A Different Hunger

by Lila Richards

  “I’m afraid so,” the doctor was saying. “Mr Haynes collapsed last night on the main deck. Goodness knows what he was doing there at that time of night, but thank God one of the officers found him and brought him to the sick bay before he succumbed to the cold. He’s young and strong, so I imagine he’ll pull through all right, but in view of the number of passengers who’ve been taken ill already, I’m beginning to feel a quarantine might be in order.”

  “Hmm…” The answering voice belonged to Captain Standish. “I’d like to avoid that, if at all possible. Are you any closer to understanding what the malady is? Is it contagious?”

  Doctor Wells gave a sigh of frustration. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. It doesn’t appear to be like any disease I’ve come across before. There’s no fever, no pattern discernible between the victims, no—”

  “Just so,” the captain interrupted. “Well, Doctor, you must do as you see fit, of course, but I must say I’ll be much happier if we can avoid the inconvenience of quarantine.”

  “It’s certainly not a decision I’d take lightly, Captain Standish, but I thought it best to bring the possibility to your attention sooner rather than later.”

  “Thank you, Doctor, much obliged,” came the captain’s brusque response. “But this hardly seems the place for such a discussion – breakfast is due to be served soon. Perhaps you’d like to breakfast with me in my quarters, and we can discuss the matter further?”

  “Thank you, I’ll be happy to do that.”

  “Good, good.”

  To Rufus’s immense relief, the two men moved off in the opposite direction from where he was standing. Waiting only until they had left the dining room, he hurried to the sick bay, which, he recalled from when he had helped to carry the unfortunate Mr Howard there, lay between the men’s and women’s quarters below decks. Due, he assumed, to the inclement weather, the steerage passengers seemed to have confined themselves to their quarters, from which an unappetising melange of cooking odours reached his nostrils. Rufus wrinkled his nose in distaste as he negotiated the narrow passage that led to the sick bay, and tried not to imagine what the poor steerage passengers might be eating by this stage of the voyage. Outside the door of the sick bay, he listened intently for several moments, but heard no sounds of movement, so he opened the door a few cautious inches and peered into the room. As far as he could see, it was empty. He opened the door just wide enough to slip into the room, drawing it to behind him, and crept forward. In one of the narrow cots lining the two sides of the room, he made out the recumbent form of a man with dark hair. Hoping the patient really was asleep, Rufus tiptoed closer until he could make out his features. As he’d suspected, it was the man he’d seen with Serafina the previous night. His skin was as white as chalk, and on one side of his neck a gauze dressing showed two dark blotches of dried blood.

  Rufus covered his eyes, breathing hard to allay his sudden panic, and turned away from the sight. On silent feet he crept from the sick bay, breathing a sigh of relief as he reached the deck without encountering Doctor Wells, or anyone else who might find his actions suspicious. The deck was slippery with the rain that fell in a steady drizzle, blown into misty drifts by a strong wind, and Rufus was forced to cling to the railings to avoid being swept into the sea that seemed to boil against the sides of the ship.

  Back in his cabin, he stripped off his sodden clothes and dried himself as best he could before dressing again in clothes that were dry, if somewhat grubby. While tying his bootlaces, he heard the gong summoning the cabin passengers to breakfast. The last thing he felt like was food; whether from the freezing temperature on deck or the quantity of brandy he’d drunk the previous night, his head ached abominably, and a sick horror lay coiled in the pit of his stomach like some venomous snake poised to strike. In the end, however, he decided his best plan was to behave as normally as possible in the hope that it might succeed in calming his overwrought senses.

  Breakfast turned out to be unexpectedly diverting, due to the rolling of the ship on the choppy seas. Although the dining table was fitted with a ledge around its perimeter to prevent crockery and utensils from falling off in such conditions, they still had a marked tendency to slide across the table unless prevented by swift hands – much to the delight of the children and the chagrin of the adults. Nevertheless, breakfast was eventually accomplished with no more than one or two mishaps. Towards the end of the meal, Captain Standish arrived to announce that, due to the inclement weather, Sunday service would be held in the ballroom. Rufus groaned inwardly, wishing he’d stayed in his cabin after all. Sunday services were compulsory, so escape was impossible now he’d been seen.

