Time, it is said, is an illusion. Without doubt, as assessed by the human mind, it can differ immensely, according to circumstances. The last hour of an afternoon class at school, on a subject at which one is bad, under a master one hates, can seem endless; whereas a long evening spent together by two people who are in love flashes by so rapidly that it seems over almost before it has begun. As Roger slid down the shute on his back, his descent seemed interminable to him, and thoughts sped through his brain with the speed of lightning.
He must have been mad to trust Jemima. He had let her send him to his death. After all he had heard of her, how could he possibly have been such a fool as to be taken in by her clever acting? Never, never should he have followed her blindly, unless he had had a loaded pistol to hold against her back. Perhaps it would have been excusable to let her lead him fifty or sixty feet, but once they left the comparatively modern wing of the castle he should have been warned. If both girls had been prisoners of the witch, why should they not have been quartered together, or at least in rooms near each other? When walking down those long passages, inhabited by flitting bats and scurrying rats, where dim moonlight showed the webs of a thousand generations of spiders hanging from ceilings and walls, even a schoolboy would have realised that his guide was not taking him to Susan’s room.
Frantically he thrust out his hands and elbows, endeavouring to check his swift descent, for he had no doubt at all that death awaited him at the bottom of the slope. During the years he had visited many ancient castles in France, Spain, Russia, Sweden and other countries, and in several of them he had been shown traps similar to this. They were called oubliettes. In mediaeval times many an unsuspecting guest had been led by a host, who had some secret reason for wanting to get rid of him, along a dim corridor until the host pressed a spring on the wall, and a trapdoor in the floor flapped open. The wretched guest fell through it, hurtled down a hundred feet or more and, a few minutes later, was choking out his life in the blackness of an underground cistern fed with water from the castle moat.
Roger heard the trapdoor above him slam, cutting him off for ever from light and life. Even if he could have checked his downward slide and turned over, the slope was too steep for him to have crawled up it and attempted to force open the trap. There was no escape. Except, yes. It was just possible that the oubliette ended in a waterway tunnel, large enough to swim through, to the lake. But if that were so, how long was the tunnel? How deep was the water in it? Would there be enough space between the water and the ceiling for him to breathe while swimming? If not, it was certain that he would drown.
These lightning flashes of thought and terror probably followed one another in less than a minute. Without warning, the angle at which he was sliding suddenly changed. The slope abruptly ceased, his feet shot forward and he came to rest flat on his back on a solid floor. His relief was instantaneous. It was not an oubliette. Yet it might be. Perhaps only a foot or so ahead of him there was a perpendicular drop, and by luck he was now lying on a broad ledge, the speed of his descent not having been sufficient to carry him over the edge.
His speculation lasted only seconds. There came the sound of quick movement ahead of him, then a voice cried sharply:
‘Who is that?’
Again relief flooded through him, accompanied by surprise, concern and the answer to one of the riddles he had been puzzling over for several days past.
‘Charles!’ he exclaimed. ‘So they’ve made you a prisoner. And now I’m one, too.’
‘Uncle Roger!’ cried the voice out of the darkness. ‘How in the world.… But stay still a moment while I make a light.’
There came the scraping of a tinder box, a sudden glow, then the rising flame from a candle wick enabled Roger to get an idea of his surroundings. They were in a circular dungeon about twenty feet in diameter. From some six feet up the walls tapered in a cone, but the light was not sufficient for Roger to see where they met the roof. Opposite the shute down which he had come there were ranged four low platforms, about six feet long by three feet wide, on short, square legs. On one of them was a straw-filled palliasse and some blankets, where Charles had been sleeping; on another a pile of books, three candlesticks and a number of loose candles. On a third were a tin basin, soap, towels and two wooden platters with fish bones and a cut cake on them. Beside the last stood a six-gallon stone jar and, between it and the place where he was now sitting up, there was a round hole in the floor which evidently served as a latrine.
As Roger was looking round, Charles said, ‘I supposed you to be still in France with Talleyrand. How come you to be here? And who led you into this trap?’
Roger’s reply needed only a few quick sentences, then he asked, ‘But you, Charles? What happened to you in Dublin? Did you trace Susan to this place and then got caught? Is she here? Is she all right?’
‘Yes, she’s here and, as far as I know, well. At least, she was a little over a fortnight ago. I have not seen her, but we spoke together.’
‘Is it true that the O’Brien woman persuaded her and Jemima to become witches? ’Twas that Lady Luggala wrote to your mother.’
‘I know. But ’tis not true—at least as far as Susan is concerned. Jemima, I’d wager, has long been a witch, although Susan did not know it. She suspected nothing until she was brought face to face with Katie. She recognised her at once after having seen her at the New Hell Fire Club. She was taken there over a year ago by …’
‘I am aware of that,’ Roger interrupted. ‘Your mother repeated to me all you had told her of it. Tell me what you know of the sequence of events in Dublin.’
