A Different Hunger
Page 8
Then he heard another sound. It seemed to come from the main deck. He peered into the darkness, but could distinguish nothing. Pushing against the wind, he stumbled to the inner poop-deck railing and stared down. At first he could see nothing but the golden pool of light in the watch house. Then he caught a glimpse of movement towards the prow of the ship, not far from the forward hatch. As he watched, he thought he saw it again, just a flicker, moving towards him.
Perhaps it was Serafina or Springer about their dreadful business. On the spur of the moment, Rufus made up his mind to find out. If it turned out to be Springer he’d leave him to pursue his grisly objective, but if it were Serafina he’d try and speak with her. If she refused to hear him, at least he’d know he’d done his best to warn her. He made his way down the steps that led onto the main deck, and strode towards the forward hatch.
And walked straight into the arms of Toby Fox and two companions.
“Oh-ho,” cried Fox, grabbing him by the arm. “If it isn’t Mr High-and-Mighty de Hunte. I thought I told you to keep your hands off my sister.”
“I’ve not laid a hand on Miss Fox,” Rufus retorted, trying in vain to loosen Fox’s vice-like grip. “Though I’d have thought she was old enough to choose her own company.”
“Not laid a hand on her!” Fox exclaimed through gritted teeth. “Don’t try that with me, sir, it won’t wash. You were seen together in the ballroom.”
“What of it?” asked Rufus, in what he hoped was a disarming tone. “We were conversing, that’s all.”
Fox leaned forward, thrusting his narrow face to within inches of Rufus’s. “I told you to have nothing to do with her, didn’t I?”
By now, Rufus was becoming afraid of Fox’s aggressive manner, but he had no intention of letting him see it. If Fox had been alone, he’d have been more than happy to teach the bully a lesson, but he was outnumbered, and judged it best to try to defuse the situation, so he spoke as calmly as he could manage. “Look, I can understand your wish to protect your sister, but I can assure you I’ve no intentions towards her beyond mere sociability.”
“You can call it what you like, Mr de Hunte, but I know what you were doing. I warn you off her, and next thing I know she’s seen kissing you.” He turned to his two cronies. “Does that sound like mere sociability to you, lads?” The two men dutifully shook their heads. “I think it’s time we taught Mr de Hunte a lesson, don’t you?”
As though his words were a secret signal, Fox’s companions lunged at Rufus, and before he quite realised what they were doing, they had his arms pinned behind his back. As he struggled against them, he saw Fox’s features twist into a vicious snarl. Drawing back a little now that Rufus was helpless, Fox clenched his fist and drove it hard into his face. Rufus felt blood, hot and metallic, in his mouth, and kicked out at Fox, angry himself now, and determined not to succumb without a fight. His retaliation seemed to inflame Fox even more. With a roar of fury, he flung himself at Rufus, raining kicks and blows on his body and face as the others held him fast, until Rufus sagged in their grip, all but unconscious. They let him fall to the deck, where Fox swiftly rifled his pockets, taking his silver watch and chain, as well as what money he had on him. Then he yanked from Rufus’s finger the gold signet ring that had been a gift from his father on his twenty-first birthday.
“These’ll fetch a pretty penny once we reach shore,” gloated Fox. “Come on, lads. Best scarper before the watch sees us.”
As he left, Fox paused just long enough to administer a final vicious kick to Rufus’s ribs. But Rufus was oblivious to further pain.
* * * *
Rufus could hear someone moaning, a low, anguished sound, and wondered vaguely who it could be. And why was he hurting so much? It seemed every inch of his body ached. Thinking it must be the lumpy mattress on which he lay, he tried to move, and agony licked through him like tongues of fire. He cried out, and realised the moaning had come from his own lips.
He felt a cool hand on his brow, and a soft voice spoke, “Hush, try not to move.”
Wondering who on earth it could be, Rufus tried to open his eyes, but the lids seemed to be glued together, and the effort made his head hurt. He tried to speak, but his lips seemed too big for his face, and his throat felt as though someone had set fire to it.
