Sleeping Angel (Ravenwood Series) (16 page)

‘What big favour? Using me to publicise his brilliant educational improvements to the school? Don’t you remember how horrible he was about dad’s death? Don’t you remember what he did to me?’

Silvia began to look impatient. ‘Why do you have to turn everything to being about you, April? You’re not the centre of the universe, you know. Dr Tame is simply trying to help you – and, actually, I’m hearing very good things about Ravenwood’s teaching methods at the moment, especially in science. I was thinking perhaps you should be taking some sort of practical subject too.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, mother, can’t you see what’s going on in front of your nose?’

But, of course, Silvia couldn’t. It was like trying to complete an enormous jigsaw puzzle without having any idea what the picture should be. You needed to know the key element – that Ravenwood was full of vampires – before you could ever hope to understand Charles Tame’s so-called “teaching methods”.

‘What? What
is
going on under my nose, April?’ asked Silvia, clearly exasperated.

‘Nothing,’ said April. ‘Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay? Lock all the doors and windows before you go to bed every night, and don’t go out wandering about on your own, either, especially not after dark.’

‘Is that what all this is about?’ said Silvia looking relieved. ‘It’s very sweet, darling, but I’ll be fine. Honestly.’

‘Good,’ said April awkwardly, ‘Well, I’d better go.’

‘I hear you’ve got another party tomorrow night,’ said Silvia, reaching into her bag and pulling out her purse. ‘Here, let me give you something for the outfit.’

‘No, Mum. I’m not even sure I’m going to go,’ said April.

‘Of course you’re going to go, and you’re going to enjoy yourself.’ Silvia stuffed some notes into April’s hand and looked at her sternly. ‘April Dunne, I have visited you in hospital three times in the last six months. Things haven’t been easy for any of us, so it’s important to go out and enjoy yourself – live life darling. Don’t hide away from it.’

‘I’m only going to a barbeque at Ling’s house, mum,’ said April, hating the whining tone that slipped into her voice whenever she was talking to her mother.

‘All right, but I know how important your friends are to you, so go and have a good time with them. But you be safe too, you hear?’

‘Okay mum,’ April said, taking a step away. It still felt strange not living there and she felt guilty turning her back on her mother when Silvia had no idea she was surrounded by so much danger. But then maybe it was better that way – would you really want to know a tsunami was about to engulf you if you had no way of getting off the beach?

‘I’ll give your love to Gramps.’

Silvia smiled, but it didn’t go all the way to her eyes. ‘You do that,’ she said.

The High Street was busy at this time of day. People with shopping bags, a mother with a double pushchair, a group of schoolgirls peering in through the window of a jewellery shop. April remembered the first time she’d come up this road, on a rainy Sunday evening, when she had thought that the entire place was filled with geriatrics. It wasn’t quite that bad, of course – Highgate
did
have some attractions. Unfortunately they weren’t working in April’s favour today. Clutching Silvia’s money, April had been into the new hairdressers near the pub, but they hadn’t been able to fit her in at such short notice, and the Hospice shop across the road from Americano had failed to provide her with a cut-price party dress. Women’s magazines were always going on about what a treasure trove charity shops were in affluent areas, but April had never found any of those legendary designer bargains.

What am I going to wear to the party?
she wondered. She knew that Ling and Chessy would be pulling out all the stops and that everybody else would be judging her accordingly. It was exhausting going to Ravenwood
.
Half the time you worried that somebody was going to drink your blood, the rest of the time you worried they would laugh at your shoes.

Crossing the High Street, April saw a familiar figure approaching, a squat old man walking with a stoop, his white hair sticking out at all angles.

‘Mr Gill,’ she said.

‘Ah, my dear girl,’ he replied, with a warm smile, ‘Are you keeping well?’ He frowned briefly. ‘But now I think about it, you’ve had another of your little accidents, haven’t you?’

