The Delicate Dependency: A Novel of the Vampire Life (37 page)

He deliberated for a moment. “I think you are lying, Monsieur le Docteur.”

I lurched forward, pretending surprise. “That is where I left her. Where is she now?”

He folded the letter in two. “I do not know. I only know that she has not been seen at your house in London for five days.” Again he observed the quiver. “You do not find it so surprising that she is no longer there?”

“Why do you make such a remark?”

“You felt a pang of emotion as soon as I brought up the subject of your older daughter.”

“Is that so unusual?”

He stared at me for another few moments. “Perhaps not, but you did not seem so surprised when I told you she was no longer there.”

“That is because I feared as much.” I sighed and drooped my shoulders. “My daughter, Ursula, is very defiant. She did not want to be left in London. After hearing no word from me she no doubt set off on her own.”

Des Esseintes grew increasingly contemplative. “She knows you came to the tie Saint-Louis, but we are not sure if she has definitely left London.”

Ignoring the falcon, I took a step forward. “You’ve been having my house watched?”

He said nothing, but turned to go back upstairs. I followed. “Tell me. She is my daughter. I have a right to be concerned.”

He ascended the rosewood staircase.

When we reached his current study he hesitated, surveying the conference table of ebonized wood and the
coffre à écrire
with the two Chinese porcelain herons sitting on top of it. He turned around and looked at me pointedly. “Very well, you may enter.”

I followed him in and the falcon hobbled behind. Nothing much had changed. Through the window Notrs-Dame was still visible above the sleeping rooftops of the Île Saint-Louis. Candles flickered throughout the room, but the candles beneath the flasks and alembics on his desk were not lit. It was not alchemy that occupied Monsieur des Esseintes this evening. Spread everywhere were newspapers, current newspapers, from the major cities of half the world:
The Illustrated London News, L’Osservatore Romano, Le Figaro, Neue Freie Presse, The Times, La Stampa,
the
Asahi Shimbun.
Mixed among these were current issues of a startling range of scientific journals:
Nature, L’Ami des Sciences, Abriss der Logistik,
the
Quarterly Journal of Metaliferous Ores, Gerontologia, Almanack der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Medico-Surgical Essays, Nauka I Tehnika za Mladezhta, Revue des Deux Mondes,
and on and on. Each paper and periodical was open and filled with clips and bookmarks and scribblings. On the ebony table I spied a large ledger in which he apparently indexed and annotated his voluminous reading. I hated him and I did not hate him. How could I not admire such an omnivorous intellect, so cultivated a mind?

I was still deeply worried. “Why have you had my house watched?”

He ran his fingers through his thin brown hair as he scanned his work. He seemed not to hear. He lifted a monograph delivered to the Cambridge Scientific Club and appeared to absorb it in a single plummeting glance. “I am an extremely cautious individual. That is how I have survived for so long.”

“If my daughter comes to Paris I beg of you to leave her be.”

In one of the newspapers he spotted something that piqued his interest. His white finger shot down and marked the spot as he scrutinized another paper. “The matter is in her hands, Monsieur le Docteur,” he murmured. “Let us pray she is not as clever as you and does not meddle in my affairs.”

I wanted to say more, but I knew it was to no avail. The wind rustled the curtains, and the medieval icons danced gold in the candlelight. I looked down at the falcon and turned to leave.

“Monsieur le Docteur,” he called behind me. I turned and saw he was looking up at me. His finger still marked the place of intrigue in the newspaper.

“Yes.”

“I wanted to let you know. This coming week I am giving a party. You and Hespeth are both invited. First, I’m going to give a banquet, a grand banquet, and then I’m going to perform. You will get to meet some interesting individuals.”

I was maddened. I could no longer take it. At every twist and turn I was being toyed with like a child. I knew that des Esseintes would not answer my questions. When I left the study I instantly became aware of the same eerie sensation that someone was watching me. I turned. I did not see anyone at the end of the corridor, but I did hear something. In the hushed silence of the huge old house there was breathing. I would not be intimidated. I strode to the end of the corridor expecting to come face to face with the Persian boy, but when I rounded the corridor there was nothing. I knew it had not been my imagination. There had been someone there.

