Mr. Darcy Vampyre (22 page)

Once in her room she rang for Annie, then sat down to write her note to Darcy. The words would not come, but at last she managed to say what needed to be said.

My dear Darcy,

I cannot stay here any longer. I am not making you happy and the gulf between us has destroyed all my peace and happiness. I am going home to Longbourn. The Prince has kindly given me the use of his carriage and he is sending a courier with me to smooth my journey. I hope you find what you are looking for. I can see now that it isn't me.

Elizabeth

She rang the bell again for Annie, but when her maid didn't come she went downstairs herself in search of the Prince. She found him in the music room with his other guests. She thought how strange it was that they could continue with the house party as if nothing had happened. Sir Edward and Lady Bartholomew, so plump and happy, Monsieur Repar and Mrs Prestin, and all the other guests. For them it was a day like any other.

As soon as the Prince saw her he slipped away, leaving his guests singing and talking together, and joined her by the door. He took the note from her, promising to make sure that Darcy received it, and told her that the carriage was ready for her.

‘I will send one of the footmen upstairs to carry your boxes,' he said.

‘They are not yet packed,' said Elizabeth, adding with a glimmer of humour, ‘I seem to have mislaid my maid.'

‘Ah! See, a burden it has been lifted from you, it is always the way. A decision, once made, no matter how difficult, frees the shoulders from the weight of indecision, and that is a heavy weight indeed. Already you are happier, your humour returns. It is good to see you smile, even if only for a moment,' he said genially. ‘But now, we must find your maid.'

He beckoned to one of the footmen and told the man to go to the servants' hall and look for Mrs Darcy's maid.

The footman looked uncomfortable.

‘Well?' demanded the Prince. ‘What is it?'

The footman said something in Italian and although Elizabeth did not understand every word, she was able to make out that he had just been to the servants' hall and that Annie had not been there. He looked as though he could say more but did not know if it would be welcome.

‘Say everything,' commanded the Prince.

The footman said, haltingly, that Annie was a friend of one of the gardeners, and that it was the gardener's afternoon off, and that the footman had seen them heading for the forest.

‘Ah!' said the Prince, with a wry smile. ‘
Amore!
It is very wrong of her, of course, but what will you? No matter.' He turned to Elizabeth. ‘I will send one of my maids to help you and to accompany you to the nearest inn, and I will send Signorina Annie to you when she returns.' He said to the footman, ‘See to it.' The footman bowed and withdrew, and the Prince continued to Elizabeth, ‘I am sorry you have had this inconvenience.'

Elizabeth said, ‘It doesn't matter. At least someone's love is prospering. I am only sorry that I am taking her away.'

‘But you will return,' said the Prince. ‘You are welcome here at any time, you know that, I hope, and you must bring your charming family with you the next time you come to Italy. They will all be very welcome here. Your mother will like it, do you think?'

‘I am sure she would,' said Elizabeth, smiling again as she thought of her mother exclaiming over the furniture, then trying to persuade every gentleman at the villa that either Kitty or Mary would make him a charming wife.

Whether the Prince would enjoy the visit as much as her mother she very much doubted!

‘Then you must visit me again soon, and stay with me for as long as you like,' he said with a bow.

Elizabeth thanked him for his generous invitation and returned to her room, where her spirits once more drooped. To leave this place where she had been happy, for in the first days at the villa she had still hoped that she and Darcy would become one, was a trial to her. Once gone, she would have to admit that hope was dead.

The arrival of one of the Prince's maids at least gave a new turn to her thoughts as she instructed the girl, and very soon Elizabeth's things were packed and a footman arrived to convey them to the carriage. With one last, lingering look around the room, she followed the footman downstairs.

The carriage was waiting for her by the side door. It was an elaborate affair with a florid coat of arms emblazoned on the side. Two footmen flanked it –‘For your protection,' said the Prince—both dressed in the Prince's scarlet livery, and the courier stood by its side. He was a handsome young man, charming and respectful, and he took his place next to the coachman on the box, where he was joined by the maid.

