by Sarah Rayne
‘Sir,’ said Bremner anxiously, ‘if Sister Hilary’s to be believed, we don’t need blood matches, or only as corroboration maybe. That’s assuming we do believe her,’ he added, mindful of his chief’s dictum to accept nothing and nobody until proven.
‘Well, it was all a touch far-fetched,’ said Wagner. ‘And she’ll have to be checked, of course. Nuns have run mad before. But I’m inclined to think she’s sound. And she apparently recognised the man as Ladislas Bathory.’
‘A clear accusation,’ said Gustav, who thought they had done well to get such a plainly defined suspect in this peculiar case.
‘Yes. I think that unless something turns up to contradict her, for the moment we’ll believe Sister Hilary.’ He frowned.
‘What about CrnPrag, sir? The place where Catherine Bathory and her brother are supposed to be imprisoned?’
Wagner said, ‘CrnPrag’s a place with a somewhat obscure reputation. There’s been some very odd stories about it – most patently exaggeration, of course, but there’s always been something a bit questionable about it. It’s been a madhouse for a good long time, and it was supposed to be very accommodating before the war. You know how it used to go: Sign a nice little certificate of lunacy for us, and we’ll make it worth your while. That’s how the rich did it, Bremner, in the Bad Old Days when divorce was beyond the pale. If you had money, you could put away your husband or your wife if they stood in your way. You could get your elderly father or your grandfather declared unfit if he was being a nuisance and you wanted to get at your inheritance. All for a percentage of grandfather’s estate, naturally. CrnPrag was always a bit suspect, but nothing was ever actually proved and so it was left alone. It’s outside our jurisdiction anyway.’
He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and Bremner, shocked, said, ‘But all that’s illegal, sir.’
‘Of course it’s illegal. But it’s less illegal than murder, and it’s harder to prove. One doctor says that grandfather’s as sane as last Tuesday, his colleague says he’s as mad as the moon. And while grandfather’s fate is being disputed, the people who own CrnPrag make themselves a lot of money, leave aside what the lawyers get out of it.’ He frowned. ‘If Ladislas Bathory is connected with CrnPrag, we’re going to have to walk on eggshells. If we’re crossing any borders to get into CrnPrag, we’re on delicate ground anyway. Somebody had better find out where the wretched place is. It could be in Hungary or Austria or halfway to China for all I know.’
Gustav said, ‘Sir, if Sister Hilary will swear to Ladislas Bathory’s identity, haven’t we a good enough case to arrest him and hold him for forty-eight hours, never mind what country we’re in?’
‘And what about the other young lady – Catherine Bathory?’ asked Burghen. ‘That’s almost a hostage situation, sir.’
‘Yes, that’s something that can’t be left,’ said Wagner. And then, ‘Or can it? If Michael Devlin’s worked out some kind of surprise attack we don’t want to spoil it—’
He stopped, frowning, and Gustav said, ‘But sir, can we trust this Devlin?’
‘D’you know, Gustav, I’m inclined to think we can,’ said Wagner. ‘He sounds remarkably astute to me. But we’ll check on him of course – Burghen do that, will you? WPN, Reuter’s, the London address – you know the form. And Bremner, try phoning the Red Angel again. Yes, I know Devlin wasn’t there earlier on, but that doesn’t mean he’s already started for CrnPrag. If he hasn’t, I’d very much like to talk to him. Oh, and while you’re about it, find out whose toes we’d be treading on if we did go into CrnPrag, will you?’
‘Is Ladislas Bathory mad, sir?’ asked Bremner, scribbling notes at top speed.
‘If that young woman’s account is to be believed they’re all stark raving mad,’ grunted Wagner. ‘But I don’t think our man is mad.’ He eyed the men. ‘I think he’s as sane as anyone in this room.’
‘That’s not counting Burghen of course.’
Michael sat in the passenger seat of Tobias’s car and felt the mountainside rush past. It was remarkable how you could feel the different landscapes when you could not see them. Quick bursts of sound for rows of ordinary buildings, and soft feathery whisperings for trees, and then solid blocks once you reached the mountains.
