‘No,’ Marie said quickly. ‘Thank you, but the bright light gives me a headache.’
‘You do look very pale,’ Liz said.
‘Oh I agree,’ Sir William said quickly. ‘Do you have a mirror? I think you should see just how pale you look.’
Sir William watched carefully as Marie looked at herself in a small hand mirror from the dressing table. ‘I do look so tired,’ she said. ‘So old.’
‘Perhaps some fresh air would help …?’ Liz suggested.
Marie shook her head, passing the mirror back to Sir William. ‘Please. It’s kind of you to come, but I am tired. Always so tired.’
‘You get some sleep,’ Sir William told her. ‘I’m sure it’s the best thing. And I’m sure you will recover soon. But if you will allow, I’d like to put some garlic out in the room.’
‘Garlic? What on earth for?’
‘The aroma clears the nasal passages and aids the breathing. I think you will find it most efficacious.’
‘I’m sure it will help,’ Liz said.
‘Very well then.’
George and Eddie were back with several garlic bulbs. Together they separated the cloves and Sir William cut them in half with a pocket knife. He held one half clove to the outside of the door, squeezing it and smearing a cross with the oil. They arranged the other pieces inside the door and along the window sill.
By the time they finished, Marie had lapsed into sleep.
‘Place your father’s crucifix on the pillow, close to her,’ Sir William told Liz. ‘Let’s hope she will sleep peacefully now.’
‘Do you really think this is necessary?’ Liz asked. Sir William had given a brief account of their various adventures and experiences in the cab on the way over to the hotel.
‘I do,’ he said. ‘And let us hope it is enough.’
The woman in the bed stirred. She cried out in her sleep, and was suddenly awake. She sat up, looking round.
‘Are you there?’
The effort of talking made her cough, and she collapsed back on to the pillow. As she caught her breath, she reached for the cord hanging by the side of the bed.
‘Have my friends gone?’ Marie asked the man who answered the bell.
‘They have, ma’am. I believe you were asleep and they did not wish to disturb you.’
‘They mean well.’
‘I’m sure they do. Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, please. As I say – they mean well. But the smell of this garlic is making me cough so much. Please have it removed. All of it. Every bit. And wash down the front of the door.’
Only when all the garlic had been cleared away did Marie turn her attention to the crucifix on the pillow beside her. She reached for it hesitantly. Touched it. Felt the burning heat and pulled her hand back. Then she folded the pillow in half, smothering the crucifix. She picked up the folded pillow and hurled it into the corner of the room.
Exhausted by the effort, she fell back.
‘Well done, my darling,’ the figure standing close beside her said. ‘You will soon be well again, I promise.’ He leaned over the bed. ‘You have my word.’ She pulled down the collar of the nightgown as his lips brushed gently against it.
‘My word,’ he whispered. ‘Written in blood.’
CHAPTER 19
The archive beneath the Museum was enormous. Liz had never been down here before and she looked round in fascination. The fact that both George and Eddie seemed to take it for granted brought home to her how much she had missed them both. If only she had discovered this amazing place with them. But now there wasn’t time to marvel at it, and the initial excitement was tinged with concern for Marie and sadness for her father.
‘So why didn’t we look in this notebook before?’ Eddie asked.
Sir William took down a large volume from a high shelf. The books were so tightly packed he had to tease it out gently. ‘We checked the catalogues, which describe the objects that Hemming kept in his collection.’ He snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf, reaching for the next volume. ‘But Hemming might have included more information in his original notes. Now the notebooks, unlike the catalogues, are in date order. He listed things as he acquired them. So, knowing from the catalogue the date he got hold of the other jars …’
He was already looking through the next volume of Hemming’s notebooks. ‘Ah, yes. Here we are.’ The smile froze on Sir William’s face.
‘What is it?’ Liz asked.
‘I think we can safely say that Hemming did indeed possess all five jars.’
‘So what’s it say?’ Eddie asked.
By way of answer, Sir William tilted the book so they could all see. ‘Nothing.’
