Miss Blaine's Prefect and the Vampire Menace

by Olga Wojtas

  “It’s good, isn’t it?” I said, glad of the chance to compare literary notes with another aficionado. “What did you think of the narrative structure? I really like the way it incorporates diary entries and letters, and newspaper articles and ship’s logs.”

  “It’s a clever technique for getting the information over,” she agreed. “And it’s a gripping story. I liked it. Yes, it’s very good. Even though it’s by an Englishman.”

  There was an outbreak of spitting among the villagers.

  “Bram Stoker is not an Englishman!” I said. “He’s Irish. Irish!”

  I wondered whether the confusion was arising from the Summer Olympics in Paris, in which the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland were competing as Great Britain. But in that case, it would be more appropriate for us all to be lumped together as British, not English. I was about to help them sort out the various nationalities when someone shouted, “Why are we wasting time? Kill the vampire! There was never any talk about vampires until she came here and started talking about them. That proves she is one.”

  I gave a weary sigh. “Where’s the logic in that? Why on earth would I have been talking about vampires if I was one? I’d just be drawing attention to myself.”

  “Vampires are cunning,” said Cart Woman. “That’s exactly what you told me. And what’s more cunning if you’re a vampire than talking about vampires so that people think you can’t possibly be one?”

  The other villagers took a while to process this, and then one shouted, “You may be cunning, but we’re more cunning than you!”

  There was loud agreement from the rest of them.

  “I’m quite sure you’re more cunning than me,” I said in a placatory way. “But I’m really not a vampire.” Since I couldn’t swivel my head, I swivelled my eyes to look at Cart Woman. “You’ve read the book. You know all about vampires.”

  “I certainly do,” she said. “I know vampires can turn themselves into wolves, and we just saw you with one. I know vampires are rich, and you’ve got a purse with lots of money in it. I also know that vampires sleep in coffins, and you keep asking me about coffins.”

  The villagers muttered darkly.

  “I don’t keep asking you,” I remonstrated. “I just mentioned them in passing. You were the one who talked about them to begin with. And since you know so much about vampires, you’ll know I wouldn’t be able to eat anything with garlic in it. I can prove I’m not a vampire. Ask Madeleine. I made fabulous sweetcorn and chickpea burgers the other night – well, not real ones because I didn’t have any sweetcorn or chickpeas. But they were very good. And I used a clove of garlic.”

  Somebody spat on the ground right next to me. “A clove! That proves nothing – that’s scarcely any garlic at all.”

  “Then bring me lots of garlic, as much as you’ve got, and I’ll eat it all.” Though the thought didn’t give me much pleasure.

  Fortunately, I then had another thought. “If I was a vampire, I wouldn’t be reflected in a mirror,” I said. “Get a mirror, and you’ll find I reflect perfectly well.”

  “All right, I’ll go and get one,” said Cart Woman, but she was stopped by the people round her.

  “It’s a trick. Don’t listen. She was out at night and she had a wolf with her. What more proof do we need?”

  “Destroy the vampire!” shouted someone.

  The villager next to me raised his pitchfork and prepared to strike.

  “Stop!” yelled Cart Woman. “Don’t do that!”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, even though my breathing was somewhat compromised by the pitchfork across my neck. Cart Woman had finally recognised that I wasn’t a vampire and was going to save me.

  “A pitchfork’s no good,” she said. “It has to be a stake.”

  Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. I locked eyes with her. “You haven’t finished the book, have you?”

  She looked a bit uncomfortable. “Not quite. I only got it this afternoon, and I’ve had other things to do. I’ve read the beginning.”

  “If you had read it all, you would know that Dracula didn’t get killed by driving a stake through his heart.”

  Cart Woman folded her brawny arms. “You told my girl that the only way to kill a vampire was by driving a stake through its heart.”

  “I said no such thing. I said that was the popular belief.” I was stalling for time. The popular belief was also held by vampire hunter Van Helsing in the book; it’s just not what finally did for Dracula.