The drive was turning out to be more relaxing than Michael had expected; he had not slept very much before they set off, although a hot shower and a hefty breakfast had revived him a bit, and Tobias was turning out to be intelligent and companionable. Michael thought Tobias was actually rather enjoying himself.
As they sped along the mountain road Tobias talked about the different places they were passing: old churches with interesting legends attached, or half-crumbling castles or mansions once owned by the dozens of noble houses who had lived out here.
‘But the castles and the noble families are almost all gone now,’ he said, sadly.
‘You’re a romantic, Tobias.’
‘Certainly,’ said Tobias at once.
He had brought some of Michael’s cassettes, which he said would help to pass the journey for them, and of his own accord selected Schubert’s Fifth Symphony.
The music calmed Michael, as it always did, and he leaned back against the car headrest and traced the patterns as the miles slipped by. Tobias, most of his concentration on driving, looked across at his passenger once or twice, and smiled and nodded to himself. It was a remarkable imbroglio of events that Mr Devlin and his lady were involved in, and Tobias – who had liked Michael and Hilary from the start – was very pleased indeed to lend his help in bringing the villains to justice.
But one had to remember that Mr Devlin was here for an operation which might restore his sight, and Tobias had not liked the tired pinched look on Michael’s face as they set off. He thought the music would calm them both and if Mr Devlin could snatch a brief sleep as they drove, Tobias would be very pleased.
Michael was not quite asleep, but for the moment he was able to let go of the nagging worry about Hilary and the need to plan ahead. He was listening to Schubert’s strong melodic symphony; the first movement always conjured up for him the image of a vast glittering ballroom with chandeliers and mirrors and flower-like girls with crinoline skirts and spaniel ringlets waltzing with deferential young men.
Had Hilary ever danced? He would like to dance with her some day: not ugly unplanned jerking to loud disco music, but smooth close dancing. The dancing you saw on old black and white films, when Fred Astaire fell in love with Ginger Rogers and hidden orchestras played ‘The way you look tonight’, and ‘A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.’ Irving Berlin and George Gershwin and declarations on terraces and roses and champagne. Disco dancing was loaded with unmistakable sexual signals of course, but the romance of ballrooms, and white tie and tails beat it hands down. He smiled briefly and as the slow movement began, let himself slide a little further into sleep.
They stopped a couple of times, once for an early lunch and once for Tobias to consult his maps to be sure they were on the right road.
‘Although,’ he said, as they set off again, ‘it is a road easy to travel.’
‘You know it?’
‘Everyone for miles knows CrnPrag,’ said Tobias. ‘But no one, as far as I know, has ever approached it. There are locked gates. And perhaps electronic devices to prevent people from entering.’
‘Well we’re going to approach it now,’ said Michael. ‘And if we can, we’re going to enter it. You know the plan?’ He was wide awake now and feeling very much sharper and better. They had eaten hugely of home-made soup and crisp loaves for their lunch: Tobias appeared to consider it necessary to punctuate the day with eating, and Michael was beginning to feel equal to anything.
He said, ‘We’re sticking to the truth almost exactly.’
‘It is good, that. I do not approve of lying,’ said Tobias, firmly.
‘No. Also, we don’t know how much they know about me, so I’ll have to be precisely what I am,’ said Michael. ‘A journalist gathering materi
al for a story and also here for treatment for an eye injury. You’re driving me because of my blindness.’ He stopped. I put the injury second, he thought. And then I used the word ‘blindness’ without a qualm. How remarkable. But there was no time to consider this. ‘Your car’s broken down,’ said Michael. ‘On the road outside CrnPrag, it developed— something? What?’
‘Blocked carburettor? Snapped fan-belt?’
‘Either of those, I should think. Keep it simple. We’ll park as close to the gates as we can—’
‘With the bonnet propped open—’
‘Yes, and we’ll ask if we can use their phone to call a garage. It’s fairly corny,’ said Michael, grinning. ‘In fact it’s very corny indeed, and it’s how most horror films begin. But it’s simple and everyday, and I think it’s believable. People do break down and ask to use phones on lonely roads. If we find that they know more than we suspect about my connection with Hilary, I’ll simply admit that I’m concerned about her – Franz-Josef and his wife know that already from the call I made earlier, so that will fit.’