‘After I left for Spain, that bitch Jemima laid herself out to win Susan’s confidence and affection. In February, for some reason of which I am in ignorance, Maureen Luggala left London for Dublin, taking Jemima with her. As Jemima and Susan were such close friends, she was also invited to come over for a fortnight’s visit, and she accepted. She had a pleasurable time doing the social round, and her first letters to my mother, asking to be allowed to stay on for a while, were genuine. Then, when my mother insisted on her returning, she told Maureen that she must. The following night they put a drug in her drink and, while she was unconscious, brought her here. Soon after she came to, Katie came to the room in which they had put her to bed, and mesmerised her. It must have been then, while under the occult influence of the witch, that she wrote the letter defying my mother and saying she intended to remain in Ireland with Jemima through the summer. When she came out of her trance Katie told her that if she made no trouble she would be well treated, but must remain locked in her room. Naturally, my poor beloved was distraught. But what could she do? Her clothes had been taken from her, and even had they not how could she escape from this place, surrounded as it is by water?’
o
‘And what of yourself?’ Roger asked. ‘I traced you to the Crown and Shamrock and learned that you had been there for two nights, also that you had called on Maureen Luggala, although she swore she had not seen you. After that I could get no further, and could only suppose that, reverting to your membership of the Hell Fire Club, you had perhaps been persuaded by Susan to join their witches coven.’
‘No! No!’ Charles shook his head. ‘As you discovered, I waited on Maureen the first day I was in Dublin. She pretended great distress and told me the same story she had written to my mother. But she said she had been endeavouring to trace the girls, and that did I give her another day or two, she had hopes of succeeding. Obviously she needed the time to let Katie know that I had arrived in Dublin and make arrangements for my reception here. The third day of my stay she sent a message, bidding me to dinner. On arriving at her home I found her there with a repulsive priest named Father Damien. It was he who acted as Abbot at the Hell Fire Club in London. He told me that Katie had done him an evil, and he had quarrelled with her; so he was agreeable to take me that night to the place where she had the girls. It was a trap to get me here. We made the journey by coach, arriving in the early hours of the morning. The boat was moored by the lake shore. As we got into it he told me he had bribed one of the servants to let us into the castle. When we reached the great door, he rapped a special signal on it, and it was opened by a huge negro named Aboe, who was another of Katie’s assistants when she ran the Hell Fire Club.
‘At that moment Father Damien seized my arms from behind. As you see, I was in uniform, so was wearing a sword and I had come with a pistol in my sash. Aboe deprived me of them both, then the two of them hustled me up a stone staircase to the newer part of the building, along a corridor, pushed me into a bedroom and locked me in. As soon as they had gone, I attempted to break out, but the door was too stout. Then I tried the windows but found that they were thirty feet above a ledge of rock lapped by the water. Had I dropped down I would certainly have killed myself.’
‘Why then, since they had you securely imprisoned, did they transfer you to this dungeon?’
‘Because I attempted to rescue Susan. You must have realised how deadly quiet it is here. On my third night in the bedroom, just as I was about to fall asleep, I caught the sound of sobs behind my bedhead. From the beginning I had been convinced that Susan was no witch, and had been brought here against her will, so it flashed upon me that it was probably she who was crying, and that as I could hear the sobs the wall between the rooms must be quite thin.
‘Pushing away the bed, I went to work on the wall at once with the stout prong in the buckle of my belt. The wall proved to be only lath and plaster. After an hour’s strenuous work I’d made a hole the size of a crown piece. It was Susan on the other side. Having heard my scraping, she had pushed aside her bed and was listening there, so replied immediately I spoke. That was how I learned all that had befallen her, and now I had found her I at once started to plan a way in which we might both escape.
‘In addition to Father Damien and the negro, Aboe, who I gather acts as cook, Katie has two Irish peasants here. They are burly, wild-looking creatures, with beards and great mops of red hair, who speak no English. I call them Gog and Magog. One or other of them brought my meals and, as Susan was also locked in, hers also. We planned that she should be dressed ready to leave at the hour when our supper was brought to us the following evening. I’d hoped to overcome the man, get his keys and release her and that both of us might escape before anyone else in the castle knew what was adoing.
‘But fortune was against me. I lurked behind the door until Gog came with my supper, and as he walked in carrying the tray I brought a milking stool that was in the room down on his head. It felled him, but I opine the thickness of his hair saved him from being completely deprived of his wits. He was in bad shape, though, and having got my hands round his throat I could have choked him into insensibility.
‘Alas, I had not counted on there being two supper trays. Magog had brought up Susan’s. Hearing his fellow barbarian shout, he dropped his tray outside Susan’s door, dashed into my room and hurled himself on top of me. Gog recovered sufficiently to roll from under us and I stood no chance against the two of them. In no time they had me lashed to the end of my bed, and locked in again. I was monstrous lucky to get off with no worse than a kick in the ribs and a black eye.’
Roger nodded. ‘You were. And it was a gallant, even if ill-fated, attempt. What happened then?’
‘A quarter of an hour later the two brutes returned, accompanied by Father Damien. They untied me, hustled me along from that end of the castle to this, and pushed me down the shute by which you arrived.’
‘And what has happened since?’
Charles pointed up to where the cone-shaped walls of the cell seemed to meet above in the shadows. ‘The shute is not the only entrance to the dungeon. Up there, immediately above us, is a round manhole. From time to time one or other of them opens it. By a stout rope with a hook on the end, they lowered this palliasse for me to sleep on, the big jar that contains water, and the other things you see here. And every morning they let down in a bag enough cold food to keep me in provender for the day.’