I spent the rest of the evening on the first floor, anxious, but increasingly pessimistic about my chances for rescue. Perhaps Ursula had been afraid to follow and had not seen where my captor had led me. I did not know. Several times as I paced the foyer I heard creakings above me, and once, in the darkness above the rosewood staircase, I fancied I caught a glimpse of a dark face watching me. What an odd beast that boy was. I almost found myself believing he did have a supernatural rapport with the falcon, but then I dismissed it. It occurred to me that of the vampire I had known, only Monsieur des Esseintes seemed to have flourished and fulfilled an enviable destiny. Niccolo came the closest to the gentleman monk, but Niccolo possessed a deep melancholy the latter visibly lacked. Ilga was a mere shell of a being. Hatim was an afreet, a demon of the Muslim underworld, more an animal than a creature of intellect. I recalled the filthy cagelike room, the discordance behind those liquid eyes. Thus I consoled myself that evening, cataloguing what I knew about their species, indexing my own information in my own primitive way, and wondering what type of creatures would attend the auspicious banquet.

We were returned to our cells by Grelot during the last waning hours of darkness. After I had sat at the reading table for some time I called out. “Lady Dunaway?”

There came the clack of an embroidery hoop, the squeak of her rocker. “Yes.”

“I entreat you one last time. You know you have changed. I see it in your eyes. We were once friends.”

She pretended to be surprised, but it was only pretense. “We are still friends.” A thimble clicked against a needle.

I was exasperated. “I will ask you again: Why have you changed?”

The rocker stopped. There was a meditative silence, and then it slowly started up again. “I have aot changed,” she croaked unconvincingly If her remark had been designed to throw me into bewilderment it would not have worked more effectively. I was utterly despondent. What was I not seeing? I had not felt so helpless since my marriage with Camille, my beloved Camille, but even then, the impotence I had felt had been different. I had had some control over the situation. It had been my tyranny. I was to blame. But now I was as powerless to affect this thing between Lady Hespeth Dunaway and me as I was to remove the bars of our cells. Something nebulous divided us. It swirled around me just beyond my reach. I felt deadened, unfeeling.

It was long after I had drifted asleep that I was awakened by a voice.

“
Father
.”

I opened my eyes. The embers of the fire cast a dim glow over the plush furnishings of the room. Could it be?

It came again.

“
Father?
”

I quickly jumped out of bed and raced to the opposite wall. Beyond the surface of books was the familiar sound of water rushing. The babble was suddenly interrupted by a hollow popping sound like a stone falling into a very deep well.

“Ursula!” I shouted.

“Father?” came back the muffled reply.

I emptied the books off the shelf and looked quickly around the room until I spotted the chimney of one of two hurricane lamps sitting on the plinths of the mantelpiece. I retrieved the glass tube and placed it against the back of the emptied shelf to amplify the sound.

“Ursula, I’m here. You’ve found me!”

I heard another sound, and then she cursed. “Oh, dear... oh, how awful.”

“What is it?”

“I’m in the sewer, you know.”

“How did you find me?”

“Just a minute, until I get closer.”

There were a few more muttered curses. In other circumstances I would have corrected her language. Then her voice became quite distinct, as if she were on the opposite side of the wall.

“There used to be an opening here. Can you hear me? Yes, it’s been bricked over.”

“Yes,” I called excitedly. “I hear you clearly!” There were no words to describe the elation I felt. I wanted to reach through the stone itself and hug her dearly. A curious guilt swept through me. I could think of no great instant when I had done Ursula an overt wrong, but I still felt guilt. “Oh, Ursula, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Maybe she was shocked to hear it. Then she spoke. “You have now idea how good it is to hear your voice, Father.”

“Ursula, I’m sorry I did not tell you about Niccolo. I only kept it from you to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“From being afraid, I guess.”

“Were you afraid of him, Father?”

I thought back to that original moment with brandy snifters before the fire in the study, when he had first revealed his luminous world to me. If I had been afraid it was a captivating fear It had plummeted down to a strata of emotion seldom tapped in mundane life. For all of my disparagements, I would still give the vampire that.

