The Blood of the Vampire

by Florence Marryat

  Miss Wynward looked rather blank as she replied, “Not till dinner time, I am afraid! I fancy she will find too much to enquire about and to do after so long an absence from home. I am so sorry, Miss Brandt,” she continued, noting the look of disappointment on the girl’s face, “that her ladyship did not make this plain to you last night. Her injunctions to me were to see that you had everything you required, and to spare no trouble or expense on your account! But that is not like having her here, of course! Have you been into the library? There are some nice English works there, and there is a piano in the drawing-room which you might like to use. I am afraid it is not in tune, on account of the rain we have had and that I have not opened it myself during the Baroness’s absence, and indeed it is never used except to teach Bobby his music lessons on, but it may amuse you despite of anything else.”

  “O! I daresay I shall find something to amuse myself with,” replied Harriet rather sullenly. “I have my own instrument with me, and my books, thank you! But is no one likely to call this afternoon, do you think?”

  “This afternoon,” echoed Miss Wynward, “are you expecting any of your own friends to see you?”

  “O! no! I have no friends in England,—none at least that know I have returned from Heyst. But the Baroness told me—she said the Red House was always full of guests—Prince Adalbert and Prince Loris, and a lot of others—do you think they may come to-day to see her?”

  “O! not in September,” replied her companion, “it is not the season now, Miss Brandt, and all the fashionable people are out of town at the foreign watering-places or shooting in the country. Her ladyship could never have intended you to understand that the people you have mentioned would come here at any time except between May and July! They do come here then—sometimes—but not, I expect, as you think—not as friends, I mean!”

  “Not as friends! What as, then?” demanded Harriet.

  “Well!” returned Miss Wynward, dubiously, “many of them have business with her ladyship and they come to see her upon it! I generally conduct them to her presence and leave them alone with her, but that is all I see of them! They have never come here to a party, or dinner, to my knowledge!”

  “How very extraordinary!” cried Harriet, “what do they come for then?”

  “The Baroness must tell you that!” replied the other, gravely, “I am not in her confidence, and if I were I should not feel justified in revealing it.”

  This conversation drove Harriet to her room to indite a letter to Captain Pullen. If she were to be deprived of the society of dukes and princes, she would at least secure the company of one person who could make the time pass pleasantly to her. As she wrote to him, rapidly, unadvisedly, passionately, her head burned and her heart was fluttering. She felt as if she had been deceived—cheated—decoyed to the Red House under false pretences, and she was in as much of a rage as her indolent nature would permit her to be. The revelations of Miss Wynward had sunk down into her very soul. No parties, no dinners, with princes handing her into the dining-room and whispering soft nothings into her ears all the time! Why had Madame Gobelli so often promised to console her for the loss of Captain Pullen by this very means and it was a dream, a chimera, they only came to the Red House on business—business, horrid unromantic word—and were shut up with the Baroness. What business, she wondered! Could it be about boots and shoes, and if so, why did they not go to the shop, which surely was the proper place from which to procure them! The idea that she had been deceived in this particular made her write far more warmly and pleadingly perhaps than she would other-wise have done. A bird in the hand was worth two in the bush—Harriet was not conversant with the proverb, but she fully endorsed the senti-ment. When her letter was written and addressed to the Camp at Alder-shot, and she had walked out with Bobby to post it in the pillar box, she felt happier and less resentful. At all events she was her own mistress and could leave the Red House when she chose and take up her abode elsewhere. A hot sun had dried the garden paths and grass, and she spent the rest of the afternoon wandering about the unshaven lawn with Bobby, and lingering on the rotten wooden benches under the trees with the boy’s arm round her waist and his head drooping on her shoulder.

  Bobby was blissfully happy and she was content. If we cannot get cavidre[116] it is wise to content ourselves with cod’s roe. They spent hours together that afternoon, until the dusk had fallen and the hour of dining had drawn nigh. They talked of Heyst and the pleasures they had left behind them and Harriet was astonished to hear how manly were some of Bobby’s ideas and sentiments, when out of sight of his Mamma.

  At last the strident tones of the Baroness’s voice were heard echoing through the grounds. Harriet and Bobby leaped to their feet in a moment.

