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“Who is ‘the Master’?”
“The Order is headed by a Grand Master. At this period of course it’s the count himself. The Order is still young; the count founded it only thirty-seven years ago. Even later, members of the de Villiers family often held the post of Grand Master.”
Did that mean Count Saint-Germain was a de Villiers? If he was, then why was he called Saint-Germain?
“What about now? Er, I mean in our time. Who’s the Grand Master today?”
“At the moment, my Uncle Falk,” said Gideon. “He took over from your grandfather Lord Montrose.”
“Oh.” My dear, kindly grandfather, Grand Master of the Lodge of Count Saint-Germain! And I’d always thought he was totally under my grandmother’s thumb.
“So what position does Lady Arista hold in the Order?”
“Oh, none. Women can’t be members of the Lodge. The immediate families of the members of the Inner Circle automatically belong to the Outer Circle of initiates, but they don’t have a say in anything.”
That was obvious.
Maybe his way of treating me was natural to all the de Villiers family? A kind of congenital defect leaving them capable of only a contemptuous smile for women? On the other hand, he had been very gentle with Charlotte. And I had to admit that at the moment he was at least behaving himself reasonably well.
“Why do you always call your grandmother Lady Arista, by the way?” he asked. “Why don’t you say Grandma or Granny?”
“I don’t know. We just do,” I said. “So, why can’t women be members of the Lodge?”
o;Thanks!” Gideon made a little bow. “The latest thing from Paris. I ought really to be wearing yellow knee breeches and yellow gloves with this outfit, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“Madame Rossini is furious,” said Mr. George.
“Gideon!” said Mr. de Villiers reproachfully. He had just appeared behind Dr. White.
“Well, Uncle Falk, I ask you! Yellow knee breeches?”
“It’s not as if you were going to meet old school friends who might laugh at you there,” said Mr. de Villiers.
“No,” said Gideon, putting my hat down on a table. “More likely I’ll meet guys wearing embroidered pink breeches who think they look terrific,” he said, shaking his head. At first I’d had to let my eyes adjust to the light. Now I looked curiously around. The room had no windows, as I’d expected, and there was no fireplace either. I couldn’t see a time machine anywhere. Only a table and a few chairs, a chest, a cupboard, and some kind of saying in Latin carved into the stone wall.
Mr. de Villiers gave me a friendly smile. “Blue suits you wonderfully, Gwyneth. And Madame Rossini has done something very elegant to your hair.”
“Er … thank you.”
“We’d better hurry up. I’m dying of heat in these clothes.” Gideon undid his coat so that I could see the sword hanging from his belt.
“Come over here.” Dr. White went up to the table and revealed something that had been wrapped in red velvet. At first glance it looked like a large clock, the kind you might stand on a mantelpiece. “I’ve adjusted all the settings. The window of time available to you two is three hours.”
At a second glance, I realized it wasn’t a clock. It was a strange device made of polished wood and metal with any amount of knobs, flaps, and little wheels. All the surfaces were painted with miniature pictures of the sun, moon, and stars, and inscribed with mysterious signs and patterns. It was curved like a violin case and set with sparkling jewels, great big ones that couldn’t possibly be real.
“Is that the chronograph? It’s so small!”
“It weighs nine pounds,” said Dr. White, sounding as proud as a father telling you the weight of his newborn baby. “And before you ask, yes, the stones are all genuine. This ruby alone is six carats.”
“Gideon will go first,” said Mr. de Villiers. “The password?”
“Qua redit nescitis,” said Gideon.
“Gwyneth?”
“Yes?”
“The password!”