  The service, taken by Captain Standish, began with The Lord’s Prayer, followed by a hymn, Lead, Kindly Light. Its unwitting irony, in view of what he had seen in the previous night’s moonlight was not lost on Rufus as the voices swelled in ragged chorus. Then the captain, whose stentorian voice stood testimony to years of making himself heard over wind and weather – and the thunder of cannon-fire as well, for all Rufus knew – began a prayer for the safe recovery of Mr Haynes, who had been injured the previous night and was ill from loss of blood.

  Rufus felt suddenly dizzy and unable to breathe. He forced air into his lungs and out again through teeth clenched against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. By the time he’d returned to some semblance of normality, the captain was reading a passage from the Bible. Rufus had missed the beginning of the reading, but with mounting horror he began to be aware of snatches of the Captain’s words: “...he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life…he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him...”

  Rufus clamped a hand to his mouth to choke back the bile scalding his throat. The woman next to him turned, a look of concern on her face. He forced a smile, then turned away from her, pretending interest in the captain’s words. The rest of the service seemed to take forever, but at length it was over and he turned to leave, wanting nothing more than his cabin and a swig or two of brandy to calm his nerves and settle his stomach.

  As he made his way through the press of passengers, he glimpsed Toby Fox ahead of him, shepherding his hapless sister towards the door. Eleanor seemed to be hanging back, doing something with a book he assumed must be her Bible, or perhaps a hymn book. She raised her head and gave Rufus a quick smile before yielding to her brother’s impatient hand on her arm. Rufus saw something small and white flutter to the floor behind her. Curious, he hurried forward to pick it up. It was a slip of paper, folded in four. He opened it to find a note scrawled in pencil and addressed to him:

  Dear Mr de Hunte,

  Please meet me in the ballroom after luncheon.

  E. Fox.

  Intrigued in spite of himself, as soon as luncheon ended Rufus slipped into the ballroom next door. Fortunately for his peace of mind, Toby Fox was nowhere to be seen. Probably standing guard over his poor sister, Rufus thought with a grimace of distaste, or hobnobbing with the steerage-class passengers whose company he seemed to favour. Although Miss Fox was charming and well mannered, and would not disgrace herself in any company, her brother seemed altogether more ill bred. Perhaps, for whatever reason, he had a penchant for low company, and had acquired the manners to match. Rufus had heard of the occasional scion of even the highest-born families who had gone the same way. He shrugged, dismissing the matter as of little importance, and sat down at the piano. He might as well entertain himself until Miss Fox arrived – if she arrived.

  Before long, Rufus heard the door open and looked up to see Miss Fox standing just inside the room. With a swift glance at the corridor behind her, she closed the door and spoke in a low voice as if afraid of being overheard.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here earlier. I had to wait until Toby had gone to meet his friends. Well, he calls them his friends, but they’re more drinking and gaming companions, and I’m sure they’d fleece him as soon as look at him – not but what he doesn’t deserve i
t.”

  Rufus rose, smiling, and took the hand she extended. “Never mind, you’re here now. What was it you wanted, Miss Fox?”

  With one of her quick smiles, she said, “Oh, I do wish you’d call me Eleanor. Miss Fox sounds so stuffy, don’t you think?”

  Rufus gave an answering smile, though he was wary of seeming too encouraging in case she assumed too much. “Thank you, and you can call me Rufus if you like. Now, what did you want to tell me?”

  Eleanor looked down for a moment, biting her bottom lip, and then raised her eyes to meet his. “I expect you’ll think me silly, but I wanted to apologise for Toby’s behaviour the other day. He had no right to speak to you like that.”

  “Well, in all fairness, I suppose Mr Fox sees himself as in some sense your guardian.”

  “Yes, he does, and I really wish he didn’t. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

  Rufus couldn’t help smiling a little at her vehemence. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d stamped her foot. “I’m sure you can, but that isn’t quite the way society works, is it? You’re both a long way from home, so I suppose it’s only to be expected that a loving brother should want to protect you.” Recalling what Fox had said to him, he gave an inward grimace at his own dishonesty. ‘Damaged goods’ sounded more like some Gothic villain than a loving brother.

