He loved Aline, and he had for some time, without even knowing it.
And he had lost her forever.
Drexler finally broke the awful silence by clearing his throat uncomfortably, sheathing the sword he no longer needed back into his hollow walking stick. "Well, I've never seen it done quite like that before," he said with the darkest of wit. "Perhaps you lot are stronger after all."
Chapter 8
Her Majesty made a rare public appearance at the British Museum’s latest exhibition, featuring artifacts of Ancient Egypt recovered by a team led by Egyptologist, Dr. Charles Netherfield, recently appointed to the faculty at London University…
-from The London Post-Dispatch, 1893
"OH, dear, I confess I forgot how you take your tea. Cream? Sugar?" Lady Christiana inquired, her hand pausing over the sugar tongs.
For a long moment, Aline was too incredulous to reply. She couldn't believe Lady Christiana was asking how she took her tea, as if Aline had just popped in for a visit. Just to make sure, she glanced down at her skirt, which was stained with vampire blood – vampire blood! – and then back at Christiana. But instead of screaming bloody murder, she said, "Both, please," in a surprisingly sane-sounding voice.
Though she could not possibly be sane. She'd lost her mind. That had to be it. Nothing else could explain the odd turn her life had taken in the past twelve hours. But here she was, sipping tea with Lady Christiana in the drawing room of Llewellyn House, as if it were an ordinary day. And Christiana seemed quite real. And quite sane, even though every word she'd spoken since Aline had arrived a half-hour before had been utter nonsense.
She set her tea aside for a moment, took off her spectacles and polished them on her handkerchief. She'd polished them a dozen times already since she'd left her flat – or what was left of it, anyway – just to be sure she'd removed all of the blood. She'd adamantly refused to return to Sasha's townhouse, the one clear thought she'd had all morning, and so the Earl had brought her here, and into the keeping of his sister – who wasn't his sister at all.
She'd found no solace from Lady Christiana, only more outlandish revelations.
"So let me see if I understand correctly. You are not the Earl's sister. You are his great, great, great granddaughter...”
"I think you left out a great," Christiana murmured, sipping her tea.
Aline gave her friend a look of disgust and continued. "And the Earl is like the Professor. They have mechanical hearts made by Leonardo Da Vinci, which have given them immortality. And they are four hundred years old."
Lady Christiana nodded. "More or less. Your Professor is only around three hundred or so, I think. He was made later."
Aline raised an eyebrow archly. "Oh, is he only three hundred? That certainly makes it easier to digest."
Christiana sighed and put down her biscuit. "I know this is a lot to take in, Aline...”
Aline clutched at her skirts so hard she could hear the fabric ripping. "My ex-employer is a three-hundred year old science experiment, a vampire just tried to kill me, you are immortal, as is the Earl. And, oh yes, my blood condition attracts vampires like flies to honey. Have I missed anything?"
Christiana squirmed. "Well, Inspector Drexler is a vampire. I don't think I told you that."
Aline laughed a little hysterically. "No, you didn't tell me that."
"But he wouldn't hurt you, Aline," Christiana assured her, too quickly in Aline's opinion.
"Well, remind me not to nick myself around him! I wouldn't want to test that theory," she said darkly. She started to massage her temples, as she could feel a headache building. But then she regretted it. She had vampire speckled all over her face. The blood had sprayed everywhere when Romanov had ripped off its head.
She paled, her stomach heaving at the memory. She'd never even imagined such a thing was possible. She still didn't think it was ... for a human. But the Professor wasn't human, was he? "You must have laughed at me this whole time," she murmured. "With my penny-dreadful and all its silly imaginings."
"Of course not, my dear!" Christiana said, patting her gently on the arm. "I love the Chronicles."
With the mention of her serial, Aline remembered something she'd forgotten in all of the chaos, and she began to cry for the first time since this whole business started. And once she'd started, she didn't think she was ever going to stop.
