THE HOURS BEFORE: A Story of Mystery and Suspense from the Belle Époque

by Robert Stephen Parry

  It is an ideal vantage point for Herman because - should Poppy at any time open her eyes - she would see him directly in front, his head and shoulders visible above the stone parapet - while the other woman, unless she deliberately turned her head, would not. And so he settles himself down into a similar seated posture, and waits. Now it is a matter of somehow penetrating her consciousness without disturbing that of the woman guarding her. And he cannot help smiling to himself, despite the dire situation - because isn’t this all rather similar to the ‘mentalism’ routines he once used to do on stage? Only this time it is all so very real, without any tricks or collusion. Could such a feat really be possible in this theatre of a very different kind, where so many souls would have rehearsed their lines and performed in ages past? He can only try.

  ‘Open your eyes Poppy,’ he thinks and tries to project his thoughts towards her. ‘Open your lovely eyes. I have returned now from England, bringing with me all the blessings of liberty and freedom - from England where the snowdrops are flowering and the buds on the willows are bursting with desire. I have come to take you home. Poppy, open your eyes.’

  But the young girl does not stir. And Herman can tell by the subtle and steady rhythm of her breathing that she continues to be deep in meditation, protected by strong prayers and her own amazing inner strength - a shield he cannot overcome. So he continues to wait, continues - he feels sure - with the presence of Deborah’s spirit supporting him from wherever she might be and with whatever meagre strength she might yet possess. And as he waits, he cannot help wonder over how all this has come to pass, this miraculous unfolding of his life that had conveyed him here to this place. Everything, his entire existence has, it seems, become focused on the outward surface of this one strange and mysterious event. Oh Poppy, open your eyes. And Deborah, help me wherever you are.

  Poppy, meanwhile, clothed in the loose, gown-like robe of practice that she must always wear at such times, becomes conscious of her body once again - and so soon since commencing the process - a fact confirmed by a glance down to the small hourglass adjacent to her mat, which she invariably uses to time her sessions. That is a surprise, she thinks, as she shuts her eyes once more, to have come back so quickly. And she is aware, too, of an unfamiliar stirring of her mind. Yes … somewhere far back in her consciousness there is a voice, her mother’s voice again she is certain.

  ‘Listen to me, Poppy, I am dying. But do not grieve. Do not be sad for me. The world and its torments no longer trouble me as they once did. Their blows and insults are as nothing; their curses do not touch me or pain me any more, for the fever that burns within my broken body has liberated my senses, and already my mind soars to such heights that it might, indeed, be called a paradise where I have come to rest and where I may see and hear and feel as never before. From here I am calling to you - and so, Poppy, my dearest daughter, you must open your eyes. Be as a flower in spring. Open to the light and breathe the breath that leaves me and enters you.’

  She hears the voice so clearly. And so, troubled by it, obeying quite naturally, she opens her eyes.

  His face is all that fills her consciousness now - so swiftly, so surprising - like the bright face of the moon in a dark sky and to which she can only respond to silently with her own startled eyes: Is it now? Will you ask me to go away with you now? she inquires without speaking. And she knows the answer is yes. It is a moment in which they are locked in a space of immensely expanded time stretching into the distance against the tones of some hidden and hypnotic sigh - a breath which is their own, in perfect unison - until overcome by a sense of foreboding her eyes stray towards the sleeping woman, her gaoler, still half-supine on her pillow in front of her, before returning to Herman, her face disturbed now, urging him to leave. But to this he merely shakes his head in refusal. No, he will not go. Instead, he indicates with a subtle movement that she should rise and come to meet him, at the foot of the stairway, which causes her yet more consternation. But in time she does respond … and gradually, silently, draws herself to her feet.

  With a feeling of inevitability, she wanders to the foot of the stairs just outside the doorway where he takes her in his arms, covering her face with kisses. She remains confused and yet yielding, her lips returning to his, again and again, so many times already in passionate bouts of desperation. She feels disobedient, bold and yet afraid all at the same time - for, if discovered, how harsh would be her punishment!

