Wrath of the Ancients

by Catherine Cavendish

  The handle rattled. Adeline jumped back. Surely no rat or mouse would do that. They would scurry along the floor.

  Adeline stared. She licked dry lips. The handle rattled again.

  Something heavy knocked against it. She jumped back. A long, low moan wafted into the room.

  Adeline raced back to the fire and picked up the poker. She stood by the chair, her eyes riveted to the source of the noise.

  Seconds ticked by and became minutes. Nothing.

  Finally, still clutching the poker, she dared to cross back to the door. She leaned against it and put her ear up close. Still nothing.

  It must have been the wind.

  Mentally, she laughed at herself and returned to her book, but for the rest of the evening, her attention kept wandering back to that one corner of the room.

  That night, she tossed and turned in her bed. Outside, the wind howled and rain lashed against the window.

  In her sleep, her dreams troubled her. Armed with her lamp, she was back in that strange basement corridor, wandering its seemingly interminable, featureless length. Then she faced a wooden door. Just like the one in the library. She turned the handle and opened it. A whooshing sound, like air escaping, took her breath away. Inside was a room illuminated by tall, flickering candles. Each wall was covered in symbols Adeline knew from Professor Mayer to be hieroglyphics. All was still and quiet. Tomb-like. Someone came up behind her. Adeline turned. She stared at the dead, gray face of Emeryk Quintillus.

  She woke up with a start, sweat pouring off her. It took seconds for her to realize it had been a dream. It had been so real. She could even smell cigars. Did he smoke cigars? James did occasionally at Christmas. Someone had bought him a small box of long, thin, black cheroots. They had a distinctive aroma that Adeline had grown to like.

  Adeline got out of bed, ignoring her slippers and the coldness of the wooden floor when she stepped off the rug on her way to the window. She pulled the drapes aside. Still dark. At least the wind had died down and the rain had stopped.

  Once her breathing had calmed, she pulled her drapes closed and returned to bed. She shivered and pulled the sheet and blankets up around her chin. Still, the dream wouldn’t leave her. It left her with one option.

  She would have to go back down to that corridor and find what lay at the end of it.

  Chapter 3

  The next day was Friday. By lunchtime, her mind still reeled with the disturbing dream and Quintillus’s continued scripted rants did little either to enthuse or calm her.

  Charters tells me I am deluded to think I will find her there. He says she lies at the bottom of the sea, or else has no tomb at all. I tell him he is the deluded one…

  The desire to explore that corridor almost overwhelmed her, along with the fear of doing so. With the weekend so close, it made sense for Adeline to hang on another twenty-four hours. Hopefully, Butters would have no reason to come checking up on her on a Saturday.

  Friday evening brought no repetition of the scratching and moaning she had heard. The weather had grown much calmer. It reassured her that her theory of the wind causing the noises was probably correct.

  She awoke from a dreamless sleep on Saturday morning. Sunshine and blue skies lifted her mood. At breakfast, Butters told her of the routine for the next two days.

  “Frau Lederer would be grateful if you would inform her of any occasion when you will not require a meal. Otherwise she will continue as usual. Sunday is her day off, so Magda will prepare your meals on that day each week.”

  “Thank you, Butters. I intend to be out this morning. It is such a beautiful day, and I thought I would explore the city a little. Revisit some of my grandfather’s old haunts. If you could tell Frau Lederer I will not be in for luncheon but will return during the afternoon. I shall look forward to one of her excellent dinners this evening.”

  “I shall inform her, madam.”

  “When’s your day off, Butters?” Adeline hoped she sounded casual.

  “Today, madam. I take every Saturday and one Sunday per month off. I shall be going out shortly and returning late this evening. If you need anything, Magda will be here.”

  After he’d gone, Adeline raised her eyes to heaven and mouthed, “Thank you!”

  Even if Magda decided to interrupt her, Adeline felt sure she could fob her off with some excuse or other. She would give Butters plenty of time to leave for his day off and for Magda to complete her morning’s dusting and polishing.

