Refuge (14 page)

‘We did,’ agreed Cassandra, turning away from the window, ‘but it wasn’t enough.’

‘Darling, you will never be Lillie Langtry,’ laughed Veva. She stood up and reached across Cassandra’s head, drawing the curtains firmly. ‘You may wish to haunt the dance-halls and the theatres and hope that someone will take pity on you and invite you to perform, but they never will. You gave up every chance of that lifestyle, remember? You might be able to seduce the stage-hand one day, but you would end up killing him, and what use would that be?’

‘I did not give up the lifestyle,’ growled Cassandra. ‘You made that decision for me.’

Veva shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

‘I could have performed,’ said Cassandra, balling up her fists, ‘but no, Will proposed. I had to accept...’

‘You did
not
have to accept!’ shouted Veva. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?’

‘Veva! We’ve had this discussion before...

‘
Don’t
call me that!’ yelled Veva. She lashed out to slap Cassandra, but the girl dodged out of the way, her reflexes fast. She had learned the hard way over the past two years. ‘Two people have called me that in my entire life,’ continued Veva. ‘You are
not
to make it three, do you hear me?’

‘Oh, yes. One was Sir Guy – I must thank him for this most humbly if I ever see him,’ said Cassandra, curtseying mockingly. ‘And who was the other one...ahh yes. Will. My fiancé.’

Veva flew at her and knocked her to the ground. ‘Do you seriously think he preferred you?’ she breathed, holding her down. ‘Seriously?’

Cassandra opened her mouth to retaliate. Before she could answer, Veva drew her lips back and snarled. Cassandra gathered her strength together and pushed the dark-haired girl off her. Veva collapsed onto the floor, glaring at Cassandra. ‘He was mine, you know,’ she said. Her face suddenly went blank. ‘If I ever find out who killed him, I might have to kill them myself,’ she said thoughtfully. She sat on the floor and watched Cassandra straighten up and smooth her coppery hair down. Cassandra glared at Veva contemptuously. The girl’s hair was tangled, hanging in dark waves down past her shoulders where the combs had come undone and she made no move to tidy herself up.

Veva smiled at Cassandra. ‘You are actually quite pretty you know,’ she said. She stood up and took a lock of Cassandra’s hair between her fingers. ‘You have hair like Lizzie Sidall. She died of laudanum poisoning. Do you think they ever wondered what happened to you at Hartside? Didn’t they have laudanum by your bedside? Oh, I say,’ she said, coming back to the present. ‘Why don’t we go out tonight?’

Cassandra slapped her hand away. ‘I already suggested that,’ she said.

‘Did you, darling?’ asked Veva, opening her eyes wide. ‘Fancy that. What a marvellous idea.’ Then she smiled, dropping the lock of hair. ‘I wonder whether I’ll see Will at the ball? That would be nice. Do you know Will? He’s going to marry me, you know.’ Veva laughed and turned away, drifting into the hallway singing to herself. Cassandra stared at her, infuriated. Would it never end?

***

                ‘If I am right,’ said Veva, ‘I do believe that we should head west tonight, perhaps towards the Criterion Theatre?’ She had clearly forgotten the incident from earlier. Cassandra was not going to remind her. ‘You like the theatre, don’t you?’ she said, smiling at Cassandra. Cassandra glared at her. Veva blinked at her innocently, her features utterly perfect. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘We don’t have to go, you know. Here, let me do your hair for you. It might make you feel better.’

Cassandra moved out of the way as Veva reached over to her. ‘Thank you, but no,’ she said. It had taken her too long, brushing her auburn hair out until it shone and pinning it up onto the top of her head in a complicated arrangement of curls for Veva to spoil it.

Veva tutted. Her hair was never dressed as carefully as Cassandra’s. Cassandra knew that the only thing she had to recommend her next to Veva, was her hair. Comparing the two girls, although they were both dazzling, Veva had the edge. There was just something more perfect about her face than Cassandra’s, something that everybody was entranced by. Cassandra was not unaware of the situation. She had never thought that she would ever have to compete with someone for eternity the way she seemed to be destined to do with Veva. It was always what Veva wanted to do, always what Veva decided...

‘Anyway,’ Veva said, ‘we should go soon. The crowds will be leaving and I think we need to find an after-show ball to attend, don’t you?’ Cassandra watched Veva tweak at her sky-blue ballgown and adjust a loop on the front where the overskirt was attached to the waist. She flipped the train out behind her, looked over her shoulder to check the bustle and posed by the fireplace. Cassandra didn’t know if she’d ever hated anybody as much as she did in that moment. She looked down at her own oyster pink silk and smoothed the skirt down. She knew she was beautiful. But it was when they stood together, that she was conscious that everyone looked at Veva. Deep down, she couldn’t help wondering whether Will Hartley had agreed to settle for less when he’d proposed to her. She had a feeling he was just like water – always taking the path of least resistance. She often wondered that, should things have turned out differently, would she have always have taken second place to Veva? A more rational Veva, perhaps, who would have become Will’s mistress and flaunted it for all to see? She looked again at the dark-haired girl. No. Veva would never have settled for being his mistress; she would, without a doubt, have killed them both regardless.

***

Electric lights had replaced the gas lights in London and as the girls strolled the three miles or so towards the Criterion, Cassandra couldn’t help being astounded by them. One thing she had to thank Veva for, was the fact that she now had the chance to experience so much more of the future. She would remain, frozen in time, as a beautiful, young girl with the world at her feet. She flirted with the idea of eventually being able to perform somehow. What was to stop her, after all? Then she caught the scent of a crowd of theatregoers and started to walk towards them. She felt Veva’s hand on her arm, pulling her back.

