The Mammoth Book of Vampire Stories by Women

by Stephen Jones

  “Do lock the door, John Henry,” said the oldest of the clerks to the youngest, exercising his privilege. “No one will come at this hour.”

  John Henry Brodribb got off his stool and bowed to the senior clerk with a flourish that amused and annoyed the other clerks; John Henry was known for his lavish, theatrical manner. He pitched his voice to carry. “Whatever you desire, Mr. Tubbs, it is my honor to perform for you.” His accent was curious mix of London public school flavored with a broadness that might be Devon or Cornwall. He was long-headed and lanky with the last remnants of youth; he was three months shy of his eighteenth birthday.

  Before he could reach the door, it opened suddenly and a man in a black, hooded cloak stepped into the office, looking like a visitor from another age; a monk from the Middle Ages perhaps, or an apparition of a Plantagenet in disfavor with his cousins. “Good afternoon. Is Mr. Lamkin available?” he asked in a pleasant, foreign voice, taking John Henry’s startled surprise in his stride. There was a suggestion of a glint in dark eyes within the shadow of the hood.

  “Is he expecting you?” asked John Henry, recovering himself adroitly, and doing his best to match the style of the man.

  “Yes, but not necessarily at this time,” said the stranger. “I have only just arrived in London, you see.” He threw back his hood, revealing an attractive, irregular countenance, fine-browed and mobile if unfashionably clean-shaven; his hair was dark and waved enough to make up for his lack of mutton-chop whiskers or mustache. Although he was somewhat less than average height, he had a presence that was commanding no matter how amiable his demeanor; it originated in his dark, compelling eyes.

  “Mr. Lamkin has left for the day,” said John Henry, glancing toward the door of the office of the man who handled the firm’s overseas business. “He will not be back until Thursday next. He is bound for Southampton, to inspect the arrival of a cargo of muslin.”

  “From Egypt or America?” asked the foreigner with enough curiosity to require an answer.

  “From Amer—” John Henry began only to be interrupted.

  Mr. Tubbs, the senior clerk, intervened, shoving himself off his stool and hastening toward the newcomer, prepared to take charge of the unknown gentleman. “I am Parvia Tubbs, the senior clerk; good afternoon. May I, possibly assist you, Mr… .?” He waited for the stranger to give his name.

  “Ragoczy,” he answered. “Count Ferenc Ragoczy, of Sain—”

  John Henry cut him short with enthusiasm. “Ragoczy! Of almost everywhere.” His eyes lit and he flung out one hand. “I’ve been copying your accounts, sir, and let me say you are far the most traveled gentleman of all those buying from us abroad. You have holdings in Bavaria, in Saint Petersburg, in Christiania, in Holland, in Italy, in Prague, in—”

  Mr. Tubbs stopped this catalogue. “I am certain Mr. Ragoczy does not wish his affairs bruited about, John Henry.”

  The youngest clerk lowered his eyes and stifled himself. “No, Mr. Tubbs,” he said.

  Ragoczy took pity on him. “It is good to know that at least one of your staff has my interests in hand.” His smile was quick and one-sided, and held John Henry’s attention as Ragoczy turned towards him, encouraging him. “Where else do I have property: can you tell me?”

  Now John Henry faltered, upset by Mr. Tubbs’s covert glare. “In … in Hungary.” He steadied himself and went on. “There are two addresses in Hungary, now I think of it; one in Buda and one in a remote area of the eastern sector. In the Carpathians. That place is in Hungary, isn’t it?”

  “Technically, yes, at present it is,” he replied, and glanced up as the office clock struck the half-hour. “Although it is closer to Bucharest than to Buda-Pest. Saint-Germain is on the current border of Hungary and Romania, but that has not always been the case. It is a very ancient estate.” Ragoczy fell silent.

  After an awkward pause, Mr. Tubbs said, “Is that all you can tell Mr. Ragoczy, John Henry? You are the one who has his ledger to copy. Show him you are not a laggard.”