April laughed. ‘Nothing lasting this time, Mr Gill, just a little bit of smoke damage.’

He gestured towards the doorway of his bookshop. ‘Would a cup of tea help in your recuperation? Marjorie has just been out for cake. They will almost certainly be awful boxed things from the Co-op, but her heart is in the right place.’

‘Marjorie? The lady from the library? The romance is still going strong, is it?’

Mr Gill, lowered his voice and beckoned her forward. ‘Very well, if I’m any judge,’ he said. ‘Between you and I, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if there aren’t wedding bells in the near future.’

‘Mr Gill!’ said April with pleasure, ‘You
are
a dark horse.’

She was very fond of the old man and it was good to see him so animated. When she had first entered the bookshop with its dark windows and dusty shelves, the old man had seemed like one of his books: worn away and unloved, not expecting much from life. Now she noted a polka dot shirt under his usual oatmeal cardigan. Clearly love wasn’t just for the young.

Mr Gill held the shop door open and April immediately registered one glaring change. Sitting on Mr Gill’s desk was a shiny new state-of-the-art computer.

‘Mr Gill!’ said April. ‘What’s happened? You are just about the last person I would have expected to join the tech age.’

The old man’s cheeks reddened a little. ‘Marjorie’s influence, I’m afraid. She’s very tech-savvy – I think you call it – could use any computer in the school library. She insisted I get one and, I have to say, it’s been a revelation. The amount of information you can store on here,’ he said tapping the top of the screen affectionately. ‘I can catalogue the whole shop! And so many libraries are online these days – it’s a modern marvel, I tell you.’

April grinned at his boyish enthusiasm.

‘Marjorie!’ he called, hanging his cardigan on a hook and indicating that April should sit on one of the stools next to the desk, ‘we have a visitor.’

‘No need to shout, you old fool,’ came the reply from the back of the shop. ‘I might be senile, but I’m not deaf.’

She appeared carrying a small tray piled up with pastel-coloured Fondant Fancies, looking very pleased with herself. ‘They were on offer,’ she explained, ‘Three for the price of one. Might be past their sell by date, but then, who isn’t around here?’ she added with a cackle.

April had met Mrs Townley, in her first week at Ravenwood. Given her grey curly hair and half-moon spectacles, April had guessed that she must be about eighty. The old lady’s romance with Mr Gill had not transformed her as much as it had her suitor: she looked exactly the same as she had all those months ago. But April could see from the look on Mr Gill’s face as he handed out the tea that Marjorie looked just fine to him.

‘So you’re the girl from the fire, then?’ said Mrs Townley, biting into a bright cake. ‘April, isn’t it? You
do
keep getting yourself into scrapes, don’t you?’

April laughed. ‘I suppose I do, yes.’

‘So is it the vampires again?’

April almost choked on her tea. ‘V—vampires?’ she coughed.

‘Don’t look so surprised, dearie. I remember you coming to the library looking for books on vampires. In a school like Ravenwood? That’s a big red flag right there.’

‘Marjorie,’ said Mr Gill, ‘April doesn’t want to hear our crackpot theories.’

‘Theories? Pish!’ said the woman. ‘April knows better than anyone they’re not theories – she has the scars to prove it, don’t you, love?’

April looked from Mr Gill to Mrs Townley. ‘What theory are you talking about?’

‘Ravenwood being a front for the vampire conspiracy,’ said the old woman with a shrug. ‘And how they’re preparing for war.’

‘Come now,’ said Mr Gill, ‘we don’t
know
anything of the sort. You’re just going to frighten the poor girl unnecessarily.’

‘All right, all right,’ said Mrs Townley, grunting as she pushed herself upright. ‘I’ll leave you to bury your heads in the sand. Anyway, I have a crossbow to clean.’

They watched as the old woman shuffled off. There was an awkward pause, then the muffled sound of music coming from the back of the shop.

‘Don’t mind Marjorie,’ said Mr Gill when she had gone. ‘She likes to speak her mind.’

