Household

by Stevenson, Florence

  “I have come to say farewell,” he said, coming toward her. “Oh,” she said with considerable pleasure. “You are finally going?”

  “Within the hour,” he asserted. “I would you were coming with me.”

  “Whatever for?” she inquired rudely.

  “I find you very beautiful.”

  “Oh,” she said, “everyone does.”

  He smiled. “You are passing vain, little Juliet.”

  “If you’ve come to chastize me, ’tis hardly your place,” she flared.

  “I would not presume to do that. I love you.”

  “I do not love you,” she retorted. “And perhaps when you are gone, I will cease to dream about you!” That had been a sad error, she realized immediately, wondering what had made her blurt out the fact that he haunted her dreams. It would only increase his vile self-importance.

  “You’ve not dreamed of me,” he said.

  “I have so,” she contradicted and wondered why she had been so insistent. She should have agreed that she hadn’t dreamed of him; thus she had missed another opportunity. Of a sudden, she knew why and wondered why it had not occurred to her before, but it had occurred to her, she recalled. She really was not thinking clearly at all—or had not been—but was now. He had no right in her rooms. She would tell him that before he was much older. And how old was he? She had the curious impression that he was much, much older than she had originally imagined.

  “You’ve not dreamed of me,” he insisted.

  She glared at him. “How can you be so certain?” she demanded. “I have, but I’ll not argue about it. I want you...”

  “And I want you, my little love.” He moved toward her swiftly and clasped her in his arms.

  Juliet tried to pull away. “I did not say I wanted you, like wanting,” she emphasized. “You did not give me a chance to finish what I meant to tell you.”

  “I know that.” He brought his lips down on her throat. She struggled fiercely at first, then ceased to struggle. “I thought it was a dream,” she said plaintively, when at last he released her.

  “It was no dream.”

  “Molly,” she whispered. “She must be at my door. How loudly she is shrieking.”

  “Never mind her.” He ran his hand gently through her hair.

  “Can you hear her?”

  “And that cat.” He nodded.

  “That’s very strange. Are we related?”

  “We are, my love,” he smiled. “By love.”

  Anger rose in her and died. She could not quite remember why she was angry. Yes, she did remember. “I don’t love you,” she said positively.

  “You will,” he murmured. “You’ll love me as you’ve never loved anyone in this life.” Lifting her in his arms, he put her down on her bed and stretched out beside her.

  She was surprised to find him at her side, but she was too tired to protest. She suddenly wondered where Colin was, and something like a pain throbbed in the vicinity of her heart—then was gone. Sir Simeon put his arms around her, and she forgot Colin as his lips were once more fastened on her throat. “That feels...” she murmured.

  He lifted his head, and she saw that his mouth was very red. “How does it feel, my love?” he asked.

  “Nice,” she said, surprising herself. She raised her hand to touch his lips and found that her finger tips had turned scarlet. She regarded them incuriously, regarding him with an equal lack of curiosity as he lifted her hand and kissed the blood from each finger.

  She lifted her head slightly, “Molly...” she whispered. “It’s very odd.”

  “What’s odd, my darling?”

  “Molly’s crying in a different way.”

  “How is it different?”

  “I don’t remember.” His lips were on her throat again, and she was feeling very sleepy.

  ❖

  Much to everyone’s surprise, Kathleen, to the accompaniment of Molly’s increasing howls, brought forth a fine baby boy. In spite of her long labor, the delivery was easy. The doctor and the midwife congratulated each other on it.

  Richard, who had insisted on remaining throughout the ordeal, came into the sitting room adjacent to Kathleen’s bedroom to tell his anxious sons the happy news. “Where’s your sister?” he asked, looking around for Juliet.

