her hand to her mouth. ‘You were both there only yesterday. Oh, my lady!’ She turned to her mistress, distraught. ‘It’s so terrible. I don’t know what his lordship will do when he finds out.’
‘The servants would know, would they not, if he had returned unexpectedly?’ Sarah asked with a thoughtful glance at Louisa.
Kirsty nodded. ‘Oh yes, we’d know. Catriona has a great fondness for his man, Donald, who went with him to America. They are not expected back until next spring. Mr Graham says they are blaming the factor, Mr Dunglass. He left a lamp burning in there and it was knocked over in the night.’
‘How?’ Louisa asked sharply. ‘How was it knocked over? Was there someone there?’
‘I suppose there must have been. I don’t know, Mrs Shelley.’ Kirsty shrugged.
As the girl closed the door behind her Sarah went and sat next to Louisa on the bed. ‘Your revenge at least was real, it seems.’
Louisa nodded. ‘And I escaped, Sarah. But did he?’
5
For the next few days the countryside could talk of nothing but the fire at Carstairs Castle. As far as could be ascertained no one was hurt in the catastrophe; no one had been found amongst the wreckage, but the collection itself, estimated to be worth countless thousands of pounds, had been totally destroyed. Urgent messages were despatched by telegraph and by letter to Lord Carstairs himself, but no one it appeared knew quite where he was. He had left New York in the late spring, travelling west, and no one had heard from him since. Mr Dunglass was interviewed by the police, as were his lordship’s two sons and their tutor. All denied ever having taken a lamp into the museum, never mind lighting it, and Louisa’s hastily drawn sketches were scanned as evidence of what had been there. She pointed out that she could hardly have bothered to paint such an everyday item as a lamp – but then before the police could question her and Lady Douglas further about their visits, news came that Mr Dunglass had packed his bags and fled. His panic confirmed his guilt in many eyes.
Louisa moved back to her original bedroom and continued to paint the gardens and the moors as the storms passed and the good weather returned. Her dreams remained untroubled. She had no nocturnal visitors. But the fear was still there. She had locked the ring and the string of beads away in her jewel case with the topaz brooch and tried not to think about what had happened. Until one morning she received a letter. It was from George Browning, her sons’ tutor. ‘I don’t want to alarm you, but we seem to have had an intruder in the house. A very thorough, I would say almost professional, search has been made of every room. I cannot ascertain that anything is missing – certainly nothing obvious, but I am worried that a particular search was made of your studio and some sketches and paintings may be lost. Also there appears to be something there of which I have no recollection. I have checked with the boys and they do not recognise it either. A small paperweight of what looks like solid gold carved in the shape of a coiled snake was left on the table in your studio. Beneath it was a paper inscribed with hieroglyphics of some sort. The boys feel it is a message from some person you met on your Egyptian travels and are much excited by it. I should reassure you that they have not been in the least alarmed by these occurrences and are indeed very reluctant to return to their grandmother’s care next week …’
Louisa passed the letter to Sarah. ‘I have to go home. Today. He’s back. He’s left me a message.’
Sarah went with her. On Louisa’s urgent instructions George had removed the boys at once back to their grandmother’s house so it was to a depleted household that they made their way from the station in a hansom cab. Louisa’s cook housekeeper, Mrs Laidlaw, and one maid, Sally Anne, were there to greet them.
Louisa went straight to her studio. There on the table as George Browning had said sat the gold serpent. She had last seen it in the museum at Carstairs Castle.
‘Am I never to be rid of him?’ Louisa turned to Sarah in anguish.
They had taken off their hats and coats and settled into chairs in the pretty drawing room overlooking the small garden of Louisa’s terraced London house.
‘Has he taken anything?’
‘I don’t know.’ Louisa was staring round the room. ‘I haven’t noticed anything. There is only one thing he wants.’
‘And is it there?’
Louisa shrugged. Standing up she led the way back into her studio and stood in front of the davenport where she did her correspondence. The studio was very cold; there was a strange smell in there she couldn’t immediately identify – not paint. Not linseed oil, or charcoal. Something sweet and slightly exotic. She shivered. ‘I put it in there. In the secret drawer.’
‘See if it’s there.’
Louisa put her hand out to the polished wood of the desk lid. Then she shook her head. ‘Supposing he’s watching me.’
‘Watching?’ Sarah glanced over her shoulder uneasily. ‘How could he be watching?’
‘How could he do any of the things he does?’ Louisa replied crossly. She moved away from the desk. ‘He has been in this room. How else could the snake have got here? It is a message. A warning. Oh, Sarah what am I to do? Can’t you feel it? There is something here. Someone.’ She picked up the piece of paper with its strange illegible message and stared at it, then with it still in her hand she turned on her heels and swept out of the room with Sarah behind her.
In the drawing room where Mrs Laidlaw had brought them a tray of tea Louisa threw the piece of paper with its scrawled hieroglyphics down onto the table.
‘What does it say? Can you read it?’
Louisa shook her head. Bending over it she ran her finger lightly over the symbols which had been inscribed there, then drew her hand away sharply.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Sarah’s blue eyes were fixed on the paper.
‘Nothing. It felt hot. My imagination.’
Sarah glanced up sharply. ‘Are you sure?’
Louisa shrugged. ‘I’m sure of nothing. I don’t know why he’s left this. He must realise I can’t read it.’
‘He’s just trying to frighten you. Tear it up.’
Louisa shook her head. ‘Supposing it’s important. These symbols. They have power.’
‘Exactly.’ Sarah stood up. She reached for the paper. ‘If you won’t destroy it, I will.’ About to throw it into the fireplace she stopped with a gasp.
The figure in front of them was no more substantial than a wisp of mist but both women saw it. Both shrank back. The paper dropped from Sarah’s hand and she fell back into her chair, white-faced.
‘Dear God!’ Louisa’s whisper was barely audible. ‘The djinn. The evil djinn!’
Already the figure had gone. It had been no more than a shadow.
‘What was that?’ Sarah’s voice shook.
‘Hatsek. The priest of Sekhmet. Two priests follow my ampulla and fight over it.’ Louisa’s voice was dreamlike. ‘Hassan called them djinn. The paper that came with the bottle was inscribed with their names. I don’t read hieroglyphs but I suppose this is what is written here.’ She took a deep shaky breath.
She bent and picked up the piece of paper. ‘You were right. It must be destroyed.’ Without giving herself time for second thoughts she walked across to the fireplace and threw the paper down. Then she reached for the box of Vestas on the mantelpiece. In seconds the paper was a pile of ash.
She gave a deep sigh. ‘I hope that is the last we shall see of him!’ She shuddered.
Sarah gave a shrill laugh. ‘You hope! Louisa. Do you realise what happened just now? We saw a –!’ She paused, at