  Meanwhile, Adeline would enjoy her tram ride into the city and the fulfillment of a lifelong ambition. To order a mélange coffee and a cake in the Café Central.

  The streets of Vienna thronged with all manner of traffic—horse-drawn, mechanical, and two-wheeled. Trams clanged, sending pedestrians scattering off the tracks. Cars weaved in and out of the paths of fiakers, omnibuses, carts, and bicycles. The mixed smells of gasoline and manure wrinkled Adeline’s nose but reminded her of London. Everywhere seemed coated in a layer of dust now that the sunshine and last night’s rain had melted the snow and a stiff breeze had dried up the streets.

  Adeline had dressed carefully in a tailored navy skirt and fitted jacket with matching hat, black purse, and gloves. Her black button boots were highly polished and she had taken extra care to ensure her hair was carefully swept up into a tidy bun. Opa had often stressed the importance of making a good impression at the Café Central. That way, the self-important waiters would treat her with courtesy rather than their often accustomed disdain.

  She made her way past the palaces of the Herrengasse with their elaborate facades, until she arrived at the Café Central. Inside, she stopped and stared upward at the high vaulted ceiling and tall marble columns. No expense spared on the décor here. Or on the service. A waiter appeared at her elbow within seconds. The man’s face betrayed no friendliness or any kind of emotion. His eyes seemed to be taking in every aspect of her appearance. Probably sizing up the amount of gratuity she might leave him, based on the quality of her dress. Adeline swallowed. She must be assertive and confident.

  “A table for one, please,” she said in German. “Preferably by a window.”

  “Certainly, madam,” he replied and indicated for her to follow.

  At mid-morning, the café seethed with customers, chatting over every type of coffee known to mankind. The toasted aromas of chocolate and strong fresh coffee mingled in a warm, inviting blend, enticing Adeline. The waiter pulled a chair out for her and she sat, removing her gloves as she did so. She placed them in her lap, and her purse on a chair next to her. Outside the window, people went about their Saturday business. Some carried parcels of goods from the exclusive shops on the Kärntnerstrasse.

  At the nearest table, two smartly dressed men were engrossed in their game of chess. The waiter returned and Adeline ordered her mélange and a slice of chocolate cake, just like Opa used to all those years ago. A rush of emotion threatened to overwhelm her, and she reached in her purse for her handkerchief.

  “Gnädige Frau,” the chess player said, his German tinged with an unfamiliar accent. “I believe you dropped your glove?”

  He handed it to her. Adeline stared at it and at the smiling man with the black hair, neat moustache, beard, and pince-nez.

  She took the glove from him. “Thank you,” she mumbled, managing a smile.

  “Dr. Trotsky,” his companion said. “Stop stalling. It’s still your turn.”

  “Coming, Dr. Adler.” The man raised his eyes to Adeline and she suppressed a giggle. Looking over, she caught his companion’s eye. He smiled and nodded to her.

  Dr. Trotsky gave her a little bow and returned to his chess game. Adeline’s mélange and cake arrived. She took her first sip. The frothy milk on top gave way to the strong, concentrated espresso underneath—every bit as delicious as Opa had described. Her fork slid through the dark, rich chocolate cake, so light it almost m
elted on her tongue.

  Adeline passed a pleasant hour of people-watching, during which her neighbors, Doctors Trotsky and Adler left. Both raised their hats to her as they departed. She wondered who they were. Their demeanor, dress, and the fact they were playing chess made her think they were intellectuals. The name Trotsky sounded Russian, but then, there were so many nationalities contained within the sprawling, ungainly Austro-Hungarian Empire.

  Adeline longed to explore the city further, but that would have to keep for another day. Maybe tomorrow she could visit a museum or wander in one of the parks if the weather was fine. This afternoon, she had other plans.

  * * * *

  Back at the house, Magda took her hat and coat.

  “Butters is out, I believe?” Adeline asked.

