Chapter 37

An hour passed before Johnny and I were able to disengage ourselves from our social duties to meet with Stanley. Once again Johnny played the Robert card to hasten our exit. The mere thought of Robert throwing a tantrum tended to unhinge the entire household, staff included. Given scant attention by Johnny caused Robert to grow sullen, if not vindictive.

Stanley motioned to us as Johnny and I entered the kitchen. I went over to Dagmar first and gave her many compliments. Before I was dragged away into Stanley’s office, Dagmar said, “Come and see me later, if you can. I would so much like to talk.”

I was more than happy to oblige.

If Alice had been a seer, Dagmar was a witch. Her tools were the mundane herbs of the garden and food for the table, but in her hands, they cast a spell that permeated the whole experience that was Rhinebeck. Growing up, I would often visit her and simply watch as she moved about her kitchen. For a child whose parents were hardly ever there, her presence and her kindnesses, which included the odd snack, offered a safe harbor. She was a constant supporter as I tried to navigate a future that required an excellence of myself that was often sadly lacking, a fact that weighed on my mind even at an early age. In her kitchen, her art took shape with a calming regularity that I was content to observe and experience. Supreme competence was possible. I could see it. I believed in it. I had hope that one day I might be able to emulate such skills in my own way.

Stanley had a similar level of mastery but in a different context. Johnny and I entered his office. He offered us a tumbler of his fine whiskey, which we gratefully accepted. Robert scrambled out from under the desk, lay down next to his master’s chair, and promptly went back to sleep.

Once we were settled, I said to Stanley, “I understand you were instrumental in helping me last night, and for that, I thank you. I was unconscious, so I don’t know exactly what you did, but I did wake up in my bed, rather than on the floor. It is most appreciated.”

Stanley nodded. “Once I knew you had consumed some of the tincture, I was on familiar ground. I cannot count the number of times I put her ladyship to bed in a similar state, which is why I was confident that you would awake refreshed and restored.”

“Which I too experienced, but with a peculiar absence of memory until later. Did that happen to her as well?”

“After a particularly powerful experience, it did. She kept detailed notes on many of her sessions. They are in a box in the hidden library. It would be a project to read them, but you are welcome to continue where I left off. The ones I have read are indicated by a check mark in the upper right-hand corner.

“You haven’t read them all?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why did you stop?”

“They were difficult to read. Painful, in fact.” Stanley paused. He looked away from us and out the window. “I so admired and respected her, but over time much of what she wrote became the ramblings of someone I considered not of sound mind. It was too much. With each one, my image of her grew more tarnished and more ghastly. I blamed myself for her addiction. The signs were there to see, but I chose to indulge her rather than put a stop to it. I decided I must live with that, and I have. What I couldn’t live with was my growing sense of pity and disdain for her, and in no small measure for myself.”

He took a sip of his drink and looked at us again.

“The truth is I chose to stop reading them. It was too soon after her death when I started that project. Since that time, I have better reconciled the two images in my mind. The woman who was brave, beautiful, and too good for this world, and the other one: a woman driven mad by dark visions and all-consuming nightmares. Nonetheless, I have never managed to find the time to restart the project. Perhaps I never will. I would be grateful if you both took it up.”

Johnny looked at me. “I think that is something we should pursue. Which reminds me, I haven’t had a chance to peruse the diary either. We must get to that tonight no matter what.”

I had forgotten about the diary. Johnny and I had another late night ahead of us.

“No rest for the wicked,” I said.

“None at all,” said Johnny. “By the way, Stanley, I’m glad you were familiar with the effects of the tincture, because I’m not sure what I would have done without your assistance and calm.”

Stanley smiled. “It’s all part of the service. No extra charge. Now our time is limited. Why don’t we begin by you both relating to me what happened last night as best you can?”

Johnny gave a succinct account of the summoning, including finding Alice’s notes, his decision to use of the Brugmansia tincture, the bargain he made, and the shattering of the figurine.

When he was finished, Stanley nodded and asked that I relate what happened, which I did. Stanley leaned back in his chair and looked at us.

“Thank you for giving me this information. That was a night to remember, or not, as the case may be. I have several questions, and I am sure you have some as well. To start, I am pleased to know that the figurine finally turned up. I have been worried about it for years. When did you discover it?

“Robert found it hidden among the boxes when we first arrived and looked through the cellar,” Johnny answered.

