CHAPTER XXIII
At the Café New York
We have to warn them,” said Mary.
“I do not see how,” said the Count. “Ayesha will not admit me to her presence, and neither will any member of the society who is loyal to her. Indeed, we do not know who is loyal to her and who is not. Who, then, are we to warn?” He stared out the window, brow furrowed.
They were once again sitting in the dining room, having breakfast. The night before, they had sat up late, telling each other their adventures since they had parted in London. So much had happened in that time! Mary did not feel like the Miss Jekyll who had left the security of 11 Park Terrace anymore. But then, who was she now? She had no idea.
“And you never got the telegram from Mrs. Poole?” Catherine had asked. “She wired to tell you that we were coming, and hinted somewhat cryptically about Seward and Van Helsing’s plans. Although we’re still not entirely sure what they intend to do at that meeting, are we?”
“I certainly never received that telegram,” Mina had responded, shaking her head. “Could she have mistaken the address? Although I never knew Mrs. Poole to be careless about anything—she was a most conscientious housekeeper. Or perhaps it simply went astray. The telegraph office here in Budapest is generally reliable, but such things do happen.”
“Catherine, did she not give that telegram to Jimmy Bucket, to bring to the telegraph office?” Beatrice had taken off her veil and coif. With an audible sigh of relief, Catherine had followed her example. “You remember Dr. Watson identified him as a traitor among the Baker Street boys, although I do not like to use that word for a boy such as Jimmy. We do not know what motivated him, or what excuse he might have for his actions.”
The night before, Catherine had pulled Mary aside as they walked up the stairs to the second floor. “I have to tell you—Holmes seems to be missing. Shortly after you and Justine left, he went off to investigate something or other. Very hush-hush government stuff, I think. He didn’t tell Watson what it was, or where he was going. Of course, he may even be back by now—I don’t want to worry you. But I thought you should know.”
Mary had been dismayed to learn of Jimmy’s defection and Holmes’s disappearance. Where could he have gone? Surely he would be all right—he was the great detective, after all. She had been intending to sit down and write him a long letter—but it was pointless if he was not even at 221B Baker Street. It had been difficult for her to fall asleep, wondering and worrying about what was happening back home.
Now she picked at her breakfast, trying to interest herself in the eggs and mushrooms, which really were excellent. But she seemed to have no appetite this morning. If Jimmy had taken that telegram, what had he done with it? And more importantly—where was Mr. Holmes?
She needed to stop thinking about it and focus on the problem at hand. Here they all were again this morning—Catherine and Beatrice in their own clothes, for their trunk had been fetched the night before from the train station, and Justine in a brand-new dress delivered this morning from Ilona Couture. Mary looked down at her own dress from the seamstress, in a soft blue cotton voile, beautifully sewn, and could not help feeling a little lighter in heart, despite their troubles and the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Holmes. Such is the power of a new gown. Diana, looking like a boy, for she had refused to wear the new dress Madam Ilona had sewn for her, was slipping pieces of sausage to Hóvirág.
“But we must try to warn them,” said Justine. “Surely it is our moral obligation to try and prevent bloodshed.”
“And maybe if the president of the society—if Ayesha can see that we’re on her side and trying to help her, she’ll stop these experiments once and for all,” said Mary. “If we can tell her what Van Helsing is planning ahead of time—but what is he planning, anyway? We don’t actually know.”
“He mentioned supporters and troops.” Beatrice sipped her decoction, whatever it was. In a house where some of the inhabitants drank blood, hers was no longer the most unusual dietary requirement. “I assume his supporters are members of the Société who have pledge to vote as he directs. As for his troops—what Dr. Seward called an army. Could they be like the men you fought in Vienna? Is it possible that he has more of those men here, in Budapest?”
“Men infected with vampirism under Van Helsing’s control,” said the Count. “If so, he is using an old tactic—one that I described to him myself. Even a few such men would wreak havoc among the members of the Société des Alchimistes. It is a society of scientists, not warriors. They come to this meeting to give papers, discuss their research. If Van Helsing were to unleash maddened vampires at such a meeting, it would be a massacre.”
