near panic. She pulled at Louisa’s arm again, then she turned and ran towards the door. ‘Mr Dunglass, come quickly!’ She pulled at the door handle, but it wouldn’t open. She pulled harder, rattling it desperately but again it wouldn’t turn. ‘Oh, my God!’ She ran to the window but the windows were high up and barred on the outside. Spinning round she ran back to Louisa. ‘Lou, are you all right? Lou, listen to me! It’s all in your head. He’s not here. He’s not. He can’t reach you. He’s in America. It’s your imagination. It has to be! Fight it, Lou!’
Louisa could see him clearly now. He was sitting in a circle of Indian braves. In the centre of the circle a fire burned, lighting the darkness of the prairie night. The men were passing a pipe one to the other, each taking a long slow draw of the aromatic smoke before passing it on to his neighbour. Like them, Roger Carstairs wore buckskin trousers and a loose shirt stitched with beads; his hair was long, swept back from his forehead and held in place by an embroidered band, hung with feathers and beads. His eyes were closed.
Louisa stepped closer to him, feeling the warm prairie soil under her bare feet, smelling the fragrant smoke, the sharp wind across the grass cold on her naked skin. Slowly he opened his eyes and he was looking straight at her.
‘So, I have brought you to me, Mrs Shelley. How convenient.’ He stood up slowly stepping away from the circle into the warm scented darkness beyond the reach of the firelight.
He held out his hand towards her. She stepped back quickly, aware suddenly that she was after all still wearing her green riding habit, the train now securely looped to her waist, out of the way, and her feet, a moment before bare, were encased in her high-heeled riding boots. ‘Don’t you touch me!’ It was only in his dream that she was naked.
He smiled. ‘I won’t touch you. Not here, Mrs Shelley. Not in front of my brothers and – who is that with you?’ He peered past her. ‘Ah, Lady Douglas. My trusty and oh so incurious neighbour. So, you have drawn her into my web with you. No matter.’ He reached towards Louisa and ran his finger lightly down the buttons of her habit. ‘We will meet later, my dear, when we are both alone. You have to admit you will look forward to that as much as I shall. Our love-making was spectacular, was it not?’
‘Louisa! Wake up!’ She realised suddenly that Sarah was shaking her arm. ‘Lou! Can you hear me?’
Louisa blinked. He had gone. There was no sign of him or the Indian braves or the camp fire. She was once again in the high-roofed room in the outbuilding at Carstairs Castle with Sarah.
‘Louisa?’ Sarah seemed near to tears. ‘Please, listen to me!’
‘I’m listening.’ Louisa’s mouth was dry, her head spinning.
‘Oh, thank God! I thought you had gone mad. What happened? You were in some sort of a trance.’
‘I was in America.’ Louisa put her hands to her face. She took a deep shaky breath. ‘I was there, where Carstairs is. Near his camp fire with lots of Indian warriors. He was dressed like them –’ She was trembling violently. ‘But I wasn’t there, was I? I couldn’t have been. It was all a dream. A horrible dream!’ She caught Sarah’s hand. ‘How did he do it? He is using some kind of trance-inducing drugs. Opiates. I don’t know what. But I’m not! How did he make me go there, to him?’
The two women were staring round the room as they spoke. One wall was covered in books, safely encased behind glass, and for the first time Louisa became aware of their titles. Most were accounts of travel to distant lands, but some were about magic; drugs, shamanism, occult studies, in several languages. That was how he had done it. To Lord Carstairs oceans were no barrier. There was nowhere he could not go; nothing he could not do if he so wished.
They were suddenly aware of footsteps outside on the cobbles. Feet ran lightly up the steps to the door and it was flung open. ‘Did I hear someone call?’ A boy stood in the doorway – tall, red-haired, handsome, his eyes transparent grey. Louisa gave a gasp of recognition. This must be one of Lord Carstairs’s sons.
‘Indeed someone did call.’ Sarah pushed in front of her and confronted him indignantly. ‘I couldn’t open the door. It was locked.’
‘Locked?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Indeed no. I opened it just now without any bother, Lady Douglas.’ He gave a gentle apologetic smile. ‘Why would it be locked?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’ Sarah stepped towards him. ‘Would you ask Mr Dunglass to fetch our horses. We have seen enough.’
‘But Mrs Shelley doesn’t want to go yet.’ The boy looked straight at her. ‘Surely she hasn’t had enough time to sketch the head-dress which she came to see. My father told me to come over specially and make sure she had everything she needed.’
‘Your father,’ Sarah drew herself up to her full height, ‘is not here. I fail to see how he could have done any such thing.’
‘I assure you he did, Lady Douglas.’ The boy smiled, and suddenly Louisa could see the likeness to his father and understand, perhaps, Dunglass’s obvious antipathy. The outward charm, the handsome good looks, masked an icy watchful control. This boy was dangerous.
It had taken her several seconds to compose herself enough to speak, but now she stepped forward. ‘You are quite right, young man. I haven’t had time to do all I wanted. Perhaps you would allow us a few more minutes and then we will call Mr Dunglass ourselves.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You are very like your father. He must be very proud of you.’
The boy looked startled, and for the first time they saw a hint of doubt in his eyes. ‘I don’t believe so, Mrs Shelley. He constantly complains of my behaviour and that of my brother.’ He shrugged. ‘It is only when we do small services for him, such as passing on this message, that he recognises our existence.’ He looked so crestfallen for a moment that she felt quite sorry for him, but then the self-confidence returned and once again she saw his father’s arrogance looking out from those young eyes. With a small bow, he turned and retraced his steps across the yard. To Sarah’s relief he left the door open.
‘Give me a few minutes. There is something I want to find,’ Louisa whispered, ‘and I must do a few quick notes which I can work into sketches later, then we’ll go.’ Leaving Sarah standing by the door she ran back into the Egyptian section of the room. There must be something there she could take. Something she could use as a lever against him; something he would really care about. She glanced along the shelves at statuettes and pots, carvings and pieces of broken tile. It had to be something valuable but something that would not immediately be missed. Although Dunglass did not look like the kind of man who knew or cared about what was in his master’s collection beyond the few show pieces he had described for them, that shrewd young boy would not be so easy to fool. She glanced at the glass cases around her. In one there was a selection of jewellery. Gold and enamel necklets and bracelets. Rings. She tried the lid of the case. To her surprise it wasn’t locked. It lifted easily. Reaching in she took a heavy gold ring – small and half hidden by a larger item she doubted if it would be missed by anyone except Carstairs himself. With a grim smile she lowered the lid gently back into place, slipped the ring into the pocket of her habit and turned back towards the door.
4
It was late before Louisa made her way at last to her bedroom that night. Two neighbours of the Douglases had come to dine and entertained them at the piano with a succession of Scots songs before riding home at last under the brilliant moon. Tired and content Louisa let herself into her bedroom. The lamp as before had been trimmed and lit and the soft light fell across the bed where earlier Kirsty had turned down the bedclothes.
Curled up on the pillow was a huge snake.
Louisa’s scream brought the Douglases running, closely followed by several maids, a footman and the housekeeper. Sir James strode into the room, a silver-topped cane raised in his hand. ‘What is the matter? What is it?’ He was staring round enquiringly.
Louisa pointed at the bed. Her heart was