by H. Y. Hanna
She began turning the toy over, examining it from every angle, but she hadn’t had a chance to look properly when something smacked into her from behind, bowling her over.
“Oomph!”
Caitlyn dropped the toy and landed face down on the ground. She rolled over quickly, hands raised in defence—then gave an exasperated laugh as she saw the enormous English mastiff looming over her.
“Bran! You’ve got to stop bashing into me like that!”
“WOOF!” said the huge dog, wagging his tail. Then he bent his head and picked up the stuffed toy in his cavernous mouth.
“Hey—give me that!” Caitlyn reached for the toy but the dog backed away, his tail wagging excitedly.
“WOOF! WOOF!” said Bran, lumbering around her.
“Bran! Give me that toy!” Caitlyn got to her feet and chased after him.
Mastiffs weren’t the fastest of dogs and she caught up with him easily, but getting the toy out of his mouth was another matter. She managed to grab one of the rabbit’s furry legs but Bran wouldn’t let go. In fact, he seemed to get even more excited as she tried to pull the toy. He jerked his head left and right, and backed away from her, tugging as he went. Caitlyn groaned. He thought it was a game! As far as the mastiff was concerned, they were playing his favourite game of tug-o-war.
“Bran—you’ve got to let go!” she said desperately, yanking on the toy. “Gertrude Smith is going to come back any minute… I’m running out of time… Let go! LET GO!”
She grasped the toy with both hands and gave a mighty heave. There was a loud RRRRRRIP! and she was thrown backwards, landing with a thump that knocked the breath from her. She stared at the tattered remnants of the rabbit’s foot she was clutching in one hand. A few feet away, Bran stood facing her, a look of bewilderment on his wrinkled face and half of a soggy stuffed rabbit dangling from his jowly lips. Caitlyn could see dog drool glistening in his mouth.
No, wait a minute. That isn’t drool… dog drool doesn’t glitter and sparkle like that!
Caitlyn sprang up and ran over. Catching hold of the toy, she begged, “Bran—drop it!”
To her surprise, the mastiff instantly released the toy. Caitlyn shook her head wryly. She had been giving him the wrong command all the time! James must have trained Bran to respond to “drop it”, not “let go”. Eagerly, she held up the sodden toy and parted the folds of stuffing in the rabbit’s abdomen. Her heart leapt as she pulled out a soft fabric bag. The side of it had been torn and now the contents spilled into the palm of her hand.
Caitlyn gasped and stared in wonderment at the glittering stones, and loops of gold and silver.
“Oh my God! Bran, we’ve found it! We’ve found it! These are the stolen jewels!”
“WOOF!” said the mastiff, not really understanding but happy and excited anyway. He came over and leaned on her, wagging his tail.
Caitlyn looked back down at the collection in her hands, turning some of the gems over carefully. Yes, there was the pink diamond, so big it looked almost unreal, and of the most beautiful pale salmon colour. It shimmered and sparkled in the sunlight. And then her heart leapt again as she saw something else: an antique silver brooch in the shape of an old-fashioned skeleton key, inlaid with beautiful semi-precious stones, including a large red bloodstone.
Caitlyn extricated it from the pile and held it up to the light. The burnished silver glowed softly and the bloodstone gleamed a vivid red, almost like a drop of blood.
“Ah… merci beaucoup, mademoiselle. You have found it for me.”
Caitlyn jumped and turned around to see Antoine de Villiers standing behind her. She stared at the handsome Frenchman as he took a step forwards and held out a hand.
“The jewels, if you please?”
Caitlyn barely heard what he said. All she could see was his smile: the dazzling white teeth… and the long fangs that protruded from the corners of his mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Caitlyn stood rooted on the spot, her mind spinning. Antoine? Antoine de Villiers is the vampire? She couldn’t believe it. It was as if her entire world had been tipped upside down. Yes, when they had been following him in London earlier, she had begun to wonder if Pomona was right in thinking that the Frenchman had something to hide, but she had just expected it to be something mundane—an affair with someone’s wife, perhaps, or a secret gambling den… Now she stared at him with dawning horror.
