The coachman—no, it was a woman, a very tall woman in a coachman’s uniform—was standing by the horses.
“Magda!” said Carmilla. “Mennünk kell—as quickly as possible!”
Magda must be the coachman—or coachwoman, Mary thought, because she immediately nodded and opened the door. Carmilla climbed in and sat facing backward, with Lucinda draped across her lap. “Come on,” she called out. “The sooner we leave, the better.”
Justine climbed in after her, stooping so as not to hit her head, and Diana followed.
“Where are we going?” asked Mary. She frowned, worried. “Are we going to meet Mina?”
“First to our home,” said Laura. She put one hand on Mary’s arm. “I understand your concern, Miss Jekyll. I assure you, we’re friends. Mina sent us to meet you, but when we discovered, at one of the inns along the way, that your coachman had talked about heading south—and when Carmilla realized he was Miklós Ferenc, for she knows him and his family—well, she knew where to look. I promise, we’ll explain everything as soon as possible.”
Mary nodded. It was reassuring, she had to admit, to speak with someone so very English. It reminded her just a little of London, and Park Terrace, and Mrs. Poole. She wondered what Mrs. Poole was doing right at that moment.
MRS. POOLE: Paying bills, like as not. We had little enough money after Catherine and Beatrice left! It was all I could do to keep Alice and Archibald fed—fruit isn’t cheap, you know, even in August. Dr. Watson was a great help, insisting that if we were in genuine need, he would advance us whatever we required. Not that I would have liked to trouble him in that way, particularly since he had his own worries, poor man, with Mr. Holmes still missing. . . .
“Move over,” said Mary. If it would have been at all ladylike, she would have shoved Diana with her hip. Carmilla’s carriage was smaller than the coach. It had not been built for six passengers, one of whom was now sprawled across Laura’s and Carmilla’s lap.
Diana scooted an inch in the other direction. “There, that’s all I can move, unless you want me sitting on Justine. Satisfied?”
Mary would have to be. Anyway, being squeezed between Diana and the side of the carriage, which luckily was padded with leather—really, it was the most luxurious vehicle she had ever been in—was a minor inconvenience beside the more serious one of having lost everything in their luggage—their clothes, their toiletries, even their Baedeker! All she’d been able to take had been her waist bag, which she had grabbed and buckled on before descending on the rope. It had her pistol in it, as well as her remaining pounds, francs, and krone. However, she should not complain. They were alive, out of Hyde’s castle and headed . . . well, somewhere else.
“Where are we—oh!” Mary could not help exclaiming. What in the world was Carmilla doing?
Carmilla had pulled back the sleeve of her jacket and placed her wrist on Lucinda’s mouth. Gently, she pried it open and pushed her wrist between Lucinda’s teeth. “Come, little one,” she said. “It’s time to feed.” Then she cupped Lucinda’s jaw with her other hand so the girl’s teeth clamped on her wrist. Mary could hear a distinct sucking sound, like an infant nursing. And yet Lucinda’s eyes remained closed!
“What the hell?” said Diana. Mary would not have put it quite that way, but she shared the sentiment.
“She’s dehydrated,” said Carmilla, looking up at them. “You see how her eyes are sunken in their sockets. She must drink now, and after this at regular intervals. I should have Hyde publicly flogged for how he has treated her.”
“Public floggings went out of fashion a long time ago, my dear,” said Laura, sounding amused.
“Then privately flogged,” said Carmilla. “I would have him thrown out, except that he’s paid up until the end of the month.”
“Paid up?” said Mary. “Whatever do you mean?”
“She means that Mr. Hyde is renting her ancestral home,” said Laura. “The castle in which you were held captive has been in the Karnstein family since the fourteenth century. As soon as we learned that you were with the Ferencs, we suspected they were working for him. We came as quickly as we could, and just in time, I think. Miss Van Helsing really is in a terrible state.”
Lucinda was still feeding. The sound made Mary’s skin crawl—luckily, it was mostly drowned out by the rumble of the wheels, the clop of the horses.
“How is it she can feed like that?” asked Justine. “I did not see you cut your wrist. . . .”