“Shh, sleep now, you’ll feel better presently,” the voice said, soft, but somehow compelling.
He slept.
When he woke again, Rufus was able to open his eyes a little, and found himself in his own cabin, lying on his narrow bed clad in his nightshirt, but with no memory of how he’d come to be there. The last thing he remembered was going out for a walk on deck. He’d been trying to work something out, something important, but his mind refused to tell him what it was. He heard a faint splashing sound and turned towards it. What was that woman doing in his cabin? And who was she? He felt he ought to know. As he squinted through eyes that seemed unwilling to stay open, the woman turned towards him and smiled. It was Serafina. She was holding a glass in her hand.
“Do you think you could drink a little water, Rufus? No, don’t try to speak, you’re still very weak. Here, let me help you.”
As she bent over him, he smelt her musky perfume. Very gently, she slid her arm beneath his head and lifted it, holding the cup to his lips. They were still swollen, and much of the water spilled and ran down his chin, but he managed to swallow a little.
Setting the cup down on the bedside table, Serafina took his hand in both of hers. Her skin felt cool against his. “Don’t try to talk just yet,” she told him with a smile. “You’ve been hurt quite badly, and have lain out on the deck for most of the night.”
“But what…?” Rufus tried to ask, ignoring her instructions.
“I can’t tell you exactly what happened, only that I found you lying on the deck early this morning. I think you’ve received a bad beating, but who might have done such a thing I don’t know. I brought you here and cleaned your wounds, which aren’t as bad as they no doubt feel, though I think you may have some ribs broken. There’s a great deal of bruising on your left side.”
Rufus squeezed her hand and whispered, “How long have I been…?”
“It was well after midnight when I found you, and they rang six bells a little while ago.” She turned anxious eyes towards the open porthole, where a faint lightening of the sky was visible. “I must leave you now, but I promise I’ll return later and see what I can do to help you. I’ve filled your glass with water in case you feel thirsty. The best thing you can do now is to sleep.” Serafina bent over Rufus and looked into his eyes so deeply he felt he must drown in the dark depths of her own. “Sleep now,” she murmured, and hurried off.
* * * *
For most of that day, Rufus slept. It was late afternoon before he was able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Hauling himself painfully onto one elbow, he looked about him, wondering what could have happened to him, and why he was in so much pain. Then he remembered. Fox! He and his accomplices had set upon him and beaten him. But that had been outside on the main deck. Who had brought him back to his cabin?
Now that he was fully awake, a strong thirst assailed him. Noticing the glass of water on the table beside him, he picked it up and took a few sips of the icy liquid, feeling it trickle down his throat, cooling the fire that seemed to burn there. After a few more grateful sips, he lay down again and pulled the blankets – and his greatcoat, he noticed, with some surprise – up to his chin. It was chilly in his cabin, and he was beginning to shiver. As he lay there, rocked by the gentle motion of the ship like a baby in a cradle, vague memories began to filter through the fog in his mind. He could recall nothing immediately after Fox and his cronies had beaten him. Presumably he had been unconscious. He had no idea how long he had lain thus, but it seemed to him that someone had picked him up and carried him. He was sure he could recall being carried, because of the pain it had caused him. He could only suppose his rescuer had brought him here, put
him to bed, and cleaned his wounds. Now who had told him that? Then it came to him. Serafina had told him she’d found him and brought him here. But how could she have carried him so far without help? She must have had help, surely, but who…? Then he remembered something else – something that wrenched him out of his torpor.
