Call Me Ismay

by Sean McDevitt

  Lillith, her brow furrowed in distress, was clearly resisting the urge to take her own word out of turn against Stanley. Finally, for a brief instant she allowed her voice to take on a indignant tone. “I begin each day by presenting an MP in the House of Commons with a tea tray, Mr. Johns. I do not scrub floors.”

  Stanley's cheeks reddened even further. A small smile of admiration caused Langston's usually taut jawline to relax ever so slightly, if only briefly. “Stanley, this is a young woman who, while employed in a life of service, has plenty to teach. You would do well to mark her words, we both would.” Lillith, nervous and humbled, cast her hooded brown eyes to the ground. “Miss Lillith,” Langston continued quietly, “Why are you here? Where are Mr. Lyons and Mr. Gidley?”

  “They are on Their way to the cemetery,” Lillith replied again, not making eye contact with Langston. “As I said, I wanted to consult with you first.”

  “Well, if you are going to do that you must do it quickly before you're seen in our company,” Langston urged. “The agreed meeting time was ten o'clock, and I fear that hour is now upon us.”

  “They won't be on time, but They are on their way,” Lillith replied. She cut her eyes to Stanley- who was agitatedly fidgeting with the flat cap in his hands- before she took a few steps towards Langston.

  “Mr. Langston, sir- you have always proceeded with caution. I can see that Mr. Stanley here knows not of what we speak and I thank you for that.” She took an additional step forward. “I do not believe that Mr. Lyons can be stopped in His business. His... rules, His abilities are far more complicated than you know,” she added, choosing her words carefully. “I do not think He can be stopped in England. Outside the country, however, there might be a chance. He may not have so much influence out west,” she emphasized, while squirming in her shawl as if to retrieve something. “He may not enjoy the power to rule others over there.” At last she pulled out what appeared to be two envelopes, and she presented them to Langston. “These are for you, Mr. Langston. One is a letter and you should not read it here.” She leaned a bit closer, speaking softly so that only Langston might hear. “The other is a little something and I suppose I don't mind if you see it now.”

  Langston glanced down at the envelopes, seeing that one had the old familiar red wax seal on its back, while the other seemed partially open and loose.

  Lillith gently moved her face to Langston's ear, ensuring that Stanley would definitely not hear what she said next. “I made sure that the letter was especially vague this time.” She stepped back, allowing herself a very small smile at her own little joke.

  “You don't mind if Stanley sees what's in the unsealed one, do you?” Langston muttered. Lillith shook her head.

  Langston fumbled with the envelopes in his hands, intrigued but decidedly rattled. He could determine by the feel of the unsealed envelope that it held something small of a slightly unusual size.

  As Langston went to open it, Stanley piped in. “Sir, according to myth, wasn't Lillith a demoness who lived in the trunk of a weeping willow? Seems so interesting, with the cemetery so full of them.”

  “That will be quite enough, Stanley,” Langston declared, as he brought out the envelope's contents. For her part, Lillith refused to acknowledge Stanley's presence from that moment on.

  Langston unfolded a rectangular piece of paper and stared at it. It read:

  WHITE STAR LINE. Royal and United States Mail Steamers. Third Class Passenger's Contract Ticket.

  A confused Langston regarded it for a moment, taking in its black and white artist's rendition of what appeared to be an enormous ship.

  “A boarding pass of some sort?” Langston asked, puzzled. Stanley was craning his neck, trying to get a view over Langston's shoulder. “What is this, a used one? Why are you giving me this?”

  “It's not used,” Lillith replied, quietly. “Mr. Lyons purchased it for me initially for passage out west, but He decided He did not want evidence that He was bringing any of His help out of England. He thinks it's best to keep me off the passenger's list, and believe me, He has enough influence to do that- keep me under His thumb and away from all other men but Himself.”

  “Keep you off the passenger's manifest- but why? Are you telling me this is an active ticket for a ship?”

  “He believes it was sold at cost to some other pug in someone else's household after He told me to get rid of it,” Lillith explained. “But I decided to keep it in case it was needed.”

  “So is this...” Langston's voice trailed off. “Miss Lillith, are you to believe that I am going to follow Edward Lyons to America?”

  “Mr. Lyons has... accomplished as much as He can here in England,” Lillith explained, again choosing her words carefully in a slightly trembling voice. “He said He believes that the next step is now to be taken as part of the Argued Prophecy. I believe that He- and especially that dreadful man Gidley- wants to pursue new blood.”

  Langston could feel a trickle of sweat roll down his back, under his overcoat. He knew full well that Lillith wasn't exactly speaking in code.

  “But even if he were, what am I expected to do? I can't just up and leave London- I have family, with a sister who can't hardly care for her young sons and daughters, and a job- well, I believe that I do still have employment, but I'm not sure for how much longer,” he replied sardonically, taking a look at Stanley. “I am just unable to suss out why on earth you believe I should do this. I certainly haven't been able to contain Lyons here in Britain!”

  “Here, He has been able to hide right in front of everyone, but if you can expose Him for what He is before He casts his spell over there, we might have a chance to stop Him,” Lillith explained. “But it has to happen before He reaches Utah. If He makes it to Utah, it's all over.”