“The jewels, mademoiselle,” he said, his voice becoming impatient. “And do not think of resisting or I may give in to temptation and sink these fangs into your lovely neck.” He gave her a mocking smile. “And unlike your friend, Viktor, I am most definitely not a fruitarian. The vampires in my family have always enjoyed the taste of blood.”
“But… but you can’t be a vampire…” stammered Caitlyn. “Blood makes you feel sick… I saw you… that day in the chocolate shop when Nibs scratched me and there was blood on my arm—”
“I was disturbed, yes, by the sight of your blood, but not because I felt faint and nauseous.” He looked amused. “No, on the contrary, it made me hunger and long to taste you myself. But naturally, I could not reveal my true identity. So I fought the urges. It was fortunate that you thought my reaction was due to a squeamish nature.” He laughed heartily.
“So that means… you… Pierre Rochat…”
Antoine smiled. “Yes, I killed him. Imbécile. He thought he could defy me and he paid dearly. I would have been happy to let him live—it is not my wish to kill and bring attention to my presence—but Rochat sealed his own fate when he intervened. Perhaps he thought he was being gallant in trying to defend the woman…” He laughed humourlessly. “Well, that chivalry cost him his life.”
“Woman? You mean Gertrude Smith?” asked Caitlyn, still trying to piece the puzzle together.
“Oui. Rochat had arranged to meet her in the woods once the movie had started and everyone was suitably distracted. I observed him stealing away in the darkness—my vampire vision made it easy to track him, even from across the lawn—and I followed him to their meeting place. They were about to make their exchange when I appeared. I asked—most politely, you understand—for the jewels to be given to me, but the woman refused and I was left with no choice but to forcibly take them. Rochat tried to intervene and the rest, as they say, is history.”
His face darkened. “However, Rochat’s interference did mean that the woman was allowed to escape. Her scream brought too many people to the scene.”
“Why didn’t you go after Gertrude? She had the jewels.”
“The murder investigation… the police around the Manor every day… it was not a good time. I decided it was best to wait. I thought perhaps the woman would expose me but she kept silent. No doubt because she did not wish to reveal her own presence in the forest that night and open herself to police investigation. And perhaps, too, she did not see me clearly in the dark… So, I had intended to wait—quand tout se sera calmé—until ‘the dust has settled’, as they say. In any case, Gertrude Smith had cleverly hidden the jewels and I had not discovered their hiding place…” He smiled. “But you, mademoiselle—you have brains as well as beauty, and you have completed the job for me.”
He took a step towards her.
“How… how did you know I was here?” Caitlyn asked, desperate to keep him talking.
He looked amused. “I followed you… as you followed me. Ah, you did not think that I noticed you and your cousin behind me on the way to London? But of course I noticed. C'était très amusant—I let you have your little game. It did not affect my plans.”
“What did you go to London for?”
He laughed again. “You are very inquisitive, ma cherie. But surely you do not expect me to divulge all my secrets?”
Caitlyn licked dry lips. “Uh… okay, well… I can take a guess—you went to London to meet someone. Maybe the same person who told you about the stolen jewels in the first place. They told you the ringleader was in Tillyhenge—that’s why you in
vited yourself to Huntingdon Manor, wasn’t it?”
“Bravo,” he said with a chuckle. “Oui, I came to seek out the thief who held the jewels. It was serendipitous that I should meet Rochat at the Open-Air Cinema. I knew he was a fence, of course—one becomes familiar with certain names and faces in the jewellery world—and I quickly realised that it must be he who was meeting the thief. I had only to follow him and voilà, he would lead me to the jewels.”
“But you didn’t get the jewels,” Caitlyn pointed out. “Is that why you went back to London today—to get your orders from your boss?”
He scowled. “There is no boss. Antoine de Villiers works for no one but himself! There are those with whom it is beneficial to form a partnership… I get information and, in exchange, I take the necessary action, to achieve a goal which suits both our purposes.” He made an impatient sound and held out his hands. “Assez! We talk too much. Tiens… the jewels, if you please.”
