The Hidden Evil Read online

  There was a knock on the door and Maggie went to open it.

  She had a long conversation with someone outside, so long that Sheena almost despite herself became curious and called out,

  “What is it, Maggie? Who is there?”

  Maggie came back into the room carrying a gown in her hand.

  “’Tis a present from Her Majesty Queen Catherine,” she said. “She asks that you don it and proceed at once to her Apartments. It seems that she is exceedingly anxious to see you for some reason I cannot understand.”

  “Tell Her Majesty that I am slightly indisposed and unable to accept her kind invitation,” Sheena replied.

  Maggie hesitated for a minite before conveying the message, knowing, as Sheena knew, that such a reply would not be well received.

  “Do as I say,” Sheena ordered sharply. “We go tomorrow. What does it matter what they think tonight?”

  She had a sudden revulsion against them all, even against the Queen whom she had been so eager to champion when she had first come here, ‘the sleeping panther’. Or was she really just the harmless and ineffectual woman in the background that she appeared to be?

  ‘What did it matter? So what did any of it matter?’ Sheena asked herself.

  She was going away tomorrow. She would be free of them all. In a few years they would only be ghosts at the back of her mind, memories that would amuse her in the long winter evenings when there was nothing else to do.

  She wondered if her father would be pleased to see her, but she doubted it. He had very little affection for her, she knew that. His heart and all that was soft and gentle in him was buried in her mother’s grave. He had now only a burning patriotism for Scotland, a desire that his country should be rid of all the murderous invaders who were destroying the financial strength of Scotland but also her manhood.

  There would be nobody to welcome her home, Sheena thought, but at least she would not have to pretend. She could sit in the garden and dream of the Duc, she could walk the moors and call his name aloud and no one would hear her but the moorfowl and the gulls coming in from the sea and he would never know what she felt for him.

  After only a short while he would not even remember the insignificant girl from Scotland whom he had insulted.

  Maggie had gone to the door with the gown.

  When she returned, her face was anxious.

  “The page seemed to think you had done something that would greatly annoy his Royal Mistress,” she announced.

  “Tomorrow we shall be gone,” Sheena answered.

  “Aye, that’s a consolation,” Maggie replied.

  She pulled a big trunk from the cupboard. It was worn and battered after the sea journey, but Sheena bent forward to touch it as if it was an old friend.

  “Hurry, Maggie,” she urged.

  In answer Maggie sat back on her heels and looked up at her.

  “What be worryin’ you?” she said. “There’s somethin’ wrong, I can see that sure enough, and haven’t I eyes in me head enough to know that you’re unhappy?”

  She paused and then added suspiciously,

  “What is this news you’ve been hearin? Is it from home? Or is it somethin’ here that’s upset you?”

  Trust Maggie to put her finger on the right spot, Sheena thought.

  “You are right,” she said in a weary voice. “It is something that has upset me here. But, Maggie, I cannot talk of it – not yet. Perhaps later when we are away, when everything is left behind.”

  Her voice broke suddenly. She was wondering if after all she could bear the thought of never seeing him again, never hearing his voice and never knowing again that sudden thrill as he came towards her.

  There was so much suffering in her eyes that Maggie turned her face away.

  I suppose you ken what you’re doin’,” she remarked sourly.

  There was a knock at the door, but before Maggie could rise to her feet, it opened and a vision of glittering splendour swept in. It was Comtesse René de Pouguet, wearing a gown of emerald-green satin embroidered with diamonds and pearls and her neck and wrists sparkling with the same gems.

  She moved imperiously into the middle of the room and Sheena saw that, following her was the page carrying the white robe that Maggie had handed back to him.

  “Mistress McCraggan,” the Comtesse said and her voice was sharp, “I sent a page to you a short while ago with an invitation from Her Majesty the Queen. He has returned to say you are indisposed. There appears to me to be little wrong with you.”

  “I crave your pardon, madame,” Sheena said in an attempt at dignity. “I am not actually ill, but I am in no mood for any type of jollification and I would not inflict my low spirits on Her Majesty.”

  “It is for Her Majesty to judge whether she would be afflicted or not,” the Comtesse replied. “You are new at Court and therefore I presume must be excused for committing such a bêtise. An invitation such as you have just received, especially one accompanied by a gift, cannot be refused.”

  There was so much scorn in her voice that Sheena flushed nervously.

  “I-I am sorry – ” she began, only to be interrupted by the Comtesse saying peremptorily,

  “So you should be. I am not accustomed, Mistress McCraggan, to have to interpret Her Majesty’s invitations, especially not to persons from other countries who are here as guests of the King.”

  Sheena gave a little sigh.

  “I apologise,” she said. “I realise now that it was rude of me and I have no wish to be rude either to the King or to Her Majesty, who has been most kind.”

  “Kind is hardly a strong enough word,” the Comtesse remarked acidly. “The gowns she has given you cost many thousands of francs and I have never known Her Majesty to be so gracious, especially to someone of so little importance as yourself.”

  Sheena heard Maggie snort indignantly.

  Because she felt that she was in the wrong and that it was undignified to argue further, she merely bowed her head and said quietly,

  “You must forgive me for being so ignorant and so ungracious.”

