Wrath of the Ancients

by Catherine Cavendish

  She didn’t register him immediately. When she did, she gave a little start.

  “Oh, do please forgive me.” Her German was pleasantly accented. “I was miles away then. I was remembering Dr. Trotsky. He used to play chess with Viktor Adler over there,” She pointed to a nearby table. “And once, I’m sure I saw Sigmund Freud eating chocolate cake.” She glanced around at the walls, nicotine stained from many years of heavy smokers and neglect. “Of course, much like the rest of us, this place has seen better days. Still, nothing a strong will and a few million schillings couldn’t put right.” Her eyes sparkled and she smiled—the whole effect taking at least forty years off her age

  Markus returned the smile and spoke in English. “May I introduce myself? I am Markus von Dürnstein.” He extended his hand.

  The woman took it, her smart kid glove soft against his palm. “And I thought I would never return to Vienna, but, as I said on the telephone, your letter meant I had to come. I am Adeline Ogilvy and I believe we have much to discuss.”

  Markus sat down opposite her and smiled as his guest slipped back into near-flawless German to order a mélange and a slice of chocolate cake.

  “Do you speak German in England?” he asked.

  “I haven’t spoken a word since I left Vienna in 1913,” she replied. “But I’ve ordered what I always had when I came here. It all came back to me.”

  “I am happy to speak English. I always need to practice. I have many business interests in your country.”

  “Yes, I saw you in The Sunday Times with our Prime Minister. From your expression, I got the impression you weren’t very keen on him.”

  Markus waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “We are from two different worlds, I think. And I found his accent a little hard to understand. He insisted on smoking that pipe and the tobacco smelled so dreadful my eyes watered. By the time the photographers were allowed to take their pictures, my eyes were stinging and the room was a fog of smoke.”

  Adeline smiled and sipped the coffee that had been placed in front of her.

  “That would explain the forced smile.”

  Markus laughed and stirred his espresso.

  Adeline took a bite of the light cake and Markus a forkful of crumbly apple strudel.

  His companion swallowed and touched her napkin to her lips. “Would you like to tell me exactly what has been going on in your home?”

  Markus laid his fork down. He took a deep breath and recounted every detail he could recall about the horrors of his basement.

  Adeline listened. Her mélange grew cold and was replaced by a hot one. When he had finished, she took a gulp of coffee, perhaps in the hope its strength would fortify her.

  “How is the staff managing?”

  “They are… managing. All except the new girl. She left on the day my housekeeper was attacked. I have managed to erect some boarding, from floor to ceiling, in the hope that will keep whatever it is locked in, but something bangs on it from the other side. So I have instructed my staff to go nowhere near that corridor. The wine cellar is out of bounds and the door to the corridor is kept firmly shut and locked. They don’t talk much about it to me, but I feel we are all waiting for something to happen.”

  “You could simply leave. You do have other properties, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but not in Vienna. I have thought of moving to a hotel until this is all resolved, but I am scared of what it will do if left unchecked. That house has been in my family for over forty years. There are valuable, irreplaceable Klimt paintings. If the house is left empty, thieves might break in and vandalize them…” Markus’s voice faltered. Now he had spoken the words and seen the bemused expression on Adeline’s face, he felt foolish. These were mere possessions.

  Adeline cleared her throat as if trying to remove a stubborn obstruction. “My dear Count, Emeryk Quintillus is evil. He is not a person you can lock up in the normal sense of the word. If the house has been quiet all these years, and the basement rooms I remember have been walled up, then supernatural forces have been at work to contain his evil. I don’t know what those might be, but you have definitely unleashed him through breaking down that wall. I doubt very much that any frail wooden board is going to be strong enough to contain him. I think you know that anyway. In your place, I would shut the house up, buy another one and take your loyal staff with you.”

  “And leave that evil roaming free? Supposing it latches onto someone else?”

  “I don’t think it can. Not unless they are related to Cleopatra.”

  Markus dropped his fork with a clatter on the plate. Several people turned to see what had happened. Then looked back again. “Did you say, ‘related to Cleopatra’? My aunt, by marriage, was supposedly related to Cleopatra. She was the one I told you about who went missing along with her husband. My uncle.”

  “Interesting. I am also related to Cleopatra. At least that’s what Professor Lansdowne at Oxford University said many years ago. That’s why I was chosen for the assignment. It’s what brought me to Vienna.”

  “But you are not, as far as you are aware, related to Irina Feodorovna Ivanova, formerly of St. Petersburg?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but I suppose I might be, somewhere along the line.” Adeline told Markus what Professor Mayer had said regarding why she had been chosen for the job. She also told him about the curious business of Quintillus’s lawyers who seemed to have disappeared and were never traced, despite Miss Sinclair’s best efforts. She had given up in the end, considerably out of pocket.

  “You told me, on the telephone, that the professor instructed you never to return to the house and not even to Vienna. I understand the house, but why the entire city?”

  Adeline shook her head. “I’ve never been sure about that. Maybe he feared that if I was in the same city as Quintillus’s restless spirit, it would somehow sense my presence…”

  She stopped, raised her napkin to cover her mouth, and stared at Markus, who reached forward and touched her hand.