“I see. It must have somehow slipped through. Objects like that have a life and mind of their own. That was a dangerous thing to use. Her ladyship remarked that the figurine was probably the most powerful object she had ever held in her hands. Where is it now?”

“The remains are in a shoe box in my closet,” continued Johnny.

“I would move them to the repository, but they can remain where they are for now. Whether its power shattered, I’m not sure. Perhaps whatever you encountered absorbed it. If that was the case, I should think that was more than enough to compensate for the additional question, but…” Stanley looked at me. “Whatever it was seemed to think that you received something as well. It demanded additional compensation to offset what it lost. Such have a reputation for being good at assessing the fairness of a bargain, provided they come out ahead to some extent.”

“That is something I have a question about,” I said. “Since last night, I have acquired an intuitive part that is quite astute and perceptive. It talks to me and gives me insights. For lack of a better question, what does it mean?”

“It could mean almost anything, depending on how you use what you received. Just exercise good sense and don’t necessarily take what you get as gospel. One has to remember the source. Understand its strengths and weaknesses. But remember: you received a gift. To not accept it can be just as dangerous. After all, Johnny had to strike a bargain for you. Value and use it accordingly. I would, of course, be interested in what you discover. On a related topic: the bargain…but before we get there, let’s back up a few steps. We are making a presumption that something other than a drug-induced hallucination took place. It’s easy to jump to conclusions, so I wish to know what you think occurred? In essence, did you meet your demon, Johnny, or not?”

“That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Nothing magically appeared, which was what I wanted. Nonetheless, something happened. Whether it was the result of the tincture, I don’t know. A few of our guests coincidentally had some peculiar dreams. Is it proof? No. The real issue for me is that I made a promise to someone or something last night, only I’m not sure what I promised. It is decidedly ambiguous. To add to my unease, last night was terrifying in ways I had not imagined possible, which makes me view the promise as significant and potentially threatening. Stanley, what do you think?”

“Before we examine the specifics, as a general principle, a promise is a promise. If what you experienced was fantasy, then who received the promise? No other parties being present, I would say the promise was to each other. If what you experienced was not hallucination, then it was to a third party and all that entails. Regardless of the actual identity, you made a promise.”

“I suppose so,” said Johnny. “I’m stuck with having made it.”

“You are, but I would not dwell solely on the consequences. Rather, let’s review the information you received. You asked if her ladyship was murdered and the response was ‘The Eye of the Moon was closed.’ Eye of the Moon is a significant moniker that I have not heard in a long time. It could refer to her ladyship, since you were asking about her, but it could just as well refer more formally to Wadjet, the patron goddess of one of the great oracles of the ancient world located at Buto, in lower Egypt. She was known as the Green One and was often depicted as a cobra. She performed a protective function. If we think in terms of her ladyship, the phrase was closed is also ambiguous. Someone closing her eyes could mean someone killed her or she killed herself. If the eye refers to that of the goddess, she might have been asleep and saw nothing or she was simply unable to protect her ladyship. In keeping with such responses, the interpretation can be viewed in any number of different ways.

“The second part was ‘Tell him, find him out, and keep him.’ Again, him was not defined.

“I have found more than once that such utterances, if they are true, require a future context rather than that of the present state of affairs to make sense.”

“In other words,” said Johnny, “a whole lot of nothing, but then again maybe not. I suppose that’s typical.”

Stanley looked at Johnny. He seemed more tired than I had seen him. “It is,” he said. “Sometimes one just has to live long enough to find out. The words will likely make more sense given time. In the meanwhile, I would suggest reviewing the notes and the diary. I would like to know myself what they say, but I do not have the heart to do so. At the very least, your experiment has livened up a potentially boring weekend with a little matter of life and death.”

“Did you just make a joke?” asked Johnny. “Stanley, you’re slipping. You’re letting your human side show.”

“Well, one must maintain a sense of humor. Sometimes that’s all we can do.”

“Speaking of humor,” I said, “whatever did you say to Malcolm at lunch?”

“Ah yes. Malcolm Ault is a hypochondriac. Half his suitcase is filled with remedies. I discreetly mentioned to him that the baroness had a particularly stubborn skin condition of an intimate nature. He cooled off rather quickly. I make it a point to be familiar with the habits of our guests so that I might serve them better and give them a memorable visit.”

As he said that, we heard the crunch of gravel from the driveway.

Johnny said, “That must be Maw and her minion. Memories are made of such things.”

Any possible chance of boredom evaporated in an instant.