“Yes.”
“I shall stay in Vienna all this week. In fact I shall stay here until we can lay the demons he raised. Now, though, I think we should get out of here.”
Adeline was in no mood to argue.
Back in the doctor’s room, the professor sat on the edge of the bed while Adeline searched under it and in any other place she thought she might have missed. The stench of lilies and the feeling they were being watched spurred her on to complete her task within minutes. She found nothing.
“At least I know I haven’t missed anything here. Wherever Dr. Quintillus secreted that scroll, it certainly wasn’t in this room.”
The professor leaned heavily on his stick. After his ordeal he looked every one of his seventy-plus years.
“Oh, Professor, you have a red mark down the side of your face.”
Professor Mayer touched his face and winced. “Here I presume? That creature certainly gave me a good hiding.”
Adeline nodded, admiring the way Professor Mayer could still attempt levity, even in a situation like this.
He sighed and gave her a wry smile. “It seems in this house the impossible becomes reality a little too frequently.”
“Come on, Professor, let’s go back down to the library. It’s probably those awful lilies, but this room is beginning to overpower me.”
Back in the library, the fire crackled in the hearth, the room smelled pleasantly of polish, and Adeline could hardly believe the transformation that could take place at night when this comfortable place could scare her half out of her wits. Outside, the rain lashed on the windows and the sky hung heavy with storm clouds.
“I’ll ask Magda to bring us some tea.” Adeline tugged the bell-pull. The maid arrived almost immediately. If she saw the professor’s injury she gave no reaction, but he faced away from her, so perhaps she didn’t see. Adeline ordered their tea and the girl left.
“My dear,” the professor said, “please bring that portrait over to me so I can examine it.”
Adeline looked over at the desk. “It’s not there!” She checked underneath. “It’s disappeared. Maybe Magda… But I can’t think why.”
“Are you sure the portrait isn’t there? Maybe I didn’t leave it on the desk. My memory fails me sometimes these days.”
“Oh, no, you definitely left it there. I watched you.”
Magda brought in a tray with their tea.
“Magda,” Adeline said, “did you come in earlier and notice a picture on the desk here?”
“A picture, madam? No. Apart from when you ordered tea, the last time I came in here was when I showed the professor in. I suppose one might have been there then, but I didn’t notice.”
“And Butters has been out since lunchtime?”
“Yes, madam. He and Frau Lederer went off to the Prater together at around eleven.” Magda blushed and put a hand to her mouth, but Adeline wasn’t in the least interested about any extra-curricular affairs the butler and the cook might be conducting. Or the fact Butters had lied to her about being out on important business.
“So you are certain no one else has been in here today. No one but Professor Mayer has called?”
Magda shook her head.
“One more question, if I may. Did you place a bowl of lilies in Dr. Quintillus’s room?”
The maid’s eyes shot open. “No, madam. I never go in there. Mr. Butters told me I am not required to do anything on that floor. All the rooms are shut up.”
Not quite all, Adeline thought. “Have you seen any lilies around in the last few days? Perhaps Butters brought some in.”
Magda shook her head. “Mr. Butters doesn’t like lilies. He told me they remind him of his mother’s funeral. She died when he was very young, you see. He hasn’t been able to stand the smell or even the sight of them ever since.”
Adeline stared at the maid long and hard, searching for any sign the girl was lying, but could find none. Magda didn’t strike her as a good enough actress to carry off any elaborate deception, and Adeline was as sure as she could be of her honesty. Call it a gut feeling. Whatever explanation existed for the missing picture, they could rule out theft by the maid.
After she had gone, Adeline poured tea and handed the professor a cup. It rattled against the saucer in her trembling hands.
“Thank you, my dear. Now sit down and let us examine this rationally.”
Adeline brought her tea and sat in a chair opposite the professor. She gave a little start and pointed to his face. “Professor, the red mark has disappeared. But how could it have gone so quickly?.”
Professor Mayer touched his face. “It doesn’t hurt now and nor does my head. Something is playing with us, trying to make us believe we are losing our reason.” He raised his voice. “It will not succeed.”
“Professor, do you believe that Dr. Quintillus is somewhere in this house, either dead or somehow alive? Did I really see him, or was that an illusion?”
“I truly do not know. I think most of those alternatives are possible, because there are dark forces here. Ancient forces that have been disturbed and are showing their displeasure. I think it most unlikely he is still alive in any sense that we would accept in the natural order of things and I do believe that the painting is possessed in some way. It has the ability to relocate, but I have no idea how. This is not my field of expertise. I am an historian. An Egyptologist. I do my best to debunk any notions of ancient curses and mysticism, but I must confess that, within a few minutes of entering that basement, I began to doubt the convictions I have held for a lifetime. I need to do some research. When I have some news for you, I shall get word to you to meet me. You can go out in the evenings, I presume?”
“I haven’t done so yet, but there is no reason why I couldn’t.”
“Good.”
“Please address anything to me in a sealed envelope. I have an uneasy relationship with the butler and, despite what Magda said, I can’t help but wonder if he is responsible for the lilies in Dr. Quintillus’s room. The man retains his loyalty to his deceased master.”