‘Until we meet again,' said the Prince, bowing over Elizabeth's hand.

‘Thank you for your hospitality,' she said, ‘and thank you for your kindness and your advice.'

‘It is nothing,' he said. ‘Take courage, you will soon be with your family and then your happiness, it will recover.'

He handed her inside and she arranged her skirts around her on the sumptuous silk-upholstered seat.

The footmen took their places, standing on the runners on each side of the carriage, then the coachman called to the horses and they began to move, the heavy carriage going slowly forward until it began to pick up pace and bowl down the drive.

The fountains, which had been singing on her arrival, now seemed to be weeping, and Elizabeth was weeping too. Tear after hot tear, held back until now by pride, came freely, and in the solitude of the carriage, she gave way to her emotions.

‘This will not do,' she told herself after a while.

She sought out her valise, in which Annie had stowed her newly hemmed handkerchiefs, and found it under the seat. She pulled it out and opened it—and then her heart stopped beating, for there, on the top of her clothes, was a bundle of letters, all in her own hand, and addressed to her family and friends.

She lifted them up with disbelief.

There must be some mistake
, she thought, scarcely able to believe the evidence of her own eyes, and with trembling hands she untied the bundle and tore open the top letter.

My dearest Jane,

You will be surprised when I tell you that we are not going to the Lake District after all, we are going to France…

She picked up another one:

My dearest Jane,

…We are now established in Paris, and it is the most beautiful city…

And another:

My dearest Jane,

I wish you were here. How I long to talk to you. So much has happened that I scarcely know where to begin. We left Paris a few days ago and we are now in the Alps.

All of them, every letter she had written since leaving England, they were all there. Her mind raced. What were they doing there? Who had put them there? Why had they never been sent?

And then she thought of the strange incident when Annie had found her in the gardens and told her that her handkerchiefs had been hemmed. It wasn't urgent news, it could have waited. But then with a creeping feeling running down her spine, she realised that Annie had not sought her out to tell her about the handkerchiefs; she had sought her out to tell her about the letters, but, on finding that Elizabeth was not alone, she had given nothing but a veiled warning instead.

Then if Annie had known about the letters, had she put them there? If so, where had she found them? And who had stopped them being sent?

Elizabeth remembered Annie's strange behaviour when she had first noticed the Prince and she wondered if Annie suspected him of stealing the letters. But a moment's thought showed her that, whatever Annie might or might not have suspected, the Prince could not have been involved because most of the letters had been written before Elizabeth had visited the villa.

But who, then? The only people to touch the letters, apart from herself, were Annie and the footmen who took them to be posted. Annie she could exclude, which left the footmen. But why should any of them do such a thing? They were all loyal to Darcy. They had been in his family's employ for years. Except…

She remembered an incident in Paris when one of the footmen had fallen ill and had been quickly replaced. He had had excellent references but they had not known anything of the man personally. It seemed ridiculous to think that he was involved, but the fact remained that the letters had not been sent.
Could he have been paid to suppress the letters?
she wondered. But, if so, why? And by whom?

It might be possible that Annie knew, but Elizabeth could not ask her because… she shivered… because Annie was missing. What had happened to Annie? Where was she? Was she really in the forest with a lover or had something happened to her?

‘Stop the coach!' called Elizabeth, rapping on the floor of the carriage with her parasol to gain the coachman's attention. ‘Stop the coach at once!'

But the carriage did not slow its riotous pace.

She wound down the window and called out, ‘Stop! I command you, coachman, stop this instant!'

But his only response was to whip the horses and drive them faster. She felt a rising tide of panic as she realised that she was in the Prince's carriage, driven by the Prince's coachman, and surrounded by the Prince's servants.

