"I have no doubt of it," Lady Moore said with surprising equanimity. "Myth and superstition have undeniable power over the minds of believers. Highland shepherds believe in banshees and faeries, but that is hardly proof of their existence, even if the country folk do take to their beds from time to time, sick with belief the wee people bear them animus. But certainly there are limits. Can superstition kill? I doubt it. And does ignorant credulity in legendary monsters make them real? I hardly think so."
"Well said," Cotswold chimed in, like a back-bencher in Parliament.
"We have seen proof," Van Helsing said. "I neither can nor would go into the details with a young lady, but I have seen proof with my own eyes."
Lady Moore returned the vampire hunter's earnestness with an indulgent smile.
"Do not dismiss Dr. Van Helsing so quickly," Shaftbury said. "Today we visited the graves of the women we think were killed by the vampire. Annie Howard's body is not where it was buried."
"Her body has been stolen?"
"You miss Lord Shaftbury's point entirely," Dr. Van Helsing said. "Annie Howard has risen from the grave to join the undead."
"I do not believe it," Lady Moore said, to nobody's satisfaction but her own and Professor Cotswold's.
"We need to speak with your servant, Karol Janos," Palmer said.
"What does Janos have to do with any of this?"
"She recently came here from Budapest, did she not?" Lord Shaftbury said.
"Janos came with us when my brother and I returned to London to bury our parents. I was unaware it was a crime to be from Budapest."
"Certain regions of Hungary have been subject to vampire infestations since the twelfth century," Dr. Van Helsing said.
"Which has led you to conclude Andrew's governess may be a vampire?" She looked from Van Helsing to Cotswold and smiled. He was her one ally in the room. "But Dr. Van Helsing, you are from Hungary, are you not?"
Van Helsing looked a little uncomfortable as he nodded.
"Then perhaps you are a vampire."
Dr. Van Helsing made an elaborate show of pulling a gold crucifix from beneath his shirt and kissing it. "Better to be dead than to take unholy communion with the nosferatu," he said, scandalized.
"We need to speak with Karol Janos," C.I. Palmer said doggedly.
"I have no objection," Olivia said, "although she will be able to tell you nothing to satisfy your appetite for the fantastic. You would be well-advised to pay more attention to Professor Cotswold, who does not appear to believe in vampires any more than I."
The look Lucian gave the Yank! He was completely smitten by Lady Olivia. I was surprised Lucian didn't proclaim his own disbelief in vampires to put himself in the lady's good graces.
Lady Moore rang the bell and sent Ballantine to fetch Janos. Karol Janos was a severe-looking woman of about forty. She came from sturdy peasant stock and had a serious expression that verged on anger. Like her mistress, she was not a woman who could be easily intimidated.
"They are here about Annie," Lady Moore said. "They think she was killed by a vampire."
Janos nodded, seeming a little more furious.
"You are from Budapest, Miss Janos?" Dr. Van Helsing began, taking over the interrogation.
"I am from a village a day's travel from there."
"Then you know about the nosferatu."
"I know the stories. There is a difference between what is a story and what is real."
"Then you have never known of someone who had an encounter with a vampire?"
She spat the answer: "Never."
"And you never had an encounter with a vampire yourself?"
"You and Andrew should return with me to Budapest," she said to Lady Moore, ignoring Van Helsing. "The men in London are lunatics."
"For the record, Miss Janos, what do you know about the death of Annie Howard?" Palmer asked, his pencil and policeman's notebook ready.
"I told you before."
"Tell me again, if you please."
"I found her body in the kitchen. She was dead."
"Do you know what killed her?"
"No."
"Do you believe it was a vampire?"
"No."
"Do you think it is possible that it was a vampire?"
"No. Do not be so foolish. Perhaps she had a stroke. I do not know. I am not a doctor. She was young and healthy."
"In your experience, Miss Janos, do healthy young women drop dead for no reason?" Dr. Van Helsing asked.
