Susan’s revelation about her maturity gave Charles good cause for feeling both miserable and apprehensive. The Duke of Kew was his mother’s fifth husband, and he had learnt from Harriet that, apart from her life-long affair with Roger his mother had taken many other lovers during the long periods Roger had been out of England. So, with his passionate half-gipsy blood on one side and that from the Merry Monarch on the other, he had accepted it as natural that his thoughts turned frequently to satisfying his amorous inclinations.
That auburn-haired Susan shared his disquieting cravings had never occurred to him. But thinking it over, he recalled what pretty Harriet had told him about Roger and his mother. She had a gift for painting and owned a studio out on the hill above Kensington village; but she used it also as a petite maison in which to spend nights of love-making with Roger. Both of them trusted Harriet and never bothered to stop talking when she was within earshot. Several times she had heard snatches of conversation when Roger was gaily describing affairs he had had while on the Continent. Harriet had concluded from this that he was ‘the very devil with the women’. Should that be so, it could well account for his daughter Susan also being hot-blooded.
It was now clear to Charles beyond all doubt that he and Susan shared the same outlook about uninhibited immorality; but, while he had never questioned his own inclinations, he found it hard to reconcile himself to her giving free rein to hers. Even so, since she refused to marry him for at least a year, or become his mistress, he saw that he had no option but to accept her declaration that ‘what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander’. No other course being open to him, he decided that he could only pray that she would not, after all, allow one of her beaux to seduce her; and, hard as it might be, do his utmost to put such a possibility out of his mind by keeping it occupied with his own diversions.
He had not lied to her when he had declared that he had not become temporarily bewitched by some other woman, and that it was a meeting of the re-created Hell Fire Club to which he was going that night.
For several generations past the occult had provided one of the principal interests of a large part of high society, in all the capitals of Europe. Such men as the Comte de St. German—who asserted that he possessed the secret of the Elixir of Life—Cagliostro and Casanova, had all intrigued many royalties and wealthy members of the nobility by holding seances and performing mystical rites. Where trickery ended and the application of unrecognised scientific laws began, no-one could say but, shortly before the French Revolution, Dr. Anton Mesmer had undoubtedly effected many cures by means of his magic tub.
In the previous October Charles had been in London for a week, to be measured and fitted by his tailor for some new clothes. It was then that a friend of his had introduced him at the revived Hell Fire Club. On that first visit he had been allowed only to witness the opening of a fascinating occult ceremony, and had his fortune told by a lovely woman who played the rôle of High Priestess.
Having then eagerly expressed his wish to be made a member, in mid-November he had thought of an excuse to go again to London, and had been duly initiated, the ceremony ending by his possessing the beautiful priestess-witch.
His lovely initiator then told him that he was now entitled to attend any of the meetings which were held once a week, and that there were five when attendance was obligatory: New Year’s Eve, Lammas in February, May Day’s Eve, Beltane in August and All Hallow’s Eve. Failure to be present, unless a valid excuse could be given, meant expulsion from the club.
Charles had replied that he might have to remain in the country until after Christmas, but he would greatly look forward to New Year’s Eve. He had not known then that his mother intended to give a ball that night. Her first mention of it, a few days later, had greatly perturbed him; but the knowledge that he would be debarred from the club for good if he did not attend the New Year ceremony had determined him to do so, even at the cost of upsetting Susan.
In consequence, at the ball he booked no dances for after midnight and, having drunk the usual toasts, slipped away unobserved to collect his cloak, then left the house by the back door which gave on to a mews.
It had been raining hard, but now the rain had lessened to a drizzle. He had his own coach, which his mother had given him as a seventeenth birthday present, and earlier in the day he had ordered it to be waiting for him in Bruton Street. It was standing near the mews entrance, and some thirty feet beyond it stood another coach with a man and woman nearby.
By the light of the flambeaux in the sconces fixed to the railings on either side of the front door of the house opposite, Charles saw the man hand the woman into the coach. As he did so the light glinted on the auburn ringlets that dangled from beneath a scarf his companion was wearing over her head. Instantly Charles realised that she was Susan.
Running forward, he pushed aside the man, thrust his head into the coach and cried, ‘Susan, what is the meaning of this?’
She started back, then replied quickly, ‘Captain Hawksbury is taking me on to another party for an hour or two.’
‘He’ll do no such thing!’ retorted Charles hotly. ‘You know well enough that you are not allowed out unaccompanied by a chaperone.’
‘I am of an age to please myself,’ Susan snapped back. ‘And I will go escorted by whom I choose.’
Captain Hawksbury was a notorious roué, and Charles had disliked Susan’s welcoming his attentions in London the previous summer; but at that time it had not even entered his head that she might possibly allow him to seduce her. Now, since their conversation of that morning, he was seized with sudden apprehension that she might. Fear for her, mingled with furious jealousy, welled up in him, and his voice became sharp with anger.
‘’Tis unthinkable that you should go off alone with a man in the middle of the night. I’ll not allow it!’
