The Dark Blood of Poppies

by Freda Warrington

  “She’s gone,” he said.

  “Oh, has she?” Charlotte couldn’t hide her anger. “She must know I’d like to tear her limb from limb.”

  Karl turned to her. His shirt was undone, his skin pale as if he needed blood. His eyes were cold. “Don’t you think Ilona has suffered enough at Violette’s hands? What reason have you to vent your anger on her?”

  Charlotte gaped in disbelief. “She attacked Josef and nearly maimed him for life!”

  “But you took this risk when you brought Josef with us.” Karl’s usual impartiality seemed to have deserted him.

  “So it’s not Ilona’s fault? Karl, I know she’s your daughter, but you can’t condone her attacking Josef!”

  “But you condone Violette’s behaviour?”

  His hostility floored her. In his eerie beauty, with his soft, dark hair and compelling eyes, Karl always wielded heart-stopping power over her. To see that beauty glazed with something of Kristian’s bane frightened her.

  “Violette was protecting Josef,” she said.”

  “Simple restraint would have sufficed. To attack Ilona so viciously was uncalled-for, yet you still insist that Violette is misunderstood? What must she do to make you admit that she is evil and beyond control?”

  “Evil?” Charlotte trembled, enraged. They’d never quarrelled like this before. She’d never seen Karl so implacable. Often she’d wished he were not always so good-natured and reasonable – she took back the wish now. “Ilona deserved it! Violette reacted as she did because, years ago, Ilona attacked her father and sent him mad.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “You tried to feed on Violette,” Charlotte said in a low voice. “You attacked her. I’m not sure I can forgive you.”

  “Can’t you?” Karl smiled thinly. “Still so distasteful, to be reminded that I am not always a perfect gentleman?”

  She turned away, furious with him, but hating the feeling.

  “Charlotte,” he said, starting after her. She made for the door, but Karl caught her before she reached it. Then he held her hard, his chin on her hair, his body moulded to hers from chest to thigh. “We must stop this.”

  “How?” she whispered. “I’ve never known you to take sides before.”

  “I know. But I told you, I can’t stand aside if Violette threatens anyone I love. Not even for your sake.”

  “And Violette would probably have killed you, Karl, not the other way round,” she said bitterly. “And it destroys me to see you at each other’s throats – literally. What am I supposed to do?”

  “To begin with,” he said, his mouth near her ear, “we must not quarrel.”

  She sighed, still aggrieved, but unable to disentangle herself from his seductive embrace. “Why not?”

  “Because that’s precisely what Ilona and Violette would want,” he said. “Imagine how delighted they’d be to know they had driven us apart.”

  Karl’s arms were now so tight that she couldn’t draw breath. Almost desperate, his embrace. Charlotte gave in, and they held each other in the pure relief of reconciliation.

  Yet she thought, How close we came to letting this tear us apart! My terror of losing Karl is too painful to bear… So, maybe Violette’s right. I should submit to her, and let her bite cure my fatal dependence on Karl’s love. Let her take this merciless fear away.

  * * *

  When Robyn visited Josef at his hotel late the next morning, she found him in bed with the covers drawn up to his chin.

  He hadn’t responded to her knock. She’d had to ask a porter to unlock the door. As she approached the bed, her heart rose into her throat in fear that he was unconscious or dead.

  He looked grey, but his eyes were open, gleaming dully.

  “What are you doing here, child?” He sounded weary.

  “You were meant to call on me today,” she said cheerfully. “When you didn’t arrive or send a message, I was worried. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” He breathed out heavily.

  “Come on, you don’t fool me. Aches, pains, fever? Have you seen a doctor?”

  She made to touch his forehead, but he jerked away. His brow contracted. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Why not?” She sank down on the edge of the bed, puzzled and alarmed. “I’ve never seen you like this before. What is it?”

  “Nothing. A headache.”

  He was lying. The sheet gripped around his throat concealed something.

  “Do you often have headaches?”

  “Liebe Gott,” he whispered. “I tell you, I just need rest. Would you please leave so I can?”

