No one seemed to have a proper answer for that. Valerian ended the heavy silence with a question. “I am intrigued with Ruthven’s reference to the Dracula.”
I sighed, massaging the bridge of my nose to relieve my tension. “I don’t know about that. I know so little about the Dracula, mainly that his very name summons terror and awe in whomever speaks of him, and I’m afraid that is becoming contagious, for I tremble every time I hear that name, especially with what Ruthven said of war . . .” The specter of large-scale violence sent a ripple of apprehension down my spine. “What could he have meant?”
Valerian thought on this, rubbing his fingers over his chin as he did so. “At least I now know why Marius bit me that night and never returned. I never understood before why he would waste himself on the first bite, which is the most taxing on him, and not come back for me. I see at last that it was merely to prime me, set the stage for an easy transformation when he needs me. I am to be conscripted to fight for Marius in this war of the undead, but we have no idea against whom.”
Sebastian leaned forward. “Could it be the Dracula? Is Marius planning a coup, rising up against the great Dragon Prince?”
The sound of shattering china split the air, and we all jumped, Valerian in front of me, shoving me behind him protectively. His speed and strength surprised me, as it ever did. It was so easy to forget that about him, that he had the blood of the vampire in him.
The noise had been Serena, who was standing stone-still over a shattered plate. At her feet, her cake lay in a heap on the floor.
“I—I am sorry,” she muttered. “Look what I did.”
I scooted out from behind Valerian and went to her as she bent to pick up the debris. I put my hand on her wrist, putting a stop to her nervous movement. “Leave it for now.”
Valerian’s eyes met mine meaningfully. He said to Serena, “Perhaps you might join our discussion.”
She had recovered herself. Her eyes were again wise, slightly cunning. “You mean, this talk of the Dracula?” She pronounced the name in her native tongue, with guttural inflection that added a chilling menace. “I can tell you only what everyone in my part of the world knows.”
“And what is that?”
She laughed mirthlessly. “That if you have any dealings with him, you and everyone you love will die a most unpleasant death. And not only will you die, but then you will live again, undead, yes? And then, you are damned. Your curse is that you will kill everyone you loved in life, and the only thing you will crave is to drink their blood.” She paused. “This is why it is dangerous to speak of him. He wishes to remain a mystery, a secret. He is more powerful that way.”
A pall had come over us, and we sat in silence for a long time. Finally, I rose and said to Serena, “Come. Let me help you clean up this mess.”
She tried to refuse, but I needed to be in motion. I concentrated on sweeping up the shards of the shattered plate while she shoveled the cake into the dust bin. While we were busy in the small kitchen, she sidled close to me. “The priest,” she said in a low voice, “tell me about him. I know about his sickness. What happened to him to make him do such a thing?”
I glanced over my shoulder to Father Luke. “He is—well, he was—a member of a very secret order who served as guardians over a place where evil had been imprisoned long ago. It was his duty to protect the world from those, living or undead, who would come to unleash that evil for their own means. When the seal of the prison was broken this last spring, Father Luke’s duty was to sacrifice everything and everyone to ensure that the evil was destroyed once and for all.”
“Which he did?” she inquired.
“Yes. Well, we all did together. But there was loss of life, and he took it very hard. Very personal. I think he believed that he should have been able to save everyone. But what happened was not his fault. Now he feels betrayed by the Church that trained him.”
She nodded. Her gaze lingered on Father Luke as she murmured, “Then I will pray for him.”
I came away from our discussion with the urgent need to delve deeper into the mystery of the Dracula. I sent a letter to Uncle Peter. As a diplomat for his native country of Romania, he traveled all around England and the European continent, but he was often in London. I would be on term break soon and hoped I would be lucky enough to find him in England. The Austro-Hungarian Empire recognized the existence of the undead openly, and accounts of vampirism ranging from the simplest villager to the viceroy of Serbia, the duke of Wirtemberg, were kept on record in the Vatican archive. It stood to reason the people of this region would be long acquainted with the undead, seeing as how the Dragon Prince was reported to rule from his mist-shrouded castle in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania.
Uncle Peter might be able to shed some light on our understanding of how the Dracula might be at work here in England, either directly or through one of his agents.
Over the following days, I stayed very busy. I felt it imperative I keep a close eye on the coven girls. Their attitude toward me had altered; they treated me with a mingling of respect and fear. That I was knowledgeable about Ruthven had removed their contempt. They were wary, and took care to stay out of my way. I was content with this, and now that I believed the Cyprian Queen was in truth some manner of vampire, I set about to put protections in place. The school was a large building with many windows, and it took much of my free time, made more burdensome by the need to operate in secret, to seal the windows with a thin line of salt. I put holy water and secreted garlic in strategic positions to guard the dormitories.
I knew much of this was in vain. Any one of the handful of girls—the witches—could undo all of my stealthy work any time they wished. Or they could simply sneak outside in the night, as was their custom. Still, I could not do nothing to help them. In addition, Valerian and Sebastian took up shifts in an attempt to prevent the girls from sneaking out after hours.
