He stared at her blearily, blinked and grinned. “Good evenin’, little lady. Where you goin’ this hour of the night?”
“Walking,” she said.
“Walking, is it? Yer a pretty piece. Walk a bit o’ the way wi’ me.”
“I will.” She could hardly speak for the desire mounting in her. But how could she approach him? How might she sip the wine that was sweeter and headier than anything she had ever drunk? He would have to stand still. How could she force him to stand still? She wrung her little hands while he went on walking and grinning at her. Then, of a sudden, he grabbed her, holding her tightly and pushing her down on the grass. His loose mouth was upon her mouth, and she knew what to do.
Yet even as the first swallow warmed her body, she shuddered and fled, sobbing, sobbing, back to the crypt, slipping inside, rushing to her coffin and flinging herself down on the hard padding. “Oh, what have I done?” she moaned.
“Nothing well,” observed a hateful voice beside her. “But you’ll learn. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
❖
Two nights after his mother’s funeral, Colin tossed and groaned in his sleep, finally blinking himself awake. Another vivid dream of Juliet had troubled him. He did not want to dream of her; it had been a year since her inexplicable death, and his grief should have been assuaged by now. He doubted that it ever would be. Each time he returned to the Hold, he could see her in his mind’s eye, running down the stairs to greet him, her beautiful eyes beaming with love for him.
Tonight she would have wanted to be with him, sleeping on the far side of the bed because she would need comforting in her grief. Still, one could not really grieve deeply for their poor mother, who had finally, gratefully breathed her last in her husband’s arms. His father, however, had seemed extremely stricken, considering how much he had avoided her in the latter years. He had wept as much over his late wife as he had over Juliet, but Molly had been surprisingly silent as well as Grimalkin, too. However, now Colin could hear them both. He shuddered wondering what more could come to afflict them?
Unwillingly, he recalled the grief in Molly’s tones on the night Kathleen’s son Mark was born. The household had feared for mother and child, but it was Juliet who died, so strangely, looking so pale and drained—and the doctor talking of anemia and dubbing it an odd but not entirely unusual occurrence. He had mentioned it again when attending his mother in her final moments. There had been other similar cases in the community, though none so severe as that which had killed Juliet. Only one had died in the last year, a young woman named Ruth Ellersbee, who sang in the church choir. She had succumbed some six months after Juliet’s passing.
Colin groaned and stared into the darkness. “Juliet,” he whispered. “My dearest, dearest Juliet...”
“Oh, Colin,” she said yearningly as she stepped to the foot of the bed. “I didn’t mean for you to see me. I shouldn’t have come. He said I shouldn’t, but I have missed you so dreadfully.”
Colin closed his eyes and opened them again, seeing her still standing at the foot of the bed, bathed in moonlight. She was looking at him with that same pleading expression he had been wont to see on her face when she begged him to let her remain with him through the night.
“I’m dreaming,” he said uncertainly.
“I said the same thing once, my dearest, but you’re not and I...” She sighed. “I wasn’t either.”
“Are you afraid of me? If you’re afraid, I’ll go at once. I expect I’d be afraid of you if... No, I wouldn’t. I could never be afraid of you, Colin. And as for me, I won’t harm you. I promise you that. I really haven’t harmed anyone, not so they’d die of it. I take very small sips. He laughs at me for it, but life is so beautiful. I don’t want to deprive anyone of it or of the sun, though I have found I can make do quite well with moonlight.”
He listened without comprehension, hearing only her voice yet seeing her—Juliet! “It is you,” he whispered. “Oh, my dearest, darling, I thought you were dead.”
“Well, Colin, my dear,” she said reluctantly, “I am, after a fashion.”
“You... you seem mighty solid for a ghost.”