  Eleanor seemed to agree with him. “Oh, stuff and nonsense! He’s not trying to protect me, and he’s not even my brother, really.” In response to Rufus’s puzzled expression, she went on, a little less angrily, “Papa died when I was nine, and Toby was only a few years older when his mother died, and when his father married Mama, we became brother and sister by law, though not by blood. I never could like him. He used to pull my hair and put spiders in my bed when we were children, and twist my arm until it really hurt, just to show he was stronger than me.”

  “That’s dreadful!” Rufus said with feeling. “It makes me glad my brother was already married when I was growing up – though at the time I thought a bossy elder sister was bad enough. Still, now you’ve both grown up, I dare say he does feel genuinely protective. If you were my little sister, I assure you I’d try my best to protect you.”

  Eleanor curtsied and gave an impish grin. “I dare say you would, though with a lighter hand, I imagine. But it’s no use trying to show me Toby’s good side, Rufus, he doesn’t have one. He’s a bully, and that’s all there is to it. I don’t believe he really wants to protect me at all, just to keep me for himself.”

  “You mean he wants to—?”

  “Marry me? Yes, I think so, though he hasn’t actually mentioned it. I have quite a respectable annuity coming to me from my father when I come of age, and Toby has a great love of gambling. Though I don’t think he can be very good at it – he’s always out of pocket. His father died a year or so ago, and ever since then Toby’s been dead set on taking me to New Zealand, though he knows I don’t want to go so far away from everything I’m used to.” Eleanor pressed a hand to her mouth and blinked as though holding back tears.

  Rufus moved to her side and caught her hands up in his in an effort to comfort her. “But what about your mother, surely she has some say in the matter?”

  “I’m sure she would – if she were still alive.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!”

  Eleanor shook her head and conjured up a smile. “Oh, dear, I sound just like a penny dreadful, don’t I? I don’t mean to. Mama died some years ago of influenza. It was a great blow at the time, but, well, life has to go on – though I still miss her dreadfully. She made sure I had a good education, and I was going to try for a post as a schoolteacher until Toby got this bee in his bonnet about going to New Zealand. But he sort of is my guardian, since both of our parents are gone and I’m not yet of age, so it was difficult to say no to him without causing a scandal.”

  “Why on earth is he so keen to go there?”

  “For the same reason as you, I imagine. It’s supposed to be a land of opportunity. Isn’t that why you’re going?”

  Rufus gave a rueful grin. “Well, no, not exactly. I’m—um—going to stay with my uncle who has an estate there. But surely, if you’d made it clear to your brother that you didn’t want to go…?”

  “You don’t know Toby! Anyway, please don’t worry about me.” Eleanor leaned towards Rufus and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “Toby doesn’t know it yet, but I haven’t the slightest intention of marrying him. I have plans of my own. I’ve been saving money from my allowance for some time now, and as soon as we reach Auckland I plan to give him the slip and find myself a position as a teacher or a governess, or—or anything, really, short of becoming a lady of pleasure, just so long as I have my own income and can live independently.”

  Rufus grinned. “I’m glad to hear you don’t intend to become a lady of the night, at any rate. You’re very brave, you know, to undertake such a plan all by yourself, and in a strange country, too.”

  “I’m not brave,” Eleanor said with a laugh, “just desperate! Rufus, I like you so much, and I really wish things could have been different between us. Perhaps they might have been, but for Toby. But since I’m stuck with him, at least until we reach Auckland, I think it best all round if we try to ignore one another for the rest of the voyage. He can be very unpleasant if things don’t go his way.”

  “I can imagine.” If he was honest, Rufus was only too pleased to be able to avoid the Foxes without upsetting Eleanor, but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt, since his real reason was Serafina. “Of course I’ll do as you suggest, though under different circumstances I’d have been proud to count such a plucky girl my friend. Thank you for explaining things to me, and I hope your plans succeed – though I’ve a feeling you won’t need my good wishes.”

