by Claire Cray
Chapter 18
Merrick was absent in the morning.
I sat at the table in my nightshirt, uninterested in breakfast or tea. He had bandaged my thigh. I could not help looking down and lifting the gauze again to examine the neat wound, a fresh red circle marked by four deeper punctures.
When Merrick did not return within an hour, I decided to get on with my chores. Perhaps he had been called out on some emergency. After I had dressed, I finally went to start a pot of tea.
There by the teapot I saw a note.
William –
I must leave for awhile. Please forgive me.
Rest today. Your coach will arrive tomorrow morning.
—Silas
The edge of the paper crumpled in my hand.
My face burned, and my chest felt so tight I could barely breathe.
William –
I must leave for awhile. Please forgive me.
Rest today. Your coach will arrive tomorrow morning.
—Silas
I read it again and again, and finally I crushed the paper in my fist.
I stormed back into the cottage, wild with… with what? Shock? Anger? It mattered not.
Before I knew it, I was throwing back the leather covering from the mouth of the cave.
The black darkness startled me, and I turned back to fetch a lantern before I returned and plunged into the passage.
I must leave for awhile. Please forgive me. Rest today. Your coach will arrive tomorrow morning.
My coach would arrive in the morning! Rest? I turned the corner of the tunnel and held the lantern ahead, facing a narrow path that descended farther than the light could reach. I marched on, fearless in my determination.
There was a door ahead, barred and locked.
I stood before it, my lips thin, and then reared back and kicked it as hard as I could. My stomp echoed through the passage.
“Merrick!” I shouted. “Silas Merrick!”
There was no answer, of course. I lifted the padlock in my palm, inspecting it, then turned and stalked back up to the cottage. It only took me a few minutes to gather the tools I needed from the lean-to, and then I was crouched before the door wiggling knife and nail into the keyhole.
It took nearly half an hour, as I was no better at picking locks than the average savvy schoolboy, but finally the heavy padlock popped open. I took it from the latch and dropped it into my pocket, then shoved at the heavy door with a grunt. It took all my weight to open it enough to slip through, and the effort left me damp and breathless.
The tunnel gradually widened enough for three men to walk abreast, and then at once it opened up.
The stone walls stretched up to twice my height before curving into a dome. The chamber had an irregular oblong shape, and it was larger than the entire cottage. Bookshelves stood along one side. There were gaps between some of them large enough for a man to pass through, and through the gaps I saw black crevices in the rock that seemed to lead into deeper caves.
There were a few hides and tapestries hung about the room at irregular intervals, presumably covering more clefts and passageways. The number of dark tunnels leading in and out of the room sent a shiver of vague paranoia down my spine.
A large woven mat covered the stone floor in the center of the chamber. Scattered along the walls were several chests, a wardrobe, and, in one corner, a strange, long, heavy wooden trunk.
My heart was pounding, my blood chilled. It was difficult to convince myself to step deeper into the cavern, and I held the lantern out as far ahead of me as I could in an attempt to see more. But I couldn’t stop glancing at the dark cracks in the stone and the black darkness within them.
I was quickly losing my nerve when I noticed, tucked beside a bookcase in the narrowest end of the cavern, a writing desk. I squinted at it for a moment and then cautiously approached.
My eyes wandered over the top of the desk, where several sheets of paper lay along with a leather bound book.
All of this, I knew, was Merrick’s very private business.
Please forgive me.
Your coach will arrive tomorrow morning.
I lifted one of the papers.
March 23rd, 1799, Paris
My dearest friend,
It is with GREAT disgust and irritation that I inform you I am in danger of being cut off from all the world’s finest pleasures and sensations. Why? Because thanks to your shit stubbornness, my every waking moment is now spent worrying over your welfare. ‘Has Silas eaten today?’ I ask myself as I suck on a supple wrist. ‘Is Silas sprawled in his coffin in that damned filthy cave, wallowing in his immortal despair, so wasted by thirst that he shrivels and shrinks with each passing hour?’ I mutter into another Countess’s snatch. ‘MERDE! – what if he has immolated himself???’ – I throw my pipe against the wall! Damn you, Silas! Your terrifying melancholy is a stiletto in my shapely side!!!