  “Utah?” Stanley interjected. “That's right near Arizona and New Mexico, innit? Weren't they just granted statehood or something earlier this year?”

  Langston and Lillith ignored him. “I am still not certain, Miss Lillith, what it is that you believe can be achieved. We are talking about an enormous swath of land, where Lyons can blend in, disappear, never be seen again. Of course right now at least we know what district of London he represents, but if it's his design to flee for America, I really fail to see what can be accomplished.”

  “He cannot be stopped here. But in the states, if we can force Him to show His true colors in some dreadful backwater in Texas, we might be able to stop Him.” She leaned in close to whisper in Langston's ear. Stanley protested by stepping several feet away, taking a seat on the curb leading into the cemetery, and sulking. “And they won't have to use a silver bullet, either.”

  Langston's ears burned and his jaw tightened as he processed Lillith's second bold reference to vampirism that morning. Agitated, he felt compelled to admonish her a bit. “Miss Lillith-” he hissed his words in urgent secrecy- “the reality of this situation is clear to me- painfully clear. There is no need to continually remind me of the supernatural aspect of what is happening.”

  “But I do need to remind you, Mr. Langston,” Lillith whispered in protest. “So much of what you believe you understand about the dark arts is at best half-correct. Lyons, if you follow Him out of the country- He doesn't have to be captured under the cover of darkness in order to force Him to reveal what He is. Even I demonstrated that to you...” She subtly tapped her upper lip, twice.

  “Yes, yes, you have made that clear, but I am extremely reluctant regarding our chances- and I'm assuming we are talking of our chances, aren't we?” Lillith nodded. “You would be there also, but under his thumb, as you stated. I can't see the benefit of me trying to corner Lyons- as you stated- in some American backwater, unless it's in Louisiana or somewhere. I'm told they practically invented voodoo there.”

  Lillith allowed herself the very smallest of smiles. “Mr. Langston, the days of domestic service will be coming to an end, and sooner than you think,” her voice becoming a little bit more bold in its volume. “The women'
s movement will see to that, if and when it succeeds. Mr. Lyons, who is always so boastful of His political instincts, knows this. That is why He is relocating out west, to the desert, where He thinks He can hide and pretend there isn't a war between the sexes. My father had dreams for me when I was growing up in Cornwall- always said I had the brains to be a secretary, and if we can feed Lyons to the wolves in time, I could easily become your secretary. I've proven to you I can write, I have excellent organizational skills...”

  “My secretary?” Langston exclaimed. “You've already prepared a future for us when I couldn't even afford this Third Class ticket that you've handed me if I'd wanted it on my own?” Stanley, who had been sitting on the curbside and consistently pouting for the past several minutes, impudently resting his face between his fists, turned his head slightly as Langston raised his voice. “Miss Lillith, you ask too much of me. I can ask Edward Lyons a few potentially embarrassing and incendiary questions here today, but I can't just reorganize my entire life's priorities and go off on some foolish crusade. To that end-” Langston frantically pulled out his pocket watch- “I really must ask you to move along, as Lyons and Gidley should have arrived here at least three minutes ago.”

  He put his pocket watch away, nervously pawing through his coat as he tried to secure the two envelopes while trying to pull out his diary. Lillith didn't move, and never took her eyes off of him.

  “Actually, sir I... I don't know that necessarily to be true.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Langston replied, anxiously. “You told me that they are on their way to the cemetery.”

  “Yes, yes, but... only part of that is true.”

  Stanley, still seated on the curb, now lifted his head as Lillith's words grabbed his full attention. Langston stood still for a moment, his hands thrust into his coat's pockets.

  “Miss Lillith, the time for any word play has come and gone. Where are Gidley and Lyons?”

  “They are on Their way to the cemetery! Just... not this cemetery.”

  Langston's eyes widened and Stanley practically leapt off the curb. “Miss Lillith, what in the name of heaven are you saying to me?” Langston sputtered, as Lillith began to fidget nervously. “Are they to be here with us today, or no?”

  Lillith cast her eyes downward, pulling her shawl close to her body, uncertain of how to explain. “I... I...” Langston stood in stunned silence as Stanley moved in closer. “I sent Them to Putney Vale.”

  “Putney Vale Cemetery?” Stanley cried out. “That's more than an hour's walk from here!”

  “An hour? More than two at a fast pace!” Langston exclaimed, irrationally checking his pocket watch again. “Miss Lillith, why would you do such a ridiculous thing?”

  “I wanted to consult with you first, Mr. Langston!” Lillith pleaded, her large, helpless eyes now brimming with tears. “I wanted you to stop Them, and meeting Them now I fear would only dangerously embolden Them!”

  “And just what do you presume Mr. Lyons will believe if Mr. Langston doesn't appear for what was understood to be a private meeting of great importance?” Stanley interrogated her furiously. “You do not realize that would possibly raise suspicion on Mr. Lyons's part and create further danger? Indeed, danger certainly seems to be the word that is bandied about the most this morning, and I, for a kick-off, want no part of it! And without any further word to you, miss, I wish you good day!” He pulled on his flat cap with indignation. “And Mr. Langston, my apologies, but please excuse me from any of your future dealings with Lyons or Gidley or- most certainly- this little handful of trouble,” he said, indicating Lillith. “It's obvious that the two of you speak a language that I do not wish to understand.”