Christiana looked horrified. "Oh, dear! And you were taking it so well!" she cried, shoving her handkerchief into Aline's hands.
Aline shook her head, hiccoughing her sobs. "It isn't that. I just remembered, my deadline is today for the Chronicles, and I haven't written a word!"
THE following morning, Aline had recovered her nerves enough to venture downstairs from the room the Earl had provided her and have breakfast with Lady Christiana. She was bathed, blood-free and dressed in a cast-off frock of Christiana's that had been hurriedly made over for her diminutive proportions. She didn't even want to contemplate the state of her own wardrobe at the moment, and whether any of her own clothes had survived the ... well, the bloodbath.
All of her plants were likely lost causes. And she didn't know whether the fact that she was worrying over her plants at a time like this was a healthy response or a sign of encroaching hysteria.
Just as she and Christiana were sitting down to dine, the Earl arrived after a night spent sorting out the catastrophe in Bloomsbury. He joined them for a moment, looking rumpled and weary and so very ordinary, nothing like what she imagined a four hundred year old immortal would look like.
Except for his eyes. For the first time, she noticed the Earl’s eyes were the same unique amber color as the Professor.
He caught her staring at him and pulled at his collar uncomfortably. He glanced at his sister. "You told her?"
Christiana nodded. "She deserved to know."
"Of course." He cleared his throat. "Miss Finch, surely I don't need to worry about your discretion...”
She snorted and crossed her arms. "Oh, I won't tell your secrets. Even if I did, who would believe me?"
The Earl looked taken aback by her sarcasm. "Well, it is good to see you've recovered your unique wit."
"How is ... Fyodor?" she asked, catching herself before she asked after Sasha. She knew precisely how her ex-employer was. Immortal. Probably still trying to scrub the blood from his hands. She wanted to hate him. To fear him, even, after what he'd done. Yet all she kept picturing in her mind was how she'd last seen him. Hunched over Ikaterina, head bowed, so still. So alone.
"He has recovered. We are still not sure how the creature was able to overpower him without a fight. Even Elders have difficulty matching the strength of Fyodor's kind," his Lordship replied.
"And the Professor's dogs?" she asked, dreading the response.
The Earl's expression took on a grim cast. "I don't know. Sasha is ... unavailable at the moment."
That didn't sound good, and Aline's heart ached. For the hellhounds, of course. She was responsible for what had happened to them. If she hadn't been so foolish to go to her flat in the first place, all of this might have never happened. When she'd thought Sasha's secrets were dark, she'd never imagined this.
"The good news is we believe the danger has passed. From what we have managed to gather, that creature was responsible for all of this madness."
"You can say vampire, Rowan," Christiana said wryly. "That was what it was."
He gave his sister an unhappy glance. "I am not comfortable with that word, or with the fact they exist at all. I doubt I shall ever be, my dear."
Aline wondered if the Earl knew his sister was half in love with a vampire. She could foresee trouble there. But she had her own problems to deal with.
"I still can't believe it was Sasha's brother, all this time," Lady Christiana said with a shudder. "What a nightmare that must be for him."
"Sasha always claimed his family was an appalling lot."
"I'm sure they were," Aline muttered. "His father was Ivan the
bloody Terrible." This was one of the hardest revelations to swallow. That Sasha was the former Crown Prince of the Russian Empire, and his father was one of the most reviled men in history. All of those things he'd said when he'd talked about that painting had happened to him. And that letter...
She did not want to think about that letter from his long-dead wife. It made it too real, too heartbreaking.
The Earl stood up to take his leave, fixing his attention on Aline. "Miss Finch, I believe the immediate danger to you has passed. You are, of course, welcome to stay here for as long as you like, and in light of your unique condition, I would recommend it. At least until we come to some sort of solution to ensure your safety."
"I have lived my life thus far without incident. Besides, I shall be married and on my honeymoon within the month..." She trailed off, her stomach sinking.
"What is it, dear?" Christiana asked.
