“Magic and alchemy? Does he think that Henri has the secret of the philosopher’s stone, then?”
“No, milady–but he may well believe that your husband has the secret of resurrecting the dead. The Comte de Belcamp certainly convinced Ned Knob that he has that secret, and, no matter how much I would like to doubt it, I have to admit that he almost certainly does. I have seen the results of his work. They are more horrible than hopeful, at present, but it seems that he and his associate–a Parisian physician named Germain Patou–had barely begun their research. Reanimating the body is, it seems, far easier than reanimating the mind. Most of his reanimated corpses were mindless idiots–but some were not, and he seems to have been exploring means to help the others remember who and what they had been, with some limited success. His work in London was cut short–but not, it seems, before attracting attention from more than one interested party.”
“I do not want to be indelicate, Mr. Temple,” the Comtesse said, “but there have been persistent rumors since the beginning of 1817 that you had gone mad. This story is not likely to dissuade its hearers from wondering whether the rumors might be true.”
“The rumors may well be true,” Temple said, flatly, “but my madness is an obsessive one, not a delusional one. If I am forced to believe and say things that are incredible, it is not because I have lost touch with reality but because the reality that has caught me in its web is one that presents a stern challenge to the imagination of ordinary people. No matter what you think of me, and no matter how this unfortunate business develops, you will discover before very long that the dead can be reanimated, after a fashion–and that the world of the future will be very different from the world of the past, no matter what the limitations of the process eventually prove to be. Ned Knob can tell you more about it than I can, for he has seen a resurrection accomplished, and has talked to a close friend who had been hanged. Your husband can tell you far, far more... if he will deign to show himself and dare to face you.”
“My husband never lacked daring, Mr. Temple,” Jeanne de Belcamp said. “No matter what you think of him, you cannot deny that. Whatever his reasons have been for letting me think that he was dead these last four years, a lack of daring was not among them.”
“No,” Temple conceded, “it was not. His madness is a more reckless sort than mine. Young Ned is not mad, though. I do not like the man, or his politics, but I cannot call him mad. With his sanity to support us, our history compels belief.”
“You think, therefore, that when the ransom demand comes, it will not demand money?”
“Oh no, milady–I’m perfectly certain that it will demand money. I doubt that it will mention anything else, at least to begin with. On the other hand, I think it quite possible–and perhaps likely–that a snare is being set. While your husband works to recapture your children and the money, Signor Balsamo’s friends may be working to capture him–which raises, I think, an important question.
“For myself, I am only concerned with the children. I confess that any money you and Sarah O’Brien might lose in consequence of their safe recovery is a matter of scant importance to me, although I always do what I can to see justice served and criminal enterprise thwarted. As for your husband, I do not care in the least what may happen to him. If the true price of recovering the three children were to hand him over, in order that his secret might be extracted from him–by whatever means–then I would do it without a moment’s hesitation. You might think otherwise. If so, I need to know. I make no promises, but I will take your opinion into account.”
The Comtesse de Belcamp frowned slightly as she considered the question. Temple was interested to know what her reply would be–but he had no chance to find out immediately, for the drawing-room door opened at that moment and Suzanne Thompson raced in, followed by her husband. Evidently, Suzanne had awoken without being roused, and her very first thought had been to ask whether her father had arrived.
Temple had expected some stiffness, some reproach, some reserve–but there was none. His daughter hurled herself upon him, and threw her arms around him. She was sobbing, but she contrived nevertheless to say: “Daddy, oh Daddy, I’m so glad you’re here.”
Temple hesitated, but then he returned the embrace, leaning over to kiss his daughter on the top of her head. “I’m sorry, child,” he said. “So very sorry–for everything.”
There was a long pause then, while the other people in the room had to wait.
Eventually, Temple disengaged himself from the embrace, and stepped towards Richard Thompson, extending his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Richard,” he said, adding–after only the merest hesitation–“my son.”