  “’Ere, ’Arriet! Bobby! where are you? You’re a nice son and daughter to ’ide away from me when I’ve been toiling for your benefit all the day.”

  She came towards them as she spoke, and when Harriet saw how fatigued she looked, she almost forgave her for leaving her in the lurch as she had done.

  “I suppose you thought we were both dead, didn’t you?” she con-tinued. “Well, we are, almost. Never ’ad such a day’s work in my life! Found everything wrong, of course! You can’t turn your back for five minutes but these confounded workmen play old ’Arry with your busi-ness! I sent off ten fellows before I’d been in the factory ten minutes, and fined as many girls, and ’ave been running all over London since to replace ’em. It’s ’ard work, I can tell you!”

  She plumped down upon the rotten seat, nearly bringing it to the ground as she spoke, and burst out laughing.

  “You should ’ave seen one man, you would ’ave died of laughing! ‘Get out,’ I said to ’im, ‘not another day’s work do you do ’ere!’ ‘Get out of the factory where I’ve worked for twenty years?’ ’e said, ‘Well, then, I shan’t, not for you! If the governor ’ad said so, it might be a different thing, but a woman ’as no right to come interfering in business as she knows nothing about!’ ‘That’s the way the wind lies,’ I replied, ‘and you want a man to turn you out! We’ll soon see if a woman can’t do it!’ and I took my stick and laid it on his back till he hollored again. He was out of the place before you could say Jack Robinson! ‘’Ow will that do?’ I said to the others, ‘who else wants a taste of my stick before ’e’ll go!’ But they all cleared out before I ’ad done speaking! I laughed till I was ill! But come along children! It’s time for dinner!”

  As they returned to the house she accosted Harriet, “I ’ope you’ve amused yourself to-day! You’ll ’ave to look after yourself whenever I’m at the factory! But a ’andsome gal like you won’t want long for amusement. We’ll ’ave plenty of company ’ere, soon! Miss Wynward,” she continued, as they entered the dining-room, “Mr. Milliken is coming to-morrow! See that ’is room is ready for ’im!”

  “Very good, my lady!” replied Miss Wynward, but Harriet fancied she did not like the idea of Mr. Milliken staying with them.

  The dinner proceeded merrily. It was more sumptuous than the day before, consisting of several courses, and the champagne flowed freely. Harriet, sitting at her ease and thoroughly enjoying the repast, thought that it atoned for all the previous inconvenience. But a strange incident occurred before the meal was over. The Baron, who was carver, asked Bobby twice if he would take some roast beef and received no answer, which immediately aroused the indignation of the Baroness.

  “Do you ’ear what your father is saying to you, Bobby?” she cried, shrilly. “Answer ’im at once or I’ll send you out of the room! Will you ’ave some beef?”

  But still there was no reply.

  “My lady! I think that he is ill,” said Miss Wynward in alarm.

  “Ill! Rubbish!” exclaimed the Baroness. Being so coarse-fibred and robust a woman herself, she never had any sympathy with delicacy or illness and generally declared all invalids to be humbugs, shamming in order to attract the more attention. She now jumped up from her seat, and going round to her so
n’s chair, shook him violently by the shoulder.

  “’Ere, wake up! what are you about?” she exclaimed, “if you don’t sit up at once and answer your father’s question I’ll lay my stick about your back!”

  She was going to put her argument into effect when Harriet prevented her.

  “Stop! stop! Madame Gobelli!” she exclaimed; “can’t you see he has fainted!”

  It was really true! Bobby had fainted dead away in his chair, where he lay white as a sheet with closed eyes, and limp body. Miss Wynward flew to her pupil’s assistance.

  “Poor dear boy! I was sure he was not well directly he entered the house,” she said.

  “Not well!” replied the Baroness, “nonsense! what should ail ’im? ’Is father was one of the strongest men on God’s earth! He never ’ad a day’s illness in ’is life. ’Ow should the boy, a great ’ulking fellow like ’im, ’ave got ill?”

  She spoke roughly, but there was a tremor in her voice as she uttered the words and she looked at Bobby as though she were afraid of him.