She looked out of the window and wondered if she could jump out of the carriage, but it was going too fast. It passed farmers on their way to market and she called out to them as they crossed themselves and stood back to let the carriage pass. Their faces were sullen and hostile, but when they heard her cries, their expressions turned to horror or pity. One woman, moved to action, ran forward when the carriage slowed to take a corner, and thrust a necklace of small white flowers through the window. She said something unintelligible, but her gesture was clear: put it around your neck.

Elizabeth, frightened by her look and by the tears in her eyes, did as she said.

As she did so, she smelt the pungent smell and recognised the flowers as wild garlic.

Strange tales began to come back to her, folk tales she had read in the library at Longbourn, stories of strange creatures that preyed on the living and haunted the forests of Europe, half men, half beasts, mesmeric, and seductive, but evil and dangerous, creatures who bit their victims, piercing their skin and drinking their blood; beasts which could be held at bay by garlic.

‘No, I will not think of it,' said Elizabeth aloud. ‘It is nothing but a story, a myth, a folk tale. There is no such thing as a vampyre.'

But she held on tight to the necklace, crushing the delicate flowers and leaves with the tightness of her grip.

The coach sped on and she saw that it was heading for the forest. A terrible dread seized her and a fear of the looming trees.

There must be something I can do
, she thought.

She looked wildly around the carriage and saw that her travelling writing desk had been packed beneath the opposite seat. As quickly as she could she pulled it open and dipping the quill into the ink she began to write.

My dearest Jane,

My hand is trembling as I write this letter. My nerves are in tatters and I am so altered that I believe you would not recognise me. The past few months have been a nightmarish whirl of strange and disturbing circumstances, and the future…

Jane, I am afraid.

If anything happens to me, remember that I love you and that my spirit will always be with you, though we may never see each other again. The world is a cold and frightening place where nothing is as it seems.

It was all so different a few short months ago. When I awoke on my wedding morning, I thought myself the happiest woman alive… but of what use are such thoughts now? I wanted to spare you but I am in terrible danger. I have nowhere to turn and you, my dearest Jane, are the only person I can trust. I am being abducted by Prince Ficenzi's servants and I am writing this letter in desperation because I can think of no other way to help myself. I mean to throw it out of the window when it is finished, for I am at this moment in the Prince's carriage, in the hope that one of the local people will see it. I think they will make sure the letter is sent, for, thank God, I have reason to suppose they will help me if they can.

If this letter reaches you, then please have my father make enquiries about my whereabouts, starting at the Villa Ficenzi near Rome. Tell him he must not be put off, whatever he is told, for the Prince surely knows where I am being taken and he just as surely knows my fate.

When I think of the vast distances that separate us I fear my father will be too late, but he must try and, God willing, my dearest Jane, we may yet see each other again.

There is time for no more, we have almost reached the forest, I must go.

Help me, my dearest!

Elizabeth

She folded the letter and wrote the direction on the outside, then winding down the window she threw the letter out. And not a moment too soon, for the carriage was entering the forest and soon the trees closed about it and there were no more people to be seen. The world became dark and mysterious, with green shadows closing in around the carriage, eerie and malevolent. The sounds were muted and the atmosphere was heavy and thick.

They came at last to a clearing where ferns grew dense and lush, and from above came the faint glimmer of the sky, just enough to show Elizabeth that it was dusk, the nebulous time when worlds collided, night with day, dark with light.

The carriage came to a halt.

Elizabeth, who had been wanting the carriage to stop for miles, was now filled with a terrible sense of dread.

‘Drive on!' she called in panic. ‘Don't stop! Drive on!'

But the carriage did not move.

Elizabeth looked wildly about her and there, in the hazy light in the centre of the clearing, she became aware of a figure, a man, who was standing still and silent. He was dressed in satin, wearing a green coat trimmed with gold lace and green breeches sewn with gold thread. On his head he wore a feathered hat and over his face he was wearing a mask. She had seen that mask before, at the ball in Venice and she had seen it again in her dream. It belonged to the man who had taken control of her and who had propelled her into the past.