“Which means we have to warn them,” said Mary. “If Ayesha won’t see you, could you send her a message somehow?”
“What about through Mr. Vincey?” asked Mina. “If you told him she was in danger . . .”
The Count shook his head. “Beloved, Leo despises me more, if that is possible, than Ayesha herself. He despises me on her behalf, which is an even stronger motivation.”
“Well, we have to do something!” said Mary. “Can’t we at least try to contact this Vincey person, whoever he is? And if it doesn’t work, we’ll try something else. We only have two days. I don’t think we can afford to neglect any possibility of averting what you yourself called a massacre.”
“If Van Helsing wins, everything goes back to the way it was, right?” said Catherine. “Whoever wanted to could conduct experiments in biological transmutation with no oversight whatsoever—bringing corpses back to life, or making girls poisonous, or turning pumas into women. Well, we’re not going to let him win. We’re just not.” She bit down on a piece of spicy red chicken with grim determination.
“That would not be the worst, if he succeeds in his aims,” said Mina. “Eventually, we could be faced with the prospect of powerful men living forever, controlling our world in ways we cannot yet imagine. Vlad, I agree with Mary. I think we have to try—if not Leo Vincey, then Professor Holly.”
“Holly is even less likely to listen to me than Leo,” said the Count. “He and I disagree on certain points of science—which, as you know, are the most important disagreements of all, to men of intellect. Very well, I will send a message to Leo Vincey, and we shall see whether he replies. Ladies, if you will excuse me. . . .” He bowed to them all, then Mary could hear his boot heels clicking across the parquet.
Catherine leaned over and whispered, “Where did Miss Murray meet someone like that? He looks like a young Sir Henry Irving in something suitably dramatic—The Bride of the Isles or Macbeth!”
Oh, for goodness’ sake! This was no time to be mooning over vampiric counts. “He drinks blood,” Mary whispered back. “Probably human blood. Although of course it could just be chickens.”
Catherine shrugged. “So? I eat meat. That’s no different. Do you think his hair just flops like that naturally?”
“Well, he’s at least four hundred years older than you are!” Mary had forgotten how annoying it could be, having all of them together—as though they were back home at 11 Park Terrace! Nevertheless, she was glad to have Catherine and Beatrice here in Budapest. They were all stronger together. Less amicable, but stronger.
Mina put her napkin on the table and stood up. “All right, I think we should check on Lucinda. Laura and Carmilla have been with her since Vlad and I went to bed, late last night. They must be exhausted. And then, we need to decide how to spend the rest of today. There’s a great deal for us to do before the meeting of the Alchemical Society.”
Mary rose as well. Yesterday had felt like an interregnum of sorts. Today, events seemed to be moving much more quickly—she did not quite know what was going on or where it would all lead. At home in London, things had been so much more orderly.
MRS. POOLE: I should think so!
ALICE: Well, on an ordinary day. But we don’t have many ordinary days anymore, do we, Mrs. Poole?
MRS. POOLE: We do our
best. You can’t say we don’t do our best to run a proper household.
When they entered Lucinda’s room, she was sitting up, leaning back against her pillows. Carmilla was sitting on the bed beside her. Laura was seated in an armchair by the bed, looking so tired that Mary immediately said, “Do you want one of us to take over?”
“Oh, would you?” said Laura, gratefully. “Vlad and Mina were here until midnight, and then Carmilla and I took our turn. Honestly, I feel as though I’m going to fall over and go to sleep right on the floor!”
“And how is she doing this morning?” asked Mina. Lucinda certainly seemed better—she had lost those dreadful hollows under her cheeks. She was playing with a pack of cards that had different figures on them: a woman with a star over her head, a man hanging upside down, Death riding a white horse.
“You can ask her yourself,” said Laura. “Although she’s still not making much sense, I’m afraid.”
