BEATRICE: You are one of those women, Mary. Look at how you’ve made a home for us here.
DIANA: You don’t make me feel comfortable. Mina let me wear whatever I wanted, and she didn’t criticize me all the time.
BEATRICE: Diana, aren’t you even a little grateful to your sister for providing a home for you—for all of us?
DIANA: Only on alternate Tuesdays.
It was almost an hour later that Mary left the bathroom, damp and scented and so sleepy that she had been worried she was going to fall asleep in the water. It would have been a sadly anticlimactic end to her adventures if she drowned in a bathtub! As she made her way back down the dark hall, she saw a light under the door of Justine’s bedroom. Could Justine have left the lamp burning? She should check and make sure that Justine had not fallen sleep.
She knocked quietly on the door and heard a “Kommen Sie herein!”
She opened the door and looked in. Justine was sitting up in bed with a book in her hand.
“I thought you’d gone to sleep,” said Mary. “I was afraid you’d left the lamp burning, and I thought I’d better check.”
“I assumed you were the maid,” said Justine. “Alas, I have tried, but I have not been able to sleep. I was just reading.”
Mary wrapped the robe more tightly around herself. The floor was cold under her bare feet. She walked over to the bed and looked at the book in Justine’s hands. It was a large book, bound in leather, and on its cover was written The Holy Bible. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
Justine put the Bible down on the coverlet beside her. “You mean . . .”
“Whatever happened with Adam. Whatever the two of you were talking about, while I was trying to deal with my father. I mean Hyde. Before we heard the shots.”
Justine looked down at her hands. For a long moment, she was silent, and Mary wondered whether she would say anything at all. Then suddenly, she put her hands over her face and began to sob—violent, choking sobs that shook her body. Mary was so startled that she did not know what to do. She was not good at this sort of thing—all the others knew that. They came to her for logical reasoning, not emotional reassurance. What in the world should she do—or say? Then she thought, What would Laura do in this circumstance? Of course . . . She sat on the side of the bed beside Justine, scooted over so she was right up next to her, and put her arms around the sobbing Giantess.
Justine looked up at her, startled, as though wondering what in the world Mary, of all people, was doing there. But then she returned to crying—more quietly now, more calmly. In a few minutes, she sniffed and wiped her eyes, then her nose. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to do that.”
“Justine, what happened? I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But sometimes it’s better just to tell someone. Sometimes . . .” Oh, for goodness’ sake, how did one do this? There ought to be a rule book. Why was ordinary human sympathy so difficult?
Justine sniffed loudly and wiped her face with her hands. It was red and splotchy. One never looks attractive after a hard cry.
DIANA: I bet Beatrice does.
CATHERINE: That’s because she’s like a plant. They don’t look much the worse after a storm. They just bend back up again.
BEATRICE: Catherine, that makes absolutely no sense. A storm can destroy vegetation. It can break branches, flatten reeds. . . .
CATHERINE: I was being poetic.
“It is difficult to talk about,” said Justine. For a long moment, she did not say anything, and Mary thought that might be the end of it. She wondered if she should bid Justine good night and go to bed. It was late, after all.
But then Justine said, “He asked me to forgive him. He wanted me to pray with him and asked for my forgiveness.”
“That . . . doesn’t sound like Adam,” said Mary, doubtfully.
“Oh, he railed against me for not loving him. Railed—that is right, is it not? He could not understand why I did not see myself as his chosen spouse. Made as we are, he said, who else would ever want us?”
“Yes, that’s more like him! What a—” Mary tried to think of the right word. Fiend? Monster? How could one describe the despicable cruelty of someone like Adam?
“But he also asked me to forgive him. He still hoped his condition could be cured—he thought Lucinda’s blood, if he could get enough of it, might cure him. He did not understand why it had not done so already. But if he died, he wanted to die with my forgiveness.”
“And?” There were streaks on Justin’s face where tears had run down to her chin. Mary wished she had a handkerchief. Instead, she wiped Justine’s cheeks with the sleeve of her nightgown. “Did you forgive him?”
