A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires

by G. D. Falksen

Despite Varanus’s initial uncertainty, Constantine proved to be a most remarkable dancer. He was light on his feet, more like a bon vivant than a man of medicine, and as he stood no more than five and a half feet tall, the difference in height between them was far more manageable. Varanus had only once before met a man above six feet with whom she could dance, and that had been Korbinian—and no other man, living or dead, could ever hope to match him. But Constantine was indeed a pleasant surprise, and Varanus allowed herself to enjoy the experience amid the swirling gaiety of the ball.

  Once they and the other dancers had settled into the comfortable motions of the waltz, Constantine spoke just loudly enough for her to hear him clearly:

  “Lady Shashavani, I hope you will forgive me, but I have another reason for requesting this dance. I had hoped to speak with you without the appearance of a private conversation.”

  “Oh?” Varanus asked, feigning surprise.

  “Indeed,” Constantine said. He paused. “How shall I put this? I know the truth about Doctor Sauvage.”

  Oh, Hell, Varanus thought.

  “My physician?” she asked, eyes wide and innocent. “What about my physician? Has there arisen some sort of problem? Related to the hospital, perhaps?”

  Constantine cleared his throat and said, “Your Grace, I do not wish to be indelicate, but I know. You and Doctor Sauvage are…one in the same.”

  Hell indeed.

  Varanus maintained her composure and merely smiled in polite bewilderment. Inside, however, she felt her temper boiling. How dare he have seen through her pretense? It was intolerable!

  “What ever can you mean, Doctor?” she asked.

  “Let us not play this game, Your Grace,” Constantine said. “I have not seen you unveiled until this evening, but I know your face quite well. You wear your hair differently, your bearing is altered, your accent distinct, but you are Doctor Sauvage. I was surprised to see my dear friend and colleague here tonight, so surprised that I inquired about her. What further surprise for me to learn that the woman I saw was not Doctor Sauvage, but the Lady Shashavani.”

  “What do you want of me, Doctor?” Varanus asked, barely hiding her teeth.

  Constantine’s expression quickly softened and he said, “Please do not mistake my intentions. Your secret shall be completely safe with me. As a man of medicine, I understand the wish to help those least fortunate in London. And as a man of Society, I understand the impossibility of Lady Shashavani operating a clinic in the East End. I think that what you are doing is very right and noble, and I only wanted you to know that I wish to help however I can.”

  Varanus considered his words. Constantine did sound very sincere. His eyes were honest.

  Yes, she could trust him in this.

  “I am grateful, Doctor Constantine,” she said. “My charitable work is very important to me. Obviously, I cannot openly practice medicine in light of my marriage and my station, but I must still practice.”

  “As I said, I quite understand,” Constantine agreed.

  “You are very light on your feet,” Varanus noted, as they conducted a particularly swift twirl.

  Constantine smiled and held his head a little higher.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said. “I have had many years of practice.”

  “If you wish to help,” Varanus said, returning to the matter, “there is something that you can do for me.”

  “Name it,” Constantine said.

  “I must depart London to attend to a family matter,” Varanus said. “I will be detained for several days at least, possibly several weeks.”

  “And in your absence, the clinic must be seen to,” Constantine said, understanding the problem.

  “I shall be leaving a man to look after the clinic and the environs, naturally,” Varanus told him. “I must protect my property and my patients. But I fear that he is not trained in medicine. I must have a doctor who can do the work in my absence.”

  “Ah, I see,” Constantine said. “You wish me to attend your patients?” He sounded dubious.

  “If you wish to help,” Varanus replied, “it would be the way. The rest is your choice.”

  Constantine was silent for almost a circuit of the floor. Varanus began to wonder if the request had somehow offended him. And perhaps that was only natural. He was being asked to venture into one of the foul places of London to attend to some eccentric noblewoman’s private mission to save the poor from illness and injury. What sane man of means would agree to such a thing?

  But at length, Constantine gave a smile and said, “Yes, Your Grace, I shall do this for you. You have been very generous: to the hospital, to the city, to the public. I believe that I ought to do this for you, and so I shall.”

