Sepia and Silver (Tragic Silence Book 3)
Page 22
*
Later, after the mirrors had been carried away and baby Norman taken to bed, we all gathered for a party to celebrate the christening. We sat down to a superb dinner of salmon and vegetables; Henry, Benjamin and I at the head of the table, and then amassed in the music room. I filtered around for a while, speaking with the guests politely, before taking a glass of water and wandering to the window for some air. I placed one hand on the sill, drinking deeply in an effort to soothe my throat. Being surrounded by so many ignorant humans was agonising.
“Eva,” a cold voice said behind me. I recognised it in an instant and turned slowly.
“Margaret,” I replied, smiling. “How are you finding the evening?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Affable.”
I gave a single nod of my head. “I’m glad,” I said, lacing my fingers together in front of me while I surveyed her steadily. She was still in dark clothes, etiquette stating that she must adhere to the widow’s custom of mourning for at least two years. I, however, had changed into a gown of deep red, bordered at the shoulders with snow-white chiffon. A thick necklace, typical of me, hung around my neck, effectively concealing the scar.
“You and Benjamin looked very happy in the church today,” said Margaret.
I felt my smirk widening. “Yes, even though we were almost late. But I doubt anyone would have given a single thought as to how we may have got there. Or where we came from.”
She scoffed quietly. “Still hanging onto that little discord, are you?”
“Your words were anything but little,” I said calmly. “But it hardly matters now. I’m far from – what was it you said, what I apparently am? The daughter of a bastard?”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed and she took a step closer. “I know you are not normal,” she snarled. “There is something not right about you. You are too perfect. You have secrets.”
“Why, of course,” I responded, unshaken. “Who does not have secrets in this day and age, Mrs Calvin? Only somebody who has no past, or no pride in their past.”
Not for a moment did I allow the smile to falter. Then I edged past her, towards the piano, and ran my fingers gently along the tops of the keys. I glanced across the long black body, noticing her looking at me with disdain. My eyes flickered to the picture of my parents.
I sat down, striking up a short tune. That gathered some attention, before I threw Margaret a pointed look and launched into Für Elise. The song flowed across the ivories with ease; my body swayed gently as I played without a single fault. The guests murmured in appreciation, some of them beginning to dance slowly to the music. That only fed me more confidence. My performance became stronger, and I let it take me, recalling all those early days when I’d barely been able to manage a single bar. But this time, there was nothing to encumber me, and I finished with no hesitation whatsoever.
There was a round of applause, and I grinned at the company, inclining my head in thanks. I even took myself a little by surprise at how adept I had become at the instrument I’d once despised. Then, as an afterthought, I began playing again; using my knowledge of the notes to weave a piece I had only done once before.
“This is the song of my home,” I said, extending the introduction a little to allow for my explanation. I glanced at Margaret again, noting the expression on her face: a mixture of shock and irritation. From just behind her, Benjamin winked at me as I started to sing.
“Isten, áldd meg a magyart
Jó kedvvel bőséggel,
Nyújts feléje védő kart,
Ha küzd ellenséggel;
Bal sors akit régen tép,
Hozz rá víg esztendőt,
Megbűnhődte már e nép
A múltat s jövendőt!”
I finished off with a flourish of minor notes, which were instantly followed by an ovation. I smiled broadly, getting to my feet and giving a small curtsey of gratitude. Then pain suddenly seized my entire throat and I lapsed into a fit of coughing, falling back down onto the stool.
I gritted my teeth, one hand pressed to my chest. I could hear the pumping of human hearts all around me; every fibre in my body joined in a chorus of silent screams, begging me to succumb. Just the thought of so much blood, so close, almost sent me reeling with need.
I glanced up, immediately noticing Henry looking at me from the opposite end of the room.
“Madam!” cried one of the guests, rushing to my side. “Are you alright?”
I nodded quickly. “Don’t mind me.”
