Adeline doubted the man opposite her would ever have allowed that to happen, however many bills he owed.
“He paid me, seemed pleased with the results, and we both carried on with our lives. Then, in late summer of 1908, I received a visit from his butler. Dr. Quintillus had returned from an expedition to Egypt and urgently sought my help. He wanted to commission a small portrait of Cleopatra and he was prepared to pay whatever I asked, as long as I would accept certain…conditions. I was unsure at first, but the request intrigued me, so I agreed to meet with him at his house and so began the oddest commission of my life.
“He told me he had made a major discovery. One which, if news of it ever got out, would mean he would be hounded by every historian, newspaper, and charlatan from all over the world. He didn’t want that. It would interfere with his work and, besides, he wanted to keep the details of his discovery secret until after his death. He said he had made plans for that, and I should imagine you are part of that plan.”
Adeline nodded. “I rather think I am. I have been commissioned to type his manuscript, giving details of his discovery. He believed he had discovered the tomb of Cleopatra.”
“Yes. That became clear as soon as I began work although, naturally, he swore me to secrecy. I had the distinct impression he could be very dangerous if crossed, so I respected his wishes. He didn’t threaten me, you understand. There was something about his demeanor. The intense gaze…” Klimt stared off into the distance for a moment, then shook himself. “No matter. As with the ceiling, his brief was exact. This time it was even more prescriptive. He would supply the model. More than that, he would bring her to me each morning, wait in this room while I worked and then take her home each afternoon. Maybe he didn’t trust me with her.” Klimt smiled. “She was a different woman to the one I had used for the library. Striking. Much as I imagined the real Cleopatra to have been. In all the days she posed for me, she never spoke. Not one word. She didn’t even say anything to Dr. Quintillus. It was a strange and unique experience for me. To have no communication, no contact with my model is not my usual way of working.”
He smiled at her and Adeline fidgeted. He was a charming companion, but she really shouldn’t be alone with him.
He cleared his throat and continued. “When I showed the preliminary sketches to the doctor, he seemed happy and approved them. Then he did something I found so odd, I still have no explanation for it. He handed me a small silk bag and told me I should mix the contents with every color I used to paint the portrait. I must be careful to use every last bit, but to be sure and distribute it evenly. He impressed on me the importance of his instructions and checked I had understood. I opened the bag and it was half full of an ash-like powder. It smelled unpleasant—as if something had died in that bag. I wanted to refuse. After all, I had no idea what it was or how it might affect the texture or shade of the paint. He seemed to read my mind, because he set about reassuring me that it would have no effect whatsoever on the finished result. A statement that turned out to be true, fortunately.”
“So you carried out his instructions?”
Klimt nodded. “To the letter.”
“Did anything…odd happen while you were painting the portrait?”
For the first time, Klimt seemed uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat. “Such as?”
“I don’t really know, but it is a remarkable picture. Her gaze seems to pursue you around the room.”
He seemed reassured and smiled. “A little trick. Many artists do it.”
“No, I mean, this is different. The painting seems alive somehow.”
Klimt ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “I’m not at all sure I can answer your question, but I will say this. I painted the portrait and was glad when it came time to hand it over and I could be rid of it from my studio.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
“I am an artist. I have an artist’s imagination and the circumstances surrounding this portrait were nothing if not unusual. I think my mind played tricks on me but, sometimes, in the night, I would hear noises coming from my studio. Like someone thumping the floor, or stamping. Sometimes, late at night, I would hear scratching in the walls. On a few occasions I went into my studio to prepare for my day’s work, only to find the picture had moved from where I was sure I had left it.”
Adeline blinked rapidly. “It’s still happening.”
“What is?”
“All of it. I heard someone thumping on the ceiling below my room, I frequently hear scratching in the walls, and recently, I woke up to find the picture in my room. I thought I had dreamed it, but it never felt like a dream. Now you have confirmed it.”
“My dear Mrs. Ogilvy, I can’t be sure I didn’t imagine I had left the portrait in a different place. The scratching I heard could have been mice.”
“But it all stopped when you handed the picture over to Dr. Quintillus?”
Klimt exhaled. “Yes.”
“And you have never known other pictures to apparently move from where you left them?”
“No. In my experience, they tend to be where I expect them to be.” He smiled.
A part of Adeline wished those blue eyes weren’t so intense. That they didn’t maintain such a steady gaze at her. Another part of her welcomed it. Her cheeks flushed with a heat she hadn’t felt since James died. No, she must remember why she was there. She fought off the urge to squirm and coughed. “Herr Klimt, did you ever see Dr. Quintillus hang the portrait?”
“No, I never returned to his house.”
“And he never told you where he intended to hang it?”
Klimt shook his head. The cat jumped on his lap and began a deep, throaty purr. The artist tickled the furry chin.
Adeline spoke. “Would you be surprised to learn that it hangs in a dark empty basement room? That is, when it isn’t appearing on my wall.”
Klimt shrugged. “Little about human nature surprises me. He did pay me a great deal of money, so I would have thought he would have wanted to display it more prominently, but it is his money and his choice.”
