'Yes,' Aunt Sabrina said. 'The Ahathoor Temple. Mathers is a-' She returned to her chair and sat down, her brows pulled together. 'I don't mean to be uncharitable,' she said reluctantly, 'but I must confess to disliking the man. He is arrogant and conceited, quite pretentious about his magical knowledge. And always in need of funds. He sponged on Dr. Westcott for some years, and now Annie Horniman virtually supports him and his wife, Moina, in Paris.' She made an exasperated gesture. 'But to give the devil his due, the man is an excellent ritualist. He expanded the materials in the cipher documents to create the initiation rites for the Order.'
Kate was thoughtful. There were so many frauds about- the Order of the Golden Dawn would need unimpeachable credentials. 'The authority you mentioned,' she asked. 'Where did it come from?'
'From a certain Fraulein Anna Sprengel, a chief of a German Rosicrucian order called Die Golden Dammerung. Dr. Westcott found her name and address in the cipher document and wrote to her. She wrote back, authorizing him to establish a London temple. He called it the Isis-Urania Temple, and invited Mathers to join him as co-chief. Fraulein Sprengel and Dr. Westcott exchanged several letters, until he received the news that she was dead.'
' 'There are other temples beside those in London and Colchester?'
'Five, altogether,' Aunt Sabrina said. 'And several hundred members. But we do not have a reliable membership roster. That will be your first task, Kathryn. You will write to each of the temples and ask them to send a correct list of their members. When you are finished, I will ask you to sort and organize the rather disordered mass of papers that Dr. Westcott had accumulated, which now reside in the boxes under your worktable. When that is done, I would like you to copy the cipher manuscript for one of our members, Willie Yeats, an Irish poet, who wishes to make a study of it. You will enjoy meeting him, I think. He has a deep interest in the tarot, which is used quite frequently in our rituals.'
'The tarot?'
' The tarot cards are esoteric cards derived from an ancient Egyptian magical system. Those we use have been drawn by Moina Mathers from her husband's design. Each card represents a particular psychic state, a sort of station along an allegorical journey toward higher spiritual knowledge. As such, the deck serves as a kind of Bible for the Order.'
'Ah,' Kate said thoughtfully. Beryl Bardwell was becoming quite interested. 'I would like to see the cards, when it's convenient.'
Aunt Sabrina shook her head. 'I'm afraid you can't see the cards, Kathryn. The privilege is open only to members.'
'I see,' Kate said. Then, being a person who acted upon the impulse of the moment, she added decidedly, 'Well, then, I must become a member.' It was not so much that she wanted to join a magical society-Kate was naturally skeptical, and although she respected her aunt's occult interests,
she was doubtful about mystical orders in general. But the story Beryl Bardwell was writing featured the beautiful medium Mrs. Bartlett, who might be expected to understand and use such things as tarot cards. If becoming a member of an occult society would give Beryl Bardwell ready access to a magician or two who might serve as models, Kate was more than ready.
Aunt Sabrina gave her a searching look. 'Are you quite sure you want to join? You're not just seeking to please me?'
'I'm seeking to please myself,' Kate assured her. 'Is it difficult to become a member?'
Aunt Sabrina smiled. 'Not at all. In fact, your joining would make our work much more enjoyable, and I would feel more at ease in sharing the material. But I suggest that you attend a gathering or two before you make up your mind. The next one is on Saturday afternoon. Several members from London will be there, as well as a few visitors. It is said that Oscar Wilde will come-he is an admirer of Mrs. Farnsworth, and his wife, Constance, formerly belonged to the London temple. He is to bring a man of his acquaintance, Doyle, I believe. The writer of those detective mysteries that have become so popular.'
Kate's heart leaped up. Oscar Wilde was chiefly a literary curiosity-at least, that's how American papers portrayed him. But Conan Doyle! Perhaps she could speak to him and find out why he had allowed Professor Moriarty to fling Sherlock Holmes into the abyss, thereby bringing the series to an untimely end. If the successful Holmes had been Beryl Bard-well's character, she would not have killed him!
19
'Is mere, in human-form, that bears a heart- A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?'
Kate was at the typewriter that afternoon when her work was interrupted by Amelia.
'Yer wanted in the drawin' room, miss,' she said.
Kate looked up, frowning. She had just finished her aunt's work for the day and settled down to Beryl BardwelFs latest chapter. She did not wish to leave it, for she was trying to extricate her heroine from a particularly perilous situation. 'Thank you, Amelia,' she said, 'but I would rather-'
'There's callers, miss,' Amelia said flatly, and withdrew.
Kate, resigned, tidied her russet hair into a semblance of neatness and smoothed the dark gray serge skirt she wore to work in. Her gray cotton shirtwaist was badly rumpled and one white cuff was ink-stained. Well, that was just too bad, she thought defiantly, collecting her papers and hiding them in the desk. Whoever had interrupted her writing time would simply have to take her as she was, dressed for work rather than attired for afternoon callers.
Kate wasn't entirely surprised when she saw that one of the visitors was Eleanor Marsden, attractive and vivacious in
china-blue silk. She was, however, a little nonplussed when Sir Charles Sheridan stood and bowed.
'Miss Ardleigh,' he said.
Kate felt herself reddening under his inquisitive glance. 'Sir Charles,' she murmured, immediately conscious of her soiled cuffs and workaday costume. She sat down, remembering his dry amusement at her walking suit the day before and wondering if he thought that she was in the habit of wearing unladylike dress. She hoped he would not mention encountering her in Sir Archibald's field tent, for across the room, Aunt Jaggers was scowling over her cup of tea. It would not be easy to explain why she had gone to the excavation without implicating Aunt Sabrina.
Eleanor's eyes widened slightly when she took in Kate's appearance, but she leaned forward. 'My dear Kathryn!' she exclaimed. 'How good it is to see you again!' Her cuffs were elegant with lace, and a blue straw hat, jauntily berib-boned, perched on the back of her head. Dainty blue boots peeped out from beneath her skirt.
Kate smiled. 'I'm glad you came,' she said with genuine warmth. 'I had hoped to see you again before very long.' She looked curiously at Sir Charles. Some devil stirred in her and she said, lightly, ' 'Did you come to inquire after the bats, Sir Charles? I understand the ruins are quite full of them.' Aunt Sabrina had told her about the remains of the old keep across the little lake at the foot of the lawn. She planned to go there as soon as she could.
At the mention of bats, Aunt Jaggers made a sputtering noise. Sir Charles looked regretful. 'I'm afraid that Miss Marsden would not permit such an excursion today,' he said. 'But I certainly hope to make a later investigation. The bat in question is quite a wonderful-'
'Sir Charles!' Eleanor admonished, tapping his wrist. She turned to Kate. 'Really, Kathryn, you mustn't encourage him.'
Aunt Sabrina sat back in her chair, chuckling. ' 'And how is your mother, Miss Marsden?''
'Quite well,' Eleanor said, 'although simply maddened with wedding plans. There is so much to do.' She smiled.
'She asked me to inquire whether you plan to invite the G.F.S. to hold their annual tea at Bishop's Keep this year.'
Aunt Sabrina nodded. ' 'Tell Lady Marsden that I have already informed the vicar that I would be glad for the