  The Comtesse appeared to be mollified a little.

  “Fortunately Her Majesty has not been informed of your impertinence,” she said. “And so I suggest that I merely tell her you have accepted her invitation. Dress quickly, wearing the robe she has sent you as a present and be in the Royal Apartments within the hour.”

  The Comtesse’s words were almost like a whip and, Sheena suddenly thought, that there was something cruel and unpleasant about her beauty and something almost repulsive about her very personality.

  She wore a heavy scent and, when she had left the room, it seemed to hang ominously in the air, so that on an impulse Sheena crossed to the casement and flung it wide letting in the evening breeze and the last rays of the setting sun.

  “A Tartar if ever there was one!” Maggie remarked from behind her. “And who is she, I should like to know, to give herself such airs and graces? They tell me she was a nobody until she managed to ingratiate herself somehow with the Queen. Thick as thieves they be with those sorcerers and soothsayers and all that sort of hanky-panky.”

  Sheena made no reply and Maggie went on,

  “You should hear the things the servants be sayin’ about her, they know that she’s of no importance. She set her cap at that Duc they say – I canna remember his name but you know the one I mean. But his valet says she’ll never get him.”

  Sheena could not help a sudden lightening of her heart.

  She tried not to listen to her for she knew that nothing she could say would stop Maggie talking.

  “There’s a lot of very strange things goin’ on,” Maggie continued. “I canna quite put my finger on it because the Queen’s attendants never talk to us lesser fry. They are sort of banded together against the rest of The Palace. But one of the Duchesse’s maids was sayin’ to me – ”

  Sheena put her hands over her ears. She could not bear it. She did not want to hear all the chitter-chat
ter of the Stewards’ room or of the servant’s hall. She wanted to feel free of it all and most of all she knew that she wanted to think of the Duc.

  She tried not to and yet she could not help it. One part of her body hungered to hear of him, to think of him, to see him and the other part, her Scottish pride, told her that she must forget him.

  If he was not for the Comtesse, he was certainly not for her.

  Perhaps in Scotland the feel of his lips would leave her mouth and perhaps at home she would no longer be haunted by him.

  *

  It was just under an hour later that Sheena moved down the passage towards the Queen’s Apartments. She could see her reflection in the long gilt mirrors on either side of the passage and she thought she looked like a ghost.

  The gown that the Queen had sent her was of pure Chinese silk, soft and clinging to her figure, and made of such priceless material that one could have drawn it traditionally through a Wedding ring.

  It was pure white and it made her, she thought, look very young and so was a striking contrast to the flaming red of her hair.

  She had been surprised to find that there was no embroidery and no other material used with it as was the fashion. All the other gowns the Queen had sent her had been heavy with jewels such as the Queen herself delighted to wear and there had been insets of velvet and ribbon, satin and lamé, with panels and trains of brocade and waistbands of fine stones.

  But this gown was pure and virginal and then she wondered if the Queen had particularly wanted her to look young and unsophisticated for some reason.

  Just for one brief moment, because she was a woman, Sheena could not help the thought coming into her mind that perhaps the Duc would see her and think her attractive. And then she dismissed the whole idea sternly from her consciousness and told herself that whatever she wore the Duc would look at her only with eyes of fury.

  Pages in Royal Livery opened the double doors for her to enter the Queen’s Apartments and she moved through several antechambers until she came to the salon where the Queen habitually received her guests.

  It was ill lit this evening. There were not so many tapers as usual in the gold sconces and the crystal chandelier on the ceiling had not been illuminated, which made it difficult to see who was in attendance on Her Majesty.

  Everywhere there was the heavy scent of herbs which seemed to Sheena not unlike the incense which was used in a Church. But it was more pungent, making her feel as if her head was swimming and it was difficult to breathe.

  As Sheena entered and the Major Domo announced her name, she thought that everyone gathered in the room turned towards her as if they had been expecting her entrance.

  It was a silly impression to have, she thought, and yet she could not help realising there was a sudden silence as she moved to the Queen, who was seated in a high-backed chair and then she curtseyed low before her.

  The Queen held out her hand and she kissed the white fingers, noticing as she did so that they were hot and a little wet, Sheena felt a sudden revulsion. What was it about the Queen, she wondered that struck her now as unpleasant?

  It was not only that she was dirty and there was a faint aroma about her that even the use of heavy perfumes could not disguise.

  There was something else, Sheena thought, something in the whole room that made her feel as if her hackles were rising.

  She glanced round. The Marquis was there, the Comtesse René de Pouguet and several other people whose faces she recognised vaguely but could not put a name to.

  “We are glad you are here. Mistress McCraggan,” the Queen said with her Italian accent very noticeable. “You have not yet dined?”

  “In fact, your Majesty, I have not eaten all day as I have forgotten about it until now.”

  The Queen smiled and it seemed to Sheena as if she was unnaturally pleased at the news.

  “That is very good! Very good!” she said. “Well, we will eat later. First we will drink.”

  She made a gesture with her hands towards the pages, who came forward with gold trays on which there were crystal glasses filled with dark-red wine.

