The Vampyre (31 page)

‘She made no answer. In her eyes I saw my face reflected, ardent and harsh. My passions were crossing it like the shadows of clouds.

‘“I will find an escape,” I said at last. “I will search for it, if needs be, across eternity. And yet” - I paused - “the journey will grow harder, the pilgrimage more cruel, the more my humanity is lost to me. I had not understood this before - but I see it now. Yes.” I nodded. “I see it now.” My voice trailed away. I looked into the dark. A shadowy figure seemed to be watching me. For the second time, it seemed to wear the Pasha's face. Then I blinked, and there was nothing. I turned my gaze back to Lady Melbourne. “I shall leave England,” I told her. “I shall leave my sister and my child behind. I shall not drink their blood.”

‘I turned. Lady Melbourne did not try to stop me this time. I crossed the room, and walked out, my footsteps echoing, into the hall. Caroline Lamb was there. She was horribly thin, and her smile, as I walked past her, was like that of a skull. She rose and followed me. “I hear you are leaving England,” she said. I didn't reply. She held my arm. “What will you tell your wife?” she asked. “
Vampire
.”

‘I turned to face her. “Listening at keyholes, Caro?” I asked. “That can be dangerous.”

‘Caro laughed. “Yes, it can,” she said. Her expression was bitter and strange, but though she struggled, she couldn't bear the fierceness of my eyes. She fell back. I walked on down the hall.

‘“Take me with you!” Caro suddenly screamed. “I will make beds for your favourites! I will walk the streets to win you victims! Please, Byron, please!” She ran after me, and threw herself at my feet. She took my hand, and started kissing it. “You are fallen, but oh, my Byron, you are an angel still. Take me with you. Promise. Swear to me.” Her whole body began to shake. “A vampire's heart is like iron,” she muttered, more to herself than to me. “It softens when heated with the fires of lust, but afterwards it is cold and hard.” She looked up into my face, and began to laugh wildly. “Yes, cold and hard. Cold like death!”

‘I shrugged her away.

‘“You wouldn't dare leave me!” said Caro disbelievingly. “Such love - such hate - you wouldn't dare!”

‘I walked on.

‘“I will damn you! I will damn you, damn you, damn you!” Caro's voice choked and fell. I paused. I glanced back at her. Caro, still sunk on her knees, shuddered, and then the fit seemed to pass, and she dabbed a tear away. “I will damn you,” she said again, but softly now. “My dearest, dearest love, I will” - she paused - “
save you
.”

‘Three weeks later, unknown to me, she visited Bell. I had not, of course, been able to leave. Augusta had been staying with us - and Ada's blood - oh - Ada's blood - Ada's blood was even sweeter than hers. And so I had stayed, and the temptation grew in me, and I knew that Lady Melbourne had been right - I would surrender to it. One night, standing by the cradle, I would have fed if Bell had not interrupted me. She looked at me strangely, and held the baby to her breast. She told me she wanted to leave London - return to the country - perhaps stay with her parents for a while. I nodded distractedly. Soon after that, she left. I had told her I would follow on. By the carriage that was to take her, she held our daughter to my lips. Then she kissed me herself, passionately, and held me until I thought she would never let go. She broke free at last. “Goodbye, B,” she said. Then she climbed into the carriage, and I watched as it rolled down Piccadilly. I was never to see her, nor my child, again.

‘Some two weeks later, the letter came. It demanded a separation. The same afternoon, I was visited by Hobhouse.

‘“I thought you should know,” he said, “the most incredible rumours are flying round town. They say your wife wants to separate from you - and much worse.”

‘I tossed Hobby the letter. He read it, his frown deepening all the time. At last, he dropped it and looked up at me. “You will have to go abroad, of course,” he said.

‘“Why,” I asked, “are the rumours that bad?”

‘Hobby paused - then nodded.

‘“Tell me.”

‘Hobhouse smiled. “Oh - you know,” he said, waving his hand. “Adultery, sodomy, incest . . .”

‘“And worse?”

‘Hobhouse stared at me. He poured out a drink, and handed it to me. “It's that bitch, Caroline Lamb,” he said at last. “She is telling people . . . well, you can guess.”

‘I smiled faintly, and downed the drink - then smashed the glass onto the floor. Hobhouse shook his head. “You will have to go abroad,” he said again. “Please, old man. You really don't have any choice.”

‘Of course I didn't. And yet still I couldn't bear to leave. The more I was damned in the newspapers, or hissed at in the streets, the more desperately I longed for my stolen mortality, to deny what it seemed the whole world now knew. But my doom was fixed - Caro had done her work too well. One night, I went to a dance with Augusta on my arm. As we walked into the hall, the whole room fell still. All eyes were on me - and then they looked away. No one came up to us. No one spoke to us. But I heard the single word whispered from behind our backs -
vampire.
That night, I thought I heard it everywhere.

‘I knew then my exile was irrevocable. A few days later, I sent Augusta away. Through everything, she had stood by me, and her love had never failed. Without her, my life would be a solitude. And yet there was relief too when we parted, for I could be certain now I would never drink her blood. I renewed my travel plans. My despair became mixed with a wild sense of freedom. The world hated me - well, I hated it. I remembered my old intentions. I would travel - and I would search. As Lady Melbourne had put it - I would chart the nature of my vampire state. I ordered a carriage to be made, based on the design of Napoleon's. It contained a double bed, a wine cellar and a library. In the wine cellar, I stored bottles of Madeira mixed with blood - in the library, books on science and the occult. I also hired a physician, a young man who had written on properties of the blood. He had a reputation for dabbling in the darker fringes of medicine. Such knowledge, I thought, might prove stimulating. I gave him samples of my own blood to study. The name of this doctor was John Polidori.