Justine looked at her with red, puffed eyes. “How could I? After all he had done . . . And I could not lie to him, Mary. There was no forgiveness in my heart, so there could be none on my lips. I told him so. I told him that he should ask forgiveness of God, whose compassion was infinite. He would forgive Adam—I, in my human frailty, could not. I told him that I would pray with him, and so we prayed together. I had never known him to be religious before.”
“So that’s what I saw when I came to get you. I wondered . . .”
“Yes, although I think perhaps he just wanted to hold my hands. Mary, was I wrong not to forgive him? I’ve been reading the Holy Book, and everywhere it tells me that we should forgive those who have sinned against us. Have I become a sinner myself, in not forgiving his sins?”
“Hell no!” Oh goodness, Mary had not meant it to come out like that. “No, of course not,” she added more gently. “Anyway, if God can forgive him for murdering seven women—or more, we do not know the full extent of his crimes—then I strongly suspect He can forgive you for not being more charitable. Adam does not deserve either your forgiveness or your compassion.”
Justine smiled wanly. “You sound like an avenging angel.”
Mary had to smile at that image of herself. “On your behalf, I’ll be happy to hold the flaming sword of . . . I don’t remember. Whoever guarded the gates of Eden or something like that. Anyway, what matters is, you need to forgive yourself, and also go to sleep. Laura said we would need to leave for Budapest at dawn. We should both get some rest.”
“All right.” Justine leaned back against the pillows. She certainly did not look happy, but she seemed more at peace. “Thank you, Mary. I feel as though, on this journey, we have gotten to know each other so much better.”
They certainly had! There was nothing quite like being kidnapped and escaping together to increase one’s understanding of another person. Mary was silent for a moment. Then, she said, “Justine, I don’t know if I should ask this, but . . . Laura and Carmilla. Are they—”
“Together?” said Justine. “Yes, they are a couple. Have you not read Sappho?”
“That’s Greek, right? I never learned Greek. She was a poetess, I do know that.” Absentmindedly, Mary smoothed the cover, then realized it was her mother’s gesture. That was just how her mother had tucked Mary in at night when she was still a child. She felt a sudden impulse to tuck Justine in, and wondered if Justine would be offended. “I’m glad they have each other. Just as I’m glad we all have one another—even Diana!” She squeezed Justine’s hand and said, “Good night. May I take the lamp? The hall is quite dark.” Justine nodded, then pulled up the coverlet and closed her eyes. Mary gave the coverlet a final pat before making her way down the hall to her own bedroom.
When she finally climbed into her bed, Diana was snoring—ordinarily, it would have annoyed her, but tonight she was reassured by the sound. All three of them were free, and together, and safe—at least for one night. Tomorrow would bring more dangers and obstacles, but . . . the rest of the thought slid away into dreams.
She woke to Laura shaking her. “Time to get up, I’m afraid. We’ll leave as soon as it’s light enough to see the road. Júlia has put out fresh clothes for all of you, and there are pastries and chocolate waiting for us downstairs. Diana is
already having breakfast.”
She would be! Mary rose groggily and murmured a vague good morning. After Laura had left the room, she washed her face in the basin, which had obviously already been used once—by Diana, she supposed, because there was water splashed everywhere, and the towel was crumpled. Then she put on the walking suit that had been left out for her. It was the most fashionable outfit she had ever worn—without decoration of any sort, but cut with great precision, in a dark blue cashmere that felt almost like silk. It must be Laura’s? And there were fresh underclothes as well, which felt positively luxurious. By the time she descended to the first floor—a maid she had not seen the night before directed her to the morning room—Justine and Diana were both sitting at a table, having their breakfast. She was not particularly pleased to see that Diana was once again in masculine attire. Probably one of Carmilla’s outfits, for the trousers were rolled up at the cuffs but otherwise fit well.