‘And even books,’ Roger commented. ‘That, at least, is considerate of them.’
‘Jemima sent them down, and from time to time comes to talk with me.’
‘That little she-devil fooled me completely, and I still cannot make her out, nor the witch’s interest in the two girls. The story Jemima spun to me was that for the acquisition of supreme occult powers, the use of a virgin’s body was necessary. She then begged me to rescue her as well as Susan from this horror, yet tricked and made a prisoner of me.’
‘She did so because she is devoted to Katie, and has naught to fear. Of that I am convinced.’
‘What, though, of Susan?’ Roger asked anxiously. ‘Clearly she is no disciple of the witch. Why should they have drugged and brought her here? Virgins are plentiful enough in this country, where the Church of Rome is dominant. They could, with ease, kidnap some peasant wench upon whom to perform their abominable ceremony.’
Charles shook his head sadly. ‘Uncle Roger, I have been obtuse, and failed to make the situation clear to you. Doubtless these Satanists do, from time to time, perform a Black Mass; but ‘twas not for that they invited my sweet Susan to Ireland, then drugged and imprisoned her. She was only the lure to get me here.’
‘What the devil mean you?’
‘Jemima is determined that I should take her for my wife.’
‘This is news indeed!’ Roger exclaimed with a frown. ‘Have you been having an affair with her? But, no; how could you, seeing you have been so long abroad.’
‘I was to some extent embroiled with her before I voyaged to Spain. During the summer and winter before last I saw much of her. She is attractive, witty and a passionate young creature. Susan and I had always had an understanding that we would marry in good time; but, until we were ready to do so, we should amuse ourselves by flirting with anyone who took our fancy. I’ve never loved anyone but Susan and never shall. To me Jemima was no more than a gay companion. I studiously refrained from giving her any reason to believe that my intentions toward her were serious. But she set herself to get me if she could, even to the point of endeavouring to seduce me—a trap into which I was not foolish enough to fall.
‘When I sailed for Spain, I thought no more of her, but evidently she did of me and, with her mother and the witch, made her plans accordingly. That Katie has occult power I have no doubt. Foreseeing the fall of Napoleon and that shortly after that I should return, they all came to Ireland …’
‘It was for quite a different reason that the O’Brien woman left London,’ Roger interrupted. ‘But no matter. Continue.’
Charles shrugged. ‘However that may be, it was on my account that Susan was invited to Dublin. In mid-March the witch must have learned from overlooking me that I was on my way back to England, so the time had come to spring their plot. When Susan had overstayed her visit, they forcibly detained her and brought her here. Meanwhile, Maureen Luggala had written her tissue of lies to my mother about the two girls having joined the witch’s coven; knowing, of course, that directly I learned of it I would come over and attempt to get Susan back. I did, and fell into their clutches.’
Roger nodded. ‘’Twas a devilish clever scheme, and I’m not surprised that it succeeded. So this jade is now determined to keep you a prisoner until you agree to wed her. To have gone to such lengths, she must be nigh desperate with love for you.’
‘Maybe she is. At least she finds me physically attractive. But that is not her only motive. She is also mightily ambitious and would fain be the Countess of St. Ermins. Still further, she wants money, and part of the price of my freedom would be a marriage settlement in which I make over to her my eighty thousand acre estate around White Knights Park.’
‘The wench is no fool, then,’ Roger gave a bitter laugh. ‘She has the sense to realise that, having forced you into wedding her does not bind you to share your life with her. But for some such settlement you could have cast her off without even paying her a pittance. By these means she will net a great fortune.’
‘Nay. She says she would keep the house and a sufficient income to maintain it. But ’tis her intent to sell by far the greater part of the estate and use the money to help the rebellious Irish who wish to free their country from British rule.’
‘That fits with what I learned in London of her mother and the O’Brien woman. By rights, both of them should have been arrested, condemned as traitors and now be in prison. They were acting as French agents and collecting information of value to our enemies.’
‘Indeed!’ Charles exclaimed. ‘I had no idea of that, but since my converse with Jemima this past week or so I’m not surprised to hear it. She makes it no secret that she is rabid on this question of freeing Ireland, and would stop at nothing to help achieve it.’
‘Then let us hope she over-reaches herself and ends up in gaol. Fortunately, these fanatics are only a small minority, but they cause us a mint of trouble.’
‘I judge you wrong there, Uncle Roger, in believing them to be only a small minority. I do not believe Jemima lied to me on that. The ordinary Irish are a backward people, and live greatly in the past. Although my Lord Essex’s conquest dates back to Queen Elizabeth’s time, and Cromwell’s brutalities took place near two hundred years ago, the Irish think of them as having occurred only yesterday. Besides, as she argued, I think with justification, the Irish are just as much a different race from the English as are the Norwegians or Danes, and …’
‘And so, for that matter, are the Scots, yet they have become willing subjects of the Crown.’
‘Ah, but their case was very different. Our union with them came about by a Scottish king ascending the English throne. Here we occupy a land to which we have no right but conquest. To be fair, in this matter we must regard Jemima as a patriot.’