Weren’t vampires supposed to have super-human strength? Rufus realised then that even though he had concluded that Serafina must be a vampire, some part of him had resisted the notion; had clung to the comfort of believing he might be wrong. He had wanted to be wrong. But now, unless he could be sure Serafina had had help, he must finally accept that all such comfort was lost to him, that the woman he loved was, indeed, a vampire. His mind now working feverishly, Rufus began to wonder why Serafina had rescued him. Could he hope that he’d been right to feel she wanted him as he wanted her? Or was her hunger of an altogether baser kind? Rufus was shaken by a deep shudder that had nothing to do with the cold. What if he’d been wrong all along? What if all she’d ever wanted from him had been…? In his mind he saw again her fangs glinting in the chill moonlight, heard her soothing, hypnotic words to Mr Haynes, her rapt expression as she bent her head to his neck.
Sick with horror, Rufus tried to pull himself to a sitting position. What was wrong with him that he could even contemplate loving someone—something—that could do that to a fellow creature? He must leave, now, before she returned, before she could suck out what was left of his will with those eyes of hers. He’d go to the sick bay. Surely he’d be safe under Doctor Wells’s care. But his pain was such that he was unable to force his body to do his bidding. Trembling with fear, he sank back and waited for a few moments before trying again. On his third attempt, he managed to drag himself up onto his elbows. His left side was in agony. Perhaps his ribs were broken after all. Panting and gasping from exertion, he waited for the pain to subside a little before making a further attempt. Then he heard a soft rapping on his door, and it began to open. He made another frantic effort, but collapsed back onto the bed, sobbing with pain and terror, and tried to cover himself with the bedclothes as though they might somehow protect him.
Soft footsteps approached his bed, and he heard Serafina’s voice. “Rufus, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
Trying in vain to quell his panic, Rufus pulled the blankets closer. He felt, rather than heard, Serafina bend over him, and covered his face with his shaking hands as she pulled back the bedclothes and stared at him.
“Rufus, please don’t be afraid of me. Surely you must know I only want to help you.”
Her voice was very gentle, and despite himself Rufus found himself peering at her through his fingers. When he saw the look of concern on her face, he forced himself to lower his hands and take a deep breath, trying his best to ignore the pain that flared in his side and his throat. Serafina took his hand in hers and stroked it, gazing into his eyes, and he felt his panic subside, and with it, much of the pain.
“There,” she murmured, like a mother soothing a frightened child, “that’s much better, yes?”
Rufus nodded. He couldn’t help but respond to Serafina’s tender voice and touch. His mind felt strange, as though it were not his own, yet it harboured no doubt of her good intentions. With a sigh almost of contentment, he closed his eyes, ready to accept her ministrations.
* * * *
Something very strange was happening. It seemed to Rufus that some great cat had him in its grasp and was licking his face, though of course that was ridiculous. He must be dreaming, one of those dreams that are so vivid the dreamer is convinced of their reality, even while aware of their sheer absurdity. He tried to move his head to see what was happening, but found he could not. Nor could he open his eyes. He had no choice, it seemed, but to lie there and feel the soft, moist movement against his skin, the creature’s tongue, or whatever it was, making its way from his face to his shoulders, then on down his body, lingering for what seemed a long time at his left side. Unable to prevent its slow, oddly sensual progress, Rufus gave himself up to it until at last he fell into a sleep too deep for dreaming.
How long he slept he couldn’t tell, but it was dark night when he woke to find Serafina sitting on the edge of the bed holding his hand in hers. As his eyes opened, she leaned forward a little and brushed his forehead with a cool, gentle hand, her scent wafting over him like a fragrant breeze.
“How do you feel, now?” she murmured, smiling.
“Much better, thank you.” And he did! As Serafina’s words focused his mind on his body, he realised it hurt considerably less than before he had fallen asleep. Puzzled, he raised a hand to his face. He could feel where the skin had been broken, but the swelling seemed to have subsided along with the pain. He looked up into Serafina’s pale, calm face, a sudden suspicion sharpening his gaze. “What did you do to me?”
She shook her head, smiling. “Don’t be afraid, Rufus. It was nothing more than an old remedy I learned a long time ago. But I’m very pleased that you feel better. It will take a little time, I think, but I believe your wounds may heal quite well. Can you recall who did this to you?”