My voice was harsh and grating, as though it had been dragged over metal shards. George appeared and passed me another glass of water. I practically snatched it from him. It did little to soothe, but gave me enough cover to stand again and address the guests.
“I’m sorry, don’t worry about me,” I assured. “I am just a little hot. Please excuse me.”
I swiftly headed for the veranda, slinking outside into the cool air. I walked down the wide steps until I emerged on the path that led through the extensive garden at the rear of the house, and followed its winding route towards a pale gazebo. The octagonal balustrades closed around me, sheltering me from the moonlight beneath an elaborate roof, and I leant against one of the wooden pillars; clutching it so tightly, my knuckles turned white.
There could be no doubt now. I would have to go out tonight. If I didn’t, I knew I’d run the risk of attacking someone with no control. The memory of my grandfather, lying prostrate as his blood ran down my chin, filled my mind, and I let out a whimper of horror.
I couldn’t let that happen again. What if it was Christine or George this time? Or Benjamin?
“Come on, Éva,” I muttered in Hungarian. “Control it! Hold on just a little bit longer!”
I stayed there for what seemed like forever, but eventually did manage to push the thirst out of sight, and headed back to the house. With every step, I couldn’t help casting my eyes to the dark sky, almost wishing to see the shape of James flying over me.
I bid goodnight to the guests, apologising for my episode, but they were all very forgiving, simply asserting that I had swooned with the excitement of the day. Despite myself, I felt oddly thankful for this idea that my fair face seemed to stand testament to a life devoid of anything evil. They saw nothing below my surface; thought me only a pretty little flower from across the sea.
For the first time, I didn’t resent it. Let them believe what they wanted. It was another level of protection for both parties.
Before Margaret could take her leave, however, I noticed Benjamin go over to her and whisper something. I smirked to myself, retiring to the parlour, where I sat in my favourite chair. I didn’t have to wait long before Benjamin entered the room, with Margaret in tow. He came to stand behind me, resting one hand on my shoulder. I quickly turned my nose away from his wrist.
“Where is your father?” I asked in an undertone.
“He’s retired to bed,” replied Benjamin.
“What do you wish to speak to me about?” Margaret inquired, with just enough civility in her tone to remain respectful.
“Nothing much,” said Benjamin. “Mrs Calvin, I understand from my father’s long-term acquaintance with your late husband that you hail from the Seward family of Manchester?”
Margaret’s brows slanted into a puzzled frown. “Yes,” she said warily. “What of it, if I may ask?”
“A wealthy family in its own right, am I correct?” Benjamin responded. His tone was still its usual airy cadence, but now carried a firmness which I’d never heard in him before. I glanced between him and Margaret, noting the confusion on her face.
“Yes,” she said.
Benjamin nodded. “Then you will have no objection in rejoining them, I take it?”
“What is this?” Margaret demanded.
“As the recipient of Norman Calvin’s last will and testament,” said Benjamin, “Éva is the sole holder of everything in his name. That includes all his belongings, the employment of his staff –”
“The house,” I replied. “The deed is mine. And I wish to donate it to George and Christine Rose, so they can be better equipped to care for their mother. They can hardly reside here, look after baby Norman, and visit her when she lives miles across the city. Mrs Dean will remain there in the Roses’ employ.”
All the blood drained from Margaret’s face. “You intend to evict me from my own home?” she exclaimed. “How dare you!”
I got to my feet slowly. “I’m sure you will be able to return to your own family. And I will even give you thirty-five pounds to compensate the move.”
It was a generous amount; my initial rage at her had denied the notion of even a single guinea passing from my palm to hers. But Henry had convinced me otherwise, so that it could be used as a slight leverage in our favour. I knew she would refuse vehemently to surrender the house, but at least we could say we offered something.
A vein began to throb in Margaret’s temple. I pursed my lips, forcing myself not to look at it.