The Captain was a well-built man, and half a head taller than Charles, who had not yet grown to his full height. Laying a hand on Charles’s shoulder, he said in a quiet, amused voice, ‘Pray calm yourself, my young lord. Miss Brook has done me the honour to agree to accompany me to a pleasant party, where I will take good care of her. ’Tis no business of yours where she goes.’
‘By God, it is!’ thundered Charles. ‘And I’ll not let her. She shall return with me to the house this instant.’
As he spoke, he put one foot on the step of the coach and stretched out a hand to grab Susan’s arm. Hawksbury’s voice suddenly changed to an angry rasp.
‘Damn you, boy! I’ll not brook your interference.’ His hand tightened on Charles’s shoulder, and he gave a shove that had all a strong man’s strength behind it. Charles, having one foot on the coach step, overbalanced and fell full length into the gutter, which was full of muddy water from the recent downpour.
Livid with rage he shouted at Hawksbury, ‘By God, you shall pay for this! I’ll call you out and see the colour of your blood!’
Hawksbury gave a bellow of laughter, ‘What? Fight a duel with a stripling like you? Is it likely? You’d be lucky if you got away with a swordthrust through the arm. Aye, and within the first minute of the encounter.’ Turning contemptuously away, he got into the coach and slammed the door behind him.
As Charles picked himself up, he cried, ‘Don’t be so certain! Age and height count for little in a duel, and I was taught to use a rapier by no less a champion than Miss Brook’s father. I vow I’ll prove your equal, if not your better.’
Thrusting his head through the open window of the coach, Hawksbury flung at Charles the taunt, ‘Then, being so fine a swordsman, my little cockscomb, why do you skulk here in England? Have you not heard that we are at war with that brigand, Bonaparte? Get you to the Peninsula and slay a few frog-eaters. Do that, and I’ll meet you in a duel, but not before.’
Leaving Charles seething with impotent fury, the coach drove off.
Having fallen in the gutter, Charles’s white satin breeches and silk stockings were soaking wet and smeared with mud. It was impossible for him to present himself at the club in that condition. For a few minutes his mind was so filled with anxiety about Susan that he no longer felt any inclination to go there. But to return to the ball, where he would have to pretend to be gay and carefree, was out of the question. The only other alternative was to go up to his room and sit there, brooding miserably. It then crossed his mind that if he did not go to the club, he would forfeit his membership. Moreover, there he would at least find distraction that for the next few hours would divert his mind from tormenting apprehensions about what Susan might be letting Hawksbury do to her.
Turning, he hurried into the house, ran up the back stairs to his room and quickly changed his clothes. Ten minutes later he left again, got into his coach, put on a mask that hid the upper part of his face and told his coachman to drive him to an address in Islington.
At that date Islington was a fashionable suburb and many of the quality had fine houses there. A little before one o’clock Charles’s coach set him down in front of one in a handsome terrace. Further along it several other coaches that had brought members to the club were standing. Telling his man to join them and wait for him, Charles ran up the steps of the house and gave a tug at the iron bell pull.
The bell was still clanging when a grille in the front door was opened and a pair of eyes peered out at him. From a pocket in his long waistcoat Charles produced the symbol of his membership. It was a brooch having a stone known as a ‘cat’s eye’. He held it up so that the person behind the grille could see it. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. The liveried footman who had let him in closed the door behind him and bowed him towards a room on the right of the pillared hall. On entering it he took off his blue satin tail coat, his waistcoat and breeches and hung them on pegs among a row holding a number of similar garments. Then, from another row of pegs he took one of several grey robes with hoods, such as are worn by monks, and put it on. Having tied the cord round his waist, he pinned the cat’s eye brooch over his heart.
He was now garbed in the traditional costume worn by the members of the original Hell Fire Club, which had been founded some fifty years earlier by Sir Francis Dashwood, Chancellor of the Exchequer and, later, Lord le Despenser.
Dashwood had founded the Order of St. Francis of Wycombe, the inner circle of which included the Earl of Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, Thomas Potter, Paymaster General, and other distinguished men who, together with Dashwood himself, formed a coven of thirteen. There were also associate members to this society of rakes, among them Lord Holland, the Earls of Oxford and Westmoreland, the Marquis of Granby, the Duke of Kingston and the notorious John Wilkes.
The meetings of these gentry were held in the Abbey on Medmenham Island in the Thames, and consisted of blasphemous rituals followed by orgies. In order the better to parody their mockery of Christian rites, the men all wore the robes of monks and the women they brought with them from London—the majority of whom were among the most beautiful demi-mondaines of the day, but also some society women who concealed their identities with masks—wore the costume of nuns.
Leaving the cloakroom, Charles went up a staircase in the middle of the hall, leading to a large salon on the first floor. Some thirty to forty ladies and gentlemen were assembled there, enjoying a buffet supper, some standing at a long table carrying an excellent cold collation, others sitting at small tables to which they had carried plates and glasses.
All the men except one were clad similarly to Charles, in grey monks’ robes with hoods that hid the colour of their hair, and were masked. The exception was a tall, gaunt, hook-nosed, elderly man known as the Abbot. He wore a mitre on his head, in the centre of which there was a large cat’s eye, a robe of mauve silk and, dangling from his neck on a gold chain, there was, instead of a crucifix, a diamond-studded crux ansata, the Egyptian symbol of immortality.
