The Delicate Dependency: A Novel of the Vampire Life (38 page)

“What is so curious about that?”

“He didn’t go in. He merely went from window to window, furtively looking in. Then he took a rock and soundly broke the latch off the door.”

“Then what?”

“He ran away. There was no purpose to his action, save as a malicious prank. The people investigated the sound and were very frightened. They were human. I do not know why he did that, but I cannot help feeling something is going on at that house.”

“What did you say the address was?”

“It is 24 Rue de la Glacière.”

“I must admit, Ursula,” I commended through the wall, “you are a most resourceful young woman. I cannot tell you how impressed I am. But Ursula, you must tell me. Who is tending the laboratory?”

“You needn’t worry about that, Father. The laboratory is quite all right.”

I had been so bound up in the world of the vampire I had all but forgotten my work. “But Ursula, the rabbits—”

“As I said, you needn’t worry. The rabbits are in quite capable hands.”

I grew more alarmed. “Whose hands?”

“Why, Dr. Hardwicke’s, of course.”

“Dr. Hardwicke’s!” I dropped the lamp chimney and it shattered against the floor. How could she? My worst enemy. There was no telling what that little monster would do. One thing was certain: After our last encounter he would exult at the opportunity of returning my rancor. “Ursula, don’t you know how terrible this is?”

“But Father-”

“That is the most blindly irresponsible thing you have ever done.”

“And was I supposed to leave you here alone?”

“I—” I shook my head and tried to calm myself. “With my life’s work in Cletus’8 hands my escape is imperative. Are there any doors out there leading into the cellar?”

“Yes, but-”

I turned and saw the falcon flapping its wings as its eyes reflected the deep amber light of the torches. It was like a stone idol whose sockets had come alive. Volcanic. “But the falcon,” I gasped.

“No, the door is locked. It’s massive. It would take an army, but—”

“But what?”

“But why do you want to escape?”

The words hit me like a hammer against brass.

“
Why?
Ursula, what do you mean?”

“I guess it’s stupid of me. I mean, you brought Niccolo into our house. You were his friend. I guess I thought you’d found your world, where you wanted to be. It never crossed my mind that you’d want to leave it. I was envious. I came here to join you.”

I was stupefied. How could she see things so differently? How could I have fostered such a daughter? I stepped backward, and one of the shards of broken glass cut neatly into my toe. It sliced deep into a little cap of skin, like the cap of a mushroom, and it was several seconds before dark, warm blood filled the gash.

“Have you gone mad?” I screamed. “I’m being held here against my will. Camille is still out there somewhere. You must help us escape.”

“There’s no way.”

“Get the police!”

“I cannot.”

“Ursula,you must!”

“I cannot!” she cried. “I cannot! I cannot! You don’t understand me. I wired and told you I was doing a little research of my own. Obviously, everything I’ve done has been wrong so I won’t bother to tell you what I discovered. I’m sorry I’m such an idiot.”

I heard her footsteps echo in the hollow beyond. “Ursula!” I shouted, but it was to no avail.

In anger I hobbled over to the table and grabbed a handkerchief to wrap around my toe. It did not hurt yet. There was just the electric tingle of shock. It would be another half hour before the gash began to throb.

“Lady Dunaway!” I bellowed at the top of my lungs. The sound thundered out of my throat, guttural, and resonated throughout the cellars. I rushed to the bars and repeated the blast of fury and emotion.

There was no reply.

My position was critical. I did not know what Ursula would do. I did not care. There was no telling what Cletus might be up to. He was a hollow, soulless man, driven by acrimony and self-pity. At the very least he might concoct a paper on
Camillus influenzae
and present it to the university as his own work. Of even graver concern was another thought, a notion I scarcely dared to entertain. What might he do when he realized the full import of the virus I had created? What would a man who loathed his fellow men, a creature of cunning and contempt, do with a disease that lacked all antigenicity?

I did not know where Lady Dunaway was. It was clear she was not in the room adjoining mine. Whatever the case, I could no longer trust her. I would not tell her of Ursula’s visit I was angered with Ursula, but I still did not want des Esseintes finding out about her. I was alone. I had one aim: to escape at all costs.