  ‘This is the eve of my temple initiation,’ she murmurs, her voice endeavouring to admonish him, but failing in the magic of the moment. ‘You must not defile the sanctity of this place, or of my body.’

  And at this, drawing back for a second, he notices the bruise upon her cheek. ‘What’s this?’ he demands softly, brushing the lush hair aside, distracted by the thought of any pain she might have suffered. ‘Who did this?’

  ‘It’s not important. Don’t worry, I ...’

  ‘Poppy, do not proceed with what awaits you,’ he interrupts, his voice a fervent whisper, his cheek pressed against hers, prepared to reveal all and yet dreading how short a time might be available to them to act upon it. ‘They are going to deprive you of your sight,’ he states. ‘They will blind you, Poppy - then have you destroyed as soon as you are drained of your vitality and youth - just as they have discarded so many others. Believe me, this is the truth. All else you hear in this place is falsehood and manipulation.’

  ‘Blind me? No, that’s not true,’ poppy argues, speaking rapidly, trying to pacify him. ‘I am to have my inner vision opened - the loss of sight is a symbolic thing only. They don’t actually ...’

  ‘Yes they do, Poppy. They destroy your eyes. Somehow they destroy the optic nerve or burn out the cells of the retina. I don’t know how - I don’t even want to think of how they might do such a dreadful thing.’

  ‘No, it can’t be true. I don’t believe you,’ Poppy whispers in protest, thrilling despite her misgivings to the presence of his body pressing against hers, the caress of his strong arms stripping away all the rules they have instilled in her over the months to keep her from such folly. And worse, behind her at a distance, she can hear the woman stirring, waking - and in a moment she has called for her.

  ‘Where are you, child?’ Poppy hears her grumble from within.

  ‘Here, Frau Weiss,’ Poppy replies softly over her shoulder, unable still to take her eyes from his face. ‘I’m just outside for a moment.’

  ‘Do not allow them to touch you, Poppy - promise me,’ he whispers, urging her, continuing to hold her fast.

  ‘Go - leave here, at once,’ Poppy hisses, the tears streaming from her eyes. ‘Heaven only knows what they will do to you, and to me, if we are caught.’

  ‘Come here child!’ the woman grumbles in the distance at the far end of the long cavernous room. They can hear her steps now, searching. ‘What is it? Are you unwell?’

  ‘Promise,’ he whispers fervently once again, ‘and meet me in my chamber as soon as you can get away. It’s up in the east wing, green door.’

  ‘Go!’ she beseeches him yet again, but to no avail.

  ‘Say it - say you’ll meet me there - east wing, green door. I will leave it open for you.’

  And desperate in her need to have him gone, she nods her ascent at last, at which he releases her, and the two wills, driven by a common expediency, settle to some measure of accord at last. Poppy returns to her place inside the hall and, diverting the woman’s attention with small talk sufficiently for him to make his escape, gazes upon her fair moon no more. Could she believe what he had told her? She simply could not say as yet whether she could accept any of it at all - for it would mean the end of everything.

  Chapter 41

  Not for one moment can he rest. Herman’s senses are full of anticipation as he waits for her to join him in his chambers. He sincerely hopes she will come, for he suspects that the entire insane circus housed here at Schloss Lethe is already drawing towards its final hour and it is of the greatest conce
rn to him just how the leaders might react once they comprehend that the authorities really are closing in on them. This evening, therefore, is surely his last chance to break the spell that binds Poppy to this sinister place and its equally sinister inhabitants.

  How ironic, though, he reflects: that just as the unfortunate young woman might soon become re-united with her mother, already she has lost her father - though she would have no way of knowing this. And so, as the hesitant knock comes at his door, and as he welcomes her into his chambers with a brief and silent embrace, he resolves not to burden her confused heart any further with news of such a cruel twist of fate.

  ‘I have told Frau Weiss I am unwell,’ Poppy explains, ‘and that I wish to be alone tonight. She was not terribly pleased.’