‘What if they won’t let us through the gates?’ asked Tobias, and Michael frowned.
‘In that case, we’ll have to wait until somebody comes along who they will let through and then sneak in behind them.’
‘But supposing nobody comes at all? I am not,’ said Tobias, ‘trying to throw bad water—’
‘Cold water.’
‘Thank you – cold water, on the plan. I am thinking of things that might go wrong, you understand. Plans for—’
‘Contingency plans. Yes, I understand,’ said Michael. ‘But I think people will be coming and going. Remember that they’ve got Catherine and Pietro in there and probably their father as well by now. I’d guess that’ll mean a good deal of activity. But we’ll have to be prepared for all eventualities. Adapt to the moment. Can you do that?’
Tobias said with dignity, ‘You forget I have kept an inn for over twenty years. Of course I can.’
Michael grinned and without warning felt a surge of exhilaration. Like going into battle. You wanted to sound trumpets and hoist flags and yell victory cries as you went. Marvellous but wholly impractical. He said, ‘Once we’re inside the place, I’m in your hands, Tobias. All you’ve got to do is hold onto me like grim death and we’ll walk into every room we come to, until we find what we want.’
‘Catherine Bathory and her brother.’
‘Yes, and any other poor sods they’ve got shut up for the wrong reasons.’ Michael felt in his jacket and brought out the small portable recorder. ‘And pray to God that this keeps running,’ he said.
Ladislas Bathory, his face sheet-white, eyed Bianca with a mixture of fear and defiance.
‘Well, Ladislas?’ said Bianca, at last. ‘It rather looks as if you’ve brought us all down, this time.’ She curled into the corner of the sofa and regarded him.
‘I had to silence the English girl – Cat’s friend. After Pál and Anna’s people let her escape from Csejthe. I had to make sure she wouldn’t talk. I followed her to the convent—’
‘But,’ said Bianca, icily, ‘unfortunately, once you got there you silenced the wrong one. And Hilary saw you.’ She paused, frowning. ‘You’re sure she did see you, are you?’
‘Yes.’
‘To recognise again?’
‘Yes.’ Ladislas’s eyes flickered from side to side like a trapped animal.
‘I think we must assume that the nuns will have called the police,’ said Bianca, thinking hard, ‘I suppose you did well to get out before they caught you. But the police will go to CrnPrag now.’
‘Why? Why would they do that?’
Bianca said, very slowly as if talking to a child, ‘Because Hilary almost certainly heard more than she should have done in Csejthe. She’ll know about Cat and Pietro being in CrnPrag.’
‘We don’t know that—’
‘I think we do. In any case, we can’t take any chances,’ said Bianca. She uncurled from her catlike position and crossed one leg over the other. There was a slither of silk and despite his obvious fear, Ladislas looked down at her body. Bianca smiled slightly. So easy to manipulate, these young men. And then: yes, until you also start to fail, my dear . . . Oh God, don’t let me think about it.
She said, abruptly, ‘They may come here first, which will give us a little time. Varanno is as innocent as the morning, but there are a good many things inside CrnPrag that they can’t see.’
Ladislas said, carefully, ‘The prisoners are kept there, of course. For the rituals. As you know.’
‘Then,’ said Bianca, smoothly, ‘you had better remove them.’
‘Where—’
‘To Csejthe.’ She studied him. ‘Forgive me, my dear, I forget sometimes how very young you still are.’ She held out a hand, and Ladislas took it. ‘Listen, my child,’ said Bianca, drawing him down beside her, ‘Csejthe is our fortress. Our stronghold against the world. It always has been. Once inside Csejthe, we’re safe.’
‘We can’t be sure. The police could follow us there—Hilary could lead them there—’
Bianca smiled, and slid a hand inside his shirt, undoing buttons as she went. ‘You’re panicking,’ she said. ‘And that’s the one thing you mustn’t do. Csejthe can be very strongly bastioned when we want it to be. It’s a very old place; it keeps its secrets, and we help it to do so. If a few foolish prying policemen fall into the disused machinery of the Middle Age torturers – dear me, how sad. How unfortunate. Everyone thought those old machines were rusting anachronisms. Incapable of inflicting even a scratch.’ She slid her hand down to the zip of his trousers. Was he aroused yet? Yes. Good. ‘You understand all of this, Ladislas?’