  “Forgive me for stating the obvious,” he said. “But here you are.”

  “I should never have come back here.”

  “But here you are. And we have no choice. We must deal with this. Together.”

  Adeline lowered the napkin. “The servants must leave that house. Can they go and stay in your house in Styria, where your butler is? You shouldn’t stay in that house, either. Not until we know what we are dealing with.”

  Markus considered this for a few moments. It made sense. The servants could do with a well-earned rest after their recent ordeals. If he and Adeline were there every day, it wouldn’t seem as if the place was empty.

  “Very well. I will make the necessary arrangements this afternoon. Styria is very beautiful in late spring.” He smiled.

  “Can you arrange for builders to replace that wall?”

  “Ah, that is more difficult. I’m afraid word spreads fast. So far, no builder within a ten kilometer radius of Vienna is willing to take on the job. They’re keen enough at first but when my housekeeper gives them the address, they suddenly have a big job on and cannot possibly do it for at least six months, probably a year. Maybe more.”

  “Keep trying. Although, by now, it’s probably too late anyway. Thank goodness you didn’t break the door down into the room where the portrait was. At least you don’t have the statue. That was lost in the train wreck near Trieste. When I received your letter I was worried it might have resurfaced, but… What’s the matter? Oh no, don’t tell me…”

  Markus nodded slowly. “My uncle—Irina’s husband—found it lying on the rail track. He knew Irina loved Egyptian artifacts, so he gave it to her. It used to stand on the mantelpiece in the library but it disappeared the same day they did. I’ve always assumed my uncle took it down to the basement, to stand with the portrait.”

  “The very worst thing he could have done. That
would have sealed their fate for sure. The statue, reunited with Cleopatra’s mummy’s dust which Gustav Klimt unwittingly painted into the picture. This is what Quintillus wanted all along. It was in his plans for me. I was supposed to be the reincarnation of his beloved ancient queen, but I escaped his clutches. Then fate brought Irina to him.”

  “And this time he succeeded.”

  “Thanks to the combined power of the statuette and the dust.”

  “But they were walled up. Who would do that?”

  “Someone who hated one or both of them very much indeed and who had the ear of a powerful god.” Adeline told Markus about Arsinoe.

  When she finished, Markus leaned back, his brain awash with impossible thoughts. “If what you’re saying is true, we need to separate the picture and the statuette.”

  “The Professor believed it imperative to return the statuette to the mummy of the real Cleopatra at Taposiris Magna. We were on our way there when the train crashed. I was told Serbian nationalists were responsible for blowing it up, but I have always thought it strange that just before the explosion, I saw a strange glow in the sky, like the one I used to see in your house. I have long come to the conclusion that, where Quintillus is concerned, there are no coincidences.”

  “He caused the train wreck?”

  “Yes, or some power related to this did. Maybe it was Arsinoe, although I can’t think why. It surely couldn’t be Cleopatra, so who does that leave?”

  “That god. Set?”

  “Maybe, but only if his power was invoked somehow. That statuette was very powerful, but there would have to be a reason.”

  Markus stroked his chin. “Such as Quintillus wanting to ensure it returned to him, and because my uncle found it, that wish was always going to be granted. Its power led to him and Irina choosing to buy that house, with its strange resident housekeeper.”

  “Yes, curious that she should be living there.” Adeline folded her napkin. “Did you know her name?”

  “My uncle did tell me.” He searched his mind for the name. “Josefa someone.”

  Adeline’s eyes shot open. “Lederer?”

  “Yes. Did you know her?”

  “You might say that. She was the cook in Quintillus’s day. The last time I saw her body, it was being loaded onto a cart and she was most assuredly dead. Magda shot her. And then Ferenc and Istvan drove her away, only to report she had disappeared a day later.”

  “I suppose we can finally guess what happened to Magda.”

  Adeline nodded. “It wouldn’t take a genius to picture Josefa—or rather, Arsinoe—wreaking her revenge.”

  Markus paid the bill and offered to hail a cab to take them the short distance to the Hotel Sacher where Adeline had already checked in and Markus had now decided to stay.

  “Let’s walk, shall we?” Adeline said. “It’s such good exercise. I try to get out as much as possible, especially when the weather is like this.”

  They stepped out in the spring sunshine. Adeline looked around and smiled. “Despite two world wars and the terrible Allied bombing raids in 1945, not a lot changes in this city.”

  “So much had to be rebuilt. The opera house, the cathedral. There is still much to do.”

  “I know. I saw that film. The Third Man. But the restoration is remarkably close to the original.”

  Markus nodded. He walked beside her, taking care not to hurry her. For a lady of eighty-four, she was remarkably fit and walked without a stick, but he imagined her pace had been considerably quicker when she was first here.

  The smartly uniformed staff of the Hotel Sacher treated Markus with great deference. They all knew who he was and of his reputation for providing generous gratuities. Adeline made her way up to her room to relax in the luxurious surroundings. Markus decided to head for the bar. He needed a stiff drink.