‘There is much in what you say about Ireland,’ Roger conceded. ‘So one cannot hold it against Jemima that she wishes to have her countrymen rule themselves. But it has naught to do with the matter that immediately concerns us. Do you intend to give in to her?’
‘I fear I’ll have to in the end. So far I have hedged, hoping that some turn of fortune might occur which would enable me to escape, make my way to Dublin and swiftly return with troops to free Susan. Your sudden appearance here was the type of miracle I have been praying for; but, alas, it has proved abortive.’
‘When your mother realises that I, too, have disappeared, I doubt not that she will come to Dublin, see the Viceroy and have him order the military to search for us. She will also have Maureen Luggala questioned. As the result of my talk with her she believes herself liable to be arrested and imprisoned, so it is most probable that, hoping to save herself, she will tell your mother where we are.’
Charles’s eyes brightened for a moment, then he said dubiously, ‘But is it likely she will arrive in time? Some days must yet elapse before she becomes sufficiently concerned about receiving no letter from you to decide to act, and then she’ll have to make the journey from London to Dublin.’
‘True. We can hardly expect her in less than ten days. But does that matter? You have been down here a fortnight, and if they had intended to starve you into submission they would have attempted that already. To have to remain cooped up here in this uncomfortable hole for two or three weeks is plaguey annoying, but we must be as patient as we can until Georgina comes to our rescue.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ Charles burst out. ‘Or perhaps I failed to tell you. There is a deadline, a time limit beyond which I dare not procrastinate. The hour Jemima would have me wed her has already been fixed by she. ’Tis midnight on the 30th—that is May Day Eve, or Walpurgisnacht as some call it. ’Tis one of the four great Satanic feasts of the year, and that is obviously why Katie O’Brien chose it.’
‘I see no reason why you should not refuse to marry her that night more than on any other.’
‘But, Uncle Roger, unless help does come I must! I must, because of Susan.’
As Roger’s mind grasped an awful possibility, he asked in an appalled whisper. ‘You don’t mean …?’
‘I do.’ Charles nodded miserably. ‘After I’d been incarcerated here a week, the witch came to the manhole up there and, as I’d proved stubborn, gave me an ultimatum. On the night of the 30th, whatever happens they mean to celebrate a Black Mass. She would like it to form part of my marriage ceremony, with me taking the priest’s place for the final act of copulating with Jemima on the altar. But if I refuse, it will be Susan on the altar, being deflowered by that filthy priest.’
‘Oh, God, how frightful!’ Roger groaned, burying his face in his hands.
‘It won’t come to that,’ Charles strove to reassure him. ‘I made up my mind days ago that the chances of my being rescued were almost non-existent, so I’d have to marry Jemima when the time comes.’
Roger looked up. ‘We still have a fortnight. Two of us having now disappeared, there is a strong likelihood of Georgina coming over and demanding the Viceroy’s help to find us before the end of the month.’
‘That’s true, and gives me a more realistic hope to cling to than I had before your coming. But, Uncle Roger, you’re looking terribly fatigued. Had you not best now try to get some sleep?’
‘You’re right,’ Roger agreed. Firmly refusing Charles’s offer of the palliasse, he rolled up his cloak for a pillow and lay down on the fourth wooden platform, which had nothing on it, then Charles blew out the candle.
Both of them lay long awake, so when they did drop off they slept late, and were aroused by a shaft of light from the ceiling, penetrating the stygian blackness of the dungeon. In the manhole above, the negro Aboe’s head appeared and, having called down to them, he lowered a rope with a hook on the end, to which a bag was attached.
Before going to sleep Roger had pondered the possibility of making a base of the four wooden sleeping platforms, standing on it then, if Charles stood on his shoulders, the manhole might be reached and lifted. But he now saw that the manhole was a good twenty-five feet from the floor, so could not possibly be got at in that way. To have seized the rope and climbed up it was equally impracticable for, as soon as his head came within striking distance, the negro would hit him. The shute he already knew to be too smooth and steep for them to wriggle up, so he now resigned himself to the fact that there was no way in which they could break out.
Charles lit the candle, removed the supply of fresh food from the bag and put his debris from the previous day in it. He also attached on the hook the six-gallon water jar. It was hauled up and a full jar let down, then a palliasse and blankets for Roger were lowered, after which the rope was withdrawn and the manhole closed.
They used part of the water to wash in, then poured it down the hole that served as a latrine; but they had no means of shaving. During the past fortnight Charles had grown an inch-long, dark beard and, not having shaved now for two days, Roger’s chin was covered in stubble.
After eating, they passed the morning exchanging accounts of Napoleon’s overthrow and Wellington’s final triumphant campaign. In the afternoon the manhole was again lifted, and the witch’s head appeared above it. She had come to take a look at her new captive, and to ask him how he had learned the whereabouts of her hiding place.
As Roger considered Maureen Luggala criminally responsible for having lured Susan to Ireland, then abducting her, he had no scruples in telling the witch how he had blackmailed Maureen into bringing him out there. Katie then urged him to persuade Charles to agree to marry Jemima without further argument and, as an inducement, promised to use her powers to ensure their marriage being a happy one.