  Stung by this reprimand, John Henry squared his angular shoulders and continued. “You have holdings, Count, in Moscow, in Egypt, in Crete, in Persia, in Morocco, in Spain, in Poland, in Armenia, in Canada, and in South America: Peru, as I recall.”

  “Yes, and in Mexico, as well.” He nodded his approval.

  “You also have transferred goods to China and India, according to our records, during the last thirty years. I have not seen any entries before that time. The ledger begins thirty-one years ago.” This last was John Henry’s most determined bid to show his grasp of what he had recorded.

  “You keep excellent records,” Ragoczy said.

  “It is necessary for merchants to do that, or they will not last long in business,” said Mr. Tubbs officiously.

  They had the attention of the other four clerks now, and John Henry made the most of it. “If you would like to inspect the account books, Count, it would be my pleasure to show them to you.”

  Mr. Tubbs looked askance. “John Henry!” he admonished the youngest clerk. “That is for Mr. Lamkin to do.”

  “Well, but he is away, isn’t he?” countered John Henry with a show of deference. “I have the records on my desk. I’ve been copying them for Mr. Lamkin, at his request, of course. So long as Count Ragoczy is here, it would be practical to show him what our records show instead of requiring him to return when Mr. Lamkin gets back.”

  “It is a late hour; Mr. Ragoczy would have to come back in the morning, in any case, or at another, more suitable time.” Mr. Tubbs regarded the youngest clerk in consternation, then turned on Ragoczy with an obsequious gesture. “It is unfortunate that you came at this hour. We do not wish to offend, but we will be closing business for the day shortly.”

  John Henry’s expression brightened. “I don’t mind staying late if that will make matters easier for you, Count.” He made a point of emphasizing Ragoczy’s title, as much for his own satisfaction as for the discomfort it gave Mr. Tubbs. “If would be convenient?”

  “A very generous offer, I’m sure, John Henry,” said Mr. Tubbs, his jowls becoming mottled with color and his manner more stiff and overbearing. “But such a man as Mr. Ragoczy must have other claims upon his time. He will inform us of when he wishes to review the accounts.”

  Ragoczy favored the two clerks with an affable look. “I have no plans for this evening until much later. I am bidden to … dine at ten.”

  “Then it’s settled,” said John Henry before Mr. Tubbs could speak. He indicated his desk. “Yours is the oldest of the account books there.” His gaze was speculative. “Your family must have a long tradition of enterprise.”

  “Um,” said Ragoczy, a suggestion of amusement in his fathomless eyes.

  Mr. Tubbs, aware that he had been outmaneuvered by the most junior clerk, began to dither. “It is not acceptable, John Henry. You have not worked here long enough to be entitled to lock the door.” He cringed as he looked towards Ragoczy. “I am afraid that we will have to arrange another time, Mr. Ragoczy.”

  Before John Henry could voice his objection, Ragoczy said smoothly, “You would not be averse to entrusting a key to me, would you? I have done business with this firm for longer than I you have been employed here. Surely that makes me trustworthy, Mr. Tubbs. I will return it tomorrow, if that is satisfactory to you?” He said it politely enough, but it was apparent he would not be refused. “I appreciate your concern and precaution, of course.”

  This was more opposition than Mr. Tubbs was prepared to fight. He ducked his head. “It would be most acceptable; I will provide you with a key at once, Mr. Ragoczy,” he said, and moved away, casting a single, angry look back toward John Henry and the black-cloaked stranger.

  John Henry paid no notice of his superior’s disapproval; he motioned to Ragoczy to come with him, and hastened back to his desk, his face radiant with anticipation.

  “I don’t understand it,” said John Henry, shaking his head at what he read in the old ledger. “There should b
e another two hundred pounds in this transfer. How can it have been overlooked? They can’t have made such an error in arithmetic, can they?” The office was quite dark now, and the rumble in the streets had died to an irregular echo of hooves and wheels; the oil lamp on John Henry’s desk and the lume of the dying fire in the hearth provided the only light. It was no longer hot in the office, but it remained stuffy in spite of the chill.