  But as he gradually revived under Miss Wynward’s treatment she approached nearer and said with some tenderness in her tones, “Well! Bobby, lad, and ’ow do you feel now?”

  “Better, Mamma, thank you! only my head keeps going round!”

  “Had I not better help him up to his bed, my lady?” asked Miss Wynward.

  “O! yes! but I ’ope ’e isn’t going to make a fool of ’imself like this again, for I don’t ’old with boys fainting like hysterical gals!”

  “I couldn’t help it, Mamma!” said Bobby faintly.

  “O! yes! you could, if you ’ad any pluck! You never saw me faint. Nor Gustave either! It’s all ’abit! Trundle ’im off to bed, Miss Wynward. The sooner ’e’s there, the better!”

  “And I may give him a little stimulant,” suggested Miss Wynward timidly, recalling the scene of the evening before, “a little champagne or brandy and water—I think he requires it, my lady!”

  “O! yes! Coddle ’im to your ’eart’s content, only don’t let me ’ear of it! I ’ate a fuss! Good-night, Bobby! Mind you’re well by tomorrow morning!”

  And she brushed the lad’s cheek with her bristly chin.

  “Good-night!” replied Bobby, “good-night to all!” as he was supported from the room on the arm of Miss Wynward.

  The Baroness did not make any further remarks concerning her son, but Harriet noticed that her appetite disappeared with him, and declaring that she had tired herself too much to eat, she sat unoccupied and almost silent for the remainder of the meal.

  - CHAPTER XI -

  Mr. Alexander Milliken arrived punctually upon the morrow.

  He was a tall, gaunt, weak-kneed man, with a prominent nose and eyes that required the constant use of glasses. Harriet Brandt could not at first determine his relationship to the Baroness, who received him with one of the rough kisses she was wont to bestow on Bobby and herself.

  He established himself in the Red House as if he had been a member of the family, and Harriet frequently surprised him engaged in confidential talk with their hostess, which was immediately stopped on her arrival. She perceived that Miss Wynward had an evident dislike for the new-comer and never addressed him but in the most formal manner and when it was strictly necessary. The Baroness did not go so often to the manufactory after Mr. Milliken’s arrival, but often shut herself up with him in a room with locked doors, after which Mr. Milliken would be much occupied with sec­retarial work, writing letters with his short-sighted eyes held close to the paper. He was a source of much curiosity to Harriet Brandt, but he need not have been. He was only that very common and unclean animal—the jackal to Madame Gobelli’s lion.

  He was poor and she was rich so he did all the dirty work which she was unable or afraid to do for herself. Mr. Milliken called himself an author and an actor but he was neither. On account of his accidental likeness to a popular actor, he had once been engaged to play the part of his double at a West-end theatre, but with the waning of the piece Mr. Milliken’s fame evaporated and he had never obtained an engagement since. His assumed authorship was built on the same scale. He had occasionally penned anonymous articles for newspapers, which had been inserted without pay, but no one in the literary or any other world knew him by name or by fame. Of late he had attached himself to Madame Gobelli, writing her letters for her (of doing which she was almost incapable), and occasionally dabbling in dirtier work which she was too cunning to do for herself. Miss Wynward could have told tales of abusive epistles which had been sent through his hand to people whom the Baroness considered had offended her—of anonymous letters also which, if traced, would have landed them both in the County Court. But Mr. Milliken was out at elbows. He found it very convenient to hang about the Red House for weeks together, to the saving of his pocket—receiving douceurs sometimes in actual coin of the realm at the hands of his benefactress, and making himself useful to her in any way in return. Lately, notwithstanding her grand promises to Harriet Brandt of introductions to lords and princes, the Baroness had thought it would be a very good thing for her favourite jackal if the young heiress took a fancy for him, and gave him full leave in consequence to go in and conquer if he could. She would praise his appearance and his qualities to the girl, before his very face—calling attention to the fact of what a clever creature he was, and what a fine figure he possessed, and how well he was connected, and advising her in her coarse fashion to cultivate his acquaintance better. She even descended to having visions in the broad daylight, and proph-esying the future for them both.

