The Gates of Sleep (42 page)

That something more that Mary Anne wanted was a permanent
position—involving no more work than she’d put in on stage, at the
same rate of pay as a star turn—in the household, whether or not she was
in Reggie’s bed. She was shrewd enough to know that Madam was not about
to pay her for doing nothing, but she was perfectly willing to perform
something as minimal as assisting Madam’s own maid, for instance. And the
other privilege she wanted was her own separate apartment for as long as she
stayed with the household.

Things became a little more complicated with the move to
Oakhurst, for Reggie insisted on having her along. Well, she kept Reggie
satisfied, and that took some imagination and athletic ability, and her
presence at Oakhurst was probably the only thing keeping Reggie here at all.
The Oakhurst household did not know what Mary Anne’s position was, and
Arachne had not wanted them to discover it. In light of Mary Anne’s stage
experience, Arachne had decided that playing lady’s maid to the girl fit
the criteria of “no more work than she’d put in on stage” and
she’d proved herself useful in that regard as well.

But that was beside the point, given this new revelation.
That Reggie actually believed and worshipped, now, that was something that
Arachne would not have even guessed at until this moment. How had he gotten
that way, and what was the cause? Surely there must have been a cause.

Yet so far as she knew, he had never seen anything during a
rite that she hadn’t seen. There had never been any manifestations of
lesser demons or devils, much less His Infernal Majesty himself at a single
Black Mass, however perfectly performed. The only things that had appeared when
summoned were the physical manifestations of Elementals—the nastier sort
of Elementals, that is; Lamias Incubi, Trolls, Hobgoblins, Manticores, all the
inimical fauna of a fabulous bestiary. Never a hint of a devil. Not a single
demon in the classical sense of hellspawn. Plenty of things that fed on
negative energies, on pain and despair, on sorrow and fear, but not a single
creature that was itself despair.

Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him with speculation.
Could it be that he had been holding rites on his own?
And
had gotten
unexpected results? Had he accomplished things he had not troubled to tell his
mother?

Could he, in fact, have gone so far as to invoke a devil
and make a classic pact?

If he had, that put another complexion on this conversation
entirely.

“I suppose—” he said finally, and she
didn’t much like the expression, or rather, lack of it, in his face and
hooded eyes. “—I suppose you’re right. It’s not belief,
it’s results that count.”

She countered his mask with one of her own. “And in
the realm of results, it would be best to have every option ready to put into
motion,” she purred. “I am by no means out of plans, yet. And I am
by no means limited to the ones we have already discussed.”

She was, in fact, perfectly prepared to perform the Great
Rite with her own son, if everything fell apart and she needed to do so to
protect herself from the backlash of the curse—though she had a notion
that she would have to drug or otherwise disconnect Reggie’s mind from
his body to accomplish that particular feat. Even her unshockable son might
consider that going a bit too far.

Well, that was what she had her own pet doctors and
chemists for. A little of this, a smidgen of that, and a glass of that brandy
he was so fond of, and he’d be seeing and hearing what she chose, and
doing exactly what she wanted.

Yes, and what was more, she was equally prepared to channel
that backlash through him if she had to. Especially if he was getting above
himself. If she was going to have to eliminate him, she certainly wouldn’t
waste his potential. He could be eliminated, and it wasn’t likely that
when the body was found, anyone would ever suspect her hand behind the death.
Someone else could be trained; the valet, perhaps. She’d done without an
Infernal Celebrant before, and she could do so again, awkward though it might
be.

And less effective.

That was the problem with the Satanic rituals; so
damned
misogynistic, so
infernally
patriarchal.

Perhaps… when all this was sorted, she ought to pay
someone to research the rites of the Magna Mater, or the goddess Hecate, or
some other goddess of black powers. Perhaps endow three or four scholarships,
or even get someone to search the proscribed sections of the Vatican library and
abstract the appropriate texts. Then she wouldn’t need any Celebrant but
herself.

