Sepia and Silver (Tragic Silence Book 3)

by E. C. Hibbs

  As the music changed to a waltz, Henry appeared, asking if he could cut in. Benjamin graciously passed me over. Henry grasped my hand and began moving through the steps with me.

  “Are you alright, my dear?” he asked, notching my quietness.

  “Yes,” I replied softly. “I am most content.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “You truly are a rare beauty. I cannot say how happy I am to welcome you into my family.”

  I smiled as cordially as I could manage. “You pay me such a gracious compliment, Sir. I’m honoured. Thank you.”

  Henry smiled at me, eyes flickering momentarily to the thick necklace I was wearing. I’d chosen it on purpose, because the low collar of my evening dress would have otherwise exposed my scar. I fought not to squirm; to check that it hadn’t moved on my skin.

  But there appeared to be nothing amiss, because Henry turned his attention back to my face, bowed, and moved away into the crowd without another word.

  As soon as the party was over, plans for the wedding itself got underway. I learned that it was to be a short waiting period, as Margaret was still obsessed with having the ceremony as soon as possible. I suspected she couldn’t wait to see me out of the house.

  But I was overjoyed to learn that, now I was engaged, there was no further need for constant chaperoning. I bid farewell and tight-lipped thanks to Miss Lockwood, watching her walk away from me one final time, content in the knowledge that neither she nor Margaret would follow me again. And when Benjamin suggested a daytrip outside the city, I jumped at the chance to finally taste fresh air without feeling the two women breathing down my neck.

  Clad in the least-constricting dark dress that I could find, Benjamin took me to the railway station, my hand tucked in his arm. A monstrous steam engine came hurtling from the underground, belching black smoke over the ceiling, and we boarded quickly to escape the fumes before speeding away.

  A revolutionary tunnel had been constructed beneath the Mersey, allowing passage from the bustle of Liverpool to the neighbouring Wirral peninsula. After an apparent eternity of staring out of the windows at the abyssal walls, I was completely unprepared for the explosion of light and colour that came when we reached the other side. Hissing, I covered my eyes with my hand.

  “Eva, are you alright?” Benjamin asked.

  “Yes,” I muttered, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear my vision. “I’m fine. Don’t mind me.”

  I ignored my mounting headache as the train chugged on, eventually depositing us in a tiny village peppered with black and white townhouses. A long promenade ran along its edge, granting views of water sparkling blue in the midday sun. Across the waves to the west jutted another stretch of land, stretching towards the horizon in an array of mountains and isolated headlands.

  “That’s Wales” said Benjamin proudly, gesturing towards it. “All of my father’s mines are over there.”

  “Have you ever visited?” I asked, putting up my parasol so I could shield my face from the glare. We passed another couple and nodded graciously to them, Benjamin doffing his hat.

  “Several times,” he replied. “I’ll take you there one day. It is majestic: the peaks and little rivers are a sight to see.”

  “It sounds beautiful,” I admitted.

  Benjamin smiled at me, and then I felt his hand appear gently on my waist. “Just like you.”

  I quickly forced myself not to jump. I knew he was allowed to touch me like this now I wore his ring on my finger. But after seven months of becoming accustomed to a society where close physical contact was not usually done, it came as a shock to me. I had never so much as even shared an embrace with my own grandfather.

  I swallowed, and the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  “Is that all, Sir?”

  A frown traced Benjamin’s clean brow. “Is what all?”

  He guided me over to a bench concealed beneath a pretty black veranda, and we sat side by side, his arm still around my waist. I was grateful for the shade, but there was no escaping the turn I had forced our conversation into.

  “I’m honoured that you think so highly of my face,” I said carefully, “but what else do you see in me, please? Attractive features are not all that matter, are they?”

  Benjamin’s eyes widened slightly, and I felt a quiver of fear that I had overstepped my bounds. But then I steeled myself. Why shouldn’t I question his motives? I had every right to know him, didn’t I?

  To my vague surprise, he chuckled and actually pulled me a little closer.

