The Vampire Sextette

by Edited by Marvin Kaye

  Madelaine watched him as he began to pace her front parlor, ignoring the raised, cautioning finger Baron deStoeckl offered him. "It is the subject of my studies." She was in a deep-green afternoon dress, and her hair was neatly arranged, as suited any woman prepared to receive guests; the filmy light from her curtained windows gave the whole room a soft, pale glow.

  Sherman would not be stilled. "Indians! What is the matter with you? How can you be such a romantic fool, to go among savages?" He was dusty from riding and made no excuse for it as he prowled his way about the room, refusing to look directly at her, for fear he might give himself away. "What do you know about Indians?"

  "Enough not to call them savages. I have been studying them," said Madelaine, determined not to argue uselessly.

  "Studying! A nice word for adventuring! But what do you know about them?" He put down the pages in triumph.

  "Not nearly enough," she answered steadily. "That is why I study them, to end my ignorance."

  "But you do not know what they are like; you prove that by what you're saying now," Sherman persisted. "You are one of the dreamers, thinking you have come upon discarded wisdom or neglected perceptions. You haven't a notion what kind of superstitious, bloody barbarians they are."

  "Some might say the same of me," Madelaine interjected in an undervoice, then spoke up. "I have already spent time among the Osage, the Kiowa, the Pawnee, the Arapaho, the Cheyenne, the Ute, the Shoshone, and the Miwok, without anything untoward happening to me. I am working from my journals and other records I have made. For my book."

  Sherman stared at her, aghast. "Is that what you are doing in America? Living with Indians?"

  "For the most part, yes," said Madelaine, her face betraying no emotion.

  "Don't you know how dangerous that is?" Sherman insisted, this time looking directly at her. "You think that they are noble, but they are not. I have fought Indian skirmishers, while I was mapping in the South for the army. I know what they can be. I do not need a pitched battle to show me the cruelty they embody."

  "They did me no harm, and I do not think they would ever do me any," said Madelaine. "Once they realized what I wanted to know, and were convinced of my sincerity, they were most cooperative. They permitted me to study them. As I expected they would do, since they are reasonable peoples." It was not quite the truth. "Most of them," she appended, aware of Sherman's keen gaze.

  "You were luckier than you had any right to be," said Sherman brusquely, breaking away from the spell of her violet eyes.

  "How can you say that?" Madelaine asked, unable to keep from responding to his challenge, though she realized he was deliberately provoking her. "What danger is one European woman to them?"

  "I was referring to the danger one European woman was in from them, little as she is willing to acknowledge it," said Sherman dryly. "I have some experience of Indians, remember. I have seen Seminole, Madame, and I know to my cost what implacable enemies they can be. They killed troopers who were doing them no harm whatsoever. They would ambush a few men and pick them off with arrows and blowguns. Indians are dangerous. And if the European woman is not willing to heed me, then be it on her head."

  Baron deStoeckl cleared his throat. "Perhaps each of you has a point? In your own ways," he suggested in French. "I do not mean to increase dissension, but it seems to me that there is good reason to concede as much to each other."

  Sherman rounded on him, his brows drawn down, his mouth a thin line. "I do not want any misfortune to befall her."

  "And I do not want any misfortune to befall my Indian friends, since they have endured so much already, although they do not complain of it," said Madelaine, sensing that Sherman might understand this better then he admitted. "You know that many of them have been forced to change their way of life since the Europeans arrived here."

  "As Europeans were forced to change their way of life when they came to the American wilderness." Sherman sighed once, his breathing strained. "It was not like visiting another European country, coming to this one. It still isn't, though we have cities and a few of the amenities of life. Not as we do in the East, of course, but this is not the frontier, as it was when I was here eight years ago. Then there were only a dozen streets in the whole of San Francisco." He sat down abruptly, his face draining of color as the severity of his asthma attack increased.