‘The departure date grew nearer and nearer. My house in Piccadilly was steadily packed up. I roamed the echoing, empty corridors. In the nursery, and Augusta's room, a faint, mocking tang of blood still hung. I tried to ignore it. I rarely went out now - my face and name were notorious - but I was fully occupied with business and friends. I had also taken a lover. Her name was Claire, and she was only seventeen. She was pretty enough, I suppose, but odd-headed - she had thrown herself at me - I used her to keep my mind off things. One afternoon, she brought her sister with her. “This is Mary,” she said.

‘The sister was pretty too - solemn though, less wild than Claire. She flicked through the books I was packing for my trip. She picked one up, and read the title from the spine: “
Electricity and the Principles of Life
. My husband is interested in such things,” she said, fixing me with her deep, serious eyes. “He is a poet too. Perhaps you know him?” I raised an eyebrow. “Shelley,” Mary said. “Percy Shelley. I think you might enjoy his company.”

‘“Sadly,” I said, gesturing at my trunks, “you see that I am about to travel abroad.”

‘“So are we,” said Mary. “Who knows? Perhaps we will meet up on the Continent.”

‘I smiled faintly. “Yes - perhaps we will.” But I doubted it. I could see, from the gathering madness in Claire's eyes, that her brain was being turned by her passion for me. From then on, I discouraged her visits. I would not have her cracking, and following me. If she did - well - that would be too bad for her.

‘On my last night in London, I stayed in Augusta's room. The scent of blood now was almost gone. I lay on her couch, breathing in its last faint traces. The house was dark and still; emptiness hung in the air like dust. For hours I lay there alone. I felt hunger and regret contending in my veins.

‘Suddenly, I thought I heard a footfall. At once, I sensed the presence of something not human in the house. I looked up. There was nothing. I summoned all my power to compel the creature to show himself, but still the room was as empty as before. I shook my head. My loneliness was deluding me. Suddenly, the emptiness seemed unbearable, and though I knew it would be a phantom, I longed to see Augusta's face again. From her fading perfume, I conjured up her form. She stood before me. “Augusta,” I whispered. I held out my hands. She seemed impossibly real. I tried to stroke her cheek. To my shock, I felt the glow of living flesh.

‘“Augusta?”

‘She said nothing, but desire and love seemed to glow in her eyes. I bent to kiss her. As I did so, I realised for the first time that I couldn't smell her blood. “Augusta?” I whispered again. She pulled me gently to her. Our cheeks brushed. We kissed.

‘And then I screamed. Her lips seemed to be alive with a thousand moving things. I stepped back - and saw how my sister was covered in a shimmering, twisting white. I reached out to touch her again - and the maggots fell, and coiled along my finger. My sister raised her arms, as though appealing for help, and then slowly, her body crumbled away, and the floor was carpeted with writhing worms.

‘I staggered back. I felt something behind me. I turned. Bell was holding up Ada to me. I tried to brush her away. I saw Ada start to bleed and melt; I saw Bell's flesh freeze and shrivel on the bone. All around me were the forms of people I had loved, imploring, beckoning, reaching for me. I pushed past them - they seemed destroyed by my touch - and then they rose again, and ghoul-like, followed me. They held me with their soft, dead fingers; I looked despairingly around; I thought I saw a figure, ahead of me, cloaked in black. He turned. I looked into his face. It seemed very like the Pasha's. But if it was, it had changed. It was perfectly smooth, and the paleness was touched with a livid, hectic yellow. But I saw it only for a fraction of a second. “Wait!” I shouted. “What are these visions you are conjuring for me? Wait, I order you to wait!” But the figure had turned and was gone, so soon that I thought it had surely been a fantasy, and I realised that the other phantoms had disappeared as well, and I was alone again. I stood on the stairway. All was silent. Nothing moved. I took a step forwards. And it was then I realised I was still not quite alone.

‘I smelled her blood before I heard her faint sobs. It was Claire. I found her hiding behind one of the chests. She was dumb with fear. I asked her what she had seen. She shook her head. I held her with my eyes. Her terror was arousing me. I knew I needed blood. The visions, the dreams I had had - I knew that only blood would keep them away.

‘I reached for Claire's throat - I touched it - and then I paused. I could feel the life beating deep within her. I placed my finger below her chin. Slowly, I guided her lips towards my own. I shook - I closed my eyes - I kissed her. Then I kissed her again. She stayed solid in my arms. I took her. I gasped. Still she was alive. I folded her in my dissolving embrace. I flooded her. “I give you life,” I whispered. I rose up from her. “Go now,” I told her. “And for both our sakes - never try to see me again.” Claire nodded, wide-eyed; she straightened her clothes; she left me, still without saying a word. It was now almost morning.

‘Hobhouse came an hour later, to see me off. Polidori was with him. By eight o'clock, we were on the road.'

MARY SHELLEY, INTRODUCTION TO
Frankenstein

A
nd so ended,' said Lord Byron, ‘my vain attempt to live like a mortal man.' He paused; and his face, as he studied Rebecca, seemed lit by a mingling of defiance and regret. ‘Henceforth,' he said, ‘I was to be myself, a thing alone.

‘Alone?' Rebecca hugged herself. Her voice, after such a long silence, seemed to intrude on her ears. ‘Then who . . .'

‘Yes?' Lord Byron raised a mocking eyebrow.

‘Who . . .' Rebecca stared transfixed into the paleness of her ancestor's face. ‘Whose descendant am I?' she whispered at last. ‘Not Annabella's? - not Ada's?'