  Chapter Four

  Over the past year, Ekaterine had developed a perverse fascination with English Society. Whatever facade of gentility it preferred to hide behind, it was a ruthless place, a wilderness of rumor and gossip. As a foreigner with little foreknowledge of local customs, Ekaterine was at a distinct disadvantage. It was the sort of challenge she enjoyed. And over the passing months, she had advanced herself from a foreign curiosity to a proper fascination. Being the sister of a Russian prince helped tremendously, but she had forged her social position herself. She felt almost giddy at times. It had been her first real infiltration of a foreign society, and it was proving successful.

  For centuries, her cousins had done the same throughout Russia, Persia, the Empire of the Ottomans, a few even as far as India and France. The Shashavani needed eyes and ears across the world lest the security of their hidden valley and the waters of life that it sheltered be threatened. But this was her first independent enterprise, and it was progressing. With a little more practice, she might even be able to return in a few years and pass herself off as wholly English. She had little wish to do so, but the ability to do it made her proud.

  That evening, she made her rounds. She chatted with people of distinction, she exchanged pleasantries with friends and enemies, and she accepted a bevy of requests to dance like any proper lady should. Her dance card always seemed to be full at these events, which she supposed meant that she was doing something right, though she had been obliged early on to purchase gowns with unusually thick layers of fabric in the bodice to create the tactile illusion of a corset. She had no intention of wearing one of those beastly garments, but if men were going to place their hands on her back or waist, she required some means of holding off suspicion.

  Feeling a little parched, she decided to make for the refreshment room. She ought to have had a chaperone—her “sister-in-law” Varanus, perhaps—but she thought little of it. She had found that charm was a great soother in such matters. The Shashavani had always managed to talk their way around eccentricities and breaches of etiquette, and she intended that she would not be an exception.

  In the refreshment room, she helped herself to a small plate of sandwiches, yet another one of those peculiar English things that amused and delighted her. As she nibbled, her ears caught a voice that she had not heard since spring the previous year—a voice that should not have been anywhere in the vicinity of England.

  Ekaterine turned and saw a tremendously tall man dressed in a hussar’s uniform of crimson and black. He was slender and strong, well formed, with high cheekbones, sharp features, and the same fiery auburn hair as Varanus.

  He was Friedrich, the Baron von Fuchsburg. Varanus’s son. And he was supposed to be back in Germany. Ekaterine had been there when Varanus had put him on the train for Paris. It was for his own safety as much as for anything else. In France, the family of the Count des Louveteaux, great rivals to the Varanuses, had kidnapped and attempted to kill him. Varanus would not be pleased to learn that he had left the safety of his Rhineland barony.

  Friedrich was speaking to Lady Eleanor Wodesley, daughter of the Earl of Twillingham. Ekaterine was well acquainted with Lady Eleanor. The girl was charming enough and certainly rather pretty, but she was not of towering intellec
t. And from the expression on Friedrich’s face, Ekaterine saw that while he was enjoying the attentions of an attractive woman of means, he was equally bored. Ekaterine felt herself smiling a little. She would have to rescue the poor boy.

  She approached with the utmost poise and from such an angle that she was seen before her arrival. At the sight of her, Lady Eleanor’s eyes lit up. Friedrich, however, looked at her in shock. This was to be expected. When last he saw her—France, a year and a half ago—she had been in the guise of Varanus’s maidservant.

  “Lady Eleanor,” Ekaterine said, smiling pleasantly. “Good evening.”

  “Princess Shashavani,” Lady Eleanor replied, bowing her head. “How wonderful it is to see you. I am so pleased that you could attend.”

  “But of course,” Ekaterine said. “How could I miss such a delightful event?”

  Lady Eleanor motioned toward Friedrich and asked, “Are you acquainted with the Baron von Fuchsburg?”

  Friedrich opened his mouth to speak, doubtless to answer in the negative. Ekaterine preempted him:

  “Why yes,” she said, giving Friedrich a polite nod. “The Baron and I met in France some time ago, sadly under unfortunate circumstances.”