When she withdrew her head, Jemima’s took its place. She gaily twitted Roger on having outwitted him, and said she thought him a gallant fellow for having attempted singlehanded to rescue his daughter. She went on to say that she was genuinely fond of Susan, that Susan would soon get over losing Charles to her, and that when they were married and she had become mistress of White Knights Park, he and Susan would always be most welcome guests there.
The prisoners whiled away the rest of the day reading and chatting, then slept again. Charles had been so distraught about Susan when his attempt to get her away had failed that he was uncertain of the actual date upon which he had been thrown down into the dungeon. Roger, however, knew that he had arrived on April 16th, so they made a calendar on which to tick off the days.
Those that followed varied little from the first after Roger had joined Charles, except that the witch did not come to the manhole again, and Jemima only did so now and then, having found that Charles continued to be unresponsive to her blandishments. The food sent down to them was plain and consisted only of such items as could be procured locally, but it was reasonably good and Charles said that Jemima had apologised for there being only water to drink, but the cellars of the Castle were empty and they could not send anyone in to Dublin to buy wine. Rats, feasting on such food as they left, troubled them at times, but did not attack them. Their prison was ventilated only by the hole in the floor. Although chilly, it was not uncomfortably cold and, from time to time, they warmed themselves up by flailing their arms or doing exercises.
A simple calculation showed it to be most unlikely that Georgina would be sufficiently disturbed to come to Ireland before the 23rd. So, for their first week together Roger and Charles settled down philosophically to pass the time as well as they could.
But after the 23rd they both admitted that they had been subconsciously counting on Georgina arriving with troops to rescue them and, from then on, they found themselves constantly listening for sounds of strife above. As books could no longer hold their attention, Roger suggested that they should try to make a set of chessmen out of such oddments as they could gather together, and Charles promptly produced adequate, if unusual materials.
Reaching under one of the wooden forms, he pulled out a handful of bones, and said, ‘Centuries ago captives for whom the Luggalas had no further use were not, I think, put down the shute but just dropped through the manhole and, poor wretches, left with broken bones to starve to death here. When I was first sent down candles to light this place, I found half a dozen bundles of rags scattered about, and each contained a skeleton. Not liking such company, I gathered them up and pushed them out of sight under these bed platforms, evidently furnished for prisoners of a later date, who were to be fed and kept alive.
It took them several hours to sort out from among the remains of the long-dead prisoners enough teeth, backbone discs, knuckle, toe and other suitable bones to represent the pieces of a chess set, and make the equivalent of a board. This they did, with alternate squares of printed and plain paper torn from some of the old books that Jemima had sent down. But when they had done, concentrating on moves of these macabre relics of mediaeval brutality did take their minds off their anxieties for considerable periods.
Nevertheless, there were times, and particularly at night, while they were trying to get to sleep, when they could not rid themselves of their speculation about a future that looked black with menace. Inexorably the days wore on. With the passing of each there was a stronger possibility that Georgina, worried out of her wits by the disappearance of the two of them, would come to Ireland. As a Duchess and a famous society beauty, she would have no difficulty in obtaining the Viceroy’s assistance in her search for them. Police agents would make enquiries at hostelries and livery stables, and troops be sent out to scour the country for many miles round. Maureen Luggala would be interrogated and, if at first she stubbornly refused to reveal the place where Charles and Roger were, although Georgina had no means of threatening her she was very rich and, as Maureen was very poorly off, Georgina should be able to buy the information.
Every morning the two prisoners woke, hoping that this would be the day when either the negro, with a musket at his back, would lead the rescuers to the manhole, or they would hear searchers of the ruin up in the corridor above shouting their names. Yet each night brought more bitter disappointment.
At length the long-dreaded last day of April came. Soon after their food for the day had been lowered to them the face of the witch appeared at the manhole and she called down to Charles:
‘How does my young lordling feel upon his wedding morn? If need be I can have him dragged to the altar, but I hope that will not be necessary. What answer am I to take to Jemima?’
As Charles remained silent, she went on, ‘Come now, be sensible. For this past month she has scarce been able to contain her itch for you, and as pretty a baggage as you could find in all Dublin she is. Ah, and well tutored in all lascivious arts by myself. Play your part willingly in tonight’s ceremony and you will experience such pleasure in her arms as will drive from your mind all thought of that sulky wench, Susan. But do you continue to defy me I’ll have to force you into marrying her by a red-hot iron applied to your arse. ’Tis dearly I’ll make you suffer for it afterwards too. I’ll have Aboe make a eunuch of you. I’ll not stop either at inflicting only physical pain. Since this passion for Susan you have, you shall see her stripped, whipped, then violated in turn by Father Damien, Aboe and my two Irish morons.’
Roger closed his eyes and clenched his fists until his nails bit into the palms of his hands. Charles looked up and gulped out. ‘If … if I agree, will you free Susan and Mr. Brook, without harming them?’
‘It is me they would have harmed if they could,’ replied the witch, ‘but for Jemima’s sake I’ll forgo the punishment I intended to inflict on them. That you should put the past behind you and co-operate willingly, instead of being forced to it, means a great deal to her.’