  Madelaine recognized the symptoms; she asked Baron deStoeckl to tend to Sherman for a moment so that she could fetch something that would ease his labored breathing.

  "Certainly," said Baron deStoeckl.

  "No need," wheezed Sherman.

  "Because it offends your pride to be helped?" Madelaine suggested, then excused herself and hurried toward the back of the house, calling to Olga to assist her. "I have a number of large stoneware jars in the cellar. Will you please bring me the one with the green seal. At once."

  By the time Olga returned, Madelaine had made a hot brandy toddy, and as she peeled off the seal with a knife, she explained, "This is a very old remedy. I obtained it while traveling in Egypt." She poured some of the contents into the toddy. "If you will seal the jar again and put it back where you found it?" As Olga obeyed, Madelaine took the toddy and hurried back to the parlor where she could hear Sherman trying not to cough as he labored to breathe.

  Baron deStoeckl was patting Sherman on the back and frowning when Madelaine moved him aside and held out the cup and saucer to her stricken guest.

  "What's this?" Sherman demanded with difficulty.

  "A toddy. It will make you better directly," she promised. "Drink it before it is too cool to help ease your trouble."

  Sherman glowered at her, but took the proffered cup and winced as he sipped. "It's hot." When the cup's contents were half gone, he was noticeably improved, his breathing more regular and less labored. "Thank you, Madame," he said as soon as he was sitting straight once again.

  "Finish the toddy, Mr. Sherman. You are better but not yet restored." Madelaine watched him sternly as he drank the rest and set the cup and saucer aside on the rosewood end table beside his chair. "Very good."

  "I am pleased you think so, Madame," said Sherman with a wry smile. "What a stern taskmistress you are."

  "I am concerned with your well-being, Mr. Sherman. Who else would handle my affairs as well as you have done?" This was intended to return their conversation to more formal tones, but it did not succeed.

  "What other banker would care enough to ignore the impropriety of your studies?" Sherman countered with a gesture of capitulation that made the sharp-eyed Baron deStoeckl raise his brows in surprise.

  "I doubt you will do that, Mr. Sherman. I suspect you will adopt a flanking strategy and try to wear down my resolve through a series of skirmishes, like the Seminole." Madelaine did her best to make this a teasing suggestion, one that could not be taken seriously by either man.

  Sherman grinned. "Yes, a series of skirmishes along your flanks would be most… rewarding."

  The Baron lifted his hands to show he was helpless against these blatant flirtations. He leaned down and made one last attempt. "My good friend William, I think you are taking advantage of our hostess."

  "I would certainly like to," said Sherman incorrigibly. Now that he was feeling markedly better, he was seized with high spirits. "A covert campaign is required."

  "God and the archangels!" Baron deStoeckl burst out. "What of your reputation? What of hers?"

  Sherman regarded his friend with a canny look. "What danger are we in? You will not repeat what we say here, will you? I know Madame de Montalia will not, and neither will I, so where is the problem? You will keep our secret." He got up and strode to Madelaine's side, purpose in every line of his body. "Don't preach to me about good sense and prudence. Not now. Not here." With that, he caught her up in his arms and bent to kiss her.

  Few things flustered Madelaine; this unexpected demonstration unnerved her thoroughly. She felt her face redden, and when she could speak, she said, "What a burden you are imposing
on your friend. Think, Tecumseh." She glanced at the Baron, about to apologize for the impropriety of it all when Sherman took her by the shoulders and nearly shook her.

  "Damn it, woman, I want someone to know." Sherman looked down into her eyes, and his sternness vanished. He went on quietly. "I want at least one man I can trust to see what I feel for you, so that I will be able to talk with him about what you mean to me when… this is over."

  "When your wife returns," said Madelaine.

  "When you leave," said Sherman.

  Baron deStoeckl bowed to them. "You may rely on my discretion," he promised them in French.

