VROLOK (22 page)

Gizella replied, “I don’t know.”

“You’re not in contact with her?” continued Isabella.

“No, not since she left,” replied Gizella.

“Do you need for anything?” Isabella asked.

“Nothing,” said Gizella.

“I will return before your life ends.” Isabella left the woman to her solitude.

One of Isabella’s favourite hobbies had become participating in court celebrations. She had started to hunt in more “noble” society; the rich could be such willing victims. They would invite anyone to their parties as long as they looked as if they belonged. She had gotten into a pattern of killing them and then stealing their possessions. After all, a woman with no independent means had to make a living somehow.

Isabella hid her tracks under the guise of a plague. There had been many outbreaks and disease was no discriminator of class. So with the added advantage of money she slipped back and forth, in and out, of elegant society, using different names and speaking in different languages. Nobody asked too many questions. In court they gossiped constantly, of course, but open accusations were never the norm. Isabella paid no heed to the gossip unless she wanted to influence them in her favour.

The few months succeeding Isabella’s last visit to Katya’s family home were spent in a Hungarian court. A fifteen-year-old girl was preparing to marry. The court was filled with the hustle and bustle that usually accompanied such occasions. The night before the wedding when most of the guests had gone to bed and the castle hallways were deserted, Isabella found herself walking through the great hall to look at the paintings. She was interested in the histories of such prestigious families. She heard footsteps coming down the corridor and the door swung open.

“Who are you?” asked the young girl who had just entered the room.

“A member of the wedding party, my lady,” Isabella said, making a small curtsey.

“I don’t think I have noticed you before.”

“I am not that noticeable,” Isabella answered.

“Oh, yes, you are. In fact, I would prefer my future husband not to see you.”

“You pay me too much heed, my lady; I pale in comparison to you.”

“You know that is not true.”

“Whether it is true or not, never let your insecurity show. That in itself is not very attractive,” Isabella stated.

“I am not jealous of you.”

“That’s good for there is no reason to be.”

“I am getting married tomorrow.”

“I know…you are very young to be getting married.”

“I am fifteen.”

“My apologies. You are so old,” Isabella said sarcastically.

“Oh, no, I am not old. I will never be old.”

“Age catches up with us all,” Isabella answered.

“Not with me, I will not allow myself to become old.”

“Why are you so afraid of becoming old?”

“I remember my mother. She was the toast of Hungary, the most beautiful of women, noticed everywhere she went, and then suddenly it stopped. Her hair had turned gray and her skin was not as smooth as it had once been. Men did not look at her any more. My mother, who had once been so generous and kind, became malicious; she scolded and beat me at every given occasion. That will never happen to me.”

“It does not have to happen to you. With age comes wisdom and that in itself is an attractive quality—your mother obviously did not acquire any.” These were just the prattlings of an inexperienced child. Isabella was growing tired of the discourse and decided to take it in another direction.

“So tell me about your husband, the Count Nádasdy?”

“In a few days I will be Countess Nádasdy.”

“Why not Countess Báthory? It is such an illustrious name in Hungary—why do you want to exchange it for a lesser name?”

“It is tradition that the wife takes her husband’s name.”

“It seems an archaic tradition. Do people of fashion not break these traditions? Why should a wife take the name of a husband?” The girl thought about what Isabella had said for a few seconds.

“Yes I think you right.”

“Erzsébet! Erzsébet!

The young girl could hear her mother calling her. She turned to see her mother coming up the corridor towards the open door and when she turned back Isabella was gone.

Isabella went downstairs to the servant’s quarters looking for food. She had considered killing the girl but decided that it would be very impolite to ruin the wedding that someone had so kindly invited her too. Only one servant was awake, washing clothes, and when Isabella came close she could see it was Katalin.

“What are you doing here?” she asked the laundry woman.

“I am catching up on my chores, madam.” This girl does not know me, Isabella thought; after all, she had only met her once when she was a child.

“Do you not know me, child?” Isabella inquired.

“No madam, should I?” Katalin obediently answered with her head bowed.

“I suppose not. You were only a child when you saw me last. You are Isabella Zelonka’s great grandchild. You are Katalin Kocur, are you not?

“My married name is Benecká,” stated Katalin.

“Your mother told me you had married,” Isabella replied.

Katalin, intrigued now, asked, “How do you know my mother?”

“Your grandmother was named after me.” Katalin was shocked by this revelation, dropped the sheet she was washing, and looked at Isabella.

“You’re the Vrolok?” she replied, stunned.

Isabella smiled. “I am,” she said.

Katalin just stared at Isabella for a moment and then replied in awe, “I thought it was just a story.”

“It is the truth. Why did you leave your mother alone?”

“I had to go with my husband.”

“I suspect that you are your own woman and go where you wish to go.”

“I wanted to get out of that house; three generations of our family have lived and died in that place.”

“I suppose no one can blame you for that. Are you safe here?”