Carmilla pulled back Lucinda’s upper lip. Lucinda had fangs! Just like her mother and those men in Vienna. The tips were sunk into Carmilla’s wrist, and blood was seeping around them.
“But she did not have those before?” said Justine, astonished. “Surely we would have noticed them.”
“Then they must have grown in recently,” said Laura. “Normally, they would grow in shortly after she was infected, but we do not know how Professor Van Helsing’s experiment will affect the course of the disease. It may not follow the usual timetable.”
“What disease—what exactly was Van Helsing doing to her?” Mary asked. Lucinda seemed to be drinking a great deal! She must indeed have become dehydrated while they were held captive by Hyde. “If you want”—how she hated saying it—“I can contribute. Both Diana and I gave her our blood on the way to the castle, when we first discovered it was the only thing she could ingest.”
“That was very generous of you,” said Carmilla, smiling, although her raised brows looked a little ironic. She was much more attractive than the stiff portrait she resembled—her angular face, with its aquiline nose and high cheekbones, was mobile and expressive. She and Laura made an interesting contrast—one so English, the other so, well, Hungarian or Austrian, or whatever she was. “However, what Lucinda needs now is not your blood, but mine. I hope it will sustain her until we get to Budapest and we can consult on what is to be done. Her transformation is incomplete—that is the difficulty.”
“Transformation into what?” asked Justine. “Mr. Hyde was trying to use her blood to heal—both Adam Frankenstein and Frau Ferenc, who is dying of a cancer.”
“Anna Ferenc, who is far superior to her husband, both in intellect and morals, would choose death over the kind of healing Hyde offers her,” said Carmilla. “She is a pious woman, and would dismiss his theories as blasphemy.”
“And do you dismiss them in the same way?” asked Mary. She still did not understand what was going on. What did Carmilla mean by a transformation, and how was Lucinda supposed to transform? Was this the transmutation Van Helsing had been trying to effect in his wife and daughter?
Carmilla smiled and shook her head. “My dear Miss Jekyll, or Mary if I may, this is the nineteenth century. Surely we are beyond such superstitions. My faith lies in science. Of course, the most advanced science may look like magic to a layman—nevertheless, I don’t believe in anything that cannot be explained rationally.” Without fuss, she removed her wrist from Lucinda’s mouth. There, on the wrist, were two puncture wounds, with blood trickling down them. Before Mary’s eyes, the wounds closed and the blood stopped trickling. It crusted on the skin, and Carmilla brushed it off in flakes. Then, she pulled her jacket sleeve down again.
“You’re the woman in the portrait, aren’t you?” said Diana. “The one over the fireplace.” She sounded as though she were accusing Carmilla of a crime.
“That is not possible,” said Justine. “The portrait was dated 1698. It was painted almost two hundred years ago. Perhaps she is a descendant—”
“You have a good eye, Diana.” Laura smiled. “That is Carmilla, actually. Or was.”
“I was a different person then,” said Carmilla. “Physically, intellectually, morally. . . . Well, not entirely different—but I assure you, despite the resemblance, I am as unlike Mircalla Karnstein as Hyde is unlike Dr. Jekyll.” She turned to Laura and took her hand, smiling back at her—a fond, affectionate smile. “You had something to do with that, kedvesem.” Turning back to Justine, she added, “You are not the
only one who has died and been reborn, you see. Although I claim seniority, since you were born only a hundred years ago—compared to me, you are an infant.” Suddenly, she laughed. “Not that it’s a competition, mind you! The Count is always telling me that I’m a child. . . .”
“Who is this Count?” asked Mary. “We are all—well, at least I’m very confused. How do you know Mina Murray? Who are you, the both of you?” She did not mean to sound rude, but they were in a carriage in the middle of Styria with two women they did not know, one of whom had just claimed to be two hundred years old, driving deeper and deeper into the forest. It was already afternoon—soon, it would be night. She did not even know where they were going. She put her hand on her waist bag, to feel the reassuring shape of her pistol. At least, if these women were not to be trusted, they could defend themselves.
“Yeah, and why does Lucinda suck blood?” asked Diana. “Is she a vampire, like Varney?”
