Sands of Time. Barbara Erskine

him.’

      ‘Of course not.’

      ‘Ah, I see the source of Venetia’s jealousy.’ Sarah sighed. ‘Was he very persistent?’

      Louisa nodded. ‘He would not take no for an answer –’ Her voice broke. The memories were too powerful, too painful to bear.

      For a moment both women sat without speaking. It was Louisa who broke the silence. She turned to her friend, her face tense with anxiety. ‘Do you believe in magic? High magic, where people can put others under their spell and force them to do things they don’t want to do. To have them in their power.’

      Sarah stared at her. ‘You think Roger Carstairs has put a spell on you?’

      Louisa saw the conflict in the other woman’s face. Disbelief. Amusement. And then finally horror. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It sounds crazy. Such strange things happened in Egypt. Evil things. Even now I don’t know if they were coincidence or –’ Her voice trailed away. She sat silently for a few more minutes, then she turned back to Sarah. ‘If we could be sure he is in America I would like to go back to that museum of his.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘To lay a ghost.’

      Sarah gave a nervous shiver. ‘I am sure we have only to ask Mr Dunglass.’

      ‘And you would come with me?’

      Sarah nodded. ‘Just try and stop me.’

      Their excuse was that Louisa would like to sketch the great feathered head-dress which was the centre of Lord Carstairs’s collection and it was arranged that the two ladies ride over early next day escorted by one of the Douglas’s grooms.

      Before that Louisa had to live through another night.

      Kirsty had removed the torn nightdress without comment and replaced it with a fresh one from Louisa’s trunk. It was lying ready on the bed when at last she came up to her bedroom that night. She had delayed her hosts for hours, begging Sarah to play the piano, asking James to tell stories of his time in India, and again when briefly he was member of parliament for the county. They both looked exhausted when at last they bade their guest goodnight at the top of the main staircase and headed towards their own bedrooms leaving her alone.

      The lamp by her bed was turned low, the water in the ewer already cold. She had told Kirsty not to wait up for her; she could undress herself.

      The windows were closed; the curtains drawn tightly together. Standing quite still she looked around the room, listening intently. There wasn’t a sound.

      The lamplight barely reached the corners of the room. Carefully, holding her breath, she searched every inch; the huge wardrobe, the alcove near the fireplace, the dark shadows behind the cheval glass, under the high bed, behind the curtains. The room was empty. Only then did she turn the key in the door, undress quickly and put on her nightgown then her dressing gown, pulling the sash tightly round her and knotting it securely. Outside, the night was velvet soft beneath the moon. Inside, the room was hot and stuffy and she longed to open the window; to step out onto the balcony. She could feel the perspiration running down between her breasts as she climbed into the bed and sat, her arms around her knees, staring towards the windows she couldn’t see behind their heavy drapes.

      After a while she began to doze.

      She was awakened by a sharp rapping on the window pane. She was hunched up against the pillows, still wearing her dressing gown, the sheets pulled up over her. Remaining quite still she lay staring round, her heart beating very fast, unsure what had awakened her; she had no idea how long she had been asleep.

      There it was again. A sharp knock on the window. Her mouth dry with fear, she sat up and sliding her feet over the edge of the high bed she stood up. Tiptoeing towards the windows she stood immediately behind the curtain, listening intently.

      By the bed the oil lamp flickered slightly and she heard a faint popping noise from the glass chimney. Oh please, let it not be running out of oil. Normally she would have turned it off long since. There was a faint murmur of sound from the window and she tensed. Could it be the slither of a snake? Something seemed to be scraping at the glass near her. Then she heard her name being whispered so quietly it could just have been the sibilance of the wind in the creepers.

      Suddenly unable to stand the terror anymore she turned and flung back the curtains. The balcony was completely empty as the moonlight flooded past her into the room.

      Mr Dunglass was waiting for them once more as they rode into the castle courtyard. He stabled their horses, showed them into the museum and, having confirmed that his master was most certainly still in America, left them with only the minimal of courtesies.

      Sarah looked after him as he strode back across the cobbles.

      ‘He’s not feeling very sociable this morning, it seems.’

      ‘No.’ Louisa clutched her bag of drawing materials tightly to her chest as she looked round. ‘Just as well. I don’t feel very sociable either.’ She swept off her tall hat with its veil and dropped it with her whip onto the chair by the door.

      ‘So, what are we going to do?’ Sarah whispered. Neither woman had moved more than a few steps into the room.

      ‘I don’t know.’ Louisa was staring at the huge headdress. ‘I will have to sketch it. Mr Dunglass will expect to see something, but before I do –’ She was staring towards the back of the room – towards the Egyptian part of the collection.

      The eyes of the mummy stared, huge and blank, in a silence broken only by the sound of the skirt of her riding habit dragging on the stone floor, the tap of her high heels. She stopped by the case containing the snake and looked down at it for several seconds before rapping loudly on the glass. It didn’t move.

      ‘You didn’t think it was real –’ Sarah’s whisper at her side made her jump.

      ‘No. I didn’t think it was real.’

      ‘But you’re afraid of it.’

      ‘He used a snake for his magic, Sarah. In Egypt. It obeyed him. It killed for him.’

      Sarah stared at her, horrified. ‘And there was a snake in your dream?’

      ‘No.’ Louisa felt her face grow hot. ‘But last night, on the terrace, I thought I heard something –’ She paused. ‘I will not be afraid, Sarah. I will not let him bully me. There must be a way of containing him.’

      Sarah shuddered. ‘I don’t like it here. Not now. I’d never have thought of this stuff as evil, not really, not before. But now …’ She was looking over Louisa’s shoulder towards the snake.

      ‘Well, it is evil. Surely you’ve heard his reputation?’

      Sarah looked abashed. ‘I’m afraid I thought it rather daring knowing him. I never believed it all to be true. He has always been so utterly charming I thought that the talk of his interest in the occult must be exaggerated.’

      Louisa pursed her lips. ‘Charm is something that exudes from every pore of the man. But if you look closer, right into his eyes, then –’ She broke off suddenly, staring round.

      Sarah stepped back. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

      ‘He’s here. I can feel him watching us.’ Louisa caught the other woman’s arm.

      ‘Don’t be silly,’ Sarah whispered back. ‘He can’t be.’ She too was staring round the room.

      ‘He is. I can smell the pomade he uses; and that strange smoky scent I smelled in my dream.’ She gave a shuddering sigh suddenly. ‘Can you hear drums?’

      ‘No.’ Sarah shook her head adamantly. ‘No, I can’t. Come on. Let’s get out of here.’ She tried to pull Louisa away but Louisa tore her arm free and put her hands to her head. ‘Drums! I can hear drums!’

      ‘No, you can’t. You’re imagining it.’