Davinoff showed her cabochon rubies from Roman women, and Celtic jewelry intricately wrought in silver, translucent white jade pieces meant to give luck to the Japanese ladies who wore them. He unfurled scrolls of Chinese landscape paintings by people with names like Yen Li Pen and Li Chao Tao and Wang Wei. The scenes were misty and evocative, alternating with incredibly precise detail. The afternoon was lost in times past and miracles of survival. Each new surprise brought a gasp from Sarah. A copy of the Magna Carta, the ring of Charlemagne, all these were things Davinoff called "souvenirs."
"And I thought you were a smuggler." She smiled. "It was the wildest thing I could imagine." Another thought occurred. "You do not sell these things, do you?"
"The world may someday need to have a copy of The Canterbury Tales, if all others have been burned or buried or destroyed. My needs are provided by my current holdings. But for something extraordinary, I indulge in selling the coins." He went to two chests by the wall and lifted their covers to reveal their gleaming contents. "Roman," he said, pointing to the one on the left. "And gold doubloons from the Spanish Main."
Sarah laughed and sat heavily upon a yet unopened crate. What wonders did it hold? "I am in heaven." She sighed. She looked at him curiously. "Why did you reveal this?"
"I wanted you to know why I coveted your land." His voice was an intimate murmur. "And why I tried to delay your excavation by insisting you have it mapped."
Sarah forgave him instantly. "And you talk of trespass!" she chided. "My family has trespassed all these years upon your home. Are you not afraid I will betray your secrets?"
"You have too much respect for the past." He waved her question aside. "What I wanted was to provide a Christmas gift for you, in return for the gift of life that you have given me." He gestured round the dusty room. "What will you have? Anything is yours."
Sarah almost shuddered. "I could not accept any of these things. They are too precious."
"Your gift was more valuable to me than any of these poor mementos."
Sarah shook her head. "I cannot take anything in this room from you."
"Do not insult my gesture, small as it is," Davinoff said, and laid his iron bar upon a crate. "I think you owe me the opportunity to thank you in my own way. Don't you agree?"
Sarah chewed her lip and knew she was lost. She looked around the room and tried to remember something she had seen that was less valuable. No jewels, that was certain. She cast about and her eyes came to rest upon the fat wooden horse, its enamel half gone, its gold caparisons gleaming dully in the light. It was carved so that it capered gaily, its tail braided and bound up between its chubby buttocks. It was a lovely rendition of a horse. But it was only wooden. It could not be so valuable. "Well," she said, "I do like that horse."
Davinoff glided over to the figure and raised it with both hands to the light of a torch. "An excellent choice. It is from the T'ang dynasty. The Chinese of that period had a feel for horses, just as you do. I knew it when I saw you ride that mare. It will look well mounted."
So he had seen her ride Maggie. "T'ang," she repeated. "When is that?"
"Roughly seven hundred to nine hundred."
Sarah gulped and raised her brows. "This horse is a thousand years old?"
"A mere babe." He smiled at her.
Sarah looked up at him and suddenly the magic of the afternoon melted away. A thousand years meant nothing to him.
How young she must seem, how childish to a man like this. "Shall we assay all those stairs?" he was asking her. She nodded dumbly as he extinguished the lights. Then with a last torch in one hand and her wooden horse tucked easily under the other arm, he led the way out to the nineteenth century.
It was four o'clock and dusk was falling when they came up into the brisk wind sweeping the promontory. The wan sun had turned to slate-gray clouds, and mist threatened to hurry the dark along. Davinoff collected the horse and hitched him to the gig.
The ride home was almost silent between the two explorers. Sarah's head was spinning with history and with Davinoff's impossible age. The warm lights of the small houses down in the village glowed merrily out of the deepening gloom as Christmas dinners were set on the table and families celebrated the possibility of salvation. "Life everlasting, amen" was a vague hope to cheat death for them. The body would die, but the soul did not. But what if the body did not die? What happened to the soul then?
