The Vampire Sextette

by Edited by Marvin Kaye

  "This is an unexpected surprise," said Sherman, coming out of his office to greet Madelaine shortly before noon two days later. He motioned Jenkins aside and indicated that he wanted her to follow him. "I have the papers ready for you to sign. They'll go off on the next ship, and the funds will arrive as quickly as possible after that. In these days we can handle these transactions in less than two months. But let us discuss your matters less publicly. If you will be kind enough—?"

  "Of course. And I thank you for giving me a little time; I am sure you are very busy." As she made her way back to his office, Madelaine realized that many of the customers and about half the staff in the bank were staring at her, either directly or covertly. She knew it was not just because she had worn her newest walking dress—a fetching mode in grape-colored fine wool; she drew her short jacket more closely around her as she took the chair Sherman offered, aware that once again, he had left the door half open.

  He settled himself behind his desk and held out a pen to her as he reached for the papers needing her signature. "Now then, Madame, what more are we to have the pleasure of doing for you?"

  Madelaine squared her shoulders. "I want to rent a house. At least through August, possibly for longer."

  Sherman stared at her. "Rent a house?" he repeated as if she had spoken in a language he did not adequately understand.

  She went on without remarking on his surprise. "Yes. Something not too lavish, but as comfortable and suitable as possible. And I will need to hire a staff for it." She swiftly reviewed the permission form and signed first one, then the second, the pen spattering as the ink dried on the nib. "Probably no more than three or four will serve me very well."

  "You want to rent a house," Sherman said again, as if he had at last divined her meaning. "But why? Is there something not to your liking at Mrs. Mullinton's?"

  "Only the price and the lack of privacy," said Madelaine as politely as she could. "That is not to say anything against Mrs. Mullinton. She has been all that is courteous and attentive, and Mrs. Mullinton's establishment is a fine one, but not for what I am engaged in doing."

  "And what might that be?" asked Sherman, disapproval scoring his sharp features.

  "I am writing a book," said Madelaine candidly.

  Sherman's glower vanished only to be replaced by an indulgent smirk; Madelaine decided she liked the glower better, for it indicated genuine concern, and this showed nothing of the sort.

  "A book?"

  "On my studies here in America," she said with a coolness she did not feel.

  "Have you any notion of what must go into writing a book? It is far different than making entries in a diary; it requires discipline and concerted effort." He continued to watch her with a trace of amusement.

  Stung, Madelaine said. "Yes. I have already written three volumes on my travels in Egypt."

  "When you were an infant," said Sherman. "You told me you have spent your time here at school, and before that—"

  "Actually, I said I had been studying," Madelaine corrected him. "You were the one who said I had been at school."

  Sherman straightened in his chair as he took the two papers back from her. "You were not in the convent!" he declared with conviction. "You have not the manner of it."

  Madelaine had managed to regain control over her impulsive tongue; she said, "That is nothing to the point. All that matters is that I find an appropriate house to rent. If you are not willing to help me in this endeavor, you need only tell me and I will go elsewhere."

  This indirect challenge put Sherman on his mettle. "Certainly I will do what I can. As your financial representative, I must question anything that does not appear to be in your best interests." He gave her a severe stare. "If you will let me know your requirements and the price you had in mind to pay, I will have Jenkins begin his inquiries."

  "Thank you," said Madelaine, her temper beginning to cool. "I will need a small- or medium-sized house in a good location, one with room for a proper study. I will need a bedchamber and a dressing room, a withdrawing room and a parlor, a dining room, a pantry, and a reasonably modern kitchen, with quarters for a staff of three." She had established these requirements for herself over eighty years ago. She added the last in an off-handed way. "Also, I must be able to reach the foundation with ease."

  "The foundation!" Sherman repeated in astonishment. "Why should the foundation concern you?"

  Madelaine thought of the trunks of her native earth and felt the pull of it like exhausted muscles yearning for rest. "I have learned that it is wise to know what the footing of a house may be," she answered.