  “The funeral of my grandfather,” Friedrich said, not missing a beat. He looked at Ekaterine, his eyes searching her face as if asking: What are you playing at?

  Lady Eleanor’s face fell with sympathy and she said, “I am so dreadfully sorry for the loss.”

  “But let us not dwell on such a subject,” Ekaterine said. “It is hardly fitting for a ball.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Eleanor agreed.

  “And of course, the Baron and I have a familial acquaintance,” Ekaterine continued. “You see, I am his aunt.”

  Lady Eleanor opened her mouth in surprise and said, “Oh?”

  The surprise was to be expected. Despite her age, Ekaterine realized that she must look no older than Friedrich and quite possibly younger.

  “His aunt-in-law,” Ekaterine clarified. “I am the sister of Prince Iosef Shashavani, the Baron’s stepfather.”

  Friedrich’s eyebrows arched as he realized what she was doing. Smiling, he said, “Alas, I was in Fuchsburg when my mother remarried. I was not afforded a chance to meet Auntie Ekaterine in person until last year, when she and Mother went to France.”

  “Well, I am most pleased that both Princesses Shashavani have seen fit to join us in England for a time,” Lady Eleanor said brightly. Suddenly a thought occurred to her and, in a mild panic, she grabbed at the dance card dangling from his wrist. “Oh no! What is the next dance?”

  “Umm…” Friedrich said.

  “Polka, I believe,” Ekaterine answered.

  Lady Eleanor looked at her dance card and went pale.

  “I do apologize, please forgive me,” she said. “I must return to the ballroom.”

  “Good evening, Lady Eleanor,” Ekaterine said, nodding in acknowledgement.

  “Good evening,” Friedrich echoed, bowing.

  When Lady Eleanor had gone, he turned to Ekaterine and studied her, eyes twinkling, his mouth smiling. Ekaterine caught his gaze lingering upon her lips, her throat, her bare shoulders, and upon her bosom exposed by her gown’s décolletage—she could not say that she approved of how revealing these English evening dresses were. But mostly, he looked into her eyes, finding there something that pleased him.

  It was the same way that he had looked at her in France: admiring her, desiring her, intrigued by her. The ardor of it all made Ekaterine smile a little. He was so very handsome—just like his father, Varanus had said. And charming, if brash and impulsive. And she wasn’t really his aunt, not even in-law.… But no, he was so very young compared to her, whatever her appearance might imply. And he had the same fiery shade of auburn hair as Varanus, his mother, who was as a sister to Ekaterine.

  No, it was simply impossible, unthinkable, however flattering.

  “I do believe she means to marry you,” Ekaterine said, more than a little amused at the idea.

  Friedrich answered with an especially polite and genteel sigh of disinterest.

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “Her father’s idea, no doubt. I suppose that socially it is a rather good match. She may be English, but she is the daughter of an earl while I am merely a baron.”

  “And do not forget,” Ekaterine added, “that the Wodesleys are a particularly distinguished family as earls go.”

  “Quite,” Friedrich said, noncommittally.

  Ekaterine ate a bite of sandwich before adding, “It must never come to pass. It would be a terrible match.”

  “You truly think so?” This seemed to relieve Friedrich.

  “Beyond a doubt,” Ekaterine said. “I fear the girl lacks a certain severity that I suspect a man like you desires in a wife.”

  “Well, we are of a mind on this point,” Friedrich said. “The woman I am to marry must have singular qualities.”

  Friedrich turned sideways, as if to regard something of interest on the refreshment table, when really it allowed him to take another step closer to her. Ekaterine felt like shaking her head at him. He really was incorrigible.

  “Singular qualities?” Ekaterine asked. She turned in place to exchange nods with a passing acquaintance and used the opportunity to move a pace back from Friedrich, counteracting his advance. “What sort of singular qualities?”

  Friedrich smiled. He had noticed her maneuver but did not seem angered by it.

  “Subtlety,” he said, “grace, intellect, and wit. And above all, a challenge.” After allowing the statement to linger for a moment, he changed the subject of conversation: “I was not aware that you were a lady.” He seemed rather amused by the revelation. “Though I did suspect it. I knew that you were no servant.”

