The Dark Blood of Poppies

by Freda Warrington

  If Harold had seen him appear from nowhere, perhaps he would have been less nonchalant. As Sebastian approached him, though, he didn’t turn a hair. He merely looked the vampire over with a knowing, worldly air that infuriated Sebastian.

  “So, you’re the one,” said Harold. “The other man, the young lover. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

  He rose briefly to shake Sebastian’s hand, sank back into the chair. Sebastian thought, How can she let those hairy, veined hands touch her?

  “And you, sir, must be Mrs Stafford’s grandfather.”

  Harold laughed. “I may be well struck in years – but she ain’t thrown me over for you, has she?”

  Despising him, Sebastian sat down opposite. “Well, I’m glad of this opportunity to insist you stop seeing her.”

  Harold laughed harder.

  “I’m serious,” Sebastian added.

  The old man shook his head in amusement. “Sure you are. When you get to my age, you learn tolerance. I know that to keep her, I have to accept she has other admirers.” He chuckled. “You’ll learn.”

  Sebastian stared, smelling Harold’s musty body-heat, his pulsing arteries.

  Harold threw his cigar stub into the fire. “I guess one of us better leave. Wouldn’t want to embarrass the lady.” He looked pointedly at Sebastian, then at the door. No doubt his iron self-assurance terrified his employees.

  Sebastian stood. “Allow me to point something out.” He beckoned. Harold rose, puzzled, the top of his head level with Sebastian’s chin.

  Sebastian seized him. Harold cried out. His spectacles fell to the floor.

  “Wouldn’t it be terribly embarrassing for your widow,” said the vampire, mimicking his educated accent, “if you were to be found dead in the house of your mistress?”

  Harold gaped like a flatfish.

  The vampire struck, feeding swiftly and neatly. The old man’s blood was thick with potential clots; his heart thundered, stumbled, exploded long before blood-loss would have killed him. When Sebastian dropped him back into the chair, he looked as if he had simply expired there. His expression was oddly indignant, his lips slate blue.

  Sebastian replaced the spectacles on Harold’s nose and left, silently, the way he’d entered.

  * * *

  “I’m ready, dear,” said Robyn, entering the parlour in cream satin, with pearls in her hair: virginal, old-fashioned, just as Harold liked her. But Harold failed to leap to his feet. His head lolled and she thought, I took so long he’s fallen asleep.

  Then she saw his livid pallor. Saw two tiny marks in his throat, only because she knew to look for them.

  “Mary,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. She fumbled her way backwards to the door, and called again. “Mary, get the doctor, will you?”

  Robyn managed to stay calm throughout the doctor’s visit, but inside she was in turmoil.

  “He didn’t look well when he arrived,” she lied.

  The doctor failed to notice the marks. They were flea bites, not gaping wounds. “Looks like a heart attack,” he said grimly, frowning at Robyn. He knew Harold’s family, and disapproved of infidelity. “Happens to men of his age, especially if they overindulge their… appetites.”

  “Could you please arrange to take him away?” Robyn said sweetly. “He’s not my husband, as you know. He really shouldn’t be here. You understand.”

  Once the body had been removed and the grumpy doctor was gone, Robyn sank down on a sofa, head in hands. Mary hurried to make tea, but Alice stood over Robyn like a prison wardress.

  “Well, you’ll see sense now,” said Alice.

  Robyn looked up, aggravated. “What are you talking about? He had a heart attack.”

  “But you and I know damned well what really happened!” Alice retorted. “That devil almost killed me and Mary. Now he’s actually murdered someone. He’s killing you too. What will it take to make you stop?”

  “Leave me alone,” was all Robyn could say. “You’re giving me a headache.”

  She went to bed and lay awake, waiting for Sebastian. He never came.

  The next day Robyn was calm and controlled. Yes, like someone walking a tightrope over a fire-pit, she thought.

  She hoped Harold’s death would quietly be forgotten, but knew she couldn’t be that lucky. The following days were chaotic. Harold Charrington had been eminent in the business community. The fact that he’d expired in his mistress’s house could not be kept secret. Scandal broke and spread through the puritanical hierarchy of Boston society.