I had to decrease my visits to the village after Trudy Grisholm cornered me one day. I had a feeling she’d been lying in wait for me. “You visit the inn frequently where you often are seen in the company of three men, I heard. Are they relations?”
“One is,” I said, trying to appear unperturbed. I did not clarify the connection. Sebastian’s brother was my cousin’s husband, hardly a close enough sanguinity to preclude scandal. Not to mention the smoldering presence of Valerian, nor Father Luke, who no longer wore any vestments to make it known he was a priest. The time I spent with them no doubt appeared odd, even scandalous.
“What are they doing here so long?”
“They have business here,” I explained curtly.
“How fortunate for you,” she said slyly. “Three men of your acquaintance happen to have business in a remote place like this, and for such a protracted length of time.” She simpered at me. “It must be so comforting to have familiar faces around.”
After that, I was much more careful not to be seen in the village.
Lord Suddington appeared at the school one day when the weather broke. I was summoned outside to find him holding the reins of a sleek open carriage. “It is one of those teasingly mild days that make me impatient for spring,” he announced. “Come for a ride with me. I have been longing to be out in the open air.”
I was delighted, despite knowing full well that should Miss Sloane-Smith learn of the outing, she would be angry. I always felt a bit giddy when I saw Suddington, however, and I allowed him to hand me up into the seat beside him. He was flirtatious, as always, and utterly charming as we toured the school grounds. He returned me to the school an hour later, just as evening was sealing shut over the land. “That was wonderful,” I told him as we drew to a stop.
“There will not be many days like this until March,” he said. “I will come for you again then, and we’ll venture out farther along some paths I know that give breathtaking views of the fells and tarns.”
My pulse quickened with the excitement of such a promise. “I shall look forward to it.”
But I was warm, something I kept to myself lest he guess the reason for the internal glow. My luck held, and no one at school seemed the wiser for my absence. I curled into bed that night, smiling secretly when my eye caught the orchid sitting in its pot. I had not been able to keep it alive very long.
With the end of term approaching, I had much work to do with my teaching, and had to put aside all matters vampiric and romantic the following day. I felt the headmistress’s gaze on me, as I often did, filled with dark speculation. I knew she was thinking of whether to retain me for another term.
Why did she dislike me so much, anyway, I wondered. I had really done nothing to merit it. I had always put it down to jealousy over Lord Suddington, but I suddenly considered if there was something more to the animosity she so obviously felt toward me. Now that I pondered her behavior, it seemed to me she had approached the entire matter of Margaret, Vanessa, and the other girls in a singularly odd manner. And Vanessa had gloated to me, gleeful in her certainty that Miss Sloane-Smith would not condemn the coven.
Why had I never thought to question her role in all of this? I remembered that secret book I’d caught her hiding and grew excited. Was it a journal? Would there be some hint of her strange motivations?
It was as if providence wanted me to find out, for not more than a quarter hour after these doubts assailed me, I was passing by her office when she came out with Mrs. Brown, who seemed to be making some complaint about cracked windows and a leaking problem. As the conservatory was on the other side of the school, I saw I had enough time to duck into Miss Sloane-Smith’s office while she was off inspecting the damage.
The journal was where I’d seen it before. I flipped the pages, and my hopes sank. From what I read quickly, it was a catalogue of her accomplishments and the accolades (real or imagined?) she received from parents and the trustees. I did find mention of me in later entries. I had to chuckle at the curt assessments of my character flaws, my inadequacies, my inappropriate demeanor, and even an unkind reference to my “ungainly height.” I was vaguely insulted but not alarmed, and I realized there was nothing in here that was of any import.
I replaced the journal, and gauged the time. I had already stayed longer than was safe. But I could not resist a quick look through her desk drawers. Knowing I was pressing my luck, I gave them a cursory inspection. They revealed nothing.
I knew my time was running out. But then I remembered the little hiding place she had—the screen behind the desk where she had put the plant Lord Suddington had sent to me. I peered into the little alcove and found a group of objects, none of which appeared interesting save an old wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl flowers. I lifted the lid to find something inside. Drawing it out, I saw it was a teardrop pearl necklace. The precious gem dangled from a clasp wrought of silver shaped into a dragon rampant, its coiled tail extending so that the chain was attached to the tip. It was a ghastly representation of menace, its talons clutching the precious stone cruelly.
Recognition dawned—double recognition. This was the necklace I’d seen in the portrait in Suddington’s library. It was also the same necklace Alistair had stolen to give to my mother.
The sound of someone entering the office startled me. I dropped the necklace into the box, placed the lid very carefully on top so as to not make a sound, and stepped deeply into the crevice behind the screen.
I was certain my breathing, which sounded like a gale-force wind to my own panicked ear, would be audible to Miss Sloane-Smith as she sat at her desk. But heaven, it seemed, was inclined to be generous to me that day, for no sooner had the headmistress sat down than there was a knock at the door.