Listen well, my friend, for I can say no more than this – I will have said it all. I ache when I think you may never return to me. Not to Paris, no! – but to the realm of the LIVING – as WE know it, and make no mistake, Silas, we are LIVING, whether it be a Living to your liking or not. There is Pleasure for us, my darling friend, as I have told you again and again, and I seethe each time I fail to convince you that you once knew this Pleasure, only you have forgotten; and I quake in despair at your denial that this Darkness has a solution – We all visit this chamber of Hell, and we all emerge with the same Remedy, and you know what it is! Why do you resist???
Silas! WHY do you resist? This is a Season we all face. You CANNOT carry on alone. You must share your Gift. I am losing my patience. You must take a protégé, Silas. Cut off your damned shit morals and do what must be done! You have put this off for a century too long, and it is killing your Soul. (Yes! Your Soul. You have a finer Soul than any!!!)
You cannot refuse the Cure, my strange, tender, twisted friend. You must do this.
Consult your Indian Spirits, if you must. Let your bizarre (I do not say shit!) smokes and flames provide you with a vision, guide you to the One who will coax you from this Darkness.
I will seek you, soon. It had best be done, or mark my words, Silas, I will chain you down and force you to it. My friend, my brother, my Love, my only worthy companion, I only beg you to keep walking this Earth with me – if not at my side, if only in that pitiful little mud shit hole of a New World you seem to love so much – I cannot bear to imagine the world without you. Yes, selfish! I admit it, but do not pretend it diminishes the sentiment. (And you will join me again, I am sure, I wager in the new century – but you must come through this Darkness first. You see I am a pragmatist. You NEVER give me credit for this.)
Find your protégé. Do as I say, and you will thank me. Do otherwise, and… I shall not tell you again. I vow, Silas, you will not cease to walk this Earth until I say so. And I tire of this limbo. It is the shit of all shit.
Your GREATEST Love and most EXTRAORDINARY True Friend,
Theo
I miss you so!
I dropped the letter, twice as confused as I was intrigued. I was about to reach for another when my eyes caught that strange, long trunk again. I froze.
A coffin.
It was a damned coffin.
I backed up from the desk, my eyes flitting to one of the dark crevices between the bookshelves, and then to another, before returning to the coffin.
Of course. Vampires were supposed to sleep in coffins, weren’t they?
Was Merrick inside?
The lantern trembled in my unsteady hand. Slowly, I dragged my feet toward the dark box.
No one but Merrick would be inside, I told myself. And yet my hand shook terribly as I reached down to lift the lid.
Empty.
I stared, wide-eyed, at the velvet interior, the plush pillow bearing the faint indentation that proved someone had lain there.
Did Merrick sleep in a coffin? Did…
A shrill squeak shot out from one of the
crevices, and I dropped the coffin lid. The slam echoed through the chamber, and I nearly lost my grip on the lantern.
A mouse.
I didn’t care. It was too much for me.
I could not leave the chamber behind fast enough, my heart gripped by the threat of panic as I rushed toward the wooden door. I struggled to drag it shut, panting, and hooked the padlock back through the latch. I could not lock it again, but I didn’t care. I raced back up to the cottage, into the blessed bedroom and straight through the main room to the outside.
I collapsed outside the front door, struggling to catch my breath. I was still holding the lantern in my clammy, trembling hand, and I set it down on the sunny stoop.
My head hit the door behind me, and I closed my eyes.
Your coach will arrive tomorrow morning.
Please forgive me.
Chapter 19
“William Lacy!”
The tavern was in an uproar. I laughed as my friends leapt upon me, bringing me to my knees in a dog pile of shoves and embraces.