  They offered the tray to the Queen and to the other guests and then another page came towards Sheena holding a gold salver with only one glass, a beautifully chased goblet set with emeralds and diamonds.

  “A special glass of wine for you, Mistress McCraggan,” the Queen smiled.

  “I am sorry, your Majesty,” Sheena answered, “but I never drink wine.”

  The Queen’s face darkened.

  “It is a loving cup between friends, we should take it most amiss if you were to refuse.”

  “O-of course, your ‒ Majesty,” Sheena stammered.

  She put out her hand to the goblet.

  She did not know why, but she had a curious reluctance to take it. She had a feeling deep in her heart that something was wrong and yet she knew it was absurd and the Queen was just showing her usual kindness.

  Remembering that she had not yet thanked Her Majesty for the gown she was wearing, Sheena said quickly,

  “I must thank you, ma’am, for your most kind and generous present. As you see, it fits me perfectly.”

  “I thought it would,” the Queen replied. “You look very lovely, my dear.” She turned her head towards the Marquis. “Do you not agree with me, my Lord?”

  As if the Marquis had been waiting for a cue so that he could join in the conversation, he moved from behind the Queen’s chair to Sheena’s side.

  He raised her hand to his lips and, looking down into her eyes, said,

  “You are as lovely as a Vestal Virgin or as any of the nymphs who were once pursued by the Gods from Mount Olympus.”

  As always when she was paid a fulsome compliment, Sheena was embarrassed. She tried to pull her hand away from the Marquis’s fingers, but he guessed her intention and, laughing a little beneath his breath, bent and kissed it again.

  “The Scots don’t know how to take a compliment,” he remarked tauntingly.

  “We like them only when they are completely sincere,” she retorted and they all laughed as if she had said something very witty.

  “Drink the wine,” the Queen ordered her, “and then we have something to do that I think will amuse you.’

  “What is that?” Sheena enquired.

  The Queen’s eyes seemed to light up.

  “You have not yet seen my Tower. I had it built at the side of The Palace so that my soothsayers could communicate with the Heavens and could read for me the secrets of the stars.”

  “I-I have heard of it, your Majesty,” Sheena said, striving to be polite.

  “Many people talk of it,” the Queen replied, “but few are privileged to go inside. Only my very special friends are ever invited.”

  She smiled at the assembled throng while Sheena clutched the goblet in her hand and wondered once again why she felt so uneasy and why there was a strange premonition within her that something was very wrong.

  The Queen indicated the goblet in Sheena’s hand and the Marquis raised his own glass.

  “Let me give you a toast,” he then proposed. “To the unknown and the future, whatever it may bring us.”

  The other guests held up their glasses.

  “To the unknown,” they echoed.

  Sheena realised that the Queen was watching her.

  She put the goblet up to her lips. The metal felt cold and, as if in contrast, the wine itself seemed almost warm.

  ‘Blood warmth,’ she thought and wondered why the words came to her mind.

  “Drink! Drink it up!” The Queen had bent forward in her chair. “It is for you. A sign of my favour, a token of my affection, Mistress McCraggan. Drink it up!”

  There was nothing Sheena could do but tip the goblet up, feeling the wine flow down her throat almost she thought like a river in spate. It was not unpleasant and, because the Queen was watching her closely, she drank the contents of the goblet almost to the bottom.

  Then she turned to put it down, lo
oking for a table or a page standing near with a tray in his hand. And even as she did so she realised that everyone was watching her.

  There was silence in the room, a heavy ominous silence, as if everyone ceased breathing and she could only see their eyes.

  Eyes! Eyes! Everywhere! Watching her! Staring at her!

  For a moment she thought that she must have gone deaf as they must be talking and she could not hear them.

  And then almost like smoke rising from a fire she felt a wave rising up through her body towards her brain, dark sinister and evil.

  She could feel it seeping its way through her, rising, rising until it reached the very top of her head and she felt that a sudden blackness was encompassing her.

  She made one last frantic effort to clear her senses, to turn and run from the room.

  But it was too late!

  The waves of darkness caught up with her, splashed over her and she felt herself sinking down until she knew no more.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Something was struggling.

  Out of the darkness that seemed impenetrable, a faint light came and went, hardly larger than a pinpoint, but growing nearer and then receding.

  There was a noise, a noise of chanting voices and a deeper note of someone exalting and declaiming.

  That too receded and there was only darkness again, a darkness, however, of which one was conscious and knowing it to be evil.

  Strange words were being cried aloud, names that seemed vaguely familiar and yet at the same time repellent.

  Slowly, as if she came back from a very very long distance, Sheena heard more chanting.

  It was in a language that she recognised as Latin. but the words did not make sense.

  “Quotidianeum panem nostrum hodie nobis da – ”

  Could it be? It sounded just like the Lord’s Prayer said backwards, but her numbed brain could not hold the thought. There was the heavy, sickly smell of incense. It seemed to fill her nostrils and suffocate her.

  But after a long time, when the voices receded, came back and receded again, she had a sudden fear of what was being said and knew that she could no longer go on listening to it.