  “Yes, madam. He will be back late this evening.”

  “And when is your time off, Magda?”

  “I have Wednesday afternoons and every other Thursday off.”

  “I shan’t be requiring anything until dinner this evening. I thought I’d read this afternoon. In the library.”

  “Yes, madam. You should find it nice and warm in there, and there are more logs by the fire if you need them.”

  “Thank you.” She forced herself to contain her excitement. Mustn’t hurry. Don’t arouse any awkward questions or suspicions.

  Safely alone in the library, Adeline raced across to the little table, took a spill out of the box and lit it from the fire. She adjusted the lamp, noting—with relief—the bowl, well-filled with kerosene. She was ready.

  Lamp in one hand, she prayed the key would be in the lock. It was. She turned the handle and it gave. A last minute thought. She removed the key and dropped it into the side pocket of her skirt. Now she would be prepared if anything tried to lock her down there.

  She made her way along the narrow corridor, passing the point where Butters had intercepted her. A sense of déjà vu took hold. When she came to the end and faced the plain wooden door, the odd sensation morphed into shock. She was back in her dream. Or it seemed like it. Every feature looked like every other. Dark wood. Peeling plaster on the walls. Cobwebs.

  It’s just a coincidence. Every corridor has to lead somewhere.

  The basement corridor hung heavy with silence. Adeline reached out and turned the door handle. It creaked a little. No one had been in there for a long time. She exhaled the breath she had been holding for too long. At least there was no dream echo here. No rush of wind took her breath away.

  Adeline crossed into the room beyond. An atmosphere of neglect and disuse filled the stark space. The only furniture consisted of a few scattered chairs, their stuffing protruding from worn and faded cushions.

  Adeline lifted her lamp higher and something ahead of her glinted. She moved closer. A picture emerged in the lamplight. Only relatively small—probably only around thirty inches by twenty—it was exquisite. Adeline stared at the profile of a striking woman, portrayed against a gold background. Everything about the picture screamed ancient Egypt. The woman’s black hair was caught at the back in an elaborate bun. Around her head, she wore the royal diadem Adeline had seen in photographs of sculptures in Professor Mayer’s study. The one visible eye was outlined extravagantly in black. In the lamplight she couldn’t tell the color of the iris. It could have been dark brown or black or very dark blue. The high cheekbones emphasized the subject’s regal demeanor and the full lips seemed almost obscenely sensual. Adeline knew if her late mother had been alive to see this, she would have been quite shocked.

  The one feature marring the exquisite beauty of the woman was her nose. It was slightly too long and a little hooked. In life this would have been an elegant, poised, and unforgettable woman. The fact that she wasn’t classically beautiful would only have added to her fascination.

  Adeline couldn’t take her eyes off her. She moved around, attempting to gain a different perspective, but the skill of the artist had created the illusion of the eye following the viewer. Who had painted such an exquisite work of art?

  Adeline drew closer. In the bottom right hand corner, she could barely make out a signature. Quite faint so as not to detract from the painting itself. Gustav Klimt—the artist who had painted the wonderful ceiling in the library. But why hide such a stunning portrait down here in this forgotten room? It had been deliberately hung on the wall in its gilded frame. Here, where nobody would come and appreciate its beauty. Or maybe, one person would. And perhaps that one person didn’t want to share her beauty with anyone.

  Adeline peered closely again, looking for a date, but could find none.

  She had no idea how long she had been down here and the windowless room began to oppress her. At least now though she knew where the portrait was and could come and see it anytime she chose. She had to find out more about it. She thought of Butters, but he would want to know why she had been down here again when he had made it perfectly clear she shouldn’t go snooping about. She could ask Magda, but the girl hadn’t even worked here until after Dr. Quintillus died, so she would hardly be likely to know anything about it. As for the cook, Adeline realized with a start that she hadn’t even met the talented Frau Lederer.

  There remained only one person who could give her any answers about the portrait and maybe even throw a little more light on the character and personality of the enigmatic Dr. Quintillus. The painter. Gustav Klimt. All she had to do was engineer a meeting with him.

