by Hall, Ian
"You never can effect your purpose!" cried Stephens emphatically. "Were you to introduce yourself to her chamber, she would sooner die herself, or slay you, than submit to your purpose!"
"She must sleep—sleep profoundly!" said Greenwood, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, and regarding his companion in a significant manner.
"My God! what an atrocity!" ejaculated Stephens, with horror depicted upon his countenance.
"Perhaps you prefer a return to the horrors of transportation,—the miseries of Norfolk Island?" said Greenwood satirically.
"No—death, sooner!" cried Stephens, striking the palm of his right hand against his forehead.
Greenwood approached him, and whispered for some time in his ear. Stephens listened in silence; and when the libertine had done, he signified a reluctant assent by means of a slight nod.
"You understand how you are to act?" said Greenwood aloud.
"Perfectly," answered Stephens.
He then took his departure.
Scarcely had he left the house when Sir Rupert Harborough returned.
The baronet was deadly pale, and trembled violently. Greenwood affected not to observe his emotions, but received the bill of exchange which the baronet handed to him, with as much coolnesshe were concluding a perfectly legitimate transaction.
Having read the document, he handed a pen to the baronet to endorse it.
Sir Rupert affixed his name at the back of the forged instrument with a species of desperate resolution.
Mr. Greenwood consigned the bill to his desk, and then wrote a cheque for a thousand pounds, which he handed to the baronet.
Thus terminated this transaction.
When the baronet had taken his departure, Mr. Greenwood summoned Lafleur, and said, "You need not institute any inquiries relative to Miss Sydney, at Upper Clapton. My orders relative to Mr. Markham remain unchanged; and mind that the fellow known as Tom the Cracksman is here to-morrow evening at nine o'clock."
Mr. Greenwood having thus concluded his morning's business, partook of an elegant luncheon, and then proceeded to dress for his afternoon's ride in the Park.
The Fox and the Hounds
I know not if it were the life I now led, or my deepening involvement with the Varney situation, but I found myself beginning to tire of The Mysteries of London. Initially involved with the plot, there now seemed to be a drifting of Reynold’s writing, in an act of supposedly deepening of the plot, he had lost me slightly, and I wondered how long we would go before the story would return to Richard Markham, who I considered the main character.
While Reggie delivered the newest manuscript, I pondered my dwindling interest in my employment, and the subsequent elevation of the importance of my weekend activities.
By Thursday afternoon, the partners had failed to mention a weekend trip, and I wondered if indeed they intended to travel. I asked Thackeray, but she had no positive news for me. Then on Friday morning, as I rose from my bed, I heard the front door close three floors below.
It was my habit in the summer months to sleep with the window open, and although the coal fires of London did impart a certain smoky atmosphere to the city, it was not much of a change from my home in Edinburgh, called ‘Auld Reekie’ on account of the same problem. It was through the open window that the sound of the front door closing had reached me.
I dashed to the frame and lifted it further open. Poking my head outside I saw Uncle James down on the street entering Lady Clara’s black coach. He carried a small port-manteaux, a sure sign he intended to be gone for more than a single day.
My heart soared.
Without obvious haste, which would have alerted Thackeray to our plans, I roused Reggie from his bed in the scullery and we both had a quick breakfast at the kitchen table. “We will be gone for a few days,” I told her as we left. “We’ll be back on Sunday, probably.”
“Where on earth are you going?” she asked.
“I’m going to see the massive circle of stones at Stonehenge!” I replied glibly, Reggie, to his credit looked as excited as I.
And so began our second weekend in the country; a five minute cab ride north to Euston, the hiring of the horses, and the slow but steady journey south to the Elephant and Castle. On our second journey even it seemed humdrum compared to the dark secrets ahead. In my mind, I intended to confront Kitty and ask her involvement in the whole scheme. Between Reggie and I, we discussed ways to get her on her own; it passed the time, and it also helped provide a plan; or at least the very fabric of one.
