“Seven, to be precise,” said the count. “I was at the court of Margrave Charles of Ansbach at the time. I feel greatly drawn to the German states. The interest shown there in Freemasonry and alchemy is very gratifying. And as I was told many years ago, I shall die in Germany.”
“You’re just changing the subject,” said Lord Brompton. “How can this young man have visited Madame d’Urfé in Paris? Why, seven years ago he must still have been a child himself.”
“You persist in thinking along the wrong lines, my dear sir! Ask Gideon when he had the pleasure of asking for a drop of Madame d’Urfé’s blood.”
Lord Brompton looked inquiringly at Gideon.
“May 1759,” said Gideon.
His lordship uttered a shrill burst of laughter. “But that’s impossible. You can hardly be twenty years old now.”
The count laughed too, but with satisfaction. “So you met her in 1759. She never told me, old mystery-monger that she was.”
“You were in Paris yourself at the time, sir, but I had strict instructions not to cross your path.”
“On account of the continuum, yes, I know.” The count sighed. “Sometimes I am inclined to quarrel with my own rules.… But back to dear Jeanne. Did you have to use force? She wasn’t very cooperative with me.”
“So she told me,” said Gideon. “As well as the way you talked her into handing over the chronograph.”
“Talked her into it! She didn’t even know what a marvel she’d inherited from her grandmother. The poor device was lying around unused, unrecognized, in a dusty chest in an attic. Sooner or later, it would have been entirely forgotten. I rescued it and restored it to its former glory. And thanks to the figures of genius who will enter my Lodge in the future, it is still in working order today. That is little short of a miracle.”
“Madame d’Urfé also thought you were prepared to strangle her, just because she couldn’t remember her great-grandmother’s maiden name and date of birth.”
Strangle her? Yikes! How horrible was that?
“Quite so. Such gaps in our knowledge have cost me far too much time poring over old church records, when I could have put my mind to more important matters. Jeanne is a distinctly vindictive woman. Which makes it all the more remarkable that you persuaded her to cooperate.”
Gideon smiled. “It wasn’t easy. But I obviously struck her as trustworthy. I also danced the gavotte with her, and I listened patiently to her complaints of you.”
“How unjust. When it was I who nudged her in the direction of an exciting love affair with Casanova—and even if he was only after her money, a lot of other women envied her. What’s more, I shared my chronograph with her in a truly fraternal spirit. If it hadn’t been for me…” The count turned to me again, obviously brightening up. “An ungrateful female. I think she never really understood what was happening to her, poor old soul. Moreover, she felt insulted because her gemstone in the Circle of Twelve was only the citrine. Why can you be Emerald and I’m only dull Citrine? No one who takes any pride in herself wears citrines these days!” He chuckled. “She really was a very foolish creature. I wonder how often she traveled back in time in her old age. Maybe she stopped doing it entirely. She was never a greatly skilled time traveler anyway. Sometimes a whole month would pass before she disappeared. I’d say the female blood is considerably more sluggish than ours. Just as the female mind is inferior to the masculine intellect. Would you not agree with me, girl?”
Male chauvinist pig, I was thinking as I kept my eyes cast down, stupid, pompous, boring old chatterbox. Oh, no! Was I crazy? I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of anything!
But obviously the count’s mind-reading skill wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, because he just chuckled again in a self-satisfied way. “Not particularly talkative, is she?” he remarked.
“She’s only shy,” said Gideon. “Timid.”
Intimidated would have been more like it.
“There are no shy women,” announced the count. “The modest way they cast their eyes down merely hides their naivety.”
I was fast coming to the conclusion that there was no need to feel afraid of him. He was only a self-satisfied old git who hated women and liked the sound of his own voice.
“You clearly do not hold a high opinion of the fair sex,” said Lord Brompton.
“Oh, I protest!” replied the count. “I adore women! Really. I just do not believe their intellect is capable of furthering the interests of mankind. That is why there is no place for women in my Lodge.” He favored his lordship with a beaming smile. “And for many men, I assure you, Lord Brompton, that is the crucial argument that causes them to seek membership themselves.”
“Yet the ladies love you! My father never tired of praising your success with the fair sex to the skies. We are told that women have always thrown themselves at your feet, here in London and also in Paris.”
The count fell silent at once, no doubt thinking of his days as a ladies’ man. Then he said, “Oh, it is not particularly difficult to beguile women and subdue them to your will, my dear sir. They’re all the same. If my mind were not on higher things, I would long ago have written a manual for gentlemen, advising them on the right way to handle women.”
I bet he would. I could think of a good title for it straight off. Successful Strangulation, or How to Talk a Woman to Death. I almost giggled. But then I realized that Rakoczy was watching me very intently, and my mood suddenly shifted.