“I will be sure and do that. I shall even seal the envelope with my own personal wax seal. That way you can be sure he will not tamper with it.”
“Thank you, Professor. I hope I haven’t put you in danger. After what happened today…”
“Don’t worry yourself, my dear. I have taken care of myself for a great many years. I am sure I can continue to do so for a few more yet.”
* * * *
The next morning, when Adeline returned to the library, she gasped. Next to her typewriter lay the picture, exactly where the professor had placed it the previous day. She heard a noise coming from the hall. Butters. She quickly obscured the portrait with some sheets of typing paper. The butler brought in her breakfast, his mouth turned down at the corners. He avoided her gaze. It had become almost a game. Adeline trying to force him to look her in the eyes and Butters steadfast in his determination not to.
“Thank you,” she said. He didn’t reply, turned and left her alone.
Adeline swept the paper away and stared at the portrait. Where did you wander off to yesterday, and how did you get back?
On a sudden impulse, Adeline touched the face. The paint felt oddly grainy under her fingers. Cold, unpleasantly moist. She turned her hand over to stare at her fingers. They seemed coated in a fine gray powder. Dry. Not moist at all. Yet, when she had carried the picture under her arm from the basement, she had been unaware of any residue on her clothes. Trepidation seeped from every pore of her being but she raised her fingers to sniff them. A disgusting odor of mold, decay and the stench of a long dead animal, like a mouse she had found once behind a kitchen cupboard.
She gagged and ran out of the library, leaving the picture exposed on the desk.
She was already washing her hands in the bathroom when she remembered she had left the
portrait right where anyone entering the library would be sure to see it. She raced downstairs again. Relief. Her uneaten breakfast, and the picture were still there.
She opened a drawer in the desk and used the tray cloth to avoid contact with the portrait. She quickly shoved it away and closed the drawer.
When Butters returned five minutes later, he found her finishing a slice of toast.
He laid her day’s work down by her typewriter, without a word, and removed her breakfast tray. She thanked him again. He merely nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Words cannot express here my emotions on beholding the face of my beloved queen. The state of preservation was far better than others I have witnessed, but even though an artist’s imagination would be needed to picture her as she once was, I still felt her beauty and her power over all hearts, both male and female. To know that soon her spirit would greet me was overpowering. I bent to kiss her cold, dry lips, and my heart soared…
Adeline typed the words and marveled at how this academic—normally cold and dry as his beloved’s lips—had suddenly been swept up in a passion to equal that of any romantic novel.
But the next paragraph brought her up sharp.
I saw the glint of gold and there it was. Precisely as the scroll had said it would be. Clutched in her hand. She clung to it in death as she had in life, but finally gave it up to me and I held it in my hands. The statue of Set. It felt cold to my touch and then warmed, as if being revitalized by my life force. So much power in one little statue. The power of life over death. Unseen by Dressler, who was too busy mopping up his sweat, I tucked the statuette in my pocket. It lies there still. Never leaving my person for fear it should fall into the wrong hands…
Adeline stopped typing. That statue. It had to be still here in this house and, if so, maybe it was in Quintillus’s pocket. After all, he had been wearing a long jacket when she had seen him in the basement. Assuming it really was him. She had to tell the professor, but the butler mustn’t know. At lunchtime she would scribble a note and mail it to Professor Mayer at the hotel. If the local Vienna mail was anything like London, he should receive it by later that afternoon or early evening. Tomorrow at the latest.
She resumed her work, excitement mounting inside her.
I had one more task to perform. The wrappings that bound her body were worn away in part and I was able to insert my fingers underneath them. Touching my beloved’s breast, I could swear I felt her heart beat once under my hand. I took out the little bag I had brought with me and scooped up a small handful of fine ash. I poured this carefully into the bag and returned a few times more, making sure I had collected enough for my purpose. Now I had what I needed. I could stay no longer. Every minute could risk exposure of my discovery. Reluctantly, I left her, consoling myself with the knowledge that I was merely leaving her earthly body from another age. I carried her spirit with me. Still resolved that none should set eyes on her, I put my plan in operation. Dressler is a fool. He suspects nothing. How the museum could entrust such a valuable project to such an imbecile defeats me. He will be no loss to the world or to antiquity…
With increasing horror, Adeline typed the cold account of how Dr. Quintillus buried all who had witnessed the greatest discovery of the century and more. Alive. He had shot Dressler as if he had stamped on a troublesome insect. Then he had calmly ridden away, back to Alexandria and the ship that would take him to Italy and thence home to Vienna.
After a hastily eaten lunch, Adeline wrote her quick note to the professor and hurried out to mail it. When she returned, gloom hung over the library. And it didn’t just come from the dreary afternoon. She switched on the electric light and tried to ignore the sense of dread that infected her pores. At her desk, she remembered the portrait sitting in that drawer. She shook her head and concentrated on her typing. The rest of the pages recounted the self-satisfied triumph of a man who had achieved his ambition at the expense of others. It sickened Adeline to the core.