  “Don’t listen to her,” shouted a villager. “She’s being cunning again. She’s telling us driving a stake through her heart isn’t the way to kill her because that’s the way to kill her.”

  I had to concede the point. Driving a stake through my heart would definitely kill me.

  And then unfortunately somebody found a stake.

  There was only one thing that could save me now. A miracle.

  Seven

  “A miracle!”

  The cry came from my landlady, who was pushing her way through the crowd.

  A collective male sigh: “Ah, Madeleine!”

  She threw herself on top of me, and I felt something other than the pitchfork scratching my neck.

  “Look!” She scrambled to her feet. “I only just saw it in the torchlight. We nearly committed a terrible sin, murdering this saintly woman.”

  She had certainly changed her tune.

  The villagers peered down at me, muttering.

  “What?” asked one.

  “She’s wearing a crucifix,” said another.

  Cart Woman gasped. “She can’t be a vampire, then. They can’t abide crucifixes. She’d be hissing and all sorts.”

  I tried to look like someone who never hissed, let alone all sorts.

  “We weren’t to know. She had a wolf with her,” said one sullenly.

  “Of course, she did!” said Madeleine. “That proves how holy she is. Don’t you remember the story of Saint François and the wolf of Goubillot?”

  She was telling it all wrong. She had misappropriated the story of Saint Francis and the wolf of Gubbio.

  “That’s not–” I began.

  She surreptitiously kicked me in the ribs, which was pretty sore as she was wearing her wooden sabots. Perhaps I should have been more sympathetic when the mayor claimed his ribs were broken.

  Madeleine was now in full flight. “The wolf terrorised our neighbouring village of Goubillot, devouring the villagers if they strayed outside, and people faced starvation in their homes. It was then that the good Saint François…”

  I really had to bite my tongue at that point.

  “…Saint François went out to the wolf and commanded it to stop attacking people.”

  “Wolves are just big dogs,” I said. “You have to let them know who’s boss.”

  She gave me another surreptitious kick with her sabot and went on, “It placed its forepaw in his hand in agreement and followed him into Goubillot where the villagers agreed to feed it in return for its promise of peace. This saintly woman–”

  “That’s me,” I said.

  Madeleine smiled, but it looked a little sickly. “This saintly woman had made such a pact with the wolf–”

  “Brother Wolf,” I said. “That’s what I call him.”

  “–with the wolf and was bringing him here to accept our forgiveness and goodwill.”

  “Is this the wolf that’s been tearing people to death?” demanded a villager.

  “Forgiveness and goodwill,” I said. “Whatever it’s done in the past should be forgotten. I’ve had a word, and you’re all safe now.”

  Madeleine lifted the pitchfork off my neck, and nobody stopped her. Then other villagers lifted the pitchforks off my arms and legs. I sat up, rubbing the sore bit on my neck, and my fingers touched the chain with the crucifix. Glancing at Madeleine, I saw that she was no longer wearing hers.

  People were helping me to my feet, with words of apology. I tried to look saint
ly.

  “Bless you,” I murmured. “Bless you.”

  “She’s very religious,” whispered an elderly man. “She doesn’t approve of can-can dancers. Tore strips off us when she heard us talking about them.”

  “Did she indeed?” snorted his equally elderly wife. “Good for her. I’m not having a husband of mine talking about can-can dancers.” She gave him a clip on the ear.

  “Bless you both,” I said, smiling benignly. “Marriage is an honourable estate.”

  I clutched hold of Madeleine’s arm – there was tingling, yes, but very, very slight – and leaned heavily on her, limping, as we made our way back to the chalet while the crowd dispersed.

  “Are you badly hurt?” she asked once we were safely inside.

  I straightened up and did some back stretches and hip rotations. “I’m fine. I’m a bit bruised from your sabots, but otherwise OK. Thanks to you.” I went to unfasten the crucifix.

  “No,” she said harshly. “You keep it. They’ll be watching for it.”

  “Not as closely as they watch you – the blokes at any rate.” I indicated her bosom.