"I forgot all about Charlie," she murmured. "I left the ball without a word to him. He must be out of his mind with worry."
She'd had a lot on her mind since the ball, but the fact she'd not thought once of Charlie wasn't a good sign. After breakfast, she checked her wireless to make sure Charlie had not tried to reach her. There were no messages from him, which was surprising ... and disappointing.
Perhaps she was a hypocrite, as she'd not thought of him once in two days, but she'd expected him to be concerned at least a little. She had a valid excuse for her forgetfulness, but what could possibly be his? Mummies attacking him at the museum?
She sent him a tickertext apologizing for her abrupt departure from the ball, but when he didn't even reply to this, her disappointment turned to worry.
What if something had happened to him?
She knew she was being paranoid after her recent experiences, but she couldn't stop her vivid imagination from getting the better of her. Even if vampires or mummies weren’t attacking him, however, something was wrong. Charlie had never failed to respond to her tickertexts in the past.
When she hadn't heard from him by the afternoon, Christiana offered to accompany her to the museum where Charlie was working to check on him. Matthews drove them through the city, still under Drexler's orders to keep an eye on her. Though the threat was over, for once Aline was grateful for the company. She wondered if she'd ever feel completely safe again.
Charlie's offices were located in the basement of the museum. She'd only visited a few times in the early days of their acquaintance, when Charlie was just settling in. It had always been a dim, unwelcoming place filled with artifacts from Charlie's Egyptian ventures, most of them made slightly eerie by the shadowy room.
As she and Christiana entered the large front room, the eeriness seemed amplified from her previous visits. A giant stone statue of the god Osiris, a new addition, loomed over everything else, casting a long shadow that seemed to envelop them like a living thing. She shivered.
She was overreacting, she knew, seeing threats where there were none. The violence of the last few days had taken its toll, that was all. She tried to shake off her misplaced foreboding.
But even Christiana seemed to take a dislike to the office. "Remind me never to come here at night. This place is enough to give me nightmares," Christiana murmured with a shudder. As they passed by a long workbench near the back of the room with a tall shelf above it, Christiana stopped and gasped. "Dear Lord, what is that?" she breathed, gesturing to the shelf.
Nearly two-dozen giant storage jars lined the shelves, filled with lumps of ancient-looking stained bandages. Some of the stains reminded Aline of dried blood, which of course was ridiculous. Aline approached for a closer look, and a chill raced down her spine.
"Are those ... human organs?" Christiana demanded from behind her.
A door slammed, and Aline's heart nearly leapt from her throat. She spun around to find Charlie approaching them, his mouth tight with displeasure. "They are mummified organs, my Lady," Charlie answered. "Thousands of years old."
Christiana, her hand to her chest, eyed the jars skeptically. "They don't look a thousand years old," she muttered.
Aline cast a final look at the jars, and she couldn't help but agree with Christiana. Some of the contents looked quite ... fresh. Surely those weren't mummified hearts. After being threatened by a psychopath intent on ripping hers out, she didn’t like the thought of being near mummified hearts, even if they were millennia old.
"What are you doing here?" Charlie demanded in a hard voice that was so unlike him that she forgot all about the jars.
She turned her attention back to her fiancé, and any idea she had of eliciting his sympathy about her troubles the last few days flew out of her mind. He was clearly in no mood for company, even her own. He looked terrible, as if he'd not slept in days, and extremely upset.
"I came to check on you, Charlie. You didn't respond to my message," she said.
"I've been busy," he said irritably.
Christiana grimaced at Charlie's tone and discreetly moved to the other side of the room to give them a moment alone, sensing trouble.
"What's going on, Charlie?" Aline asked, following behind him as he prowled towards his desk. He began to toss things quite violently into a box.
"I'm packing my desk, that's what," he bit out.
Aline glanced around and noticed several boxes already filled to the brim and stacked near the entrance. "Why are you packing?"
"I'm leaving the museum. The expedition is off, Aline. I've been sacked from the university, and my funding has been cut."