  San Francisco, 21 July 1855

  After an absence of sixteen days, Tecumseh has returned to my bed. This time he had no hesitation, no awkward beginnings. His embraces were long and deep and he undertook to follow my lead, to find out how long he could build his passion before spending. He was merry as a boy with a prize, and he romped with me for more than an hour before fatigue finally overcame him. When I woke him an hour before dawn, he was as refreshed as if he had passed a full night in slumber, and was in good spirits when he left. He promised to come again in three nights, and said he would find good reasons for us to be in one another's company without attracting undue attention or gossip, which pleased me very much, for it is enervating to live with such close scrutiny as attends on single women in this city. I pointed out to him that this would require careful planning, to which he replied that he is very good at strategy and swore he would relish the opportunity, thinking it worthy of his talents…

  The warmth of the day was quickly fading before the chilling fingers of fog came, caressing the hills from the west. As they turned down the steep hill, the wind nipping at their backs, Sherman signaled Madelaine to swing her horse off the main road to the wooded copse, indicating through gestures that they could then dismount and put on their coats.

  "The Spanish call those two hills the Maiden's Breasts," he said to her as he lifted her out of the sidesaddle under the trees. He indicated the slope they had just descended. "I like yours better." He took the reins from her hand and secured them to one of the low-growing oak branches, next to where his grey was tied.

  "Less hectic to ride, I imagine," said Madelaine in spite of herself.

  "I wouldn't say that," Sherman whispered as he bent down to wrap her in his arms, his lips seeking hers. He took his time about it, feeling her warm to him; it promised well for the night ahead. When he moved back, he said impishly, "Isn't there any other land you would like to inspect, with the prospect of making an offer to purchase? I would have to escort you to advise you and negotiate for you, wouldn't I? I could not allow you to venture abroad without suitable protection. I would be remiss in my duties if I did—everyone would agree to that." He bent again, and moving the thick knot of hair at the nape of her neck aside, kissed her just under her ear. "Where you kiss me, Madelaine. When you pledge me your bond." His lips were light, almost playful.

  It took her a while to gather her thoughts, and when she did, she struggled to voice them. "That is a good notion, on its own; never mind the chance for privacy it offers us. If you know of any property I might like, tell me of it, and I will arrange to see it for myself," she said quite seriously. "I am in earnest, Tecumseh. I want to purchase some land here."

  "So far speculation has been very profitable, at least in this area." He nodded, doing his best to fall into his role as banker. "All the West is going to be valuable, someday. When Congress finally comes to its senses and builds a railroad linking the East Coast with the West, then land here will appreciate dramatically, but that will not happen until there is a railroad. Not even a good wagon road would help as the railroad would. But a wagon road would be better than nothing," he said, letting his rancor show. "Politicians! They cannot think beyond the next election. There is no sense in their reluctance to authorize the railroad other than their usual damned lack of foresight. The telegraph link with the Mississippi only begs the question, but it is typical of Congress to settle for half measures when full ones are wanted. As long as they keep California isolated, it will have little to attract investors beyond the gold fields, and that is not investment but exploitation, and it will continue as long as there is no land connection but trails across the continent. Only when goods and people may cross quickly and comfortably will the Pacific come into its own, and assume its place in the scheme of things, bringing the Occident and Orient together as no gang of Chinese laborers and cooks can do now. Until that time, it will be the last point of escape for the dreamers and scoundrels who seek their own private paradise, and attempt to create it for themselves here. It is shortsighted political chicanery to refuse to unite East and

  West by rail, I am convinced of it. The trouble is that California is an enigma; not even those who live here understand it." He folded his arms, his shirtsleeves suddenly too little protection for the encroaching fog. "I will get my coat."

  "Bring mine, will you?" She strolled deeper into the small grove of trees, listening to the sounds around her, the rustlings and flutters that reminded her that there were other occupants of the copse, many of which began their day when the sun went down—just as she would do if she did not line the soles of her shoes with her native earth. It was cool enough to be unpleasant, and she was relieved when Sherman came and held up her nip-waisted coat for her as she slid her arms into the leg-o'-mutton sleeves. He rested his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her, then slid them down to cover her breasts.