  “Oh, my, this is precisely the reason!” he said, looking at me with an unwavering and honest gaze. “You are so open; your mind so unpolluted to the things that have not been forced upon you since birth.”

  “Is that not unappealing?”

  “To some, it would be. But not to me. The world is changing, Eva. In a few years, we will be living in the twentieth century. And for as much as my father and Margaret mightn’t want to admit it, I have a feeling that not everything will remain so clear-cut.”

  I frowned, not having expected this kind of reaction from him at all. I was pleased to find that he would not persecute me for being truthful. I knew there was no way out of our union, but it seemed we were more of the same mind than I had previously acknowledged. His kind could not have been further from the life I had come from, which I had determined to never forget, even if fortune saw fit to promise my hand to a king.

  But beneath the thin layer of societal pressure, there was something about Benjamin which drew me. All men would be sure to have their faults, from prince to pauper. How could I be so vain to expect anyone to be perfect, in face or manner?

  I found myself believing that there was another, more peculiar kind of beauty to the souls of everyone. Individuals, who displayed the conventions expected of them, but yet strived to show their true colours. I saw them in Benjamin now: those of a sweet-natured and somewhat naive young man, arguably more befitting of Margaret’s snide label of a hopeless romantic. But I couldn’t deny the warmth that his eyes sent through me; the sincere feeling that even though we had not come into this merger by chance; he truly did care for me. The least I could do in return was to try.

  I returned his generous smile, and angled my body subtly, letting myself relax a little more against his side. In response, he gave my fingers a tender stroke, before leaning in and planting a kiss on my lips.

  I drew a surprised breath. The gesture was quick and chaste; breached no etiquette. Yet it solidified the situation greater than any lavishness.

  It was happening. Now it was simply a matter of time.

  We carried on, along the promenade, eyes flitting between each other and the sea. But then I felt a sudden burning sensation in my free hand and glanced down, only barely holding back a gasp of dismay. My skin, usually alabaster pale, was blushed a fiery pink, and deep pain dug through to my bones.

  Realising it was the sun; I quickly pressed the afflicted area into the protective shadows of my skirt, and angled my parasol, casting every single inch of exposed flesh into shadow.

  *

  In the late afternoon, we returned to my house, and were surprised to find Henry already there, having come around to take tea with Margaret. Benjamin and I duly joined them in the parlour, with Benjamin lighting up a cigarette.

  The window was open, letting the soft breeze filter in and disturb the stifling air. I expressed silent gratitude that there was no need for a constant fire in this season, and the lamps were lit much later. My headache had not improved at all since leaving the train, and the gas fumes never helped matters like that.

  “Goodness, Eva, your hand!” Margaret cried suddenly. “Oh, it’s unsightly! You are as pink as anything; you have taken too much sun!”

  “I feel well, Mrs Calvin,” I replied, spreading clotted cream over a scone and then nibbling its edge. “I was not in the sun for too long. Mr Jones will testify to that.”

  “Indeed,” said Benjamin from be
side me; then blew out a plume of smoke from his cigarette. “I would never have allowed this otherwise. I’m so terribly sorry, Eva; Mrs Calvin.”

  “There’s no need to apologise,” I insisted with a small grin.

  Then I turned my eyes to the patch of enflamed skin. It had calmed a little since I first noticed it, but was still very visible. I tapped Christine’s arm as she passed me and asked for her to bring a cold compress. Then my mouth began to tingle alarmingly, and I cleared my throat, blinking hard.

  I glanced up and noticed Henry also inspecting the mark from across the room. “Do you feel faint?”

  I had a mind to confess that I did, no thanks to the ludicrous corset, but quickly held my tongue.

  “No, not at all. I just feel...” I swallowed nervously, “thirsty.”

  “Mm.” Henry returned to his scone.

  “Drink your tea, then,” said Margaret, taking my cup and refilling it from the pot. I added some milk, barely stopping myself from downing the contents in one. Then I noticed the day’s newspaper spread on a side-table, so I supposed Henry had bought it on his way here from Weaver House. The headline read: ANOTHER MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE IN THE KIRKDALE DISTRICT.

