That she wore this number was, in fact, no matter of blind chance. She was an Irish widow named Lady Luggala, and an old crony of the Abbess's, who had slipped her the plaque while Charles was standing at the buffet with his back to them. It was part of a plan they had made that Charles should partner the widow that night, and she had been impatiently awaiting his arrival.
She was seated at a small table, with a monk wearing plaque number 18. He at once stood up, kissed her hand and said, 'Sister, at our next meeting I pray that it may be my good fortune to draw the same number as you as, from your voice, I know 'twas my luck on a previous occasion.' Then he bowed to Charles and moved away.
Greeting her politely, Charles took the vacant chair and smilingly scrutinised her. She was tall, and her movements were graceful. Her cheeks were a little heavily rouged and faint lines showed at the comers of her mouth, telling him that she must be considerably older than himself. Her firm chin and good teeth were vaguely familiar to him, so he felt fairly certain that they had met before in society, but he could not even make a guess at her identity. In any case, the fact that the man who had just left them had evidently desired to partner her again seemed to Charles a good indication that he had drawn a lucky number. After a moment he said:
'It seems, Sister, that you are not a newcomer to these gatherings. Have you attended many of them ?'
She smiled. 'Yes, I was an early member of the Order and come here regularly whenever I am in London. I find our meetings most stimulating, mentally as well as physically, and always eagerly await the next. What of yourself?'
'I humbly confess that this is my first attendance, as I was not initiated until last November, and have since perforce been living in the country. I can only hope that I shall not disappoint you.'
At that she laughed. 'You would not be here unless our Abbess had proved you to be virile. In fact, if I am not mistaken, it was you whom I saw initiated in November, and with our beautiful Reverend Mother you gave a creditable performance. You are, I feel certain, still very young, so must lack experience in the more subtle ways of pleasing women. But it will lie with me to ensure the best results, and I do not doubt hat we shall enjoy our amorous encounter.'
Before Charles had time to reply a silver bell jingled. Immediately silence fell and the Reverend Abbess announced in her deep, husky voice, 'My children! The hour has come'. Let us proceed to the Temple of Delights.' On the arm of the gaunt Abbot she then led the way downstairs, followed by the pairs of men and women, the two white-clad novices and their escorts bringing up the rear.
Behind the main staircase another, narrower one led down to the basement. It was one large room, the full length and breadth of the house, the upper floors being supported by two rows of arches on carved stone pillars. A thick black carpet covered the whole floor, but it was visible only in a three-foot-wide central aisle running from one end of the great room to the other. The whole of the rest of it was covered with scores of many-coloured silk cushions piled one upon another. Along the aisle the signs of the Zodiac had been embroidered into the black carpet with gold thread.
The temple was dimly lit, the only light coming from the far end where two seven-branched candelabra, holding black candles, stood on an altar and, in front of it, two four-foot-high pedestals holding chafing dishes, from the centre of which rose slightly flickering oil flares.
A few feet before the altar stood a curiously-shaped piece of padded furniture resembling a stool, but the left half of it curved downward, while the right half rose in a hump, so it appeared impossible to sit on it in comfort. Two black curtains, forming an angle to the altar, were suspended on rods from its sides to the pillars of the nearest arches. On one was embroidered the yang and on the Other the yin—the ancient symbols for the male and female. On the wall behind the altar hung a rich scarlet banner with a black cross upside-down. Beneath it, centrally between the two seven-branched candelabra, stood a strange idol which no newcomer to the place could easily have identified.
But Charles, on first being taken down to the temple, had realised what it was. From his childhood he had been loved and spoiled by Roger's greatest friend, Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel—known to his intimates as 'Droopy Ned'. One of 'Uncle' Ned's hobbies was the study of ancient religions. He had often told Charles about Egypt in the distant past, and shown him pictures of the strange gods the Egyptians worshipped. Among them had been the cat god, Bast. So Charles had recognised the idol on the altar as a mummified sacred cat, which must have been brought from Egypt by some traveller.
The Abbess and the Abbot halted before the altar. Both made obeisance to the idol, then turned about to face the congregation. They, in turn, made obeisance, then the couples settled themselves comfortably among the sea of cushions. Only the two novices and their escorts remained standing. They had halted at the rear of the temple, and as Charles's partner had seated herself on the first cushions she came to, the novices were only a few feet behind them.
In a loud voice the Abbess cried, 'He who on joining our Order was re-christened Abadon shall now bring forward the seeker after truth whom he has brought to us.'
The man addressed led his white-robed novice up the aisle, then stood aside. The Abbot threw some herbs on the chafing dishes and they went up in clouds of aromatic smoke. The Abbess took both the novice's hands in hers, held them in silence for a full minute, then said in a toneless voice that was barely audible to the congregation:
'My child, you are in grave trouble. Your family is noble, but now poor. They are in Very serious financial difficulties. Owing to this they wish you to restore their fortune by marrying you to a rich merchant.'
The girl gave an audible gasp of surprise, then the Abbess went on, 'You are already engaged to this man. He is much older than you, and you hate him. You are in love with a younger man—a soldier. Normally events would take their course, and a life of misery as the wife of this man you hate be yours. But your good angel has brought you here so that you may be offered a way to save yourself. Our Order has been granted power to alter the course of human lives. If you desire to join it, you must first submit to an ordeal which may seem repugnant to you. But it is of brief duration and, once initiated, we can assure you a happy future. Think well on this, my child, and let me know your decision through him we call here Abadon.'
Releasing the girl's hands, the Abbess signed to her to go and, turning about, she was escorted by Abadon back to the rear of the temple. As they halted there, the Abbess cried in a loud voice as before:
'He who on joining our Order was re-christened Nebiros shall now bring forward the seeker after truth that he has brought to us.'
The other couple advanced up the aisle. Again the man stood aside and the Abbot threw herbs on the chafing dishes. The Abbess took the novice's hands, remained in deep thought for a moment, then said :
'My child, you are fortunate. You are surrounded by love and wealth. No-one will force you to do anything against your wishes. But I see sorrow ahead for you. It arises from a breach which has very recently occurred between you and a young man who loves you and whom you love dearly. The Powers tell me that separation from him threatens you, a separation that may last for years. It may even be permanent. Our Order can call upon forces that will alter the course of events. They could protect you from this grievous loss if you are willing to submit to an ordeal you may think unpleasant. By no means every novice finds the initiation ceremony hard to bear, but should you do so, a period of distress soon over is no great price to pay in order to prevent the man you love being taken from you by circumstances over which you have, at present, no control. Think well on this, my child, and let me know your decision through him whom we here call Nebiros.'