  Colin had been listening to Molly’s wails now blending with those of her cat. It had seemed to him that there was a difference about them, a pain that was usually lacking in her perfunctory performances. He knew that Tony had heard them, too. He had a feeling that his brother had also noted the difference, for he had stared anxiously at him from time to time. Suddenly it seemed very strange that Juliet had not joined them, for surely she, too, would have been aware of Molly’s inexplicable sorrow. As a child, she had seen and spoken with the banshee, he recalled.

  Juliet had been tired after their ride this morning; he had seen that but had not marked it, remembering that she had danced unceasingly until dawn on the night of her ball. That, however, was two nights ago. A fear he did not comprehend caused him to rise and stride to the door in practically a single step. “I’ll fetch her,” he said through stiff lips.

  “I’ll come with you.” Tony’s tone suggested that he, too, was anxious.

  “I’ll bring the good news to your mother.” Richard fixed a frowning gaze on them. “Your sister Juliet had better have a good reason for not attending Kathleen.”

  Colin and Tony hurried to Juliet’s rooms. Pushing the door open, they strode to her bedroom where Colin came to a sudden stop, causing his brother, who was on his heels, to crash against him. Tony’s muttered apologies were silenced as Colin said softly, “She’s asleep. I’d best wake her though.”

  “Yes,” Tony agreed. “She’ll want to know.”

  Coming to the side of the bed, Colin bent over Juliet. “Minx,” he said, “wake up. You are now the aunt of a bouncing baby boy.”

  She did not stir—but it was a full minute before he realized that she wasn’t breathing.

  Three

  When she woke, it was dark, so dark that she could hardly believe she was in her own room, yet she could not have left it. She had fallen asleep on the bed, and she had dreamed—dreamed what? She had dreamed that Sir Simeon had come to bid her goodbye—and in her own bedroom. She giggled, and the sound of her laughter startled her. It sounded hollow and echoing as if, indeed, she were not in her chamber but in another place. That confused her. She must still be dreaming. She blinked and blinked again, staring into the blackness and seeing nothing. She put out her hand and gasped. Instead of the bed, she felt hardness against her hand. She moved and felt a similar hardness against her whole body as if, indeed, she were dosed into something like a chest. She raised her hand and again encountered hardness only inches above her. She pushed against the hardness, but it did not budge. A scream formed in her throat and ecscaped only as a long sigh. And then, she did cry out for a voice was in her ears.

  “Gently, my love... gently, gently, do not struggle and do not be afraid. I am here to help you.”

  She knew that voice, or thought she did. No, she was not sure. “Where am I?” she asked. “Why is it so dark? And...” She suddenly remembered her sister. “Kathleen... has Katie had her baby?”

  “That need not concern you, my love,” the voice said. “Now I am going to lift the cover. You’ll not need to lift it when you become accustomed to your situation.”

  “My situation,” she repeated confusedly. “What... where am I? Am I not in the Hold? Where am I?” She was becoming panicked again.

  “Explanations must wait, my love.”

  She did recognize that voice. It belonged to Sir Simeon Weir. In her mind flew fragments of images. Sir Simeon at her door—no, nearer, beside her on the bed! The bed! And she had fallen asleep but not with him beside her. She never, never could have done that! But he had been on the bed. He must have drugged her and kidnapped her.

  Low laughter filled her ears. “That was not the way of it, my love.
I did not need to drug or kidnap you.”

  “But where am I? Where have you taken me?” she cried, and only then realized that he had answered her thoughts—but how was that possible? It did not matter! It did matter! She was dreaming, had to be dreaming!

  “No, ’tis no dream. Though that is often the belief in the beginning. But enough. I am not here to torture but to advise.” Something flew back, and Juliet blinked against the brightness of refracted moonlight shining through an arched window.

  Hands clasped her hands and drew her up. “Now, step over the side,” came the instruction.

  Juliet raised her foot and stood there for a moment. “Step over what?” she demanded. Looking down she saw a long narrow box that seemed to be constructed from stone. “Where have you taken me?” she cried.

  “I have taken you nowhere, my dearest. ’Twas your family brought you here, three days since.”