  “They did not,” said Ragoczy with a sigh of annoyance. He had shed his cloak and was revealed in a black woolen jacket cut in the latest French fashion. His shirt was silken broadcloth and immaculately white. He wore his cravat in the Russian mode: it was silk, patterned in red and black. His trousers were also of black wool, expertly tailored so that the fullness never became baggy. Indeed, the only note that John Henry could find in the foreigner’s ensemble to criticize was the thickness of the soles of Rogoczy’s neat black boots.

  John Henry’s eyes widened. “But, Count, that would mean … that someone has … has …”

  “Been stealing,” Ragoczy supplied gently; he tapped the open ledger with the end of his pencil. “Yes, it would seem so.”

  “But … why?”

  “For gain, I would suppose,” said Ragoczy, making a worn attempt at a philosophical smile. “That is the usual reason people steal; for gain of one sort or another.”

  “Gain,” repeated John Henry, as if the notion was unfamiliar to him. “In this firm?”

  “Probably there are two of them: one here and one outside England.” He hefted the old ledger. “It will take time to find out who has done it, and for how long.” He put the ledger down and pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket. “Look at the hour.”

  John Henry glanced up at the clock over the desks. “It is coming nine,” he said, astonished that so much time should have passed. “I ought not to have kept you so very late, Count.”

  “I supposed I had kept you.” Ragoczy held out his hand to John Henry. “I have to thank you for giving me so much of your time, Mr. Brodribb. I am grateful to you for the attention you have shown me.”

  “It is my pleasure,” said John Henry, flushing as they shook hands.

  Ragoczy’s expression remained friendly, but he said, “I doubt it.” And in response to John Henry’s startled look, went on. “No doubt a young man like you has things he would rather do of an evening than assist in discovering a pattern of errors in a ledger.”

  “Most evenings, I study,” said John Henry, for once not very forthcoming.

  “Ah,” said Ragoczy. “Then perhaps you will let me impose upon you a bit more. If you would be willing to continue this examination for another evening, I would be willing to pay for your time. Provided you do not feel you are compromised by helping me.”

  “Why would I feel that?” asked John Henry. “They are the ones who are taking from you. You are entitled to recover all that has been pilfered. I would be a poor employee indeed if I countenanced wrongdoing by my employer.”

  “Quite so. And all the more reason for you to accept money for your aid. I would have required much more time if you had not been willing to help me.” Ragoczy looked pleased.

  “Oh, that is hardly necessary.” John Henry directed his gaze toward the dying fire. “Mr. Tubbs allowed me to stay because I am the most junior of the clerks. He did not think I could uncover anything of significance.”

  “You assume he knows there is something to uncover,” said Ragoczy, his expression remaining kindly but with a keenness in his eyes that was unnerving to John Henry.

  “I doubt he would have let me remain if he feared you would learn … what you have learned.” He lifted his hands. “And you could have managed without me. I have done very little to earn—”

  “Nevertheless, you will permit me to compensate you for the time you have lost.” Beneath the elegant manner there was something unyielding; John Henry sensed it and nodded.

  “Thank you, Count,” he said. “I will stay tomorrow night, if that is suitable.”

  “Eminently,” said Ragoczy, and reached out for his cloak even while he slipped his hand into one of his inner jacket pockets. He drew out a five-pound note and handed the flimsy to John Henry, who stared at it, for it represented more than a month’s wages. “For your service. At this hour, I should take a cab home if I were you, Mr. Brodribb.”

  “But five pounds …” John Henry could not find the words to go on.

  “Considering the magnitude of the theft you have helped me to uncover this evening, it is a very poor commission. Had I retained someone to perform this task, he should have cost me much more. And who knows what success we would have? You are familiar with the ledger entries, which another might not be.” Ragoczy’s swift smile lit his face again. “And he would have been much less entertaining.”

  John Henry looked up from the money in his hand and stared at Ragoczy. “That’s very kind, Count.”

  “Do you think so.” Ragoczy slipped his cloak on with a style John Henry swore to himself he would one day master.

  “Tomorrow night, then,” said John Henry as he watched Ragoczy go to the door while he folded up his five pound note to a size small enough to slip into his waistcoat pocket.