“You wicked girl!” she snarled. “How dare you do this to me! Insolent –”
“We’ll have no more of that, if you please, Mrs Calvin,” Benjamin snapped, angling his body so he was slightly in front of me. “You will not speak so crudely to my wife.”
“I will speak to her how she deserves to be spoken to, Sir! She’s a devious little demon, do you hear me?”
I shuddered at her choice of words, but steeled myself, glaring at her intensely.
“It would be an invaluable lesson that you be careful of what poisonous talk you shoot at those you don’t know,” I said. “I admit that I may not have possessed gold or riches until my summons to these shores, but let me remind you that my mother was Mirriam Tákacs: once the heir to one of the greatest fortunes in all Buda-Pesth. I am no little peasant to be trampled, and not a single day goes by that I don’t fall on my knees in gratitude for this fine life I have been given.”
I paused for a moment, relishing the horror on her face. With every word, I could see her proud shell crumpling; stiff back bending over itself until she became the pathetic and scheming old woman she truly was.
“I owe Grandfather all my happiness,” I carried on. “You would never even allow me to address you as anyone personal. You marred my pride whenever you saw fit; insulted and threatened me as though I was a disobedient kitten. But I will not tolerate it a moment longer. And I feel no remorse for what Benjamin and I have agreed. The Calvin household will go to the Rose siblings within six weeks. That is our final word on the matter.”
Margaret shook her head slowly, coming closer to us. I thought for a moment that she meant to strike me, but I didn’t back away. I felt that if she so much as raised her hand, I would grab it and tear it cleanly from her arm.
“You can’t do this to me!” she cried, suddenly sounding shrivelled and desperate. The sound took me somewhat by surprise; she had always carried herself with perfect poise – berated me for not being able to imitate her. Her eyes gleamed with appeal as she grasped my wrists.
“Please! You can’t! How could you be so heartless?” Her breathing shook. “Mrs Jones... Eva... I helped you!”
“To profit from your own greed and treachery,” I replied, tugging myself free. “And let us not forget that, if we were to remain true to form, we owe each other nothing. There is no familial link.”
“Precisely,” said Benjamin, guiding me a few steps backwards. “So think yourself lucky that we will be giving you thirty-five pounds, Mrs Calvin. Now please leave us.”
Margaret whimpered. “I beg you! Don’t do this!”
I surveyed her tightly. “Get out.”
Benjamin called for one of the footmen to escort Margaret away. She resisted at first, but then drew herself to her full height, angling her head so she could glare at me down her nose. Invisible fire seemed to blaze between us, scorching with mutual hatred.
I recalled something that James had said to me; imagined him with wings flapping like a devil fresh from hell.
Ludicrous pleading fell on deaf ears. No amount of begging is effective against me.
“You are a beast, Eva Calvin,” Margaret growled in the doorway. “And God knows you will be the death of everything you love!”
I watched icily, not relaxing a muscle until the lock clicked shut. Then I let out a shuddering sigh, closing my eyes and bringing my hands to my face. Benjamin instantly encircled me in an embrace, resting his cheek on the top of my head. I wrapped my arms around his back, holding him close, taking comfort from his gentle caresses.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I nodded woodenly. “It had to be done.”
“You dealt with it well.”
“She deserved it.”
“I know,” he said, “but I think we both found it harder than we thought.”
I smiled, though it felt more like a grimace. “Benjamin, I am tired. I think we should go to bed.”
He hugged me closer for a moment, kissing me on the temple; gently began guiding me towards the stairs. As we walked, I smoothed a crinkle in my dress, but then did a double-take when I glanced down. The red colour of the satin had come away on my palm, covering it in a shiny wet film.
I swallowed hard, hurriedly convincing myself that I was imagining things. But yet I still saw it: the blood on my hand, like Lady Macbeth.
CHAPTER XXV
I didn’t sleep a wink, too bent on keeping myself under control for the thought of slumber to cross my mind. I lay on my side; away from Benjamin, so there was no way I could catch a glimpse of any veins beneath his skin. His breathing eventually became deep and steady, but I remained still, passing the time by tracing every single line in the wallpaper pattern. Then I finally heard the grandfather clock chime midnight in the foyer.
