Angel Heart

by Marie Laval

  Shivering, she turned back into the bedroom. Heavens, this place was ghastly! She walked to the washstand and dipped her fingers into the warm, fragranced water. She washed her face and her hands, but refrained from undressing and slipping into the black robe which was draped on the back of the armchair.

  She stood in front of the fire in an attempt to dry her dress. The spicy scent of the water in the washstand was becoming overpowering, and the heat of the fire made her lethargic and sleepy. She sat down, closed her eyes and rested her head against the soft cushions of the armchair.

  She had no idea how long she slept. When she woke up, Karloff and Uxeloup were sitting opposite her, conversing in very low voices. She straightened up. The room seemed to move in front of her as if she was at sea.

  Karloff bent over, frowning with concern. He put his hand on her forehead and turned to Malleval. ‘She’s burning with a fever. I think we should let her rest now. I’ll give her something.’

  ‘No, we will proceed as planned,’ Uxeloup retorted sharply.

  Marie-Ange tried to focus her eyes on his face. He looked paler, thinner tonight.

  ‘How dare you keep me against my will? I want you to take me back to St Genis.’ Her voice sounded weak, barely more than a whisper.

  ‘What happens next depends on you, dear Marie-Ange,’ Uxeloup replied. ‘And what you will tell us. Hopefully our conversation will be fruitful, and painless.’

  He nodded to Karloff, who produced a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket. Leaning towards her the physician dangled the chain in a slow, regular movement in front of her face.

  ‘Last time, we were interrupted by the noise of branches rattling on the window,’ he explained. ‘I hope we will be able to reach the desired conclusion tonight.’

  He gazed deep into Marie-Ange’s eyes and started talking with the soothing, monotonous voice she remembered only too well from her nightmares.

  ‘Have you been hearing my voice in your dreams? I have been calling to you every night. I hope it helped you remember the words.’

  The gold pocket watch glistened in the light of the fire, the flames reflecting on its smooth, shiny cover.

  ‘You are tired, Marie-Ange. You are so tired. Your limbs are heavy. You are unable to move. You desperately want to close your eyes and sleep. But you can’t. Not yet. First you must tell us what we want to know, and then you will be able to sleep for as long as you wish.’ Karloff’s voice became soft and caressing. ‘Your reward is to sleep, in a nice, warm bed, safe and secure.’

  His pocket watch rocked with a regular pendulum motion from left to right, catching the light of the flames as it moved. Marie-Ange stared, fascinated by the glittering metal and its regular, rhythmical motion. She yearned for sleep, Karloff was right about that. More than anything else she wanted to lie down, to be safe and warm.

  ‘Remember the words, Marie-Ange. The words of the song your mother taught you. The words her godfather Saint Germain taught her. The secret words.’

  Karloff repeated his instructions several times, until Marie-Ange’s lips opened as if of their own accord and she sang the first verse. There was only one thought in her mind. All she had to do was tell them the words, and then she would be able to rest.

  Ma mie, ma rose de mai

  Ma rose aux cinq pétales,

  Qui dans la tour aux colombes,

  Pleure l’amant dans la tombe….

  ‘This is all very well, but we already know the first verse,’ Uxeloup cut in, impatient.

  ‘Shh!’ Karloff turned towards him. ‘Don’t interrupt again or she might wake up.’

  He kept his voice even and soothing but it was too late. The spell was broken. Just like in her bedroom on Isle Barbe, Marie-Ange managed to snap out of her trance. She had been about to reveal the secret. With the song, Uxeloup and Karloff would find the Cross of Life in the dovecote. Her mind was racing now. Maybe she could change a few of the words whilst pretending to be still under Karloff’s spell.

  She sang the last verses very slowly.

  Listen to me, don’t despair,

  Your lover you’ll see again,

  Place your hand on the rose, give one turn,

  Lower your eyes, and the wing you will find.

  But you must choose wisely,

  For if the wing of the dove

  Is as white as the angel’s

  It will not open your lover’s tomb.

