Sands of Time. Barbara Erskine

games? No! I don’t think so!’ She was suddenly furious at her own fear. ‘So, what are you going to do with me now? You’ve made it clear you see me as ancient and ugly so no doubt my virtue is not in danger.’

      ‘I seem to remember that your virtue is already lost.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘But I would be more inclined, Louisa, to wonder if there is a threat to your life.’ He folded his arms. ‘No one knows where you are. And I am in America.’ He gave a laconic smile. ‘Should you disappear no one would ever find you. No one would even know where to look.’

      She stared at him. His eyes were like clear glass, the pupils pin pricks in the lamplight, the sensuous mouth set in a thin hard line. ‘Are you saying you want to kill me?’ Her brow creased with puzzlement but her fear strangely had eased a little. She felt distanced from him; unreal.

      ‘Your life or death is a matter of indifference to me, Louisa. As it should be to anyone who understands the nature of the soul and its journeyings. The thought of death merely serves as a lever to lesser mortals who value this transitory life.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘I am prepared to bargain. The tears of Isis for a human life.’ He was watching her carefully. ‘The gods of the underworld may not take my bargain so lightly when they weigh your soul in the balance and find it was you who stole the sacred ampulla.’

      ‘I have stolen nothing.’ She managed to straighten her shoulders. ‘The tears of Isis as you call them are safe. As is your ring. So far. You on the other hand appear to be planning robbery with violence. Something which I would have thought would weigh heavy when your turn comes.’ She turned away from him and walking towards the case of Egyptian treasures she lifted the lid and stared down at them. ‘And your threat means little to me, my lord. You forget that if you kill me, you send me to join Hassan. I can think of no greater joy.’ She glanced up at him and it was her turn to smile. ‘You care so little for human life. That makes you fundamentally evil, in my book.’ She turned away again. ‘Take care, my lord, for your soul. I can see demons hovering round you ready to drag you screaming down to hell.’

      He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well done, Mrs Shelley. You are learning fast.’ He stepped towards her and stood for a moment looking down at the artefacts inside the case. Gently he ran his finger over a small statue, a smile on his lips. Then he moved back and carefully closed the lid. ‘Alas, I can’t spend much longer debating this point with you. Where is the ampulla?’

      ‘In London.’ She returned his smile. ‘In safe keeping.’

      ‘We’ll go there. Now.’

      ‘Now?’ She stared at him. ‘I don’t think so. How do you propose to transport us there?’

      ‘The same way we came here.’ His voice was grim. He reached for her wrist, but she jumped back. ‘No. No more. I’m going nowhere with you.’ She grabbed at the lamp base and lifted it high. ‘Stand away from me, or I will throw this in amongst your precious collection. I mean it. Stand right away.’

      His face went white. ‘Be careful! Some of these things are priceless. Please put that down.’

      ‘I don’t think so.’ The lamp was heavy. She wasn’t going to be able to hold it much longer.

      As he lunged towards her with a cry of fury, she half dropped half flung it into the glass topped cabinet. The glass shattered and a stream of burning oil ran between the priceless artefacts in the case. In seconds the more fragile had caught alight and a sheet of flame shot up. She heard Carstairs shout, saw him leap towards the flames, then she turned and ran towards the door.

      It was locked. Dragging at the handle she heard herself beginning to sob as the heat engulfed her and slowly, for the second time that night, all went black.

      ‘Mrs Shelley? Mrs Shelley! I’ve brought your hot water.’

      The voice was persistent, dragging her into wakefulness. ‘Mrs Shelley, it’s late. Lady Douglas was worried.’

      Opening her eyes Louisa stared into the anxious face of the little Scots maid who, having pulled back the curtains, was leaning over her bed.

      ‘Kirsty?’ Her head was thumping, her eyes and throat sore. ‘I’m sorry. I had such a nightmare.’ Somehow she managed to lever herself into a sitting position. She stared round the room. Outside the sky was overcast.

      ‘There is a storm coming.’ Kirsty reached down and picked Louisa’s dressing gown off the floor. ‘Thunder, can you hear it? That’s the nice weather gone for a while.’ She glanced at Louisa’s face. ‘Would you like me to bring you something, Mrs Shelley? You look terrible.’

      Louisa managed a painful smile. ‘I feel terrible. I expect it’s the storm. And the bad dream.’

      She was remembering more and more. Carstairs. His threat to kill her. The fire. She stared down at her hands clutching the sheet. The huge gold ring was still there on the forefinger of her right hand.

      ‘Louisa?’ Sarah’s voice in the doorway made both women look up. Sarah bustled in, took one look at her guest and turned to the maid. ‘Would you bring some coffee please, Kirsty.’

      Kirsty bobbed a small curtsey and disappeared as Sarah pulled herself up onto the bed. ‘Well? How did you sleep? Not well, judging by the look of you.’ She leaned forward and pushed Louisa’s hair back off her flushed face. ‘Did anything happen?’

      ‘Oh yes.’ Louisa gave a grim smile. ‘I dreamed about him. He came here and threatened me … and then …’ She hesitated. ‘We were back in the museum. He said he was going to kill me and I overturned the lamp and set fire to his precious collection.’ She put her face in her hands. ‘Oh, Sarah, it was awful. I can’t tell you how awful.’

      ‘My poor dear.’ Sarah squeezed her hand, then she stood up and walked over to the windows. ‘Look, it’s beginning to rain. I’ll shut the windows for you.’ She paused. ‘How strange. Look at this.’ She was unhooking what looked like a necklace from the wisteria around the door. ‘Is this yours? How pretty. It’s all made of shells and beads.’

      Louisa slid from the bed. Padding barefoot across the floor she took it in her hands, staring down at it. ‘It’s his. He was wearing native American dress.’ She glanced up at Sarah. Her face was white. ‘It’s his, Sarah.’

      The two women looked at one another.

      ‘So, he was here?’

      Louisa bit her lip. ‘He can’t have been.’

      ‘Then it was a dream.’

      Louisa looked up, her eyes huge and frightened. ‘I don’t understand it. I thought it was a dream, but …’ She paused looking at the necklace. ‘He said he had drugged me with laudanum. He could have bribed Kirsty –’

      ‘Rubbish!’

      ‘In my milk. She could have put it in my milk.’

      ‘Absolutely not. She wouldn’t. She is completely loyal.’

      ‘Then it was a dream. All of it. But where did this come from?’

      They stared at each other in silence. Louisa was remembering the brooch. ‘When I see him he is always dressed in strange garb,’ she said at last, thoughtfully. ‘In Egypt too he always affected the dress of the natives. And last night he was dressed in skins and beads.’ She shook her head. ‘Why does he do it? Is it to frighten me?’

      ‘I’ve never seen him wear anything other than formal dress,’ Sarah said. She gave a wry smile. ‘He’s a good-looking man.’

      ‘I suppose he is.’ Louisa’s reply was reluctant. They both glanced at the door as Kirsty came in with the tray of coffee. She set it down on the table then turned to them, her eyes bright. ‘My lady, have you heard? The news is all over the servants’ hall. There was a fire at Carstairs Castle last night. Lord Carstairs’s museum and all the outbuildings and stables were burned out. There were no