At the nexus of the roads, the Elephant and Castle, I sought out the same vendor as the weekend before, as the chicken pies had been quite excellent. With our provisions in saddlebags, we made our way south, the weather seeming to open up in blue skies before us. To my surprise, Reggie looked quite at home on his mount, and seemed to be enjoying the scenery, instead of looking at his feet, plodding through it.
It seemed that in no time we were in Chessington, and booking in to the Admiral’s Arms. The village already looked familiar enough to call ‘home’ and Reggie and I had dinner together, people watching as before.
Around eight, Captain Belling arrived on cue and blustered his way to the bar with his sidekick in close attendance. “Yegads, Jack, I’ve a drouth this evening, to be sure.” He announced loudly. “My innards feel like they’ve been keel-hauled in dry-dock.”
He sat on the very same barstool and I did ponder the possibility that the pair were perhaps in the tavern every night of the week.
“My throat be salty, for sure.” Jack said as he took his position beside the older man. “I’ve been looking forward to this ration all day.”
“As sure as eggs is eggs,” Belling grinned, swallowing the measure of rum that had been placed to his fore. And so it continued for as long as we sat listening; a constant rant of mindless naval terminology, mixed with friendly banter. We sat after our meal for over an hour before I gave up on their possible involvement with anything untoward at the Bannerworth House. The men were characters, yes, a piece of local colour that would draw the attention of writers, but they hardly seemed capable of anything sinister.
Retiring for the evening after the long ride and a hearty repast, I slept like a dead man, only opening my eyes on the morning’s sunrise and birdsong that burst in the window like thunder.
“Will you visit with Varney again?” Reggie asked as we walked out of the village.
I tapped the road lightly with my cane, punctuating my steps. “I think not,” I said, chewing over the possibility. “He was most insistent when he warned me away last week. I do not intend to test his anger once more.”
“So we go to Horton House, then?”
“Aye, we do.” I said with a full realization that this weekend would uncover the full mystery of the Willoughby household.
With considerable fright I halted when Reggie pulled at my arm. About fifty feet along the road a fox crossed, a pigeon in its jaws. It gave no hint of seeing us, and continued up the road until the turn-off for Bannerworth/Horton House. I put my finger to my lips, hushing any possible chat, then followed the animal, my cane firmly under my arm.
To my surprise, the fox kept to the worn grass path across the field, then as the red house appeared through the trees, it turned again, heading directly towards it. We followed until we reached our copse of trees, and again I watched in bemusement as it slipped through the bars of the gate, vanishing from sight inside the garden.
“If only we could achieve entry so easily,” I mused. I climbed the usual tree, and for the first time I found the garden occupied. Both Uncle James and his partner, Thomas, strolled in the garden, obviously in heated conversation. Their hands moved animatedly, and I knew I had to find out what they were talking about. Quickly dropping to the ground, I walked across the remaining meadow to the wall, as close as I could to their position.
“…so we have to go, it’s expected…” Rymer’s voice, his tone insistent.
“But Clara look
s tired,” Prest this time.
“Tired or no, she’s done this before and she’ll…” I almost screamed as the rest of Uncle’s sentence was taken by the breeze. “… it’s essential.”
“Curse the Count for this!” Prest roared.
But it was the last I heard before they moved from near my position at the wall. Then I hear them exclaim, “Kitty! Kitty, my dear!”
I almost jumped the wall in one bound, yet knew I had to see her. I ran back to the tree where Reggie stood and scrambled up the thick trunk, only to catch a glimpse of their backs as the filed inside the front door.
I sat for another hour, but I could not help feeling very exposed on the branch; if the occupants of Horton House had the same view every day, surely a man on the branch would stick out like a sore thumb. With regret I slid to the ground, suddenly hungry. I opened my watch finding to my surprise that it was almost four o’clock, far later than I’d thought.
“We retire to the tavern, Reggie.” I set off across the meadow with long determined strides. “Tonight we get inside and find out exactly what they’re doing.”
