Household (18 page)

“You will stay,” he said strongly. “And that knowledge you share with him will also be mine.” He arose swiftly and enfolded her in his arms. “You have said we are accursce. I’ll share that curse, my Juliet, and as we are touched by evil, you’ll not be able to resist.”

“Oh, Colin, nooooo,” she wailed, struggling against him.

Though she was cold, cold with a cold that seemed to make the blood freeze in his veins, he held her until she ceased to struggle, until her mouth fastened on his neck and her sharp little fangs sank into his flesh. Moments later, she sprang away from him, thrusting the back of her hand against her crimson lips. “Oh, why, why?” she cried accusingly, rushing toward the window and throwing herself from it, her wail mingling with the banshee’s howl.

Behind her, Colin pressed a finger against the small wounds on his neck and smiled triumphantly. His theory had proved correct. A bonding
had
taken place, and her muttered words about the “green” were suddenly very clear.

❖

The following night, Colin went late to The Green Dragon. Any fear that he might have trouble finding it again was assuaged. He seemed to know the way and did not question that knowledge. It was near dawn when he arrived, and rather than going inside, he lingered near the window. Peering in, he saw Sir Simeon, deep in conversation with a young man, who appeared to be three-quarters drunk. With him was a girl who, judging from the look of her, was no more than 18 or 19. She appeared to be very nervous, and it was upon her that Sir Simeon’s dark gaze was fastened. She watched him with the frozen look of a rabbit mesmerized by a stoat. In another second, the drunken man had toppled to the floor.

Sir Simeon, rising, sat down beside the girl and casually kissed her. She tried to push him away but her movements were feeble at best. Soon she had stopped struggling. With a silly smile, she gave herself to the predator. Seeing Sir Simeon’s lips shift from mouth to neck, Colin shuddered and clutched the pointed stake. His newly acquired knowledge alerted him to the fact that while he feasted, Sir Simeon was impervious to anything save his all consuming thirst. He felt sorry for the victim, but there was no help for her. In common with Juliet and himself, the path had been chosen for her long ago. Laws had been broken, the eternal laws his father had derided.

He ceased thinking. The sky was growing lighter, and Sir Simeon was raising his head. The girl had fallen forward, so that the upper part of her body lay on the table. A thin trickle of blood seeped from a ragged wound in her neck. Sir Simeon hurried outside, vanishing amidst the trees. A second later, the scruffy little host came hurrying into the room. As usual, he was wiping his hands on his filthy apron. Colin watched with a fascinated horror as he used that same apron to wipe the blood from the girl’s neck. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her out of the room. A second later, he was back to arouse her drunken companion. Smiling and bowing, he led him into the hall, and as he did not emerge, Colin guessed that he was being shown to such accomodations as the inn might boast. Going to the front door, he tried the handle and found that it was unlocked. He strolled inside and stood there awaiting the moment when Mr. Chubb would return.

❖

She had awakened with a singular feeling of freedom, but in the next moment had been frightened. She had not returned to the crypt until near dawn the previous night and so had avoided any reprisals Sir Simeon might have taken against her. The following night, he had been summmoned to The Green Dragon, that horrid way station for the unwary sinner and those, who like Colin, were not unwary but unaware.

Slipping from her coffin, Juliet hurried into the churchyard. Sir Simeon must have gone already. Unencumbered by his presence she moved lightly among the tombs, nodding briefly to Ruth Ellersbee, who had just emerged, and to Lady Margaret, who was surging forth from the chapel, leaning on the Crusader’s arm, queening it over all of them, as usual. It seemed to her that Lady Margaret and her husband were angry. However she did not care to question them. She wanted to be away in the woods, to remember and savor those moments she had spent with Colin, something she must never, never, never do again. Sir Simeon had warned her that it was unwise to visit those one loved, not only because of the dangers of discovery and vengeance, but because of the anguish of parting. She knew that anguish now and knew guilt besides, for her veins had been warmed by her brother’s blood. Moaning and shivering, she wandered past the immense old trees, wondering when Sir Simeon would seek her out, wondering what he would do when he found her.

It was late when she returned; the moon was almost down and the sky paling. She hurried into the crypt, wondering now where he was, Sir Simeon, who had chosen to lie near her in the empty sarcophagus which one day would be occupied by her brother.