‘I can see that,’ said April, setting her tea down on the desk. ‘But what she was saying? About a war?’

‘As I say, my dear, it’s only Marjorie’s theory and I’m afraid she has something of a grudge against the school. They forced her into retirement – I think you may well have been in hospital at the time. Apparently, they’re thinking of closing down the Chandler Library. The argument seems to be that everybody does their research online these days. Plus they need more space for their research laboratories.’

‘But what do you think? Do you think she’s right about the war?’

The old man appeared to think for a moment. ‘As you’re asking me a direct question, I’ll give you a direct answer. I believe they are. I’ve been aware of something growing for many years, since back in the sixties, in fact, but it’s most certainly getting worse – I hardly need to tell you that – you have felt the full force of it personally. But as to what’s coming next, I certainly think it will get worse before it gets better. In the past, they have stayed hidden, in the shadows, but now? They’re almost killing indiscriminately as if they do not care who sees them. That suggests to me that they’re planning an all-out assault. And when they do, no one will be able to stop them.’ He looked at her ruefully. ‘I appreciate that is probably
not
what you wanted to hear.’

Actually, April was glad to hear him say it out loud. She had spent so long creeping around, whispering in corners, scared to talk to the wrong people, it felt good to have it out in the open.

‘Thank you for being so frank with me, Mr Gill. Most people ... well, most people won’t allow themselves to see what’s in front of them.’

‘I imagine it’s quite a heavy burden for you to bear,’ said the old man, pouring more tea into April’s cup. ‘You can take comfort, however, – small maybe, but comfort all the same – that this has all happened before.’

‘Really? What do you mean?’

‘Oh, the darkness has descended before, you can be sure of that. Here, other places in the British Isles, certainly in Eastern Europe – those Hammer Horror films didn’t choose Transylvania by chance. There are plenty of well-documented accounts of vampirism going back five hundred years – and they’re not all myths and wild stories about men transforming into bats, either.’ He leant over and tapped his mouse, bringing the computer to life. ‘As you might imagine, the subject has been on my mind rather a lot recently, so I have been reading up on the material.’ He rattled at the keyboard, clicking through to a website page featuring a picture of gloomy castle surrounded by forest. ‘This is the first recorded case of a vampire – or Strigon, the local name for a warlock – from 1656. An unfortunate fellow named Jure Grando who lived in Kringa - that’s modern-day Croatia - died, but then apparently proceeded to terrorise the village.’

April read an extract:

One night, a group of brave souls led by priest Father Giorgio went out to the village graveyard and, by lamplight, proceeded to dig up Jure’s coffin. Inside, they found a seemingly untouched body – particularly remarkable as Grando had been buried sixteen years previously. Father Giorgio attempted to stake the vampire with a hawthorn stick, but was unable to pierce Jure’s flesh. So another villager took a saw and attempted to decapitate the corpse. The vampire immediately began to scream and blood poured from the wound, filling the grave to the brim.

April wrinkled her nose. ‘Pretty gruesome, Mr Gill. Do you think it really happened?’

‘There’s no doubt that superstition ruled the lives of people in that region and still does to some extent. As to whether there really was a vampire on the loose, there are of course many theories relating to this case and others down the years. Some people think vampirism is simply the manifestation of certain diseases; some people think so-called vampires are just ordinary victims of psychosis.’

‘But you don’t think so?’

‘I think there might be some truth in that, but the problem is that it keeps happening, over and over again. In the past, you might get a sudden rash of murders or unexplained deaths, then it would die away – Dr Crippen, the Brides in the Bath, the Yorkshire Ripper.’

‘You think they were all vampires?’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not. As I’m sure you know by now, it’s very easy for ordinary people to fall under the vampire glamour. But the difference is that in the past, the killings happened, then the killings stopped. This time it is showing no signs of ceasing. And, given the politics involved, it’s a potential powder keg.’