Then she removed Amanda's glove, put on her jacket, and took up her bag.

The house, which had once been Emma's, was full now of a textured noise, crackings and gushings, little pops and gasps.

Ruth turned out the hall light, and the light of the fire took over, ancient and beautiful, as she remembered.

She undid the front door and moved out. She closed the door gently, and went down the steps.

At the end of the street she looked back.

The house was not yet blazing, only gleaming, flickering, as if full of the beating of yellow wings. Its light, however, had begun to put out the streetlamps. False dawn.

CHAPTER 6

SPRING MET THE HOTEL IN WAVES OF acid green, in crocuses and snowdrops running up the lawn, and daffodils under the monkey-puzzle tree. There were squirrels in the rose garden. The powdered bloom of jade came out on the giant chestnuts.

The Scarabae lifted their heads, as if they had been sleeping under stones.

One morning, Rachaela met Eric under the topiary.

"There were gardens like this," he said. "Once."

As if the topiary of the mansion was just an illusion, a memory.

They walked down to the pond, where floated the ghostly ectoplasm of unborn frogs.

"We shall be going to the house soon. We've had to wait a long time."

"Do you mean," she said, "the house by the sea?"

Eric looked away through the wild spring morning.

"Never go back," he said. "Never."

Not that house, then.

Rachaela said, "This is a new house."

"An old house, of course. But in London."

She was startled.

"But—will you like it there?"

"It will be ours."

"Does that mean I'm included?"

He glanced at her. "Things occur," said Eric. "Time erases deeds."

"No it doesn't. But then, the deed was yours. I mean, it was the Scarabae's. Mating Adamus to me. Producing Ruth."

"Don't speak of Ruth."

He said this without anger, almost without expression.

She said, "Surely in London I should leave you."

"We wish you to remain. If you won't, well then."

"I'll—we'll have to see."

Eric nodded. He looked into the pond. The ghostly life trembled between the lily pads.

After a while he left her, walking off under the pyramids.

A week later the two great black cars, the Rolls-Royces, appeared at the hotel.

The Scarabae departed in the afternoon, and Rachaela with them.

She felt disconcerted, leaving the hotel. She thought irresistibly of the morning after the Christmas seance. She had gone out into the gardens and, coming back, everything had been tidied and put right. Magicians had cleaned the walls, hung up the pictures, put back the mirror glass and taps. Even the toothpaste, the needles, and the notepaper were replaced.

They had been safe here, safe from themselves.

She had been one of them, or had she? Out in the world, she must be herself.