The Blood of the Vampire

by Florence Marryat

  “Does it?” rejoined Mrs. Montague, “I think it’s so amusing! That Baroness Gobelli, for instance——”

  “Don’t mention her before me!” cried Miss Leyton, in a tone of disgust, “the woman is not fit for civilized society!”

  “She is rather common certainly, and strange in her behaviour,” said Mrs. Montague, “but she is very good-natured. She gave my little Edward a louis[89] yesterday. I felt quite ashamed to let him take it!”

  “That just proves her vulgarity,” exclaimed Elinor Leyton, who had not a sixpence to give away herself, “it shews that she thinks her money will atone for all her other shortcomings! She gave that Miss Taylor, who left last week, a valuable brooch off her own throat. And poor payment too for all the dirty things she made her do and the ridicule she poured upon her. I daresay this nouveau riche will try to curry favour with us by the same means.”

  At that moment the girl under discussion, Miss Brandt, appeared on the balcony which was only raised a few feet above where they sat. She wore the same dress she had at dinner with the addition of a little ?eecy shawl about her shoulders. She stood smiling and looking at the ladies (who had naturally dropped all discussion about her) for a few moments, and then she ventured to descend the steps between the rampart gilded lions and almost timidly, as it seemed, took up a position near them. Mrs. Pullen felt that she could not be so discourteous as to take no notice whatever of the new-comer and so, greatly to Miss Leyton’s disgust, she uttered quietly, “Good evening!”

  It was quite enough for Miss Brandt. She drew nearer with smiles mantling over her face.

  “Good evening! Isn’t it lovely here?—so soft and warm, something like the Island, but so much fresher!”

  She looked up and down the Digue, now crowded with a multitude of visitors and drew in her breath with a long sigh of content.

  “How gay and happy they all seem, and how happy I am too! Do you know, if I had my will, what I should like to do?” she said, addressing Mrs. Pullen.

  “No! indeed!”

  “I should like to tear up and down this road as hard as ever I could, throwing my arms over my head and screaming aloud!”

  The ladies exchanged glances of astonishment but Margaret Pullen could not forbear smiling as she asked their new acquaintance the reason why.

  “O! because I am free—free at last, after ten long years of impris­onment! I am telling you the truth, I am indeed, and you would feel just the same if you had been shut up in a horrid Convent ever since you were eleven years old!”

  At the word “convent”, the national Protestant horror immediately spread itself over the faces of the three other ladies; Mrs. Montague gathered her flock about her and took them out of the way of possible contamination, though she would have much preferred to hear the rest of Miss Brandt’s story, and Elinor Leyton moved her chair further away. But Margaret Pullen was interested and encouraged the girl to proceed.

  “In a convent! I suppose then you are a Roman Catholic!”

  Harriet Brandt suddenly opened her slumbrous eyes.

  “I don’t think so! I’m not quite sure what I am! Of course I’ve had any amount of religion crammed down my throat in the Convent, and I had to follow their prayers whilst there, but I don’t believe my parents were Catholics! But it does not signify, I am my own mistress now. I can be what I like!”

  “You have been so unfortunate then as to lose your parents!”

  “O! yes! years ago, that is why my guardian, Mr. Trawler, placed me in the Convent for my education. And I’ve been there for ten years! Is it not a shame? I’m twenty-one now! That’s why I’m free! You see,” the girl went on confidentially, “my parents left me everything and as soon as I came of age I entered into possession of it. My guardian, Mr. Trawler, who lives in Jamaica—did I tell you that I’ve come from Jamaica?—thought I should live with him and his wife when I left the Convent, and pay them for my keep, but I refused. They had kept me too tight! I wanted to see the world and life—it was what I had been looking forward to—so as soon as my affairs were settled I left the West Indies and came over here!”

  “They said you came from England in the Hotel!”

  “So I did! The steamer came to London and I stayed there a week before I came on here!”

  “But you are too young to travel about by yourself, Miss Brandt! English young ladies never do so!” said Mrs. Pullen.