“I am.”

“Do you think you will stay?”

“I do.”

“Well, I will tell your mother you are safe.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Katalin answered.

“Oh, make no mistake, it is not concern, it is obligation. I will return again to check on you.” The malevolence that Isabella had seen in the child was still there. It was a malevolence that covered her like a shroud. Isabella was now coming to the conclusion that this latent malevolence would someday cause great harm.

Another few years passed and Isabella returned to see Gizella had aged another few years and was obviously very lonely. Isabella was lonely as well but it was not in her nature to be sympathetic.

“I am glad you are here,” said Gizella.

Isabella was suspicious of this remark. No one in a long time had said that they were glad to see Isabella and this was the last person she expected to say it.

“Why?”

“No reason, just that I am glad to have company, even yours.”

Isabella laughed. As much as she hated to admit it, she was beginning to like Gizella.

“I am sorry to hear that you are lonely enough even to appreciate my company. How have you been?”

“Fine. I have something I should tell you though.”

“What?”

“It is about Vlad.”

“I do not want to hear.”

“I know; however, I think you should listen.”

“There are rumours that he has taken some Hungarian Countess away from her husband.”

“A Countess.” Isabella was upset by this, even jealous, but she had learned not to show her emotion. “He always did have expensive taste,” she quipped.

“Countess Báthory.”

“Countess Báthory!” Isabella remembered the young fifteen-year-old girl she had met a few years earlier. She had obviously taken Isabella’s advice about keeping her own name. “I have met her,” Isabella continued. “She is just a child, a pretty one at that, but just a child, nevertheless.”

“She is not a child any more.”

“I sometimes forget that people age while I stay the same. Her husband wants her back, I take it.”

“The rumours are that he is searching for her,” Katalin’s mother answered. “Hungarian troops are searching the land and they do not care about any devastation they may leave behind.”

“He will get her back,” Isabella stated. “We can’t have Vlad enjoying a companion when I have none,” she added, thinking aloud, “and certainly not the company of an easily influenced child,” Isabella continued.

Isabella took Gizella’s horse and rode swiftly to the castle. When she arrived she crept silently up to the door. As she approached, she saw smoke rising from the chimney. Isabella looked through the window at the people inside. Vlad was sitting in his armchair and the Countess was sitting on his lap and in a very coquettish fashion. Isabella waited until dawn broke and then crept in through the door. The fire was now just smouldering embers, the young woman lay sleeping on the ground in front of it. Vlad had left her there to sleep. Isabella looked at her neck for any signs or marks and examined her teeth for bloodstains or sharpened incisors. There was nothing; Isabella was pleased to find no sign of vampirism. For although Vlad had taken this woman he had not made her immortal and now he would not have a chance to.

Isabella lifted the girl into her arms and crept out of the castle. Vlad was watching her every move. He was happy at seeing Isabella for he presumed by her actions that she would return to him soon, if only to chastise him for his dalliance.

Isabella threw the girl over the horse and started to ride with her. This understandably awakened the girl. She did not know what was happening and was frightened. She started to scream and kick. The journey back to Count Nádasdy’s castle would take several days. Isabella took her down to the village first. She could not listen to a screaming woman for days on end.

She opened the door to Katya’s old house and entered with the girl slung over her shoulder. Isabella threw her to the floor and slapped her face hard. This immediately silenced her; no one apart from her mother had ever dared to strike her.

“Be quiet,” Isabella demanded. The Countess sat there rubbing her face and whimpering slightly. “Be quiet!” Isabella repeated. “Do you realise how close you are to death?” Isabella said. The girl was shaking and Katya’s great-grandchild Gizella entered the room.

“She is terrified,” said Gizella.

“She should be…I am not going to be able to take her home. I think I would kill her before I got there.” The Countess was looking at the pair totally bewildered confused and most of all frightened.

“Can you get her home?” Isabella asked.

“I know where there are Hungarian troops; they will take her home to her husband.”

“That will do. I will watch them from a distance to make sure she comes to no harm.”

“Why are you concerned?” Gizella asked.

“Because I want her to live.”

“Why?”

“I want to see if Vlad chases her.”

“He will,” said the young Countess, finally joining the conversation.

“I think you flatter yourself too much. He will not give you a second thought,” said Isabella.

“He will come after me, and I will run back to him. He promised to give me something.”

“What did he promise to give you?” Isabella grabbed the girl’s arm and shook her.

“Youth, he promised to give me youth.”

“That is the one thing you shall never be given,” retorted Isabella. “If you go anywhere near Vlad I will hunt you down and kill you and I will prolong your death so you can feel every agonising minute.”

Isabella approached the young Countess and placed her hands on her head. She showed the girl how she could torture and kill when she wanted to. The girl saw pictures in her mind of people Isabella had seen die and people Isabella herself had killed. The Countess knew Isabella’s threat was real. She would never willingly pursue Vlad in her lifetime again.