course you know our proposed Neophyte, my niece Kathryn.'
'Ah, Miss Ardleigh,' the old man said. His bow was gallant. ' 'I am glad to learn that you wish to join our Order, my dear. I applauded your aunt's wish to be reunited with you and to use your skills to our advantage, but I admit to feeling much more comfortable that the Order's historical material is in the hands of members. The Golden Dawn is an esoteric society, and its rituals must be guarded from the eyes of the world.'
'Of course,' Kate murmured, although she hadn't happened upon anything so far that the eyes of the world couldn't see. She wondered whether the Order's much-vaunted secrecy might be a smoke screen that concealed its lack of substance.
'Do you have any questions I might answer, my dear?' the vicar inquired.
'Yes,' Kate said promptly. 'Please tell me about the blue feathers you and the others are wearing. What is their significance?'
'Ah, yes, the feathers,' the vicar said, touching his own feather cluster with a finger. 'Our new temple has adopted the peacock as an emblem.'
Of course! Kate had never seen a peacock feather, but she had read of the bird.
'For centuries,' the vicar was saying, 'the bird has represented immortality. The eyes depicted on its splendid tail feathers suggest the supernatural ability to see deeply into the spirit. And, of course, that is what we of the Golden Dawn are about. Seeing deeply into our hearts, in search of our souls.'
'I see,' Kate said thoughtfully, wondering to herself whether she should convey this information to Sir Charles or keep it to herself.
Aunt Sabrina put her arm around Kate's shoulders. 'You must come and be introduced, Kathryn. Annie Horniman wants to meet you, and Rachel Cracknell. And of course, our dear Dr. Westcott, the founder of our Order, for whom we all have such deep affection and respect.' She smiled at the vicar. 'If you will excuse us, Barfield.'
'By all means,' the vicar said, bowing. His eyes held a special warmth as he looked at Aunt Sabrina. 'It is always good to see you once again, Sabrina. Soon, perhaps?'
'Indeed,' Aunt Sabrina murmured, and took Kate's elbow.
After several other introductions and polite social conversation, Aunt Sabrina steered Kate toward a corner. 'Dr. Westcott,' she whispered in Kate's ear.
To Kate's surprise, Dr. Westcott proved to be the same man who had spoken so heatedly with Mrs. Farnsworth. But the
mottled red had faded from his cheeks, and he smiled graciously when Aunt Sabrina introduced them.
'Welcome to our Order, Miss Ardleigh.' His words were resonant, his sentences fully rounded.
'Kathryn is assisting me with our history,' Aunt Sabrina put in. 'She has an interest in ritual magic.'
Dr. Westcott's look became stern. 'You understand, I trust, that our magical practices are not parlor amusements. They are handed down from the ancients through a long line of individuals-priests-who communicate the sacred teaching to those who are willing to accept its esoteric discipline.' He lifted his hand, as if in blessing, and his voice took on an even richer timbre. 'This sacred work enables us to raise ourselves to an understanding of our inner truth, our unerring and divine genius.'
Kate inclined her head, feeling almost obliged to say 'Amen.' She couldn't help wondering how Dr. Westcott's unerring and divine genius had allowed him to be misled by the miscreant Mathers.
And what, if anything, the Order's emblem had to do with the broken blue feather she had found in the carriage that had borne a man to his death.
25
' 'And yet you've gay gauntlets ana blue leathers three! — ' 'Yes: mat's what we wear when we're ruined/ said he.'
Given the inspector's chilly reception of his first two pieces of evidence, the feather and the fingerprint, Charles had not thought it helpful to mention the third: the name of the street for which Monsieur Armand had been bound. And since it did not seem likely that Wainwright would release either Sergeant Battle or PC Trabb to make inquiry in Queen Street, he decided to do it himself. On Monday morning he borrowed Bradford's saddle horse and rode to Colchester through a chilly gray drizzle. He left his horse at Taylor's Livery Stable and asked directions of a vendor of hot pies. Having purchased a fragrant, crusty pork pie, he ate it with relish as he walked.
Queen Street proved to be a residential street a stone's throw from the old castle. Chimney pots poured sooty smoke over roofs of gray slate that rose steeply above the narrow three- and four-story houses, closely spaced to conserve land. Charles noted with disapproval that here, as in the new suburbs of London, the roof lines of the ill-proportioned brick houses were interrupted at irregular intervals by gables, turrets, battlements, and dormers, so many and so varied that they confused the eye. The houses fronted directly on the
street, so that there was not even the relief of a square of grass fenced by a few sprigs of privet.
Having arrived at his destination, Charles opened his portfolio and took out a photograph of the dead man. He looked once over his shoulder to ascertain that Miss Ardleigh was not following after him; then he climbed the first stoop and rang the bell. His summons was answered by a stiff-backed parlor maid with a long face, a trace of dark mustache over her upper lip, and the saddest eyes he had ever seen.
'Good day, miss,' Charles said, raising his brown felt hat. 'I am making inquiries for the police about-'
'Tradesman's entrance round back,' the maid said. She gave his canvas coat a scornful glance and shut the door.
Charles frowned with irritation. His hand was poised to ring again, but he thought better of it. He would return later, and trust that a more receptive person might answer his knock. He went back down the stoop, out to the sidewalk, and up the stairs of the next house. This door was opened by a butler with a brilliant red nose. Taking no chances, Charles swiftly inserted his foot in the opening.
'I represent the police,' he said, 'in an inquiry of great importance.' He held up the photograph. 'This man is said to have visited a house on this street. Have you seen him?'
The butler sniffed. 'I have not,' he said with grave dignity. 'Are you the police?'
'No,' Charles said, 'I merely-'
'Pray remove your foot, sir.'
Charles held his ground. ' 'I would like to inquire of other members of your household. Perhaps your mistress-'
The butler's right arm disappeared behind the door and reappeared again with a silver-tipped cane. 'Your foot, sir,' the butler said, and stabbed Charles's toe smartly.
The third door, which Charles approached with trepidation and a slight limp, was not answered at all. The fourth, however, was opened by a middle-aged man whom Charles took by his dress and manner to be the gentleman of the house. He was apparently on his way out, for he wore a velvet-collared chesterfield and held one end of a leather leash, the other end of which was attached to a fluffy white poodle
about the size of a lady's muff, furiously yapping. When he saw Charles, he looked alarmed.
'If it's the money you're after,' he said over the dog's din, 'I have already-'
'I am not a bill collector,' Charles said with dignity.
'Good,' the man said. He looked down, obviously flustered. 'Be quiet, Precious.' The poodle ducked behind the man's ankle and glowered at Charles, continuing to bark. From somewhere within the house, a woman's voice fretfully commanded, 'Take that dog out of here, Frank, before my brain explodes.'
'Yes, Irene,' Frank replied nervously, over his shoulder. 'Precious and I are just leaving.' He looked out at the gray drizzle. 'Is it raining?' he asked Charles.
Charles held up his photo. 'Have you seen this man?'
'Can't say that I have,' Frank said, giving the photograph barely a look. He reached behind the door and