                ‘No, darling,’ Veva said. She nodded at the crowd and walked past them. ‘You’ve still got a little way to go, Cassandra,’ she murmured. ‘You’re not quite ready to face the world on your own yet. We can’t draw attention to ourselves like that.’

                ‘I only wanted to see what the program said,’ snapped Cassandra.

Veva shook her head. ‘I don’t think that’s all you had in your mind,’ she replied. ‘Oh! See this – there appears to be a ball here. Come on, I think we’ve been invited. Oh no,’ she pouted. ‘I seem to have forgotten my invitation.’ She sighed. ‘Not to worry.’ She cast her eyes amongst the crowd. Plenty of people to wander amongst; there was bound to be some good sport to be found here.

Cassandra hung back. She could see the Criterion from here. ‘Why can’t we try the theatre first?’ she asked.

‘Because we are going to the ball,’ replied Veva. She walked confidently up to the door of a large house and looked at the doorman earnestly. ‘My sister and I have been invited, but I’m terribly sorry – we forgot our invitations.’

She looked so sad that the doorman did what they usually did. ‘Well, Miss, on this occasion, I think we can probably allow you in,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to see you tonight.’ He smiled and bowed and opened the door.

Veva’s smile lit up her face. ‘You are a lovely man,’ she said. She turned to Cassandra who was scowling behind her. ‘Isn’t he nice, Sister? We should remember that later.’ Cassandra did not reply. The girls disappeared into the house, Cassandra trailing behind, and they stood watching the people mill around. The house was bigger than it had appeared from the outside and the hallway was decorated with dozens of candles. Something shifted in Veva’s face as she remembered another ball, some time ago, where the hallway was exactly the same. The shutters came down and she disappeared somewhere inside herself.

‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Just perfect. I would lay my life on the fact that he will come and see me tonight - how very exciting.’

***

Not far away, a young man with fair hair watched the crowds leave the theatres of the West End. He held himself well and attracted many admiring glances from the ladies. It was far nicer, he thought, watching people in this area than it was further east. The east of the City held some odd memories for him. That was where he had met the woman who had transformed his life. Sir Guy Montgomery had left London, headed back to his debt-ridden estate and went about settling his debts in very satisfying ways. It hadn’t taken long for the estate to turn around, and that was when he had met Genevieve de Havilland. He often wondered what had happened to her. Still, she had not been a pet to be cosseted over, or even a child to be educated. She had been experimental; and in truth, he was a little horrified by what she had done to her brother. Although he felt no sympathy for the man, his demise held a sick fascination which had made Montgomery wonder just what else Veva was capable of.

                ‘Good evening, Guy,’ said a woman approaching him. She wore a scarlet gown and had jet black hair. Her eyes were green, the irises rimmed slightly with a scarlet that matched her clothing.

                Guy reached out and smiled, taking her hand. He bowed over it and stood up. ‘Good evening, Clara,’ he said. ‘It’s an honour to see you tonight. I felt the need for a little fresh air; I am so pleased you accepted my invitation.’

                The woman smiled. ‘My pleasure,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you didn’t feel the need for anything else tonight? I’m rather hungry, myself.’ She scanned the crowd, as if she was assessing them for the kill.

                ‘Perhaps later,’ smiled Guy. ‘You know, I would like to see the play first. The West End holds a certain appeal for me.’

                ‘But the East End is better for meals,’ replied Clara.

                ‘You are, of course, correct,’ smiled Guy, ‘although I don’t go there unless I have to.’

                ‘Quite,’ said Clara. ‘Well, I suppose I could wait a little longer if you promise to look after me tonight.’

                Guy smiled. Clara was an acquaintance he had met after the Genevieve disaster. She had lived her half-life since 1832 and was well versed in civilised behaviour. It was now the accepted thing that, whenever he was in London, they would visit a show and go hunting together. It was a guilty pleasure, perhaps, but who was there to tell Guy it was wrong? His lifestyle was of his own choosing. It did not harm the relationship when Guy discovered that Clara was an expert in love-making – she had learned it well over the years and enjoyed putting it into practice. She wasn’t even sure if she had made love to the Prince; it might have been him, she had laughed, although she couldn’t swear to it.

                ‘It’s very interesting what one hears within society,’ said Clara, accepting Guy’s arm and walking with him towards the entrance to the theatre. ‘For instance, there is a rumour surfacing that some of our kind are stalking the human population and becoming rather adventurous around the West End. I have heard that there is apparently a group who can annihilate an entire houseful in seconds. All I can say, is that I would raise my hat to the individuals concerned regarding their expertise, but what prevents me from doing so, is the fact that we all know it is a complete waste of human life.’ She sighed. ‘There is a time and a place; it is in our nature to be secretive and they must ensure they are exceptionally careful. The last thing we want is some slayer hearing about it and crawling unfettered amidst the population.’ She shuddered. ‘Still, there is safety in numbers for our kind. We shall be quite safe tonight. The house is, as always, empty apart from myself. You are welcome to come back with me after we have eaten. I can ensure you have a perfect end to the evening.’

                ‘That is an offer I cannot refuse, my love,’ smiled Guy, ‘but you have piqued my interest in this group you talk of.’ He had a feeling that, if they were messy, violent kills, it was a group of relatively new and deeply crazed vampires that were storming the City. ‘How many work within this pack, do they say?’

                ‘That’s the thing,’ said Clara, looking up at him. ‘Nobody knows. Opinion is divided – some people say it has to be a pack, and others suggest that there may just be one highly skilled and extraordinarily powerful vampire involved.’ She smiled. ‘There are never any witnesses.’  She stopped suddenly and lifted her face to the evening breeze. It was a very faint smell, but she caught it; burning fabric, smouldering brickwork and seared flesh. ‘Oh, I say. These idiots should invest in electricity - candle-lit events are simply too much of a fire risk, nowadays.’