  Benjamin observed the direction of my eyes and craned his neck to see.

  “Oh, not more,” he muttered. “I’ve lost count of how many it’s been now.”

  I gritted my teeth for a moment.

  “How long has it been happening?” I asked innocently.

  “It’s picked up a lot in the last few months,” replied Henry, balancing some red jam on the side of a knife, “but for a while, to be honest. Though it was usually one every eight or nine weeks; not a steady stream like this.”

  “Drunkards, no doubt,” said Margaret, her indifference plainly obvious. “They probably just took too much of their poison of choice, and found the river instead of their doorsteps.”

  I swallowed hard, silently alarmed at how unknowingly accurate her statement was.

  “Well, Mrs Calvin,” Henry said, “I personally do not think they are simple disappearances. And nor do the police – or so I should hope.”

  “Really, Sir? Then what would you say they are?”

  “Murders.”

  I stared at Henry, hurriedly taking a sip of tea. I noticed my hand shaking slightly and forced it to be still, just as he glanced up, flitting his gaze between the three of us.

  “Oh, honestly, Mr Jones!” cried Margaret airily. “The things you say!”

  “I am deathly serious, Madam,” Henry insisted. “It all has a feeling of being orchestrated, don’t you think? I am certain that someone is behind these beastly acts. I only hope with all my might that they catch him soon.”

  My heart thundered. I prayed that my face was still under control and could not betray the maelstrom of nerves now storming inside. However, the subject seemed to be dropped then; clearly it was too gruesome a subject for Margaret to allow over such a light tea. And I was instantly relieved when Christine reappeared with a damp cloth.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to her; then wrapped it around my hand. But she didn’t leave, and instead produced two envelopes.

  “Please, Miss, these came for you while you were out,” she said.

  “Are they from your cousins?” Benjamin inquired with genuine interest. He leaned backwards slightly in his chair so he could better see the stamps.

  “Yes,” I muttered. “I’ll open them later.”

  “Oh, there’s no need to be bashful. You cannot hear from them all that often,” said Benjamin. “Read them now, by all means. I shall not be offended.”

  I smiled at him. “You are too kind, Sir,” I said, peeling open the paper of the topmost letter. Then I unfolded it and let my eyes wander over the lines of Hungarian.

  They were in a different hand than what I was used to, which I recognised as belonging to Erik. That surprised me; I had barely received correspondence from him since he completed his move to Buda-Pesth. I forced myself to focus.

  3rd June, 1895.

  Dear Éva,

  It is with the greatest urgency and utmost sorrow that I must send you this message. I only hope it reaches you in good time. I give all my condolences and good thoughts, sweet girl, for I regret to be the one to inform you that our Zíta has passed away.

  I received word of it only this morning from József. He told me that she was taken ill very suddenly with an aggressive bout of consumption: she coughed constantly and spat blood, and withered in weight until he could do no more for her. She left this life peacefully in her sleep, on the last day of the previous month.

  I cannot say how much it despairs me to bear this bad news to you, Éva. Please rest assured that she is now in the kingdom of bliss with our beloved parents, and her suffering was not long. I know she would have not have wished for either of us to weep. Once again, I am terribly sorry, and know that I love you.

  Yours, Erik.

  I felt my face slowly draining of blood. I stared at the paper, hoping desperately that I’d misread it. My eyes scanned it in frenzy, but there was no mistake, and my breath caught in my throat with horror.

  Benjamin noticed, because he put a hand on my arm to encourage me to look at him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I didn’t speak; my tongue suddenly felt too large for my mouth. A film of tears spread over my eyes.

  “My cousin...” I choked out; then lapsed into Hungarian. “Nem! Istenem, Zíta!”

  “Goodness, girl!” Margaret snapped. “What’s happened?”

  But I couldn’t bear it. I let distress take me, not bothering to try holding back as I wailed like a child. The letter fell to the floor; I buried my face in my hands.