“I would not have been afraid. I am your daughter, Father;” she said through the stone.

“How did you find me, Ursula?”

“I’m still not sure where you are.”

“In des Esseintes’s house, of course. You mean you didn’t know?”

“No, I followed them.”

“Them?”

“Yes, there’s a boat here.”

“A boat?”

“Yes, here in the sewers. A flatboat. I suppose that’s how they travel.”

“They?”

“Yes.
Oh,
let me start at the beginning. Naturally, I followed you the other night. I don’t think your Monsieur des Esseintes even knew it.”

“No.”

“I came to the house I suppose you’re in now. However, that is not how I came to be here. You see, I’ve registered under an assumed name in the Hotel Madeleine. It took several evenings, but finally an Arabian gentleman came to pick up your mail. He’s very handsome. Some of the young women at the hotel know him. They’re all quite taken with his presence.”

“Hatim!” I recognized. “Is he young? Does he... does he resemble a falcon?”

“A falcon? I never thought of it. He’s rather slender, and he has eyes like large black pearls. Yes, I guess you could say he resembles a falcon.”

“That’s Hatim,” I said. “And he’s Persian, not Arabian.”

“Whatever he is, he’s a vampire. He only shows up after nightfall. I brushed against him the other evening and felt the coolness of his flesh. I think he thought I was just another one of those swooning young women. He smiled. That’s how I managed to trace him here.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first evening he came to the hotel when I tried to follow him he evaded me. I don’t think he knew I was following him. It’s just a precaution he takes. I don’t know how he does it, but one moment I was following him down the street, and the next moment he vanished He’s like a cat He looks over his shoulder. He slips through the fingers of the night like quicksilver. The next evening I hid in the street, but again it was without success. I... I just don’t know,” she murmured through the wall. “I never see him fade away, but he does something. One moment there are footsteps. The next moment there is nothing.”

“How did you trace him here?”

“There’s a chambermaid at the hotel who’s desperately fond of him. There’s a look in a woman’s eyes when... well, you know, when she’s given herself. The chambermaid possessed such a look for that dark young gentleman, that vampire. I made discreet inquiries as to her address, and the third evening instead of waiting outside the hotel I passed the evening watching the chambermaid’s house in Montmartre. My suspicions were correct. Two hours past midnight a figure appeared. I could not see his features, but he scaled the ivy-encrusted wall with such facility I knew it was he. His very fingers and toes seemed to grip the edges of the stone. The window opened. He melted into the darkness.”

I might have been mistaken, but I thought I detected a hint of excitement in Ursula’s voice. “When he left you followed him here?”

“I followed him, but he did not come here.”

“Didn’t you think that was dangerous?”

“He was not as vigilant when he left the chambermaid’s house as when he left the hotel. They’re so 3inug. They’re so sure no one could possibly second-guess them. No, he did not come directly here. In fact, he prowled around for several hours. He did not seem interested in anyone. He was restless, possessed. He stopped in the Moulin Rouge. He appeared to be well known there. No one noticed he did not drink. Finally, he went to another house.”

“On the Avenue Victor Hugo?”

“No, here on the Île Saint-Louis. It’s only a block or two away. It’s really very clever. I waited until the full of the afternoon sun, and then I went into the house. It was completely empty. There were no furnishings. It was quite clear that the cellar was well traveled, and when I descended the stairs I discovered a door leading into the sewers. That’s how I came here. I followed the path on the ledge and now I discover there is a flatboat here.”

“Of course,” I said. “Des Esseintes does not want Hatim coming to and fro from this house so he has him go through the other. A rabbit always has two holes.”

“Exactly. And do you know what else? Hatim is not the only one I’ve seen coming and going from the other house. Why, the very night I saw you walking with that tall gentleman I saw a group of half a dozen people vanish into the house. I daresay if I’d been able to follow all of them I would know where half the vampire of Paris live. As it was, I only followed Hatim.”

“And where did he go?”

“It’s curious,” she said. “He went to a house at 24 Rue de la Glacière, on the very edge of Paris.”