  "Most certainly," Sherman agreed, pleasantly surprised that Madelaine should have so practical a turn of mind. "Very well. I will stipulate that in my instructions to Jenkins: easy access to the foundations." He regarded her with the manner of one encountering a familiar object in an unfamiliar setting. "How soon would you like to occupy the house?"

  "As soon as possible," said Madelaine. "I want to get my work under way quickly, and I cannot do that until I have a place where I may examine my notes and open all my records—I assure you, they are extensive—for review; at the moment most of them are still in trunks and are of little use to me there." She smiled at him, noticing for the first time that he had dark circles under his eyes. "If you will excuse me for mentioning it, you do not appear to have slept well, Mr. Sherman. Are you unwell?"

  He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "My son was fussy last night; he is very young and misses his mother. I wanted to comfort him, and so I…" He made a brusque gesture of dismissal, then relented. "And for the last few days my asthma has been bothering me. It is a childish complaint, one that need not concern you, Madame."

  Madelaine regarded him with sympathy. "I know what it is to suffer these conditions, for I, myself, cannot easily tolerate direct sunlight." She hesitated, thinking that she did not want to create gossip about the two of them. Then she offered, "I have some preparations against such continuing illnesses. If you would let me provide you with a vial of—"

  "I have nitre paper," Sherman said, cutting her off abruptly. He stared at the blotter on the desk, and the papers she had signed. "But I thank you for your consideration."

  "If you change your mind, you have only to let me know," said Madelaine, noticing that Sherman's face was slightly flushed. "Think of it as a gesture of gratitude for finding my house."

  He nodded stiffly. "If you will call back on Monday, I will let you know what Jenkins has discovered. What was the price you had in mind again?"

  "Anything reasonable. You know better than I what that would be, and you know what my circumstances are," Madelaine said as if she had lost interest in the matter. "And you know what is a reasonable amount for a landlord to ask, even with prices so very high."

  Sherman nodded, his expression distant. "And the matter of staff? You said two or three?"

  "If you will recommend someone to help me in hiring them, I would appreciate it." Why was she feeling so awkward? Madelaine wondered. What had happened in the last few minutes that left her with the sensation that she had done something unseemly? Was it something in her, or was it in Sherman?

  "There are employment services in the city," said Sherman, looking directly at her. "I will find out which is most reputable."

  Madelaine was startled at the intensity of his gaze. "I don't know what to say to you, Mr. Sherman, but thank you." He rose stiffly. "On Monday then, Madame de Montalia." She took his hand; it might as well have been made of wood. "On Monday, Mr. Sherman."

  San Francisco, 6 June, 1855

  It is still in his eyes. When Mr. Sherman and I met at the soiree given by General Hitchcock, I saw him watching me; never have I experienced so searching an expression, as if he wanted to fathom me to the depths. It is not like Saint-Germain, who looks at me with knowing: Sherman is questing. This considered inspection had nothing to do with the soiree: the fare was musical, for the General has some talent on the flute, and he, with the accom
paniment of Mrs. Kent at the piano, regaled his guests with a variety of airs by Mozart and Handel, all very light and pleasant. Yet for all his watching me, Sherman hardly spoke to me during the evening. If he seeks to avoid gossip in this way, he will not succeed, for his Russian friend, deStoeckl asked me why Sherman was making such a cake of himself, an old-fashioned question I cannot answer…

  I have been given descriptions of three houses Mr. Sherman thinks would be suitable for my needs. One is on Shotwell Street; there is a second house on Franklin, somewhat larger than the first—it is quite modern and comes with many furnishings included. The third is on Bush Street, where the hill becomes steeper; it is not as well situated as the other two. I will go inspect them in the next few days, to make up my mind…

  The rooms in the house on Franklin Street echoed eerily as Madelaine made her way from the front parlor to the withdrawing room.