Adeline decided she had exhausted Klimt’s information on that score, but there remained one more avenue she hadn’t fully explored.
“The model he brought to you. Did you ever learn her name?”
Klimt shook his head. “No. I think the painting is a faithful reproduction of her looks. At least in profile. She wasn’t beautiful, you understand. But she had an aura about her. I found her irresistible—except, of course, I had to contain my natural urges. I don’t think Dr. Quintillus would have approved if I hadn’t. I’m also fairly sure I would have been rebuffed by her, too.”
Adeline squirmed again and hoped it wasn’t obvious. Her cheeks flushed hot and she could see Klimt watching her reaction closely. What was it about this man? He wasn’t exactly good-looking but…his eyes. Sensual. Warm. They seemed to undress her. She was stepping on dangerous ground. She gave a slight cough.
“Is there anything else you noticed about her that struck you as peculiar or unusual?”
“She wore her Egyptian robes as if she was accustomed to them. Not as a model wearing a costume and assuming a role. Her bracelets looked like pure gold and appeared authentic, and her face had a look of antiquity about it. Every age has its facial characteristics and hers didn’t belong in the twentieth century, or even the nineteenth. If Quintillus had told me he had brought me the real Cleopatra, I would have been tempted to believe him.”
Adeline’s breath caught in her throat. “Are you being serious?”
“Most definitely. The woman who posed for me no more belonged in Vienna in 1908 than I would have belonged in Alexandria in 30 BC. And I would go one step further.” He paused as if unsure whether to proceed, then leaned forward. “I would have said that Dr. Quintillus feared her for some reason that maybe even he didn’t understand.”
W
hatever Adeline had been expecting, she could never have imagined such a response. “So, who was that woman? Where can I find her?” She hadn’t realized she had voiced her thoughts, until Klimt replied.
“I doubt you will find her. Maybe I’m being fanciful, but I don’t believe you or I will ever see her again. Not here. Not in Vienna.”
Adeline nodded. She had to agree. But she had to know more about this strange model. Clearly, Herr Klimt had told her all he knew and he was giving her that look again. Time for her to go, unless she wanted to find herself in all sorts of tangled trouble. She stood. Herr Klimt pushed his chair back and the cat jumped off, with a protesting squawk.
Adeline held out a gloved hand. “Thank you for being so helpful, Herr Klimt. It has been an honor to meet you.”
He took her hand and held it between his. She felt his warmth flowing into her blood from his gentle touch. “It has been a pleasure to assist such a charming lady. May I say also that your German is impeccable. Such a pretty accent, too.” Without warning, he touched the side of her face. She felt her cheeks burn.
“Now, yours is a face that most assuredly belongs in the twentieth century. It would be my pleasure to paint you.”
Oh, the temptation to say, “Yes.” But, deep breath… “Thank you for your flattering offer, Herr Klimt, but I’m afraid my work doesn’t allow me the time to accept. I do however value the honor you do me by making such a request. I hope you are not offended.”
Klimt lowered his hand. “Not at all, my dear Mrs. Ogilvy. I quite understand. If you change your mind, you know where you can find me. You are always welcome here.”
Once safely out of sight, Adeline stopped and fanned her still-burning cheeks. Even the chill air did nothing to cool her. On the tram, her mind filled with jumbled thoughts. The noises—and the way the portrait had apparently moved in the studio. Just as it had in Dr. Quintillus’s house. Klimt’s belief that the doctor feared the woman he brought to sit for the portrait was odd to say the least. Then another thought struck her. What did Dr. Quintillus die of, and where was he buried? At least she should be able to find out the answer to those two questions easily enough. Butters.
* * * *
The butler’s lips turned down at the corners. “Why do you ask, madam?”
“I’m curious, I suppose. Is he buried in Hietzing cemetery?”
“No, madam, he is not.”
“Then where—”
“Madam, with all due respect, I am not at liberty to discuss my late employer’s resting place with you. For reasons of his own, he wished its location kept secret. I do not even know its whereabouts.”
Adeline hadn’t expected that. “But surely you must have been involved in making the arrangements?”
Butters shook his head. “No. When Dr. Quintillus died, he left instructions with his lawyers that the house would be shut up for a month. The staff was to be given paid holiday and, on our return, we found that everything had been taken care of. Only the cook and I were to be kept on, although we were allowed to retain the services of a maid. That is when we engaged Magda.”
“So, who was this legal firm?”
Butters drew himself up to his full height. “I am sorry, madam, but I am not at all comfortable discussing these matters with you. The firm was based in Kensington, in London, but I am not at liberty to divulge anything else unless you can show me that it is essential to your work which is, as I recall, typing up the late doctor’s manuscript.”
Impasse. Adeline stared at the butler, and he returned the steady gaze. Such an infuriating man! Clearly she would get nothing more from him. Except…
“Very well, Butters, but would you at least tell me what the doctor died of?”
“I have no idea, madam. It was sudden, and to us at least, unexpected. More than that I do not know. I suggest you occupy yourself with the doctor’s work, rather than the circumstances of his death.”