I was haunted by a number of thoughts. The goings-on at 24 Rue de la Glacière intrigued me. Was there a purpose to Hatim’s prank above and beyond his innate maliciousness? And what had Ursula discovered? It occurred to me that it could be any of a gamut of possibilities. Somehow I still felt it concerned Niccolo or Lodovico. Possibly she had uncovered Lodovico’s present-day identity. Maybe he was even an historical personage, a famous politician or artist.

We were given the freedom of the house every evening preceding the promised banquet. After nightfall Grelot released us. He always guarded Lady Dunaway in one wing of the house while I was sent with the falcon to the other. I was even allowed to take my meals in one of the upper rooms, alone, of course. When I did see Lady Dunaway we were cordial, but distant. It was queer how our relationship could change so drastically with so little said between us.

I shunned the third floor for fear of running into Hatim. I spent most of my time on the second and first floors. I seldom saw des Esseintes and when I did it was at a distance. Whenever he was not “out conducting business” for what grew more and more to look like quite a vast financial empire, he balanced his time locked in his study or working in the orchid conservatory. It was not uncommon to see him from the upper floors tinkering with an array of glass tubing and boiling flasks. Ilga was forever at his side.

Several times messengers knocked at the door in the middle of the Paris night, sometimes more than once during the evening. Des Esseintes always read the wires with interest and then slipped them into his breast pocket, vanishing once again into his study. Often, when I was returned to my cell, I heard the muffled sounds of voices and unknown personages arriving in the flatboat. It was evident that the house of Monsieur des Esseintes was the center of mysterious activity. I never saw the secret visitors, but more than once I spied a pair of gloves left behind, an umbrella, or smelled des Esseintes’s hookah, and a feminine Eau de Cologne.

I spent my freedom in the house examining and reexamining every point of possible escape. The windows were out of the question. They were heavily grated and the falcon would not let me within three feet of them. The front door seemed likely, but again, I was not allowed near it by the falcon. The cellars also seemed to be vulnerable points. I recalled the doorway leading to the sewers mentioned by Ursula, but several problems remained. First, where was the key to the door kept? I did not possess Lady Dunaway’s skill at picking locks, and time was too precious to risk making an attempt. Second, the main doorway leading to the cellars was delicately balanced upon its hinges so that if I did get through it a second before the falcon, it would still provide no obstacle to the bird. Every possible avenue was reduced to a single factor, this small dappled creature, a few scant pounds of muscle and talon. I was never without the falcon. Any plan of escape must first include some way of dispatching this bird. I still could conceive of nothing. I could not risk fighting it hand to hand. The slightest scratch would be my demise. I had no access to any medicaments with which I might drug the beast. I was stymied.

Not unlike Hatim I took restlessly to retracing my steps, searching, desperately hoping there was something I had overlooked. It was on one of these perambulations that I discovered a further secret about Lady Dunaway. It had become my habit to walk as quietly as possible, wishing to keep my activity concealed. I was creeping by the playroom when I heard her muffled voice. The door was closed.

She was humming softly, accompanied by the counterpoint of the music box. “
Ahhh, my little one... my little one. Your needs are so few
.”

Who could she be talking to? The playroom? ‘My little one’? And then it dawned on me. What one thing could have caused her to betray me-a woman of principles and courage, a woman who had forsaken her home and reputation, crossed half of Europe? What was precious to her above all else? Visions of toys kept free from dust and little Ambrose’s wonderful knots swept through my mind. I tried the knob. It was locked. Lady Dunaway’s voice stopped. There was a sliding sound.

“What’s going on in there?” I called.

The falcon ruffled.

At last my former compatriot opened the door. She was breathing rapidly. I looked past her, but the room was empty.

“What do you want?” she demanded angrily.

“Who were you in there with?”

“No one.” She tossed a glance at the mechanical bird still tinkling plaintively on the shelf. “I was talking to the music box.”

I could not believe she would openly lie to me. “There was no one else?”

“No,” she said. I knew she was lying. I saw it in her eyes when they hesitantly passed mine. I saw something else. I saw relief, relief that I had finally discovered her secret. She turned and walked away.

I was too stunned to say anything else.