‘Do you swear to God that you will keep your promise?’
‘Yes, I swear to God they shall remain unharmed and be freed.’
‘Very well, then,’ Charles sighed. ‘Tonight I will do all that you require of me.’
The witch gave a pleased laugh and closed the manhole.
Charles and Roger sat down side by side and, for some minutes, remained silent, then the latter said, ‘Participation in this Black Mass tonight will prove a revolting business for you. But try all the time to bear in mind that you have been forced to it in order to save Susan from appalling degradation and that, like a betrayal that has been extracted from you by torture, it will not be held against your spiritual integrity.’
‘You are right in that,’ Charles conceded miserably. ‘But it means that I’ll have lost Susan for ever.’
‘Not necessarily. When this is over, no-one can force you to continue living with Jemima. And if Susan truly loves you, as I believe she does, she would agree to become your mistress.’
‘I think she would, but I’d not ask it of her. Did we live together openly she would be ostracised by society, and a hole-in-the-corner affair would be a poor outlook for us both. She would not feel free to marry another, and we would be unable to share a home. But there are still many hours to go. My mother may yet arrive in time to save us. I intend to spend the day in prayer that may come about.’
‘God grant, then, that your prayers may be answered,’ Roger replied quietly. He refrained from adding that, although he believed that at times prayers are answered, they seldom were, as he well knew from the tens of thousands of men who had prayed that they might live through Napoleon’s battles, yet had died on the field or been frozen to death in the snows of Russia during the terrible retreat from Moscow.
Hour after hour crept by. Charles spent a great part of them on his knees. Roger sat silent, racking his wits for some means by which, when they were brought up from the dungeon, they might trick their enemies; but he thought in vain.
At last the long day was past. Charles refused to eat anything, but Roger, as had long been his habit when about to face a crisis, fortified himself with a good meal then lay down to doze during such time as remained to them.
He was roused by the sound of the manhole being opened, and Aboe lowering the rope from the hook of which now dangled a stout leather belt. The big negro then called down that one of them should buckle it round him, lest he lose his grip on the rope while climbing up.
Without consulting Charles Roger buckled on the belt and, hand over hand, hauled himself up the thick rope. His only hope now was that, as he come up through the hole, he would be able to get his hands round Aboe’s throat. But he could not let go of the rope until he was through the hole, and the negro had taken a precaution against being attacked. The moment Roger’s head emerged through the hole, Aboe slipped a noose of cord over it and jerked it tight round his neck. Half strangled, he was pulled out and immediately seized by Gog and Magog, who bound first his hands securely behind his back, then his ankles with the ends of a yard-long cord; so that he could walk, but could not kick out or run. Five minutes later Charles, having been rendered incapable of resistance in a similar manner, stood beside him.
Without a word their captors marched them through the cobweb-hung passages to the great hall. It was now lit by a number of candles, and the witch was there with Father Damien. She was clad in a mauve robe on which the signs of the Zodiac were embroidered in gold thread. It was the first time Roger had seen her face to face, and he conceded that the account of her beauty, given him by Charles, had not been exaggerated. The priest was wearing his mitre and a gorgeously-coloured cope, which swung open as he moved, revealing his genitals.
Charles’s hands were untied, and he was told to sit at a table upon which lay a parchment. As he took up the document and read it through, Aboe stood over him with a long, sharp knife.
The document declared his intention to receive instruction with a view to becoming a Roman Catholic, that he was about to be married to Miss Jemima Luggala by the ritual of that Church and that any children of the marriage should be brought up in the Roman faith. It continued to state that in no circumstances would he take any steps in an attempt to invalidate the marriage or live apart from his wife, unless it was her wish that he should do so. In a final clause, he made over to her his estate, White Knights Park, unreservedly, with the right to sell the whole or any part of it for her sole benefit.
It was a formidable commitment, but Charles knew that receiving instruction in the Roman faith did not commit him to changing his religion, and that if he chose he could make life so unpleasant for Jemima that she would be glad to leave him; so, without argument, he signed the undertaking.
The witch looked at Roger and said, ‘Mr. Brook, it was as an uninvited guest that you came here but since you are with us I feel sure you would not object to witnessing Lord St. Ermins’ signature; and, later, now that we are all friends, if you agreed to give the bride away a pleasant gesture it would be.’
Roger had read the document over Charles’s shoulder and realised that, apart from marrying Jemima and making over White Knights Park to her, nothing in it could compel Charles to act towards her as an agreeable husband. He said therefore that he would both sign as a witness and give away the bride. His hands were untied, and he signed with a smile, as he had been quick to realise that the more complaisant he appeared to be towards these people, the better chance he would have of turning the tables on them should the opportunity arise.
The whole party then proceeded along further passages and down a flight of stone steps to a large and lofty chamber, the floor of which was only a few feet above the surface of the lake. The outer wall of the room had collapsed, and Roger realised that it must be the big room he had seen from the end of the drive when making his first reconnaissance of the castle. He now saw by the moonlight that it was a chapel, at one end of which, raised on two steps, there was an altar consisting of a low, rough-hewn, smooth-topped slab of stone.