Rather than return to Chessington via the road, I set off cross-country, a more direct route. It took less time to get to the village, but so my surprise, the Admiral’s Arms was not as busy as expected.
“On account o’ the bash at the Abbey.” The serving girl told us, seemingly put out for some reason.
“Ratford Abbey?” I asked.
“The very same, sir,” she nodded, but kept the sour expression. “They has this bash every year, invites the whole village. ‘Ceptin’ those that are workin’.” She moved off to get our drinks, and I turned to Reggie.
“So there’s some sort of fair at the Abbey.”
“We could go, invite ourselves.” He seemed quite taken by the prospect.
I mulled the idea for a moment. “Or if the occupants of Horton House are invited, we could use that to our advantage.” Reggie didn’t cotton on quite quick enough. “We hit Horton Hall when Lady Clara and the partners are at the Abbey bash.”
“An’ we know that the Count will be busy at his own fair.” Reggie gave a broad smile.
“We have to get back to Bannerworth, eh, Horton Hall. We have to make sure the occupants have actually left.”
I drank my beer in record time, and buoyed by confidence and our new plan, set off again for Lady Clara’s residence. We had hardly set foot in the meadow when I heard the unmistakable sound of a horse and carriage. From behind a stone wall we watched it pass. Inside I definitely identified Uncle James, and I was fairly certain I caught a glimpse of Lady Clara too.
With renewed vigor, we set off for Horton House.
Approaching from the rear, the house had a much lower wall, barely four feet high, and inside its boundaries sat an oval pond and a vegetable garden; I recognized canes of peas, potatoes and turnips. We watched the back of the house for some time, then decided to act.
Along a hedgerow, we approached the building, hidden from view most of the way. By the time we had to move into open ground, we were less than twenty feet from the back door. There was still no movement or sound from within, and hope leapt in my heart that all the occupants had attended the Count’s festivities.
Then the door suddenly flew open, and a figure backed into view. Female, thin to the degree of fragility, wild brown ringlets tossed into her eyes as she turned to her task.
Kitty! Dressed as a scullery maid, and carrying a large basket of washing to the four rope lines that held taut over the small lawn close to the house. I pushed backwards into the last of the hedgerow cover and watched her cope admirably with the annoying wind and the large sheets she fastened to the washing rope.
My romantic hopes both rose as waves and were dashed against the rocks with equal measure. How could my Kitty, the niece of such a household, be used in such a barbaric way? I wanted to run to her aid, help her with her chores, yet I lingered, aware that an announcement of my presence might negate any of my investigations.
Yet again, in search of the ‘truth’, another batch of questions had been flung at me. There seemed little else to do, so once she had fastened the last of her clothes, I stepped into the open and closed the distance between us. “Kitty?”
She turned with a start, her hands instantly flung to her face. “Alexander? No!” She ran to the house before I could utter more, slamming the door behind her. The speed in which she covered the ground belied my senses, but to my dismay as I neared the dark wood portal, I heard a loud click from inside.
I turned the handle with no result. Kitty!” I cried, all sense of decorum now gone. “Talk to me!”
I heard her body push against the door from within. “No, Alexander, go away!”
“I won’t!” I said with passion, and tried the handle again. “Kitty! Tell me what’s going on!” I could sense Reggie standing behind me. I heard her sob through the heavy door, and knelt to the ground, putting my mouth at the large keyhole. “Kitty, please talk to me.” I said, holding my temper in check.
In surprise I heard her take the key from the door. “You don’t understand, Alexander,’ her voice came through the keyhole. I could smell her perfume wafting at me.
“Then tell me more.” I said in a hushed tone. “Make me understand.”
“Wait here and do not say another word.” I strained to hear her voice. “I will return quickly.”
I heard the pad of her feet across the kitchen floor, then nothing for a while.
“What’s going on?” Reggie startled me.
“She says she’s coming back.” I relayed to him, not letting my ear move from the keyhole. Then the key was inserted back into the lock, and before I knew, the door opened an inch. I stood up.