  ‘Too bad,’ Herman declares, keeping her hand in his and leading her to a comfortable and warm space upon the cushioned floor close to the glowing embers of the hearth fire - an ample supply of fuel being one of the many perks accompanying his meteoric rise to the status of inner temple initiate.

  Poppy looks very beautiful - wearing as she does the scarlet colour of her name, Poppy-red and brilliant - a silky, clinging garment proclaiming an exquisite figure of suppleness and radiant health. And for the first time he realises his wish to save her is no longer for Deborah’s sake alone, not for any moral victory, but possibly also for his own happiness and companionship. To achieve all these things at once, is within his grasp this very night. It is all so near.

  ‘Tell me again, what you meant earlier,’ Poppy asks, as they continue to make themselves comfortable, partly reclining, close together and with, they both realise, so very much to speak about, and yet so short a time. ‘It all sounded so frightfully horrible, what you said. Can it really be true?’

  And so he explains again, this time in frank and unconstrained detail. He tells her about the true nature of the Society here, about the big financiers who are behind it and how they use it for their own political ends. He tells her how her death had been faked in a house fire last year, and reiterates his understanding of what they are about to do to her. He tells her about the diabolic side to the activities of the man who calls himself Rascham, of the orgiastic rites taking place in the mountain with all their distorted Tantric overtones - these being a fundamentally false and gross betrayal of the true disciplines of those who had bestowed such knowledge upon the world in times past. Finally, he suggests the possibility of Rascham himself being no more than a dupe, a figurehead only with no special powers other than being possessed of a calculating and devious fanaticism that gives him an air of mystery.

  It is upon this last point, however, that he is suddenly forced to concede the possibility of being mistaken - because at just that moment, as if some peculiar force of nature were expressing displeasure at such heretical pronouncements, an unexpected gust of wind outside rattles the glass upon one of the casements and seems almost to penetrate the chamber with its might. The sound makes Poppy uneasy, and thereafter she seems particularly sensitive to every minor noise, every rattle or creak in the ancient building, so full of all the assorted whispers of the night. ‘Are you sure this room is not open to surveillance,’ she asks, nervous but also perhaps worldly wise after so many months of experience of the way things work here, the hidden compartments, the hollow walls.

  ‘Positive,’ Herman replies. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve had a good look around.’

  ‘I do hope you are right. But I must tell you, David, I still have my doubts about what you said earlier - especially all these claims about blinding people. A part of me still wonders if you are just testing me, to see whether I am genuine and willing to give myself to Rascham.’

  Herman smiles and shakes his head in a kind of mock despair. Her resistance simply cannot be overcome, and he realises he will need to resort to something he had hitherto been loath to consider: to offer more visible proof to her in the form of the press cuttings he has gathered over the past several weeks - firstly those he had been able to locate concerning the chalet fire wherein she was supposed to have perished, and then to present her with one or two of the less-defamatory pieces to have appeared in the papers describing her mother’s determination to find her. These, once extracted from the most secretive recesses of his wallet, she takes hesitantly in her hands and peruses by candlelight, her face evincing only astonishment and horror until, at last, she seems to award his views some credence.

  ‘Oh, it’s just so terrible,’ she whispers, raising her eyes to his after a moment of lengthy introspection, for now surely she must believe his sincerity. How, then, could she possible decline his tender care a moment longer as, placing her head upon his shoulder, she lets go of her misgivings at last. ‘I feel so very sorry for what my parents must have gone through,’ she murmurs. ‘And you say you really have no idea, not any longer, where my mother might be?’

  Herman shakes his head. And his face wears a look of such pain and despondency it seems to open a door somewhere inside her heart.

  ‘What shall I do?’ she asks, as much to herself as to him.

  ‘Leave this place, Poppy,’ he urges her, not entirely sure yet how this might be achieved, but knowing they must at least try. ‘Return to your studies in the real world outside, the true academic path, and no more of these shortcuts to enlightenment. Let me take you away from here forever.’