"What?" she cried. "But I don't understand!"
"Ask your ex-employer," Charlie retorted. "He is the cause of all of this."
Aline's stomach bottomed out with apprehension. "Sasha ... I mean, Professor Romanov had you fired?"
"I'm certain of it. I knew he didn't like me when we were introduced at the ball, but this is too much."
Aline's blood began to heat. She didn't doubt for a moment the Professor had done this. He'd made his position on the matter of her marriage quite clear. He'd interfere in any way he could, just as he'd interfered with the bookmaker's. But why? Why now, when she was free of the threat to her life? The Professor had no reason to be so dictatorial now. And he wouldn’t be cruel on a whim, would he?
Perhaps he would. The last two days had proven how little she truly knew the man. He was capable of literally pulling a man apart without so much as flinching. He’d have no trouble ruining Charlie’s career. She choked on her rage.
"He had no right. Charlie, I'm so sorry." She touched his arm to comfort him as best she could, her mind in a whirl.
He spun around to face her, and there was such fury on his face she backed up a step. "What does he see in you?" he spat. "You're his secretary. Shall he ruin my life over his secretary? Are you sleeping with him, Aline? Are you his whore? Is that what this is about?"
Aline gasped, the blood draining from her face at Charlie's vitriol. "Charlie! How dare you!" she cried.
He wasn’t finished. He looked her up and down with disgust. "How could he find you so irresistible? You?"
Every one of Charlie's words sent a spear of pain through her chest. "He doesn't. But you should, Charlie, if only a little. We're to be married."
He snorted and turned back to his packing. "No, we're not."
She froze. "What? You're breaking with me?" she cried. "Because the Professor did something I had no control over?"
"The only reason I was marrying you was for your secretarial skills. As I no longer have a career, I no longer need you."
What? "So you never cared about me at all?"
"A passing fondness," he sneered. "Don't try to tell me you loved me either, Aline. You know as well as I that would be a lie. You were using me as much as I was using you."
"I was prepared to have a family with you, Charlie," she said quietly. "You said you wanted that."
He laughed caustically at this. "I lied, my dear. Now will you please leave? I must finish packing today, a
nd you are giving me a headache."
Aline stared at Charlie's back for some time as he continued to pack, ignoring her. She was too stunned to move. But at last she felt Christiana's hand on her shoulder, guiding her away.
She didn't come back to her senses until they were nearing the lobby of the museum. Christiana still gripped her shoulder, as if afraid she was going to fall without the support. She came to a stop, and Christiana paused with her, looking at her with concern.
"Charlie broke the engagement," she said, incredulous.
Christiana frowned and patted her arm. "I know. I heard. Not well-done of him."
"He ... he said he wanted me for my secretarial skills!" she breathed.
"Shall I go back and punch him in the face, love? I am quite prepared to do so," Christiana assured her.
Aline shook her head. "He thought I was … with the Professor! He called me a whore!"
Christiana looked furious, balled her hands into fists, and turned back the way they came. "I didn't hear that part. I shall punch him."
Aline grabbed her friend by the arm and pulled her back. "Perhaps he saw," she cried. "When the Professor and I were in the garden."
Christiana looked at her sharply. "Saw what?"
"When we were ... kissing."
Christiana's mouth fell open. "You and the Professor ... " She trailed off, looking thoughtful. At length, she shrugged. "Of course, it makes sense. I've seen how Sasha looks at you."
"What? No!" Aline cried, distraught at Christiana’s reasoning. And perceptiveness.
"And how you look at him,” Christiana continued. “I always wondered why you agreed to marry Charlie, when you and the Professor seemed..."
"You couldn't be more mistaken. And I do not look at the Professor!" Aline wailed, a sick feeling rising in her gut. Was she so transparent? Did all of her acquaintances assume she was panting after Sasha?
Prince of Hearts (Elders and Welders Chronicles) Page 17
