by E. C. Hibbs
I had been surprised to hear that the ceremony was not to take place in a church after all, but in Weaver House itself. But when we came up the driveway and drew to a halt outside, I was immediately taken by what had been done to the place. The incredible decorations of the engagement party paled in comparison. There wasn’t a single surface not thronged with garlands and bouquets; white ribbons laced every balustrade and fireplace in sight. And the whole building reverberated with the hum of finely-dressed guests, waiting for me in the parlour.
I kept myself concealed from view in the foyer, as Benjamin escorted Margaret inside, taking the time to quickly adjust my gown. Then I took George’s arm, giving him a nervous smile.
“Don’t look so frightened,” he assured under his breath.
“I’ll try,” I whispered in return. “Thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Miss Éva,” he said. “Are you ready?”
“As well as I can be, I suppose.” I swallowed, straightening my back. George squeezed my hand comfortingly, and led me through the doors, down the centre of the room.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to acknowledge the people around me, but I couldn’t help it, and let my eyes dart left and right. I recognised a few faces from the many parties I’d attended since arriving in England; some relatives of the Jones family who I had met during the engagement. I found Miss Lockwood; and Christine standing hidden away at the side, dressed in her best clothes.
Before I knew it, we were standing at the front of the room, Benjamin on my right. George stood to the side, and the clergyman began reciting from behind the table in front of us. I kept my eyes lowered as passages were read and hymns sung; then turned to face my bridegroom for the vows. I ensured to make them slowly and with confidence, looking deeply into his eyes, trying to tell him in some silent language how much he meant to me. As my earthly voice spoke the required words of matrimony, my inner one lavished him, promising with all my heart that I would never hurt him, never give him cause to hate me.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” I vaguely heard Benjamin say, as he slipped one finger out of a special slit in my glove so the golden band could slide into position.
I gave him as large a smile as I dared, letting time fall off me like a spring rain as the clergyman declared the union. Then I grasped the quill to sign my name in the register.
For a moment, my hand hovered, realising the weight of what I was about to do. I was to be Éva Kálvin no longer. As soon as I lifted the nib from the paper, who I had always been would be gone.
I suddenly remembered standing outside the Hattyúpatak church almost a year ago, just after the anniversary service for the Final Purge. Watching my cousins lay the wreath at Alexander Farkas’s grave; József came beside me, and spoke of my being lucky, because I had survived when death should surely have taken me. I now knew the Izcacus had never meant to kill me when he tore the wound in my throat, but that was beside the point. If I hadn’t taken up Erik’s axe and defended myself, he would have surely done away with me in the same manner he had poor Ilona. In that respect, I had cheated death; and all because I had fought.
“I am simply Éva.”
“Indeed you are. Éva Kálvin. Never forget that.”
With a tiny smile of content, I signed my name.
*
The rest of the afternoon was a gathering to rival anything given before. In the drawing room, we were greeted to a superb reception as Benjamin led me to my seat behind a table, wearing me on his arm as though I were the finest rose plucked from the Queen’s garden. We received the guests with smiles and good words before the food was brought out. The company were served standing, and began talking amongst themselves as the hour wore on.
“I can’t wait until all this is over,” Benjamin muttered to me. “I must have you on that train as soon as I can.”
I smiled, remembering his mention the first time we met how he wasn’t fond of social gatherings.
“Are you going to tell me our destination?”
“And spoil the secret? Of course not! Patience is a virtue, my darling. Ah, Father!”
Benjamin stood and shook Henry by the hand. I glanced up at him, hoping a nervous swallow was hidden by my high collar.
“Congratulations, my lad,” Henry beamed, before turning his eyes on me. “You truly have the most beautiful girl in England.”
“You are too kind, Sir,” I replied, lifting my hand for him to kiss. When his lips brushed my knuckles, I fought to suppress a shudder, suddenly imagining the sharp teeth not an inch from my flesh.
After he left us and Benjamin took his seat again, I shot a fleeting look at my husband. Did he know about his father? Or was Henry like me, hiding behind a mask of virtue?
We cut the cake, handing out slices to the guests and thanking them for their attendance as they gradually filtered away. There was no music or entertainment to be had, since the event wasn’t being held in the evening. Benjamin had made it clear that he wanted to catch the five o’ clock train without delay. Soon there were only a few people left, so the two of us slipped upstairs to separate rooms, where a change of clothes was waiting for us. With the help of a couple of the household’s female servants, I worked free of my gown and got into the more comfortable travelling dress, tying a bonnet over my hair.
When we came back to the drawing room, the only ones left were Henry, Margaret, George and Christine; and a carriage ready on the driveway, pulled by four white horses. After saying our goodbyes, Benjamin helped me into the open-topped vehicle before following himself. The remaining guests threw rice after us as we pulled away into the streets towards the railway station. Benjamin clasped my hand warmly, not letting go for a second, even once we had boarded the steaming train.
“Now there’s nobody to overhear,” he smirked from the opposite seat in our compartment. “I’ll tell you we’re going to Whitby.”
“Where’s that?” I asked.
“To the north-east of here. We’ll be travelling through the night, but should be there in the morning.”