  Robyn tried to brazen it out, but each day brought fresh horror. Reporters haunted her doorstep. Friends failed to call. The church congregation shunned her and she was discreetly asked to leave. The same happened everywhere she went. A hand on her elbow, the obsequious whisper, “Ma’am, your presence is causing, er, embarrassment so if you wouldn’t mind… I’m sure you appreciate…”

  Jesus, I hate this! she would rage in the privacy of her bedroom, withering.

  One afternoon, Harold’s widow arrived, hysterical and baying for blood.

  Thankfully, Alice and Wilkes saw the wretched woman off and spared Robyn a confrontation. Robyn was being forced into seclusion, and she couldn’t tolerate it. Next the Beacon Hill Civic Association will be demanding I clean up the neighbourhood by moving out.

  I don’t blame them. I blame myself. But most of all I blame you, Sebastian, you demon.

  Sebastian hadn’t reappeared, which was as good as an admission of guilt. He must know the trouble he’d caused, realised she was fond of Harold. In fact, she missed Harold more than she believed possible; even wept for him, once.

  On the fifth morning, she slept late and came downstairs to find her parlour full of visitors. Mary, Mr and Mrs Wilkes, the doctor, several police officers and a minister from Trinity Church. At the centre, radiating the grim resolve of a woman who’d reached the end of her rope, was Alice.

  “I’ve told them, madam,” Alice said as Robyn halted in the doorway.

  “Told them – what?” Her eyes raked over the grim faces of authority. She felt horribly exposed.

  “That I believe Mr Charrington was murdered by your friend, Sebastian Pierse.”

  Robyn gaped. This was so hideous she almost laughed.

  “Why is the minister here? Have you explained you believe Mr Pierse to be a vampire?”

  The visitors stirred. Mary hung her head. The minister looked into the middle distance, betraying that yes, Alice had told him.

  Robyn addressed the officials.

  “I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, but my companion hasn’t been well. She sometimes has… ideas that are only loosely connected to reality.”

  Alice glared back stonily. Now the betrayal was mutual. “I’m doing this to protect you, madam. I won’t stand by and watch him destroy you!”

  One of the police officers cleared his throat. “We need to hear your side of the story, ma’am.”

  “I assure you, officer, no one’s destroying me,” Robyn said firmly. She sounded calm, Alice the hysterical one. “As the doctor will confirm, Mr Charrington suffered a heart attack, which was unfortunate, but not uncommon. I’m grateful for you taking this trouble, but I don’t want to waste any more of your time, so if you don’t mind…”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” said the officer. “It’s not that easy. This is a very serious allegation. Our duty is to pursue it until we’re satisfied there are no suspicious circumstances.”

  “What can I say to reassure you? Mr Pierse didn’t know Harold Charrington and had no connection to him. On the night of Mr Charrington’s death, he was alone only for a few minutes while I was getting ready. The doors were locked, there was no break-in. And when Mr Charrington first arrived, I’d noticed he looked unwell.”

  The doctor nodded. “Mrs Stafford did say that.”

  Alice’s eyes blazed with silent accusation. Liar!

  “Well, how do you answer the allegation that Mr Pierse on one occasion assaul
ted both your housekeeper and your maid in their beds?”

  Robyn shook her head. “Impossible. Mr Pierse is a gentleman. His visits were spent in my company. Mary, do you recall Mr Pierse ever entering your bedroom?”

  Mr and Mrs Wilkes sat in silence, their chins drawn in with puritan denial. The maid’s face was a mask of tense bewilderment.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

  Robyn looked pointedly at the policemen, her eyebrows raised. “I hope this has cleared things up.”

  “Not really,” the officer said heavily. “There may be an autopsy, and we need to question Mr Pierse. If you’d tell us where to find him?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “It’s not in your interests to withhold information, ma’am.”

  Fear and indignation slithered through her. She felt judged as an accomplice, if not a criminal. “I’ve nothing to hide, but I don’t have his address.”