  “You had better come with me,” said Ragoczy in amusement. “I have the key.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Hurriedly John Henry grabbed his greatcoat, thinking it was sadly shabby next to Ragoczy’s splendid cloak. He extinguished the lamp, stirred the embers of the dying fire with the poker, and hurried out of the door and watched while the Count set the locks.

  “Please inform Mr. Tubbs that I will keep the key another evening,” he said, then reconsidered. “No. That will not do.” He nodded decisively once. “I will send a note around in the afternoon, informing him that I will need the key one night longer. I will request you remain to assist me again. He will not have time to ask me to change plans.”

  “Do you think he would?” John Henry asked, shocked at the implication of Ragoczy’s instructions.

  “I think it is possible,” said Ragoczy as he raised his hood. “Come. At the next corner we should find cabs about, no matter how late it is.”

  For an instant the five pound note in this waistcoat pocket seemed to emit a brilliant light; John Henry realized that such an extravagance would truly be a sensible, prudent act when he had so much money. “Right you are, Count,” he said, and tagged after the black-cloaked foreigner.

  “This is really most inconsiderate,” complained Mr. Tubbs as he lingered at the door the following evening, glaring balefully at the thickening Thames fog. “Imagine! Putting you out this way twice! It is outside of enough, and so I will tell Mr. Lamkin when he returns. What right does he think he has, making these demands?” He modified his indignation. “Well, foreigners never do know what is proper behavior.”

  John Henry professed surprise that Ragoczy had not yet arrived, though he had anticipated the excitement when the Count’s note, written in a fine, small, sloping hand on cream-laid stationery, had been delivered a few minutes after four by an austere man of middle years and steadfast demeanor.

  Mr. Tubbs,

  I find I cannot get away for another hour at least. Would you be kind enough to ask Mr. Brodribb to wait for me? I realize this is an inconvenience for you and for him, and I regret the necessity of making this request of you. Believe me all contrition; the press of circumstances are such that my time will not be my own for a while.

  Accept my thanks and the enclosed for any inconvenience I may have caused you.

  Ferenc Ragoczy

  Count Saint-Germain

  (his seal, the eclipse)

  Three shillings had accompanied the note; Mr. Tubbs pocketed them with alacrity.

  “I’ll use the time to study,” said John Henry. “It’s no matter to me if I do it here or elsewhere.”

  “That’s generous of you,” said Mr. Tubbs. “You are aware, are you not, that if Ragoczy fails to arrive, you will have to spend the night here? I cannot yet entrust a key
to you, or I would do it.” This last was patently false and both of them knew it.

  “I will manage,” said John Henry, going to draw the shades. “Hurry on, Mr. Tubbs. You’ll miss your tea.”

  Reluctantly Mr. Tubbs backed into the street, his coat collar raised and his hat set low against the mizzle. After he pulled the door to behind him, he made a point of testing the lock when he had set it.

  John Henry listened to Mr. Tubbs’s footsteps fade into the rest of the noise from the street. He finished the last of a cold, bitter cup of tea that stood on his desk, and then, with caution, he removed a small book from the locked lower drawer of his desk. He could not help grinning at the well-thumbed pages: The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare.

  He moved the chairs and made himself a small rehearsal area in the middle of the room, then set about his ongoing memorization of Romeo.

  Then plainly know my heart’s dear love is set

  On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:

  As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;

  And all combined, save what thou must combine

  By holy marriage: when, and where, and how,

  We met, we woo’d and made exchange of vow

  I’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,

  That thou consent to marry us today.

  Henry was so caught up in his performance that the spoken answer rattled him the more for being the words he spoke in his mind.

  “Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!” said Ragoczy. He was standing just inside the door, his cloak blending with the shadows.

  Looking around as if he feared he had a larger audience, John Henry said, “I didn’t hear you knock.”

  Ragoczy held up the key.

  “Of course,” said John Henry, his manner now crestfallen. “You came in very quietly.”

  “You were preoccupied,” said Ragoczy, indicating the script John Henry held.

  “This.” He sighed. “You know my secret, then. I suppose you’ll tell Mr. Tubbs.”