CHAPTER 36
DOMAINE DE LA CADE
There was a tiny brass key in the lock of the cabinet. It was stiff and did not want to give, but Léonie rattled at it until eventually it turned. She pulled open the door and lifted out the intriguing volume.
Perching on the polished top step, Léonie opened Les Tarots, folding back the hardback covers, releasing the scent of dust and old paper and antiquity. Inside, was a slim pamphlet, hardly a book at all. No more than eight pages, jagged, as if they had been cut by a knife. The heavy cream paper spoke of an older age – not an antique, but not a recent publication either. The words within were handwritten, in a clear italic hand.
On the first page was repeated her uncle’s name, Jules Lascombe, and the title, Les Tarots, this time with a secondary heading underneath it: Au delà du voile et l’art musicale de tirer les cartes. Beneath that was an illustration, much like a figure of eight, lying flat upon its side, like a skein of thread. At the bottom of the page was a date, presumably when her uncle had written the monograph: 1870.
After my mother fled the Domaine de la Cade and before Isolde arrived.
The frontispiece was protected by a sheet of waxed tissue paper. Léonie lifted it, then gasped involuntarily. The illustration was a black and white engraving of a devil, staring malevolently up from the page with a lewd and bold stare. His body was hunched, with vulgar twisted shoulders, long arms and claws in place of hands. His head was too large, distorted, suggesting somehow a travesty of the human form.
As Léonie looked closer she saw that set within the creature’s brow were horns, so small as to be almost indistinct. There was an unpleasant suggestion of fur rather than skin. Most disagreeable of all were the two clearly human figures, a man and a woman, chained to the base of the tomb on which the devil was standing.
At the bottom of the engraving was a number in roman numerals: XV.
Léonie looked to the foot of the page. No artist was credited, no information given as to the provenance or origin of the piece. Just a single word, a name, inscribed in careful block capitals beneath: ASMODEUS.
Not wishing to linger longer, Léonie turned to the next page. She was confronted with line after line of introductory explanation of the subject of the book, tightly spaced. She skimmed the text, certain words catching her eye as she read. The promise of devils and Tarot cards and music set her pulse racing with a delightful frisson of horror. Deciding to make herself more comfortable, she descended her wooden tower, jumping down the last few steps, then carried the volume to the table in the centre of the library, and plunged deep into the heart of the story.
Upon the scrubbed flagstones within the sepulchre was the square, painted in black by my very hand earlier that day and which, now, seemed to give a faint glowing light.
At each of the four corners of the square, like compass points, the musical note corresponding therewith. C to the north, A to the west, D to the south and E to the east. Within the square were placed the cards, into which life was to be breathed and through the power of which I would walk in another dimension.
I lit the one lamp on the wall, which cast a pallid white light.
Instantly, it seemed as if the sepulchre was filled with a mist, choking the wholesome air from the atmosphere. The wind too asserted its presence, for to what else could I ascribe the notes that were now murmuring inside the stone chamber, like the sound of a distant pianoforte.
Through the twilight atmosphere, the cards, or so it seemed to me, came to life. The forms, released from their prisons of pigment and paint, took form and shape and walked once more upon the earth.
There was a rushing of air and the sensation that I was not alone. Now I was certain that the sepulchre was full of beings. Spirits, I cannot say they were human. All natural rules were vanquished. The entities were all around. My self and my other selves, both past and yet to come, were equally present. They brushed my shoulders and my neck, skimmed my forehead, surrounded me without ever touching, yet always pressing closer and closer. It seemed to me they flew and swept through the air, so that I was aware always of their fleeting presence. Yet they seemed to have weight and mass. Especially in the air above my head there seemed ceaseless movement, accompanied by a cacophony of whispering and sighing and weeping that caused me to bow my neck as if under a burden.
It became clear to me that they wished to deny me access, although I knew not why. I only knew that I must regain the square or I would be in mortal danger. I took a step towards it, whereupon instantly there descended upon me, a great wind, pushing me back, shrieking and howling, a fearsome melody, if I may call it that, that seemed to be both inside my head and without. The vibrations made me fear the very walls and roof of the sepulchre building would collapse.
I gathered my strength and then launched myself towards the centre of the square, like a drowning man reaches in desperation for the shore. Instantly, a single creature, a devil distinct, yet as invisible as its hellish companions, threw itself upon me. I felt supernatural claws upon my neck and talons on my back, its fishlike breath upon my skin, and yet not a mark was laid upon me.