  She wants so much to say yes, to make good this new determination to save herself, yet still she cannot quite let go. They have, she realises, trained her well, paralysed her mind with anxiety of the normal world and all its terrors. ‘Oh, what is true?’ I wish I knew,’ she sighs. ‘Always it seems I must rely on somebody to tell me. If only I could feel what truth is - to touch it, taste it, know it for myself! They say we must all have faith ...’

  ‘This isn’t faith, Poppy,’ he interrupts, his voice hushed but also firm, taking her hand in his. ‘Faith and truth do not need pledges of secrecy, they do not require isolation from all the joys and pleasures of life - nor do they need special clothes, uniformed guards and little demigods who need to imprison people in the name of education. All the great spiritual teachings so distorted in Rascham’s doctrine - they all urge us towards moderation, to love and to work in the real world and do whatever we can to help and guide others. But these people here, believe me, they want only to destroy, to lay waste, to propagate fear and unrest. Your sexuality is a commodity to be exported to anyone and everyone they need to aid them - anything to further their own political ends. The entire organisation thrives merely on a syndicate of sophisticated prostitution.’

  ‘No, no I cannot believe that, sorry.’

  This really does seem a step too far for her. And he finds himself becoming increasingly desperate to make her understand.

  ‘Poppy, do you want to be blinded for the idle pleasure of that deluded old fool back there, and for others?’ he demands, a depth and resonance to his voice that surprises even himself, holding her shoulders firmly in his palms. ‘To live in darkness henceforth, to never see the trees and the sky again - never look upon the faces of those you love? What is it, Poppy? What is it about Rascham? Does the idea of this sick old fraud remind you of your father - of all the intimacy you never received ..?’

  ‘No - no, don’t be silly! You are simply being impertinent now. It is my destiny ...’

  ‘Enough! Not a word more,’ he says, standing and, taking up a small lamp, lights it at once with a taper from the fire. ‘Come - I am going to take you across to the Inner Temple,’ he states, and the tone of his voice brooks no refusal as he stretches out a hand for her to rise also. ‘I am going to show you now, once and for all, the truth of all I have told you.’

  It is a slender chance, he knows, and a dangerous undertaking, yet he has a premonition that even at this late hour there might just be some kind of activity, something to be seen of the girls and consequently a chance for Poppy to experience the evidence for herself of what has occurred to her predecessors. She is most reluctant
to risk such an outrage, but he insists. And so, each cloaked and hatted against the cold night, they venture down through the deserted passageways and chambers of the castle - to emerge into the moonlight at the head of the stone bridge. Signalling with a show of his palm for Poppy to tarry, he crosses alone at first, to check for any presence within the atrium on the other side. There being none, he beckons her across. She seems fascinated for a moment by being here, the link to the very place that has hitherto been so forbidden to her, pausing to glance down over the balustrade into the vast moonlit ravine below, lost in fascination until, responding to his imploring hand, this time urging her to make haste, she crosses over to join him.

  Ushering her through the door, he turns once more to glance briefly up to the looming walls and towers of the castle opposite to satisfy himself no one has observed them. The moon, troubled by swift clouds, flickers its light across the rooftops and crenellations, but there is not a living soul watching. All is well … at least so far, he reflects as, scarcely believing in his own impudence in undertaking such a perilous escapade, he hurries in after her, takes her hand and conducts her across the vast floor of the ceremonial hall.

  Up the winding staircase they go, towards the library, his heart beating audibly in his chest; and here, extinguishing the lamp, and with a finger to his lips as he guides her through, he requests yet again for her to maintain the utmost silence, since those who dwell here must, by their visual impairment, be all the greater attuned in the faculty of hearing. Completely dark, save for a haze of intermittent moonlight ghosting through the windows, it is the spot where Herman had encountered the blind girl some days ago, she who had approached he recalls from a passageway opposite at the other end of the library. And so, daring not to proceed any farther, he motions Poppy closer to his side, their backs against some shelving and from where, seated upon the floor, they have a view along much of the passageway that, Herman recalls, would lead to the quarters occupied by the girls themselves. He draws her close then, so they might cuddle up for warmth against each other’s sides, and here he relates to her in whispers all the details of his conversation with the unfortunate young woman herself.