  "I am sorry that the landlord has not carpeted the place," said Sherman, walking slightly behind her. "I have discussed the matter with him, and he is willing to make an adjustment in the rent charged because of the lack. You will be expected to provide the carpets, as well as the draperies and the bed. The rest is as you see," he added, indicating the furniture all swathed in Holland covers.

  "Actually, I don't see," said Madalaine. "But I know the furnishings are here." She continued through the withdrawing room to the hall leading through the dining room to the kitchen and pantry beyond. "And the servants' quarters? Where are they? Upstairs?"

  "They are in the rear of the house," said Sherman, the roughness in his voice not entirely due to a recent attack of asthma. "A detached cottage with three apartments."

  Madelaine paused in the door to the kitchen, thinking that having the servants' quarters out of the house could be a real advantage. "Are they adequate? Do they have sufficient heat? If the summers are as chilly as you say they are, Mr. Sherman, it will be necessary to provide heating for them, even in July."

  "There are stoves in each of the apartments," Sherman said stiffly. "That will be sufficient to their needs."

  "And they will dine in the kitchen?" she said, looking into that room.

  "Naturally," said Sherman, and veiled a cough.

  "What of the location? Is it… acceptable?" she asked.

  "Well enough," answered Sherman, and added, as if against his will, "I have only recently moved from Green Street to a fashionable house on Rincon Hill. To please my wife."

  "Who is visiting her family," Madelaine finished for him.

  "Yes." He waited until the silence was too laden with unspoken things; he then chose the most trivial of them to break it. "There are so few areas where reputable women may live safely alone in this city, though this comes as close to being that as any neighborhood might do. The location is not the most fashionable, but it is not inappropriate for a single woman keeping her own house, conserving her money, and assuring her good character in society."

  "All of which is important." Madelaine turned to him. "I will need to find a good draper. I will need heavy curtains and draperies for the windows in the front parlor and the withdrawing room, as well as for the front bedrooms."

  "Which face west," he said, looking impressed by her resolution. "You have not yet seen the third house, Madame de Montalia."

  "Why should I waste your time and my own when this suits my needs so well?" Madelaine asked, coming toward him.

  Again he masked a cough, a sign of discomfort in him. "You haven't seen the bedrooms upstairs. They might not suit your purposes, or you could decide that the withdrawing room will not serve you well as your study," he pointed out. "I do not want you to contract for this house and then complain to me later that it is not what you wanted."

  Madelaine smiled at him, annoyed that he would not admit she knew her own mind, and decided to enjoy herself at his expense. "Dear me, Mr. Sherman, are you always so hesitant yourself?" She could see that he was uneasy with this challenge, and she pressed her advantage, feeling his uncertainty about her as if there were a third person in the house with them, a silent judge who evaluated all that passed between them. "From what General Hitchcock told me the other afternoon, I thought you were of a decisive nature. Captain Buell says the same thing about you."

  Stung, Sherman regarded her through narrowed eyes. "What do you mean, Madame?"

  "I mean that you doubt my capacity to choose that which suits me," she answered, coming closer still to him. "This house will do well. The cellar is large enough and secure enough for my purposes, the rooms are pleasant, the location is satisfactory, and it requires very little attention from me, once I select the carpets and draperies. You tell me the rent is not too high for the house. Since it has so much to recommend it, I am willing to take it on a lease through… shall we say September?"

  "You will have your book written in that time?" He flung this back at her, his face nearly expressionless.

  "The greater part of it, certainly," she answered, unflustered; she enjoyed the awkwardness he felt in response to her emerging confidence.

  He shrugged, making it plain that he washed his hands of the whole affair. "Be it on your head then, Madame." His eyes belied the indifference of his demeanor. "I will arrange for the lease to be drawn up this afternoon; you may sign it at my office this evening, if that is convenient."

  "Excellent," she said. "And perhaps you can recommend a firm to move my things to this house at the beginning of next week? We might as well be about this as soon as possible."