Beside him at the top of the stairs, receiving the guests, stood the Abbess, whose name was Katie O’Brien; a woman who, both in face and figure, had a loveliness that would have drawn the eyes of many men in a large gathering immediately towards her.
In striking contrast to the angelic beauty of the Abbess, the features of the tall Abbot were of a special ugliness that might have been designed in hell. His great hooked nose above a receding chin gave the impression of a bird of prey, the high cheekbones of his thin face were pitted with the scars of smallpox and his hooded eyes seemed to gleam with evil. His mouth was loose, his teeth uneven and yellow. His hypnotic glance radiated strength and power; and Charles, having on the night of his initiation seen this Priest of Satan avidly possess several women one after another, knew that his lust was insatiable.
It could be only this last characteristic, Charles decided, that made these lecherous women give themselves to the hideous Abbot so eagerly. It then occurred to him how fortunate he was to be a man, so had been initiated by the beautiful witch; whereas the women members had all had to submit to being initiated by the Abbot and, however licentious by nature, must have felt an almost overwhelming horror at having, for the first time, to give themselves to this repulsive representative of the dark powers.
The women were also masked but wore the black gowns of nuns, and white, banded coifs across their foreheads, from which black weeds concealed their hair and the sides of their faces.
In their case there were three exceptions. Two were clad in the white costumes of novices and, in addition to masks, wore veils that entirely obscured their features. The third was the Abbess, who was wearing a mauve silk robe and, on her bosom, a huge cat’s eye, surrounded by emeralds. She was Irish and had achieved a considerable reputation in occult circles in Dublin for her prophetic gifts. A few years earlier she had come to London armed with introductions from several of the Irish nobility to friends in England also interested in the occult. Some while after Lord le Despenser’s death, the original Hell Fire Club had disintegrated, but memories of it had lingered on, and she had had the clever idea of resurrecting it as a means of attracting wealthy patrons.
She was a tall woman and, alone among the ladies, wore no mask. Her face was very pale and, although she was in her early forties, not a wrinkle marred the perfection of her magnolia skin. Two features made her strikingly beautiful: a very full-lipped mouth, which she painted scarlet, and a pair of magnificent dark-blue eyes, such as are rarely seen outside Ireland. Above them black eyebrows curved down to meet across the bridge of a Roman nose, giving her an imperious expression.
Some of the members of the club were old acquaintances, and did not seek to hide their identities from one another, while others preferred to remain incognito; but the Abbess could have put a name to any of them, and at once recognised Charles.
From the beginning she had been particular about whom she admitted to her Order and she had accepted Charles, in spite of his youth, only because he had special qualifications. Not only was he an Earl with a fine town mansion and White Knights Park, a great property in Northamptonshire, but she had special designs concerning his future. Since she had personally initiated him the previous November, she had not seen him and, for the past quarter of an hour, had feared he did not mean to come that night.
Moving forward to meet him, she gave him a charming smile, extended her left hand for him to kiss and said in a husky voice with a slight Irish lilt:
‘It is late you come, little Brother, but are nonetheless welcome.’
As he took her hand, his own trembled slightly from the memory of the pleasure she had afforded him at his initiation. Bowing, he murmured, ‘I pray your pardon, Reverend Mother. I was detained by an unfortunate accident.’
‘It is no matter.’ She waved her hand, on which there was another big cat’s eye in a ring, toward the buffet. ‘You still have time to fortify yourself with a glass or two of wine before our ceremony, and you are called on to make libation to Lilith-Venus in the person of one of my lovely daughters.’
Walking over to the buffet, Charles was handed a goblet of champagne by one of the footmen. A minute or so later he found the Abbess beside him. Holding out a small, black velvet bag, she said:
‘As you are late in arriving, there is only one number left, but your chance of drawing a partner who will demand as much as you are capable of giving is not lessened by that.’
Charles put his hand in the bag and drew out an ivory plaque on which was the number 6 and was attached to a piece of magenta ribbon. Having bowed her away, he tied the plaque on to his cat’s eye brooch and, now filled with excited anticipation, began to look quickly about the room.
The friend who had introduced Charles to the club had told him that the majority of the female members were married women who had elderly or unsatisfactory husbands, and found this way of satisfying their pent-up desires greatly preferable to taking a regular lover; as, by concealing their identities, they were spared the anxiety of clandestine meetings and any possibility of becoming involved in a scandal. This applied also to the unmarried girls who had been introduced by cynical roués, after finding that they delighted in lechery and had a taste for variety. All of them came from the higher strata of society, as the Abbess had no mind to dispense to professional courtesans any part of the twenty guineas she charged her male members for each attendance.
Owing to their masks, coifs and nun’s robes, all the women present, apart from height, appeared almost identical, and Charles had to spend several minutes mingling with the crowd before he found the nun with a plaque numbered 6 suspended from her cat’s eye brooch.