After dinner, Adeline didn’t go immediately to her room as had become her habit. She had finished her book and wanted to choose another, so she made her way up the spiral staircase to the collection of English novels. She became engrossed in searching through the titles when she realized the room was growing darker. She looked up. The lights were still on, but they seemed dimmer somehow. Adeline knew nothing about how electricity worked. Could the lights dim like that? Perhaps the bulbs needed changing.
She shrugged and carried on, searching along the shelves, alighting on Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. She had read it many years earlier and enjoyed it but, on flicking through the pages to remind herself of the story, she decided that a dark mystery was perhaps not the most reassuring for someone in her current position. She reached up to replace the book on the shelves when the lights went out.
Plunged into darkness, Adeline froze. A strange greenish light began as a flickering shadow of a candle flame, reflecting against the bookshelves down below her, behind the desk. Not three feet from where the portrait lay. The light grew, glowing and pulsing. Adeline watched, too terrified to move and unable to see her way.
A crash. Something fell down behind the desk. The eerie light stopped pulsing, brightened, waned and died away. The electric lights came up and grew stronger. Adeline let out her breath and continued to stare over at the desk.
Only when she was as sure as she could be that it was all over, did she dare to descend.
She crept across the room, anxious not to make a sound in case she would disturb anything that might be lying dormant. Behind the desk lay an upturned drawer on the floor. Adeline bent to retrieve it. Empty. No sign of the painting. Adeline prayed she wouldn’t see it on her bedroom wall that night.
She didn’t. But she hardly slept. The long night dragged on. The house stayed silent. No more noises from downstairs. Standing by the window, she watched the sun come up on a cold, pinky-gray dawn and wished she were back in Wimbledon. A wave of homesickness brought tears to her eyes. Maybe she would leave here after all. After all, there were other agencies. But they would want references from Miss Sinclair and, at this moment, Adeline wasn’t at all sure she would get one under such circumstances. Whichever way she looked at it, the same likely outcome presented itself. She would render herself unemployable and where would that leave her? The prospect didn’t bear thinking about. No. She would have to “toughen up and sweat it out” as James used to say whenever faced with some unpleasant prospect.
With a sigh, she turned back into the room and began to prepare herself for another day.
She was dressed and in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, when the footsteps sounded. Light at first, then rapidly building to a crescendo. They thundered closer along the corridor. The locked bathroom door rattled, faster and faster. It stopped. Adeline gripped the sink hard and prayed. Make it go away. Whatever it is, make it go away. Green light flashed through the keyhole. A long, low moan became a whistling wind blowing its foul stench of death through that same keyhole. Adeline backed away to the far wall, holding her nose against the smell. It blew through her hair, infected her clothes.
A wave of anger momentarily took hold of her fear. “Stop this! Go back to hell where you belong!” She did not know where that had come from, only that it was her voice and her emotions.
The green light snapped off, and the howling wind stopped. The lock clicked as if someone had released it on the outside, but she was staring at the unmoving key on the inside. The door swung gently open.
Adeline edged out into the corridor. She looked up and down. Nothing. No sign that anyone had been there. Just her.
She crept back to her bedroom and took a deep breath before she turned the handle. Once inside, her gaze went immediately to the wall above the mantelpiece.
She gasped.
The portrait was back.
Chapter 7
In the Café Central, Professor Mayer mopped the cor
ners of his mouth with his table napkin and leaned forward. Adeline moved in closer so he could keep his voice low.
“Especially after what you’ve now told me, I believe it is imperative we find the late doctor’s scroll as quickly as we can. I also believe it is vital we find that gold statuette. Once we have them, I believe we are in a much stronger position to proceed with undoing the evil that he has unleashed.”
Adeline blinked. “Surely we need to destroy the portrait as well.”
“No, Adeline. That is the very last thing we should do.”
“But I’m sure it’s responsible for so much that’s going on. The woman’s voice, the scratching in the walls and the thumps. That green light I told you about. And the way it keeps moving and turning up on my bedroom wall.”
“It’s not still there?”
Adeline shook her head. “By the time I dared to return to my room, in the evening, it had gone. But every time I go in there, I feel sure I’m going to see it again.”
Professor Mayer clasped Adeline’s hand, which she had unconsciously balled into a fist. “My dear girl, you must calm yourself or you will make yourself ill. Please trust me. We need to return to that cellar—to the room where you saw the body of Dr. Quintillus. We must take more lamps with us and search thoroughly. I’m sure we’ve missed something.”
Adeline’s eyes widened. The mere thought of returning to that awful place filled her with dread. She would rather have run naked around Vienna’s Ringstrasse than go back down there. Even with the professor.
“Professor, I can’t…”
Professor Mayer squeezed her hand. “Yes, you can. And you will. There really isn’t an alternative option.”
She stared at him, trying to think of one. Without success. She had finally admitted to herself that her presence in that house was no mere coincidence. Emeryk Quintillus had targeted her, although for what purpose she hadn’t any idea. Now she must see it through.
She gritted her teeth. “Saturday then.” Today was only Tuesday. “If I can bear to stay that long.”
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