  “How clever of you,” Ekaterine said.

  “Why would one do such a thing?” Friedrich asked.

  What to tell him…?

  Ekaterine smiled slightly and replied, “A private joke at the expense of the French.”

  “One can never have too many of those,” Friedrich said. “And how do you find yourselves here, in England? I would have thought my mother would wish to return home to Russia straight away, especially in light of.…”

  His voice trailed off, but Ekaterine knew something of what he meant: the kidnapping, when a group of ruffians in service to the des Louveteaux had assaulted Varanus, gunned her down, and dragged Friedrich away to be sacrificed in some pit beneath their manor house. He had nearly been killed, and Varanus would have died from her injuries had she been mortal. After the night’s conclusion, Ekaterine suspected, both Varanus and Friedrich had been keen to get the other safely back home. It was not at all reassuring to be reunited with one’s long lost mother or son, only to have them either kidnapped or nearly killed the same evening.

  But concern went both ways.

  “I should ask you the same question,” Ekaterine said. “I was there when your mother put you on the train to Paris. From there, you were to return to Germany where you would be safely away from the reach of the des Louveteaux. Your mother will not be pleased to learn of this.”

  Friedrich shifted his stance uncomfortably, but he kept his smile and did not relent.

  “In Paris, I realized that it did not please me to return to Germany,” he said. “And so, I decided to travel.”

  “Where did you go?” Ekaterine asked.

  “I went to America,” Friedrich said. “It was…interesting.”

  “Interesting?”

  Ekaterine could tell that he was hiding something.

  “Yes, interesting,” Friedrich repeated. He did not elaborate. Instead, looking over Ekaterine’s shoulder at something behind her, he added, “And I met some very interesting people. Including.…” He made a beckoning motion and called, “Doctor Thorndyke, a word! There is someone I should like you to meet!”

  Ekaterine turned slightly and looked behind her. She saw a middle-aged man in evening dress, his hair slightly
graying, his face adorned with a Van Dyke beard and moustache of tremendous size. The man stood just inside the door, looking awkward and more than a little out of place. But at the sight of Friedrich waving, his face lit up, and he hurried to join them, walking with a strange little waddle made by shuffling his feet.

  What a peculiar person, Ekaterine thought.

  “Doctor Thorndyke,” Friedrich said, “I’m glad that I found you. May I introduce Princess Ekaterine Shashavani?”

  “Uh…oh!” Thorndyke adjusted a pair of small spectacles that sat perched upon his nose. Clicking his heels together, he bowed stiffly, which somehow involved bobbing his head. “A most distinct honorable pleasure, if I may say so.”

  Ekaterine smiled politely at him and flashed Friedrich a curious look. Thorndyke was not the sort of person she would have expected to be in Friedrich’s company.

  “Princess Shashavani,” Friedrich said, “this gentleman is Doctor Harold Thorndyke of Vermont. His is one of the finest medical minds in all of America, and he is truly the genius of wellness.”

  “W-wellness?” Ekaterine asked, taken aback by the peculiar use of the word. “What is a genius of wellness?”

  “Health, Madam,” Thorndyke said. “Health and longevity are my trade. Where other doctors seek to correct bodily ills, I endeavor to prevent them entirely.”

  “Oh yes?” Ekaterine flashed another look at Friedrich before turning back to Thorndyke and asking, “And precisely how does one accomplish this?”

  “Exercise, Madam,” Thorndyke replied, “cold baths, cereals, vegetarianism, and yoghurt.”

  Ekaterine blinked a few times, wondering if she had heard correctly.

  “Yoghurt?” she asked.

  Yoghurt was a fine food, but Ekaterine had never regarded it as a cornerstone to health. And the avoidance of meat? Madness, surely.

  “Yes, yoghurt,” Thorndyke said. “Yoghurt and cereals are the keys to digestion, and digestion is the key to health.” He began feeling about his person. “Now, I am certain I have a pamphlet on the subject.”

  “That is quite unnecessary, Doctor Thorndyke,” Ekaterine quickly said. “I shall take your word on the matter.”