  But how?

  Adeline turned her back on the painting and crossed the floor to the door. It creaked as she drew it closed, and a sudden waft of air broke her train of thought. It came from inside the room. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn someone had opened another door. Adeline shone her lamp around. Nothing. Just a smell she hadn’t sensed before. The sickly, sweet smell of lilies.

  People had brought lilies to James’s funeral and Adeline swore she would never have them in the house after that awful day. Smelling them again made her heave and cover her nose with her free hand. She shut the door and sped back down the corridor.

  Someone laughed behind her. A mocking sound. Adeline stopped. Listened. Carried on a few more steps. Cold breath kissed the back of her neck. She daren’t turn around.

  At the top of the steps, she wrenched the door open, slammed it shut behind her and leaned against it, panting heavily. She closed her eyes and prayed she had imagined it all.

  Then the scratching began again; along the wall next to her.

  The sun had sunk low on the horizon, making the room gloomy and full of lengthening fingers of darkness. Only her lamp and the dying fire illuminated the library, casting dancing shadows on the walls and books.

  A log crackled and Adeline let out a cry. She raced over to the light switch and threw it. She blinked in the light that dissolved the shadows, and set her lamp down on its table. The scratching grew louder. Like something dragging a sharp, scraping object along the walls. A knife maybe. Or a claw.

  Adeline held her breath. Her heart thundered in her ears.

  The door into the hall opened. Adeline let out a cry. Magda’s eyes widened.

  “Madam, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Adeline forced a smile. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to come in.”

  “I thought I would see if you wanted any tea perhaps? It’s five o’clock.”

  “That would be most welcome. Thank you.”

  Magda turned to go. Adeline stopped her. “Has there been any trouble with rats or mice in this room at all recently?”

  Magda looked puzzled. “No, I don’t think so. Why do you ask, madam?”

  “I thought I could hear scratching in the walls. Just before you came in.”

  They both fell silent, listening. Nothing.

  “It seems to have stopped,” Adeline said.

  “I could have a word with Mr. Butters
about it if you like.”

  The thought of the butler giving her one of his disapproving glances wasn’t something Adeline felt prepared to court. Certainly not yet anyway.

  “No, don’t say anything for now. If I hear it again, maybe I’ll have a word with him myself.”

  “Very good, madam.”

  Adeline put more logs on the fire and sat on the Chesterfield as she awaited the arrival of her tea.

  The only sound in the room came from the crackling of the fire. The logs sizzled and the flames grew higher and hotter again.

  Without warning, one log cracked down the middle sending sparks flying onto the rug where some of them smoldered. A couple landed on Adeline’s skirt and she winced. She burned her fingers pinching them out. More flew out. She jumped up and stamped on them, but there were too many to catch them all in time. The odor of singed wool accumulated as she struggled to contain the myriad of tiny eruptions.

  Magda entered with her tray and joined her in seconds. Together they managed to put them all out.

  The rug didn’t fare so well. It was covered in minute black singe marks.

  “Oh heavens, Butters won’t be pleased,” Adeline said, hoping she sounded less disturbed than she felt.

  “It isn’t your fault, madam. It must have been the wood. I’ll explain what happened to Mr. Butters. I’m sure the rug can be cleaned and repaired.”

  “In the meantime, do you have a fireguard of some sort? I’d hate for this to happen again.”

  “I’m sure there is, madam. I’ll find it and bring it right away.”

  She hurried off and Adeline poured her tea. Her hands trembled and the cup clanked against the saucer. It wasn’t Butters’s reaction she feared, whatever Magda might think. But the way that log had cracked. The way the sparks had flown out of the fire. Something about it didn’t add up. The angle of the log didn’t match the spray of the sparks.

  The ones that had landed on her skirt couldn’t have. Not in the order of things. If someone had thrown those to one side, at an unnatural angle… Yes, that would have done it.