  “I’ll wear beads instead. It’s not the crucifix they’re looking at. Sit down, I’ll get you something to drink. Some tea.”

  “Tea? You have tea? Where did you get it?”

  She looked away. “I’ve always had it. Sylvain loves tea.”

  Still talking about her late husband in the present tense. Worrying.

  “That’s very nice of you,” I said as she began to make the tea. “Although in case you think hot sweet tea is good for shock, that’s an urban myth, and I’m not actually in shock, I’m just a bit startled. But tea is proven to have a calming effect, so I’m very grateful.”

  She didn’t reply. She didn’t say anything until she’d brought two bowls of tea to the table. She didn’t bring any milk or sugar and I didn’t like to ask.

  “That story,” I said. “The one you told about Saint François and the wolf of Goubillot. That was quite similar to, one might almost say identical to, the story of Saint Francis and the wolf of Gubbio.”

  “I know.”

  “But you said Goubillot was the neighbouring village. So has the story taken root there as well because of the similarity of the names?”

  Shrug. “I don’t know if there’s any neighbouring village called Goubillot.”

  “But they all accepted what you said.”

  “They don’t know if there’s any neighbouring village called Goubillot either. Nobody ever goes out of Sans-Soleil. Apart from my Sylvain.”

  “And the woman with the cart,” I said. “Although only as far as the pick-up point and the library.”

  There was another silence while we drank our tea and then Madeleine suddenly burst out, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK,” I said. “I’m sure tea is expensive and you didn’t want to use it up.”

  “I mean about what happened to you.”

  “You’ve got nothing to apologise for. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was,” she bit out. “I knew you had gone out.”

  Now I did feel shocked. I had been so careful to be quiet.

  “I thought you were asleep,” I said accusingly. “I heard you snoring.”

  “I was snoring, but I wasn’t asleep,” she said, and, as we sat there at the table, she began snoring gently while remaining wide awake.

  “Very clever. So, you knew I had gone out.”

  “You made quite a lot of noise when you were going through the window. You were swearing.”

  “I wasn’t swearing exactly,” I said. “Just using robust language.”

  “And if those sheets have been damaged, you’ll have to pay for them.” She looked down at the table. “I followed you until I realised you were going into the forest. I went to alert my husband’s temporary replacement that you were breaking the law, but he wasn’t at home. Neither was the judge. So, when I couldn’t find either of them, I roused the other villagers.” Her fingers tightened round the bowl. “You had been going on about vampires, so I told them you were a vampire. It was even better when you turned up with that wolf. I thought they would just frighten you and you’d go away. I didn’t think they’d try to kill you. I couldn’t let them do that.”

  I laid down my bowl. “I wonder, could I have a wee bit of sugar to put in my tea? And maybe a wee dash of milk?” I asked. Urban myths sometimes have a basis in truth.

  “No milk,” she said dully, but she fetched some sugar.

  I stirred the sugar until it dissolved.

  “You could just have asked me to leave,” I said.

  She gave a short laugh. “And what good would that have done? I’m tired of pretending, madame, that you are a passing stranger who needs board and lodging. I know you’re a spy.”

  I closed my eyes. Why do people misunderstand the simplest thing? “No,” I said. “No, no, no, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong. I’m on a mission, but that doesn’t make me a spy.”

  “You tell yourself that, do you? Well, do your worst. Creep into the forest trying to find where I’ve been. Or just come with me, I don’t care. But you will never be able to stop me. If you try…” She left the words hanging. “I swear to you, I will find my Sylvain and when I do, it will be the end for you and your paymasters.”

  It really sounded quite threatening, and I had to remind myself that she was grieving and her emotions would be unpredictable.

  “Listen,” I said, “what I do is entirely altruistic. I’m here to help. I’m not yet entirely clear about whom I’m here to help, but that’s by the way. I’m certainly not here to hinder, and if you want to look for your Sylvain, you go right ahead.”

