am, though right now I may not seem so,’ Seefan acknowledged. ‘Come, there is little time and much to do.’
*****
An hour later Sarah stood before the full-length mirror and stared back at her reflection. The beauty she saw there offered her no hope, nor was there pleasure in it. She was dressed as if she was about to be sacrificed, and she knew it.
‘He has sent these for you to wear with this gown,’ Seefan whispered in awe as she held up a string of pearls. Sarah barely moved as Seefan raised the necklace over her head before drawing the ends together, locking them in place, allowing the pearls to fall, snow-white, of even size and priceless.
‘Tears of the sea,’ Sarah whispered, before turning away from the mirror and towards the door.
*****
‘How long has it been?’ Develin asked as he dropped the remains of a handmade unfiltered Turkish cigarette into the fireplace.
Carl shrugged. ‘Just over an hour, I would guess. He’s been missing at least that long.’ He chuckled. ‘A pity really - such a good doctor, such a poor judge of firearms.’
Laird had taken a pistol from Develin’s private collection; a handsome piece with a pearl handle, right out of the American West. Unfortunately, the bullets were wrong. Even Develin was unsure if the gun would merely refuse to fire or explode in Laird’s hand. It was all academic in any case, since it was very likely that Laird would suffocate in the airless recess he had unwisely chosen. Develin knew from personal experience as a child when his nurse had hauled him out just in time. Unknown to Laird, the internal mechanism had been disabled, effectively locking him in once the heavy door closed.
‘She’ll be here soon. Do you want your injection now?’
Develin sighed and began to roll up the sleeve of his left arm. ‘Yes, now would be fine.’ He leaned back and drifted for a moment as the syringe bit into a vein.
Carl carefully pulled his sleeve back into place then moved away, concerned.
‘Stop fussing, Carl.’
‘You don’t sleep enough. You rest, but you don’t sleep,’ Carl intoned with finality.
‘Plenty of time for that in my tomb,’ Develin replied evenly. ‘Tonight I shall sleep between the thighs of a beautiful young ...’ he smiled sardonically, ‘woman.’
‘You will find no rest there.’
‘Perhaps not; we shall see.’ Develin rose slowly from his chair as he heard footsteps in the hallway.
Carl’s young protégé, whose name was Brett as Sarah had discovered, was too nervous and unsure to take her arm as she began her descent of the stairs.
‘How old are you, Brett?’ Sarah asked.
‘Twenty-three, Miss.’
‘And you have been in Mr. Develin’s employ for …?’
‘I was born here, Miss. My dad is the gardener and Mum, she helps with the laundry sometimes.’
‘Do you know where you are taking me, and why?’ Sarah paused halfway down the stairs.
‘That is Mr. Develin’s business, Miss, and if you don’t mind me saying so, it’s best left as his business. It’s not for the likes of me to ask too many questions.’
Seefan drew level with Sarah. ‘It is now just past seven. We are late,’ she whispered in annoyance. ‘Mr. Develin is waiting in the Amber Room. We must hurry.’
‘Not in the library?’ Sarah asked, suddenly alarmed.
‘No,’ Seefan replied, ‘it is the Amber Room which he favours.’
It was easy to see why. Designed for intimacy of scale, the Amber Room was a fraction of the size of the library. In the middle of the long wall stood a huge stone fireplace capable of warming the room quickly and keeping it that way throughout the winter months. The fire was kept burning day and night, and woe betide the parlor maid who failed to see to its care. Over the fireplace hung a magnificent oil painting of a woman dressed in an elaborate costume reminiscent of the turn of the century. The room was furnished with priceless antiques and curios, the sofas and chairs covered in honey-colored velvet, while the floor was carpeted, then overlaid with Oriental rugs in shades of amber. The furniture was solid walnut. A windowless interior chamber, positioned at the center of the house, it was the first of five rooms that together formed the ground floor of the west wing and Richard Develin’s private apartments.
Brett positioned Sarah at the center of the doorway, but before he could knock, Carl opened the door then stepped back to allow Sarah to enter. She hesitated. Straight ahead of her, perhaps fifteen feet away, stood Develin, casually dressed in a loose-fitting velvet jacket in a deep, rich garnet color, dark gray pants, a white shirt open at the neck. A cravat in a shade somewhat lighter than his jacket served to formalize his appearance slightly. The cold blue eyes regarded her fully, taking in every inch of her within seconds.
‘Come in, Miss Churchill,’ he asked, or was it an order? ‘Leave us for a while, Carl. I will call you if I need you.’
Carl nodded then slipped behind Sarah with barely enough room to close the door behind him.
Develin turned towards a set of sofas at right angles to the fireplace, sat down on the one facing Sarah and motioned for her to join him. She stayed where she was.
‘The gown is beautiful, is it not?’ He lit a cigarette with a sterling silver lighter, leaned back and regarded her with mild amusement. Except for a slight lift of her chin that spoke volumes, she remained silent, watching him with eyes that failed to hide her anger, or was it moral indignation? ‘Please, sit down so that we may discuss your future calmly and, I hope, with a minimum of emotion.’
‘I have nothing to say to you.’
‘Splendid!’ He smiled triumphantly. ‘I, however, have much to say to you, so if you would be so kind.’ He indicated the seat beside him. Sarah moved rapidly forward and sat down on the edge of the sofa opposite. He sighed. ‘You are most contrary, Miss Churchill. I must admit, however, that as you are I can better appreciate your beauty.’ He paused. ‘Do you know why you have been brought here?’
‘Yes,’ she replied flatly, keeping her eyes averted. She was having a very difficult time keeping calm. Half of her wanted to cry; the other half wanted to throw something at him. She did neither.
‘Good. We can progress forward then from that basis. Assuming all goes well, I expect to have a son born in late September. Naturally, you will nourish the child for a brief period before he is handed into the care of professionals, including a wet nurse. At that time I will decide whether or not to proceed with a second pregnancy. That decision will depend a great deal on you and of course the condition of the child.’
He watched her closely, prepared for anything. She remained motionless except for her hands, which she held