  “Eva, please, what is the matter?” Benjamin cried, putting his arm around me in comfort. “You must tell me; I cannot read your language.”

  I gritted my teeth, waiting for a momentary break in the wave of sobs. “My cousin, Zíta... she is dead!”

  That was all I could manage and I collapsed into myself, curling over as though I had been dealt a physical blow to the stomach. My head swarmed with images as my imagination ran wild. I saw her face before me: that round and ruddy complexion which never seemed to change. To think of it thin and drawn, covered in cold sweat, was something near unfathomable.

  Zíta had always been the healthy one; it was me, or Erik, or everyone else in the village, who knew sickness. Nothing had ever sunk its hooks into her. She was too strong; too wilful against everything dark in the world, to let it get the better of her.

  I reminded myself she’d seen demons at their worst. It had always appeared to me that after such experiences, no kind of earthly shadows would be able to drain her.

  Benjamin rubbed my shoulder, muttering heartfelt apologies. George and Christine came too, but I paid nobody any heed. Driven madly to do something besides cry, I snatched Erik’s letter from the carpet and pressed it to my chest. I didn’t even think to open the second envelope.

  Benjamin and George each took one of my arms, and guided me up the stairs in a haze. I let them lead me, clumsily lifting the hem of my dress so I wouldn’t tread on it. They took me to my bedchamber, sitting me in the chair by the hearth. Benjamin knelt before me, cupping my cheek in his palm.

  “I’m so sorry, Eva,” he whispered, running a thumb along my skin. “Truly, I am.”

  I managed a shaky nod of thanks, fleetingly holding my fingers over his. Then he got to his feet and smiled grimly at George, who showed him to the door. I watched wordlessly, hands shaking in my lap.

  “Call me if you need anything, Miss. Alright?” said George, his eyes alight with concern.

  “Yes. Thank you,” I replied. “I will.”

  George offered me a sincere look. “Take care, Miss. Take as long as you need for yourself, like,” he said; then pulled the door shut behind him.

  I turned my eyes back to rest on the tiny fire in the grate, allowed to burn low until it was a perfect mixture of pink and red.
My vision quickly shifted, until all I could see were the little colourful flashes which had so fascinated me as a child. Daring to believe in them again: something beautiful where there could be none, I fancied I heard my cousin whispering, telling me of the sprites beginning their search for a new and better home.

  CHAPTER XVII

  I didn’t leave my room for the next few days, and everybody learned quickly that I did not wish to be disturbed. I put the envelopes in the bottom of my wardrobe so I couldn’t look at Erik’s words again. Between weeping uncontrollably into my pillow, I would pace the floor; or sit aimlessly in my chair, staring at the flames.

  My skin turned cold as I constantly replayed imaginings of Zíta’s final moments. They inevitably mingled with my memories of Norman, and despite myself, I felt a piercing guilt for my cousin, even though I knew that I was not to blame this time.

  But then my mind began to whisper poison to me, working into my heart as it rang horribly true. She had been worried about me. To her, the demonic malady that had befallen me, hundreds of miles from her guiding hand, was the worst that could strike somebody this side of death.

  I knew that for certain: in Zíta’s eyes, nothing could be more terrible than a vampire. In the grip of such intense anxiety, could I honestly deny I was innocent of this demise as well?

  I wrung my hands, and pulled open the armoire so I could view myself in the full-length mirror on the inside of the door. Standing before it, I coolly surveyed my body; hidden and compressed beneath the grey dress, distorted by faint pinstripes and protrusions of stiff crepe. My spine was forced straight and proper; raven hair fixed into a ball of plaits.

  Now Zíta was gone, how was I supposed to discover how to avoid death from the venom raging inside me?

  I suddenly exclaimed in disgust and snatched the pins from my bun, shaking my head until my locks tumbled freely to my hips. Then I unbuttoned the front of my clothes with all haste; wrenched the lacings of my corset apart, and kicked everything aside until I was clad in nothing but my undergarments. The only thing I left untouched was my locket.