"People die," she said and nodded.
"What would you tell me if I told you Annie Howard had been completely drained of blood?"
"I would not tell you anything."
"There must be an explanation," Lady Moore said, appealing to me.
"A vampire seems as likely an explanation as any."
"I have my doubts, ma'am," Cotswold said.
"Yes," Lady Moore said, favoring him with a brilliant smile.
"Do you have more questions?" Janos asked. "I must attend to my duties."
"Do you own a crucifix?" Dr. Van Helsing said, thrusting a cross in Janos's face.
She snatched it from his hand, examined it closely front and back, and returned it. "Mine is gold. If you paid for gold when you bought yours, you were cheated."
The interrogation was interrupted then when a pink-cheeked cherub with a halo of golden hair materialized in the door. He smiled the instant his eyes found Olivia. He ran toward her in the comical fashion of toddlers, flinging himself into her arms as she bent to pick him up. A harried middle-aged woman appeared at the doorway, looking for her fugitive charge.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but the tyke is too swift for me," she apologized in an Irish brogue.
"The tyke is too swift for us all," Olivia said. "If you have no further questions for Janos, it is time for her to put young Andrew here to bed."
Shaftbury and Palmer looked to Van Helsing, who after a brief hesitation nodded. Lady Olivia passed the squirming child to his nurse.
"I realize you put little stock in the premise that Annie was killed by a vampire," Lord Shaftbury said when the door had closed.
"That is true enough, Lord Shaftbury."
"Nevertheless, I am concerned for the well-being of your household. If Dr. Van Helsing is correct, there is a chance Annie Howard might return here."
"We are perfectly safe. We lock the doors and windows at night."
"Still, I would like to have C.I. Palmer assign a policeman to watch over Moore House at night until the danger has passed."
"That is extremely kind of you, Lord Shaftbury, but it is hardly necessary."
"Think of little Andrew," Lucian said. "Please be reasonable, Lady Olivia."
Olivia gave Lucian a surprised look, softening visibly. The effect her look had on Lucian—oh, he was smitten!
"Then for Andrew's sake, yes," she said with a sigh.
"I'll have him keep to the kitchen when he's not rattling doorknobs to make sure everything is secure, ma'am," Palmer said. "You won't even know he's here."
"I'm sure he will be no problem," Lady Moore said with a frown.
"I must ask that you say nothing about our inquiry," Shaftbury said. "The situation is explosive."
"What makes you think I would say anything? Do you think I want people to believe me mad?"
"And would you be so good as to ask Janos to keep the matter confidential?"
"If that is all, gentlemen, I must beg your indulgence. I am accustomed to retiring to bed early."
Olivia had scarcely reached for the bell pull when Ballantine opened the door to usher us out. He had been listening, I realized. Our visit would not remain a secret long among Mayfair's downstairs set. Disraeli's Special Committee was doing its own part to sow the seeds of the London Vampire Panic.
I went out, leaving Lucian behind. He had contrived a thing or two to say to the delicious Olivia, damn him. London could have stood to have fewer handsome, well-born bachelors, and more beautiful, available young
women the likes of Olivia Moore.
* * *
PART III
First Interregnum
* * *
10
More British Than the British
The following correspondence, presented here in English translation, is from the business archive of Srinivasan & Sons Trading Co., Bombay, India.
November 18, 1880
My dear elder brother Pradheep,
I pray this letter finds you in healthy and happy circumstances. I am very well. Our business in London is also very well, as you will see from the accompanying receipts. The attached latest contracts will give you much delight, I think! If our good fortune continues, you may be obliged to give Prakash enough rupees to expand our docks.
I was very happy indeed to read in your letter that Ramesh is coming to work beside me. It will be helpful to have another person in our London office speaking Hindi. There are certain language difficulties with the English clerks, and these sometimes cause unfortunate misunderstandings.