  “I’m not by myself exactly! Olga Brimont, who was in the Convent with me, came too. But she is ill, so she’s upstairs. She has come to her brother, who is in Brussels, and we travelled together. We had the same cabin on board the steamer and Olga was very ill. One night the doctor thought she was going to die! I stayed with her all the time. I used to sit up with her at night, but it did her no good. We stopped in London because we wanted to buy some dresses and things, but she was not able to go out and I had to go alone. Her brother is away from Brussels at present so he wrote her to stay in Heyst till he could fetch her, and as I had nowhere particular to go, I came with her! And she is better already! She has been fast asleep all the afternoon!”

  “And what will you do when your friend leaves you?” asked Mrs. Pullen.

  “O! I don’t know! Travel about, I suppose! I shall go wherever it may please me!”

  “Are you not going to take a walk this evening?” demanded Elinor Leyton in a low voice of her friend, wishing to put a stop to the conversation.

  “Certainly! I told nurse I would join her and baby by and by!”

  “Shall I fetch your hat then?” enquired Miss Leyton, as she rose to go up to their apartments.

  “Yes! if you will dear, please, and my velvet cape in case it should turn chilly!”

  “I will fetch mine too!” cried Miss Brandt, jumping up with alacrity. “I may go with you, mayn’t I? I’ll just tell Olga that I’m going out and be down again in five minutes!” and without waiting for an answer, she was gone.

  “See what you have brought upon us!” remarked Elinor in a vexed tone.

  “Well! it was not my fault,” replied Margaret, “and after all, what does it signify? It is only a little act of courtesy to an unprotected girl. I don’t dislike her, Elinor! She is very familiar and communicative, but fancy what it must be like to find herself her own mistress, and with money at her command, after ten years’ seclusion within the four walls of a convent! It is enough to turn the head of any girl. I think it would be very churlish to refuse to be friendly with her!”

  “Well! I hope it may turn out all right! But you must remember how Ralph cautioned us against making any acquaintances in a foreign hotel.”

  “But I am not under Ralph’s orders, though you may be, and I should not care to go entirely by the advice of so very fastidious and exclusive a gentleman as he is! My Arthur would never find fault with me, I am sure, for being friendly with a young unmarried girl.”

  “Anyway, Margaret, let me entreat you not to discuss my private affairs with this new protégée of yours. I don’t want to see her saucy eyes goggling over the news of my engagement to your brother-in-law!”

  “Certainly I will not, since you ask it! But you hardly expect to keep it a secret when Ralph comes down here, do you?”

  “Why not? Why need anyone know more than that he is your husband’s brother?”

  “I expect they know a good deal more now,” said Margaret, laughing. “The news that you are the Honourable Elinor Leyton and that your father is Baron Walthamstowe was known all over Heyst the second day we were here. And I have no doubt it has been succeeded by the interesting intelligence that you are engaged to marry Captain Pullen. You cannot keep servants’ tongues from wagging, you know!”

  “I suppose not!” replied Elinor, with a moue of contempt. “However, they will learn no more through me or Ralph. We are not ‘’Arry and ’Arriet’ to sit on the Digue with our arms round each other’s waists.”

  “Still—there are signs and symptoms,” said Margaret, laughing.

  “There will
be none with us!” rejoined Miss Leyton indignantly, as Harriet Brandt with a black lace hat on trimmed with yellow roses and a little fichu tied carelessly across her bosom, ran lightly down the steps to join them.

  - CHAPTER II -

  The Digue was crowded by that time. All Heyst had turned out to enjoy the evening air and to partake in the gaiety of the place. A band was playing on the movable orchestra which was towed by three skinny little donkeys, day after day, from one end of the Digue to the other. To-night it was its turn to be in the middle where a large company of people was sitting on green painted chairs that cost ten centimes for hire each, whilst children danced or ran madly round and round its base. Everyone had changed his or her seaside garb for more fashionable array—even the children were robed in white frocks and gala hats—and the whole scene was gay and festive. Harriet Brandt ran from one side to the other of the Digue as though she also had been a child. Everything she saw seemed to astonish and delight her. First she was gazing out over the calm and placid water—and next she was exclaiming at the bits of rubbish in the shape of embroidered baskets, or painted shells, exhibited in the shop windows which were side by side with the private houses and hotels, forming a long line of buildings fronting the water.