“Juliet.”

She stiffened and saw Colin standing just inside the door. Terror possessed her. “Why are you here?” she whispered. “I have been waiting for you. I have a gift for you,” he said in a low voice. Moving to Sir Simeon’s appropriated coffin, he stooped and with some difficulty managed to push back the lid. “Look,” he commanded.

Obeying, Juliet saw mouldering bones amidst the dark suit he had worn and saw, too, the stake protruding from his shattered rib cage.

“How?” she whispered.

“No matter,” Colin murmured. “It is done.”

She threw her arms around him. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Since just past sunset.”

“Oh, you should not have waited. ’Tis dangerous!”

“I know.” He smiled. “I met the Crusader’s lady. I vow, even longevity’s no excuse for such overweening self-importance. I found Ruth much more to my liking. She, at least, was gentle.”

“Colin...” For the first time, she became aware of his pallor. “They did not...”

“They did,” he nodded. “’Twas not unpleasant.”

“Oh, Colin.” She threw her arms around him. “You must go!”

He shook his head. “’Tis too late, my own. But on the morrow we’ll both go. I’ve written to Tony and told him all that has occurred. I told him that I might not return and have given him my instructions.”

“Oh, why... why?” she cried.

“I do not care to live without you, my Juliet. And you should not be forced into this existence. Tony will come in the morning and he’ll find me. I’ve left him mallets and a pair of stakes.”

“Oh!” she trembled.

“Are you afraid?”

“I will... welcome the true death, if I may share it with you, but I do not want you to perish, my love, my love.”

“Shhhh, be of good cheer, minx.” He bent to kiss her, and sagging in her arms, he died.

❖

“Good God,” Richard strode into the library to find Tony standing by the hearth, feeding a paper into the flames. “Why will you light a fire in June?”

It was a moment before his son could reply. “There were some letters I... wanted to destroy,” he said huskily.

“Love letters?” A brief smile flickered in Richard’s somber eyes.

“And the like.” Tony thought he had never heard Molly wail so loudly or the cat screech so incessantly, but since it was impossible to guess whether or not they wanted him to abide by the instructions in his brother’s letter, he chose to believe that they approved his decision.

L
ucy Veringer sat in the library pouring over a large framed square of canvas spread out on the desktop in front of her. Called a family tree, it really did look like a tree. Her great-uncle Colin had taken up painting shortly after his transition, as her grandfather preferred to term it, and he had done branches, curling ones with green leaves and, if you looked close enough, little faces peeping between them.

Lucy wished he would paint more pictures. The portrait he had done of her Uncle Mark, as a young man, pleased her, though as her great-aunt Juliet said, Uncle Mark pleased no one. She looked up his dates on the tree. He had died in 1828 in his forty-seventh year, four years before she herself was born. It had all been a great scandal, and the bullet that felled him was in the desk drawer. Impulsively, Lucy opened the drawer and fiddling among sealing wax, quills and other paraphernalia finally found it. She held the bullet up to the candle flame. Though flattened and discolored, it still gleamed silver. The shepherd who had fashioned it wanted it back, but it had not been returned to him.

“
Lucky, he wasn’t hanged
.”

Lucy started and looked around, but of course she couldn’t see him. One didn’t see the Old Lord (so called to distinguish him from his son, the present Earl of More); he made himself known in other ways mainly because, as he had so often told her, he was not going to stalk about the ramparts like the ghost of Hamlet’s father. He was still angry about finding himself in a similar condition.

In his lifetime, despite all evidence to the contrary, he had convinced himself that there were no such things as ghosts, banshees, witches, werewolves, vampires or, for that matter, devils, angels and the Creator, Himself. The circumstances in the household caused him to change his mind but realization had come after death, and there he was, caught like a fly in amber, which was his simile. However there was no one to say that he must materialize and nothing to hinder him from keeping an eye, as it were, on his descendants. Consequently, one never knew when he was about or if he had eavesdropped on one’s innermost thoughts, until he deliberately made himself known to the two humans, who could communicate with him—herself and her great-grandfather.

Lucy said placatingly, “You know why the shepherd had to kill Uncle Mark.”