I carefully got out of bed and dressed myself in the old dark plain garment that I’d worn once with James. I laced a pair of boots onto my feet and headed for the door, pausing as I walked over the loose floorboard. Glancing warily at Benjamin to ensure he was still asleep, I knelt down and lifted it, retrieving the revolver from its hiding place before tucking it firmly into my belt. I’d taken to carrying it with me whenever I was forced to run these night errands, so I could have something to hand now James was no longer with me.
Fully equipped, I crept through the door. I decided to not use the bedroom window, in case Benjamin woke up while I was gone and was alarmed by the latch being undone. So I set my sights on one of the smaller ones in the north wing.
The house was deserted as I moved silently along the landing and disappeared into the darkness. Inside a storeroom, I eased the sash open; then swung my legs over the sill, taking my own weight in the air. When I was hovering, I pulled the window down, leaving it ajar, before moving off towards the slums.
I flew for a good half hour, heading for Kirkdale, at the very mouth of the river. It was a short distance from where we had made kills in the past, which was one of the reasons why I chose it. I needed to keep the suspicion as far away from Weaver House as possible; and literal distance would only help that.
I touched down in a sordid alley and shadowed myself, walking invisibly through the dingy backstreets. The raucous din of taverns carried on the air, and I wrinkled my nose at the stench of stale alcohol all around me. Nobody took any notice as I swept by; I may as well have not been there at all.
Eventually, I found a small alcove where a lone figure was lying hunched in a doorway, covered by a moth-eaten blanket. My lip peeled back in a desperate snarl, as I honed my attention onto him. He could barely have been twenty years old, and there was hardly anything of him except skin and bones. But the animal need within pushed any mercy from my mind.
Checking there was nobody around to witness the act, I pounced, wrapping my arm around his neck and pressing firmly. The boy gasp
ed in fright and struggled with surprising strength. I quickly tightened my grip. He carried on batting the air, searching for his undetectable assailant, but it wasn’t long before I felt him weakening, and he soon slumped against me, unconscious.
I laid him on the grimy cobbles and wrenched the cuff of his sleeve past his elbow, revealing a pale forearm. Barely able to wait another second, I sank my sharp teeth into the flesh. An instant stream of blood filled my mouth. I closed my eyes in blissful relief, drinking hurriedly, so the jet could continue and none of the redness spill over. When it began to slow, I changed my tactics, sucking so I could draw forth even more.
Usually I would have broken away before now, but I had gone too long without slaking my thirst; the taste and power of the moment took me into a state beyond control. I could feel the boy’s life draining; the pulse in his wrist slowing as I clutched the arm close to me.
Abbahagy! I screamed at myself. Stop it! You’re killing him!
I wrenched my lips free with a cry, sitting back on my heels. I’d taken so much blood; I didn’t even have to staunch the flow from the wound. I quickly checked to make sure the boy was still alive, and was relieved when I saw the rise and fall of his chest.
I couldn’t deny how much better I already felt physically; but mentally, I was shaken to the core. Not once did I enjoy committing these awful acts. Even though I had convinced myself that they were called for, and how I was already desensitised to the idea, I still held onto the notion that I could not take any more life. Before I had killed my grandfather, and all those others with James, death seemed a strange distance from my emerging needs. But now there was no doubt of the synergy between them, I was determined to not give in. I would not be the monster fighting to take me.
I stroked the boy’s forehead; fleetingly pressing two fingers into his neck to be certain his heartbeat was steady.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I wish I –”
A hand suddenly slapped across my mouth and I was wrenched to my feet, dragged down one of the side alleys. I let out a muffled scream, driving my elbows back into the stomach of my attacker. I snatched the revolver from my belt nd spun around, holding it out in readiness.