Thompson gripped his hand gladly, and shook it vigorously. “It’s good to see you, sir,” he said. “We’re in dire need of your quick mind and wise counsel.”
Temple pulled himself together. “It might be best,” he said, “if we were to assemble all the interested parties in one room, so that we may all know what we’re about. Is it possible to summon Countess Boehm from the new château? And where is Ned Knob?”
It was Richard Thompson who answered. “Ned is watching the gate,” he replied. “If any messenger comes, Ned intends to follow him when he departs. Sarah knows that you were coming–she will be waiting to be summoned. Surrisy is with her. Do you remember Surrisy?”
Temple did remember Robert Surrisy, and could not help darting a glance at the Comtesse. Robert Surrisy had been in love with Jeanne Herbet before Comte Henri de Belcamp had made his spectacular entrance on the Miremont scene, and had only dallied thereafter with the woman he knew as Lady Frances Elphinstone because Jeanne had rejected him. Sarah O’Brien–alias Lady Frances–had rejected him too, and Temple had half-expected that Surrisy would renew his suit with Jeanne once Henri had been declared dead. He knew that the two of them had undertaken a voyage on the Deliverance with two committed couples–Richard and Suzanne, and Friedrich Boehm and Sarah–but it seemed that their brief alliance had not matured into anything richer. Perhaps that was as well, given that Henri was still alive.
“I’ll send Old Pierre to the new château,” the Comtesse said. “Sarah and Robert will come. Should I ask him to search for Ned?”
Temple considered the matter briefly, then said: “No. I was followed from Paris by a rider. The kidnappers must know that I’m here. If that’s what they’ve been waiting for, their demand will arrive tonight. Let Ned stay where he is, so that he can follow his plan through.”
“Should we wait a little while before holding our council of war, in case the messenger–or someone else–puts in an appearance?” the Comtesse asked.
“No,” Temple said without hesitation. “When you, Suzanne and Sarah O’Brien are all gathered together, I shall be able to say what I need to say to the people who need to hear it. We must make our own plans, without regard to anyone else–but if a messenger does come, so much the better, We shall all be together to hear what demands are being made.”
The Comtesse de Belcamp picked up a handbell from the table in order to summon the two Pierres, but before she had a chance to ring it, her hand froze. Another, more distant bell had sounded. Temple recognized it immediately as the bell suspended beside the main gate.
“I’ll go,” he said, immediately–but he was not as quick off the mark as Pierre Louchet, who had already gone out through the front door, with a lantern in his hand, by the time Temple reached it. Nor could Temple match the former woodcutter’s stride as they crossed the courtyard. By the time he caught up with the other man, Louchet was already staring through the bars of the gate saying, in a scornful tone: “What do you want?”
“Who is it, Pierre?” Temple asked, placing a calming hand on the former woodcutter’s shoulder
“It’s the Besnard boy, from the village,” Louchet said. “The one they call Don Juan–ironically, of course.”
In the meantime, the offended individual had stretched out his hand, bearing a sealed envelope. “You should
not speak in that fashion to a man who is attempting to do you a service,” Besnard said. “I was asked to deliver this note by hand, and generously agreed to do it. I did not expect to be insulted for my trouble.”
Temple reached through the bars and took the letter. He did not bother to ask how much the young man had been paid, but merely said: “You have my sincere thanks, sir. Who gave you the message, my friend?”
“I have never seen him before,” Besnard replied. “He did not give me his name.”
“Please describe him as carefully as you can,” Temple said. “It’s a matter of some importance.”
Besnard shrugged. “He was much older than me,” he said, “though not quite as old as either of you. He was a little stout, I suppose, but seemed very healthy. His face was rounded, his hair and eyes dark. Well-dressed, though somewhat travel-stained.”
“What about his voice–his accent?” Temple asked.
“He was certainly French, but not local. A southerner, perhaps–there was something of the Languedoc about his pronunciation.”
“And where did your encounter take place?” Temple wanted to know.