That she wore this number was, in fact, no matter of blind chance. She was an Irish widow named Lady Luggala, and an old crony of the Abbess’s, who had slipped her the plaque while Charles was standing at the buffet with his back to them. It was part of a plan they had made that Charles should partner the widow that night, and she had been impatiently awaiting his arrival.
She was seated at a small table, with a monk wearing plaque number 18. He at once stood up, kissed her hand and said, ‘Sister, at our next meeting I pray that it may be my good fortune to draw the same number as you as, from your voice, I know ’twas my luck on a previous occasion.’ Then he bowed to Charles and moved away.
Greeting her politely, Charles took the vacant chair and smilingly scrutinised her. She was tall, and her movements were graceful. Her cheeks were a little heavily rouged and faint lines showed at the corners of her mouth, telling him that she must be considerably older than himself. Her firm chin and good teeth were vaguely familiar to him, so he felt fairly certain that they had met before in society, but he could not even make a guess at her identity. In any case, the fact that the man who had just left them had evidently desired to partner her again seemed to Charles a good indication that he had drawn a lucky number. After a moment he said:
‘It seems, Sister, that you are not a newcomer to these gatherings. Have you attended many of them?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, I was an early member of the Order and come here regularly whenever I am in London. I find our meetings most stimulating, mentally as well as physically, and always eagerly await the next. What of yourself?’
‘I humbly confess that this is my first attendance, as I was not initiated until last November, and have since perforce been living in the country. I can only hope that I shall not disappoint you.’
At that she laughed. ‘You would not be here unless our Abbess had proved you to be virile. In fact, if I am not mistaken, it was you whom I saw initiated in November, and with our beautiful Reverend Mother you gave a creditable performance. You are, I feel certain, still very young, so must lack experience in the more subtle ways of pleasing women. But it will lie with me to ensure the best results, and I do not doubt that we shall enjoy our amorous encounter.’
Before Charles had time to reply a silver bell jingled. Immediately silence fell and the Reverend Abbess announced in her deep, husky voice, ‘My children! The hour has come. Let us proceed to the Temple of Delights.’ On the arm of the gaunt Abbot she then led the way downstairs, followed by the pairs of men and women, the two white-clad novices and their escorts bringing up the rear.
Behind the main staircase another, narrower one led down to the basement. It was one large room, the full length and breadth of the house, the upper floors being supported by two rows of arches on carved stone pillars. A thick black carpet covered the whole floor, but it was visible only in a three-foot-wide central aisle running from one end of the great room to the other. The whole of the rest of it was covered with scores of many-coloured silk cushions piled one upon another. Along the aisle the signs of the Zodiac had been embroidered into the black carpet with gold thread.
The temple was dimly lit, the only light coming from the far end where two seven-branched candelabra, holding black candles, stood on an altar and, in front of it, two four-foot-high pedestals holding chafing dishes, from the centre of which rose slightly flickering oil flares.
A few feet before the altar stood a curiously-shaped piece of padded furniture resembling a stool, but the left half of it curved downward, while the right half rose in a hump, so it appeared impossible to sit on it in comfort. Two black curtains, forming an angle to the altar, were suspended on rods from its sides to the pillars of the nearest arches. On one was embroidered the yang and on the other the yin—the ancient symbols for the male and female. On the wall behind the altar hung a rich scarlet banner with a black cross upside-down. Beneath it, centrally between the two seven-branched candelabra, stood a strange idol which no newcomer to the place could easily have identified.
But Charles, on first being taken down to the temple, had realised what it was. From his childhood he had been loved and spoiled by Roger’s greatest friend, Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel—known to his intimates as ‘Droopy Ned’. One of ‘Uncle’ Ned’s hobbies was the study of ancient religions. He had often told Charles about Egypt in the distant past, and shown him pictures of the strange gods the Egyptians worshipped. Among them had been the cat god, Bast. So Charles had recognised the idol on the altar as a mummified sacred cat, which must have been brought from Egypt by some traveller.
The Abbess and the Abbot halted before the altar. Both made obeisance to the idol, then turned about to face the congregation. They, in turn, made obeisance, then the couples settled themselves comfortably among the sea of cushions. Only the two novices and their escorts remained standing. They had halted at the rear of the temple, and as Charles’s partner had seated herself on the first cushions she came to, the novices were only a few feet behind them.
In a loud voice the Abbess cried, ‘He who on joining our Order was re-christened Abadon shall now bring forward the seeker after truth whom he has brought to us.’
The man addressed led his white-robed novice up the aisle, then stood aside. The Abbot threw some herbs on the chafing dishes and they went up in clouds of aromatic smoke. The Abbess took both the novice’s hands in hers, held them in silence for a full minute, then said in a toneless voice that was barely audible to the congregation:
‘My child, you are in grave trouble. Your family is noble, but now poor. They are in very serious financial difficulties. Owing to this they wish you to restore their fortune by marrying you to a rich merchant.’