The butler left the library, and the temperature seemed to rise a few degrees. Probably her imagination. He did have a cold and frosty manner after all. But more importantly, had he told her the truth? It seemed incredible that even his own staff didn’t know what their employer had died from, but then, so much about Dr. Quintillus didn’t conform to normal standards of behavior.
After dinner, Adeline sat by the fire, reading. A few minutes later, her eyes grew heavy and the book fell on the floor. The noise woke her and she sat up, rubbing her eyes, but stopped in mid-action. It came again. A creaking sound from across the room.
She stood and took a few steps toward the window. She stopped. Watched, in mounting horror, as the door to the basement slowly swung open.
Chapter 5
Adeline stared at the door, too scared to move. It stayed open for a few seconds and then slowly started to close. She stayed frozen to the spot. Waiting. She had no idea what for. She listened hard. What if something had come into the room? Supposing she was no longer alone in here? Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and she licked dry lips.
Your imagination is running away with you. Someone is playing tricks. Keep calm.
If only she could convince her heart to stop thumping quite so painfully.
Then it started. The scratching. But not the same as last time. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to erupt.
This time, the scratching came from inside the room. Her terrified gaze tracked the noise around the book-lined wall behind the desk, into the far corner. It stopped. Returned. Became a distinct scraping—like a comb on a blackboard. It set her teeth on edge and she clamped her jaws together. She mustn’t show fear. Do that and they would win. She would do the opposite. Take charge. “Stop that now!”
The scratching stopped. A woman’s laugh rang out. Harsh, grating, growing louder. Adeline clapped her hands over her ears, but nothing would drown out that inhuman cacophony. Any longer and her eardrums would burst. She raced out of the library and up to her room, locking the door behind her.
Someone had deliberately set out to scare her. One of the servants? Surely they must have heard the terrible racket. Bur for the life of her, Adeline hadn’t a clue who or why anyone would do such a thing. But she was determined. They wouldn’t defeat her.
* * * *
Adeline woke next morning, still fully-dressed and sprawled out across her bed. She drew back the drapes and a watery rising sun filtered in. It was still early. She checked her watch. Seven thirty. Time to wash and change out of yesterday’s clothes. Time to think what she was going to do after the events of last night.
On her way down for breakfast, she paused on the landing of the floor below. One of those rooms had belonged to Dr. Quintillus and the more she thought about it, the more certain Adeline became that she would have to find that room and search it for any clues to unlock the mystery of whatever was happening.
The thought terrified her, but the alternative—of doing nothing—frightened her even more. That raucous laughter in the library. She hadn’t imagined it. Someone was toying with her and she didn’t like it. Adeline promised herself she would get to the bottom of this. Whatever the truth might be. After all, James always said she was stubborn.
Now, whoever—whatever— you are, you will see how stubborn I can be.
It was the butler’s Sunday off, so Magda served her breakfast of toast, a boiled egg, and a pot of aromatic coffee.
“Is Butters out today?” Adeline asked, trying to sound casual.
“Yes, madam. He won’t be back until late.”
“Thank you. I shall be staying in today. The weather isn’t so pleasant.”
“I believe it’s going to rain later, so you’re probably wise. It may even turn to snow again. It’s certainly cold enough.”
Magda left her to her thoughts and, as she finished her meal, Adeline’s pulse quickened.
She pushed back her chai
r and, forcing her fear back down into her stomach, left the library, and mounted the stairs.
On the first floor, she pictured the location of her room above. The staircase was in the middle of the house, so there were corridors left and right of it. Both looked identical, with their dark green walls and mahogany doors, all shut tight.
Adeline turned down the left hand corridor and started along it. She tried the first handle. Locked. Then the second. Also locked. If her calculations were correct, the third door she came to should lead to a room directly below her own. The one from where the knocking sounds had come.
She turned the handle. It opened. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it wider and stepped inside.
Heavy, polished mahogany furniture dominated the room. A red, blue, and gold Chinese silk carpet partially covered the parquet floor, and the double bed was a four poster, elaborately carved and covered with a plain deep brown eiderdown.
Surely, this masculine room must be the one Dr. Quintillus had used.
On the dresser, a glass-domed gold French-style clock ticked. The rhythmical noise soothed her a little. Adeline shivered. The neatly laid fire only needed a match to get it started, but she resisted the temptation. Even though Butters wasn’t around to discover her, she would still prefer to do her explorations and get out without leaving any trace of her presence.
She started opening drawers but became increasingly disappointed. One after the other came up empty.
Even the night-table revealed nothing more than a neatly folded, fine quality gentleman’s handkerchief. Adeline unfolded it and found embroidered initials, EQ, intertwined. Confirmation, surely, that she had the right room.
She opened the wardrobe. Also empty. Stumped, she let her gaze travel around the room, alighting on an anomaly. In the wall, next to the bed, there seemed to be a slight gap that didn’t correspond exactly enough to a seam in the dark green wallpaper. It was a fraction too deeply defined.
Wrath of the Ancients Page 6