  Raising herself on tiptoe, Eleanor planted a soft kiss on Rufus’s cheek. “I’m glad to have them, all the same. Thank you for being so understanding, Rufus, but I’d better go now, before Toby starts wondering where I am.”

  She ran to the door and opened it, peered both ways into the corridor, and then slipped out of the room. Rufus listened until the sound of her footsteps had faded away before leaving. There was no sense in arousing anyone’s suspicions, in case word somehow got back to Fox. Then he made his way back to his cabin. Recent events had left him with a great deal to think about.

  NINE

  Lying on his bed in his chilly cabin, his greatcoat draped over him for warmth, Rufus tried to make sense of all that had happened in the last few days. The rain had stopped, and the wind had died to a murmur that set the ship’s rigging creaking and groaning so that he almost expected, if he looked out of his cabin, to see a white-draped ghost dragging its chains along the passageway.

  “Thank you, Mr. Dickens,” he murmured, smiling, “but I can do without further melodrama, if you don’t mind.”

  He was no closer to deciding what he should do about Springer and Serafina – or, rather, about the passengers who’d fallen victim to their frightful appetites. He had no intention of giving the two of them away, if only to protect himself from their anger, though he knew his primary reason was to keep Serafina safe. He shuddered to think what would become of her if Doctor Wells, or worse, Captain Standish, discovered what she was. It seemed unlikely in the extreme that these worthy gentlemen would believe she and Springer actually were vampires. Most likely, they’d diagnose some mental aberration. Rufus had heard tales of men who believed they were wolves and ate human flesh from corpses they’d disinterred with their bare hands. In earlier times, they were believed to be werewolves, but these days they were thought to be suffering from a mental illness, and Rufus had little doubt that would be the diagnosis given to Springer and Serafina. The thought of Serafina incarcerated in the sick bay for the rest of the journey, perhaps strapped into a strait jacket, was more than he could bear. God alone knew what they’d do to her once the Orion reached her destination. No, he could not bring himself to expose her – or Spri
nger, for that matter – to such a fate.

  But then, what of their victims, or of the quarantine Doctor Wells and the captain were considering? Rufus found himself wondering how this might affect the two vampires, and how they would fare without ready access to—to... Good God, what was wrong with him that he could even think of putting their welfare above that of the passengers and crew? Was he already that far gone with love for Serafina? Rufus could only come to the disturbing conclusion that he was. He always had been easily led by his emotions. The debacle of his involvement with Charlotte Winter stood testimony to that, but his feelings for Serafina seemed to be leading him into another dimension altogether, one he could neither accept nor relinquish.

  With a snarl of frustration, he leapt from the bed and began to pace the cabin. How could he just do nothing and let other innocent passengers be injured? Yet how could he place Serafina in danger? He loved her, and despite her rejection, he was certain she loved him. How could he do that to her? What she and Springer did was undoubtedly evil, yet he’d seen with his own eyes, heard with his own ears how Serafina had sought to spare her—prey—he supposed he must call him, from physical and mental anguish. He continued to pace in his turmoil of indecision until he felt his head must explode, but there seemed no way to solve the conundrum. At length, feeling he must do something – anything – he pulled on his jacket and boots and left his cabin. Perhaps a walk in the cold air would clear his head and enable him to find a way out of his mental maze. Or, failing that, make him tired enough to sleep.

  As he left the shelter of the rabbit warren of passageways that housed the cabins, the wind hit him like a wall of ice. The night was as black as pitch, with heavy clouds obscuring stars and moon. Buffeted by a freezing, southerly wind, Rufus made his way to the poop deck and clung to the railing while his eyes became accustomed to the dark. All around him was black on black, except for the watch house, illuminated from within by the soft glow of the watchman’s lantern. Gradually, his eyes adjusted. He could just make out the middle and forward hatches, and the faint gleam of the main-deck railings washed by the heaving waves. It looked as though they were in for more bad weather. Hunching his shoulders against the cold, Rufus stared out to sea, listening to the wind screeching in the rigging and the waves slapping against the hull of the ship.