I smiled at him; then turned my attention out of the window at the landscape of rolling green hills. Benjamin obviously didn’t want me to be distracted by anything though, because he came to sit beside me, putting an arm around my waist.
“You’ll love it up there, Eva,” he said, stroking my cheek gently. “I know it.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” I replied. “How many days shall we be there?”
“A week. That should be long enough,” he chuckled; then leaned in for a kiss.
I hesitated for a moment before closing my eyes and letting him take me. It was the fullest gesture of affection he’d ever given me. I knew the only reason he hadn’t done anything like this earlier was because of his high sense of etiquette, but now we were married, there was nothing between us. As Margaret had callously said, I belonged to him now. Yet that notion didn’t repulse me as I reached up to hold him. Despite my initial resistance to being married off, he was too kind and tender for me to loathe.
But then my memory sparked with an unwanted intrusion. His warm lips were soft on mine: loving, yet undemanding. Completely unlike those I had felt in the park.
I broke away, gasping, trying to will the vision of James from my head. I didn’t need it now. I wouldn’t be found in Whitby. For a blissful seven days, I could be free with Benjamin, free of the demon’s poisonous influence, free of having to wonder exactly what he meant to me.
“Are you alright?” Benjamin whispered, a note of concern lacing his voice.
I nodded, perfecting my composure. “Yes.”
He ran a finger along the lace of my bonnet. “I know it must have been tough for you today, what with poor Norman not being there. It was such a shame that he couldn’t give you away to me. But please don’t worry yourself over it, my darling. Please, let’s just be happy, the two of us.”
“We will be happy,” I said. “I am sure of it.”
Benjamin tightened his emb
race, holding me close, resting his chin atop my head. I let my cheek fall on his shoulder, letting the smell of his cologne overcome my senses.
Then I picked up something else: a roaring in my ears, of hot human blood, just beneath me. Inadvertently, my eyes lingered over his neck, seeing a vein protruding from just above his white collar. I could almost feel it against my own skin, moving through his body, like a raging scarlet river.
Realising what was happening, I hurriedly clamped down on my self-control with every ounce of energy I had. I would not harm him. I could never bring myself to so much as pull a hair from his head.
My resolve seemed to win through; the urge was quashed with iron intent. Freshly confident, I sighed with ease and happiness, letting my eyes close as the train drew us further into the wild north of England.
CHAPTER XXI
The honeymoon had to be one of the sweetest and most beautiful experiences of my life. Far from the hustle and bustle of the big city, I almost felt like my old self, separate from a life of raging streets and grand parties. The English weather, usually so temperamental and damp even in summer, seemed to express a wish to behave itself for us, and we enjoyed a near-constant display of sunshine. I took care to protect my skin from it, but Benjamin didn’t mind, thinking it was simply because I wasn’t expected to be too tanned anyway.
Every day, we took walks along the seafront or through the ruins of the old abbey, dined in the finest restaurants, and spent time alone in our little rented cottage. And not a single night went by when he wouldn’t take me in his arms, holding me tightly until the dawn’s light broke the horizon.
Time seemed to fall away from us, and before I could take a moment to lament its quick passage, we were on the return train to Liverpool. A smart horse-drawn carriage waited for us outside the station, and took us directly to Weaver House. Henry welcomed us home, and the array of servants bowed to us, before work began on serving a great homecoming dinner.
My first few nights were practically barren of sleep, and I was reminded of how restless I’d been when I had first arrived in Toxteth. Once again, I was in a strange bed, in new surroundings. And even though it was comforting to have the bulk of my husband beside me, the fact that I wasn’t alone disconcerted me. I often passed the hours of darkness simply looking at him, watching his eyelids twitch as he dreamed.
How was James supposed to get me alone now?
I went back to my old house a few times, to pick up any belongings which still hadn’t been brought. While a trunk containing the last of my dresses was manoeuvred down the stairs, I collected the sepia family portrait from my nightstand, wrapping it in some old cloth so it couldn’t be damaged.
Then, checking the coast was clear; I darted into the library and took Norman’s revolver out of its book. I hid it inside my coat, and, remembering how it was empty, hurriedly rummaged in the sideboard until I found a container of ammunition. I stashed that too, made sure everything was well concealed, and left the room with no trace of my ever having been there.
“I’m so sorry, Grandfather,” I whispered to the air. “Help me.”
When I got back to Weaver House, I went to the bedchamber, looking around for somewhere to hide the gun. I supposed the safest place would be somewhere amongst my own clothes, since Benjamin was sure to go into every single other drawer at some point. So I headed over to the armoire, but then paused when the floor creaked beneath my feet.
Frowning, I kicked the rug aside and tested the boards with the toe of my boot. Eventually, I found the loose one; knelt down so I could prise it back. The space beneath was small, but extensive enough. So I took out the revolver, inserted five cartridges into the cylinder, and then placed the whole lot under the floor, covering the hiding place once more with the carpet.
I’d barely walked away from the spot when Benjamin appeared in the doorway.
“Éva, what are you doing, hiding away up here?” he asked, approaching and placing his hands on my waist. “It’s a beautiful day outside. Won’t you come and take some air with me in the garden? I’ll have some tea and cake brought to the gazebo.”