Jemima was standing near it. She was wearing a dress reminiscent of those worn in ancient Egypt. Her skirt was of white lawn, only knee length and heavily pleated. Her legs were bare, and she had golden sandals on her feet. Fichus of lawn fell gracefully from her shoulders to her waist, but only partially covered her breasts; between them, on a necklace of turquoises set in gold, hung a cruxansata. Framing her pale face her dark hair fell in ringlets to her shoulders; it was crowned by a circlet of gold, from the front of which rose a cat’s head.
On seeing the diadem Charles recalled that Katie O’Brien was a priestess of the Egyptian cat-god Bast. Roger, more cynically, thought how convenient the short skirt would be for the final act of the ceremony.
On the altar stood a blood-red, crooked cross. Father Damien genuflected before it, then turned round to face the others who had lined up in front of him. The hands of Charles and Roger were now free, but their ankles were still joined by cords that prevented them from moving swiftly. They also still had cords round their necks. Gog stood behind Charles and Magog behind Roger, ready to seize the ends of the cords at the first sign that the prisoners meant to make trouble.
Father Damien proceeded to intone the marriage service according to the Roman Church. Roger knew enough Latin to realise that, despite the bizarre surroundings, there was no deviation from it which could later enable Charles or himself to state on oath that the couple had not been properly married. At the right moment the witch, who was standing beside Jemima, reached behind the girl’s back, touched Charles on the elbow and pressed a wedding ring into his hand. He put it on Jemima’s finger and they both made the proper responses. Father Damien then gave them the orthodox blessing.
Even now Roger was still contemplating making a desperate effort to break up the ceremony, but the moment he took one short step sideways, Magog grabbed the cord round his neck and pulled it taut. He resigned himself then to witnessing the consummation of the marriage, which was to take place before them on the altar slab.
But that was not yet to be. The witch kissed Jemima, then drew her aside and said to the others, ‘We have yet to celebrate a second Mass to propitiate the great Bast and the master of us all, Prince Lucifer, Son of the Morning.’
At a sign from her, Gog and Magog jerked down the cords about Charles’s and Roger’s necks. As they put up their hands to prevent themselves from being throttled, the two peasants tied the ends of the cords to those attached to their captives’ ankles. Both struggled wildly for a moment, but with their heads strained back, effective resistance was impossible. Their arms were seized and their hands once more bound behind them. They were then dragged a few feet from the altar and forced down on their knees. In that position the slackening of the cords down their backs enabled them to breathe freely again, but they could not come to their feet without choking themselves.
Footsteps at the far end of the chapel caught their attention and caused them to look in that direction. Three figures had emerged from a doorway down there, and could be clearly seen in the bright moonlight: a man, a girl and a lamb. The man was Aboe. With his right hand he held the girl by the elbow, in his left hand he held a lead attached to a collar round the neck of the lamb. The girl was sheathed in the long, white robe of a conventional bride and had a wreath of orange blossom on her head. Since she was veiled Roger and Charles could not see her features distinctly at that distance, but they knew she must be Susan.
As she approached she could not have helped seeing them, but she showed no sign of having done so. Her steps were even and her head held high. Roger concluded that she had been either drugged or mesmerised. Charles’s face expressed shocked horror when he realised what was about to happen. Susan was about to be laid on the altar so that a Black Mass could be held upon her body. The priest would rape her. The lamb was to be sacrificed and, when it had been slaughtered, they would all be made to drink its blood. In agonised fury he shouted at the witch:
‘You can’t do this! You promised that no harm should be done to her! You swore it!’
Katie O’Brien’s scarlet lips opened wide in an amused laugh, then she replied, ‘You poor fool, you made me swear to God. I do not recognise your God. You should have made me swear to him you call Satan.’
‘May you rot in hell!’ Charles cried, and tried to get to his feet, but fell back again, choked by the rope around his neck.
Susan had not taken the least notice of the altercation. In front of the altar she halted. Aboe let go her arm and stepped back several paces from her. Father Damien began to recite the Lord’s Prayer backwards in Latin. Roger’s face was wet with sweat. Charles continued to hurl curses at the witch.
Suddenly Susan erupted from her trance-like stillness. Whipping a dagger from under her full robe, she turned and sprang with lightning swiftness at Jemima. Raising the dagger high, she screamed:
‘False friend! Liar! Judas! Betrayer of trust! You’ve brought your death upon yourself.’
Jemima, her dark eyes starting from her head in sudden terror, was just in time to throw up her hand and grasp Susan’s wrist. For a moment they struggled violently. The priest abruptly ceased his blasphemous prayer. Aboe leapt forward, but he had been standing a dozen paces away on the left side of the altar. Katie, to the right of it, was much closer. Springing toward Susan, she made a grab at the hair at the back of the girl’s head, but her fingers closed only over the veil. The jerk upon it threw Susan off balance. The two girls fell in a writhing heap on the stone floor.
Aboe threw himself on Susan and dragged her off Jemima, who remained groaning where she lay, the hilt of the dagger protruding from her right breast.
The witch fell to her knees, threw her arms round her daughter, raised her head to her own lap and moaned, ‘My darling! How could this have happened? The drug could not have taken effect. How did she get possession of that dagger?’
