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WHAT I WAS MOST afraid of was seeing Count Saint-Germain again. The last time we met, I’d heard his voice in my mind, and his hand had squeezed my throat although he’d been standing more than a dozen feet away from me. I don’t know exactly what part you are playing, girl, or whether you are of any importance. But I will not have my rules broken.
I could take it for granted that I’d broken some of his rules since then—although it had to be admitted that I didn’t know what they were, which made me feel rather defiant. If no one could be bothered to explain any of these rules to me, or the reasons for them, they couldn’t really be surprised if I didn’t keep them.
But I was also afraid of all kinds of other things. I was secretly convinced that Giordano and Charlotte were right: I was going to make a total mess of pretending to be Penelope Gray, and everyone would realize that there was something wrong about me. For a moment, I couldn’t even remember the name of the place she came from in Derbyshire. Something beginning with B. Or P. Or D. Or …
“Have you learnt the guest list by heart?” Mr. Whitman, next to me, wasn’t exactly helping to calm me down. Why on earth would I learn the guest list by heart? I shook my head. Mr. Whitman responded with a slight sigh.
“I don’t know it by heart either,” said Gideon. He was sitting opposite me in the limousine. “It spoils the fun if you always know in advance who you’ll be meeting.”
I’d have loved to know if he felt as edgy as I did. Were the palms of his hands sweating, was his heart beating as fast as mine? Or had he traveled back to the eighteenth century so often that it was nothing special to him now?
“You’re going to make your lip bleed, biting it like that,” he said.
“I’m feeling … kind of nervous.”
“I can see that. Would it help if I held your hand?”
I shook my head vigorously.
No, it would only make things worse, you idiot! Quite apart from the fact that I’m at a total loss to understand the way you’re treating me now anyway! Not to mention our relationship in general. What’s more, Mr. Whitman is looking at us like some kind of know-it-all squirrel!
I almost groaned aloud. Would I feel any better if I told him any of what I was thinking? I thought about doing just that for a moment, but I didn’t.
At last we arrived outside the church. When Gideon helped me out of the car (in a dress like mine you needed a helping hand, if not two of them, for that maneuver), I noticed that this time he wasn’t wearing a sword. How reckless of him!
Passersby looked at us curiously. In the porch, Mr. Whitman held the church door open for us. “Hurry up, please,” he said. “We don’t want to attract attention.” No, sure, there was nothing likely to attract attention in two black limousines parking in North Audley Street in broad daylight so that men in suits could carry the Lost Ark out of the trunk of one of the cars, over the sidewalk, and into the church. Although from a distance the chest carrying it could have been a small coffin.… The thought gave me goose bumps.
“I hope at least you remembered the pistol,” I whispered to Gideon.
“You have a funny idea of what goes on at a soirée,” he said, in a normal tone of voice, arranging the scarf around my shoulders. “Did anyone check what’s in your bag? We don’t want your mobile ringing in the middle of a musical performance.”
I couldn’t keep from laughing at that idea, because just then my ringtone was a croaking frog. “There won’t be anyone there who could call me except you,” I pointed out.
“And I don’t even know your number. Please may I take a look inside your bag?”
“It’s called a reticule,” I said, shrugging and handing him the little bag.
“Smelling salts, handkerchief, perfume, powder … excellent,” said Gideon. “All just as it should be. Come along.” He gave me the reticule back, took my hand, and led me through the church porch. Mr. Whitman bolted the door again behind us. Gideon forgot to let go of my hand once we were inside the church, which was just as well, because otherwise I’d have panicked at the last moment and run away.
In front of the altar, and under the skeptical gaze of the priest (in all his vestments, ready to conduct a church service), Falk de Villiers and Mr. Marley were taking the chronograph out of the Lost Ar—I mean its chest. Dr. White, striding around to measure the space, said, “Eleven steps to the left from the fourth column and then you can’t miss it.”
“I don’t know whether I can guarantee that the church will be completely empty at six thirty,” the priest said nervously. “The organist likes to stay a little longer, and there are some members of the congregation who stop to talk to me at the door on their way out, and I can’t very well—”
“Don’t worry,” said Falk de Villiers. The chronograph was now standing on the altar. The afternoon sunlight coming through the stained-glass church windows made the jewels set in it look enormous. “We’ll be here, helping you to get rid of your flock.” He looked at us. “Are you two ready?”
Gideon finally let go of my hand. “I’ll go first,” he said. The priest’s jaw dropped when he saw Gideon simply disappear in a whirling eddy of bright, clear light.
“Gwyneth.” As Falk took my hand and inserted my finger into the chronograph, he smiled encouragingly at me. “We’ll meet again in exactly four hours’ time.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” I muttered, and then the needle was going into my flesh, the room filled with red light, and I closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, I staggered slightly, and someone was holding my shoulder to steady me. “It’s all okay,” Gideon whispered in my ear.
You couldn’t see much. Only a single candle lit up the chancel, while the rest of the church lay in eerie darkness.
“Soyez les bienvenus,” said a hoarse voice out of that darkness, and although I’d been expecting it, I jumped. A man’s figure emerged from the shadow of a column, and in the candlelight I recognized the pale face of the count’s friend Rakoczy. He reminded me of a vampire, just as he had at our first meeting; there was no brightness in his black eyes, and in the dim light, they looked like uncanny black holes again.
“Monsieur Rakoczy,” said Gideon in French, bowing politely. “I am glad to see you. You’ve already met my companion.”