Tell your son he will find London similar to Bombay in many ways. It is a bustling, crowded city, the streets lined with prosperous shops conducting many types of commercial enterprise. There are not nearly so many beggars here, and the slums do not approach the unimaginable, as they do in Dharvai. The climate is somewhat inhospitable, but Ramesh will get used to the weather. The sunny disposition of the Srinivasan family fortunes due, in part, to Ramesh's position at our London trading house, will make it easy to forget about the cold and rain!
I am certain Ramesh will prove to be a more able assistant than Wajidali Kalyanaraman, who just spent a night in jail as a result of his foolishness. I fear this young man stayed out too long in the midday heat playing Maidan cricket and suffered permanent damage to his good senses. I have come to greatly regret agreeing to serve as sponsor to our cousin Gopesh's imprudent youngest son.
You would not believe the change that has overcome Wajidali. He has gone from hating the British to loving them in the few short months he has been in London. To Wajidali if a thing is not British, it is not anything. He dresses British and affects to speak British. He reads only the London newspapers, caring nothing for Bombay and wishing only to think about things that concern the British. He has taken a flat outside the quarter where most Indians live, furnishing it with uncomfortable foreign furniture. He balks at eating anything but British food—bland, boiled dishes that are no doubt perfectly suited to natives of this damp, cold climate, but hardly make a healthy diet for a Bombay boy. Wajidali has even Anglicized his name. This is his latest conceit. He insists everybody call him "Wallace," though I steadfastly refuse. Perhaps this is not so surprising, since Wajidali means obsessed.
Wajidali's dream of becoming more British than the British is leading him to disaster. There are places a young Indian man is simply not welcome, but Wajidali refuses to acknowledge this simple fact. As a result he was arrested and spent the night in jail, bringing disgrace upon himself, our family, and our business.
It started with a terrible crime—of which I hasten to report Wajidali was completely blameless, unless it is a crime to be a fool. It seems an unfortunate young woman was murdered in Hyde Park. She was British, not Indian, a servant in the house of a respected gentleman residing in Mayfair, a neighborhood where many members of the aristocracy live, adjacent to the park.
It goes without saying Wajidali had no business being in that part of town. However, possessed by an inexplicable folly, Wajidali had decided to embark on a walking excursion of Mayfair. He proceeded into the park, where by most unhappy circumstances he happened upon the poor woman's body. That would have been bad enough, but Wajidali decided to stick his nose farther into the business. He covered the woman with his new coat, which he now can never wear again, and went to summon the police. It wasn't very long before the police got it into their heads that Wajidali was somehow involved in the crime. They asked what business he had in Hyde Park. Finding his explanation insufficient, they accused him of visiting the park in the hope of arranging an assignation with a white woman. They insinuated the unfortunate woman had rejected Wajidali's unwanted advances, and that he had attacked her in a fit of anger over her rejection.
One of the policemen put his hands on Wajidali in an unfriendly manner to search his person for a double-pronged weapon that could have caused the mortal wound in the woman's neck. Since Wajidali carried no weapon and was entirely innocent of any wrongdoing, the wisest course would have been for him to submit to a search. Instead, Wajidali attempted to pull himself free, which only provoked the policeman to strike him. Wajidali was called all manner of filthy names and given quite a beating. It might have turned out very badly for him indeed had not a doctor intervened on the foolish boy's account.
Today I paid a call on the doctor, to thank him on behalf of the family. His response was most curious, and in its way completely British. Dr. Blackley said he had no objection to the police thrashing a criminal, but that his service with the army in India had left him "bloody tired" of the high-handed way authorities treated people because of their skin color. In other words, had Wajidali been British, as Wajidali secretly wishes, the doctor would have stood by while the policemen kicked in his ribs!
After a year of living in London, these people remain inscrutable to me.