The page was torn across, the bottom half missing.
‘Another dead end,’ George said.
‘May I look?’ Liz asked. It was probably no help, but she had noticed that the writing was smudged. As if Hemming had written his entry hurriedly and then closed the book without first blotting the ink. The notes about the mummy were smeared and had left several small inky stains on the opposite page.
Further down the page were more small blots of ink. Faint, but visible. On the opposite side to where the page had been torn out.
‘Look,’ Liz said, putting the book down on a crate and pointing to the ink stains. ‘We should have borrowed Marie’s mirror.’
Sir William coughed, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Actually, I have one with me. I brought it along in case Marie did not possess a mirror, so as to, er … Well, never mind.’ He produced a small mirror, just a few inches across, from his pocket and held it edge-on across the page.
‘Can you read it?’ Eddie wanted to know. ‘What’s it say? Give us a look!’
Liz struggled to make anything out from the smudged ink stains. ‘That might be “jar” I suppose. This smudged line – it looks like he crossed something out. But there’s no way of knowing what.’
‘What about this?’ George wondered, pointing to a cluster of stains in the margin.
‘That says “secret”, I think. And that might be “grave”.’
Sir William had taken off his glasses and was peering closely into the mirror. ‘I think you are right. I think this is a note Hemming scrawled after he crossed out the entry. He was saying he would take the secret – the secret of the fifth jar, I imagine – to the grave.’
‘And then he decided that wasn’t enough,’ George said. ‘Just crossing out the information. So he tore out the page.’
‘Probably burned it,’ Eddie said with a sniff of disappointment. ‘At least the ink shows up in the mirror,’ he added with a sudden grin.
Liz handed the mirror back to Sir William. ‘You know I was in need of a small mirror the other day,’ she said, remembering. ‘When I found Father. I knew at once – I think you do. But I had to be sure.’ She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again. ‘Oh dear.’
George put his arm round her shoulder. ‘It’s all right.’
‘I had to be sure,’ she said again, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘I found a mirror, and I held it close to his mouth. And I hoped, prayed, that the mirror would mist over. That he was still breathing. But he just faded away.’ She trembled suddenly as she remembered. ‘It was like his soul had gone.’
‘The memories won’t always be sad ones,’ Sir William said gently.
‘It was as if he didn’t exist,’ Liz went on quietly. ‘No breath on the mirror. He was so faint. I could see the pillow and the bed sheets through him. It was as though he was being taken from me as I watched. His reflection fading almost to nothing.’
George pulled away his arm so suddenly that Liz looked up.
Sir William was standing open-mouthed.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Eddie.
The smog had returned, making the world hazy and indistinct. Everything had a yellowish tinge to it as Sir William shouted to the cab driver to hurry.
Eddie was not in a rush. He reckoned he’d had
enough of graveyards for one day. He didn’t fancy going back. And neither did Liz, by the look of her. She was silent and pale, her hands clenched tight together. George was watching her anxiously. No one spoke.
The cab dropped them at the cemetery gates and was soon swallowed again by the fog. The muffled sound of its wheels on the cobbles persisted for a while, then even that was gone.
‘What do you think we shall find?’ Liz asked nervously.
‘I really don’t know,’ Sir William confessed. ‘I hope we shall find your father’s body exactly as it was left in the family mausoleum.’
‘Comes to something when you hope people are still dead,’ Eddie muttered.
‘You know the way?’ George asked Liz as he opened the gate to let her through.
‘I think so. I’ve only been here once and it wasn’t so foggy.’ She forced a feeble smile. ‘It’s not somewhere I frequent.’
Gravestones and monuments loomed out of the fog and were then lost again. An angel with chipped wings watched as Eddie walked past. The pale brittle bones of a skeleton reached for him out of the murk – and turned out to be the branch of a silver birch tree.
The swirling fog was so thick on the ground that Eddie only knew they had left the path because he could feel the give in the turf under his feet. George and Sir William were grey ghosts. Liz was all but lost as she led the way. Bleached of colour she looked like one of the angels that stood guard over so many monuments and tombs.