No time for that now, though. The days and weeks were
ticking past; March was half over, and spring would be here too soon. Already
the snow was gone, and cold rain had taken its place. Then summer, and the
birthday…

“Woo the girl, and win her if you can,” she
ordered. “If
nothing
else, it will make inheritance easier if
you’re married to her when the curse takes her. There will be no nonsense
about probate courts and dying intestate and a minor; you’ll already have
it all, no questions, no hesitation.”

“A good point.” He grimaced, and seemed to
revert to his usual indolent self—though having seen the Believer behind
the mask, Arachne was never going to trust to that mask again. “All
right, Mater, I’ll do what—I’ll do the
best
that I
can.”

“I’m sure you will,” she replied as he
rose and walked out of the room. Though at that moment, she was not at
all
certain that he would.

After all—if she died in the backlash of the curse,
he stood to inherit all that
she
owned. And then, if he chose, he
could have his freedom to live his life as he chose, or his pick of heiresses
couldn’t he?

For all she knew, if he actually had made a pact, that would
be the sum of it.

Treachery, treachery. It might all come to which of them
betrayed the other first.

Marina was wracking her brains, trying to come up with a
reason, any excuse at all, to get Reggie and Arachne to take her to the pottery
at Exeter. She’d considered feigning some mysterious female illness,
considered a toothache that would require a visit to a dentist. But both those
ploys could involve having her ruse exposed as such, and would
involve—particularly in the case of the dentist—a certain amount of
pain. If she wanted books, well they could be ordered, and the same for the
shoes she actually needed.

She’d even gone so far as to make a handwritten list
of plausible approaches last night, but nothing seemed particularly inspired.
She was still turning things over in her mind as she followed Mary Anne to
breakfast the next morning, trying on this idea, then that, and coming up with
nothing.

Still, when she discovered that Madam was not down to
breakfast that morning, leaving her alone with Reggie, it seemed as though the
opportunity to approach him directly was too good to let slip. So she listened
to his interminable boasts and pointless stories with wide-eyed patience, then,
after a description of some petty triumph in business, she sighed theatrically.

At least he managed to pick up on that, although he was
utterly obtuse to the fact that she was bored silly with him. “Why the
sighs, fair cuz?” he asked, with an empty grin. “Do my triumphs on
the field of commerce so entrance you? Or is it just that, like a good little
feminine creature, you’ve no head for business and would like me to
change the subject?”

It was about as good an opening as she was ever likely to
get. “Actually, in a peculiar way, it’s partly both. I
am
fascinated by your enterprises,” she replied, making her eyes wide, and
looking at him with great seriousness. “Since I’m part of your
family now, I’ve come to the conclusion that I really ought to see your
business, first hand, so I can understand it when you discuss it. Oh, Reggie!
Could
you take me to the pottery at Exeter?” She made her voice turn wheedling,
though she cringed inside to hear herself. “Please? That is the closest
one, isn’t it? I should so like to see it, and even more, to see you in
charge of all of it! It must be thrilling, like seeing a captain command his
warship!”
Good gad, am I really saying this tripe?

For a moment, he looked so startled that she had to swallow
an entire cup of tea in three gulps to keep from laughing aloud. “Are you
serious, cuz?” he said incredulously. “Do you really want to see
the pottery and watch me at work?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, looking straight
into his eyes. “More than wanting to see it, I feel that I must see it,
and that I can never properly understand you or Madam unless I see you in
command of it all. Could you take me? Perhaps on your next business trip?”
She actually stooped so low as to bat her eyes at him, and tried not to gag.

“By Jove, I not only could, but this will fit in with
my plans splendidly!” he exclaimed with such glee that she was startled. “Just
yesterday Mater was saying that I ought to take you to some place bigger than
Oakhurst and let you see the sights; maybe do a trifle of shopping, I know how
you little creatures love to shop—”

She stifled the urge to strangle him and concentrated on
looking overjoyed with the prospect of a day away from the house and the
village. It wasn’t that hard to do, given the promise of “a little
shopping.” Perhaps she could manage to get hold of some money in the
process.