  Silent disapproval hung heavy in the room. She felt invaded, violated under her own roof.

  “You were seeing a man,” said a second policeman, “without knowing his address or circumstances?”

  “He’s a visitor from Ireland,” she said quickly, knowing most of them had Irish blood. “You could check the hotels.”

  The police made to leave. “You’ll be sure to notify us immediately if you see him, ma’am?”

  “Of course, officers,” Robyn said graciously. “If there’s anything else I can do—”

  “Don’t plan any vacations. We’ll need to see you and your housekeeper again.”

  Mary saw out the policemen and doctor, to Robyn’s great relief. Her head ached. She sank down on a chair arm, rubbing her forehead. She couldn’t turn her wrath on Alice because the Wilkes and the minister were still there.

  “Mrs Stafford,” the minister began in a voice of oak and honey, “I’m here to help you. Anything you wish to talk about…”

  “There isn’t, thank you.”

  “None of us is perfect, you know. We’re all faced with temptation and it is only human to succumb once in a while. Satan has all manner of tricks, but God is merciful. You’re a devout worshipper, Mrs Stafford. You know the church is always here to help.”

  Robyn shot to her feet, feeling homicidal.

  “I came to church last Sunday and was asked to leave! There’s no more to say. So if you’ll excuse me?”

  The minister left, looking grave and shamefaced. No sooner had he gone than Mr and Mrs Wilkes came to her and offered their resignations.

  “You’ve been so good to us, ma’am,” said Mrs Wilkes, in tears. “But under the circumstances – we’re sorry, but –”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Robyn sighed. “Alice will arrange your final payment. A generous one to reflect your hard work and loyalty. But I’ve a headache and I need to rest.”

  With that she left, barely glancing at the stunned Alice. In her bedroom, she sat at her dressing table, temples resting on her fists, trembling. After a few minutes, the door opened and Alice came in, her face as grim as thunder.

  “You made me look a fool downstairs, madam.”

  “And you made me look like an accomplice to murder!” Robyn flared. “How dare you drag the police into this! Have you gone completely crazy?”

  “But that creature really is a murderer!” Alice struck the edge of the dressing table, scattering perfume bottles like skittles. Robyn had never seen her so angry. “I’m trying to save you from him. But you, God help you, are trying to protect him! That makes you an accomplice to murder. So tell me, which of us is crazy?”

  “Get out,” Robyn grated. “If you want to lose your job, home and generous salary – you’re going the right way about it.”

  “You ungrateful b–” Alice closed her lips on the last word. Eyes brimming, she marched out.

  Robyn dropped her head onto her arms, drained. She was too depressed even to cry. Why am I doing this? she thought. I’m mad, because I know Alice is right. Why am I protecting Sebastian and attacking her, when all this is his fault?

  She sat without moving for an hour or so. Mary brought a tray of coffee, set it down with trembling hands, and left without a word. Robyn roused herself to pour a cup, stirred in too much sugar and winced at the cloying sweetness.

  That was when Sebastian appeared. She saw a dark movement from the corner of her eye and stood up to face him, livid.

  “Have you the remotest idea what you’ve done to me?”

  “What is it?” He moved like a shadow towards her, beautiful, gentle, self-assured, infinitely more real than her accusing visitors. “The idiots in your parlour? For the love of heaven, Robyn, don’t let the likes of them upset you.”

  “They want to question you about a murder. The minister wants to save my soul. They know about you.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “I’m a jealous lover, child. You know that. I told you to stop seeing Harold. You didn’t really care about him, did you?”

  Her head ached to the bone. “Not as much as I should. I suppose that makes me no better than you.”

  “Those policemen are no problem. They could all have heart attacks, you know.”

  “Don’t you dare! You don’t understand how bad this is! By seeing you, knowing what you are, it’s as if I murdered Harold myself – and there are people in this town who’d love to see me in prison. Even if they can’t prove anything, there’s the scandal, the newspapers. I’ve got away with a lot over the years, but beauty and charm wear thin if it’s just too scandalous to be acquainted with me!”

  “You’re certainly a realist.”