  She kept on declaring that she wanted to buy that or this, and lamenting she had not brought more money with her.

  “You will have plenty of opportunities to select and purchase what you want to-morrow,” said Mrs. Pullen, “and you will be better able to judge what they are like. They look better under the gas than they do by daylight I can assure you, Miss Brandt!”

  “O! but they are lovely—delightful!” replied the girl enthusiastically. “I never saw anything so pretty before! Do look at that little doll in a bathing costume, with her cap in one hand, her sponge in the other! She is charming—unique! Tout ce qu’il y a de plus beau!”[90]

  She spoke French perfectly, and when she spoke English it was with a slightly foreign accent that greatly enhanced its charm. It made Mrs. Pullen observe:

  “You are more used to speaking French than English, Miss Brandt!”

  “Yes! We always spoke French in the Convent and it is in general use in the Island. But I thought—I hoped—that I spoke English like an English woman! I am an Englishwoman, you know!”

  “Are you? I was not quite sure! Brandt sounds rather German!”

  “No! my father was English, his name was Henry Brandt, and my mother was a Miss Carey—daughter of one of the Justices of Barbadoes!”

  “O! indeed!” replied Mrs. Pullen. She did not know what else to say. The subject was of no interest to her! At that moment they encountered the nurse and perambulator and she naturally stopped to speak to her baby.

  The sight of the infant seemed to drive Miss Brandt wild.

  “O! is that your baby Mrs. Pullen. Is that really your baby?” she exclaimed excitedly, “you never told me you had one. O! the darling! the sweet dear little angel! I love little white babies! I adore them. They are so sweet and fresh and clean—so different from the little niggers who smell so nasty you can’t touch them! We never saw a baby in the Convent and so few English children live to grow up in Jamaica! O! let me hold her! let me carry her! I must!”

  She was about to seize the infant in her arms, when the mother interposed.

  “No, Miss Brandt, please, not this evening! She is but half awake and has arrived at that age when she is frightened of strangers. Another time perhaps, when she has become used to you, but not now!”

  “But I will be so careful of her, pretty dear!” persisted the girl, “I will nurse her so gently that she will fall to sleep again in my arms. Come! my little love, come!” she continued to the baby who pouted her lips and looked as if she were going to cry.

  “Leave her alone!” exclaimed Elinor Leyton in a sharp voice. “Do you not hear what Mrs. Pullen says—that you are not to touch her!”

  She spoke so acridly that gentle Margaret Pullen felt grieved for the look of dismay that darted into Harriet Brandt’s face on hearing it.

  “O! I am sorry—I didn’t mean—” she stammered, with a side-glance at Margaret.

  “Of course you did not mean anything but what was kind,” said Mrs. Pullen. “Miss Leyton perfectly understands that and when baby is used to you I daresay she will be very grateful for your attentions. But to-night she is sleepy and tired and perhaps a little cross. Take her home, Nurse,” she went on, “and put her to bed! Good-night, my sweet!” and the peram-bulator passed them and was gone.

  An awkward silence ensued between the three women after this little incident. Elinor Leyton walked somewhat apart from her companions, as if she wished to avoid all further controversy, whilst Margaret Pullen sought some way by which to atone for her friend’s rudeness to the young stranger. Presently they came across one of the cafés chantants which are attached to the seaside hotels, and which was brilliantly lighted up. A large awning was spread outside to shelter some dozens of chairs and tables, most of which were already occupied. The windows of the hotel salon had been thrown wide open to accommodate some singers and musicians who advanced in turn and stood on the threshold to amuse the audience. As they approached the scene a tenor in evening dress was singing a love song, whilst the musicians accompanied his voice from the salon, and the occupants of the chairs were listening with rapt attention.

  “How charming! How delightful!” cried Harriet Brandt as they reached the spot, “I never saw anything like this in the Island!”

