Supping With Panthers

by Tom Holland

  Lord Ruthven sighed. ‘I was wondering, you see, if you might not reconsider your decision.’ There was a silence; I assumed he was waiting for an answer from me. However he turned, pressing his cheeks against the glass of the window, and stared out at the moon-stained Thames. ‘You saw it tonight, did you not?’ he asked.

  ‘Saw it?’

  ‘When you fell silent. You understood. I know you did.’

  ‘Diseased souls are not my field, I’m afraid.’

  Lord Ruthven laughed softly. ‘It is not my soul I am asking you to heal.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘My blood – you have told me so yourself, Doctor – the disease is in my blood. I am right, aren’t I? There may be a physiological cause.’ He had leaned forward, taken my hands; as he looked into my eyes, I recognised the glitter of desperation in his own. ‘You must help me – for my own sake, and for all those whom I threaten.’

  ‘And if l do not?’

  Lord Ruthven shrugged. ‘Nothing. You will be in no danger from me, Dr Eliot, if that is what you mean. I do not wish you to continue your work under duress. It is perfectly true that I kill, but only because I also have to drink. You have seen the cells; you understand why – I can no more help myself than your patients can help the effects of their diseases. But I am not a wanton murderer. At least…’ – he paused – ‘that is, I mean, in the main… in the main, I can select my victims …’ He swallowed; a shadow passed across his face; again I do not know how, but for a second his agony seemed naked before me. ‘You must help,’ he murmured. ‘In the name of – he smiled bitterly – ‘humanity.’

  For a long while I did not reply. ‘I cannot,’ I said at last. ‘What you are asking me to find for you – the removal of the craving for blood from your cells – such a cure, as I have said, would mean immortality. Immortality, Lord Ruthven. That is beyond my or any man’s power to find.’

  ‘No,’ answered Lord Ruthven very shortly. ‘It must be possible,’ He leaned across to me. ‘Find it for me, Doctor. Do all that you can. Somewhere, somehow, you must find me hope. Me, and all my breed,’ He squeezed my arm, and his fingers gouged deep. ‘Do not turn me down, Doctor.’

  The carriage had halted by a junction. I broke free from his grasp and rose to my feet. ‘I will get out here,’ I said. Lord Ruthven watched me as I opened the door and climbed out into the street; he did not try to hold me back. ‘We could take you to Whitechapel if you wished,’ he said.

  ‘I need to walk. I have a lot to think about,’

  Lord Ruthven arched an eyebrow. ‘You do indeed.’

  I looked up at him. ‘I will do all that I can,’ I said. ‘But for now – please – I must be on my own.’ And then I turned, and crossed the road, and walked into a tangle of streets where his carriage could not follow. As I went, I smiled to myself. I realised that I felt almost exultant. Perhaps my research was not doomed, was all that I could think; perhaps now, with Lord Ruthven as my patient again, I would attain the breakthrough I had been working towards so painfully and for so long. Immortality – that was too much even to contemplate – but there were other goals I might now perhaps reach. I would need Huree, of course. He was the expert on the vampire’s world. And as I spoke this word to myself, ‘vampire’, I realised how reluctant I had been even to utter it before. No wonder my research had been a failure – I had never dared admit what its true object had been. I could have no such qualms now. I could not hold back as I had done before.

  Circumstance seemed determined to bless this resolve. I reached home after half an hour’s walk; as I climbed the stairs that led to my rooms, I saw that my door was ajar and a light flickering from inside. I approached the door carefully; the light, I could see now, was very weak. I entered my room. Propped up on my desk was a picture of Kali. It had been garlanded, and in front of it were candles and bowls of burning incense. Beneath one of the incense burners a book had been left. I picked it up, and read the tide: The Vampire Myths of India and Roumania: A Comparative Study. Tucked inside the first page a note had been left. I removed it. ‘Thought you never went out. Things must have changed. Will see you tomorrow and get all the news. Yours, Huree. ’

  Surely, together, we cannot fail?