I must be out of my mind! Those black eyes met mine for a second and then I looked down at the mosaic floor before my feet and tried to fight off the sense of panic threatening to overwhelm me. I knew for sure now that it wasn’t the count I had to beware of. But that was far from meaning that I could feel safe.
“This is all most entertaining,” said Lord Brompton. His double chins were quivering with delight. “You and your companions would have made good play actors, I’ll be bound. As my father said, my dear Saint-Germain, you could always come up with surprising stories. But I fear you can’t prove any of them. You haven’t yet performed a single trick for me.”
“Performed a trick!” cried the count. “Oh, my dear sir, what a doubting Thomas you are. I would long ago have lost patience with you had I not been aware of my obligations to your father, God rest his soul. Or had my interest in your money and your influence not been so great.”
Lord Brompton laughed a little uncomfortably. “Well, you are honest, to be sure.”
“Alchemy can’t manage without its patrons.” The count swung around to Rakoczy. “We must show his lordship a few of our tricks. He’s one of those who believe only the evidence of their own eyes. But first I must have a private word with my great-grandson here and write a letter to the future Grand Master of our Lodge.”
“You’re welcome to make use of the study next door,” said his lordship, pointing to a door behind him. “And I look forward with great excitement to a performance.”
“Come along, my boy.” The count took Gideon’s arm. “There are some questions that I must ask you. And some things that you should know.”
“We have only half an hour left,” said Gideon, looking at the pocket watch fastened to his waistcoat with a gold chain. “By then, at the latest, we must set off back to the Temple.”
“Half an hour will be quite sufficient,” said the count. “I write fast, and I can talk at the same time.”
Gideon laughed briefly. He actually seemed to think the count witty, and he had obviously forgotten that I was still there too.
I cleared my throat. Halfway to the door, he turned to look at me and raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
I answered his question just as silently, because I could hardly say it out loud. For goodness’ sake don’t leave me alone with these weirdos.
Gideon hesitated.
“She would only be in the way,” said the count.
“Wait for me here,” said Gideon, in an unexpectedly gentle tone of voice.
“His lordship and Miro will keep her company,” said the count. “Gentlemen, you could ask her a few questions about the future. This is a unique opportunity. She comes from the twenty-first century—ask her about the automatic trains that race along underground in London. Or the silver flying machines that rise miles up in the air with a sound like the roar of a thousand lions and can cross the sea.”
Lord Brompton laughed so much that I felt seriously worried about his chair. All his rolls of fat were quivering. “Anything else?”
No way did I want to be left alone with him and Rakoczy. But Gideon just smiled, although I gave him a pleading glance.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
Today Black Tourmaline, Paul de Villiers, came from the year 1992, as agreed, to elapse in the documents room here. But this time he was accompanied by a red-haired girl who gave her name as Lucy Montrose, saying that she was the granddaughter of our adept Lucas Montrose. She bore, in every respect, an unfortunate similarity to Arista Bishop (Jade line, observation number 4).
We took them both to Lucas’s office. It is now clear to us all that Lucas is presumably going to propose marriage to Arista and not, as we had hoped would be the case, to Claudine Seymour. (Although it has to be admitted that Arista has better legs, and a really good backhand at tennis.)
How very strange for a man to be visited by his grandchild before he has any children of his own.
FROM THE ANNALS OF THE GUARDIANS
12 JUNE 1948
REPORT: KENNETH DE VILLIERS, INNER CIRCLE
TWELVE
AS THE DOOR CLOSED behind Gideon and the count, I stepped back.
“Do, pray, be seated,” said Lord Brompton, indicating one of the delicate chairs. Rakoczy’s lips twisted. Was that meant to be a smile? If so, he needed to give it more practice in front of the mirror.
“No, thank you. I’d rather stand.” Another step back, until I almost collided with a naked stone Cupid standing on a plinth to the right of the doorway. The more distance I could put between myself and those black eyes, the safer I felt.
“And you really claim to come from the twenty-first century?”
There was no claiming about it. But I nodded.
Lord Brompton rubbed his hands. “Well, then—what king rules England in the twenty-first century?”
“We have a prime minister who does the actual ruling,” I said, faltering slightly. “The Queen just looks after the big state occasions.”
“Queen?”
“Queen Elizabeth II. She’s lovely. She came to our multiethnic schools party last year. We sang the national anthem in seven different languages and Gordon Gelderman got her autograph in his English textbook and sold it for eighty pounds on eBay. But, er, of course that won’t mean anything much to you. So anyway, we have a prime minister and a cabinet, and everyone eighteen and over in the country votes for members of Parliament.”
Lord Brompton laughed appreciatively. “What a quaint idea, don’t you think, Rakoczy? Our friend the count invents the most amusing stories. And how do matters stand with France in the twenty-first century?”