I drew my arms over my head to protect myself. Perspiration flowed from my brow. My heart began to lose its rhythm and I became aware of a growing incapacity. Breathless, shaking, with every muscle strained to the utmost, I summoned the last vestiges of courage and forced myself forward once more. The music was growing louder. I dug my nails deep into the cracks in the flagstones upon the floor and, by some miracle, succeeded in dragging myself into the square marked out.
Instantly, a terrible silence oppressed the room with the force of a mighty scream, so violent, and bringing with it the stench of Hell and the depths of the sea. I thought my head would split open with the very pressure of it. Babbling wildly, I continued to recite the names upon the cards: Fool, Tower, Strength, Justice, Judgement. Was I calling the spirits of the cards, now made manifest to aid me, or was it they who attempted to prevent me gaining the square? My voice seemed not to be of my making but to issue from somewhere outside of me, low at first, but gradually increasing in volume and intensity, growing in power and filling the sepulchre.
Then, when I believed I could withstand it no longer, something withdrew from within me, from my presence, from beneath my very skin with a scraping noise, like the claws of a wild animal along the surface of my bones. There was a rushing of air. The pressure on my failing heart was relieved.
I fell prostrate to the ground, all but unconscious, I was yet aware that the notes – those same four notes – were fading and the whisperings and sighings of the spirits growing weaker till at last I could hear nothing.
I opened my eyes. The cards were returned to their sleeping state once more. On the walls of the apse, the paintings now were inert. Then a sense of emptiness and peace suddenly came over the sepulchre, and I knew that all was finished. Darkness closed over me. I know not for how long I remained unconscious.
I have notated the music to the best of my ability. The marks on the palms of my hands, stigmata, have not faded.
Léonie let out a low whistle. She turned the page. There was no more.
For a while she sat simply staring at the last lines of the pamphlet. It was an extraordinary tale. The occult interplay of music and place had brought the images upon the cards to life and, if she had understood, summoned those who had passed over to the other side. Au delà du voile – beyond the veil – as the title inscribed upon the wrapper declared.
And written by my uncle.
At this moment, as much as anything, it was astounding to Léonie that there could be an author of such quality within her family and yet it never had been mentioned.
And yet . . .
Léonie paused. In the introduction her uncle claimed it to be true testimony. She sat back in the chair. What did he mean when he wrote of the power to ‘walk in another dimension’? What did he mean when he said ‘my other selves, both past and yet to come’? And had the spirits, once summoned, withdrawn whence they had come?
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Léonie spun round, glancing over her shoulder to left and right, feeling as if there was someone standing behind her. She sent her eyes darting into the shadows of the alcoves either side of the fireplace and the dusty corners behind the tables and curtains. Were there spirits still within the estate? She thought of the figure she had seen crossing the lawns the previous evening.
A premonition? Or something other?
Léonie shook her head, half amused that she was allowing her imagination to be the master of her, and returned her attention to the book. If she took her uncle at his word, and believed the story as fact not fiction, then did the sepulchre stand within the Domaine de la Cade itself? She was inclined to think it did, not least because the musical notes required to summon the spirits – C, D, E, A – corresponded to the letters of the name of the estate: Cade.
And does it still exist?
Léonie dropped her chin into her hand. Her practical self took over. It should be a simple matter to ascertain if there was some manner of structure such as her uncle described within the grounds. It would be in keeping for a country estate of this size to have its own chapel or mausoleum within the park. Her mother had never spoken of such a thing, but then she had said little about the estate. Tante Isolde, also, had not mentioned it, but the matter had not come up during the course of the conversation last evening and, as she herself had admitted, her knowledge of the history of her late husband’s family estate was limited.
If the sepulchre still stands, I shall find it.
A noise in the passageway outside caught Léonie’s attention.
Immediately, she slid the volume into her lap. She did not wish to be found reading such a book. Not out of embarrassment, but because it was her private adventure and she did not wish to share it with anyone. Anatole would tease her.
The footsteps became fainter, then Léonie heard the sound of a door closing beyond the hall. She stood up, wondering if she could take Les Tarots. She did not think her aunt would object to the loan, given that she had invited them to treat the house as their own. And although the book had been locked within a case, Léonie was certain that was as protection against the ravages of dust and time and sunlight, rather than a sense of it being forbidden. Else why should the key have been so obligingly left in the lock?
Léonie left the library, taking the purloined volume with her.