  “Damn right I am. But I’m damned if I’ll let them drive me out of my home. I won’t let them win. I’m going to face them down.”

  “Why?” He pulled her onto the foot of the bed, his alluring eyes on hers. “Just come away with me, Robyn.”

  “I’d be admitting defeat.”

  “If you come with me, no harm will come to Alice, Mary or anyone.”

  “That sounds like blackmail.”

  “That’s as maybe. They can’t touch me or even prove I exist; you’re the one who will suffer. I’d have no choice but to protect you. But leave with me now, and everyone will be safe. All this will fade away and be forgotten.”

  Robyn exhaled. For all her fighting words, she was surrendering. She lacked the energy for a day-to-day battle with the police, the church, Alice, society. Her crusade against men had turned sour. Only one man was left now against whom she could aim her thirst for revenge. Only one whose defeat would truly satisfy her: this creature of darkness who had ruined her life.

  “All right. You’ve got your way again,” she said. “Why do I feel I’m being abducted by the King of Elfland?”

  He smiled. “Pack your suitcase. I’ll come for you after dark. Let me show you what it is… to disappear.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A GHOST AMONG GHOSTS

  Winter drifted down on Salzburg, an ermine cloak pricked by the black of church spires and treetops. Steel clouds pressed down. Icy gales blew off the Alps, whipping the world to pearl-grey nothingness.

  Through the storm, Lilith brought them safely home.

  Karl’s skin was as white as Fyodor’s as Charlotte helped him to a chaise longue in Violette’s apartment. She offered him her wrist, and he was so famished that he didn’t even try to refuse. How bitter-sweet, to cradle his head and kiss his dark, red-sheened hair, to be clamped to him by pain, his need pulling at her veins, pulling her into himself.

  Violette paced behind them, as if restless to be somewhere else. “I don’t want thanks,” she said, businesslike. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  Nothing’s changed, Charlotte thought sadly. She rescues us but there’s still no reconciliation!

  “But why did you save us?” Charlotte asked, exasperated.

  “How could I not?” Violette exclaimed, as if that were sufficient explanation. “Do you still think I have any reason to fear Cesare? I could have snapped his neck. And if h
e comes near my ballet again – I will. God help me, I will.”

  Charlotte gently stopped Karl feeding before he weakened her. He let her go without protest and sat back, clasping her hand to his chest.

  “Cesare’s strength comes from Simon and John,” said Karl. “He would be nothing without them. But Cesare’s zeal is what holds them together. What kind of immortals his human flock will make, I dread to think. I don’t think they’ll be… ordinary.”

  “You mean the Crystal Ring will have unpredictable effects on them, as it did to Simon and –” Charlotte thought better of adding, Violette. “And John?”

  “Possibly. Or their fanaticism gives them unnatural strength. The pure power of will. Perhaps it’s the same thing. All I suggest, Violette, is that you don’t take for granted that you are untouchable.”

  Violette became still. Charlotte glimpsed her inner pain.

  “The time will come, I know,” Violette said quietly. “Until then I must be left alone to complete Witch and Maiden. I’ll protect you, if you help me protect my dancers against that fiend. But I must produce one last ballet!”

  Violette refused to talk any more. Instead, Charlotte took Karl outside in the snowstorm to hunt. There was no one to see them in the whirling gloom, but on a mountain path behind the house, near walls of a monastery, they met a young novice monk.

  Charlotte let Karl take the prey alone, watching with tears of desire in her eyes. After a time, unable to stop herself, she clamped her lips to the other side of the boy’s throat. She and Karl held each other through a crimson storm as the boy died between them.

  All through the feast, Violette’s words hung in her mind.

  One last ballet.

  Afterwards, Karl fell to his knees in the snow as if in despair. Charlotte knelt beside him, her head on his shoulder. Both were shuddering with the sensual aftermath and stark awareness of what they’d done. No need to speak. The snow swiftly made the corpse an amorphous cocoon.

  As they walked back to the house, Karl said, “Well, this has taught us our limitations, at least. Violette may be able to defy Cesare, but you and I cannot.”