I recognized Ann Easterly’s twittering voice. “There is a problem in the kitchens. Cook says luncheon will be delayed.”
Sloane-Smith stood. “What? Again?” She stalked out, slamming the door behind her. I counted to thirty and slipped out of my hiding place, carefully peeking into the hallway to find it all clear. I clicked the door shut behind me as quietly as I could, then fled to my room as if the devil himself were in pursuit.
Valerian wanted to see me.
He sent a messenger with a sealed note the next day, asking me to meet him at Serena Black’s cottage as early as possible. I sent back a time I was free, which was late afternoon that day.
As I handed back the message, I realized the youthful messenger was none other than the Irish boy. My God, how the handsome youth had changed! His face was drawn into lines of unhappiness, and his pale Celtic complexion was waxy. I was thinking of what I might say to him when he spun away and was gone, as if he could not get away from the school fast enough.
There was no time to wonder about his strange behavior, for I had a class waiting, and a busy day giving examinations. When the appointed time arrived, I made my way to the cottage in a cold, wet downpour, arriving drenched and in a foul temperament on Serena’s doorstep.
“Your man said he would be here at five,” she said as she took my coat and shook it out for me. “You still have half an hour to wait.”
“I told you before, he is not my man.”
Serena looked at me. “I do not know why you always say that. Of course he is.”
I did not have the energy to argue with her—and besides, what in the world would I say to try to explain the complicated relationship Valerian and I shared?—so I silently followed her into the kitchen, where she prepared a pot of tea for us.
“You steep tea as expertly as any Englishwoman,” I complimented, taking a bracing sip from my steaming cup.
“I have been here long enough to learn.”
“When did you come to England?”
“After the war. My man was an English officer. He brought me back with him as his wife.”
Her face, beautiful as a Roman statue, was perfectly still. “Sometimes that seems like another lifetime ago.”
I asked, “Do you miss your country?”
She smiled. “My country? Yes. It is very different there, of course. My house is here, my medicines and my plants, so I stay here. But sometimes, I long to see the gentle hills, and hear again the songs that we all sang at every celebration.” She carefully touched the rim of her cup to her lips and sipped in genteel silence.
“You must miss your family,” I said sympathetically.
Her expression changed, eyebrows forking down into a deep V. “No. That I do not miss.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “I do know something of strained relations with one’s relatives.”
“It is not strain,” she said sharply, and I could see in her fathomless, liquid-brown eyes nothing but defiance. “They are dead to me. And I to them.”
I was taken aback, naturally. “Did they object to your marrying an Englishman?”
“They objected to my being a whore,” she said without apology.
That gave me pause. “Oh.”
“You are shocked?”
I was, most certainly. This gentle, intelligent woman was the farthest thing from what I thought a prostitute was like—not that I had ever known any. But one hears of coarse women, and I would have never guessed Serena Black to be associated with them.
“It is none of my business, after all,” I said diplomatically. “All I know of you is how kind you have been to me. We were strangers when you took me in your home and cared for me. You never judged me then, when surely the situation had to appear scandalous.”
She stared at me for a moment, then shrugged. “My family did not mind the food I provided. They enjoyed the bread, the cheese, the occasional joint of meat for their table. My mother and sisters and brother had food to eat during the war when so many starved. The fact that it was gotten in payment for nights when I warmed a certain officer’s bed . . . Well, that they could not accept. Though they ate the bounty my sins bought them, the guilt of it was all mine.” She spoke woodenly, as if she’d frozen
out all feeling on the matter a long time ago.
“Oh, Serena, I am so sorry.”
She shrugged. “I am not ashamed of what I did. I am proud.” Her chin jutted out as if to show me how untroubled she was about her confession. “I survived, yes? And they survived. I loved them, and so I did what I did. There is no shame. Not my shame, anyway.”
“No. I can see no shame.” I meant it. I thought her heroic.
“I met a soldier later, after the English were leaving, and he brought me to England. He married me, even knowing what I was. So, I am here now, where I am a mystery, being a foreigner, and people are a little afraid of me. They stay away. I like it that way.”
I understood completely. When you were alone, no one could hurt you.
The sound of Valerian’s horse outside drew Serena to the window. “He is here,” she said. “I will leave you alone.”
The cottage atmosphere changed the instant Valerian swept in the door, tall and dark-visaged. He was scowling.
Serena took his rain-sodden cloak and ducked out of the room.
“There is tea in the pot,” I said, making no move to rise to get it for him.
He managed quite well on his own, and joined me at the scrubbed oak table. “I spent the last few days going through church records. I wanted to check out what the old woman told you about the Cyprian Queen coming when she was young.”
“Was she telling the truth? Were there any reported deaths of young girls back then?”
He nodded. “In the early years of this century, five girls died, two of them local, the other three students at the school. Their parents buried them here. I went back further, and it happened again, roughly seventy years before. Four deaths were recorded near the beginning of the eighteenth century, all girls around the age of fourteen.”
Though I had expected this, the news was still weighty. “How far back does it go?”
Immortal with a Kiss Page 18
