At Peregrine's look of question, he went on.
"Think of the four great entities we call Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, and Uriel. Theologians will tell you that these beings we call archangels sprang forth from the mind of God in the same instant of Divine Thought which created the universe itself. As messengers of God and viceroys of the elements, they have been given many names down through the ages.
"Some cultures, in the absence of direct revelation, came to venerate these messengers as gods in their own right, projecting onto them a whole range of human errors and frailties. In time, fuelled by the power of belief, those projections developed a shadowy half-life of their own, so that it has become difficult for a great many people to distinguish the true Powers from their manufactured counterparts.
"Taliere probably thinks he's venerating the old gods of ancient Britain," he concluded, "but in fact I suspect he's worshipping only an autonomous projection of his forebears' inner darkness. It's a common misconception - and not one confined to latter-day pagans."
Peregrine rubbed the end of his nose reflectively. "Are you saying that this ancient deity Taranis, whom Taliere purports to serve, exists only as a shadowy analogue to one of the archangels?"
"That doesn't make him or it any less real," Adam replied. "Never forget that. And the more people who embrace the illusion, the stronger it becomes - until eventually, it can take on physical substance. That's why we have to stop Raeburn. And to do that, we have to find him - the sooner, the better."
Chapter Twenty-Three
"I think this is going to be one of the best portraits you've ever done, darling," Julia remarked admiringly as she peered over her husband's shoulder. "I can't wait to see what it will look like when you get the dress fully painted in."
Peregrine smiled and turned his head to plant a kiss on her hand where it rested on his shoulder, pausing to take more paint onto his brush before returning his attention to the canvas. Thereon was limned the first sketchy outline of a bridal portrait of Ximena, only the face approaching completion. The gossamer suggestion of a veil of Spanish lace fell softly about her head and shoulders, supported by a sparkling diamond tiara, as delicate as frost. The dress, as yet, was little more than a sketchy hint of ivory satin and lace, but the face taking shape in the portrait was already a faithful reflection of Ximena herself, dark eyes brimming with warmth and excitement, lips trembling on the brink of a smile.
"Where's that hot chocolate, woman?" Peregrine asked with mock ferocity. "How do you expect a man to paint on a night like this without fuel?"
The Lovats were together in the kitchen of the gate lodge at Strathmourne, where Julia had just set a pan of milk to warm on the top of the Aga. Though Peregrine rarely painted downstairs, preferring his upstairs studio where he could work by natural daylight, the shortness of the Scottish winter day, coupled with a recent increase in commissions, had prompted him to experiment with a new high-intensity light bulb designed to simulate a daylight effect. As luck would have it, the only light fixture able to accommodate the wattage was located in the kitchen, which had recently been rewired. The initial results had proved satisfactory, however, and Peregrine had since discovered that working in the kitchen had compensations other than being able to work on past nightfall.
Laughing, Julia drifted away to add cocoa and sugar to the warming milk, before returning to her husband's side.
"The tiara really is lovely," she commented. "Is it true that it's been in the Sinclair family since the reign of Queen Victoria?"
"So Philippa says," Peregrine returned, with a fleeting smile. "Apparently most of the diamonds were presented to Adam's great-grandfather by an Indian maharajah, in gratitude for military and diplomatic services rendered. He had them made into a tiara for his wife, and since then every Sinclair wife and daughter has worn it to the altar, including Philippa herself."
Julia cocked her head to one side while she studied the overall effect. "Well, it goes remarkably well with the mantilla. You'd almost think the two had been made to go together."
"You would, wouldn't you?" Peregrine agreed, his attention on his work. "I just hope that Ximena doesn't decide to change the hair style you two discussed, between now and the wedding day. It's tricky enough having to do this on the sly, without any major last-minute changes."
The portrait was intended as a surprise wedding gift for the bridal couple. Confident that the painting would be joyfully received, Julia was taking advantage of her new-found friendship with Ximena to gather every possible detail regarding the future Lady Sinclair's bridal ensemble. Her efforts were being ably seconded by Philippa, who had provided a Polaroid snapshot of the Sinclair tiara. Teresa Lockhart had likewise participated in the conspiracy by supplying photographs of the antique lace mantilla which was to be her daughter's bridal veil.
Peregrine added a minute flourish of detail to the veil's diaphanous hem, then set his fine sable brush aside as he contemplated his work with a critical eye, stretching backwards to relieve a crick in his back.
"I think that's going to have to be it for tonight. I can't really carry on without the particulars of the gown. When does Ximena have her next fitting?"
"In a couple of days," Julia said. "I've already volunteered to go along and keep her company. I don't think there are going to be any major changes, but if there are, I'll try to find out in plenty of time for you to incorporate them into the final painting."
Grinning, Peregrine lowered a protective drop-sheet over the half-finished painting, then switched off the bright light overhead, leaving on the work-lights under the hanging cupboards.
"If only the government were half as well-served by its intelligence-gathering services!" he said to his wife. "Have you considered giving up music for a career in international espionage?''
"Certainly not," Julia replied. "I have my hands full enough, just keeping abreast of what's going on in my own household. You haven't exactly been overflowing with information about that house call you made today with Noel McLeod."
She had gone to stir the hot chocolate, but was turned so she could see him. In a slight delaying action, Peregrine set about the cleaning of his brushes. Earlier that afternoon, McLeod had spirited him away for their planned visit to Nether Leckie, Raeburn's former residence. While McLeod had offered a partial truth for Julia's benefit - that he was hoping Peregrine's talents might be put to use in locating a missing person - he had precipitated their departure before she could inquire too closely about the individual they were seeking - for which Peregrine was grateful. The truth about Raeburn was not something he felt ready to share.
Fortunately - or perhaps unfortunately - there was no need to dissemble here and now, regarding at least part of the truth.
"There really isn't much to tell," he said, chucking the first of the brushes into a jar, bristles up. "For all the good we accomplished, Noel and I might as well have saved ourselves the trip."
Which was true. The house had been shut up tight; and any resonances of Raeburn's presence had dissipated long ago - or else had been selectively erased. What remained was a sullen aura of malevolence, but not enough to provide any leads. Hoping to change the subject, Peregrine asked, "Did you and Ximena manage to get the music sorted out for the reception?"