The girl gave an audible gasp of surprise, then the Abbess went on, ‘You are already engaged to this man. He is much older than you, and you hate him. You are in love with a younger man—a soldier. Normally events would take their course, and a life of misery as the wife of this man you hate be yours. But your good angel has brought you here so that you may be offered a way to save yourself. Our Order has been granted power to alter the course of human lives. If you desire to join it, you must first submit to an ordeal which may seem repugnant to you. But it is of brief duration and, once initiated, we can assure you a happy future. Think well on this, my child, and let me know your decision through him we call here Abadon.’
Releasing the girl’s hands, the Abbess signed to her to go and, turning about, she was escorted by Abadon back to the rear of the temple. As they halted there, the Abbess cried in a loud voice as before:
‘He who on joining our Order was re-christened Nebiros shall now bring forward the seeker after truth that he has brought to us.’
The other couple advanced up the aisle. Again the man stood aside and the Abbot threw herbs on the chafing dishes. The Abbess took the novice’s hands, remained in deep thought for a moment, then said:
‘My child, you are fortunate. You are surrounded by love and wealth. No-one will force you to do anything against your wishes. But I see sorrow ahead for you. It arises from a breach which has very recently occurred between you and a young man who loves you and whom you love dearly. The Powers tell me that separation from him threatens you, a separation that may last for years. It may even be permanent. Our Order can call upon forces that will alter the course of events. They could protect you from this grievous loss if you are willing to submit to an ordeal you may think unpleasant. By no means every novice finds the initiation ceremony hard to bear, but should you do so, a period of distress soon over is no great price to pay in order to prevent the man you love being taken from you by circumstances over which you have, at present, no control. Think well on this, my child, and let me know your decision through him whom we here call Nebiros.’
While the second novice and her escort returned to their place at the back of the temple, the Abbot disappeared behind the curtain on the left of the altar, to re-emerge a moment later carrying a great two-handled urn. At the same moment a huge negro, wearing only a loin cloth, came out from behind the right-hand curtain carrying a similar urn.
As though at a signal, the whole congregation came to its feet and, in pairs, forming a long queue, walked up the aisle. From his initiation ceremony Charles knew that the urn held by the negro was empty. Into it every Brother would drop a purse holding twenty guineas, and members of both sexes who wished to secure information about the future would drop notes asking their questions. The notes were signed with the names by which they had been re-christened on initiation, but the Abbot and Abbess knew their real names and, in a few days’ time, they would receive written answers. The urn held by the Abbot contained wine, heavily loaded with a powerful aphrodisiac, a few sips of which were enough to double the potency of those who drank it.
The only future matter about which Charles would have liked to know was whether Susan would carry out her threat to take a lover, or if, on second thoughts, restrain herself out of love for him. But he had not dared put his question on paper and bring it, for fear that the answer would be the one he dreaded, and so add to his torment on every occasion when she had the opportunity to be alone with one of her beaux. When the Abbot presented the Hell-broth loving cup to him, he took only a single sip for form’s sake, because the thought of what was soon to come had already aroused his passions to fever pitch.
While the proceedings with the urns were taking place, the Abbess threw more handfuls of herbs on the chafing dishes. The flaming oil that rose from the centre of the dishes swiftly turned the herbs into clouds of pungent smoke, filling the temple with the scent of musk and incense, calculated further to excite the lust of the monks and nuns.
As they returned to their places among the cushions, they began to embrace, kiss and fondle one another. With the impatience of youth, the moment Lady Luggala reseated herself, Charles threw his arms about her and pressed his mouth to hers. She opened it readily and sucked in his tongue. Next moment he had pushed her over on to her back and, despite her mock chiding, thrust one of his hands up beneath her robe. Under it she had on only a silk shift and his eager fingers slid swiftly up between her thighs. Closing her legs tightly, she pushed him back and said with a low laugh:
‘You wicked boy. If you go too fast you will spoil things for us later. Desist now, I beg. We must wait until the Reverend Mother has performed her ritual. Then we’ll be free to rid ourselves of all our clothes and I’ll let you do what you will with me.’
As Charles withdrew his hand, a bell tinkled, the Abbot and the negro disappeared with their urns behind the curtains either side of the altar, the company fell silent, ceased embracing and all eyes became fixed on the Abbess. With a swift gesture she plucked her coif from her head and threw it aside. A mass of dark, curling hair fell to her shoulders. With equal swiftness she pulled undone a silk bow beneath her chin. Her robe slid down onto the floor and she stepped out of it stark naked.
Holding her arms aloft, she stood motionless for a moment, her eyes wide, staring straight in front of her. Although the majority of those present had seen her naked before, a little gasp of admiration paid tribute to her beauty. Her figure formed a perfect adjunct to her lovely face. She was close on six feet in height. Her shoulders were broad, her breasts stood out round and firm, with no sign of the sagging usual in women over forty. Her waist was slender and her hips curved out from it down to powerful thighs. The whiteness of her skin was accentuated by big, brown circles surrounding her red nipples, and the Vee of dark, crisp curls that covered her strongly-developed mons veneris.