He had watched the descent of her hand with sudden concentrating emotion. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Then you had better start emptying CrnPrag of prisoners at once,’ said Bianca, softly. ‘Can you do that?’ Her hand slid against his naked pulsating flesh and began to stroke rhythmically.
‘The prisoners? I – yes, of course I can.’ He gasped and thrust forward against her hand.
‘Tonight?’ said Bianca.
‘Yes.’ It came out in a gasp, but then Ladislas said, ‘Yes, of course it can be done tonight. It’s the contingency plan anyway.’
‘Tell me what that is.’
‘We use the vans we normally use to take the prisoners to the castle for the rituals. The vans are kept behind the house.’
‘So they are. And the machinery?’ said Bianca, still stroking him. ‘The setting of the portcullis machinery?’
‘It hasn’t been used for a time, but I think it’s still working—’ Ladislas’s eyes were half closed and he was writhing against her hand.
‘You mustn’t “think” it works, you must be sure it does.’ She withdrew her hand and Ladislas groaned. ‘Oh God – don’t stop now—’
‘First tell me that you can clear CrnPrag of the prisoners,’ said Bianca. ‘For all our sakes it has to be done, and it has to be done efficiently, Ladislas. The prisoners taken to Csejthe.’
‘A Ritual—’ said Ladislas, his eyes darkening.
‘Yes.’ Bianca thought quickly. ‘Yes, why not? But the ordinary mental patients must be left there. That part’s important.’
‘Yes – I understand— Bianca, put your hand back—’
‘You’ll leave the ordinary mental patients where they are? As a blind to the police? It’s very important that you do that. If the police search the place they must find an ordinary asylum.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ said Ladislas. ‘The mad creatures to stay in their cells with a few guards but the designated prisoners to go to Csejthe under cover of dusk.’ He grabbed her hand and pulled it down again. ‘Bianca—’
Bianca smiled and let him put her hand back where it had been.
Chapter Thirty-four
Catherine found that sleep in the long scrubbed Ward at CrnPrag was impossible. In the bed opposite, Orsolya was sleeping, her hands curled tightly about
the repulsive smeared jam-jar. Catherine shuddered, but it was not Orsolya’s presence that troubled her; she had lived with Elizabeth’s shadow for too long to feel anything other than repulsion at Orsolya’s warped version of Elizabeth’s hungers. She had tried to talk to Orsolya again, to find out where she had come from and about her immediate family, but Orsolya had simply sat rocking to and fro, crooning the eerie little song, and at last Catherine had given up.
It was not Orsolya that kept her wakeful, nor even the knowledge that she and Orsolya shared the same ancestry.
It was the knowledge that she had failed Pietro that sent all hope of sleep spinning away from her, so that she lay staring up at the ceiling, watching the insidious moonlight slide across the bare floorboards. She had come here to rescue Pietro, and she had ended in being captured herself.
I have failed.
Elizabeth had never cared enough for anyone to lie awake like this. She had certainly never felt this black, bitter desolation, although, after Ferencz died, she had pretended to be lonely in order to serve her own hungers.
With Ferencz dead there had been no one to question anything. She could come and go unchallenged; she could descend to Csejthe’s bowels whenever she wanted, and she could order new torture instruments from the poor bemused blacksmith in the village. It was remarkable and hugely satisfying that the cringing creature had been kept in thrall for so long. She enjoyed leaving her carriage at the village centre, and descending from it to enter the hot-smelling, fire-drenched forge. She enjoyed seeing the blacksmith’s fear. In the beginning he had been a muscular, ruddy-skinned man; well set-up and glowing with health. There had been some kind of wife and children in the background somewhere; Elizabeth had not paid that any attention. But the strong, healthy smith who had climbed the hill to Csejthe with the grinning iron cage had long since gone, and his skin was pallid and loose on his bones, as if they had shrunk. His eyes were never still, constantly darting from side to side as if scanning the shadows, and the hands that wielded the tongs and the hammers so surely, trembled. Illona and Dorko had told how his wife had left him – ‘No longer able to satisfy her,’ Dorko had said, leeringly – and how his children had gone with her.