I knew she had not been talking to the little mechanical bird. There had been someone else in the room, someone who had left through a secret passage. That was why she was content to remain des Esseintes’s prisoner. That was how he had gained control over her. Perhaps she left at night to soothe him, to calm his weeping. Little Ambrose was here! But where was Camille? Why did they keep this from me?

I could no longer contain my rage for Monsieur des Esseintes. It was clear that he had lied about the whereabouts of at least one of our children. For unknown reasons he had divided Lady Dunaway and me. It might have been simply to isolate us, to inhibit our plotting together to escape, but the fact remained: The vampire had a purposeful interest in idiots savants. They had abducted them for some reason. I did not know where Camille was, but somehow I knew her condition was a key or cornerstone to the puzzle.

As the evening of the party approached, the house exploded in a beehive of activity Inexplicably, the servants began preparing a magnificent feast. On several occasions I saw Grelot and one of the boys bring in crates of fresh vegetables, fish, poultry, and even a suckling pig. Expectedly, des Esseintes delighted in the mystery of all of this and his standard retort became, “Wait and see! Wait and see!”

I knew it was the evening of the party when I awoke to find a fine black dress-suit draped over the end of my bed. The only thing missing was a silk topper; but prisoners being kept inside have no need of toppers, I supposed.

“Lady Dunaway,” I said calmly, more out of curiosity than a need to communicate. There was no sound of movement. Grelot had come to release her before I awoke.

I wandered through the lower rooms of the house until I discovered Monsieur des Esseintes. “
Bonjour,
Monsieur le Docteur,” he greeted simply. His attire surprised me a little. I had expected something more extravagant: ruffled cuffs and a profusion of jewelry. As it was, his dress was contemporary, an elegant but conservative black silk suit, much like one would see on any gentleman in the cabarets of Paris. A simple diamond stickpin and cuff links were the only hints of his wealth. He adjusted one of the cuff links as he examined my own attire.

“As I suspected. Your suit fits perfectly.”

“Yes. Did you measure me while I slept?”

“I have a tailor’s eye. Are you limping, Docteur?”

“I stepped on a piece of broken glass. When are the guests arriving?”

“Soon, very soon. Impatient?”

“Rather. It will be the first time I’ve seen a large number of ‘you kind’ in one gathering.”

“At least the first time you were aware the gathering was ‘our kind,’
non?
”

He glanced at a clock high on the wall of the foyer. It was a quarter past eleven. “
Je m’excuse,
Docteur. I have a few last-minute preparations.” He finished ascending the stairs and vanished toward the back of the house.

I remained in the foyer. I peered into one of the glass globes and for the first time I noticed one of the stuffed birds was a falcon. Its glass eyes were perfectly reproduced and made me shiver. “That will happen to you someday,” I said to my unwanted companion.

At length Grelot appeared in white gloves and tails. His clothing set a silly edge to his eternally disgruntled air. He looked straight out of the burlesque. He tried uneasily to ignore my presence. On occasion during the first few minutes of our wait carriages pulled close to the house, but none of them stopped. At eleven-thirty sharp came the first sound of wheels coming to a halt. There was the sound of voices. A carriage door opening and closing. Footsteps. The knocker rapped against the wood.

With no small amount of flourish Grelot opened the door.

In the distance stood a shining black hansom pulled by two slender roan mares. On the step stood a most pleasant-looking young gentleman in a black pinstripe suit and a fashionable straw hat with a black ribbon around it. His hands were in his trouser pockets.

“
A116
,” he said politely.

Grelot took his hat.

I was struck by the unpretentiousnese of his dress, simple but refined. I extended my hand, but he politely declined.

“You must be
le Docteur.
My name is Femande.”

As he stepped across the threshold I examined his features. In appearance there was really very little to indicate he was different from any young gentleman one might see picnicking on la Grande Jatte. His hair was red and slicked back with brilliantine; his eyebrows, very red and quizzical. Of course, he had that flash of the eyes particular to the vampire, but it was not noticeable unless one were looking for it. His skin was very white and youthful, with an ever-so-slight iridescent quality to it, like mother-of-pearl. He could pass for early twenties.