  I took a sip of tea, which was really quite good now there was some sugar in it. “Also,” I said, “I don’t have paymasters, unless you count the City of Edinburgh Council. I’m carrying out this mission pro bono, although I’m allowed reasonable expenses.”

  She stared at me and then her expression hardened. “You lie so convincingly. Just like the men. But you, you betray your sex by such behaviour.”

  “Excuse me one moment,” I said. “If men can lie convincingly, there’s no reason why women can’t. But I’m a little offended that you think I’m lying when I’m not.”

  “It was pure coincidence, then, that you came to our little village and the mayor had the happy idea that you could stay with me?”

  “It was,” I agreed.

  She slapped her hand down on the wooden table, making me jump. “Stop lying to me, madame! I know you’re the mayor’s creature.”

  Now she had gone too far. In the voice that had quelled the outburst when Bruntsfield House beat Marchmont House at netball, I said, “I am not the mayor’s creature. I am my own creature.”

  She proved tougher than the Marchmont mob. “I found you with all five of them, plotting. And then the mayor suddenly had the brainwave that this mysterious visitor should lodge with me. Do you think I’m stupid, madame? Do you think I didn’t realise you were there to spy on me as I searched for my Sylvain? I can tell you now, you haven’t stopped me, nor will you. I shall not rest until I find my beloved.”

  Angrily, she dashed tears from her eyes. “I can’t bear to think what has happened to him. He’s lying injured somewhere, wondering why his Madeleine doesn’t come for him. All because of your friend the mayor, the murderer.”

  I pushed aside my tea bowl. “It’s funny you say that. For a while, I thought he was a murderer as well. I was quite wary of him, and then we had a good chat, and I realised I was entirely mistaken. He’s a decent public servant, trying to do his best for the community.”

  “Then why,” demanded Madeleine, “was my Sylvain investigating him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Why was your Sylvain investigating him?”

  “I don’t know! He just said he was convinced there were ongoings.”

  Ongoings were rarely good. But she had said something that didn’t make sense. I put on
my gentlest voice. “You said the mayor was a murderer. So, you really do accept that Sylvain is dead?”

  She jumped to her feet. “Do I have to tell you again and again? My Sylvain is not dead! When my Sylvain had a cold, I felt as though I was encased in a block of ice. When my Sylvain was stung by a hornet, I felt as though I had been pierced by a thousand arrows. The instant my Sylvain dies, my own heart will burst with grief and we will be united in the afterlife.”

  She seemed to have a remarkably sensitive nervous system.

  “That’s good to hear,” I said. “But if he’s not dead, it’s a bit unfair of you to call the mayor a murderer.”

  “I’m not talking about my Sylvain,” she snapped. “I’m talking about the deaths of the others.”

  “What others?” I asked in bemusement.

  She threw up her hands. “The others! The judge! The teacher! The undertaker and cheesemonger!”

  Grief had made her lose the plot entirely. “They’re all fine,” I said. Until I remembered it was a full day since I had seen or heard them. “Did something bad happen today?”

  “Not today! I thought we had decided to be frank with one another at last, but it seems you are determined to keep up this pretence of ignorance. Very well, I shall spell it out for you. The men I found you with chez Maman have replaced the men who are dead. The forest has been safe for years, apart from the four separate incidents years ago. And then suddenly, one after the other, the judge, the teacher, the undertaker and cheesemonger are torn to death by wild animals. Does that sound plausible to you?”

  “Well,” I said, “it could be a mutation in the forest fauna. Or the wild animals might have been eating ergot or magic mushrooms and gone mad. You say the judge, the teacher, and the undertaker and cheesemonger were torn to death by wild animals. That’s what I heard happened to Sylvain as well.”

  She sank back in her chair. “That’s what they told me. That was why they said I couldn’t see his body, because it would be too distressing for me.” Her voice got quieter. “I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t died of grief when I first heard the news of his death, and then at the funeral I realised it was because he was still alive. Had he been dead, I could not have stopped myself jumping into his grave onto his coffin, and letting them throw the earth over us both.