It is a fine night. All around the restless moonlight flits and dances across the walls and ceiling of the library, revealing the spines of ancient leather-bound volumes, the specimens and trophies upon the walls, the heads and antlers with their glass eyes, or else the marble limbs of ancient heroes or gods passively standing guard beneath them - so many items that seem by the motion of flickering light to be almost half alive.
A few minutes more pass until sounds of voices are heard somewhere deep within the building - followed a few moments later by the distinctive sounds of keys turning in heavy locks and of a door easing open, creaking loudly - or so it seems in the deep impenetrable quiet of their surroundings.
Three girls, clad in pale, flowing nightgowns, can be seen scurrying along the passageway towards them. Hardly visible at first, as if they might be ghosts emerging from the gloom, there is something extraordinarily buoyant and accomplished in their movements - all linked together by their hands or by clutching at one another’s clothing, their steps unexpectedly joyful and light and seemingly well familiar with the route they have resolved to take - which is towards one of the tallest of the oriel windows, and where in silence they all stand for a moment just as those who have eyes to see might stand, their heads lifted, watching through the latticework of glass to the nocturnal landscape and the pearl-coloured sky beyond.
‘Is this the place?’ one of them inquires excitedly of the others.
‘Yes,’ another answers. ‘It was Sarah who insisted - she told me so herself before she went away. She said this was the only place she would find it. She said that in the darkness, when the clouds fly across the full moon on a windy night like this, that it would definitely happen, and there would be changes of light - of grey and dark crossing her sight.’
‘Oh, I wish it were true for me,’ one of the others laments. ‘There is nothing different - nothing different at all.’
‘Don’t strain or anything like that,’ the third girl joins in, her voice likewise excited but kindly. ‘That’s the same as I was told - the instructions. You just let it come to you. I am sure I can see something … shadows or something. It’s not just blackness, anyway, I’m certain.’
Herman, with Poppy still pressed to his side, observes in utmost silence, hardly daring to draw breath. He can feel Poppy’s hand gripping his own ever tighter, and hot burning tears run down from her eyes across his cheek.
Still unaware of their presence, the girls continue their vigil: three slender, ethereal graces by the windows, undaunted in their quest to perceive even the faintest of changes to their vanished sight. Sometimes, one will whisper excitedly and point ... indicating nothing in particular, then sigh as her hand drops in disappointment to her side, or to be taken and held by another in consolation. Sometimes a head will droop languidly upon the shoulder of a companion, or the arm embrace the waist or caress the hair of a loving friend. But, in truth, they see nothing: only the wishful longing of their imaginations desperately trying to recall even a fragment of the experience of those days when they had each been blessed with the miracle of sight.
Then, abruptly, one of them appears to shudder - an involuntary movement of her shoulders.
‘What is it?’ another inquires.
‘I don’t know. Something is not right here. I don’t like it. They do say it is haunted, don’t they, this part?’
‘They do. Don’t be frightened, though. We have each other.’
At which, abruptly, without any one of them really having to suggest it, they all three turn and depart, all together, not quite as swiftly as they had arrived, but with a mutual comprehension that the time has come. Still linking hands, still intimately together they flutter almost as if by the motion of wings into the passageway from which they had emerged until soon, vanishing from view, all is silent once more, and Herman and Poppy are alone.
They wait a while to be certain all is safe, before rising and, together, without a word between them, wander over to the same windows to share the magnificent alpine landscape for themselves, the moon illuminating the distant peaks and mountains, casting deep shadows into the black-wooded valleys. And it occurs to Herman that if they two are, indeed, the ‘ghosts’ the young women had sensed a moment earlier, then for his part he would not have minded one bit the sacrifice of being discovered and seen by them now as they stand here, hand in hand, admiring the open world and the future they are now fully resolved to seize for themselves. Then, on feet that almost fly, they make their way down the staircase, back across the bridge and to the welcoming safety of Herman’s own chamber.
Resting by the fireside once again, with candles lit, it is for them both most difficult to let go of the recollections - as if struggling to recover consciousness in the wake of some vivid and disturbing dream. They do not speak at first, but every once in a while she feels the tears welling up inside, and he tries his best to comfort her and to hold her close.
‘Tell me, Poppy,’ he asks, his voice not one of victory in any sense but more a sigh of compassion, ‘will you resolve now to come away with me, to leave this wretched place and consider me at your service?’
‘I know I can now, yes,’ she answers, though vaguely, so lost in her feelings; not caring any more that the very reason for her being here, all that abstinence and prayer, all that self-sacrifice and dedication, is somehow being destroyed as he holds her close; not caring, either, that everything she has been prepared to surrender to Rascham tomorrow she is already beginning to share with him tonight - and thrilling, instead, as she falls back and sighs in pleasure; a thousand tiny chains that bind her breaking apart one by one until finally she is able to let go, to let go completely of every dull phantom and ghost that has ever held her captive.
Chapter 42
At first, he had resisted the temptation to sleep, for he did not wish for one moment to deny himself the pleasure of her dear face, sharing the pillow so close to his own, visible only by the faintest of embers from the hearth fire that kept the room from darkness. But eventually they both drifted away - and deeply too - only to wake together almost at the same time, the moment a shaft of sunlight shone into the window recess and across their bed.
