by K. T. Tomb
And just as the coolness of the alley closed in around her, a voice called out from the street, “You there! Unhand that woman!”
She recognized that voice! It was, of course, the voice of the gentleman, Alfred Covington. Her cry hadn’t gone unheeded after all.
She was well back into the alley when Edwin threw her down, hard enough to hit her head on a pipe, and just as she began to lose consciousness for the second time in so many minutes, she heard Edwin say, “You stay right here while I go tend to this dandy.”
There were moments after that, which came and went, as did her consciousness. She heard grunting, fighting, the sound of a skull splitting open. Later, she felt strong hands lifting her, felt weightless for a moment and then felt nothing again. In another moment, she could hear a rhythmic sound, which she could not identify and a distant soothing voice. She let herself go and allowed the darkness to swallow her up.
Chapter Eight
A conversation with Count Graf von Hohenstein, also known as the Duke of Cambridge after marrying Queen Victoria’s cousin Mary Adelaide, had been quite beneficial for Alfred as he rode out of Richmond Upon Thames that morning. He was still running through their conversation as he crossed London en route to Limehouse to check up on Nora.
“Patience, dear boy,” the Duke had told him in his thick, Slavic-accented English. Alfred was no boy; it was just a form of address which the Duke favored. “Convincing a woman to agree to anything is a battle more fierce than Wellington and Blucher faced with Napoleon. To win over an Irish woman, no less, is a feat for the gods.”
“That’s not encouraging in the least, sir,” he’d replied.
“You’ve already won half the battle, Alfred,” the Duke had laughed. “That skin cream is like magic to one of her kind. By golly, I’ve used it myself. The relief it brings and the long-term results won over my own heart and I’m not given to such things.”
“You’ve used the cream, sir?” Alfred had asked, blinking.
“My dear boy,” the Duke replied. “Without that cream, I’d have clawed the hide from the back of my hands, destroyed my face and likely plucked out my own eyes!”
“You have the same condition, sir?”
“I do, indeed, why do you think I keep a vast a supply of it here at the manor?”
“I’d assumed it was passed along to you because it was needed for those we are recruiting into the agency.”
“Your assumption is only partially correct.” The Duke paused a moment, frowned, then returned to their original conversation. “I believe that your next move is to bring her to meet me.”
“Getting her into the carriage is trouble enough, sir,” Alfred had answered.
“Nevertheless,” the Duke said. “Meeting me will tip the young woman’s scales toward Her Majesty’s service.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I can tell her things and present her with arguments that you cannot.”
Though the Duke had never revealed how he would be able to convince Nora to join the agency, Alfred believed him. And so, Alfred had purchased a fashionable dress, adornments, and shoes on the advice of his housekeeper, Missus Boyles, and was confident that such items would help entice the young lady to, at the very least, hold a meeting with his boss.
As the dapper pair of steeds trotted down the cobblestone and into the outer limits of Limehouse, Alfred was lost within his own thoughts; rehearsing his conversation with Nora over and over as he went. He barely noticed a commotion near the entrance to an alley along the street as his eyes were focused forward; that is, until he heard a woman’s high-pitched cry for help.
Rattled out of his own thoughts, he caught the glimpse of flaming red hair, and had instantly drawn up on the lines of the horses. He’d scrambled down from his carriage and made his way along the street toward the alley.
When he came to the opening, he saw two shadows drawing deeper within. Alfred had shouted, “You there! Unhand that woman!”
He’d next heard the heavy crack of what appeared to be Nora’s head hitting something as she fell and lay unmoving. Alfred prayed he wasn’t too late to help her. Unfortunately, before he could attend to her, there was a very large and angry man standing in the way.
“You’ve gone and stuck your nose into somethin’ that doesn’t concern you, dandy,” the man had hissed. “This whore owes me for not givin’ me what I paid for. Turn away and go on with yer business.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Alfred replied, rolling up his sleeves. “You see, that woman works for me. Or is about to. You are, in fact, assaulting a future member of Her Majesty’s service.”