Of course, Justine was also dressed as a man. “Good morning,” she said to Mary gently. She looked better and stronger than she had the night before. “Laura gave me one of her father’s suits.” The trousers were a too short and the jacket hung on her slender frame, but they fit well enough. Once again all three of them looked clean and respectable—although dreadfully tired. Even Diana, usually so energetic, stifled a yawn. One of the dogs, Mary was not sure which, was sitting under the table, looking up at Diana and whining, as though for its own breakfast.
Mary had just enough time to eat half a pastry filled with some sort of sweet cheese and drink half a cup of thick, dark chocolate before Laura came into the room and announced, “All right, we’re ready. Carmilla is waiting for us out front.”
“But I haven’t finished,” said Diana, her mouth filled with what she had just chewed, and hanging open in dismay.
“Bring whatever you want with you,” said Laura. “But come on—the motor is running.”
The what? But as they stepped outside the schloss, onto the circular drive, Mary realized what Laura had meant and why they would be in Budapest that evening. Carmilla was standing in front of a motorcar! And there was the other dog beside her. When it saw Diana, it barked once.
Not that Mary had ever seen a motorcar, but what else could it be? It looked a little like a clarence, with an open seat up front for the driver and an enclosed carriage behind for passengers, but there were no traces at all. Instead, sticking up from the floor in front of the driver’s seat were a wheel, presumably to steer, and several levers that probably made it go. It was black, and shone as though brand new. Mary could scarcely believe her eyes. A motorcar? In the wilds of Styria?
“Bloody brilliant!” Diana strode past her, hands in pockets, and walked around the motorcar, admiring it from all angles. One of the wolfdogs loped beside her—the one from the breakfast room? Yes, it must have followed her out, because there they both were, the two white wolfdogs, circling and sniffing, the way dogs do.
“Just what Carmilla needs!” said Laura in a tone that meant the opposite. “Someone to admire her prized possession. Do you have any idea how much that contraption cost? It was why she agreed to rent Castle Karnstein to Hyde in the first place!”
“Are you complaining about this beauty again?” said Carmilla, smiling. “You won’t be complaining when we arrive in Budapest by nightfall! It can go three times as fast as a horse, and it never tires. We would have driven it to the castle yesterday, but Laura said it would be too noisy for a rescue operation.”
“You could have bought a dozen horses and a landau fit for Queen Victoria at that price!” said Laura. “It’s broken down once already, remember?”
“Someday, no one will use horses anymore. Everyone will travel by motorcar,” said Carmilla. “Come look at her, Mary, Justine. Isn’t she beautiful? She is a Benz phaeton, designed for me by Bertha Benz herself. No one else has a motorcar like this—not yet! Karl Benz may have patented her design, but Bertha is the brains behind the Benz company, as you say in English. Magda is bringing Lucinda down. There is room for three of you inside, but one of you will need to sit up front with us.”
“I call the front!” said Diana, raising her hand as though she had the answer to a question in school. Mary could not imagine why anyone would want to sit in that front seat, which looked so precarious behind a complete absence of horses. She shuddered just a little at the thought that they were going to be driving in that machine all the way to Budapest.
“Look, I’ll show you where the petrol goes,” said Carmilla.
Just then, one of the dogs started growling and running back and forth. It was a little larger than the other, so it must be Hades. Persephone stood still, but her ears were pricked up. She was turned away from them, looking toward the road that led to the schloss. Hades turned back to Carmilla and barked a warning.
“What is it?” asked Justine. “What do they sense?”
Carmilla stood still as well, as though listening. Then she said, “A carriage, coming this way. Laura, tell Magda to bring Lucinda down now. We need to leave as soon as possible. It will be here in a few minutes.”
“Itt vagyok, grófn,” said Magda. Mary turned at the sound of her voice. She was standing right behind them with Lucinda in her arms.
“Get in, everyone!” said Laura. “Hades and Persephone never give warning without good reason. I suspect . . .” But she did not say what she suspected. Instead, she said something to Magda in Hungarian. A moment later, Lucinda was stowed in the back of the phaeton.
“I think we’d better sit on either side of her,” said Mary to Justine. “Perhaps we can squeeze Diana in as well. . . .”