  31 July. – Huree round this afternoon. He is still the master of disguise. Did not recognise him at first, since during the course of his European travels he has transformed himself into something almost Viennese: pince-nez, goatee beard, ghastly Alpine hat. His bulk betrayed him, though; he is even rounder than before. Offered to put him up but he refused, saying he was damned if he was going to live in a slum. Instead, he is staying in Bloomsbury with an old lawyer-friend of his from Calcutta. This lawyer has a servant who can cook Bengali food. Huree keen to catch up, after a month of nothing but Parisian haute cuisine. Afraid, having languished in such a gastronomic wilderness, that he has been reduced to skin and bone. I was able to reassure him he has not.

  I then narrated the events of the past few months. Huree pretended to keep his calm, but I could tell it was a show; he is excited and disturbed. Not much discussion or analysis from him as yet, but that will come, I am sure. For now, our most pressing task is to identify the cause of George’s illness; and, if it should prove to be what we both suspect, somehow to secure his safety. Not easy, in view of George’s refusal to see me, but I suggest to Huree that he attend the debate in the House of Commons tomorrow. The vote is to be taken on George’s Bill and George himself, as the Minister responsible, will be summing up for the Government. I have my own responsibilities, and will be unable to attend; but Huree at least should have the chance to study George. I will await his conclusions with considerable interest.

  Only one hint that Huree is already developing theories on the case. As he left me, he paused and turned round. ‘Polidori?’ he asked. ‘Our opium-peddling friend – you are sure his name is Polidori?’

  ‘Yes. Why? Does he mean something to you?’

  ‘Is he a doctor, perhaps?’

  I stared at him in surprise. ‘Yes. At least, according to Lord Ruthven, he was.’

  Huree smiled. ‘Ah! Lord Ruthven!’

  ‘Huree, tell me, how did you know?’

  He smiled again. ‘I remember,’ he said, ‘in your investigations in the past, you preferred to keep your cards close to your chest. Well, now the boot is on the other foot. Don’t worry, old man, it is just a little hunch of mine.’

  I shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

  Huree nodded and continued on his way down the stairs, when he suddenly paused and turned again. ‘You know, Jack,’ he said, ‘you have not attained the breakthrough in this case because you are not yet expecting the impossible. Your reason is no bloody use to you now. You must search for leads that should not logically be there. That is why you have been needing me. I can lead you where you wouldn’t think to go. Just remember, Jack – anything is possible now.’ He smiled, and bobbed his head. ‘Anything.’

  Yes. He is right, of course. Just as Suzette was. The rules of this game are like nothing I have known. It is time I at last began to master them.

  Hansard’s Parliamentary Debates, Vol. CCCXXIX[August 1, 1888].

  ORDERS OF THE DAY

  IMPERIAL FRONTIERS

  (INDIA)BILL.—[BILL 337.]

  (Sir George Mowberley.)

  CONSIDERATION.

  Bill, as amended, farther considered.

  THE SECRETARY OF STATE FOR INDIA (Sir G. Mowberley) (Kensington) moved that in view of the overwhelming support for his Bill in both Houses, he would accept no more amendments. The frontier proposals were in the best interests of both the Indian peoples, and of the British Empire. The full and unconditional recognition of the independence of the kingdoms of Bhushan, Kathnagar and Kalikshutra, in particular, was in full accord with the principle of securing a lasting peace on the frontier of the Indian Empire. The attention of Honourable Members was drawn to the Imperial Defence Bill [Bill 346], and any further questions on military expenditure were request
ed to be referred to The Secretary of State for War (Mr. E. Stanhope). The Secretary of State for India concluded by thanking Hon. Gentlemen in all parts of the House for the assistance they had given to him in his endeavours to settle the great and complicated question which could now at last be considered as resolved.

  Question put, and agreed to.

  Bill read the third time, and passed.

  Cutting from The Times, 2 August.

  ILLNESS OF SIR G. MOWBERLEY

  The illness of Sir George Mowberley, Secretary of State for India, is reported. Shortly after the successful passage of the Imperial Frontiers (India) Bill through the House of Commons late last night, a measure on which Sir George himself had delivered the concluding speech, the Secretary of State was taken ill in the Lobby Hall. He was transported to his home in a state of unconsciousness.

  His condition at present is reported to be stable.

  Dr Eliot’s Diary.