“The whore? You are confused, dandy. She sells her goods here in Limehouse and uses what she makes to smoke opium in that emporium over there on the street corner. She’s no more a member of Her Majesty’s service than you are. Now, get on with you before I teach you a lesson, too. It won’t be pretty, trust me.”
“You would be very ill-advised to try to teach me anything,” Alfred returned. He finished rolling up his sleeves and braced himself for what he knew would come next. Though he was weaponless, he did have the heel of his hand and knew exactly where and how to meet a man’s charge.
“I’ve warned ye fairly.”
Alfred turned his body as the man hurled a fist, and drove the heel of his hand up under the man’s chin. The assailant was unconscious before he hit the floor of the alley. Alfred dashed immediately to Nora’s side.
He put his ear near her mouth and immediately felt her hot breath. Alfred was more relieved than he was prepared for. For some reason, this feisty redhead had worked her way under his skin, and maybe even into his heart. From behind, Alfred heard the man scramble to his feet, and turned to prepare for an attack, but the man had no more fight in him. Typical, a tough man around women, but not so tough when another man shows him the floor. Alfred watched the man’s staggering shadow retreat from the alley.
Sure that Nora’s attacker was gone, Alfred scooped her up from the ground and carried her back down the alley. As he emerged in the street, there was no sign of the man who had attacked Nora, neither was there more than two or three persons moving along the street. All ignored him, as was customary here in Limehouse. Next, Alfred laid her gently upon the rear seat of the carriage, placed his rolled jacket under her head and went to the boot for a blanket to pull over her. Once done, and satisfied she was as comfortable as possible, he took up the lines of the carriage and started the pair of blacks on their way, turning them at a wide spot in the street so that he could return to London.
Alfred looked back often to check on his charge. He noted that on a few occasions she stirred, but did not seem to be awakening. He arrived in Richmond Upon Thames, pulled up to the front door of his home, scooped Nora from the back seat of the carriage and carried her into the house while Missus Boyles scurried along beside him.
“Mister Covington,” she admonished. “I knew that you wanted the poor girl to come with you, but don’t you think you went a bit overboard?”
“Hardly,” he growled. “Now make up a room. We have a new guest.”
Chapter Nine
The sound of a pendulum in a parlor clock penetrated through the dark silence.
There was a fresh, clean scent and it confused her. Surely, the sound of the pendulum belonged with the opium den, but the sweet aroma didn’t; neither did the clean, crisp sheets Nora felt against her face. For several long counts, she tried to sort through the puzzle in her mind. Her head throbbed, but it was different than the way it throbbed when she was coming off of an opium high. She blinked her eyes open and stared blankly at the white ceiling with gold crown moulding. Where am I? She attempted to sit up.
“Don’t go doin’ that, dearie,” said a soft voice from nearby.
Nora felt a bolt of white-hot lightning shoot through her body and fell back into the pillow, clenching her teeth in agony. After the pain passed, she turned her head toward the woman sitting in the chair
beside her. “Where am I? Who are you?”
“Where you are, is the home of Mister Alfred Covington, and who I am is Missus Boyles, his housekeeper.”
“He brought me to his home?” Nora tried to push herself up again, but realized that doing so was far too painful and made her dizzy.
“Rest easy, love,” Missus Boyles soothed. “There’s no cause for alarm. His intentions are purely noble. You were badly hurt. The local doctor has only just left, in fact.”
With that bit of information, Nora began recalling her encounter with Edwin Burberry. She remembered her struggle with him. She remembered seeing Alfred’s carriage pass by. She remembered calling for help. He had come. The pipe. The short snippets of what passed after that began to make sense to her. She had felt him lift her up. She had heard the click-clacking of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone. She’d heard soothing voices. His voice. And Missus Boyles’.
“How long have I been unconscious?” she asked.