  * * * *

  The house was deathly quiet. Adeline looked around her, a feeling of trepidation building inside her. The hall was much lighter than it had been. White walls gave it a clean, almost clinical feel. The marble floor looked new. Even the old, heavy door to the kitchen and basement had been replaced by one which matched the others that led off into the various rooms. Only the staircase seemed to have been untouched by renovation.

  Markus led the way into the library and Adeline caught her breath at the vivid ceiling.

  “Of course, you will remember it before it deteriorated,” he said. “Perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me whether the restorers have done a good job?”

  Adeline took in the exquisite detail of Cleopatra, her handmaidens and the historic scene. She nodded. “From memory, I would say they have done a job of which the artist would have been proud. This is precisely as I remember it.”

  Markus smiled. “Good. I’m afraid I spent a fortune, but I love this ceiling, so to hear that makes it worth the expense. I can stop having a guilty conscience.”

  “Most assuredly.” Adeline took in the rest of the library. The spiral staircase was still there and the books seemed unchanged from Quintillus’s day.

  “I developed quite a taste for the works of H.G. Wells while I stayed here,” she said. “Do you still have them? Dr. Quintillus had amassed quite a collection.”

  “I should imagine so. I’m no great reader myself, I’m afraid. Neither were either of my uncles who owned this house before me. I should think you would still find the books you read and probably in the place you last put them too.”

  Adeline had moved toward the window and peered at the wood paneled wall to the right of it.

  “Where’s the door?” she asked.

  Markus raised his eyebrows. “Door?”

  Adeline pointed. “There used to be a door there. Quite a small, narrow one. It led down to the basement. There’s another one hidden in the wall of the doctor’s bedroom. They led directly down to corridors which take you to the rooms I told you about.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know about any such thing.”

  Adeline sighed. She peered closer at the wall. No sign there had ever been an entrance there.

  “Shall we go up? I would like to check in Dr. Quintillus’s room. Oh, I’m sorry. It’s your room now.”

  “No matter. Please. Show me the room you mean.”

  Adeline took one step at a time, and remembered how she had dashed up and down this staircase many a time in the fraught weeks she had lived here. Creaky knee joints and a tricky hip weren’t going to allow such progress this time. Finally, slightly breathless, she made it to the top and turned down the corridor, which was no longer dark, but also sported white walls. This owner had a much more modern taste.

  She arrived at the door she needed and hesitated.

  “Allow me.” Markus turned the handle. Adeline’s palms broke into a cold sweat. Inside the room, nothing appeared to remain of its earlier owner. A modern double divan bed had been made up with a bright floral cover and matching curtains. The fireplace was purely decorative, with a large vase of dried flowers in the hearth. A lilac deep-pile fitted carpet caressed her feet and Adeline noticed that Markus had removed his shoes. She did likewise. When she moved, it felt like walking on a soft cloud.

  The wall behind the bed had also been decorated in pale lilac. No sign of the hidden entrance. Adeline moved closer and ran her hands along the surface, failing to find any trace of that entrance she and the Professor had used so many years before.

  “Somebody did a marvelous job of sealing this wall,” she said.

  “That’s another part of the mystery of this house,” Markus said. “The architect has conducted all sorts of tests on the walls. He looked particularly for secret entrances such as the ones you’ve described, but he found nothing, except in the basement when he found the hollow space behind that wall.”

  “Do you use this room at all? It’s very lovely.”

  “My nieces use
it when they come to visit me. I have three, all in their twenties. My sister’s daughters. I love them with all my heart, but I’m very glad they don’t all descend on me at once. One is getting married next year, so I suppose I won’t see so much of her after that.”

  “I never had children myself,” Adeline said. “But your nieces must be a blessing to you.” Adeline suppressed the rush of emotion that always went with any mention of offspring, or family of any kind.

  If she had ever been able to get over those weeks in Vienna maybe she would have found someone else. Someone she could marry and live a normal life with. But the First World War had come along, decimating an entire generation of young men. She was older than most of the young women who never found anyone to marry them and no one ever wandered into her sphere. Her cherished memories of her late husband were all she had to keep her warm at night.

  Adeline carried the burden of everything that had happened to her; a constant feeling that she was, in some way, a freak. How could she ever explain to a future husband all she and the professor had been through? And she could never keep such a thing secret. Besides, the screaming nightmares would warrant an explanation alone.

  Then World War Two came along and, instead of retiring, she threw herself into war work, using her typing and office skills in a variety of worthwhile roles. At the end of the war, she found herself consigned to the life of a pensioner. The past seemed so far away. Now it had returned.

  Adeline was filled with a sudden desire to escape the sunny room.

  “I think perhaps we should go down to the basement,” she said, surprising herself with how steady her voice was. She replaced her shoes.

  Markus led the way.

  * * * *

  The kitchen felt cold. No one around.

  “The cook left for Styria this morning,” Markus said. “My housekeeper has gone to stay with her sister in Linz, and my butler is still away. We are completely alone in this house.”

  “I doubt that,” Adeline said. A sudden chill blew across the back of her neck.