can see demons hovering round you ready to drag you screaming down to hell.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well done, Mrs Shelley. You are learning fast.’ He stepped towards her and stood for a moment looking down at the artefacts inside the case. Gently he ran his finger over a small statue, a smile on his lips. Then he moved back and carefully closed the lid. ‘Alas, I can’t spend much longer debating this point with you. Where is the ampulla?’
‘In London.’ She returned his smile. ‘In safe keeping.’
‘We’ll go there. Now.’
‘Now?’ She stared at him. ‘I don’t think so. How do you propose to transport us there?’
‘The same way we came here.’ His voice was grim. He reached for her wrist, but she jumped back. ‘No. No more. I’m going nowhere with you.’ She grabbed at the lamp base and lifted it high. ‘Stand away from me, or I will throw this in amongst your precious collection. I mean it. Stand right away.’
His face went white. ‘Be careful! Some of these things are priceless. Please put that down.’
‘I don’t think so.’ The lamp was heavy. She wasn’t going to be able to hold it much longer.
As he lunged towards her with a cry of fury, she half dropped half flung it into the glass topped cabinet. The glass shattered and a stream of burning oil ran between the priceless artefacts in the case. In seconds the more fragile had caught alight and a sheet of flame shot up. She heard Carstairs shout, saw him leap towards the flames, then she turned and ran towards the door.
It was locked. Dragging at the handle she heard herself beginning to sob as the heat engulfed her and slowly, for the second time that night, all went black.
‘Mrs Shelley? Mrs Shelley! I’ve brought your hot water.’
The voice was persistent, dragging her into wakefulness. ‘Mrs Shelley, it’s late. Lady Douglas was worried.’
Opening her eyes Louisa stared into the anxious face of the little Scots maid who, having pulled back the curtains, was leaning over her bed.
‘Kirsty?’ Her head was thumping, her eyes and throat sore. ‘I’m sorry. I had such a nightmare.’ Somehow she managed to lever herself into a sitting position. She stared round the room. Outside the sky was overcast.
‘There is a storm coming.’ Kirsty reached down and picked Louisa’s dressing gown off the floor. ‘Thunder, can you hear it? That’s the nice weather gone for a while.’ She glanced at Louisa’s face. ‘Would you like me to bring you something, Mrs Shelley? You look terrible.’
Louisa managed a painful smile. ‘I feel terrible. I expect it’s the storm. And the bad dream.’
She was remembering more and more. Carstairs. His threat to kill her. The fire. She stared down at her hands clutching the sheet. The huge gold ring was still there on the forefinger of her right hand.
‘Louisa?’ Sarah’s voice in the doorway made both women look up. Sarah bustled in, took one look at her guest and turned to the maid. ‘Would you bring some coffee please, Kirsty.’
Kirsty bobbed a small curtsey and disappeared as Sarah pulled herself up onto the bed. ‘Well? How did you sleep? Not well, judging by the look of you.’ She leaned forward and pushed Louisa’s hair back off her flushed face. ‘Did anything happen?’
‘Oh yes.’ Louisa gave a grim smile. ‘I dreamed about him. He came here and threatened me … and then …’ She hesitated. ‘We were back in the museum. He said he was going to kill me and I overturned the lamp and set fire to his precious collection.
’ She put her face in her hands. ‘Oh, Sarah, it was awful. I can’t tell you how awful.’
‘My poor dear.’ Sarah squeezed her hand, then she stood up and walked over to the windows. ‘Look, it’s beginning to rain. I’ll shut the windows for you.’ She paused. ‘How strange. Look at this.’ She was unhooking what looked like a necklace from the wisteria around the door. ‘Is this yours? How pretty. It’s all made of shells and beads.’
Louisa slid from the bed. Padding barefoot across the floor she took it in her hands, staring down at it. ‘It’s his. He was wearing native American dress.’ She glanced up at Sarah. Her face was white. ‘It’s his, Sarah.’
The two women looked at one another.
‘So, he was here?’
Louisa bit her lip. ‘He can’t have been.’
‘Then it was a dream.’