Finally, a large silhouette darkened out of the fog. The stone was glistening as moisture coalesced on it. The low, arched door was pitted and the bottom had rotted away. The grass was longer round the edge, making it look as if the whole structure had been forced up out of the ground in preparation for the Day of Judgement.
‘Is this it?’ George asked.
‘What do you think?’ Eddie said. He was cold and tired and the graveyard dirt on his clothes was turning to mud in the damp air.
‘This is it,’ Liz said quietly. ‘I’m sorry. The door is locked. I should have thought.’ She pushed at it tentatively, just in case. ‘We’ll need to get the key.’
‘Who has it?’ George asked. ‘I’ll go.’
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need,’ Sir William said. He pushed carefully at the rotting wood. ‘Time is rather of the essence. Would you – George – please be good enough to place your boot just here.’ He tapped at a point close to the keyhole.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Eddie sighed. ‘He wants you to kick the door in. Unless you want a lady or an old man or a kid to do it?’
‘Do you think I should?’ Still George hesitated. ‘Liz?’
She nodded and turned away.
‘Go on,’ Eddie urged.
George stepped up to the door, examining it. ‘Just here? Right then.’ He took a step back, gathered himself, then kicked hard.
The wood splintered and gave. The door crashed open, tilting to one side as a hinge gave way. Several planks came off the frame and clattered on to the stone floor of the mausoleum.
Eddie followed Sir William inside, George and Liz close behind him. The fog rolled in across the floor. It was not a large building – a single room. Stone arches on each wall framed alcoves which housed pale caskets. In the centre of the room was a low stone table. The remains of crushed, dead flowers were strewn across the top of it. Anaemic lilies and blood-red rose petals.
Sir William walked slowly round the table. ‘Was he here?’ he whispered.
There was something about the place which made them all talk in whispers.
‘Yes.’ Liz reached out, running her fingers through the dead flowers.
‘But the door was locked,’ George said. ‘He can’t have gone.’
Eddie was looking round, his eyes adjusting to the murky gloom. He could see the caskets on shelves in alcoves. Several low stone tombs. There was a narrow alcove that looked like another doorway at the back of the mausoleum where a figure stood silent and still as a statue.
But it was not a statue.
‘Actually, I don’t think he’s gone at all,’ Eddie hissed. His hand was trembling as he pointed towards the figure stepping out of the alcove.
The man’s face was as white as the lilies, his eyes dark. He walked with a slight stoop. His voice was as cracked and fragile as the flaking stone around them. ‘My friends – how good of you to come. I was expecting you.’
Reverend Oldfield spread his arms, as if about to bestow a blessing. He turned to face Liz. She took a step backwards, hands to her mouth in horror.
‘My daughter. My beautiful Elizabeth. I am so very pleased to see you.’
CHAPTER 20
‘Father?’ Liz felt numb. Despite everything Sir William and the others had told her, she realised she had not expected to find it was true. Now here was her father – back from the dead. Should she be elated, or terrified?
Horace Oldfield nodded. ‘Yes, I’m your father.’ There was a sadness in his voice as he went on. ‘And yet I am not your father. I am not the man I once was.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I had hoped to spare you this. To spare you any knowledge of such things. I struggled so hard to protect you, after I lost …’ He opened his eyes again and stared at Liz. ‘Too hard, perhaps. I thought I was doing the right thing.’
‘But, what’s happened to you?’
‘I am resurrected. I am cursed.’
‘Can you help us?’ Sir William asked. He stepped forward, facing Oldfield. ‘Can you help destroy this evil?’
‘Evil? Yes, evil,’ Oldfield said. ‘Yet, now, feeling it inside me. Was I wrong?’ He turned to Liz again. ‘Tell me I was right,’ he implored her. ‘All those years ago.’ There was anguish behind his words. ‘Tell me I did the right thing.’
‘You always did the right thing, Father. How can you doubt that?’