“I would like that above all things, so long as I can
also see the pottery,” she said, gazing at him with feigned adoration. “Oh,
Reggie, you are so good to me, and I know I must bore a worldly fellow like you
to distraction. I can’t help it, I know I’m too serious, and so
horribly provincial. I must seem like such a bumpkin to a man of the world like
you.”

“Oh no—you have other things to distract me
with, fair cuz,” he flattered, with such complete insincerity that she
wondered why every woman he met didn’t see through him immediately. “Well
then, this is Saturday—I’ll send Hibdon down to reserve a
first-class compartment on the first train down to Exeter Monday morning and
the last returning Monday night. We’ll be up at dawn, catch the train and
have breakfast on it, be in Exeter by ten. We’ll trot you about the
shops, a handsome little luncheon, perhaps a little more shopping, then we’ll
off to the pottery. I’ll do my duty to the old firm, don’t you
know, then we’ll catch the train, have a good tea on it, and be back here
in time for a late dinner!” He laughed then, and winked at her. “I
know that won’t be nearly enough shopping for you—you ladies don’t
seem to want to do anything but shop, but maybe you’ll take pity on a
poor fellow and let me make a promise to take you up again another time.”

She simpered, and dropped her eyes, to avoid having to look
at him. “Oh, cousin Reggie, I really have very simple tastes. I would
like to see a bookshop, and I haven’t nearly enough gloves, and perhaps a
hat—”

He guffawed—there was no other word for it.
“A
hat? My dear cuz, I have never yet seen a woman who could buy
a
hat!
If you manage that feat, I will fall dead in a faint!”

I just wish you’d fall dead,
she thought
ungenerously, but she managed to fake a giggle. “Shoes, too,” she
added as an afterthought. “And riding boots, at least. Mine,” she
added with genuine regret, “are a disgrace.”

“That’s enough to fill a morning and an
afternoon. Gloves, hats, books—romances, I’ll be bound, or
poetry—and shoes. Hands, head, heart and—” he grinned at his
own cleverness, “—
soles.”

She did the expected, and groaned and rolled her eyes at
the pun. He looked pleased, and chuckled. “I’ll tell the Mater; she’ll
be cheered. She thinks you ought to see the big city—well, something
bigger than a village, anyway. Maybe we can go down for a concert or recital or
whatnot after this, if the sight of all those people in one place doesn’t
give you the collywobbles.”

“I shall do everything on my part to avoid the
collywobbles,” she promised solemnly. She managed to be flatteringly good
company until he finished his breakfast, then went off to whatever task he had
at hand. She finished hers, then took herself off to the long gallery for her
newest lessons, which were occupying her mornings now.

The long gallery was a painting and statue gallery, with
windows looking out on the terrace on one side, and the artworks on the other.
To show off the art, the walls had been painted white and had minimal
ornamentation. And now, during autumn, winter, and early spring, the ornamental
orange trees in their huge pots from the terrace were kept at the windows
inside. The highly polished stone floor echoed with every footstep, and a
glance at the rain-slick terrace outside made Marina shiver.

Mary Anne was conducting these lessons, but Marina had
hopes that they would be over relatively soon, since she was mastering them
more quickly than the dancing lessons. And for once, the wretched girl was
actually being helpful instead of superior. It didn’t seem as though one
ought to need lessons in how to move and walk once one was past babyhood, but
as Marina was discovering, it wasn’t so much “how to walk” as
it was “how to walk gracefully.”

The first mistake in her carriage that Mary Anne had
corrected had been that Marina always swung her right foot out and back when
she moved—she wasn’t sure
why,
or how she had gotten into
the habit, but now she understood why it was that she was always stubbing the
toes of her right foot on things she
should
have passed right by. Then
Mary Anne had made her shorten her stride and slow down by tying a string
between her ankles, so that she couldn’t take a long stride and was
constantly reminded by the string not to.

Yesterday, at the end of the lesson, the string had come
off so that Mary Anne could view her unimpeded progress.