Louisa looked up, her eyes huge and frightened. ‘I don’t understand it. I thought it was a dream, but …’ She paused looking at the necklace. ‘He said he had drugged me with laudanum. He could have bribed Kirsty – ’
‘Rubbish!’
‘In my milk. She could have put it in my milk.’
‘Absolutely not. She wouldn’t. She is completely loyal.’
‘Then it was a dream. All of it. But where did this come from?’
They stared at each other in silence. Louisa was remembering the brooch. ‘When I see him he is always dressed in strange garb,’ she said at last, thoughtfully. ‘In Egypt too he always affected the dress of the natives. And last night he was dressed in skins and beads.’ She shook her head. ‘Why does he do it? Is it to frighten me?’
‘I’ve never seen him wear anything other than formal dress,’ Sarah said. She gave a wry smile. ‘He’s a good-looking man.’
‘I suppose he is.’ Louisa’s reply was reluctant. They both glanced at the door as Kirsty came in with the tray of coffee. She set it down on the table then turned to them, her eyes bright. ‘My lady, have you heard? The news is all over the servants’ hall. There was a fire at Carstairs Castle last night. Lord Carstairs’s museum and all the outbuildings and stables were burned out. There were no horses hurt, but all his wonderful things are gone!’
Louisa gasped. She staggered back to the bed and sat down. Kirsty stared at her. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Shelley? Of course!’ She clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘You were both there only yesterday. Oh, my lady!’ She turned to her mistress, distraught. ‘It’s so terrible. I don’t know what his lordship will do when he finds out.’
‘The servants would know, would they not, if he had returned unexpectedly?’ Sarah asked with a thoughtful glance at Louisa.
Kirsty nodded. ‘Oh yes, we’d know. Catriona has a great fondness for his man, Donald, who went with him to America. They are not expected back until next spring. Mr Graham says they are blaming the factor, Mr Dunglass. He left a lamp burning in there and it was knocked over in the night.’
‘How?’ Louisa asked sharply. ‘How was it knocked over? Was there someone there?’
‘I suppose there must have been. I don’t know, Mrs Shelley.’ Kirsty shrugged.
As the girl closed the door behind her Sarah went and sat next to Louisa on the bed. ‘Your revenge at least was real, it seems.’
Louisa nodded. ‘And I escaped, Sarah. But did he?’
5
For the next few days the countryside could talk of nothing but the fire at Carstairs Castle. As far as could be ascertained no one was hurt in the catastrophe; no one had been found amongst the wreckage, but the collection itself, estimated to be worth countless thousands of pounds, had been totally destroyed. Urgent messages were despatched by telegraph and by letter to Lord Carstairs himself, but no one it appeared knew quite where he was. He had left New York in the late spring, travelling west, and no one had heard from him since. Mr Dunglass was interviewed by the police, as were his lordship’s two sons and their tutor. All denied ever having taken a lamp into the museum, never mind lighting it, and Louisa’s hastily drawn sketches were scanned as evidence of what had been there. She pointed out that she could hardly have bothered to paint such an everyday item as a lamp – but then before the police could question her and Lady Douglas further about their visits, news came that Mr Dunglass had packed his bags and fled. His panic confirmed his guilt in many eyes.
Louisa moved back to her original bedroom and continued to paint the gardens and the moors as the storms passed and the good weather returned. Her dreams remained untroubled. She had no nocturnal visitors. But the fear was still there. She had locked the ring and the string of beads away in her jewel case with the topaz brooch and tried not to think about what had happened. Until one morning she received a letter. It was from George Browning, her sons’ tutor. ‘I don’t want to alarm you, but we seem to have had an intruder in the house. A very thorough, I would say almost professional, search has been made of every room. I cannot ascertain that anything is missing – certainly nothing obvious, but I am worried that a particular search was made of your studio and some sketches and paintings may be lost. Also there appears to be something there of which I have no recollection. I have checked with the boys and they do not recognise it either. A small paperweight of what looks like solid gold carved in the shape of a coiled snake was left on the table in your studio. Beneath it was a paper inscribed with hieroglyphics of some sort. The boys feel it is a message from some person you met on your Egyptian travels and are much excited by it. I should reassure you that they have not been in the least alarmed by these occurrences and are indeed very reluctant to return to their grandmother’s care next week …’
Louisa passed the letter to Sarah. ‘I have to go home. Today. He’s back. He’s left me a message.’