  “You appear never to have seen anything!” remarked Miss Leyton, with a sneer. Miss Brandt glanced apologetically at Mrs. Pullen.

  “How could I see anything when I was in the Convent?” she said. “I know there are places of entertainment in the Island but I was never allowed to go to any. And in London there was no one for me to go with! I should so much like to go in there,” indicating the café. “Will you come with me, both of you I mean, and I will pay for everything! I have plenty of money you know!”

  “There is nothing to pay my dear, unless you call for refreshment,” was Margaret’s reply.

  “Yes, I will go with you certainly, if you so much wish it! Elinor, you won’t mind, will you?”

  But Miss Leyton was engaged talking to a Monsieur and Mademoiselle Vieuxtemps—an old brother and sister resident in the Lion d’Or—who had stopped to wish her good-evening! They were dear, good old people, but rather monotonous and dull and Elinor had more than once ridiculed their manner of talking and voted them the most terrible bores. Mrs. Pullen concluded, therefore, that she would get rid of them as soon as courtesy permitted her to do so and follow her. With a smile and a bow therefore, to the Vieuxtemps, she pushed her way through the crowd with Harriet Brandt to where she perceived that three seats were vacant and took possession of them. They were not good seats for hearing or seeing, being to one side of the salon and quite in the shadow, but the place was so full that she saw no chance of getting any others. As soon as they were seated the waiter came round for orders, and it was with difficulty that Mrs. Pullen prevented her companion pur­chasing sufficient liqueurs and cakes to serve double the number of their company.

  “You must allow me to pay for myself, Miss Brandt,” she said gravely, “or I will never accompany you anywhere again!”

  “But I have lots of money,” pleaded the girl, “much more than I know what to do with—it would be a pleasure to me, it would indeed!”

  But Mrs. Pullen was resolute, and three limonades only were placed upon their table. Elinor Leyton had not yet made her appear­ance, and Mrs. Pullen kept craning her neck over the other seats to see where she might be, without success.

  “She cannot have missed us!” she observed, “I wonder if she can have continued her walk with the Vieuxtemps!”

  “O! what does it signify?” said Harriet, drawing her chair closer to that of Mrs. Pullen, “we can do very well without her. I don’t think she’s very nice, do you?”

  “You must not speak of Miss Ley
ton like that to me, Miss Brandt,” remonstrated Margaret gently, “because—she is a great friend of our family.”

  She had been going to say, “Because she will be my sister-in-law before long,” but remembered Elinor’s request in time and substi­tuted the other sentence.

  “I don’t think she’s very kind though,” persisted the other.

  “It is only her manner, Miss Brandt! She does not mean anything by it!”

  “But you are so different,” said the girl as she crept still closer. “I could see it when you smiled at me at dinner. I knew I should like you at once. And I want you to like me too—so much! It has been the dream of my life to have some friends. That is why I would not stay in Jamaica. I don’t like the people there! I want friends—real friends!”

  “But you must have had plenty of friends of your own age in the Convent.”

  “That shews you don’t know anything about a convent! It’s the very last place where they will let you make a friend—they’re afraid lest you should tell each other too much! The convent I was in was an Ursuline order,[91] and even the nuns were obliged to walk three and three, never two together, lest they should have secrets between them. As for us girls, we were never left alone for a single minute! There was always a sister with us, even at night, walking up and down between the row of beds, preten-ding to read her prayers but with her eyes on us the whole time and her ears open to catch what we said. I suppose they were afraid we should talk about lovers. I think girls do talk about them when they can, more in convents than in other places, though they have never had any. It would be so dreadful to be like the poor nuns, and never have a lover to the end of one’s days, wouldn’t it?”

  “You would not fancy being a nun then, Miss Brandt!”

  “I—O! dear no! I would rather be dead twenty times over! But they didn’t like my coming out at all. They did try so hard to persuade me to remain with them for ever! One of them, Sister Feodore, told me I must never talk even with gentlemen if I could avoid it—that they were all wicked and nothing they said was true, and if I trusted them they would only laugh at me afterwards for my pains. But I don’t believe that, do you?”