“Tell them how you’re doing, my dear,” said Carmilla, putting her hand on Lucinda’s arm. “A little better, yes? You recognize Mina and Mary and Justine—and of course Diana, whom you met under such difficult circumstances. But I see that we have some guests?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Mary. “Mrs. Poole would be appalled at my manners. These are Catherine Moreau and Beatrice Rappaccini. Cat, Bea, this is Countess Karnstein and her friend, Miss Laura Jennings. And of course Lucinda Van Helsing.”
Lucinda looked up. There were red spots on her cheeks, as though she were still feverish. “I am doing very well, thank you. Truly, it is as though I have come into the realm of the angels. Strange, is it not, that Lucifer should reign over heaven? And yet he, too, was once an angel. Perhaps someday even he shall regain his wings. . . .”
“She’s as loony as she ever was,” said Diana, shaking her head. “Come on, Hoho. Up on the bed.”
“That dog does not belong on the bed,” said Mary, trying to catch the wolfdog loping past her, but there was nothing to take hold of unless she wanted to grab the thick white hair on Hoho’s neck. By the time she reached for the wolfdog, Hóvirág had already jumped up on the bed and put her head on Lucinda’s feet. Well, at least Lucinda did not seem to mind! She kept staring down at her mysterious cards. Diana scrambled up after the wolfdog and began looking through the pack as well.
“Any news from the world outside of this room?” asked Laura. “What is your plan, Mina? What do you need us to do?”
“Today, all I need is for you, in particular, to get some sleep,” said Mina. “Tomorrow, when the Academy of Sciences building is closed, for all official buildings close on a Sunday, we’ll need to do some scouting. How do we get in, and hopefully out? Where are the various doors? What sorts of locks do they have on them? How easy are they to pick? That sort of thing. Vlad has been inside the building, but he retains only the vaguest notion of where things are. Imagine walking down hallways and not remembering the general layout! I supposed that’s what happens when your head is filled with schemes for making men immortal.”
“Surely we should do more than that,” said Mary. “We need to investigate this Abbey of St. Ignatius. What were Seward and Professor Vámbéry doing there? If Van Helsing is keeping what he calls his troops there, or in that neighborhood, we need to find out more. How many of them are there? And are they in fact men infected with vampirism, as we suspect?”
“Men infected with vampirism!” said Carmilla. “I see that Laura and I have missed an important discussion. If there are such men in Budapest, I would like to know where they are, and how many. If you need someone to investigate this abbey, I volunteer.”
“You will need a way either to climb the wall or get through an iron gate,” said Beatrice. “The wall is plaster over stone—there are no foot or hand holds. Mary described your abilities to us last night, Countess, but I do not think even you could climb that wall.”
“I can pick the lock, easy peasy!” said Diana, looking up from the cards.
“There’s no way I’m letting you go any place where there are more mad vampires,” said Mary. “Don’t you remember the last time? We could have been killed in that alley in Vienna. We only got out because there were so many of us, and Irene was there with her coach.”
“Who made you queen?” said Diana, with a disgusted look on her face.
“If the bars are iron, I may be able to bend them,” said Justine with characteristic modesty. Bending iron bars had been part of her show in the circus—it was child’s play to the Giantess. “And I do not think these vampiric men could hurt me. I am, as you know, already dead. . . .”
“Then you and I shall go together,” said Carmilla. “No, Laura, I do not need to rest! I’ll be perfectly fine. And please, Justine, Beatrice—call me Carmilla.”
“It sounds as though you’re making plans,” said the Count. Mary had not heard him come in, but he was standing right behind them. “Leo Vincey replied by return of messenger—why so quickly, I wonder? He has agreed to meet with us at the Café New York. Miss Jekyll, would you be willing to come with me? I do not think Leo will listen to me alone, but if you tell him what you know, what you’ve discovered about the activities of the society in England . . . And perhaps Miss Moreau could come as well, to tell him about the conversation she overheard.”
“Of course,” said Mary. “But what about Lucinda?”
“I can stay with her,” said Beatrice. “That is, if my nature will not endanger her. As you know, I am . . . toxic to most animal life.”
“Miss Rappaccini, give me your hand,” said the Count. “Your bare hand, if you would not mind removing your glove?”