Reluctantly, Caitlyn held out her hand and tipped the jewels into his waiting palm. He glanced at them, lifted something out of the pile, and cast the rest aside. The gems tumbled to the ground and lay sparkling amongst the grass and flowers.
Caitlyn stared at Antoine. “But… the pink diamond! You just threw it away!”
“Bah! What do I want with diamonds, pink or otherwise? It is this that is the real prize.”
He held up the antique brooch in the shape of the key. As Caitlyn watched, he carefully detached the pin section from the main part of the brooch, so that all he was holding was the silver key with the inlaid gems and bloodstone.
“It’s a real key?” said Caitlyn.
“Mais oui. Not ‘a key’, but the key. The key to the belfry.”
“But… that’s just a legend—”
He laughed harshly. “Non, non, mademoiselle—the power of the belfry is very real, as you shall see!” He clamped a hand on her arm. “Come.”
“What? No!” Caitlyn tried to pull out of his grasp. “You’ve… you’ve got what you wanted now—”
“Ah, but I have not fed in days… and I have been thinking about you, my lovely Caitlyn… The old man, Rochat, may have sustained me for a while but there is nothing like the taste of sweet, innocent blood…”
He leaned towards her and Caitlyn went stiff, her heart pounding with terror. She knew she should try to use magic to defend herself but her mind was blank, her limbs paralysed. Then there came a deep growl next to them. Caitlyn looked down to see the mastiff watching, an uneasy expression on his wrinkled face. Bran was usually the most placid, friendly dog, and Caitlyn knew that he was used to seeing Antoine de Villiers around the Manor, so he would not normally think of the man as a threat. But perhaps Bran sensed her fear. He was clearly disturbed, and an unhappy mastiff was not to be ignored.
Antoine eased himself away from her and pulled something out of his pocket, pointing it at the dog. Caitlyn’s heart nearly stopped when she saw that it was a gun.
“NO!” she cried, flinging herself in front of Bran and throwing her arms around his neck.
“As I said, mademoiselle, I do not wish to kill if I do not have to. But I will not let the dog interfere with my plans. They have been disrupted too much already.” He waved the gun. “Send him away and I will spare him.”
Caitlyn crouched next to Bran and pressed her face close to his, whispering urgently in his ear. “Bran—go get James! Get James, do you hear me? Good boy—go get James!”
She glanced down and saw something glittering next to his front paw. It was an aquamarine pendant. Making sure that her back shielded her from Antoine’s gaze, she scooped up the stone and shoved it into the space between the mastiff’s neck and his collar. She had no idea if it would remain wedged there, but if it did, and if James saw it, she hoped that it might provide a clue and lead him to her. Then she straightened and gave the mastiff a shove in the direction of the Manor. “Go on, Bran! Good boy—go home!”
The mastiff looked at her uncertainly for a moment, then turned and began lumbering away. Caitlyn had no idea if the dog would be able to raise the alarm, but at least he was safe from Antoine.
“Bien. Now, we shall go.” Antoine waved the gun mockingly. “After you, mademoiselle.”
“Where are we going?”
“I am surprised you need to ask. To the Fitzroy Folly, of course.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Folly looked exactly the same as the last time she had visited it. Now that she knew its significance, Caitlyn had expected it to look different somehow—more “magical” perhaps—but it was the same dusty, crumbling tower that she had explored. Antoine waved her ahead and she began to climb the spiralling stone staircase, with him following close behind. Every time she thought about trying to escape, she would feel the prod of the gun muzzle against the small of her back, bite her lip, and continue climbing.
At last, they reached the locked door at the top. Antoine handed her the key.
“Go on—open it.”
Caitlyn inserted the silver key and turned it slowly. There was a loud CLICK and then the door swung open of its own accord. She stepped through and gasped.
A gigantic black bell hung in the centre of the belfry chamber. Caitlyn stared as a strong wind buffeted her, whipping hair around her face. It was very exposed here, with only open archways and no proper walls around them, and the bell swung slightly in the wind, its black metal surface gleaming dully in the late afternoon sunshine.