She felt a sense of horror overwhelming her. The fear crawled up and down her spine and paralysed her will. She could not move; she could only watch as, with dreadful ceremony, he made her a low bow and then removed his mask.

She knew him now, not the Prince as she had feared, but the Prince's guest. He had been with her in the library when she had found the book of engravings, when the walls had started to melt.

She stared at him with awe-filled dread. He was terrible in his beauty, his face shining with a dreadful radiance. His features were as smooth as if they had been carved from marble, rigid and full of cold perfection.

He lifted a hand and beckoned her and the door opened of its own accord. Like a dreamer she stepped out of the carriage and crossed the forest floor until she reached him. He took her hand and kissed it in a mockery of a courteous greeting.

Strains of unearthly music began to reach her ears and the forest began to dissolve. The trees were replaced by marble columns and the clearing gave way to a ballroom floor. He took her in his arms and whirled her round in a waltz, and then the ballroom dissolved and they were on the streets of Venice, with revellers laughing and running past them amidst torchlight and gondolas and canals. And then the streets of Venice winked out and they were in the forest again, just the two of them, with the carriage and the servants vanished.

‘Please allow me to introduce myself,' he said, bowing low over her hand. ‘It is an honour to meet you, Mrs Darcy. But what is this? You do not return my greeting.'

‘I do not know your name,' she said, finding that her mouth, at least, was her own.

‘Then I must tell it to you. I am called many things by many people, but you may call me
husband
.'

‘I already have a husband,' she replied.

He gave an unnatural smile.

‘You have nothing. You have a man who is afraid to touch you. He has married you but he has not bedded you. He is no husband to you.'

‘What do you want with me?' she asked.

‘I want nothing but to make you happy,' he said in a whisper as he walked round her, trailing his hand across her shoulders. ‘I want to give you your heart's desire. You are so beautiful,' he said as he stopped in front of her, lifting his cold white hand and stroking her hair, then running his fingers down her cheek and across her lips, trailing rivers of ice down her spine.

‘Who are you?' she asked, appalled.

‘I have already told you,' he said, resting his hand on her shoulder and bending his head towards her throat.

‘
What
are you?' she asked.

‘I am vampyre,' he said. ‘Oldest of the old, most ancient of an ancient line. I am fear and dread.'

She began to tremble. She wanted to run but she could not move. She was held rigid by his will.

‘So beautiful,' he said reverently, as his head moved ever nearer her throat. ‘So ripe, so rich, so full of life; so vital, so healthy, so
bloody
.'

He bent his head and his teeth grazed her skin…

…and a voice rang out threateningly across the clearing.

‘Step away from her.'

Elizabeth turned to see Darcy springing into the clearing with a look of fury on his face.

‘Let her go,' Darcy snarled, ‘she is mine.'

The vampyre was amused.

‘Yours?' he said mockingly. ‘She is not yours. You have not had the strength to take her. There is no smell of you in her blood, there are no signs of you on her body.'

‘Step away from her,' said Darcy, threateningly.

The vampyre's mockery left him, to be replaced an accursed and sinister manner.

‘Do not attempt to come between me and what is rightfully mine,' he said.

His voice was full of menace and with the menace came the storm. Black clouds blew up from nowhere. They sped across the sky at a ghastly rate, boiling and rolling with hideous malevolence as they ate up the sky and consumed the stars and a terrible power was revealed. It roared around the clearing, unspeakable in its dreadfulness, an appalling, unnameable entity; something vile and grotesque and
old
.

Darcy recoiled from the tumult and the vampyre smiled.

‘Oh, yes, you know me now,' he said, and his voice was as vile as the storm.

‘No. It can't be,' said Darcy in fear and loathing. ‘You're dead! The mob ferreted you out of your ruin and destroyed you.'

‘A creature of my age does not die lightly, whatever your
friends
might think.'