“How’d you get out of it, Lacy?”
“Did you bribe them with your books?”
“Was the judge swayed by those big brown eyes?”
“Give the man a drink,” Jeremy complained, shoving the others off to fasten his arm about my neck and drag me to the large corner table that served as evening headquarters for our strange army of drinkers, poets and hustlers.
I grasped him close in a hug, grinning. “You were supposed to break me out of prison, blockhead.”
“I tried,” he protested, “But I kept getting stuck in Molly’s thighs.” He hugged me again, mussing my hair, and shoved me into a chair. “Sit. Drink. Be merry!”
“To Lacy’s freedom!” boomed Jeremy’s father the barkeeper, and the rounds began.
The evening was a whirlwind of greetings and well wishes. Girls I knew and girls I’d never met competed to cover me in kisses. The noise and action was so constant I could only laugh along as I tried to keep up.
Only hours later, when I stumbled into the alley behind the tavern with Jeremy and David, did I have a moment to exhale and get my bearings.
“So what happened, Lacy?” Jeremy asked, lighting his pipe.
“Aye, come clean,” said David.
Please forgive me.
“He was a kind man,” I said with a shrug. “He decided to show mercy.”
“What’d he do, buy you out?” Jeremy asked.
“As I understand it.”
“Christ Almighty,” David said. “That charm of yours. You must be a fine apprentice.” A slice of light hit the alley as the door opened behind him, and two girls crooned for him to come inside. He jumped up at once and followed them in, forgetting us.
Jeremy laughed and sat down on a barrel beside me, passing me his pipe. “Any tales to tell?” he asked.
I puffed on the pipe, coughing a bit. It had been awhile, and I grimaced faintly at the pipe. It seemed I’d lost the taste for it. “I learned a bit of botany,” I said. “Spent many a fair morning in the dewy woods.”
He snorted. “You mean it?” He reached into his pocket for a flask. “How was the old Master? We all heard tales.”
My brow creased. “Where would you hear tales?”
“The Constable’s a gossip, and his wife’s a friend of John’s mum’s neighbor, or somethin’ or other. We heard he was the Grim Reaper on a black mare, hood and all.”
“He had the countenance.”
“And the manner?”
“Not in the least. I was lucky.”
Jeremy nodded, studying me for a moment. “Spoke with your mum. She got a letter from the man. Seemed very pleased. Said he sounded like a right gentleman, promised to teach you well.”
Please forgive me. My guts ached. My chest ached. I took the flask from him and drank.
“What’s the matter, old chap? You miss the backwoods already?” Jeremy clapped me on the shoulder.
I tipped the flask back again and stood. “I’m glad to see you.”
“It’s mutual, my funny friend. I missed you dearly. The bums can’t hold court without you.”
I laughed. We went back inside.
Chapter 20
Lillian woke me up with her warm, wet mouth. I rubbed my eyes and looked down, blinking at the shape moving under the sheet, then reached down to squeeze her shoulder as I lay my head back and closed my eyes to enjoy her attention.
But as I woke, even as I groaned beneath her skillful tongue, I felt a troubling nagging at the corner of my mind.
His amber gaze flashed in my memory.
I exhaled, my brow creased, and tried to focus on the pleasure of the moment. But it was his mouth I remembered. His mouth, his hands, his eyes and his teeth.
Please forgive me.
Lillian crawled up to flop beside me with a self-satisfied smile. I managed a smirk and kissed her forehead, pulling her close, but she felt all wrong in my arms.
“You’re in your thoughts again,” she scolded in her brassy Scottish trill.
I was staring at the ceiling, and blinked to look at her. “Yes,” I admitted.
“What’s that bandage on your leg?”
“A mishap in the forest. I was clipped by a tomahawk.”
She laughed, delighted. “Everyone missed you so,” she remarked. “I wondered who this boy was who’d become such a legend.”
“Just a lowly peddler.”
