The evening was fast becoming a social debacle and a palpable relief flooded the room at the prospect of a diversion.
“My dear lady, what a charming suggestion.”
Frederique placed a small table between herself and Krauss. She had just produced a deck of Tarot cards from a velvet pouch and begun to shuffle them when Elizabeth returned, looking even more dishevelled. She stared forlornly at Perkins, who was mopping up the spilt water and brushing the broken shards of crystal into a dustpan. He picked up one of the roses, intending to deposit it with the rest of the debris, but then dropped it with a sudden hiss of pain. A bead of blood welled from the tip of his finger and he grumbled as he wiped it on his cloth. He grabbed the rose again, this time by the petals, crushing the bloom.
“No,” said Krauss firmly, startling the butler, who promptly dropped the flower. “I won’t see beautiful things discarded so carelessly.”
Elizabeth smiled weakly, as though at a great compliment. “You’re quite right. Perhaps, Perkins, another vase. ”
“Very good, madam,” he said, his tone somewhat clipped. Clearly he didn’t approve of his mistress’s strange guest, but it wasn’t his place to say anything.
But Krauss shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. After all, that’s what the suffering classes are for.”
Perkins’ eyes widened slightly at the comment, but no one else reacted.
“Anna, would you collect the roses for me?”
She obeyed without hesitation, carefully picking up each thorny stem with her right hand and gathering them loosely together with her left. When she had retrieved all twelve she stood before her master with a shy smile, holding the roses carefully in a bunch with both hands.
He favoured her with an indulgent smile, as though she were a well-trained pet. Then he placed his hands around hers and squeezed them together sharply. Anna uttered a little yelp of pain as he slowly took his hands away, leaving her clutching the thorny stems. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but although the thorns must have been driven into her palms in a dozen places, she made no move to unclench her fingers.
“There,” he said, still smiling. “Now why don’t you go and stand where the vase was? The roses did look lovely in front of the window. There. Isn’t that a pretty sight.”
The guests stared, shocked into silence, as blood began to seep from between the girl’s fingers and run down the ends of the stems. Bright red droplets soon speckled her pinafore and Perkins spread his cloth on the floor at her feet. He turned away, ashen-faced. Anna stood silently, trembling and drawing quick shallow breaths as she held the torturous bouquet, for all the world like a statue come to life.
Krauss gazed at the spectacle for a few moments, then clapped his hands together, making everyone jump. “Now then. You were going to tell us the future, madame.”
Frederique blinked slowly, as though emerging from a trance. “Future? Oh. Oh, yes.” She tore her gaze from the maid’s plight and focused on the cards as she fumbled them between fingers suddenly grown clumsy. She shuffled the deck and dealt a row of cards face down, her eyes occasionally flicking back to Anna.
She turned over the first card. It depicted a woman, bound and blindfolded, standing helpless within a cage formed of eight swords that pierced the ground around her bare feet.
“That looks like rather an unhappy state of affairs,” Krauss said genially. “For someone.”
Frederique pursed her lips and stared determinedly at the card while everyone else in the room glanced across at Anna, as though compelled by the image to look. “Yes,” she said at last. “But perhaps it is not all bad. We must see what the other cards have to tell us.”
She hurriedly turned up the next card and gave a little gasp. Nine swords hung menacingly over a figure waking from a nightmare. “The Lord of Cruelty,” she whispered.
Krauss smiled. “Indeed? How very interesting.”
The next card was even worse. The nightmare had come to fruition. A body lay on the ground beneath a black sky, pierced by ten swords.
Frederique’s hand hung trembling above the card while the others craned their necks to see the strange sequence of doom.
With a strained laugh Elizabeth said, “Freddie dear, are you quite sure you shuffled the cards properly?”
Frederique bristled. “Of course! You saw me.”
“Show us the next one,” Cornelia said, entranced.
Frederique took a deep breath and revealed the next card. The Tower. She stared at it in silence. Two figures were plunging to their deaths from a flaming tower that had been struck by lightning.
“Well, that can’t be good,” George said with a scowl.
“No,” Frederique whispered. “It is not good at all.” She hesitated for a long time before turning over the final card. The Devil. Her eyes widened. Then she swept all the cards together with a violent movement and shoved them back inside the velvet pouch.
Cornelia plucked at Frederique’s sleeve like a child. “Are we in danger?” she asked.
Captain Myler snorted. “Poppycock!”
Frederique shot him a poisonous look. “Do not mock the cards,
Myler spread his hands. “Are there any swords in this room, madame? No. Nor are we in a tower. Why, there isn’t even a storm raging outside. You’re all a bunch of bloody fools if you believe in any of that rubbish.” He tossed back the last of his sherry and made for the door. “I’m going out for some fresh air. If you will excuse me.” With a curt little bow he made his exit.
“The cards, they are symbolic,” Frederique said petulantly. “Swords do not necessarily mean real swords.”
From the window alcove Anna whimpered softly. Her pinafore was soaked with blood. Krauss went to her and stood regarding her for a moment. Then he gently unlaced her fingers from their cruel burden. She gasped with pain and relief as the roses fell one by one to the floor.
Krauss held her wrists and examined her hands, which had begun to bleed again. Then he positioned his glass beneath her left hand and squeezed her wrist. Several drops of blood splashed into his sherry. Anna closed her eyes in almost beatific surrender. Krauss swirled the liquid in his glass and sipped it, smiling as though tasting a particularly fine vintage.
For several moments no one moved. Then Cornelia pressed a hand to her mouth and ran from the room. They heard her shoes slapping the mosaic tiles of the hall and then for several seconds there was nothing. A piercing scream shattered the silence.
The ladies froze in horror and George ran after Cornelia. The screams ceased abruptly as he reached her, to be replaced by howling sobs.
Frederique wrapped her arms around herself on the sofa and Elizabeth drifted uncertainly towards the door, glancing back and forth from her guests and then into the hall.
“My poor Charles! How could she? Why did she—?” Cornelia was demanding in a voice choked with tears.
George led her back into the room, looking bewildered. He guided the hysterical woman into a chair near the fire and beckoned his wife over.
Elizabeth hurried across to them and placed her hands on Cornelia’s shoulders. “What happened, dear? Who’s ‘she’?”
“Her!” Cornelia shrieked, gesturing wildly towards the ceiling. “Your ‘old harridan’! She killed my husband!”
Elizabeth shook her friend gently as she began to dissolve into sobs again. “What are you talking about? Aunt Florence? She’s asleep upstairs. She couldn’t have—”
But George was nodding his head solemnly.
“What?” Elizabeth snapped.
“She’s right. The captain’s dead. Cook too.” He shuddered and put a hand across his eyes, recalling the sight. “Their eyes. There were — knitting needles. ”
“Have you gone mad? Aunt Florence is—”
The sound of breaking glass drew everyone’s attention to the doorway. The old lady stood there, clutching