Having allowed her congregation to gaze their full, she turned about to face the altar. Raising her arms again, she cried in a loud voice:
‘Oh, mighty Bast, sister of Set and daughter of Lucifer, we pray thee intercede with him—the most beautiful and most gifted of all the Archangels: the Sun of the Morning, the Lord of This World, the Giver of all Power, Wealth and Joy here in the Principality bestowed upon him by the Almighty—that he may grant our desires. In devotion to you, dear Bast, and to Him, I will now receive into myself two libations of the essence that creates flesh.’
Turning about, she clapped her hands three times, then threw herself face down on the curiously-shaped padded stool. Her full breasts fitted into the downward curve on the left side and her buttocks were raised up over the hump on the right. In response to her claps, the curtains bearing the Yang and the Yin again parted. From the left the Abbot emerged and from the right the huge, coal-black negro. Both were now stark naked and erect. Stretching out a hand the Abbess grasped the member of the Abbot and drew him toward her. The negro flung himself upon her from behind.
The silence was suddenly broken by a girl’s voice gasping, ‘Take me away.’
It came from one of the white-clad novices. Charles swivelled round on his cushions to stare at her. The mask and veil entirely hid her face and hair, but he could have sworn that the voice was Susan’s.
Her escort whispered angrily, ‘Be silent!’
Again the girl’s voice came, louder this time. ‘Take me away at once! I refuse to witness this disgusting spectacle.’
As she spoke she had turned towards the stairs. The man grasped her arm to pull her back. In a low, harsh voice he said, ‘Shut your eyes if you will. But you must remain till the ceremony is completed.’
When the girl had spoken the second time, Charles could no longer doubt that she really was Susan, and now he recognised the man’s voice as that of Captain Hawksbury. Jumping to his feet, he covered in a matter of seconds the short distance that separated him from the arguing couple. Addressing Hawksbury, he whispered fiercely:
‘Unhand this lady! I intend to take her out.’
‘Hell’s bells! What has this to do with you?’ Hawksbury exclaimed in surprise.
‘No matter,’ Charles snarled. ‘She is coming with me.’
Hawksbury had let go Susan’s arm and turned to face him. Cockfighting and contests between pugilists were the favourite sports of the day, and many a young man of gentle birth prided himself on his performance in the ring. When at Eton Charles had learned to box and had proved himself a formidable opponent against others of his weight. Now, with the precision of a professional, he lashed out and landed a terrific punch under the side of Hawksbury’s jaw. The Captain went over backwards, landing with a heavy thud at full length on the floor of the aisle.
All this had happened very quickly, but those nearby among the congregation had heard the fierce whispering and several had called, ‘Hush! Hush!’ or ‘Be quiet there!’ in low, angry voices.
As Hawksbury was bowled over, Susan let out a scream. Within a minute everyone present sprang to their feet. The nearest men scrambled over the cushions and ran at Charles. He turned to defend himself and knocked down the first to come within striking distance. The next landed a blow on his ear. A third struck him hard in the stomach, momentarily winding him. Others seized his arms and, strive as he did to free himself, he was soon overpowered.
His mind was in a whirl. What they would do to him he had no idea, but he felt certain that they would regard as an appalling sacrilege his violent interruption of their satanic ceremony at its highest point. It was possible that they might content themselves with expelling him from their Order. But, if the Abbess proved vindictive, she might put some terrible curse on him, perhaps even render him impotent. Between the faces staring at him he glimpsed her now. She had risen from the stool and was standing, still in her splendid nakedness, between the Abbot and the negro. Her dark eyebrows, which met over the bridge of her imperious nose, were drawn down in a ferocious frown, and her mouth was set in grim lines that showed her to be in a most evil temper. Scowling, she began to walk forward.
Charles’s mind flashed to Susan. It was she who had been the cause of the ugly scene that had ruined the tribute to the dark gods. He was now powerless to get her away from this company of rakes and licentious women into which, all too late, he now realised he had allowed himself to be drawn by fascination with the occult and his urge to satisfy his lust in exciting surroundings.
Had he been brought up to be religious, he would never have done so, but neither his mother nor ‘Uncle’ Roger, for whom he had an unbounded admiration, ever went to church. Both of them had told him that they believed every person to have many lives, and that the original teaching of Jesus Christ had been perverted almost from the beginning by the fanatical St. Paul, followed in the early centuries by ignorant and often evil priests.
Susan, he knew, had absorbed the same ideas: a belief that no man could absolve another from his sins, and that the only sin one could commit was deliberately to cause others to be unhappy. Such a belief could explain why she had allowed herself to be brought here, but she could have had no idea of the rituals performed at Satanic ceremonies, otherwise she would not have attempted to leave the temple.
Yet the fact remained that it was her attempt to do so which had led to this abrupt disruption of the night’s proceedings; so Charles was filled with fear that the Abbess would regard Susan as the principal offender and vent her wrath even more severely on her than on himself.
He was now powerless to protect her, and it was certain that no-one else there would. She was helpless in their hands, and was incapable of resisting anything they decided to do to her. They were gathered there to slake their lusts on one another. The Abbess’s ritual was to have been followed by an orgy. They would not be content to go home without it taking place. The Abbess might decree that Susan was to be stripped, and that any number of men who liked should possess her forcibly. At the awful picture this possibility conjured up, sweat broke out on Charles’s forehead.