  “If you insist. But what is it, Uncle, really?” She put her hand on his, felt him flinch. “Tell me.”

  He gave her a long, candid look. Regret, guilt, awful secrets swam in his eyes. Then he said, “There are vampires…”

  “Vampires?”

  “They suck your blood, but they take your mind as well.”

  “Uncle, are you in trouble?” Robyn made a worrying deduction. “Is someone extorting money from you?”

  “No, my dear, nothing like that. I’m rambling, I must have a fever.”

  “Well, that’s it,” she said briskly. “You’re obviously in no fit state today, but tomorrow you’re coming to stay with me. No arguments. If you don’t co-operate, I’ll get nasty; I’ll send Mother round with chicken soup.”

  “Not that.” He tried to smile.

  “Have you eaten? I’ll call room service. I’ll be back later to see how you are.”

  “There’s no need.” He patted her hand. “Charlotte is looking after me.”

  Light from the corridor fanned into the semi-dark room. Robyn looked up and saw Charlotte in the doorway, a silhouette. Robyn approached her with a weird sense of unease, as if the air shimmered with secrets.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Robyn asked, her tone sharp.

  “A slight chill,” said Charlotte. Her violet eyes were warm, innocent. “No need to worry.”

  “Nevertheless,” Robyn said firmly, “I’ll see Josef this evening, and tomorrow I’m taking him home.”

  * * *

  “I thought you were not coming,” said Sebastian.

  “I am rather late.” Robyn offered no apology. He stood to meet her as she approached. The simple luxury of the restaurant – marble pillars, potted ferns, swirly red carpet – seemed a faded backdrop to Sebastian’s dark and vivid presence. Dressed in black, he looked old-fashioned, yet he carried off his disregard for fashion with ease.

  A waiter took her coat. “I was with my uncle at his hotel,” she continued as they were shown to their table. “He’s not well.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.” They sat, separated by white linen and silver, candlesticks and flowers. Voices murmured around them. A pianist played popular melodies on a white grand piano.

  “I’m not sure.” She fell quiet, preoccupied. She was so concerned about Josef that her appetite vanished, and she wished she wasn’t here. Then she collected herself and shone her full attention on her companion. “I found him in bed with the covers up to his chin. He claimed it was a headache, but he was acting oddly. He wouldn’t talk and didn’t want me there.”

  Sebastian looked amused. “Were there shapes in the bed that should not have been? The chambermaid, perhaps?”

  Robyn laughed, despite herself. “He’s no angel, my uncle. Maybe that’s why he understands me. Anyway, he seemed better tonight, but still won’t talk. Sat there with the weight of the world on his shoulders, but won’t say why. We almost argued. That’s why I’m late.”

  “Did you think I would not wait?”

  His eyes, under the dark combs of his lashes, woke a wave of feeling that she distrusted. “Oh, no,” she said with cool sweetness. “I knew you’d wait.”

  “And you won’t brood about your uncle all evening?”

  “It’s absolutely not in my nature to brood,” she said.

  “Nor in mine.” There was a flash of something
in his expression that disturbed her, as he had at the Booths’ party. Gone.

  Robyn took tea with her meal. Wine was prohibited, which was not helping the restaurant trade – or her state of mind. She wanted a drink to relax her – but with Sebastian, perhaps it was better to stay alert.

  Afterwards, she had little recollection of their conversation. Inconsequential chat about Boston, the weather, the charms of New England, the theatre. One thing was certain: they never once mentioned her deceased lover, Russell. A taste of lobster woke her appetite and she enjoyed the food. Perhaps that was why she never once noticed Sebastian eating.

  By the end of the meal, he was still a mystery. Obviously he liked her. Yet he was detached; friendly enough, but making no attempt to impress her.

  She liked that. He was refreshing. He’d saved her from having to parry the syrupy clichés of seduction that most men thought made them irresistible. She could just be her good-natured, slightly acidic self.

  “May I escort you home?” he said, as their coats were brought and doors held open.

  He sounds, she thought, like he’s parodying polite behaviour.