“No way!” said Diana. “I’m not sitting in that stuffy carriage with you and creepy Lucinda. I’m sitting up front, where all the excitement is.” Mary did not like the idea, but this was no time to argue. Carmilla was already doing something with one of the levers. Suddenly, Mary heard a roar, as though a lion had jumped out of the forest and was about to attack them. She had been about to climb into the motorcar, but she was so startled that she almost fell back. She looked wildly around for the source of the noise, then realized it was the motorcar itself. It was shuddering under her hand, as though she were in the middle of an earthquake.
“It’s all right, Mary,” said Justine, who was already sitting inside. She had to speak loudly to make herself heard. “It’s just noise, that’s all. You’ll see, it’s quite comfortable in here!”
“But now you see what I don’t like about it!” said Laura. “The noise, and then the petrol has a stench . . . Well, I suppose we mustn’t stand in the way of progress!” She seated herself in the front, next to Diana. Hopefully she would keep Diana from doing anything stupid while the motorcar was moving!
Mary climbed into the back of the motorcar reluctantly. Was it really going to shake and shudder like that all the way to Budapest?
Laura turned and said, through the window that allowed passengers in the back to converse with the driver. “Are you both comfortable? Is Lucinda quite all right?”
Well, no, not exactly—she was still unconscious, lying on Justine’s shoulder with her eyes closed. On her lips was a fresh spot of blood—she must have fed already that morning. But she seemed as well as could be expected under the circumstances. She was in some sort of loose dressing-gown, and Magda had wrapped her up well in a plaid blanket, probably the same one that had been on the parlor sofa last night.
Then Mary heard it, even over the noise of the motor car—carriage wheels, and the whinny of horses! Coming up the road was a vehicle she immediately recognized, with Miklós Ferenc on the box. It was the coach in which they had been kidnapped! When the coach turned into the circular drive, she could see Dénes Ferenc on the seat above the boot, holding a rifle. And there, with his face at the open window, was Hyde.
“I was wondering how soon he would show up,” said Laura. “Carmilla! We need to go!”
“Then you were expecting him?” said Mary.
“Of cour
se! Although I didn’t know how soon we would have to confront him again. The Ferencs would have told him that we had rescued you—I knew he would follow as soon as he could. We were safe at night—the roads around here are too treacherous to travel in the dark. You could end up at the bottom of a ravine, or driving into a tree. But it looks as though he must have left before dawn. Carmilla, aren’t we leaving?”
“Not yet,” said Carmilla. “Not . . . quite . . . yet. Is our Home Guard in place?”
What in the world could she mean? Mary looked back toward the schloss. There, emerging from the front door, were Mrs. Madár, and the maid that had given her directions the night before, who was probably Júlia, and another maid, and another, and what looked like the cook. All of them were carrying weapons of some sort, either pistols or rifles or what appeared to be pikes, and they formed a line behind Magda, who stood with her arms crossed, with Hades and Persephone on either side of her. Everything about her seemed to proclaim, You shall not pass. Somehow, the two dogs looked larger and fiercer than Mary remembered—now it was clear that they were partly wolves. They were both growling in the direction of Hyde’s coach. If she had seen them like this last night, she would not have dared touch them, and would have tried to keep Diana away for fear they might attack.
The coach stopped. Dénes Ferenc jumped down from his seat and walked to the door where she had seen Hyde’s face a moment ago. Was Hyde about to descend? Was Carmilla planning to confront him? Mary had no idea what was going to happen.
“Now!” said Carmilla. She shifted one of the levers, and suddenly the motorcar leaped ahead. She was driving it straight toward the horses! Terrified of this roaring machine, they reared up, one trying to turn away from the noise, the other backing into the traces. The coach lurched back and then from side to side. Dénes Ferenc ran to get out of the way. Were they going to hit the horses? No, at the last moment Carmilla swerved to the right and drove around the coach. As they passed, Mary could see Hyde’s face at the window. He seemed to be shouting something, but she could not hear what it was. Then they were roaring down the drive and onto the road, between banks of wildflowers.
European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman (The Extraordinary Adventures of the Athena Club Book 2) Page 46