  “’Arriet!” she would suddenly exclaim, “I see a man standing be’ind you!”

  “O! gracious!” the girl would reply, jumping in her seat, “I wish you would not say such things, Madame!”

  “Rubbish! Why shouldn’t I say ’em, if they’re there? Stop a bit! Let me see ’im plainly! ’E’s got dark ’air, slightly sprinkled with grey—a fine nose—deep-set eyes, with bushy eyebrows—no ’air on ’is face—a tall figure, and long ’ands and feet! ’E’s living in this world too! Do you know anybody that answers to the description?”

  “No!” replied the girl, though she recognised it at once as being meant for Mr. Milliken.

  “Well! if you don’t know ’im now, you will before long, but it’s my belief you’ve met. And mark my words! you and ’e will be closely con-nected in life! I shouldn’t wonder if ’e turns out to be your future ’usband!”

  “O! nonsense!” exclaimed Harriet, trying to speak lightly, “I’m not going to marry anybody, thank you, Madame Gobelli, unless it’s one of the princes you promised to introduce me to.”

  “O! princes are all rubbish!” replied the Baroness, forgetting her former assertions. “They’ve none of them got any money, and yours wouldn’t go far enough for ’em. They want a gal with something like five thousand a year at ’er back. I’d rather ’ave an Englishman any day, than a dirty little German prince!”

  But Harriet Brandt was not the sort of woman to be forced into an intimacy against her will. Born under an hereditary curse, as she un-doubtedly had been, and gifted with the fatal propensity of injuring rather than benefiting those whom she took a fancy for, she was an epicure in her taste for her fellow creatures and would not have permitted Mr. Alexander Milliken to take a liberty with her had he been the last man left upon the earth. She avoided his society as much as it was possible to do, without being rude to her hostess, but as the Baroness was continually calling her to her side, it was difficult to do so. Meanwhile the days went on very differently from what she had anticipated when coming to the Red House. Bobby was languid and indifferent to everything but hanging about the place where she might have located herself—sitting on the sofa beside her, with his heavy head on her shoulder and his weak arm wound about her waist. Miss Wynward feared he must have contracted some species of malaria at the seaside, and Harriet could see for herself that the lad was much altered from the time when they first met—the Baroness alone, eithe
r from ignorance or obstinacy, declaring that nothing ailed him but laziness, and she would give him the stick if he didn’t exert himself more. Sometimes Harriet took him out with her—for a drive into the country or to a concert or matinée in London, but what was that compared to the entertainment of Royalty and Aristocracy which she had been promised. And she had not heard a word from Captain Pullen, though her first letter of appeal had been succeeded by two or three more. Such a rebuff would have driven another girl to despondency or tears, but that was not the effect it had on Harriet Brandt. If you throw a bone to a tigress and then try to take it away she does not weep—she fights for her prey. Harriet Brandt, deprived of the flatteries and attentions of Captain Pullen did not weep either, but set her pretty teeth together and determined in her own mind that if she were to give him up she would know the reason why. She was reckless—she did not care what she did to obtain it, but she would learn the truth of his defalcation if she travelled down to Aldershot for the purpose. She was in this mood one day when the maid servant who answered the door came to tell her that a lady was in the drawing-room and desired to see her. The Baroness had gone out that afternoon and taken Mr. Milliken with her so that Harriet was alone. She eagerly demanded the name of her visitor.

  “The lady didn’t give me her name,” replied the servant, “but she asked if Miss Brandt was at home plain enough!”

  “Go back and say that I will be with her in a minute!” said Harriet.

  She had decided in her own mind that the stranger must be Margaret Pullen, bringing her, doubtless, some news of her brother-in-law. She only stayed to smooth her hair which was rather disordered from Bobby laying his head on her shoulder before, with a heightened colour, she entered the drawing-room. What was her surprise to encounter, instead of Mrs. Pullen, Miss Leyton—Miss Leyton who had been so reserved and proud with her at Heyst and who even though she had sought her out at the Red House, looked as reserved and proud as before. Harriet advanced with an extended hand but Elinor Leyton did not appear to see the action as she coldly bowed and sank into her chair again.