“Of course,” I smiled innocently, giving him a fleeting kiss. “But first, I wanted to ask you something.”
“What is it?”
“Where do you think I could put my parents’ portrait?”
Benjamin blinked in surprise. “I thought you didn’t know them?”
“I didn’t. Not really. But...” I thought quickly, “my cousin sent me a picture that was taken of us when I was a baby. Would you like to see it?”
“I’d love to,” he said. “Where is it?”
I duly fetched the frame, drawing back the material so the light could fall upon the photograph inside. Benjamin smiled widely, taking it from me so he could inspect it better.
“Well, there’s quite a likeness!” he exclaimed; then glanced at me. “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”
I gave a small smile. “They were both murdered. My father was lost a few months after this picture. As for my mother, she joined him four years later.”
I was suddenly seized with guilt and shook my head, placing my hands atop Benjamin’s. “Actually, no, forgive me. That is not the truth. I feel I can be honest with you.”
“Of course you can, darling,” he said softly. “What have you not told me?”
I sighed. “My father isn’t dead. He was the one who sent me this. I didn’t believe it myself at first; I had always been told he was long buried. But it appears to not be the case. He is alive, somewhere in Austria-Hungary.”
“Oh, my dear,” whispered Benjamin. “That’s wonderful news. Isn’t it? Why do you not look happy?”
“Because he never came to find me,” I replied. “He had so many chances, and now there will be no more. And for that reason, I don’t know what I feel towards him now. He may as well be dead for real, for all the knowledge and affection we have for each other.”
“Goodness, Éva, you mustn’t speak that way about your father!” Benjamin cried.
I turned my eyes on him earnestly. “But I am entitled to, I think. I love them both for bringing me into the world, but the fact remains that I am without them; they left me alone. At least with my mother, I know for certain that it was not by choice.”
I paused. “Please, Benjamin, tell me what happened with you. Why is it that you have no mother?”
He paused for a moment, obviously caught a little off guard. But then he put down the picture and grasped my elbows, looking deep into my eyes.
“She died in childbirth,” he said eventually.
I reached up and stroked his cheek. “I’m so very sorry.”
Benjamin shook his head. “No... Now you have brought it up, I must admit, I understand your feelings towards your father. Both of us have always been without at least one parent. We are so alike; I see that now more than ever. And I do love my mother, but I love the idea of her; a memory that could never come to fruition before my eyes in reality. Why should I not feel a little bitter that I never knew her, or that she never knew me? It was not my fault that she passed away. And it is not your fault that he never came for you. There is no shame in admitting that.”
I hugged him, pressing myself against his chest, and sighed as his arms encased me. Relief flowed in my blood, at how he hadn’t misunderstood my meaning. It was a difficult truth to admit, but I determined to answer nothing more. What would he say if I told him how my Anya had died? In my head, I could still hear her blood raining onto the grass.
Benjamin took me back downstairs, the portrait in his hand, and placed it on top of the huge grand piano in the music room. It was directly in front of a window, and the bright sunlight struck it at the most beautiful angle, casting even the exquisite paintings and mouldings into dull shadow.
*
The weeks moved on to September, and I gradually settled into life at Weaver House. It was a definite step up from what I’d become used to, but I couldn’t help expressing a si
lent gratitude for Margaret’s lessons. As tedious as they were, she had prepared me well for this transition, and I quickly found my feet as a hostess, working through countless cocktail parties and posh dinners.
The servants began packing away the summer bedding, airing out thicker duvets for the coming cold months. Already, the toadstools were beginning to sprout; the leaves shrivel and fall to the ground like confetti. I often sat in the garden, shaded by a parasol, looking at the change day-by-day as green transformed to a blaze of red and gold. My skin sometimes burned with the exposure, but I was quick to take precautions, hiding the tender area from the sun until I could get inside and cover it with a cold cloth.
A couple of months on from the wedding, I gradually started to feel ill. My throat hurt, and I recognised the cravings for blood. Deciding that the less time I spent around my new family was for the better, I confined myself to bed, curtains drawn around me.
A chambermaid kept a watchful eye over me, but any hope of preventing Benjamin’s presence was nothing more than a foolish wish now. Not two hours went by at a time without him coming into the chamber to sit with me. And I balked when, one morning, he brought Henry with him.
“How are you today?” my father-in-law asked, hovering close to my side of the bed.
Even though the sunlight was agonising, I opened my eyes and watched him. I hoped frantically that my weakness didn’t cause my facade to drop and show how nervous I was.
“I am fine,” I wheezed, and thought I saw his brows slant slightly when he heard me. Wouldn’t he know these symptoms as well, being a harmless? I wiped at my forehead, using the movement to hastily adjust my nightgown so my scar was definitely covered.
“I’m not sure about that,” said Benjamin. “Father, should we call the doctor?”
“No, there’s no need,” I snapped, remembering the awful bloodletting procedure.
“Nonsense.” Benjamin got to his feet and strode away onto the landing. The next thing I heard was him downstairs, speaking on the telephone.