  “Stanley, calm yourself. I certainly don't believe that Lillith had anything but my best interests at heart...”

  “Good day, sir,” was Stanley's surly reply. Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed west down Magdalen Road.

  Langston and Lillith watched the young man decisively make his way down the street, swiftly retreating off into the distance. After several moments, Lillith broke the silence. “He truly doesn't understand.”

  “No,” he doesn't, Langston quietly replied. “Whether it's through willful ignorance or a general insensitivity, I cannot tell. I'm not so sure he'd understand even if all of the facts were laid before him and explained to him in the greatest of detail. And that's why he'll perhaps one day end up as an editor for the Chronicle.” Langston let out a small, sad little laugh. “In the meantime, you've now got two angry and very powerful men who will want an explanation as to why the reporter that you arranged for did not show up this morning. How exactly are you prepared to handle that situation?”

  “Leave that to me. I can tell Them that you were unavoidably detained at the newspaper- by the labor strike, you had to work late into the day because of that.”

  “It's fortunate for you, Miss Lillith, that we have the strike to blame- but the strike is not going to be good for our country,” Langston replied with certainty. “Britain is headed for outright civil unrest if our leaders are not careful.”

  “It's mostly on the leaders,” Lillith agreed, her eyes staring off into the direction where Stanley had by now all but disappeared. “They'll try to pin the blame on the working class, but it's the politicians and their frightening sense of entitlement that is going to ruin us all.”

  Langston gazed upon her- a contradiction in strength and fragility. There was a sense of worldliness in this meek (by appearance) little chambermaid that was astounding. He tried to not be too obvious as he let his eyes wander to the few dark ringlets of her hair that framed her face and were now gently rising due to a soft morning breeze. Seeking an appearance of dignity, he confidently placed his hands in his coat's pockets; he snapped out of his reverie as he realized he still had a boarding pass that she'd presented him with this morning, stuffed into his overcoat.

  He took the ticket out once more, reviewing its details. ISMAY, IMRIE & CO. it read on one side, OCEANIC STEAM NAVIGATION COMPANY, LIMITED, OF GREAT BRITAIN on the other.

  “Miss Lillith, I...” Lansgton paused, and for a fearful moment he thought he felt a tremor in his ever-sensitive stomach. He drew in a breath and continued. “I am not certain of what you believe that I should do with this ticket. If I go to America, it seems to me, with a ticket that I normally would not have access to, my prospects in returning home to Britain would seem nil. And just the simple act of taking this journey, keeping Edward Lyons in my sight, offers no protection that I might not return home due to some other certain... concerns regarding mortality,” he continued, choosing his words in such a manner that Lillith could not possibly misunderstand his true meaning. “Unless you mean for me to bring the kit along. And speaking of which, I have concerns over what those tools might do to harm you, if you should be exposed to them. Do I do right in keeping them from your line of sight?” His heart started racing as he remembered that he actually had a crucifix in one coat pocket, and a vial of holy water in another.

  “I would be quick to avoid them, of course, if I knew that you had them with you. I would be cautious because at least I would know what to expect. The crucifix is most important; if that is in Our line of sight, the tools are at their most deadly, but that is only if We can actually see the crucifix. If there is no crucifix before Us, the other weapons are almost useless.” Langston relaxed a bit, learning that if he kept the tools he had brought along with him out of sight, Lillith would remain unharmed. “Our blood becomes more sensitive to the presence of weaponry over time. What I'm hoping is that if we can get Lyons and Gidley contained, once we're out west, I might actually be able to take the time in some remote place and fully recover from this sickness.”

  “Re- recover?” Langston stammered. “Do you mean to say that this- this vampirism-” he whispered- “is a disease that can be treated like any other?”

  Lillith quietly nodded. “A place with the desert sun would be best. I have always wanted to s
ee the Painted Desert in Arizona,” she said, her eyes becoming moist in desperation and yearning. “Sunlight doesn't kill a vampire, Mr. Langston- it cures it.”

  “Do you mean-!” Langston cried out in astonishment. “Do you mean to say that exposure to vampirism is what makes it worse?”

  “In a sense, yes. I think I maybe mentioned Our... Mr. Lyons and I... Our 'sessions' when we first met, that's when I would write to you, when it was over?” Langston nodded in assent. “It is a sort of... mutual feeding, that sustains the condition, and if you can't find a willing partner, well then...” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Langston in desperation. “You should know that I have never, never engaged in feeding that was not consensual. I could not live with myself if I had. However, as for Mr. Lyons, and especially Gidley, on the other hand... They'd just as soon have me trolling the streets of London for other young women, acting as some cursed madam.” Langston's eyes widened. “I am saying too much.” She pointed to the ticket in Langston's hand. “They say They are leaving next month. At the moment, I am not sure if it is Liverpool or Southampton, but I will let you know straightaway.”