“
You shouldn’t know
,” came the explosive retort. “
Disgusting to burden a child with such information.
”

A door opened and slammed.

“Lucy.” Mark Driscoll, Jr., a handsome boy of 13 strode to the desk. He was looking himself again, his red-gold hair smoothed back and his golden eyes full of humor, a sharp contrast to the other night when they almost hadn’t got him chained in the cellar in time.

“Oh, I thought you were grandfather!” she exclaimed.

“Why should you think that?”

“Great-grandfather, I mean.”

“Is he here?”

“Oh yes, and in one of his rages. I expect that’s because of the tree.”

“The tree?” He gave her a puzzled stare.

“This tree.” She indicated the painting.

He came nearer to the desk and stared down at it. “Oh, that. Why does it fascinate you?”

“I think it’s interesting.”

“It doesn’t interest
me
,” he said loftily, sitting down in a chair near the desk. “Anyhow, it’s all finished, at least as far as we’re concerned. This branch is deadwood—or it will be when Great-Uncle Tony dies.”

Lucy looked distressed. “I wish you wouldn’t talk of him dying. Anyway, why couldn’t you inherit the title?”

“For the same reason you can’t... I mean couldn’t, if you were a man.”

“I’m not a werewolf!” Lucy exclaimed and then flushed. “I... I am sorry, Mark. I didn’t mean...”

He looked at her fondly, “That’s all right,” he soothed. “Just as long as you don’t mention it when there are strangers about.”

“I never would!” she cried.

“Anyhow, my being a werewolf has nothing to do with it. I couldn’t inherit because my father didn’t marry my mother, either.”

“
Common prostitute! Doxy! Trull!
” growled the Old Lord.

“Great-gratidfather!” Lucy protested.

“What’s he saying?” Mark asked.

“Nothing you should hear.”

“You do queen it over us, you little witch!” he teased.

“I am not a witch!” she cried indignantly.

“You can talk to Great-grandfather and also to Molly and her cat. You’d think I could, too. I do hear them but I’ve never seen them.”

“Grandfather says that lycanthropy is a disease.”

“
Accursed... accursed
...” groaned the Old Lord.

“Yes,” Lucy said seriously, “I expect it is part of the curse, just like Great-aunt Kathleen and Uncle John being murdered in Madras when your father was but a babe in arms.”

“And being bitten by that strange woman he met on the moors.” Mark nodded. “I’m glad she wasn’t my mother. I’d be a double-werewolf, then.” He wriggled his fingers and hunched his shoulders. “It’s bad enough the way it is.”

“Oh, dear, are you uncomfortable? I thought it wasn’t so painful last time.”

He flushed. “It’s a bit better, but changing still causes a severe muscular strain.”

“I do wish I could see it happen,” Lucy said, her blue eyes bright with interest. “I almost did the other night.”

“You wouldn’t want to see it,” he said with a slight shudder. “And you are lucky they got me below in time. Was I growling?”

“A bit.”

“I...”

“Lucy, what are you doing in here?” A tall spare woman with a hard angular face and narrow eyes stalked into the room. Her dark grey gown blended in with her greyish skin and iron grey hair and was almost the exact hue of her eyes. “I told you,” she continued harshly, “that you were to remain in the kitchen.”

Lucy flushed and slipped off the chair but said with a certain defiance, “Grandfather wanted...”

“You’ll not refer to that man as your grandfather!” the woman snapped.

“But he
is
her grandfather, Mrs. Crowell!” Mark exclaimed indignantly.

Mrs. Crowell rounded on him. “We do not know for sure who fathered my misbegotten daughter’s nameless brat.”

“You do know!” Mark flared. “Everyone says that Lucy’s the image of Lady Felicity.”

“Humph, anyone can have blonde hair and blue eyes. Could’ve been any one of the young sprigs who chased her. I always knew she’d come to a bad end. Didn’t I tell her time and again... but enough. You get back to the servants’ room where you belong. It’s time you was in training, miss. And don’t look at me with that better-than-thou-expression. You’ll be lucky if you ever get to be first parlormaid much less a housekeeper like myself. And you’re to start as a kitchen maid. I have it all arranged with my niece who works as cook in Newcastle.”

“Grandfather said...” Lucy whispered.