box which he deftly handed to Seefan before withdrawing, closing and locking the door behind him.
‘What’s that?’ Sarah asked, intrigued.
Carefully Seefan cut the seals then opened the lid to reveal a pure white gown of silk inlaid with seed pearls, trimmed with lace.
Sarah drew back, appalled, as Seefan lifted the gown out of the box, purring softly as she touched the exquisite fabric. ‘Oh, so beautiful. Sarah, feel how soft is the silk. He would have you wear this tonight.’
‘Over my dead body!’ Sarah reacted more in fear than anger. ‘Do you know what that is, Seefan? It’s a wedding gown. God in heaven!’ she gasped. ‘Seefan, you must go to him, explain that I …’
‘Words are of no matter now. He has decided that you are to be the one. You must now make whatever peace you can within yourself and accept your fate. It is the will of the gods.’ Seefan’s words cut like shattered glass. She stood and turned to face Sarah straight on. ‘You will bathe now, wash your hair and scent your body as I will prescribe, then you shall wear this gown like a queen and go to him of your own free will. If you do not, then you will be brought to him by force, like an animal.’
‘You knew all along, didn’t you?’ Sarah hissed, her hands clenched tight in anger.
‘Only of the possibility,’ Seefan replied casually. ‘You will make for this man a fine son and heir to all you see. This child you shall bear him will know unlimited power and wealth. From your womb will come a new generation, to his lasting joy.’
‘You’re crazy if you think I won’t put up a fight!’
Seefan smiled, tilting her head to the side. ‘Would you have Doctor Laird suffer?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Unless you do exactly as I ask, then I will go to him and tell him of what I saw between you and Doctor Laird in the library. He will not be pleased by such news.’ She smiled evenly. ‘If you choose to resist him, you can but try. He would relish such a challenge. But be warned, you will lose and then he will extract a terrible vengeance.’
‘I thought you were my friend.’
‘I am, though right now I may not seem so,’ Seefan acknowledged. ‘Come, there is little time and much to do.’
*****
An hour later Sarah stood before the full-length mirror and stared back at her reflection. The beauty she saw there offered her no hope, nor was there pleasure in it. She was dressed as if she was about to be sacrificed, and she knew it.
‘He has sent these for you to wear with this gown,’ Seefan whispered in awe as she held up a string of pearls. Sarah barely moved as Seefan raised the necklace over her head before drawing the ends together, locking them in place, allowing the pearls to fall, snow-white, of even size and priceless.
‘Tears of the sea,’ Sarah whispered, before turning away from the mirror and towards the door.
*****
‘How long has it been?’ Develin asked as he dropped the remains of a handmade unfiltered Turkish cigarette into the fireplace.
Carl shrugged. ‘Just over an hour, I would guess. He’s been missing at least that long.’ He chuckled. ‘A pity really - such a good doctor, such a poor judge of firearms.’
Laird had taken a pistol from Develin’s private collection; a handsome piece with a pearl handle, right out of the American West. Unfortunately, the bullets were wrong. Even Develin was unsure if the gun would merely refuse to fire or explode in Laird’s hand. It was all academic in any case, since it was very likely that Laird would suffocate in the airless recess he had unwisely chosen. Develin knew from personal experience as a child when his nurse had hauled him out just in time. Unknown to Laird, the internal mechanism had been disabled, effectively locking him in once the heavy door closed.
‘She’ll be here soon. Do you want your injection now?’
Develin sighed and began to roll up the sleeve of his left arm. ‘Yes, now would be fine.’ He leaned back and drifted for a moment as the syringe bit into a vein.
Carl carefully pulled his sleeve back into place then moved away, concerned.
‘Stop fussing, Carl.’
‘You don’t sleep enough. You rest, but you don’t sleep,’ Carl intoned with finality.
‘Plenty of time for that in my tomb,’ Develin replied evenly. ‘Tonight I shall sleep between the thighs of a beautiful young ...’ he smiled sardonically, ‘woman.’
‘You will find no rest there.’
‘Perhaps not; we shall see.’ Develin rose slowly from his chair as he heard footsteps in the hallway.
Carl’s young protégé, whose name was Brett as Sarah had discovered, was too nervous and unsure to take her arm as she began her descent of the stairs.
‘How old are you, Brett?’ Sarah asked.
‘Twenty-three, Miss.’
‘And you have been in Mr. Develin’s employ for …?’
‘I was born here, Miss. My dad is the gardener and Mum, she helps with the laundry sometimes.’
‘Do you know where you are taking me, and why?’ Sarah paused halfway down the stairs.
‘That is Mr. Develin’s business, Miss, and if you don’t mind me saying so, it’s best left as his business. It’s not for the likes of me to ask too many questions.’
Seefan drew level with Sarah. ‘It is now just past seven. We are late,’ she whispered in annoyance. ‘Mr. Develin is waiting in the Amber Room. We must hurry.’
‘Not in the library?’ Sarah asked, suddenly alarmed.
‘No,’ Seefan replied, ‘it is the Amber Room which he favours.’
It was easy to see why. Designed for intimacy of scale, the Amber Room was a fraction of the size of the library. In the middle of the long wall stood a huge stone fireplace capable of warming the room quickly and keeping it that way throughout the winter months. The fire was kept burning day and night, and woe betide the parlor maid who failed to see to its care. Over the fireplace hung a magnificent oil painting of a woman dressed in an elaborate costume reminiscent of the turn of the century. The room was furnished with priceless antiques and curios, the sofas and chairs covered in honey-colored velvet, while the floor was carpeted, then overlaid with Oriental rugs in shades of amber. The furniture was solid walnut. A windowless interior chamber, positioned at the center of the house, it was the first of five rooms that together formed the ground floor of the west wing and Richard Develin’s private apartments.
Brett positioned Sarah at the center of the doorway, but before he could knock, Carl opened the door then stepped back to allow Sarah to enter. She hesitated. Straight ahead of her, perhaps fifteen feet away, stood Develin, casually dressed in a loose-fitting velvet jacket in a deep, rich garnet color, dark gray pants, a white shirt open at the neck. A cravat in a shade somewhat lighter than his jacket served to formalize his appearance slightly. The cold blue eyes regarded her fully, taking in every inch of her within seconds.
‘Come in, Miss Churchill,’ he asked, or was it an order? ‘Leave us for a while, Carl. I will call you if I need you.’
Carl nodded then slipped behind Sarah with barely enough room to close the door behind him.
Develin turned towards a set of sofas at right angles to the fireplace, sat down on the one facing Sarah and motioned for her to join him.