“A ghost? Well, I am not precisely a ghost. Mama’s not either. I thought she might remain at the Hold, but she’s gone. I’m glad of that. She was so unhappy. And I am sure she’d not have enjoyed the company in the churchyard. Tale the Crusader... but I do not want to talk about him, though it is odd to see him looking so very respectable, his effigy, I mean, lying on top of his tomb with his wife at his side. She looks even more respectable. I don’t like her at all, though I expect we ought to be more in sympathy. But she does speak the most peculiar English. It is very difficult to understand her, and you’d not believe her French. And...”
“Juliet,” he interrupted impatiently, “you are babbling.”
“Oh,” she said, “how lovely to have you scold me.”
“I don’t mean to scold you,” he said in stricken tones. “Oh, Juliet, what happened to you?”
“I expect you need an explanation.” She sounded equally stricken. “I wish you could guess. I really hate to say it, even though he tells me I ought to be used to it by now. Oh, I do hate him, and he’d be furious if he knew I’d come here.”
“He? Who is be?”
“Sir Simeon Weir,” she said ruefully.
“Sir Simeon Weir! What had he to do with you?”
Slowly, reluctantly, she told him.
He listened quietly and without comment, managing to quell the rage that boiled inside of him. Yet, when she finished, she gazed at him wide-eyed, saying, “No, you mustn’t, dearest. You’d be powerless against him.”
He made no attempt to deny her unspoken accusation. “He is powerless after sunrise,” he said through gritted teeth, “and then he must seek his grave. Does he lie in Scotland?”
“No,” she said. “He needs only a stone, a stone as small as a pebble to put into his coffin.”
“A stone? A pebble?”
“Something from the plot of earth where he first lay, and with it he may rest in any graveyard, any crypt, any coffin. But I do not know where he has chosen to lie.”
“You’re not telling me the truth,” he accused.
“Nor will I!”
“You’d protect him!”
“Colin,” she said, shooting him a stricken look, “I am protecting you! He’d know if I told you and would seek you out. And before you had a chance... Oh, if I had not been so weak to come here, weak to cower away from the sun, which would destroy me. But I am not weak enough to reveal his hiding place. He’d only have to look at me to guess what I’d done. Just as I only have to look at you to know your intent.”
“I beg you,” he began. “Juliet...”
“And I beg you,” she interrupted. “Oh, ’twas wrong for me to come, but I do love you so much—too much, I fear. I would not believe it when he told me that it was so. Perhaps it is more of the evil, for we are accursed, Colin, all of us, and that will make us weak and make you vulnerable in the face of those who’ll not rest until we are sent forth from here—from the Hold.”
He listened unsurprised. It seemed to him that he had always known all she was telling him, and it was knowledge that held no terrors for him, he who loved her as she loved him.
“Why would he know?” Colin demanded.
“We are bonded,” she explained. “By blood. While one drop of my blood remains in his veins, he will know. Just as I know about him and the green...”
“The green?” Colin questioned.
“Nothing. Oh, I must go. I’ve said too much and I must go.” She moved toward the window. “It is late and I must go.”
“Not yet, my dearest, not yet,” he protested.
“I must.” She looked at him out of anguished eyes. “It grows late and I... I am thirsty. If I were to remain I might... It is a terrible thirst, Colin, a terrible, terrible thirst. I feel it come over me and when it does, I am not myself. I am its possession
, its slave, and I cannot fight it. I must drink.”
“You will stay,” he said strongly. “And that knowledge you share with him will also be mine.” He arose swiftly and enfolded her in his arms. “You have said we are accursce. I’ll share that curse, my Juliet, and as we are touched by evil, you’ll not be able to resist.”
“Oh, Colin, nooooo,” she wailed, struggling against him.
Though she was cold, cold with a cold that seemed to make the blood freeze in his veins, he held her until she ceased to struggle, until her mouth fastened on his neck and her sharp little fangs sank into his flesh. Moments later, she sprang away from him, thrusting the back of her hand against her crimson lips. “Oh, why, why?” she cried accusingly, rushing toward the window and throwing herself from it, her wail mingling with the banshee’s howl.
Behind her, Colin pressed a finger against the small wounds on his neck and smiled triumphantly. His theory had proved correct. A bonding had taken place, and her muttered words about the “green” were suddenly very clear.