“Miss Jekyll, you’re right to be cautious,” said Laura. “You do not know us, but I assure you that we mean you no harm—we are taking you to my home, where you will have food and a fire and a place to rest for the night. Tomorrow, we will take you to Mina in Budapest. We have known her for”—she turned to Carmilla—“is it five years now? When she first came to see the Count, after meeting him in England. Of course, she’s had her own work to do, which takes her away from Budapest a great deal. Most recently, she was in Vienna. You see, she had been a friend of Frau Van Helsing’s, and then served as Lucinda’s paid companion—what you would call a chaperone—for several months after her mother was confined to a lunatic asylum. Somehow, Professor Van Helsing discovered that she was not there purely in a professional capacity—that she was allied with, shall we say, an opposing faction? So she was forced to flee Vienna, leaving Lucinda behind. When she heard that Frau Van Helsing had died and Lucinda had disappeared, I can’t begin to tell you how frantic she was! She assumed Van Helsing had arranged for his daughter to be kidnapped, but had no idea where she might be, and she could not return to Vienna—Van Helsing’s underlings knew her by sight. She hoped you would be able to help Lucinda in a way she could not.” Laura paused for a moment, then added, “To be perfectly honest, Miss Jekyll, Carmilla and I did not think you would be able to find Lucinda—Van Helsing is a clever, unscrupulous man. But Mina said, ‘I have confidence in Mary. If anyone can do this, she and the young women she has gathered around herself will be able to.’ As soon as she received a telegram that you had rescued Lucinda and were headed to Budapest, she sent us to meet you on the road. When we realized that you had somehow gone astray, we wired her from Sopron, telling her that we would follow your trail. I imagine she is frantic with worry. She thinks very highly of you, and evidently her faith is justified.”
If Mary were the sort of person who blushed, she would have blushed now. “Do please call me Mary,” she said. “And you know, it was really our friend Irene Norton who discovered where Lucinda was being held, and Diana who rescued her. It wasn’t my doing.”
“Right. I was the one who recued her,” said Diana. “I was the one who got her out of that Krankenwhatsit. All by myself.”
“That must have been very clever of you,” said Carmilla. She was doing that ironic thing with her eyebrows again. “You shall have to tell us all about it. However, we have arrived.”
Mary looked out the window. They had been traveling through forest, but now the road wound through a meadow with scattered copses of birch and alder. She could see a stream, meandering between banks of flowering shrubs. There was a stone bridge across it. It was a picturesque wilderness, and reminded her more of England than any place she had seen so far in her travels. In a few minutes, they had drawn up to the front door of what looked like small castle, with several round towers topped by conical roofs resembling witches’ hats. It was not as old or imposing as Hyde’s castle—or rather, Castle Karnstein—but then it was not half tumbled down either. A fairytale princess could have lived there quite comfortably.
“I thought you said it was a house,” said Diana.
“And so it is,” said Laura, smiling. “A rather fancy house to be sure—but we are in the wilds of Styria, where such properties are cheaper, I assure you, than apartments in London! My father and I moved here after he left the diplomatic service. Alas, he died several years ago, and since I lost my mother when I was very young, I was left alone—except for Carmilla, of course. It’s rather isolated, particularly in winter, but Carmilla and I like it here, don’t we, darling?” She leaned over and kissed Carmilla, evidently meaning to kiss her cheek, but at the last moment Carmilla turned her head and they kissed each other on the lips. Laura laughed. It startled Mary—what was the relationship between these two women?
Just then, Magda opened the carriage door and Carmilla handed Lucinda to her, saying something in the incomprehensible language Mary was starting to recognize as Hungarian. Justine descended from the carriage after Carmilla, stumbling a little. Was Justine all right?
Diana shoved Mary with her shoulder and said, “Get out already!” Scowling, Mary turned to get out on the other side. She stepped down carefully—she was very tired, and the circular drive was covered with gravel. She did not want to turn her ankle on the stones.
“Not bad,” said Diana. She had also descended from the carriage and was standing next to Mary, with her hands on her hips, looking up at the house—or castle.
MARY: It’s called a Schloss. That’s what small castles are called in Styria, Laura told me.