  “You may.”

  Perhaps he’s like me. He lives in society, but despises it.

  From the restaurant near the harbour, they walked arm in arm past Faneuil Hall and the market, and across the Common towards Beacon Hill. Little lights shone in the trees, and the paths were darkly inviting. The evening had a strange atmosphere that made everything shimmer. Unreal. A dreamy excitement that threatened to edge into nightmare. Sebastian was so unusual, almost too vivid: beautiful, different, warm one moment, a thousand miles away the next.

  Robyn wasn’t sure she liked him. Not that it mattered. She never became emotionally attached to her victims.

  He might induce obsession in a more vulnerable woman; a wanton addiction, like opium. The thought repelled her. This would not be easy… but challenge was preferable to boredom.

  “You know, Mrs Stafford,” he said, “you are not at all what I expected.”

  She began to laugh. She tried to stifle it, but couldn’t.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Oh, they always say that. I’d taken you for being less predictable.”

  For a second, she sensed him turn hostile. Lights moved over his face as if it were ice. Again she felt an echo of dread, but when he spoke, his voice was warm, satirical. “Who are they, who always say it?”

  “Men. They’ve always heard about me, you see. They expect some red-taloned vamp, Cleopatra with a poisoned dagger. So it’s a shock when they find out I’m… ordinary. Then they say what you said.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to be predictable, but I’d hardly call you ordinary.”

  “I won’t ask what you would call me.” She smiled at him. Her smile had power, and she saw him respond. “However, I have a suggestion.”

  “Yes?”

  “You may call me Robyn.”

  She hadn’t been concentrating on their route. Without thinking, she’d let Sebastian lead her to the top of the Common, across Beacon Street and along Charles. She was stunned when he took the correct turning into Chestnut Street and headed straight to her house.

  She hesitated on the doorstep, shivering.

  “I don’t recall telling you where I lived.”

  “You didn’t,” he said. “I let you lead me.”

  With one hand curved around a railing, he gazed at her. He was lean and dark, his hair swept untidily back from his crystalline face, eyes gleaming. He made her think of a night-hunting cat, eager to be on its way. He made no attempt to kiss her.

  This was the moment when Robyn must always make a decision. With those who were too eager, it was best to act aloof. Reducing them to a fever of unrequited passion made them simple to manipulate. With resistant men, however, she found it paid to go for the kill. Show them what they’d be missing if they lost her. The velvet snare: worked every time.

  Sebastian belonged in the second category. She was about to invite him in when he took the decision out of her hands, leaving her both annoyed and relieved.

  “I hope we’ll meet again,” he said, kissing her hand. Through the leaf-laced shadows of Chestnut Street, she watched him walk away.

  * * *

  Whatever had ailed Josef, he recovered quickly once Robyn settled him in her house. Her maternal side had a rare outing, fussing over him. Although Josef insisted that he had no need to be cosseted, his protests were half-hearted. He seemed glad of her attention, as if he’d been in danger and felt safe here.

  Robyn didn’t press him on the nature of his illness. He was subdued, as if his spirit was wounded. Restless, too; he went out often, perhaps to visit his strange friends, Karl and Charlotte.

  “Why don’t you invite them here?” she asked on the third morning, as they sat at breakfast in the parlour.

  Alarm flashed over his face. “Oh, they are busy. The ballet leaves Boston the day after tomorrow.”

  “Too busy to spare an hour? What exactly do they do?”

  “Well, they are… Madame Lenoir’s business partners. Patrons of the ballet. I’ll ask them, but I doubt –”

  “Uncle, stop. If you don’t want them here, that’s your choice. Kind of a shame, though,” she said, watching his expression. “I’d like to have met them again. And Violette.”

  “Violette?” he said, flinching.

  “Yes, why not? Although I guess she really is too important to take tea with the likes of me,” Robyn said caustically. “So, the ballet is leaving?”

  “Yes, a week in New York, four days in Philadelphia and so on; it’s an exhausting schedule.”

  “But what will you do, dear? Are you going with them or staying here?”