By the time they got to the Dower House, it had come on to night. Davinoff took the horse round to stable while Sarah took her T'ang gift and went in to make up some fires against the cold. When Davinoff came in, his arms loaded with wood, the house was alight with the glow of candles and lamps. Fires burned in the kitchen and the drawing room.
They both busied themselves getting out what could be got of a Christmas dinner. At least they had the ham. Sarah felt constrained. She did not know what to say to him. What could she say that would interest one who had seen as much as he? Davinoff began to talk of other times, of China before Marco Polo, of the beginning of the Renaissance in Italy, of the Danes conquering the Danelaw in England. Sarah was astounded, but also beguiled. As they set out their dishes in the dining room and Davinoff poured wine, she said, "You have seen the defining events of history firsthand, Mr. Davinoff. I cannot imagine the excitement that you must have experienced."
He seated her, then himself. "Excitement is a word no longer in my vocabulary."
Instantly Sarah saw all his experience in a new light. It was not a treasure to him but a burden. "Is that why I've never seen you laugh?"
"You provide quite enough laughter for us both," Davinoff replied, lightly.
"You hate excess, then?" Sarah followed his lead and lightened her tone.
"Oh, I have been quite excessive in my time. You hardly know the meaning of the word, I fear. But one grows bored with excess."
"Then boredom is your ruling passion? You sadden me, sir, that all of the wonders of the world are reduced to commonplaces for you."
He looked at her most strangely. "I used to think boredom was all that was left to me."
"You need to see the world through new eyes."
Davinoff cut her a slab of ham. "You are right. Perhaps I shall take your advice."
Sarah looked at him, cutting meat at her table, his face illuminated by the candelabra. She suddenly wanted things to stay just so. His flattering desire to attend to her, the wonder of his nature, the attraction she felt for him, all hung in the air, unrealized and yet undenied.
At the same moment, she knew change was inevitable. The moment was broken. He was asking her whether she had ever seen the Parthenon. She answered something. But her thoughts were consumed by the knowledge that this moment was stolen. Soon it would melt away, just as he would melt from her life. They could not stay immured in the Dower House forever. He would move on to other places where history was being made, far away from her little world of Bath. Her sense of loss was almost overwhelming. Her life, stretching into the future, short as it might be by Davinoff's standards, suddenly seemed barren and lonely.
Davinoff intruded upon her unpleasant revelations. "Did you hear me, Lady Clevancy?"
"I'm sorry," Sarah started. "What was it you were saying?"
As if to confirm her very thoughts, Davinoff looked up from his plate and said quietly, "I have imposed on your hospitality and your kindness long enough. Tomorrow, I return to Bath."
"Are you up to it?" she inquired with what she hoped was her lightest tone.
"It is exactly my physical condition that requires it. I am afraid I need more blood."
All Sarah's doubts about what she had set loose upon the world assailed her. She glanced quickly to his face, her fear no doubt writ plainly on her features. "You promised you would not hurt anyone," she stammered.
"I remember that quite clearly, Lady Clevancy. You need not remind me."
"I am sorry. It is only…"
"It is only that you are not sure yet whether I am a man who keeps his p
romises."
Sarah felt herself blushing.
"My only problem is the quantity of blood I need at this point," Davinoff mused, frowning. "I will have to be busy."
Sarah thought of him wooing a string of countesses. "I know where you may get blood. Dr. Upcott keeps a supply for his experiments. It is sealed in bottles, and kept on ice."
Davinoff murmured, with raised brows, "Your scruples do not extend to stealing?"
Sarah considered his question. "The blood is given every day by donors to help people. You need help. It isn't wrong to use the blood as it was intended."
"I could perhaps use the blood if it was taken within several hours, more and it is useless." He seemed skeptical.
"They donate on Thursdays," Sarah said in a small voice, "in the afternoon."
"Then tomorrow I am off to Bath. I may at least get a pint or two that way."
