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“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