‘So, what’s going on then?’ Eddie demanded. ‘Is he a vampire or what?’
‘Eddie!’ George reprimanded.
But Oldfield’s pale lips curled into a slight smile. ‘Yes, I am one of the undead. Demonstrably so. For my sins – literally, perhaps.’ He let out a great sigh, his stooped shoulders heaving. ‘I tried so very hard. I did my best to keep from you how awful and evil a place our world can be. I hid the events of the past to protect you. Forgive me that now.’
Liz was shaking her head. She could feel the cold trails of silent tears down her cheeks. ‘Anything.’
‘I tried to keep you from the theatre, even. To protect you.’
‘Father – it’s all right.’ Her voice cracked as she suppressed a sob. ‘I love you.’ She took a step forward.
But he raised his hand, warning her to stay back. ‘No, my child. I can feel it inside me – the power, the ambition, the craving for life at any cost. Before it overwhelms me …’ He paused, breathing heavily. ‘There are things you must know. Then there are things you must do. Promise me that.’
‘What things?’ Liz asked.
‘Promise me!’ Oldfield shouted, his voice echoing off the cold walls.
‘Yes, yes – I promise.’
‘What can you tell us, sir?’ Sir William prompted. ‘Do you know the truths among the lies?’
‘I know everything. Even the Great Lie, I know that.’
‘The Great Lie?’
‘No time now.’ Oldfield wiped his hand across his brow. ‘Immortality,’ he murmured, ‘and yet so little time.’ He gathered himself, straightened up – suddenly a figure commanding authority. More alive than Liz could remember him. ‘I kept a journal. It is all in there. You must find it and read it. Then you must decide what you can do. Though it may be too late to do anything more than save yourselves.’
Liz remembered her father mentioning a journal before, but she had never seen it. ‘Where is this journal, Father?’
‘The year 1858. That was the year it happened. The year I discovered the evil that walks this earth and determined to end it for ever.’ He laughed, a cold chilling sound. ‘How
young and naïve I was. How proud. How ignorant of what it would cost me.’
‘What did you learn?’ Sir William asked. ‘What did you do?’
‘Oh, they never forgot. I hurt them. Especially the Coachman. I took from him the one thing he was afraid to lose. And I delayed them and they never forgave me for that either. Or my family,’ he added, his dark eyes fixed on Liz. ‘The journal is hidden where they could never find it, even if they knew it existed. In the outhouse, the old shed at the back of the garden.’
Liz frowned. ‘But, Father, it’s empty. There’s nothing in there.’
‘There are other things you must know,’ he went on quickly, as if he had not heard. ‘I hope and pray I have time to tell you. But if not – then you must end it.’
Liz again stepped forward, and again he waved her away. ‘What do you mean?’
‘End it. For me. I can’t … I can’t let them take me. Already it’s coursing through my veins, clouding my judgement. I have seen it happen. Seen what it can do to those I love, to my own flesh and blood. Before I lose my soul completely, you must – you have to. Kill me.’
Liz gasped and turned away.
‘You promised me, Elizabeth. If you love me, then do it.’
‘I can’t,’ she sobbed.
Cold hands clasped her shoulders, turning her slowly round. She caught sight of George’s horrified expression as she turned. Sir William, grim and determined. Eddie staring at the old man who had his hands on her shoulders. Her father. His eyes were deep and dark. His voice seemed to reverberate inside her head.
‘You must. Do it for me.’
‘But – how?’
‘The heart. The vampire’s heart is the key. Destroy the heart and you destroy the vampire. A wooden stake will rupture the heart. Or else you can starve it of the air it needs.’
‘Suffocation?’ Sir William asked quietly.
Oldfield let go of Liz and stepped away from her. ‘Not advisable. The vampire’s strength is far greater than that of a mortal man. The blood is so much richer and more powerful. But that too can be their downfall. In some countries the people know they are safe from vampires where the air is thin. They flee to the mountains when the blood harvest begins.’
The Parliament of Blood Page 17