He knows, and she knows it too, that her absence will almost certainly have been noted. Her mentor might already be searching for her. Yet still, neither can bring themselves to part - their hands and lips returning always to deeds of tenderness and joy instead.
What has happened to me? she wonders. It is as if this morning is the first day of my life. Everything is so fresh. I feel surrounded by love, and there is hope - yes, hope. I am going to go home. This is what he said. Somehow I am going to go into the world, escape into the sunshine and live again. It is love that connects us to reality - not all this dust and decay, all this darkness and despondency. Life is good. I have so much to see, so much to do, so much to give.
Yes, it is a joy for them both, but they know they cannot adhere to this state of bliss forever. There is noise outside; the building is already alive and awake - the sounds of voices, of doors opening, of feet on stone and stairway, hurrying to work or study. And it is only now, upon hearing it, that the danger they are both under makes itself real to them.
‘I must go,’ she says, getting dressed quickly, feeling anxious for him as much as for herself over the consequences of her absence. Above all, no one must learn of his part in it - because what they have done is surely a crime of capital proportions - and to this end she is prepared to sacrifice herself entirely, anything necessary if only it might ensure his preservation.
But Herman has other ideas. ‘I wonder, would you just keep yourself here for a bit longer, Poppy?’ he asks, splashing some water over his face at the washstand and getting dressed also. ‘I’d like to see if I can find a way for us to vanish from this place without arousing suspicion. In the meantime, I will leave the key with you, so you can keep the door locked.’
Anxious over how long such a situation could be sustained, she hesitates to
agree. Her excuse to Frau Weiss yesterday of illness would hardly be sufficient to be missing from her studies for so long. Whatever will the woman do if she were to come after her and find her here?
But a moment later, their future course of action is determined for them anyway because a herald can be heard running along the corridors and staterooms and into the courtyard, his voice loud and insistent. Herman, going to the window, eases the old leaded casement open, the better to hear what is being said - though very soon there can be no doubt anyway, for the young man has run to the top of the communications tower and has availed himself of the loud-hailer.
‘Everyone to the main hall immediately. Urgent meeting convened. No exceptions. Hurry, hurry.’
And as the message is repeated again and again, Herman, still urging Poppy to stay behind despite the commandment, and with his jacket pulled over the top of his purple robes - a most bizarre combination - hurries straight down to the main banqueting hall. Here, it is immediately apparent that the elders of the Society really are in the process of marshalling all of the residents together. He has never seen so many gathered like this in the familiar, beautifully panelled room.
At first it seems mostly the young people who are in attendance, including some newcomers, around a dozen in all, along with most of the blue-serge uniformed staff. Gradually, however those familiar faces from the Inner Temple begin to appear, entering via the doorway leading from the bridge, and intimating, therefore, that a hastily arranged conference of some kind would already have taken place within the mountain - a suspicion confirmed straight away when Rascham himself enters, looking most imperious in his silver robes - and at which a distinct uneasiness sweeps through the audience, since the great man himself would normally only deal with small groups in isolation. This morning everyone is included, and it is a disturbing sensation.
Frau Weiss is also present, glancing from person to person with a blend of curiosity and irritation upon her face, clearly searching for her charge. He sincerely hopes Poppy will keep to their agreement to remain hidden in his chambers.
Meanwhile, assisted by one of the staff, Rascham has already climbed the steps to the dais at the end of the hall - a luxurious rug of purple wool, shot through with gold beneath his feet and a cloth of gold, like a canopy of state, hastily suspended above. And it is here, after being seated and adjusting his long robes neatly about himself with inordinate care, that he finally speaks:
‘My people!’ he begins in a strangely exultant, sonorous voice as one or two latecomers, a cook and a cleaner, shuffle in at the back but immediately fall silent. ‘As I once predicted to you, there may come a time when the forces of decadence that govern the outside world will seek to invade our sanctuary. Jealousy and deceit have always been the enemies of our order, and have sought to pluck us from our heights by discovery of our whereabouts. Such an attempt is, I must tell you, imminent. Our holy sanctuary is soon to be defiled by the impious forces of tyranny and oppression. Behold! Your leader who loves you as a father is calling upon you to demonstrate your steadfastness and courage. In the coming hours, it may be that sacrifices will be asked of you. Yet I know you will be willing to respond to those sacrifices, for the eye of heaven is upon you, and that you will perform your duties unflinchingly. Amen.’
A begrudging response of ‘amen’ rumbles around the hall, reminding Herman of the typically vapid conclusion to some kind of school assembly, and then Rascham is assisted to his feet by two of the Inner Temple initiates and escorted out through the doorway by which he had arrived - most likely returning to his quarters within the mountain. As a member of the Inner Temple, Herman is permitted to follow, of course - and this he does, across the bridge and down to where Rascham is already gathering his closest allies about him in the chamber at the end of the sloping passageway - the very place where Herman had first seen him, and where the single beam of light streams in through the mysterious aperture above, exactly as he remembers it from his previous visit.