Lillian grinned, then gave a long stretch against my side. “Well, I must be on my way, again,” she sighed, and rolled out of bed to gather her things and dress.
I watched her, taking in her pert little breasts and fine round behind with a lack of passion that made me a little uneasy. Still, I mustered a smile and kissed her before she left the little room above the tavern that Jeremy’s father had provided me.
The morning was meant to be spent making the book store rounds, but instead I found myself in a tea shop, frowning into my cup.
By afternoon, I decided to return to my mother’s home. She looked as happy to see me as she had the day before, and I was as happy to see her. She looked glad and well, her long black hair hanging loose and shining in the sun that came through the parlor window. I had hardly had a chance to speak to her the night before, when she’d had to rush out to her job at the inn, and now I was glad to sit with her at the table and clasp her hand in mine.
“I am so happy you are safe, William,” she murmured in her low, melodic voice, her white smile lighting up her caramel face. How lovely she was! How sweet! It made my heart ache.
“I am happier for you, Mum.” I squeezed her hand.
She sipped her tea, and soon she was chattering on. I listened contentedly to her gossip and musings – she was always full of stories from the inn, and I always loved to hear them.
After a lull, she changed the subject. “I had nearly hoped you would stay, William.”
I blinked at her. “Stay? You mean…”
“With Master Merrick.” She smoothed her skirt. “He is a kind man, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I said. “Very kind. How do you know?”
“He wrote a letter. Shall I show you?”
I nodded stiffly, my fingers tight on my cup. When she laid it before me, it took me a moment to muster the will to reach for it. It was dated two weeks after the constable had dropped me off at the side of the road.
Dear Mrs. Lacy,
I must apologize for my failure to contact you at an earlier date. I write to inform you of your son’s safe arrival and to assure you that he will be well looked after. He is a fine, intelligent young man, whose grace and manners give glowing testament to the mother he speaks so highly of. I have been much impressed by his maturity and his willingness to make the best of his circumstances, and I give you my word that while he is in my care, I will teach and provide for him to the best of my ability. As I write, William is on his daily walk. From what he has told me, I gather that you are something of a child of nature. It is my ho
pe that when you see him next, he will share what he has learned of the local plants and their special qualities. Until then, please do not worry over your fine son, and nor of your own dilemma; I have spoken with the magistrate and secured the dissolution of those unfortunate clauses which had threatened your freedom and your good name. I dearly hope that this news will put your mind at ease. Please send word at any time, Madam. I am pleased to be at your service.
Most humbly yours,
Silas Merrick
I dropped the page gently on the table and held my cup again, silently staring at the fine black script.
“Are you sure you couldn’t be an apothecary, William?” Mum asked with her gentle laugh.
I swallowed. “It did occur to me that perhaps I could, Mum.”
“Tell me, did you find nature to your liking, my dear?”
“I did.”
“How did you like the forest?”
I looked at my dear mother, her eyes alight with curiosity, and smothered the sorrow within me. Reaching for my satchel, I gathered up a smile. “I nearly forgot, Mum. A gift for you.”
I had found it in my satchel halfway back to the city, along with a note that was now folded in my pocket. My mother’s face bloomed with delight when she saw the title of the fine leather-bound book, and I couldn’t help but smile in earnest.
“Oh, William,” she breathed as she flipped through the pages. “What a beautiful thing this is.”
“He thought you would like it.” Damn the lump in my throat. It had been there for five days now, since that morning I’d woken up to the empty cottage. I had wept in the coach merely in an effort to satisfy it, but still it remained.
Please forgive me, William.
I stood from the table and walked to the window. I hung a hand on my hip and rubbed my mouth, looking bleakly out at through the lead windows at the same flurry of pedestrians that kept the city streets bustling day after day. Across the road, a young drunk was slumped unconscious against the curb, open-mouthed and filthy. A pair of bright young women in light-colored gowns sashayed past him, giggling sweetly over God knew what without ever glancing down.