“Yes, it was a man called Toby Fox, and two others, friends of his I suppose. I think I’ve seen them before, but I don’t know their names. They’re most likely steerage passengers. That’s the company Fox seems to prefer.”
“But why should they wish to hurt you?”
Rufus looked away, unwilling to tell Serafina how he had incurred Fox’s wrath. Now it seemed he had some proof of her feelings for him, if he told her about Eleanor how could he be sure he wouldn’t incur her wrath as well? But he could sense Serafina waiting for his reply. He had to say something.
“I—I suppose I should tell someone about it,” he blurted out, “Captain Standish, perhaps?” Serafina looked doubtful. “And I must tell Eleanor.” The words were out before he could stop them.
Serafina gave him a sharp look. “And who is this Eleanor?”
“She’s Fox’s sister,” Rufus said, feeling sheepish, yet at the same time pleased to have further evidence of Serafina’s partiality. “Well, not really his sister. Her mother married his father after their other parents had died. At any rate, Fox is ridiculously jealous of her. Eleanor thinks he wants to marry her because she stands to come into a sizeable inheritance.” He grimaced at the thought of Eleanor married to the brutish Fox. “He saw us talking together after church on Sunday, and I had the bad luck to run into him and his cronies that night when I went for a walk on deck.” Rufus caught up Serafina’s hand and carried it to his lips. “You’ve no need to be jealous, you know. I think Eleanor would have liked to become more close to me, but my heart is already engaged elsewhere, as well you know.”
Serafina sighed, as though trying to expel something oppressive, but said nothing. Rufus squeezed her hand, which still lay in his.
“Please don’t be sad. You know I love you.”
“Yes,” she whispered, “that’s what makes me sad.”
Rufus gave her hand another squeeze. “Let’s not worry about that now. I’m sure Mr Springer will come round when he sees we’re serious about one another.”
Serafina shook her head. “I don’t think so.” For some moments, she sat in silence, apparently deep in thought. Then, as though to banish her despondency, she gave a little shake of her head and sat up straighter, smiling at Rufus. “But you’re right, we shan’t think of sad things.” She picked up the copy of David Copperfield that lay on the bedside cabinet. “Would you like me to read to you?”
TEN
Rufus must have fallen asleep while Serafina was reading to him. When he awoke again it was early morning and she had gone. On his bedside cabinet stood a plate containing bread, butter and several slices of ham, and a glass of milk partially spilt from the rocking of the ship. Where she could have got them from during the night he had no idea, and wasn’t sure he wanted to speculate. A rather damp note lay half under the glass. Rufus rescued it and read:
Dear Rufus,
Serafina.
Seeing food for the first time in almost two days made Rufus feel suddenly ravenous, and he made short work of the meal.
His next thought was to discover the state of his wounds. A thorough examination with the aid of his shaving mirror showed that most of them were almost healed. Whatever treatment Serafina had used must be little short of miraculous. There was still a burning sensation in his throat and a tightness in his chest, which were worse if anything, but the only other pain he felt now was an occasional twinge in his left side.
* * * *
When Serafina returned soon after sunset bearing more food, she found Rufus burning with fever, alternately shivering and perspiring, and wracked by debilitating fits of coughing. She gave him water, and he managed to drink a few sips, but when she offered him the roast mutton and potatoes she had brought, he shook his head, telling her in a voice hoarse from coughing that his throat was too sore to eat. His nightshirt was soaked with perspiration, so she found one that was dry, if not perfectly clean, and helped him to put it on. Then she drew the blankets close about him, wishing she had some body warmth to give him. By midnight, he was delirious. If he had been a vampire, he would never have become so ill, but it seemed her vampiric skills had been insufficient to heal this sickness, or had even allowed it to develop, perhaps, by inadvertently interfering with his body’s own healing processes. With all her heart, she hoped not, but whatever the cause, she knew she had no choice but to call the doctor to him.