‘You have heard our announcement to the flock, and realise the implications, yes?’ von Spiegler begins once the men and one woman, Frau Weiss, are settled and gathered around the throne where the master himself is seated, the tone already much more informal, though no less grave. Among them is the doctor, the provost and all the other familiar faces Herman remembers from his initiation ceremony just a few days ago, including the alert but unsmiling countenance of Ernst the librarian. It is at this moment that Herman notices, and Ernst has clearly noticed it too, for his eyes are fixed on it, that an ancient scourge of some kind is tucked into the sash of baron von Spiegler’s waist, like a miniature cat-o-nine-tails. Enthralled and annoyed all at the same time at the sight of it, Ernst it is who breaks the silence first, as if with great effort, turning to Rascham. ‘Is there danger, Master?’ he asks bluntly.
‘I … I think so,’ Rascham replies rather idiotically, his eyes elevated to some blind space just above his forehead, moving rapidly from side to side in nervous confusion.
‘As you know,’ von Spiegler continues, filling the void and the all-too-obvious bewilderment of the great man as to what might actually be taking place, ‘there are rumours circulating from Britain concerning a certain Hubert Peters who, upon his death, left a report disclosing the work of our Society. This has, I understand, been handed to the authorities. This, together with the discovery of our friend Hanno’s body nearby and certain articles upon his person referring to our location here, gives me reason to believe we might be under scrutiny and could, in fact, be apprehended very shortly, perhaps even within hours. Wilhelm, tell me - what is the position with the authorities?’
One of the purple-robed initiates, a bespectacled fellow in a batwing collar and with a meticulously trimmed silver beard, straightens his back with self-importance and replies: ‘Due to my privileged position, I have naturally done my best over the years to sustain our immunity to the interests of the police. In the face of increasing political pressure this has become a greater and greater challenge, and I have on several occasions during the past few days been cautioned as to the imminent deployment of investigative officers - the latest alert coming only this morning, and couched in the strongest of terms. There will be no further warnings. I would suggest, therefore, we take whatever steps necessary at once to conceal our mission from the profane.’
‘Yes. We shall have to do that now,’ von Spiegler responds with a look of immense dejection. ‘The plan we have drawn up - Plan Omega - must come into operation with immediate effect.’
A look of some unease sweeps across the faces of those present - evidently all aware, unlike Herman, of what Plan Omega entails, and it does not look particularly edifying.
‘Immediately?’ Ernst inquires in a voice of some hesitancy, examining the faces of all the others for some support for his obvious misgivings, though none is forthcoming.
‘You heard,’ von Spiegler snaps, his voice curt, his hand resting upon the pommel of the scourge, a gesture appearing to grant him immense self-confidence - while Rascham, summoning his personal attendant to his side, is heard to give instructions to prepare a carriage by which he might depart the castle later on - the track, with the thaw in the weather, being already passable for larger vehicles. ‘Within the hour it must be ready,’ he adds as the man leaves the room.
‘Is there anybody in ignorance of the details?’ von Spiegler asks.
‘Yes, I am,’ Herman replies, a little indignantly, ‘having, as you might recall, only just been honoured by ordination into your circle.’
‘Explain to him, somebody, and quickly,’ Rascham commands - a peculiar, distracted kind of smile playing upon his face, a face becoming flushed and uneasy and yet clearly excited all at the same time.
‘We must keep our mission secret at all costs,’ von Spiegler begins again, though this time awkwardly, turning his agitated eyes to Herman as if trying to justify what has yet to be explained and yet realising there is very little time in which to do it. ‘We of t
he Inner Temple are sworn to secrecy, and due to our various positions of prominence in society, none of us would ever divulge anything of our work here. But the others - the staff, the neophytes and the brides - we cannot rely on them. They will need to be - er - eliminated. This is Plan Omega.’
‘Eliminated?’ Herman echoes. ‘What do you mean exactly?’
But Ernst merely points Herman towards the activities of the doctor who has already unlocked what appears to be an especially secure cabinet and is in the process of laying out a number of polished steel cylinders upon the surface of a nearby table. By way of demonstration, he then opens one, carefully, unscrewing the top and withdrawing from it a thin glass vial. ‘A unique combination of hydrogen cyanide and phosgene gas,’ he proudly announces, his voice tremulous and clearly nervous. ‘A formula I have perfected over the years. The phosgene is an asphyxiant, while the hydrogen cyanide even at a concentration of three-and-a-half-thousand parts per million is sufficient to kill a human being within sixty seconds.’
‘In accordance with Plan Omega, we will gather everyone together once again in the castle hall for an important prayer meeting,’ von Spiegler continues to elaborate. ‘We will then release this and several other vials into what will, in effect, be a sealed chamber. It will be almost instant - painless, you understand. No one will suffer. Once installed, as the good doctor here will do shortly, the whole thing can be activated by remote control, and the substance thereafter will disperse rapidly to the outside, leaving not a trace behind.’
THE HOURS BEFORE: A Story of Mystery and Suspense from the Belle Époque Page 42