  “My family!” she exclaimed and stepped out of the box. Looking in the direction of the voice, she saw Sir Simeon Weir, standing in a pool of moonlight. She said furiously, “You’re lying. Why am I with you? I don’t want to be with you. Oh, I must be dreaming!”

  “Look around you and tell me what you find,” he ordered.

  “I won’t. Why have you brought me here?”

  “This is your dwelling place as long as you wish it to be. I pray that will not be long.”

  “I do not understand you,” she whispered, aware now that understanding was hovering at the periphery of her mind and that she did not want to let it seep into her brain.

  “Look about you,” Sir Simeon repeated.

  She did not want to obey him either, but in some strange way, he was forcing her to it. She turned her head slowly and saw them, the great oblong stone boxes lying on thick stone shelves and knew what she might have already known, had she been willing to admit it to herself.

  “The crypt,” she whispered. “They brought me here to the crypt? My family? Colin? You’re lying. Only the dead lie here.”

  “And the undead,” he added.

  “The undead? What... are they?”

  “You’ve never heard of the undead?” he asked incredulously.

  She shook her head.

  “I mislike the term... but they are also called vampires.”

  “Vampires,” she repeated. Her mother had told them folk tales, until forbidden to do so by her father. She, Kathleen, Tony and Colin had been alternately entranced and terrified by those same tales. There were vampires in Ireland, horrid creatures with flaming red eyes, who lived by sucking blood from their victims. They were evil.

  “They are evil,” Juliet said.

  “They are not evil, unless it is evil to wish to survive.”

  “They survive on the blood of...” she paused, staring at him. Into her mind came a vision of his lips dyed scarlet. “They survive on the blood of those they love.”

  “No.” She spread her fingers wide, envisioning the redness on their tips. “You are...”

  “I am,” he admitted. “And you, also.”

  She wanted to scream, to faint, but could do neither of these things, could only listen as he said, “Now that you have opened yourself to knowledge, let it flow into you.”

  “No, no, no.” Juliet ran to the door of the crypt, tugging at its handle, trying to open it. It did not yield, but there was a narrow crack from top to bottom, and unknowingly knowing, she passed through it and was out in the churchyard. Looking back and seeing the door still closed save for the crack which was no wider than the length of her fingernail, she sank down on a tombstone staring up at the half moon, which gave off a radiance that was proving almost as blinding as the sun.

  She could see so well! She could see the churchyard and every separate leaf that clung to the branches of the hemlock trees. Looking down, she found a spider in the center of its web. She could hear its minute movements as it digested the moth it had just caught. Now that she was listening, there were so many strange sounds, but she knew them! She could identify the twitter of the bats and the sleepy murmur of the hedgehog as it lay in its burrow under her feet. She could hear the rougher grumble of a badger and the velvety flutter which were the wings of an owl flying overhead. Useless, useless, useless to cling to the notion that she was dreaming!

  “Useless,” he agreed.

  He was standing beside her but she had not heard him come, she who had heard so much.

  “You must learn to deal with sounds, the new sounds. You must choose what you will and what you will not hear. But you will always be able to hear them, no matter how lightly they tread. You will always know what they are thinking. Only when you sleep, will you not know... and then will you be vulnerable to them.”

  “Them?” she asked and knew the answer, but did not want to know it.

  “Mortals,” he said brutally, because he knew she knew.

  She wrung her hands, “Why... why did you do this to me?”

  “Because I love you. It is not given us to love often. I knew I should love you when first your brother mentioned your name. I could see you, even as he spoke. You’ll be able to do the same with your lovers.”

  “I do not want lovers,” she cried. “I want to be married and to have children and live in the sun!”

  “Marriage is not for us, and the sun would be your true death,” he said reasonably and coldly.

  “I know,” she said reluctantly. More was coming to her, flowing into her mind, even as he said it must. But not everything, not yet. “Why did Colin bring you to our home?”

  “It was so ordained.”