“Several hours,” the woman replied with a soothing smile on her round face. “You took a pretty nasty blow to your noodle, dear. It required several stitches. You’re expected to make a full recovery. Doctor Twinning wasn’t expecting you to awaken for several hours more, so you’ve already made a jumpstart on mending.”
“You’re awake then,” Alfred Covington said, startling her as he stepped into the room. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to give you a start.”
“It’s because of that habit of yours, sir,” Missus Boyles admonished. She turned back toward Nora. “He’s always giving me a jolt as well, Miss Kelly. He walks so softly that I never hear him until he speaks. ‘Tis like he’s hunting a stag in the forest.”
“There are other reasons for the softness of my step, Missus Boyles,” Alfred chuckled as he came nearer to Nora. He allowed a broad smile to grow on his face for a moment and then quickly dismissed it. “Not for hunting stags in the forest though.”
There was a long pause as Nora looked into his eyes. There was a devilish dance taking place there. She hadn’t noticed it before. It frightened her, yet soothed her at the same time. How is that possible?
“You were in quite a bad way when I came upon you, Miss Kelly,” he began. “The gent—apologies, I nearly called your captor a gentleman; force of habit, of course, he was anything but a gentleman. Anyway, he had thrown you down hard enough to render you unconscious, thanks, in part, to an exposed pipe.”
“Edwin Burberry,” Nora responded. “That’s the man who attacked me. I tried to fight him, but I was too weak from the…” She stopped herself, too embarrassed to admit that she had been weak from the effects of having indulged in opium again.
Alfred smiled at her. It was a knowing smile, but it was not an accusatory one. “This man, Burberry, was a particularly nasty sort. He tried to attack me as well, but I suppose his luck ran out, and he received a taste of his own medicine. But all of that is behind us.” He looked at the woman sitting next to Nora. “Missus Boyles, we ought to be getting the pots and pans in the kitchen rattling and prepare something for our guest. No doubt, your special recipe will do wonders to set Miss Kelly back on her feet again.”
“It certainly will, dear,” Missus Boyles announced, eager to ply her wares. “We’ll have ye turnin’ cartwheels soon enough.” The plump, elderly woman waddled from the room and called out to someone to get the stove heated.
“Thank you for coming to my aid,” Nora said. “But, please, don’t make a fuss over me. I’d just as soon go back to my own home and to my own bed. Kate and Mary will be worried sick about me.”
“You needn’t be concerned about Kate and Mary,” Alfred replied. “I’ve sent word to them regarding your condition and what is being done for you. What is important is for you to heal from your wounds and get back on your feet again.”
“I’ve survived a knock to the head before,” she countered. Her stubbornness was rising up inside of her.
“That’s not the wound of which I speak,” Alfred replied.
Nora could feel his eyes burning through her and she was keenly aware of what he was getting at. “The opium,” she sighed, turning her eyes away.
“No,” he replied. “The wound that drove you to it.”
“‘Tis not an easy wound to heal,” she whispered.
“None are,” he countered.
“So, I’ll be put in an asylum?” she asked.
“Hardly,” he laughed. “If I were Satan himself, I wouldn’t put you into one of those hellish pits. Those who go in come out far worse; that is, if they come out at all.”
“Then what?” she asked.
“We’ll take care of you here. Bring you back to yourself again and then, well, I’ll repeat my offer.”
“Service to Her Majesty?”
He nodded. “I want you to have a clear head, though. I want you to have a proper look and feel for what can be yours if you choose to rise up out of the mire that keeps you in Limehouse. I want you to know precisely what will be expected of you and make an informed decision about your future. You can’t do that until your wound is healed.”
“What will be expected of me?”
“That is a conversation for another time,” he grinned, turning away from her and leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Chapter Ten
Three days had passed and Nora was growing restless. True, she was feeling stronger, but she was also feeling an even stronger need for the opium. Correction, an overwhelming need for the opium.