  He folded his hands, gazing at the fire screen and dried flowers on the grate. “I don’t know. I only came with them to see you. I think I’ll stay here a few more days, do a little sightseeing, perhaps go to New York, and then sail back to Europe. If I am not imposing? I can go back to the hotel.”

  “Nonsense.” Robyn thought how tired he sounded. “Stay here as long as you like.”

  “A few days only, I promise.”

  Much as she loved his company, she was secretly glad that he’d be leaving. His presence forced her to suspend her usual lifestyle. She could not in all decency receive Harold with Josef here, nor cultivate new admirers – nor see Sebastian.

  In fact, Sebastian hadn’t contacted her since their dinner date. Hadn’t even sent flowers. Robyn had a feeling she would never hear from him again. His silence disappointed and offended her. Robyn had to be the one to end liaisons. She couldn’t tolerate being treated so casually.

  “You can’t until you’re fit to travel,” she said firmly.

  Josef breathed out as if heart-sore. Instead of brushing off her concern, he spoke kindly. “Robyn, I owe you an explanation.”

  “You don’t, dear. Whatever’s troubling you – well, I’m here to help, but if it’s private, that’s fine.” She spoke sincerely, inwardly willing him to confide.

  “The night I was ill…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I was ashamed of the whole affair, but it was caused by… a difficult situation. Charlotte invited me on tour because she was concerned for Madame Lenoir’s state of mind.”

  “Oh!” Robyn was shocked. A recent memory unwound.

  “You understand, it’s delicate. I could hardly walk around telling people that Madame is…”

  “Crazy?”

  “Must you be so outspoken?”

  “So, you came along as her personal psychologist?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I’m not surprised, to be honest. I spoke to her at the party. She was strange.” The memory brought a wistful smile to Robyn’s lips, a thrilling shiver. “I’d say that lady has troubles… but talented people are often eccentric, aren’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of passing such judgement on her,” Josef said sharply. “The point is that we acted behind Madame Lenoir’
s back. When she found out, she was enraged and refused to talk to me. So, no point in me travelling with the ballet. All very embarrassing, combined with the fact that… I have great affection for Charlotte. Therefore Karl and I are not exactly friends.”

  “And he’s not someone I’d want as an enemy,” she said quietly.

  He gave her a quick, keen glance. “Why do you say that?”

  Robyn shrugged. “He struck me as an exceptional personality, that’s all. A sweetheart – unless you cross him.”

  “Yes, well.” Josef exhaled. “When you came to the hotel, I was the worse for drowning my sorrows the night before. I couldn’t tell you because I was ashamed. That’s all. Foolish old man.”

  He looked anxious for her to believe him. Actually she didn’t, but she tried to take his story at face value. After all, what could he possibly be hiding?

  “Are you telling me that I’ve pampered you over a hangover?”

  Her teasing drew a smile from him at last.

  “Can you forgive me?” He leaned forward. “But tell me, what happened with Madame Lenoir at the party?”

  “Not much,” Robyn said, off-hand. “I was in the garden and she appeared and began talking to me. I ended up telling her things I wouldn’t normally tell anyone. I don’t know why. She seemed to understand, and she was… fascinating, really. And then… well, I think she tried to seduce me.”

  “Seduce?” Josef turned red. “Are you sure it was not… an attack of some kind?”

  “What?” She was amazed. “Why would a ballerina go around attacking people? Oh, no, it was sexual,” she said, not sparing his blushes. “You know, kisses, touches. I was so stunned I couldn’t stop her. Almost scary…” Memories again; Violette’s lips branding her neck, the soft-breathing night air, the sensation that some unearthly creature, half-bird and half-serpent, was possessing her… Robyn shook herself. “I don’t know how serious she was, because she suddenly stopped and walked off, just left me there. Very weird.” A thought struck her. “Is this why everyone’s concerned about her? Uncle, you don’t think that having sapphic tendencies is a form of mental illness? Do you?”

  His silver eyebrows jerked up. “Not at all. I hadn’t even thought of it.”