‘But they came on you with torches when you were too weak even to feed—'

‘They came upon me in my helplessness and they laughed at me,' he said. ‘They knew that my children had abandoned me and that I could not defend myself. They drew near me, fearful and wondering, and when they took no hurt they grew bold.

‘“Send him to the guillotine!” they cried. “Let him see that she too has fangs!”

‘And therein lay their mistake. They took me to a place of carnage and it fed me through the skin. When I grew strong I rose above them, borne aloft on mighty wings. They froze before me in horror, afraid at what they had done, and then I fell amongst them, drinking with greedy pleasure. Long I drank, slaking my thirst, and as I did so my skin revived and my bones returned to strength until I was restored to some semblance of youth and vigour.

‘At last I had done. I left that place of carnage and returned to life in all its glorious wonder. To Paris I went, and to my familiar haunts, partaking of all my familiar pleasures. And what did I find? That there had been a bride in our family, but she had been kept from me, instead of being sent to me, as was my right. You see, I still have some friends who will tell me of these things. My first thought was to take her; but I longed for the thrill of the chase. So I watched her and I followed her. My good friends, who are loyal to me, helped me in my endeavours. And now I am here to claim my rights. I am here for my
droit de seigneur
.'

‘No!' said Darcy.

‘No? You say it as though there is a choice. Every vampyre bride must come to me. She must be mine before she can feel her husband's touch.'

‘Never!' said Darcy. ‘Let her go.'

‘Why? So that you can enjoy her?' he said with a diabolical smile. ‘You do not know how. You are weak, Darcy. She was eager for you, wanting you, needing you, but your conscience forbade you to taste of her. Mine has no such qualms.'

‘You have no conscience,' said Darcy with a snarl, leaping forward and baring his
fangs
.

Memories cascaded through her mind: of her time in the library when the room was changing, and the door was opening and there was Darcy—surprised, at first, then angry, and then terrible.

Now she knew why she had fainted: because when he had let out a snarl, she had seen him for what he was. She had discovered his terrible secret and the shock of it had been too much for her. But it was not too much for her now.

She ran to the side of the clearing and stood, out of the way, amongst the trees as Darcy lunged forward. A wind blew up from nowhere and he had to struggle to move, but he fought it steadily and moved inexorably forwards, towards the ancient vampyre. Then the wind intensified and he could no longer force his way against it; it was all he could do to stand. There was a moment of stillness when he could not go forward and the wind could not push him back, then he began to move forward again. But the wind suddenly gusted, whipping him from his feet and flinging him back across the clearing until he crashed into a tree. It cracked and splintered with a tearing sound and he slid down the trunk, dazed. The vampyre leapt towards him, carried aloft by the terrible wind, and, seizing him by his coat, picked him up in one hand whilst reaching for his throat with the other.

‘No!' cried Elizabeth, as the vampyre's hand found purchase… and then suddenly the ancient vampyre screamed, a hideous sound, and he dropped Darcy to the ground as his hand began to burn. Clouds of black smoke billowed upwards and spiralled into the heaving sky.

‘Aaargh!' he screamed in horror, folding in on himself, his hand still pouring forth clouds of smoke.

Elizabeth ran to Darcy, who was picking himself up rapidly from the forest floor, and hand in hand they ran to his horse, which stood rolling its eyes in fear. He lifted her into the saddle and mounted behind her, untangling the reins from the branch of the tree and giving the beast its head.

It needed no urging. The hate and horror filling the clearing was driving every living thing away. Birds rose from the trees, screeching and screaming as they darted off in hectic flight; animals scuttled from their burrows; worms left their holes in the earth. The ground was alive with living things swarming out of the clearing.

The horse ran, jumping streams and ditches, weaving between trees, lacing in and out of hollows. On it went, until the trees fell behind and the lanes were ahead; then on through fields and olive groves, on to the sea and along the coast; on until it came to a valley that nestled between green hills, with the sea on one side and the countryside on the other. And there, nestled in a hollow, was a small, square house, and for this, Darcy made.