On her fourth night, when she was feeling strong and eager to move on, Nora confronted her host after what was surely one of the most delicious pheasants she had ever eaten. “What is it you want from me, Alfred?”
“I am not at liberty to say... yet,” said Alfred. He had just lit his evening pipe, and turned to look at her through the haze of smoke. They were together in his large study, from which hung massive tapestries and a large painting of hunting dogs. “Tell me, Miss Kelly, what caused you to leave Ireland?”
“You’re dodging my question.”
“Actually, I’m laying the groundwork to have it answered,” he countered. “I’d like to know a little bit more about you, your motivations and the objectives for your life.”
“You first,” she responded. “I’d like to know who the hell is keeping me captive.”
“You are free to go whenever you’d like, Miss Kelly.”
He had said that before, but she suspected otherwise. She suspected the moment she made to leave, he might grow exceedingly less friendly. At least, that is how it played out in her imagination, true or not.
“What would you like to know?” he asked, puffing on his pipe.
“Who are you? What is your job? Where did you come from?”
“Fair enough,” he said between puffs. “We’ll make an agreement. I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours, agreed?”
Nora hesitated a moment. She wasn’t sure if she could tell her story. It was a painful one, and one she didn’t often summon into her memory. Finally, she nodded. Hell, if it finally gave her the answers she needed from Alfred Covington, she’d dredge up the worst of it. “Agreed.”
“Very well. I am from Cambridgeshire, though my ancestry is Scottish,” Alfred began. “When the Duke of Cambridge gained his title by marrying Mary Adelaide of Cambridge, a cousin of Her Majesty, he called upon me. I, and my family, have been closely tied to the Adelaide family for a very long time now. The Duke was given a special mission by Her Majesty, and thus I was recruited. In fact, The Duke was charged with creating a new agency that is to keep track of the many enemies of the Realm. It is for this reason that I have had to keep you in the dark. I really can tell you no more than that at this point. Should you wish to join this agency in service of your Queen, you will, of course, learn more.”
“A secret agency? Why would anyone want me for a secret agency? What possible talent can I lend?” Nora asked.
“Those are questions that you ought to ask the Duke,” Alfred r
eplied.
“The Duke?”
“The Duke of Cambridge,” he replied. “Also known as Count von Hohenstein and the Duke of Teck.”
“I am to meet with him and ask him my questions?” It was a great deal more than Nora was prepared to hear. “I’m really not one who ought to be meeting with royalty and asking questions of them. I think you’ve mistaken me for much more than I am.”
“Well, then,” Alfred returned with a smile. “Perhaps you ought to tell me who you are then.”
The turn had been a smooth one, but Nora wasn’t quite ready to tell her story. “You haven’t told me your whole story yet.”
He stared at her for several long beats. She watched his face, mostly his eyes, transform as he sorted through his irritation and then relented. “What else is it that you wish to know?”
“Who are you?”
“That’s a difficult question to answer. Does anyone really know who they are?”
“Surely there must be some way that you can identify yourself beyond your name, your family and your position.” She paused, knowing that she had him. “What are the objectives for your life? What is your life’s passion?”
“I don’t know that I can answer those questions.” He wrinkled his brow.
“And yet, you’re going to expect me to answer those questions as well. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”
She could tell that he was struggling with something... perhaps a deep secret; a confession of his soul, perhaps? For a moment, she was certain that he would dismiss her. If he did, then she would be justified in not answering his questions, and to test the limits of his good nature and leave the home promptly. Finally, he sighed and nodded once, as if coming to some sort of decision.
“I, like my ancestors before me, am a vampire hunter,” he said.
Nora didn’t know how to respond. Yes, she had heard of vampires. She had seen their stories in the penny dreadfuls sold along the streets and shops. Fiends with a taste for blood. Nasty business, but most assuredly fiction. Certainly, there weren’t real vampires. Not in the world she lived in. Sure, she had serviced men who would as surely cut her throat and watch her bleed than pay her, but these were human monsters. Not immortal ones.