❖
The following night, Colin went late to The Green Dragon. Any fear that he might have trouble finding it again was assuaged. He seemed to know the way and did not question that knowledge. It was near dawn when he arrived, and rather than going inside, he lingered near the window. Peering in, he saw Sir Simeon, deep in conversation with a young man, who appeared to be three-quarters drunk. With him was a girl who, judging from the look of her, was no more than 18 or 19. She appeared to be very nervous, and it was upon her that Sir Simeon’s dark gaze was fastened. She watched him with the frozen look of a rabbit mesmerized by a stoat. In another second, the drunken man had toppled to the floor.
Sir Simeon, rising, sat down beside the girl and casually kissed her. She tried to push him away but her movements were feeble at best. Soon she had stopped struggling. With a silly smile, she gave herself to the predator. Seeing Sir Simeon’s lips shift from mouth to neck, Colin shuddered and clutched the pointed stake. His newly acquired knowledge alerted him to the fact that while he feasted, Sir Simeon was impervious to anything save his all consuming thirst. He felt sorry for the victim, but there was no help for her. In common with Juliet and himself, the path had been chosen for her long ago. Laws had been broken, the eternal laws his father had derided.
He ceased thinking. The sky was growing lighter, and Sir Simeon was raising his head. The girl had fallen forward, so that the upper part of her body lay on the table. A thin trickle of blood seeped from a ragged wound in her neck. Sir Simeon hurried outside, vanishing amidst the trees. A second later, the scruffy little host came hurrying into the room. As usual, he was wiping his hands on his filthy apron. Colin watched with a fascinated horror as he used that same apron to wipe the blood from the girl’s neck. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her out of the room. A second later, he was back to arouse her drunken companion. Smiling and bowing, he led him into the hall, and as he did not emerge, Colin guessed that he was being shown to such accomodations as the inn might boast. Going to the front door, he tried the handle and found that it was unlocked. He strolled inside and stood there awaiting the moment when Mr. Chubb would return.
❖
She had awakened with a singular feeling of freedom, but in the next moment had been frightened. She had not returned to the crypt until near dawn the previous night and so had avoided any reprisals Sir Simeon might have taken against her. The following night, he had been summmoned to The Green Dragon, that horrid way station for the unwary sinner and those, who like Colin, were not unwary but unaware.
Slipping from her coffin, Juliet hurried into the churchyard. Sir Simeon must have gone already. Unencumbered by his presence she moved lightly among the tombs, nodding briefly to Ruth Ellersbee, who had just emerged, and to Lady Margaret, who was surging forth from the chapel, leaning on the Crusader’s arm, queening it over all of them, as usual. It seemed to her that Lady Margaret and her husband were angry. However she did not care to question them. She wanted to be away in the woods, to remember and savor those moments she had spent with Colin, something she must never, never, never do again. Sir Simeon had warned her that it was unwise to visit those one loved, not only because of the dangers of discovery and vengeance, but because of the anguish of parting. She knew that anguish now and knew guilt besides, for her veins had been warmed by her brother’s blood. Moaning and shivering, she wandered past the immense old trees, wondering when Sir Simeon would seek her out, wondering what he would do when he found her.
It was late when she returned; the moon was almost down and the sky paling. She hurried into the crypt, wondering now where he was, Sir Simeon, who had chosen to lie near her in the empty sarcophagus which one day would be occupied by her brother.
“Juliet.”
She stiffened and saw Colin standing just inside the door. Terror possessed her. “Why are you here?” she whispered. “I have been waiting for you. I have a gift for you,” he said in a low voice. Moving to Sir Simeon’s appropriated coffin, he stooped and with some difficulty managed to push back the lid. “Look,” he commanded.
Obeying, Juliet saw mouldering bones amidst the dark suit he had worn and saw, too, the stake protruding from his shattered rib cage.
“How?” she whispered.
“No matter,” Colin murmured. “It is done.”
She threw her arms around him. “How long have you been waiting?”