They approached it via a quiet country lane and went in through wrought iron gates which swung open to Darcy's touch.

‘A hunting lodge,' said Elizabeth, as the horse slowed to a trot and they rode up the drive. ‘Is it yours?'

‘Yes,' he said.

Elizabeth let out a sigh and leaned back against him as the fear rushed out of her.

They came to a halt in front of the lodge. Darcy dismounted and lifted Elizabeth out of the saddle, and she slid gratefully to the ground. Neither of them spoke of the revelation; it was as yet too terrible to be discussed. Beside her, the horse trembled. It had carried them for many miles and it was covered in sweat.

‘I will have to take care of the horse,' said Darcy, ‘I have no grooms here who are capable of seeing to his needs.'

Elizabeth nodded in understanding.

‘Go in,' he said, then added, with a smile, ‘There is someone inside you will be pleased to see.'

Elizabeth climbed the steps and went through the heavy front door. As she entered the hall, a woman was running down the stairs and to her delight she saw that it was her maid.

‘Annie!' she exclaimed.

‘Oh, Ma'am, you're safe!' said Annie.

‘And you!' said Elizabeth. ‘I have been so worried about you. When I found the letters I feared the worst.'

‘And I you… but you look fit to drop. Here is the sitting room,' she said, going over to the door and opening it, ‘I will bring you some tea. I never thought to find any in Italy, but the master has it specially brought here. It was his valet who told me.'

Elizabeth went into the small but cheerful sitting room. There was little furniture, only a threadbare sofa and a few battered but comfortable-looking chairs. She did not sit down, having spent a great deal of time in the saddle, but stood by the window, letting her eyes wander as her mind tried to make sense of all it had learnt.

Annie returned with the tea.

‘It doesn't taste as good as at home, but it's hot and will put new strength into you,' she said.

Elizabeth took it gratefully. After two cups she felt sufficiently refreshed to ask, ‘What happened to you, Annie?'

Annie needed no second bidding.

‘It was when you gave me the letter to post, just after you had fainted, that's when it all began,' Annie said. ‘I took it downstairs and gave it to one of our footmen and he said that he would see it was posted, but I happened to turn back a minute later, meaning to ask him when it would go to the post, and I saw him tucking it into his coat. I was about to say, “What do you think you are doing?” when I stopped short. He was looking round him all furtive like and I thought to myself, there's something going on. I shrank back so he wouldn't see me, then I followed him to see what he'd do with it so as I could get it back. He went to his room with it and a minute later he came out again. Well, it wasn't difficult to see he must have hidden it there, so I waited until he'd gone and then I went into his room and looked through his cupboards until I found it. I'll never forget seeing it lying there, because it wasn't on its own; it was on top of a pile of your other letters, all tied up in a neat bundle.'

‘Was it the footman we hired in Paris, when our own footman was taken ill?' said Elizabeth.

‘That was him. One of our own men would never have done such a thing. Well, I put the letters in my apron pocket and came to find you to tell you all about it, but then I saw you were with the Prince I hesitated. I didn't trust the Prince, Ma'am. There were rumours about him in the servants' hall. They said he'd inherited the villa from a cousin of his, but the cousin had died suddenly. One minute he was hale and hearty and the next he was dead. It was given out he'd met with an accident, but no one saw the body and no one saw the accident either, and they should have done, for there were villagers on the road at the time. Then the Prince showed up and claimed everything. There was talk he'd murdered his cousin for the inheritance, poisoning him most likely, and hiding the body. They said in the servants' hall that the Prince had a friend who was much, much worse, and it was probably him who was behind it all. I paid them no notice to begin with, I thought it was just idle chatter, but once I found your letters I got to thinking. The footman wouldn't have taken them on his own; why would he? So someone must have paid him to do it, and the only person who might do such a thing that I could see was the Prince.'