  He offered her a small salute. "Certainly, Madame."

  "When I have established myself here, you must advise me how best to entertain, so that I will not offend any of the important hostesses in San Francisco." She meant what she said, and was relieved that for once Sherman seemed convinced.

  "If my wife were here…" he began, then let his words trail off as he stared at her.

  "If your wife were here, we should not be having this conversation, Mr. Sherman," said Madelaine, being deliberately provocative, and wondering what it was about him that so intrigued her, aside from his apparent fascination with her.

  "No," he said, and looked away toward the vacant window and its view of the street beyond.

  San Francisco, 10 June, 1855

  I am now in my house on Franklin Street, near the intersection of Grove Street, and very pleasant it is, too. The draper is making up curtains, draperies, and valences for me; they will be installed by the day after tomorrow, or so he has assured me, which will do much to make the place more comfortable during the day. With my chests of native earth in the basement, and my mattress and shoes relined, I am already quite at home. In a week or so, all should be in order. I think I shall go on very well here.

  This afternoon I interviewed over thirty applicants for my three staff positions, and have chosen a housekeeper-cum-maid who has but recently arrived from Sweden, a woman of middle years named Olga Bjornholm. I have also found a man-of-all-work named Christian van der Groot who came here to find gold but realized that he could do better helping to build houses and guard them than panning in the mountain rivers, and so here he is. I have yet to hire a cook for the household, but I have found a coachman to drive for me as needed.

  I am reluctant to ask Mr. Sherman for more assistance, for I sense that his attraction is deepening, which causes him distress. It is apparent when he speaks to me that he does it with confusion springing from his attraction. If only my attraction were not deepening as well. It has been so long since I have let myself be loved knowingly; for the last decade I have taken my pleasure—such as it has been—in the dreams of men who have been interesting to me, and interested in me. And that has sufficed; it is gratification but not nourishment. For that, there must be intimacy without fantasy. And I cannot help but long for that intimacy, for knowledge and acceptance—although why I believe I should find either from William T. Sherman, I cannot tell, except for what is in his eyes.

  Madelaine arrived at the French Theatre on Montgomery Stree
t and found herself in a crush of carriages trying to get into position at the front of the theatre, where the sidewalk was broader and two wide steps were in place for those leaving their carriages. Ushers were at the edge of this boardwalk helping the arriving audience to alight.

  "I don't think I can get much closer, Madame, not in another ten minutes, and you would then be late," said Enrique, her coachman, as he looked over the line of vehicles waiting to discharge their passengers. "It is less than a block from here."

  "It is satisfactory, Enrique," said Madelaine with decision, handing him a small tip as she prepared to get out. "I will walk the rest of the way; if you will watch me, to be sure I am not—"

  "I will watch, Madame," he said, drawing the coach up to the boardwalk. "Do you need me to let the steps down?"

  "No," she replied. "I can manage well enough. The street is well lit, and I doubt anyone will importune me with so much activity about." With that, she opened the door panel, set her lap rug aside, and stepped down from the carriage, swinging the door behind her to close it. She was about to turn when she felt her cloak snag on the door latch; as she struggled to free it, she stumbled back against the coach.

  "Allow me, Madame," said a voice from behind her; William Sherman reached out and freed her cloak, then held out his hand to assist her to the wide, wooden sidewalk. "Good evening, and permit me to say that I am surprised to see you here."

  "At the French Theatre? Where else should I be?" Madelaine recovered her poise at once. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Sherman. Why should you be surprised?"

  He answered indirectly as he glanced at his pocket watch. "The curtain will rise in five minutes. You will have to join your company at once."

  "Then I will have to hurry," said Madelaine, starting along the boardwalk in the direction of the French Theatre. "But there is no one I am joining, Mr. Sherman. And no one is joining me. I am a Frenchwoman here for the pleasure of hearing her own language spoken, not to indulge in the entertainment of society."