  Exhausted, Marie-Ange reclined against the back of the armchair. She had managed to change what she considered to be the most important words. She had turned the instruction ‘put the rose on the heart and turn five times’ into ‘put your hand on the rose and turn once’. Then, she had said that they had to look down instead of up to find the wing.

  Would the two men notice her subterfuge? And would these little changes make any difference in preventing them from finding the Cross?

  Uxeloup finished scribbling the words on a thick piece of paper, put his quill down, and blew on the sheet to dry the ink.

  ‘There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Karloff whispered, putting his watch back in his pocket. ‘Now you can rest, as promised.’

  He turned towards Uxeloup, a little anxious.

  ‘Will that be all for now? The girl needs to sleep or she will be useless to us for the rest.’

  Uxeloup didn’t answer but came to stand behind her armchair. He leant slightly forward. His fingers touched her hair and played with her golden curls. Suddenly they slid down to her throat and pressed hard. Unable to breathe, she tried to wriggle out of his grip as he pinned her against the back of the armchair.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he instructed coldly. ‘A word of warning, my dear. Never, ever, make a fool of me again. I really didn’t appreciate your escaping from Isle Barbe with Saintclair.’

  He pressed his fingers harder against her neck until her vision dimmed and blurred. ‘As for my good friend, the man is as good as dead,’ he finished.

  He released her suddenly. She gasped and panted, in a desperate attempt to catch her breath.

  ‘You are mad! Mad and dangerous,’ she managed to say.

  Uxeloup chuckled. He walked across the room and opened the door.

  ‘Give her something for the fever and let her sleep, Karloff. We don’t want her to be ill for Beauregard. We will leave as soon as the snow stops.’

  A look of triumph lit up his face. ‘Soon, my father will be proud of me.’ And he went out.

  Karloff got up and pulled Marie-Ange from the chair. She was too weak to walk so he carried her to the bed and laid her down. With one hand he swept her hair away from her face in a gentle gesture.

  ‘I have been trying to get into your mind for days, or rather nights, but you are very strong. Much stronger than I thought. Anyway, I was right. You are the one. You are of the true blood of the Keepers. It was written in your stars and in your mother’s stars that you would find the Cross for us.’

  ‘Did you send me the shadows?’ she whispered.

  ‘Which shadows?’

  ‘The shadows in my dreams. They want to take something from me. They are angry. They want it back…’ Her head was burning. She closed her eyes.

  ‘There are no shadows. You are delirious. I will ask a chambermaid to get you out of these wet clothes, and I shall come back with a draught. You have caught a nasty chill.’

  His footsteps receded and then a key turned in the lock.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Huge ravens shrieked as they circled the grey skies outside the grilled window. The mountains and pine forests clinging to their steep slopes were covered in a thick carpet of snow. All morning Marie-Ange had hoped to see a tall figure riding through the village, but Saintclair hadn’t come. Did he know she had been taken? Did he even care? May be he had second thoughts about helping her out of Malleval’s clutches and decided to put his family’s interests before her.

  Another thought troubled her. What if Uxeloup had already carried out his threat and Saintclai
r was dead? She closed her eyes and conjured up an image of the cuirassier officer, with his bright blue eyes, in turn frosty or smouldering, and the quick smile that so often appeared on the corner of his mouth. Catching her breath, she recalled for the hundredth time the sensual caress of his lips over her mouth, of his hands over her skin, the way she felt the night of the ball, out of control and wanting more. She hated herself for it. What kind of woman longed for a man she had only just met, and who had ideas and values so different from her own? The only man she should be thinking of was her husband.

  She turned towards the bedroom which had become her prison. Three times a day a servant woman brought her food and a tonic Karloff prepared to help her recover from her fever. Now she was better they would probably set off for Beauregard. When Uxeloup realized she had lied about the song, he would be angry. He might even hurt her again. She touched her throat where his tight grip had left painful bruises.

  Karloff came in, silent as always. The man slipped in and out of the room like a ghost. He was dressed for an outing, in a black pelisse lined with brown fur and a hat.