That was the end, Sarah thought. It was over, this dreamy interlude of fear and newfound courage and the wonder of a new vision of the world seen through the eyes of a vampire. Amputated at the root, it would never grow into anything more. "How will you go?" she asked.
"I shall walk into Littleton-on-Severn and procure a horse. That will cause less inconvenience to you, and be less conspicuous, I should think."
"You expect to rent a horse on Boxing Day? I hardly think the liveries will be open for business." Sarah rubbed her hands together. "I must be going back to Bath myself. I am promised to a ball on New Year's Eve. Why don't you drive me in the gig?"
"Does that seem discreet?" he asked, raising his glass to his lips.
"You drove me home from a stage stop in Marlborough and my reputation survived."
"Very well, my hostess," Davinoff said, raising his glass to her. "We shall to Bath."
They had not gone far the next morning when they met Mr. Josiah Wells trotting down the lane on his cob. The last person Sarah wanted to meet was someone she knew.
"Merry Christmas," Mr. Wells hailed them, as both he and Davinoff drew up.
"Are you still here, Lady Clevancy? If we'd a know'd you were planning to stay through the holidays, we woulda had you down to our dinner. Mrs. Wells fixed a right plump fowl."
"I wasn't aware you knew of my arrival," she said in confusion.
"Directed that fellow delivering your trunk about a week ago," Mr. Wells said.
Davinoff stepped into the breach. "Wells, can you send Razcocy to me at the abbey on Thursday next? I have some crates I want shipped. He is still at the Swan, I take it."
"We both been expectin' you for some time, sir." Mr. Wells touched his hat to acknowledge the order. "Didn't know you was up this way." Of a sudden, Mr. Wells's eyes leapt to Sarah's face and back again to Davinoff. "The landlord at the Rose over to Elburton said he hadn't seen hide nor hair of you."
"I found the Rose sadly deficient," Davinoff lied, his tone depressing further inquiry. "I was forced to stay at Morton." He snapped the reins over the horse's back.
"He knew," Sarah said in a small voice as they drove away. "I could see it."
"He is that type they call 'salt of the earth,' I believe," Davinoff reassured her. "He will not speak what he thinks, especially when he respects you so much."
"He thinks of me as a child," Sarah deprecated.
"He admires your management," Davinoff corrected. "He spoke of it when I asked about Clershing."
"The work is his, not mine."
"Ah, but you will admit you 'drug him into potatoes.' That is, I believe, how he put it."
Sarah laughed. "Oh yes, I did that."
"Wells thinks it was a brilliant move." Davinoff's eyes were on the muddy lane.
"Not brilliant, desperate," Sarah returned. "My father's estates were much encumbered. I sold what I could to preserve the rest, and found a better market for potatoes than for barley, though potatoes are not aristocratic. Clershing is all I have left now, but it is mine free and clear."
"Your father would be proud," Davinoff observed.
Sarah hesitated. "I am not sure. He never shared the state of his affairs with me before he died. It was a shock to see how things lay. I could have helped him, if he'd let me. I am much more practical than he was. But I am afraid he was disappointed that I was not a boy."
"You both loved antiquities. He allowed you to study mathematics. Not girlish pursuits."
"He let me follow my interests, but never trusted me enough to share his burdens." Sarah found this disclosure painful. "He wanted his little girl to be demure. Not my strong suit." At least he had never known what really brought her scampering home from Sienna.
"No, I shouldn't think so," Davinoff agreed. "Do you want to be demure?"
Sarah couldn't help but smile at this frontal assault. "I have never admired dependency. But I am sorry my father was disappointed."
"Then, I am sorry, too," Davinoff declared. "It was his loss. You will have to be content with being an educated, competent woman of affairs who has an intense interest in the world."
Sarah shook her head and laughed away the compliment. Davinoff didn't really know her.