In a hoarse voice Jemima panted, ‘I gave … gave it to her. And … and I didn’t give her the drug.’
‘But why, child? Why?’ the witch asked in an agonised voice.
‘Because … because …’ came the gasping reply. ‘That stinking beast, Father Damien. He … he has been pestering me for weeks. He came to my room … my room three nights ago. I … I was sound asleep. He ripped the bedclothes off and … and was on me … on me before I realised what … what was happening. To … to be avenged on him I … I gave Susan the knife. Told her what to do. Pretend … pretend to be drugged then … then kill him with it.’
Jemima’s eyes closed, her head sagged and those about her realised that she was dead.
Sobbing, the witch came to her feet. For a moment she looked slowly round as though half dazed. Then her glance fell on Susan. Her beautiful face became distorted with rage, and she screamed:
‘It is you that killed her! You’ve killed my beautiful daughter. After you’d been raped during the ceremony, I’d meant to let you go. To throw you out. But not now! Not now. Prince Lucifer would prefer human blood to that of a lamb representing Jesus. After we have offered up your virginity, your throat I’ll cut myself.’
Turning her flashing eyes on Aboe, she yelled, ‘Throw the bitch on the altar. We’ve said prayers enough. Hold her down for Father Damien.’
Aboe towered above Susan, holding her arms behind her back. Shifting his grip, he picked her up and threw her face upward on the altar. Father Damien grinned down at her. His mouth was working, and saliva ran from the corners. Screaming, Susan fought with tooth and nail. Her veil and the wreath of orange blossom had fallen off. Her auburn hair was in wild disorder as she jerked up her head and bit Aboe savagely in the arm. He let out a yelp of pain, then called Gog and Magog to his assistance. Gog grabbed her hands and pulled them up above her head. Aboe seized the hem of her skirt and wrenched it back, revealing her body naked up to the navel. Then he and the negro each seized an ankle and pulled her legs apart. Father Damien had moved round to the end of the altar, facing her. Opening wide his cope, he gave a gloating chuckle as he exposed himself to her. Held down though she was her eyes stared up at him, fixed in fear on his enormous genitals.
Charles had shut his eyes and was sobbing. Roger stared aghast at this bestial spectacle, overwhelmed with dismay that he was powerless to prevent its consummation.
Suddenly he became conscious of an unseen presence beside him. Silently, in his mind, the presence spoke and he knew it to be the voice of the Sagamore, Morning Star.
‘It was because I foresaw this that I made you my brother.’
Instantly, with all the power of his lungs, Roger yelled, ‘The Frog! The Frog! He who is of Water, Earth and Air. The Creator, the beginning of all things! To defeat this Evil I call upon the Power of the Frog.’
Susan ceased screaming. Everyone present became deadly still. They remained rigid, as though a tableau in a waxworks show. For a moment there was utter stillness, and it seemed as though the dust of ages was falling silently upon them. Then there came the sound of lapping water.
The cords that bound Roger and Charles had fallen from them. Roger came to his feet and saw in the moonlight that the waters of the lake were sweeping away from the castle. Gog and Magog saw that, too. Impelled by a primitive, animal instinct to save themselves, they bounded from the altar, leapt down the tumbled stones into the mud and, frantic with terror, raced neck to neck to the shore.
The witch, Father Damien and Aboe remained rooted where they stood. Susan rolled off the altar and, as Charles ran toward her, picked herself up. A moment later they were clasped in each other’s arms.
Roger turned and stared out across the lake. A mist, partly obscuring the moonlit vista, had risen upon it. Out of the mist there loomed a gigantic figure. It was a huge frog, at least twenty feet in height, squatting in the water. The great eyes of this monstrous spirit of the frogs were focused on the castle. Its throat pulsated as though blown rhythmically by internal bellows. Its mouth opened wide once, then closed again.
Impelled by a silent signal, the witch and her two companions turned towards it. As though attracted by a magnet they could not resist, they walked with halting footsteps to the open side of the chapel, then staggered down the stones into the mud. Flailing their arms and dragging their legs, the three of them seemed to be fighting desperately against an invisible suction. They began to scream in terror and yell for mercy. But their appeals were of no avail. The last that Roger saw of them through the mist they were being drawn inexorably through knee-high water toward the again open mouth of the giant frog.
Afterwards Roger, Charles and Susan could never clearly remember what had happened to them. The floor of the chapel had begun to sink beneath their feet. Somehow they had got ashore. The crashing of falling stones made them look back, and they saw that the evil ruin was disintegrating. The waters of the lake were seeping back and, after a time they had no means of judging, the last remnants of the castle were submerged beneath them.
So weary that they could no longer think, they trudged for miles until they came upon a roadside bivouac, where a troop of soldiers sent out to search for them had made camp for the night.
Next day they were back in Dublin, and united with Georgina. A week earlier she had come over to find them. The Viceroy had given her all the help he could, but Maureen Luggala had proved useless. On enquiring at her house, it was learned that she had been taken away as a lunatic. Georgina had gone to Dublin’s Bedlam, to find her, cursed by the witch, an old and crippled woman, white-haired, her cheeks sagging, and raving mad.