“No, I cannot—” Beatrice drew back from him.
“I promise you, it will be all right.” He held out his hand. She drew off one glove and put hers into it, gingerly, cautiously, as though afraid of what might happen. He leaned down and kissed the back of her hand, long enough that she grew alarmed and drew it away.
The Count straightened and smiled, then showed her the palm of his hand. It was a little red, but as she watched, the redness disappeared. In a moment, neither his lips nor his hand were marked in any way.
“Your poison, although efficacious, works slowly,” he said. “My body has time to repair itself before it can do any real damage. Carmilla is constituted the same way, and Lucinda will be soon—she is almost fully transformed. Even now, you cannot truly harm her. You can touch us, you can be in our company, without alarm.”
Beatrice looked bewildered, but relieved. This was a new sensation for her, no doubt—simply not hurting another by her touch. The only previous companion safe from her poison had been Justine. “Thank you,” she said to the Count. “Thank you for what you have shown me. I shall stay here gladly. And perhaps Diana can stay as well, if I keep the window open? The room is large and well-ventilated. I see she is teaching Lucinda some sort of card game.”
“Because no one wants me to go with them!” Diana grumbled.
Mary ignored her. Diana might be unhappy, but she would be safe, at least for today.
“And I shall write a long letter to Dr. Faraday, bringing him up to date on the situation. Well, then,” said Mina, “I think it’s going to be quite a day, for all of us. Except Laura—you, my dear, spend far too much time taking care of everyone else. Go to sleep—governess’s orders!”
DIANA: It was so boring. Except for the part where I invented a completely new card game. Lucinda’s almost as good at it as I am. Beatrice kept reading these stories. . . .
BEATRICE: Laura told me it might help if I read aloud. Mina had given us a book of fairy tales. Blue Fairy Tales? Blue Book of Fairy Tales? I do not remember the exact title. I was never given fairy tales to read as a child, only scientific treatises. How I would have enjoyed them! Although I do not understand how a shoe could fit only one woman in an entire kingdom.
DIANA: It was a magical shoe.
BEATRICE: Still, that is not logical. I can accept pumpkins turning into coaches, and lizards into fo
otmen, but a shoe will fit many women of the same size. How could the prince know he was choosing the right one?
Fifteen minutes later, Mary and Catherine were waiting downstairs at the carriage entrance, properly hatted and gloved for an excursion.
“I think the brougham will be quicker and less conspicuous than the landau,” said the Count. “Unless you prefer the landau? With the three of us, the brougham will be a little tight.”
“No, the brougham would be perfectly fine, thank you,” said Mary. She glanced at Catherine. Catherine rolled her eyes. Nervously, Mary looked at the Count to see if he had noticed, but he had already turned away from them. He was walking toward what looked like a groom, holding a bay mare by its bridle. She poked Catherine in the ribs with an elbow.
“What!” whispered Catherine. “Why did you hit me?”
“I didn’t hit you. That wasn’t a hit. And behave yourself! You don’t roll your eyes at a count, for goodness’ sake. Or even behind his back. Anyway, he’s our host, and Miss Murray’s . . . well, friend.”
“Oh, Miss Jekyll, would you prefer the brougham or the landau?” Catherine spoke in a high, mincing voice, imitating someone—probably Lady Tibbett, who had reluctantly taken her in when she first arrived in London, and thrown her out after Catherine had bitten her Pomeranian.
“I thought you liked the Count—he has that floppy hair, like Sir Henry Irving! Why are you making fun of him?”
“I’m not making fun of him specifically—I’m making fun of people who have both broughams and landaus. What even is a landau? We poor circus folk don’t travel in those sorts of high-society circles, you know.”
“It’s an open carriage for riding in the park, and if you continue like this, I won’t tell you what happened in Castle Karnstein or about the conversation I had with Hyde—the things I didn’t want to mention in front of Mina and the Count. Seriously, behave yourself—this isn’t a game, Catherine. You should have seen those men of Van Helsing’s. We could have gotten ourselves killed in Vienna.”
European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman Page 55