“Listen quickly to what I say,” Kitty said, pressing her lips against the gap. “Mrs. Thorpe, my Governess, is in the house. She and the butler watch the tree for your return, for a trap was laid, a trap into which you have stumbled pell-mell.”
“A trap?” I asked.
“Yes, you were warned by the Count to stay away, but few of us thought you would.”
Her words were alarming me greatly. To what degree was our presence known? “How many…”
I did not finish my question. “Alexander!” In some manner she managed to snap my name yet maintain a whisper. “You suspect ill deeds, yet your reasoning cannot allow you to fully comprehend their depths.” She looked back inside the house, then resumed looking at me, a fearful look in her eyes. I could hardly help myself, for I wished to throw myself to her aid. “Alexander, you must away. If they catch you here tonight, they will kill you. They considered the Count’s warning to be final.”
“Come with me.” The words were out of my mouth before I even realized I’d given them thought.
“Alexander!” Kitty snapped again. “Go away and reconsider your position. I can no more go with you than you can understand the gravity of your situation; if it were not for the wind from the south, taking your scent away, you would have already been discovered. The creatures which control our destinies have powers and skills beyond reason, and the lack of morals to use them to your destruction.”
“Creatures?” I wondered at her use of the word.
I could see the shake of her head. “Alexander, use your brain.” The door had opened slowly, and I now could see her full face. “Your Uncle writes of vampyres, and you have seen both the house and the village. Can you not find it in your conscience to put the facts together?”
My mind felt like treacle, my thought processes slow and cloying. “You must explain it.” I managed. I felt so stupid, yet knew I should be doing far batter.
She shook her head, sighed, then chanced a look back into the house again, afraid of being discovered. She looked back at me with obvious exasperation. “I will somehow get out of here for a moment, I will meet you tomorrow and we shall talk more; at the very instant of dawn.”
I gasped in sudden hope. “Where?”
“In the village,
on the south road, there is a milestone. It marks Portsmouth as being 65 miles. Meet me there at dawn. Now get out of here, and give the house a wide berth on the south side, for they watch for you, and have senses so acute they would parallel the basest animals.”
And with that Kitty closed the door.
The parting “Goodbye my love,” was lost on the bare wood.
Heeding her warning, we gave the house a huge berth, making our way back to Chessington in a wide arc. Reggie lagged behind me, perhaps in realization I needed time to gather my thoughts, for indeed they were legion.
The Grand Dawning
Of course, I could not sleep.
I had been chastised for my naivety by a young girl who I had thought to be living in danger, only to have been told I knew naught, and I felt sufficiently pilloried for the act. As I lay on my bed, I determined to open my mind to gather as much information as possible. I lay back on my pillow and considered the mess I was in.
Kitty, in a moment of either panic or clarity had called her governess and the butler ‘creatures’, or perhaps she included the whole household; I had witnessed several moments when Lady Clara appeared to be more than just a woman. These thoughts ran amok in my head with my common sense reasoning providing the barriers for their parameters.
‘Powers and skills beyond reason’, the phrase came back to me, yet I doubted my own recollection. Perhaps I had misheard? Then a conscious voice entered my head telling me a certain truth, and I knew the voice to be my own.
Kitty had censured me for my seeming innocence, and as her words came back to me, I became forced to one powerful conclusion. If I indeed had thought there was more truth to the Varney stories than met the eye, then I had to put the facts together. And face them head-on.
In the guise of Count Francesco Varanelli, we had the very vampyre himself, a man who had swept Lady Clara off her feet in a moment of passion so animalistic that I had scarcely thought possible.
Lady Clara had indeed appeared to me at least three times as a fierce creature, and again, Kitty had called her the very same. I remembered the day at the park, and the speed she had retreated from me; either she had the fleetness of foot that went beyond human comprehension, or she could disappear completely. That was itself a difficult pill to swallow.