“At the inn–or, rather, outside its door. He did not come in, but met me as I was coming out. He said that he needed to get a message to the Château de Belcamp urgently, but did not know his way around and was in any case in a hurry to get back on the Pontoise Road. He offered me a louis if I would help him out–although it was not the money that made me do it, you understand, but kindness, to the stranger and Madame la Comtesse alike.”
“You fool...!” Pierre Louchet began–but Temple silenced him with a curt gesture.
“We’re much obliged to you, sir,” Temple said. “Thank you, and good night.” As he pulled Louchet away, he glanced left and right into the darkness. There was no sign of Ned Knob, but he trusted that the little man had heard every word, and would make every effort to catch up with the mysterious stranger–or at least to discover which way he had really gone.
“Will you run to the new chateau, Pierre, and fetch Countess Boehm?” Temple said. “This is what we have all been waiting for, and we must all know what it contains.”
Louchet nodded, and let himself out by the small gate beside the main one. He took his lantern with him. Temple had to carry the letter back to the house to read what was written on the envelope. It was not very revealing, saying only: To the Comtesse de Belcamp.
Temple took it into the drawing-room. Instead of waiting for Sarah Boehm, he carefully broke the seal and took out the piece of paper folded within. He scanned its contents quickly, but then raised his hand to prevent the Comtesse from snatching it from his hand. “I will need to examine it more closely,” he said, by way of explanation. “I shall read the message. It says: Bring 10,000 livres to the eastern extremity of Little Switzerland at midnight. The first child will then be released. The money must be delivered by one of the parents, accompanied by no more than one man. If any attempt is made to interfere with us before the exchange, the first child will be killed; if we are pursued or harassed thereafter, the other children will be killed.”
He paused, so that his listeners would know that he had stopped reading. Then he added: “It appears that the affair is to proceed by stages, and that we have a very short deadline to complete the first phase. The complexity is tiresome, and the short deadline leaves us no time to make preparations. On the other hand, the fact that Little Switzerland is nearby–I believe that is the nickname of the plateau on top of the hill that overlooks the château and the valley–implies that our adversaries must be close at hand, and ought to have at least one of the kidnapped children with them. Do you have 10,000 livres in gold ready to hand, my lady?”
“Yes I do,” the Comtesse confirmed. “I shall make up a package. Which of us should go to make the exchange?”
“Suzanne will go, with me,” Temple said. “I shall do my very best to make certain that the child is handed over before I surrender the money.”
He had to repeat the contents of the note then, because the former Sarah O’Brien had just arrived, escorted by Robert Surrisy. He also repeated his assertion that he would go with Suzanne to deliver the money. “Monsieur Surrisy,” he said, “you must give us half an hour before following us, if we do not return–but if you hear a gunshot, you must come immediately, as quickly as you can, with Richard and Pierre Louchet–but you must make sure that the château is not left unguarded.”
“I wish you would let me go in your stead, sir,” Surrisy was quick to say. “I am a lawyer now, and my soldiering days are behind me, but I know how to use a sword and a pistol, and I can ride very well.”
“No,” said Richard Thompson. “I should be the one to go. Suzanne is my wife.”
“If I were not here, either one of you would doubtless make an excellent job of it,” Temple said, “but it’s me they expect, and it may be that they want me as well as the gold. It was no coincidence that this letter arrived so soon after my arrival. They’ve been watching out for me since I left London, and have even taken the trouble to sound me out. I was careful to conceal the extent of my knowledge regarding the secret of electrical resurrection, but they undoubtedly know that I am in the employ of His Majesty’s secret police, and may imagine that I know far more than I do about the recent events in London. That might work to our advantage–if they are willing to hand over a child in order to persuade me to surrender to their custody, it is an exchange worth making.”
Sarah Boehm stepped in front of Surrisy then to say: “What events in London? What secret of electrical resurrection?”