CATHERINE: Yes, but do you think our English readers are going to know that? Or our American readers? I’m hoping for some American sales, if the deal with Collier & Son comes through, and there are no Schlosses in America—just teepees and department stores.
BEATRICE: The slaughter of the native population is a shameful stain on American history. Clarence says—
CATHERINE: For goodness’ sake, how are we going to sell to readers in the United States if you go on about the slaughter of the native Americans? Who’s going to want to read about that?
BEATRICE: Those who do not want to read about it are exactly those who should be made aware, Catherine. This may be a story of our adventures, but we must not shy away from confronting the difficult issues of the times. Literature exists to educate as well as entertain, after all.
DIANA: You all went from Schlosses to teepees to a political discussion, and you think I ramble?
The schloss was indeed not bad, in Diana’s phrase. The afternoon light was shining on its windows and warming its stone walls, which were partly covered in clematis and climbing roses. It was surrounded by gardens in an informal English style, dominated by one large oak tree of majestic proportions. Behind it grew the dark pine woods so common in Styria, but they did not make the schloss seem gloomy—rather, it resembled a jewel in a box lined with green velvet.
The large, double front door was opened by what looked like a housekeeper in a proper black dress, with a proper white cap and apron—exactly what Mrs. Poole would have worn. As soon as it was open, two large white dogs bounded out into the courtyard and ran circles around Carmilla, barking excitedly. Mary hurriedly drew back behind Justine and Diana. She had no experience of dogs. They seemed to be leaping up and down, making the most terrifying noises, barks and howls! And there was Diana, right in their midst—as soon as she saw them, she had run up to them. Mary was worried—would they bite her?
But Diana was not the one she should have been worried about. As soon as Mary walked through the front door into the entrance hall—a pleasant hall, papered in a willow pattern, with furniture that glowed from frequent polishing—Justine sank to her knees, and then fell sideways onto the carpet.
Mary gasped and knelt beside Justine, forgetting all about the monstrous hounds. Once again, the Giantess had fainted.
“Is she all right?” asked Laura, kneeling down on the other side of Justine. “What a stupid question. Of course she’s not all right, or she would not be
lying on the floor. Does she perhaps have a wound she did not tell us about?”
“I don’t think so,” said Mary, loosening Justine’s collar. “There’s no sign of an injury on her, no blood anywhere.” And surely Justine would have mentioned it if she had been injured? She was too sensible to keep that sort of thing to herself. “This happens to Justine periodically, after great emotional strain. Never during—always afterward. Can we perhaps get her to a sofa, someplace she can lie in comfort until she recovers?”
“I’ll do that,” said Carmilla, who had just walked in. She took off her jacket and handed it to the housekeeper, who was hovering over Laura, looking concerned.
The housekeeper said something to Carmilla that Mary did not understand, and Carmilla responded—Mary recognized only the familiar words sal volatile. The housekeeper nodded and left on her errand.
Carmilla knelt by Justine and put one hand under her neck. Gently, she lifted Justine’s shoulders, then slid her other arm under her knees. “Mrs. Madár will bring my medical kit. I’ve already told Magda to take Lucinda up to the green bedroom. If you will excuse me, Mary. . . .”
Mary stood and stepped back. As easily as she had lifted Lucinda, Carmilla lifted Justine—although her legs hung down in an awkward fashion so that she looked like a very large rag doll. Mary followed Carmilla across the hall and into the parlor—a charming parlor with beautiful old furniture, polished to perfection and just shabby enough to be pleasing. There were shelves filled with books, and a great deal of light from the windows, which were framed by curtains of Nottingham lace. Carmilla placed Justine on a large sofa upholstered in Toile de Jouy.
BEATRICE: Would Mary have noticed all those details, if she was worried about Justine?
CATHERINE: Those are from your notes, from when we stopped at the schloss last summer while we were trying to find Prince Rupert to get the money he owed us. I don’t think Mary would have noticed those sorts of details even if she had not been worried. But I have to describe the room somehow, don’t I? I can’t have all of you moving around in indistinguishable spaces—the Train Station, the Castle Courtyard, the Parlor!
European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman (The Extraordinary Adventures of the Athena Club Book 2) Page 43