The police took Wajidali to jail to punish him for his impudence and remind him of his place. He remained there overnight, though there were no more beatings, thank heavens! The police had already lost interest in Wajidali. He overheard them talking about a strange demon who is killing women in Mayfair and drinking the blood! He didn't believe the story, but I am not so sure myself, for what sane person would do such a wicked thing? If it was not a demon, then it is certainly a man possessed by one. It makes me shiver to think of some icy-fingered British equivalent of Kali stalking the city, looking for blood to drink. This is all the more reason to be home in the evening, the door safely barred, instead of out carousing like Wajidali.
After collecting Gopesh's misguided boy from the police, I sat him down and gave him a stern rebuke. Instead of crying tears of shame, as any proper young man would have done, he went on at some length about "his rights as a British subject"! Truly, his foolishness is without measure. No wonder Gopesh wanted him out of Bombay. Consorting with the troublemakers who want to start an Indian national congress would have landed Wajidali into trouble sooner or later. I would be rid of the British as quickly as the next man, but they are as useful to us as we are to them. You cannot feed an empty belly with idealism.
I look forward to Ramesh's arrival. Perhaps when he has learned the ropes I can come home for a visit. (I would never trust Wajidali to look after affairs.) It would be pleasant to be in Bombay in August, when it is dry and not too hot, for the Ganesh Chaturthi festival. I miss sitting in the shade of the mango trees in the courtyard of our home on Malabar Hill, discussing such matters face-to-face, over tea.
Kindly present my regards to the family, and tell Ramesh to have a safe journey.
Your devoted younger brother,
Bhaskar Srinivasan
* * *
11
A Murder in Drury Lane
The following account, written for the Pall Mall Gazette, was suppressed at the order of the Home Secretary.
Murder in Drury Lane
Actress Attacked Before Horrified Theatre Audience Is Madeline Salisbury the Latest Victim of the "London Vampire"? Police seek popular actor, the suspected vampire killer
A popular actress was murdered Saturday night during a performance of the comic opera HMS Pinafore at the Theatre Royal.
Authorities are seeking a well-known actor suspected to be the "London Vampire," the dreaded murderer who has preyed on young women in Mayfair and elsewhere since late last year. The suspect is said to drain his victims of their blood, which he is reputed to need to maintain supernatural powers.
Madeline Salisbury, who played the leading role in Gilbert & Sullivan's Pinafore
, was killed on stage at the opening of Act II, in front of a sold-out performance.
According to several people who were present in the theatre to witness the crime, the murder occurred as the orchestra was playing the overture to Act II. As the curtain parted, Miss Salisbury and Edmund Castle, the actor who played the lead opposite her, were seen in an intimate embrace at center stage. A murmur passed through the theatre as those familiar with the production realized something was amiss. When members of the orchestra noticed that the action on stage was not following W. S. Gilbert's libretto, the overture's performance wavered noticeably.
Miss Salisbury and Mr. Castle seemed unaware that the curtain had parted, revealing them, witnesses said. They continued to embrace for nearly a minute, their arms tightly around one another. Mr. Castle's face was buried in the declivity between Miss Salisbury's neck and shoulder, and Miss Salisbury was described as standing "with her pretty head thrown back, her eyes closed and her lips parted, as if in rapture."
Then Mr. Castle seemed to become aware that he and Miss Salisbury had been exposed to the crowd in an indelicate moment. He released her and stepped back. Miss Salisbury collapsed to the stage in a heap.
This signaled something was seriously amiss. The overture sputtered to a ragged stop.
Mr. Castle, his mouth smeared with blood, took several steps backward.
"I will never forget the look on his face," a theatregoer said. "It was a look of pure horror, as if the audience he was regarding was responsible for the monstrous crime instead of he."
Several women began to scream. A few of the musicians scrambled up from the pit to assist Miss Salisbury. Mr. Castle turned and disappeared into the wings. He vanished in the ensuing bedlam and remains at large as this edition of the Gazette goes to press.
Sir Posthumous Blackley, the eminent Harley Street physician, was in the audience and observed the incident. He made his way to the stage, but Miss Salisbury was already dead from blood loss.
The London Vampire Panic Page 7