Suddenly a tall man near the altar cried in a loud voice, ‘Unhand that young fellow and let him take the novice hence. ’Tis not fitting that anyone should be brought here who is not a willing participant in our revels.’
‘Aye, aye!’ several other voices supported him, and a woman’s treble called out, ‘We want no squeamish young prudes in our joyous company.’
But the majority of those present howled down the protestors, and one man shouted above the rest, ‘She’d not be out with our Brother who brought her at this hour of night if she were all that innocent. She’ll make good sport for us. Strip her and let’s see if she is a virgin.’
‘Well said,’ yelled another. ‘And if she is, let Aboe make a woman of her on the altar.’
Charles’s heart lurched in horror. Aboe was the giant negro.
During this altercation the two men holding Charles had released their grip on him. With a sudden plunge forward he broke free. For him to reach Susan and get her away was impossible, but he swiftly backed against a pillar, his fists clenched, ready to fight again.
The Abbess had halted, undecided, half-way up the aisle. A lull in the clamour enabled Charles to make his voice heard, and he appealed to her:
‘Reverend Mother, I pray you let me take her away. On her account as well as my own, I swear that neither of us will say aught to anyone about what takes place here.’
‘No! No!’ came an angry chorus, and someone called, ‘She should pay for having interfered with our lady Abbess’s receiving the libation to Lucifer. Give her to the negro.’
The tall man who had first intervened shouted, ‘I’ll not have it! And you know who I am, Katie O’Brien. ’Twill pay you ill to cross me.’
The Abbess did know. He was a Duke and one of the wealthiest men in England. She was greatly averse to offending him, but loath to disappoint the many opposed to him, so she sought refuge in a subterfuge and cried:
‘Brothers and Sisters, we are all equal here. We will put it to the vote. All those in favour of letting them go, put up their hands.’
A dozen hands were raised. Then she called, ‘Now those who would have her pay a forfeit.’
Over twenty hands went up, a clear majority. ‘So be it!’ she cried, then beckoned to the negro. ‘Come, Aboe, take her.’
Susan was being held, so could not get away. As the negro took a step forward, she screamed. At that moment the masked Duke sprang out of the crowd and dashed at him. To avoid the attack, Aboe stepped back and cannoned into the pedestal just behind him.
It went over with a crash. The oil that fed the flame in the centre of the chafing dish gushed out across the carpet. An instant later the flames caught the curtain with the Yin upon it. As it flared up the nearest cushion caught, then the flames seemed to leap from it to others.
Pandemonium ensued. Everyone was shouting, ‘Fire!’ and scrambling through billowing smoke toward the entrance to the temple. Charles did not lose a second. No sooner were the curtains ablaze than he swivelled about, sprang towards Susan, grasped her by the arm and ran with her toward the stairs. Rushing up them, they reached the hall breathless. The footman there stared at them in astonishment. Brushing past him, Charles wrenched open the front door. Within two minutes of the fire having started, he and Susan were out in the street.
Side by side they hurried to Charles’s coach. He roused the dozing coachman and told him to drive back to Berkeley Square. Susan was weeping and, getting into the coach, huddled back into a dark corner. But Charles was in no mood to be sympathetic, and demanded angrily:
‘Since when have you become fascinated by the mysteries of the occult?’
‘I am not,’ she sobbed, ‘and know nothing of them.’
‘How then could you be so great a fool as to let Hawksbury take you to the Hell Fire Club?’
‘I … I had no notion that is what it was. He simply told me that … that he would like to take me to an amusing party for … for an hour or two. He said that it was being given by one of his friends and … and that he would bring me home well before the ball was over.’
‘He deceived you, then. But that is no excuse for having gone off alone with a man in the middle of the night. He might well have taken you to his own apartment, or some other place, and there seduced you.’
At that she, too, flared into anger. ‘You are right! As I found him attractive, he might have. But had he attempted me, the odds are that I should have prevented him by saying that I had my affairs, and consoled him by half-promises about the future.’
‘You were then seriously considering taking him as your lover?’
‘Yes; and why not? I told you this morning that, while you sowed your wild oats, I should consider myself free to sow mine if I had a mind to it. But when you said that tonight you intended to disport yourself at a club that provided special diversions, I never dreamt that it would be in such company. Oh, Charles! How could you become a Satanist? The thought appals me.’
‘I am not a Satanist, any more than were those distinguished men who belonged to the original Hell Fire Club. The ceremonies are only a means to render amorous encounters more exciting.’
‘So you say. But you cannot deny that the occult enters into it, and that evil powers are invoked to better the prospects of those who attend these meetings.’
For a moment Charles was silent, then he replied, ‘I believed it to be hocus-pocus. Although most members know only their introducer, the Abbess knows them all, so it would be easy enough for her to find out the state of their affairs through tittle-tattle and shrewd interpretation of their reactions to remarks made by her when conversing with them. I had no means of judging if her predictions are always right, and assumed that, in many cases, they enabled those to whom she made them to avoid threatened calamities or better their prospects by their own efforts. But tonight has proved me wrong. The powers of evil must have been potent in the temple, otherwise the powers of good would not have intervened to save us by causing that fire.’
