“ ‘You’re demons, all of you. God, this is Hell.’ I laughed. I felt the drug in me again. There was no escape. My words came in a rush. ‘If it weren’t for Julien Mayfair, you’d be my ancestor. I’m Tarquin Blackwood, that’s who I am. She took me from the Hermitage, the Hermitage you built for her, and that I refurbished for her. Blackwood Manor’s in my hands now. Your granddaughter, Lorraine, is still living, living to mourn for me and tear out her hair that I’ve disappeared from Blackwood Farm. Didn’t Petronia tell you what she was up to?’

“He went into a fury. He tried to shake the bars but he couldn’t. He pounded upon the lock. Now he was an old man in all his parts, his jaw trembling, his eyes tearing. ‘Abomination!’ he roared.

“The black one tried to calm him. ‘Now, let this matter be in my hands,’ he said. ‘We have an order here of authority.’

“ ‘Do you see what she means to do?’ the Old Man shouted. His jowls trembled. All of him trembled. His eyes were inflamed as he gazed at me. ‘Who told you about Julien?’ he demanded, as if such a thing were important now.

“ ‘Julien himself told me. I’m a seer of spirits,’ I retorted. ‘But what does it matter? Get me out of this place. Your granddaughter Lorraine needs me. Blackwood Farm needs me. I have flesh and blood that need me.’

“Suddenly Petronia herself appeared. Clad in a black velvet tunic and pants with a belt of cameos, she came striding across the long room and up to the two men, declaring as she did:

“ ‘What is this, the convocation of the cage?’

“As Manfred tried to seize her by the throat she threw him backwards, so that his body went yards across the marble floor and slammed into the wall, his head snapped back in a blow that would have killed an ordinary human and out of his throat came a deep and terrible roar.

“ ‘Don’t dare to question me,’ she said.

“The black one, as though nothing could perturb him, reached out for her and slipped his arm around her neck. He was taller than her by some inches. Probably he was my height. He brought her head down onto his shoulder and I saw her hand tremble as she let him do it, and he whispered to her,

“ ‘Petronia, my dearest, why, why always the rage?’

“He held her and she allowed herself to be held, and the Old Man wept as he collected himself, came forward, wounded, furious, helpless, shaking his head.

“ ‘My own,’ wept the Old Man, ‘and your pledges to me are worthless, your bond is worthless—.’