Again Temple had to repeat himself, informing the entire company that Henri de Belcamp was still alive, and had recently been involved in a violent struggle along the banks of the Thames for possession of a company of the dead-alive, and the means to revive more.
“Impossible!” was Sarah Boehm’s response. Temple did not know whether she meant the resurrection of the dead, or the fact that her friend and longtime companion had played dead for so long without letting her know that he was still alive and still scheming to turn the world upside-down.
Surrisy, who evidently assumed that she meant the former, said; “There have been rumors abroad in Paris...”
“What rumors, Monsieur Surrisy?” Temple was quick to ask. “Have you heard mention therein of a man named Germain Patou?”
“The little physician? I know of him, yes–but not in connection with these rumors. I paid them little heed, to tell you the truth, for they seemed stale as well as silly. Have you heard of the Comte de Saint-Germain?”
“Yes I have,” Temple said. “A poseur–a magician and pretended immortal, of the same stripe as Count Cagliostro, likewise not heard of since the Revolution, or at least since Napoleon’s ascent to power. Is he said to have reappeared?”
“So rumor has it–and it’s also said that he’s on the track of some great secret, as valuable in its way as the elixir of long life that he already possesses. It’s said that he’s a member of an ancient secret society–but everyone in the world is nowadays said to be a member of some secret society or other, and every such society that is actually formed claims roots in deepest antiquity.”
“I can well understand,” Temple said, with a sight trace of sarcasm, “that a stalwart of the Brotherhood of the Deliverance would know far better than to pay any heed to silly talk of secret societies. What say you, Sarah O’Brien? Your husband was intricately involved with some relic of the vehmgerichte, I understand?”
“I was a very active member of the Deliverance myself, Chief Inspector Temple,” the Irishwoman retorted, with more than a hint of vitriol, “under more names than one. Are you bearing grudges still, to speak to me in that tone?”
Temple recalled the night on which he had surprised Sarah O’Brien and Richard Thompson together, riding the Russian Mountains at the Colisée, thus slotting the last piece of James Davy’s intricate jigsaw of deception into place–but that belonged to another life now, and ano
ther world. “I beg your pardon, Countess Boehm,” he said, humbly. “I had no right to be rude–and I bear no grudge. In this matter, we are all on the same side–even John Devil himself. I hope, now that he was able to arrive ahead of me, for I’d be prepared to wager that he would have seen the stranger accost young Besnard in the village, and might even now be watching from the ridge of the hill. We cannot rely on that, though–it is more likely that he is still in Paris, if he is in France at all. We must be prepared to handle this ourselves. I will do my utmost to secure the freedom of whichever child they bring to the meeting-place, if they bring one at all, and I shall not fire on them unless there is some treachery. If I can simply exchange the money for the child, I will. Then, I suppose, we shall have to await a further communication. If things go wrong... well, we shall have to re-evaluate the situation. Are we all agreed on what will happen at midnight? It’s not far off, I fear.”
“I cannot see why you should automatically assume command, Mr. Temple,” said Countess Boehm. “I understand why your daughter sent for you, but it is not your money that is at stake.”
“He has assumed command because I have asked him to do so, Sarah,” the Comtesse de Belcamp stated, flatly. “Tonight, at least, it is my money that is at stake. Who else should be in command, do you suppose?”
Sarah Boehm did not reply. Robert Surrisy hastened to fill the silence. “Mr. Temple has far more experience in this sort of matter than anyone else, Sarah,” he pointed out. “Richard has been a policeman too, but I dare say that he is perfectly willing to follow the advice of his old senior officer. I was a Knight of the Deliverance, and am proud to have served in that capacity, but the mothers of kidnapped children surely ought to look to a man like Gregory Temple for expert assistance.”
Temple bowed to Surrisy, but Countess Boehm still seemed inclined to rebellion. “That does not mean that Temple’s daughter should go with him,” she objected. “Why should I not go–or Jeanne since she is determined to part with her money while I hold mine in reserve?”
Tales of the Shadowmen 3: Danse Macabre Page 32