‘Indeed, you are right. The fire could have been no ordinary accident, occurring as it did at the critical moment. And, apart from having saved us, I do thank the good Lord that Captain Hawksbury took me there tonight, for it brought about your having to sever your connection with that abominable woman.’
Charles nodded. ‘Yes. It seems that unwittingly you have played the part of my guardian angel.’
After a moment he added, ‘It can as yet be barely two o’clock, so when we get home they will still be dancing; but some of the older guests may have started to leave. It would be awkward to encounter any of them, dressed as we are, so we’ll go in by the tradesmen’s entrance. Fortunately, I have a key to it. With luck we’ll get up the back stairs to our rooms without being seen by any of the servants; but we may run into one of them. If so, we’d best start talking of a masque at Covent Garden, implying that we have returned after spending an hour there with friends.’
‘I’d as lief no-one saw me dressed as a novice,’ Susan replied, pulling off her coif. ‘Let down the window so that I can throw this out, and the robe after it. Then, if I’m seen, I’ll be ordinarily dressed.’
While Charles did as she asked, he said quickly. ‘Of course. What a fool I am to have supposed that Hawksbury would have risked suggesting you should rid yourself of your dress and petticoats in the ladies’ room, as did the other women before putting on their nuns’ robes. I’ll have to keep mine on, though, for I had to leave my coat, waistcoat and breeches with my cloak in the men’s closet.’
‘So you had made ready for the fray,’ Susan remarked acidly. Then she went on, ‘If we do meet any of the servants, they’ll not think it so strange that you have exchanged your cloak for a friar’s robe as they would if they saw me dressed to take vows in a convent.’
As she spoke, she was wriggling out of her white novice’s attire, and she shivered from the blast of the chilly air now coming through the open window. Up till that moment her mind had been so agitated that she had not realised that she had left her furlined cloak behind. Now she spoke of her loss with bitter anger, wondering how she could possibly explain its disappearance to Georgina. But when she had thrown her white garments out of the window and Charles had pulled it up again, he promised to go out before midday and buy a similar robe for her.
At that she said in a calmer voice, ‘Charles, it would be most generous of you to do so, since ‘tis no fault of yours that I had to abandon such an expensive garment. I’ll admit now that I was plaguey foolish to let Captain Hawksbury take me off on my own; and, but for your presence in that house, God alone knows what might have befallen me.’
‘Then let us have no more recriminations, and say no more about it,’ he replied. Putting his arm about her, he kissed her gently and they completed their drive back to Berkeley Square in silence.
On entering the square, Charles told his coachman to drive round the corner into Bruton Street. Before handing Susan out, he took three guineas from his purse, gave them to the man and said:
‘Here, Jennings, is money enough to keep your mouth busy for a long time with good ale; so you’ll not open it to mention to anyone that Miss Brook and I tonight attended a masquerade. Is that understood?’
The man gave a broad grin. ‘Indeed it is, m’ lord, and I thank ‘e for this generous present. Hope be I’ll drive you and the young mistress to enjoy many a good lark, and never a word will pass me lips ’bout it.’
Confident that the man would not now tell his fellow servants about the night’s doings, Charles led Susan through the mews to the entrance at the back of the mansion. Unlocking the door, he opened it cautiously and peered inside. No-one was about, so he whispered to her to follow him in, and together they tiptoed up the back stairs. On the landing that gave on to their bedrooms, he said in a low voice:
‘It will take me only a few minutes to put on suitable clothes, but longer for you to redo your hair, so when I’m dressed I’ll come for you; then we’ll go down together as though we had been sitting out a dance.’
Five minutes later he joined her in her bedroom and sat in a chair until she had finished making herself presentable.
When she had done, she turned to him and said:
‘Dearest Charles. On the latter part of our drive home I did some serious thinking. That I should have caused the Hell Fire Club to be barred to you in future I have no regrets. But I realise that, as a man, you must satisfy your passions and, as I told you this morning, I now feel a similar urge. Even if we refrain from telling each other of those with whom we indulge ourselves, neither of us can escape thinking of the other in such situations, and that will cause misery to us both. Rather than we should suffer that, I have changed my mind about insisting that I should enjoy another year of freedom to flirt with whom I will. Instead I have decided to accept your proposal that we should marry in the Spring.’
Sadly Charles shook his head. ‘Alas, my love. I would we could, but it is now too late. Come Spring, I shall no longer be in England.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Charles, what … whatever do you mean?’
His face suddenly became grim. ‘You must have heard the taunt that Hawksbury flung at me after he had pushed me over into the gutter. He as good as called me coward, because while claiming to be a man well versed in the use of weapons, I was skulking in England instead of going to the war against our enemies in the Peninsula. The round of easy pleasures here have so filled my mind that such a thought had never before entered it. But he was right. It is my intention, no later than this coming afternoon, to see my trustees and have them purchase for me a commission in the Guards.’