  2 August. – In the papers, George was reported as having collapsed. Huree called on me early; he confirmed the news but added – what the papers had not mentioned – that George had also been taken ill while giving the speech itself, and had needed to rest for a minute before continuing. Obviously, at the distance he was sitting from George in the Visitors’ Gallery, it was impossible for Huree to arrive at a firm diagnosis; he saw nothing, however, to contradict our initial hypothesis.

  I wonder now though if our suspicions may not have been premature – at least with regard to George. Huree is still convinced; I am not so certain that the evidence will support the inferences we have been placing upon it. Certainly, when we called on Lady Mowberley this afternoon she seemed less afraid for George’s health than she had been before. She is convinced that he is suffering from exhaustion, and nothing worse than that; indeed, was quite insistent on the point. She clearly feels he can be in little danger, for she is leaving for Whitby tomorrow on her family business and will be away from her husband for almost three days. Sadly, she could not permit me to inspect George myself, since it appears that his hostility towards me continues unabated, but when Huree mentioned the cuts to George’s wrists and neck she was able to tell us that even these had disappeared. She hopes to persuade her husband to travel abroad, to the South of France, perhaps; in the meantime, while he continues so weak, she feels at liberty to meet with me again once she is returned from Whitby. She has promised to inform us of any further developments.

  I will not take Huree to meet her again, though. He was very short and rude with her. Virtually accused her of lying about the state of George’s health. He sometimes has a very unfortunate manner – cannot bear his theories to be disproved. I recognise the same trait in myself, of course. 6 August. – Huree absent for several days now. I still don’t know what he is working on.

  Took out my papers, and samples of blood. Reviewed my research so far. Must visit Lord Ruthven soon.

  8 August. – Late night spent reviewing the case with Huree. We have agreed to suspend judgement on George’s illness, for lack of evidence, but to continue our search for the murderer of Arthur Ruthven. If we assume that it is indeed a vampire for which we are searching, then the field becomes somewhat narrow. Huree is keen to meet Polidori. We shall travel to Rotherhithe tomorrow.

  Letter, Mrs Lucy Westcote to Mr Bram Stoker.

  12, Myddleton Street,

  London.

  9 August.

  Dear Mr Stoker,

  I am afraid I will be a terrible disappointment to you and Mr Irving, but you must warn Kitty to start rehearsing my lines, for I am ill and unable to act in tonight’s performance. I am not quite certain what my malady is; I have been suffering from bad dreams, and woke this morning so weak that I was barely able to lift myself from bed. You will doubtless think I am being true to my background, and playing the society lady; but I assure you my faintness is entirely genuine, for I feel dizzy all the time, and have grown very pale, and in short am an abject picture of woe.

  I know it is bad form to let you down like this. But I have been feeling ill now for almost a week, and I am sure that a day’s rest will restore me to full health. I plan to be with you again in an evening or two.

  Until then, Mr Stoker,

  Your wretched friend,

  LUCY.

  Dr Eliot’s Diary.

  9 August. – A frustrating morning’s work. I took a hansom to Coldlair Lane, but Polidori’s shop was bolted up, without a sign of movement or light from inside, and a piece of paper with a scrawled message was attached to the door: ‘Closed due to unforeseen circumstances. Normal business will resume on my return.’ Huree took this sheet of paper with evident gratification, and slipped it into his coat pocket. I am not convinced of its value myself. I am aware of the uses that the science of graphology can sometimes have in the field of detection; but in Polidori’s case I doubt that his handwriting will tell us much we do not already know. Of course, Huree may want it for some other purpose; he is still reluctant to discuss his ideas.

  Searched for the entrance to the warehouse, but could not find it. Neither of us, I think, greatly surprised. Returned to Whitechapel. This afternoon, must continue to work through my research papers.

  5 a.m. – Woke from a strange dream. Had fallen asleep while working at my desk. Most unusual. I had imagined I was in India again, on the summit of the temple in Kalikshutra. Flames were raging and corpses were scattered everywhere, but there was a deathly silence and I seemed to be the only living person there. I had to heal the dead, bring them back to life. There was a terrible urgency which I didn’t understand, but seemed all the more real for that very reason. I couldn’t do it, though. No matter how hard I worked, they wouldn’t come alive. I knew there was some secret I was missing, hidden away from me. I began to dissect the bodies – with a scalpel at first, then with my bare hands. Lucy was there, and Huree, and everyone I knew; I ripped open their stomachs, probing their organs, then shredding them apart, desperate to find the cure that would bring the corpses back to life. I was starting to slither and slip in the mess I was creating. I tried to clean myself, even as I continued to dissect, but I was too stained with blood and I couldn’t wash it away. I was wading now in blood. It was sucking me down … it submerged me. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was dead.