  "How can I give this up?" he murmured, drawing her back against him, holding her tightly as his hands moved down the front of her body; he did this with ease, being more than a head taller then Madelaine. He stopped his rapt exploration abruptly. "I must be mad."

  "For planning to give me up or for wanting me in the first place?" She avoided any hint of accusation in her mild rebuke, but she could not shake off the sadness that swept through her at the realization that she would have to leave San Francisco and Sherman before long.

  "Both," said Sherman with utmost conviction, turning her to face him, staring down into her violet eyes as if he wanted to meet her in combat. "I am not a man who loves easily, and I am… possessed by you. What is it about you? You are more of a mystery than this place." His countenance was stem, his brows drawn downward. "Had I thought I would be so… so wholly in your thrall, I would never have begun with you."

  "Bien perdu, bien connu," said Madelaine, hoping to conceal the sting she felt from his harsh words.

  "But you are not well lost; that is the trouble. I do not need to lose you to know you, Madelaine." He surrounded her with his arms, his mouth rough on hers. He strained to press them more tightly together, then broke away from her. "But I will not compromise my marriage."

  "So you have said from the first," Madelaine reminded him, as much to assure him that she still understood his requirements of her as to lessen his defensiveness. "And I have never protested your devotion to your family. I will not do so now."

  "I meant it. I mean it still." He reached out and took her face in his long-fingered hands. "I treasure you as I have never treasured another woman, and may I be thrice-damned for it."

  "Tecumseh," she said gently. "I have no wish to bring you pain."

  He released her and moved away, leaves crackling underfoot. His voice was low and his words came quickly. "But you will, and that is the problem. There's nothing that can be done about it now: you are too deeply fixed in my soul for that. Oh, it is no fault of yours; you have been honorable from the first, if that is a word I may use for our adultery. Never have you asked, or hinted, that you want me to leave my wife: it is just as well, no matter what sorcery you work on me. Yet when you go, as go you must, you will leave a wound in me that no enemy could put there. When you are gone…" He stared down at the ground as if to read something there in the dying light. "I have never known anyone who has so completely won me as you have."

  Madelaine did not go after him. "Then we must ma
ke the most of the short time we have, so that our joy will be greater than your hurt, and you will remember our time together with happiness." She did not add that she longed for his ecstasy to sustain her in the long, empty months ahead.

  "How can we?" He met her eyes in the dimness. "Why take the risk? We have been discreet so far, but I must resist my impulse to set caution aside."

  "Why? Who is to know what passes between us? When we are private, there is no reason for caution," said Madelaine, feeling some of his contained anguish as her own.

  "No reason? Can you not think of one?" He shook his head, unwilling to look directly at her any longer. "It may be there is the greatest reason of all, for when we are alone together, I have no strength to resist you."

  "You are managing to resist me well enough now," she said, more sharply than she had intended.

  "Do you think so?" he asked, his voice very quiet and deep, the lines in his face severe.

  The silence between them lengthened, opening as if it were a chasm deep as the pits of hell. A scuttling in the underbrush as a fox hurried to find his supper provided a momentary distraction, then Madelaine took a step toward him, her hands turned palms up. "Tecumseh, do you recall what I told you of the bond the blood makes between us?"

  His features grew less formidable, and he reached out to caress her face as if compelled to do it. "Yes, Madelaine. How can I forget?"

  "Then believe that when we are parted, we will not be separated," she said as she touched his fingers.

  He put his hands into hers but would not close the gap between them. "What else would you call it?"

  For once she had an answer. "Tell me, when you cannot see the sun or stars, do you still know which direction is north?"

  "North?" he repeated, baffled, and then said, "Yes, of course."

  "And how do you know it?" she asked him.

  He frowned, hitching up one shoulder. "I… sense it."