  ‘Would you like to join me for a short walk in the village, my dear? Now that you are no longer ill, I think fresh air would do you good.’ He closed the door behind him. ‘Actually we should go now, while Monsieur Uxeloup is busy in his study.’

  It sounded as if he was anxious to get out without Malleval knowing. Marie-Ange acquiesced, only too glad of the chance to escape the sinister black room. Rochefort waited for them in the hall. With the coat made of some animal skin he wore today, he looked more bear than man. They stepped out into the courtyard and Marie-Ange pointed to Malleval’s coat of arms carved above the door—A + M—and asked Karloff what the letters stood for.

  ‘Ante Mortem. Before Death. It’s the old Malleval motto. Enjoy life before it’s too late,’ Karloff added, muttering to himself. ‘Of course, the motto will take an entirely different meaning soon.’

  Before she could ask him what he meant, he led the way down the narrow street which zigzagged through the village. She was struck once again by the wilderness of the setting. Stone houses were built directly into the rock, their grated windows commanding a view of steep precipices below and dense woods covering the mountains. From the street, Uxeloup’s manor house looked as impregnable as the mountain itself.

  ‘Impressive, is it not?’ Karloff asked. ‘The Mallevals built their castle like a fortress back in the 1640’s.’

  ‘They must have been very successful highwaymen,’ Marie-Ange remarked.

  He shot her an amused glance. ‘I see you know about the family’s infamous past. Well, I suppose it’s no secret, they were indeed a gang of highwaymen who pillaged neighbouring towns, ransomed travellers, and robbed boats and barges as far as the river Rhône.’

  ‘Did they ever get caught?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nobody dared challenge them. Come along and I will show you why.’

  He led her through the streets to a small, square stone house with Malleval’s shield carved above the door. ‘Look up.’ He instructed.

  Four greyish sticks stuck out of the stone wall.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Leg bones. This was the Mallevals’ house before they built the fortress. The bones are rumoured to belong to the sheriff who came to arrest the leader of the gang. The man disappeared that very same day. Shortly afterwards, the Mallevals inserted these bones in the facade of their house as a warning.’

  ‘And nobody else was brave enough to stop them after that?’ Marie-Ange shivered at the thought of the man who had died and been mutilated for doing his duty.

  ‘Nobody was mad enough,’ Karloff corrected. He considered her for a minute.

  ‘You can trust me with your secret, Marie-Ange,’ he said. ‘Sometimes men have to choose the wrong allies in order to win a just cause. I may have joined forces with the Mallevals to find the Cross but my motives are pure.’

  Her heart beat faster. Had he guessed she had misled them about the song? To escape his scrutiny, she walked to a parapet from which there were breathtaking views of a rocky promontory, high up above the village. Right on top a wooden gibbet cast its sinister silhouette.

  ‘Follow me.’

  Karloff set off and stopped a little further along in front of another house, this one with a six-branched star carved above its door.

  ‘This was the family house of Polycarpe de la Rivière, a most saintly man.’ Karloff bowed his head, joined his hands together as if praying, and whispered a few words in a language Marie-Ange didn’t recognise.

  ‘Polycarpe was an outstanding but misunderstood scholar, a true man of God,’ Karloff said when he looked up. He kept his voice low as if he didn’t want Rochefort to overhear.

  ‘I remember that name.’ On her first evening at Beauregard, Uxeloup had shown her a manuscript written in the Templar code. He said it had been in Polycarpe’s possession before his family got hold of it.

  Karloff took a deep breath. ‘Let me tell you about myself and about Polycarpe, then maybe you’ll agree to help me.’

  ‘I belong to an organisation called the Société Angélique,’ he started. ‘It was founded in Venice during the Renaissance, disbanded after accusations of heresy by the Vatican but later reformed in Lyon. Over the centuries, our members have been among the most talented writers and artists in France. Men such as Rabelais or Nicolas Poussin, the painter. And, of course, Polycarpe de la Rivière.’

  ‘What exactly is this Société Angélique?’

  ‘Our sole purpose is to communicate with angels. Thanks to the Cross of Life, this will soon be possible.’

  ‘Really? How?’