  I opened my eyes. Lilah was standing before me. She was naked. Her lips were red and cruel; her eyes gleamed black below painted, drooping lids; her beauty was quite impossible and yet it was there, a beauty that seemed formed from man’s most fantastic passions, his most exquisite dreams, from the very desires of the world, yet to be something more than any of these and therefore, for that very reason, touched with over-ripeness and corruption. And as I understood this, I felt myself wanting her all the more, and I stepped forward and she took me in her arms. I’m writing nonsense, of course; but I felt it – as I feel it even now, when I dose my eyes. She kissed me. As she did so, my mind seemed to unfurl and expand, and all the secrets, all the mysteries which had been my torments before, seemed ready to be unveiled and given to me. I could feel myself waking. I struggled to stay asleep, for I wanted the fulfilment that I knew would then be mine, if I could only stay asleep, if I could only stay asleep. It was there, this fulfilment, a distant prick of light, but as I moved towards it I realised that it was also the point at which I would have to awake, and leave Lilah’s arms and be myself again. I reached out to touch it; I opened my eyes. I was sitting at my desk, slumped in my chair. I was quite alone.

  As I said, a very strange dream.

  6 p.m. – Continue distracted. Don’t know what the problem can be. Seems pointless to continue with my work in this present mood. Perhaps I should visit Lilah?

  11 August. – I have been away for two nights. It seems impossible. I am a doctor; I have always been precise in my time-keeping; yet while I was with Lilah, I was evidently oblivious to the passing of the hours. Huree was waiting for me when I returned home from Rotherhithe to Hanbury Street; he is disturbed by Lilah, he s
ays, and by the influence she appears to be gaining over me. I understand his concern; but I am not convinced it is justified. The seeming breakdown of time, for instance: that appears to me not as an indication of a malign influence, but a sign that I am on the right path, that I am passing beyond the frameworks of direct empirical observation to an understanding which may well prove remarkable in both its scope and implications. Huree may disagree, but I believe the progress I am making must justify any risk.

  Certainly, I feel I have already glimpsed great possibilities, without any apparent threat of danger. Lilah seemed almost to be waiting for me when I arrived. She was in the arboretum, seated on a bench; Suzette was with her, tracing lines in a book, and when she heard my footsteps she looked up and showed me the open pages. There was a maze drawn on each one, the first of remarkable complexity and beautiful design, the second simple and clumsily drawn.

  ‘Which do you prefer?’ Suzette asked. I pointed to the first one. Suzette smiled. ‘That was mine,’ she said. ‘I win, then. We’ve been having a competition, you see.’

  ‘We?’ I asked.

  Suzette nodded. ‘Me and ayah,’

  ‘Ayah?’

  Suzette pointed. I turned and looked. Standing in the shadows, holding a tray of sweetmeats and drinks, was a plump young Indian girl. She flinched as I stared at her, and bowed her head. I glanced at Lilah inquiringly.

  ‘I took George’s advice,’ Lilah said, her eyes glittering. ‘I found Suzette a nanny.’

  ‘She’s stupid,’ said Suzette.

  ‘That’s all she needs to be,’ Lilah replied. ‘She only has to look after you. Woman’s work,’ she drawled, ‘as I think George described it once,’ She stretched out her arm and beckoned lazily. ‘Sarmistha.’ The girl lowered her tray and came scurrying across, as though terrified, Lilah ordered her to put Suzette to bed, and as Suzette opened her mouth to complain she silenced her with a glance. The ayah stretched out to take Suzette’s hand; Suzette stared at her with a malevolence that was quite unlike a child’s, so cold and passionless it seemed, then took the ayah’s hand and allowed herself to be led down the path. As she went, the ayah glanced back over her shoulder. She raised her sari to cover her head, as though embarrassed to be seen by me; then she turned again and led Suzette out through the arboretum door.