“C’est magnifique, n’est-pas?” said Antoine, standing next to her. His eyes were burning with a feverish light. “The bell of the legend… the bell to call up a great army… and a chance for my kind to be great again!” He laughed wildly. “No more do we wait in vain for the Fates to decide when the next vampire child will be born. No, with this, I shall have the power to create vampires—an entire army of them!”
Caitlyn shook her head and pleaded with him: “Antoine, this is wrong! You know this is wrong! You shouldn’t meddle with what nature intended—”
“You speak like all the old vampires,” said Antoine contemptuously. “They are weak and defeated and resigned… Non, I refuse to be like that. I refuse to accept the old way as the only way. It is time for a new approach, a new way of doing things. Why do you look so angry, ma cherie? My friend, James—whom you so admire—he thinks the way I do.”
“James is nothing like you! He would never do anything that would hurt others. This… this vampire army that you’re creating—you would also be unleashing a plague on mankind. Surely you don’t want that?”
Antoine gave a cold laugh. “What do I care about mankind? They are weak and inept. They do not deserve to be saved… well, except perhaps for those such as yourself,” he said with a smirk, looking at her in a way that made her skin crawl. “I would keep a small harem, perhaps, of human girls to amuse me… Mm… your beautiful cousin, Pomona—she would be a great addition too… I sense her dislike of me and I would enjoy… taming her…”
Caitlyn felt a surge of anger at his cruelty, his callousness, his smug arrogance… She couldn’t let Antoine achieve his plans! She looked around wildly and spotted a large black mallet lying beneath the bell. She knew instinctively that it was needed to strike the bell—to call the army of bats.
She broke away from Antoine and ran towards the mallet, snatching it up and racing to the other side of the belfry. There, she braced herself against one of the stone archways and flung it out as far as she could. It sailed through the air and disappeared into the forest canopy below. She knew it might not stop Antoine permanently, but it would at least slow him down—he wouldn’t be able to use the bell until he found the mallet again, and it would take him time to find it in the dense undergrowth of the woods.
“Diable!” growled Antoine, rushing up beside her and staring down at where the mallet had disappeared. “You little witch! You shall pay for that!” He turned furiously and seized her, yanking her towards him.
She screamed. From far below them, she hea
rd a faint echoing cry:
“Caitlyn!”
It was James’s voice. She twisted her head and looked over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the ground below. Two men were running out of the woods and hurrying towards the tower. The first was James and the second, hobbling as fast as he could behind the younger man, was Viktor. The two men were accompanied by Bran the mastiff, who barked furiously as he ran around the base of the tower.
Antoine swore again; then he laughed. “They will not save you, cherie—with all those steps, by the time James gets to the top of the tower, it will be too late…” He lifted his lips, baring his fangs, and lunged towards her.
Caitlyn screamed and jerked out of the way. She managed to wriggle sideways, but found herself wedged against the side of the belfry chamber. There was nothing behind her but the stone ledge and, beyond that, the sheer drop to the ground below.
Antoine lunged again, grabbing her arms and pinning them to her sides as he lowered his head towards her neck. Caitlyn struggled wildly, screaming and crying for help, and flung herself backwards in her terror. Her sudden move unbalanced Antoine and he fell on top of her. They teetered for a moment on the ledge, then rolled over the side.
“Nooo!” Caitlyn gasped, clawing at the stones around her.
She heard Antoine curse as he, too, tried desperately to find a handhold, then a wild cry came from him as he slipped and went over. Caitlyn shrieked as she felt him dragging her with him.
She was falling… falling…!
“Unggh!”
Caitlyn jerked to a stop. She had managed to catch the ledge with her right hand, and now she hung on, sobbing with fear. She was lopsided, her legs dangling in the air. She flailed desperately with her left arm, trying to swing it up and catch the ledge as well, but she just couldn’t reach.
She choked back tears of terror. Her right arm was starting to shake, the muscles beginning to spasm as she struggled to support her weight. The fingers of her right hand were going numb and she could feel them slipping on the stone. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer…