“Since just past sunset.”
“Oh, you should not have waited. ’Tis dangerous!”
“I know.” He smiled. “I met the Crusader’s lady. I vow, even longevity’s no excuse for such overweening self-importance. I found Ruth much more to my liking. She, at least, was gentle.”
“Colin...” For the first time, she became aware of his pallor. “They did not...”
“They did,” he nodded. “’Twas not unpleasant.”
“Oh, Colin.” She threw her arms around him. “You must go!”
He shook his head. “’Tis too late, my own. But on the morrow we’ll both go. I’ve written to Tony and told him all that has occurred. I told him that I might not return and have given him my instructions.”
“Oh, why... why?” she cried.
“I do not care to live without you, my Juliet. And you should not be forced into this existence. Tony will come in the morning and he’ll find me. I’ve left him mallets and a pair of stakes.”
“Oh!” she trembled.
“Are you afraid?”
“I will... welcome the true death, if I may share it with you, but I do not want you to perish, my love, my love.”
“Shhhh, be of good cheer, minx.” He bent to kiss her, and sagging in her arms, he died.
❖
“Good God,” Richard strode into the library to find Tony standing by the hearth, feeding a paper into the flames. “Why will you light a fire in June?”
It was a moment before his son could reply. “There were some letters I... wanted to destroy,” he said huskily.
“Love letters?” A brief smile flickered in Richard’s somber eyes.
“And the like.” Tony thought he had never heard Molly wail so loudly or the cat screech so incessantly, but since it was impossible to guess whether or not they wanted him to abide by the instructions in his brother’s letter, he chose to believe that they approved his decision.
Part Three
One
Lucy Veringer sat in the library pouring over a large framed square of canvas spread out on the desktop in front of her. Called a family tree, it really did look like a tree. Her great-uncle Colin had taken up painting shortly after his transition, as her grandfather preferred to term it, and he had done branches, curling ones with green leaves and, if you looked close enough, little faces peeping between them.
Lucy wished he would paint more pictures. The portrait he had done of her Uncle Mark, as a young man, pleased her, though as her great-aunt Juliet said, Uncle Mark pleased no one. She looked up his dates on the tree. He had died
in 1828 in his forty-seventh year, four years before she herself was born. It had all been a great scandal, and the bullet that felled him was in the desk drawer. Impulsively, Lucy opened the drawer and fiddling among sealing wax, quills and other paraphernalia finally found it. She held the bullet up to the candle flame. Though flattened and discolored, it still gleamed silver. The shepherd who had fashioned it wanted it back, but it had not been returned to him.
“Lucky, he wasn’t hanged.”
Lucy started and looked around, but of course she couldn’t see him. One didn’t see the Old Lord (so called to distinguish him from his son, the present Earl of More); he made himself known in other ways mainly because, as he had so often told her, he was not going to stalk about the ramparts like the ghost of Hamlet’s father. He was still angry about finding himself in a similar condition.
In his lifetime, despite all evidence to the contrary, he had convinced himself that there were no such things as ghosts, banshees, witches, werewolves, vampires or, for that matter, devils, angels and the Creator, Himself. The circumstances in the household caused him to change his mind but realization had come after death, and there he was, caught like a fly in amber, which was his simile. However there was no one to say that he must materialize and nothing to hinder him from keeping an eye, as it were, on his descendants. Consequently, one never knew when he was about or if he had eavesdropped on one’s innermost thoughts, until he deliberately made himself known to the two humans, who could communicate with him—herself and her great-grandfather.
Lucy said placatingly, “You know why the shepherd had to kill Uncle Mark.”
“You shouldn’t know,” came the explosive retort. “Disgusting to burden a child with such information.”
A door opened and slammed.
“Lucy.” Mark Driscoll, Jr., a handsome boy of 13 strode to the desk. He was looking himself again, his red-gold hair smoothed back and his golden eyes full of humor, a sharp contrast to the other night when they almost hadn’t got him chained in the cellar in time.
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