  Karloff smiled. ‘The angel will come to us when we find the Cross.’

  She wanted to retort that angels didn’t exist, but asked instead.

  ‘What about Poylcarpe? Why is he important?’

  ‘He was the prior at Sainte Croix en Jarez, a nearby charterhouse, in the 1620s, where he discovered a casket of precious artefacts and scrolls in a cache behind the walls of the cloister. Although he never disclosed the exact content of the papers, he confided to a friend, Sebastien de Grief from the Société Angélique that they were coded documents written by the Knights Templar. He managed to decipher them and found they spoke of the Templars’ most treasured relic—The Cross of Life.’

  Karloff breathed in and carried on. ‘On de Grief’s advice, Polycarpe used the decoded parchments as the basis for his most famous work, ‘Angels and Immortality of the Soul’. However, as soon as it was published the treatise was placed on the list of forbidden books and every copy seized by the Church. Polycarpe himself was demoted and sent to a remote abbey in Provence.’

  ‘What was the book about?’ Marie-Ange was intrigued. Despite shivering with cold in the freezing wind which was now blowing across the village, she had no intention of going back to Malleval’s fortress just yet and wanted to keep Karloff talking.

  ‘It related the story of the Cross of Life the Knights Templar brought back from Palestine after their ultimate defeat at St Jean d’Acre, and its extraordinary powers to confer eternal life and enable contact with celestial beings.’ He sighed. ‘As I said, every single copy of Polycarpe’s book was destroyed, but his correspondence with de Grief, as well as many details about the decoded parchments and the cipher used by the Knight Templars, remained in the Société Angélique’s archives.’

  ‘So what happened to Polycarpe?’

  ‘In 1639, he left his abbey with several faithful servants to take up a new post in Burgundy. He visited his family here in Malleval on the way, but he never arrived in Burgundy. He and his men disappeared in the mountains, together with the casket of precious objects he was taking to his new abbey and the scrolls he carried with him at all times.’ Karloff paused and stared into her eyes. ‘The Malleval clan killed him and stole his gold and his parchments.’

  Marie-Ange gasped. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Firstly,
the family became very wealthy around that time. They built their fortress and gave up some of their criminal activities, no doubt thanks to Polycarpe’s gold and precious artefacts. Secondly, it would explain how they acquired the coded Templar scroll. When Edmond Malleval contacted me at the Société Angélique in the autumn of 1790 he said his family had had it for well over a century.’

  ‘Is that the parchment which is now in the library at Beauregard?’

  Karloff nodded. ‘The very one. Edmond said he had forgotten all about it until he saw Count Saint Germain’s portrait at Beauregard, holding a similar parchment and a beautiful, bejewelled, Cross. It so intrigued him he tried to acquire the painting straight away.’

  ‘My grandmother wrote that he was very angry when her husband Philippe refused to sell him the painting,’ Marie-Ange remarked. ‘So, you were the one who decoded the parchment?’

  Karloff nodded. ‘I found the key to the Knights Templar’s code in the Société Angélique’s archives—each letter of the alphabet is replaced with a section of the Templar Cross. The parchment was the transcription of messages from past Templar Masters about the Cross of Life and its powers. From the moment I handed Edmond the translated document, he became obsessed with obtaining the Cross and cheating death.’

  He paused again. ‘As for me, I knew that at last the relic was within my grasp. Ever since Polycarpe wrote his forbidden book, members of our society have searched for it. I advised Edmond to keep a close watch on Aline Beauregard because I believed she knew where the Cross was hidden. He decided that marrying her was the best way to gain control over her as well as of Beauregard. When we realised she didn’t know anything about the Cross, we turned to Catherine, your mother, with whom Saint Germain had formed a special bond.’

  Marie-Ange stared at the physician coldly. ‘You are responsible for my grandfather’s execution and my grandmother’s suicide, and for my mother’s imprisonment in this god-forsaken place.’ She gestured towards Malleval’s fortress. ‘And now I am here too, at Uxeloup’s mercy, and all that for an old cross and a far-fetched legend.’