  “Ordained? How could that be?”

  “Because you were cradled in evil, my dear child, cradled and cursed—the lot of you. Why do you suppose that hag of a banshee and her cat have the run of the Hold?”

  “Because...” Juliet hesitated and then pressed her hands against her ears, but could not stop the knowledge from pouring into them, the fearful knowledge which flooded through her so that she knew what he knew. She knew everything. It battered against her brain.

  She huddled down on the tombstone, putting her hands against her tearless eyes. “I want my family... I want to be with them, live with them... I want Colin!”

  “Whom you loved too much,” he accused.

  “Tis not true!” she cried. “He was my friend.” She finally looked up at him and saw his disbelieving smile. “I do not care what you think. It is true. Oh, he will miss me.”

  “They will all miss you and then they’ll forget you, as I have been forgotten. I have not seen my family for a hundred years.”

  “I cannot imagine they’d feel the poorer for that,” she said with a flash of her former spirit.

  He glared at her. “You’ll do well not to alienate me,” he growled. “I can teach you much.”

  “Your knowledge is already mine,” she retorted. “I do not want it. I will not be as you, frequenting the Green Dragon, awaiting the hapless traveler who strays off his path.”

  “Those who come there...”

  “Have not strayed but are guided,” she finished, with a shudder. “Is there so much evil in the world?”

  “Is there not?” He moved to her. “You’ve absorbed much and quickly, my dearest. I knew ‘twould be so, but still you need me.”

  “I neither need nor want you. I will not be as you. Tomorrow when the sun rises, I will be waiting.”

  His laughter was ugly. “So be it, little Juliet. Yet it may be that you will change your mind.”

  “Never,” she moaned. “I love the sun.”

  “And do you not love the moon?” He pointed.

  She would not look at it. “The moon is cold and... and dead, forever and ever, wandering through space and lost, lost as I am lost.”

  “Without the moon, the seas would not roll. Without the moon... but ’tis early to convince you, my love.”

  “I am not your love!” she cried.

  “You are my love, while your blood warms my veins.”

  “
My blood!” She glared into his handsome, evil face. “Oh, you are cruel. I am... I was only seventeen. Could you not have let me live a little longer?”

  “I have given you eternal life,” he said softly. “The stones of your castle will crumble. Those you loved will be dust in their tombs, but you will not die, not if you are careful.”

  “I will, I will...” she sobbed. “I will die at dawning.”

  “Your misery will pass,” he said calmly. “Mine did.”

  “You...” She stared at him and speaking out of her new knowledge said, “You rejoiced in this life from the very first. You wanted it, sought it and were rewarded accordingly.” His dark eyes glowed red. “I cannot deny it. And you will learn to rejoice in it yourself. You will come to me and beg me to help you. Tomorrow night, I will stand outside the crypt and you will drink with me.”

  “I shan’t! Go away, go away,” she moaned. “I will stay here and await the sunrise!”

  His laughter echoed in her ears and then he was gone. She sat on the tomb, clutching her knees and staring up at the star-filled sky and at the moon. It was a beautiful night. The stars seemed so close. They were round, too. Billions of little moons clustering around the half-dark planet. She found suddenly that she loved the moon. She had never realized that in its way it was as wonderful as the sun.

  She lifted her head. She heard footsteps. She turned, and though the churchyard was hedged, she could see through the greenery, see the man quite clearly, a drunk lurching home after a night at some tavern, his blood blending with his drink. She moved her tongue and felt them to see if they were there. They were—her sharp little fangs, sharp and retractable. They could not always be seen, she knew. Meanwhile, he was walking—walking away from her? He must not walk away. She leaped to her feet. A hunger she had never known before, a hunger that consumed her, was activating her. He could not get away, must not, must not. She streaked across the grass, easily evading the tombstones. The hedge presented no barrier; as she had managed the crack in the door, so she managed the hedge and emerged a few paces behind him. She stepped to his side.