The drive to Bath was long and cold. Sarah managed animation, but underneath she felt Bath approaching as though it stalked them as prey. What would happen when Corina found that Davinoff had not been taken to an asylum on the Continent? She would rage. She would storm. She would plan revenge of some kind, on Sarah perhaps, but definitely on Davinoff. Corina was not entirely sane. And what would a man like Davinoff do to a woman who had wronged him as Corina had? Sarah had felt the stirrings of his desire for revenge that first night, buried in casual conversation, but palpable nonetheless. It was imperative that he leave Bath immediately. Only then could their mutual desire for revenge be circumvented.
"What will you do now?" she asked. London was not far enough. He must go somewhere where he would never encounter Corina.
"I will repair to the Christopher. Do you know if my shot was paid?"
"She paid your shot." Sarah hesitated. "I do not know how your affairs stand, but I can provide for your immediate needs." Little enough, but he could not leave Bath without money.
Davinoff looked down at her. She could not read his expression. "Thank you for your concern. I believe I can provide for myself until my bankers respond to my inquiries."
"Do you plan to stay in Bath?" Sarah looked down at her hands and held her breath. She should want to hear him say he would go away at the first opportunity. She should want that.
"I have unfinished business here," he said.
Sarah was torn. Did he mean to take his revenge upon Corina? What could she do to stop him? "Mr. Davinoff—" she began, her heart almost audible, she was sure.
"Julien," he interrupted softly. "Surely after all we have been through, you might begin to call me Julien, Lady Clevancy?"
Sarah started, her purpose dissolving into confusion. "Julien," she almost whispered, feeling the sound in her mouth, strange and intimate.
"Yes, Sarah?" he answered.
"You must not revenge yourself upon Corina," she blurted. "I would have not bloodshed, no matter the provocation." She saw his countenance darken. "She deserves to pay," Sarah continued. "But if you wish revenge, let us go the magistrates. I will testify in your behalf." He looked startled. For a moment he said nothing, until she thought she would burst with anxiety.
"There will be no death," he said. "And no magistrates. A lengthy trial, the scandal of harboring an addict without even servants in the house, Corina's suspicions about my nature…" He trailed off. "The details of a trial would serve no one."
"Then you will go." Her victory was celebrated in bleak tones.
"In a few days," he answered pensively. "I must remove my souvenirs from your property to one of my other storehouses. You should not be burdened with their presence."
"Oh, I will not excavate your home," Sarah protested. "You need not move your treasures." If they were gone, he would never be back.
Davinoff only shook his head. "
It is best," he said.
The outskirts of Bath rose up around them, damping further conversation. Sarah saw heads turn in their direction. So apparently did Davinoff.
"The story is that I have been at the abbey," he reminded her, "and have brought you back with me to town. I trust you can think of a reason we are using your horse instead of mine?"
"An accident, perhaps? It is I who am doing you a favor, since your cattle were injured."
"Of course." He bowed his head. "It is you who have done me a favor after all."
"Except that it is Corina's horse and gig." She saw Davinoff's brows raise. "I do not keep horses since my father's death." She did not say that she could not afford to keep horses.
"That is a shame. You of anyone should have horses."
"Perhaps someday." Once she could have looked forward to such a time.
"Do you chance to know what happened to Quixote and my pair?" Davinoff asked, as though it were a casual question.
Sarah knew better. "Lansing says they were sold at Tattersail's," she almost whispered. She was about to express her regret, but Davinoff's black look did not allow of sympathy.
In moments, they were through to Green Street. Then it was up to Stall Street, and over to Cheap Street, and so to the High and the Christopher Hotel, almost upon the abbey grounds. As Davinoff leapt down, he looked up at Sarah, his dark eyes blazing, his ebony curls ruffled by the wind. "Adieu, my lady," he said simply.
"Adieu," she whispered, her heart aching for what would never be. She clucked to the horse and headed out of the yard toward Bridge Street and home.
Sarah found the house confining, but as yet she couldn't bear to go about her life again. She spent time in her sere and tiny winter garden, as clouds raced across the sky and the bare branches of the fruit trees clattered above her. Her thoughts were too tumultuous to be calmed. She could think only of Davinoff. Where was he? She might never know where he was again, would only know one place where he was not.
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