Sarah went with her. On Louisa’s urgent instructions George had removed the boys at once back to their grandmother’s house so it was to a depleted household that they made their way from the station in a hansom cab. Louisa’s cook housekeeper, Mrs Laidlaw, and one maid, Sally Anne, were there to greet them.
Louisa went straight to her studio. There on the table as George Browning had said sat the gold serpent. She had last seen it in the museum at Carstairs Castle.
‘Am I never to be rid of him?’ Louisa turned to Sarah in anguish.
They had taken off their hats and coats and settled into chairs in the pretty drawing room overlooking the small garden of Louisa’s terraced London house.
‘Has he taken anything?’
‘I don’t know.’ Louisa was staring round the room. ‘I haven’t noticed anything. There is only one thing he wants.’
‘And is it there?’
Louisa shrugged. Standing up she led the way back into her studio and stood in front of the davenport where she did her correspondence. The studio was very cold; there was a strange smell in there she couldn’t immediately identify – not paint. Not linseed oil, or charcoal. Something sweet and slightly exotic. She shivered. ‘I put it in there. In the secret drawer.’
‘See if it’s there.’
Louisa put her hand out to the polished wood of the desk lid. Then she shook her head. ‘Supposing he’s watching me.’
‘Watching?’ Sarah glanced over her shoulder uneasily. ‘How could he be watching?’
‘How could he do any of the things he does?’ Louisa replied crossly. She moved away from the desk. ‘He has been in this room. How else could the snake have got here? It is a message. A warning. Oh, Sarah what am I to do? Can’t you feel it? There is something here. Someone.’ She picked up the piece of paper with its strange illegible message and stared at it, then with it still in her hand she turned on her heels and swept out of the room with Sarah behind her.
In the drawing room where Mrs Laidlaw had brought them a tray of tea Louisa threw the piece of paper with its scrawled hieroglyphics down onto the table.
‘What does it say? Can you read it?’
Louisa shook her head. Bending over it she ran her finger lightly over the symbols which had been inscribed there,
then drew her hand away sharply.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Sarah’s blue eyes were fixed on the paper.
‘Nothing. It felt hot. My imagination.’
Sarah glanced up sharply. ‘Are you sure?’
Louisa shrugged. ‘I’m sure of nothing. I don’t know why he’s left this. He must realise I can’t read it.’
‘He’s just trying to frighten you. Tear it up.’
Louisa shook her head. ‘Supposing it’s important. These symbols. They have power.’
‘Exactly.’ Sarah stood up. She reached for the paper. ‘If you won’t destroy it, I will.’ About to throw it into the fireplace she stopped with a gasp.
The figure in front of them was no more substantial than a wisp of mist but both women saw it. Both shrank back. The paper dropped from Sarah’s hand and she fell back into her chair, white-faced.
‘Dear God!’ Louisa’s whisper was barely audible. ‘The djinn. The evil djinn!’
Already the figure had gone. It had been no more than a shadow.
‘What was that?’ Sarah’s voice shook.
‘Hatsek. The priest of Sekhmet. Two priests follow my ampulla and fight over it.’ Louisa’s voice was dreamlike. ‘Hassan called them djinn. The paper that came with the bottle was inscribed with their names. I don’t read hieroglyphs but I suppose this is what is written here.’ She took a deep shaky breath.
She bent and picked up the piece of paper. ‘You were right. It must be destroyed.’ Without giving herself time for second thoughts she walked across to the fireplace and threw the paper down. Then she reached for the box of Vestas on the mantelpiece. In seconds the paper was a pile of ash.
She gave a deep sigh. ‘I hope that is the last we shall see of him!’ She shuddered.
Sarah gave a shrill laugh. ‘You hope! Louisa. Do you realise what happened just now? We saw a –!’ She paused, at a loss as to how to describe it. ‘A ghost? A spirit? An ancient Egyptian! And you hope it won’t come back!’