The Burning (27 page)

“Cousin, don’t . . .” Van Helsing’s voice. Stephan pulled his boots on. Her cousin here?

“Don’t touch me!” A note of panic in her voice.

Stephan ripped open the door and ran down the stairs, achieving insouciance before he emerged on the landing. “Did someone call?” he drawled.

The scene before him was a tableau of startled faces. Van Helsing loomed over his fair cousin. She cringed away from him. Steadly, the runner, stood behind Van Helsing. Stephan spotted the bulge at his hip—probably shackles. Stephan set his teeth. The landlord had both fists planted firmly on his hips. Several denizens of the taproom had circled round to watch the fun. All stood frozen, staring up at Stephan.

Van Helsing was the first to recover. He drew back from what was obviously an attempt to grab Miss Van Helsing’s arm. “Just in time, Sincai. This is the man, Steadly.”

“I’m well aware of Mr. Sincai, Van Helsing.”

“Then you know he did those murders.”

“What I know is that he was not where he said he was on the night of the fifth.”

“Then let me disabuse you of your doubts.” Van Helsing sneered. “I saw him in Winscombe on the fifth when I went to get supplies.”

Stephan strolled down the remaining stairs. “So we were both in Winscombe on the day in question?” he asked politely.

“
I
have an alibi for the time of the murders.” Van Helsing smirked. “I returned to Maitlands, as the servants can attest. Do you have an alibi, Sincai?” He looked pointedly at his cousin. “Perhaps you were with Ann?”

“Yes,” Miss Van Helsing said instantly, at the same moment Stephan said, “No,” with equal emphasis.

“He was with me,” she insisted, looking daggers at Stephan.

“Perhaps you were both involved,” Steadly mused, looking at the girl. “They say you have . . . powers.”

“Miss Van Helsing had nothing to do with the affair at the hunting lodge.” Stephan’s voice was firm and steady.

“I tend to agree, since the act took uncommon strength,” Steadly observed. “And I am not normally a credulous man. Still . . .” His eyes flicked here and there, as though remembering the scene at the hunting lodge, and his face lost all color.

“Take them both in for questioning,” Van Helsing suggested. “There is a second cell behind the town hall.”

Stephan knew he had no choice at that point. He couldn’t let Miss Van Helsing be imprisoned for his crime. “Alas, you have found me out.” He sighed. “I confess the whole.”

She looked at him, incredulous. “Don’t do this.”

Van Helsing wore an expression of triumph. Steadly looked self-satisfied. “Come with me, then,” he said in his best stentorian tones, as though he was judge and jury.

Stephan inclined his head.

Miss Van Helsing began a protest, blinked twice, and fainted.

Immediately Mr. Watkins and several of the onlookers darted forward.

“Don’t touch her,” Stephan commanded. His voice held all the compulsion he could muster. All stopped in their tracks. Stephan grabbed a towel from the bar and pushed past Van Helsing. He knelt beside the girl and flapped the towel over her. The breeze lifted the curls from around her face. She had never looked more ethereal. “Get me water, man.” The landlord leapt away as though he had been stung. “And you, boots, get me a pillow.”

“Who put you in charge?” Van Helsing complained.

“Be quiet and stand back,” Stephan ordered. “Miss Van Helsing?” he asked softly, continuing to flap the towel to give her air. Why had she come here when she was so weak? Had she wanted to warn him of Steadly and Van Helsing? She must know they couldn’t hold him. What did it cost him
to spend a few hours in a gaol cell? As soon as night fell he would escape.

Miss Van Helsing’s eyelids fluttered. The landlord held out a tankard. Stephan smelled that it was filled with water. The boots scampered up with a pillow. “Miss Van Helsing?”

She blinked and looked up at him with those clear gray eyes. He saw them soften. With effort she raised her head. He slipped the pillow under her neck and held her up, then lifted the tankard to her mouth. She made a face as her lips touched the metal. Could she feel the others who had drunk from it? But she sipped. He pulled it away as she sighed. Then the worried frown came back to perch between her brows.

“Don’t be concerned,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Jennings will take you back to Maitlands.” He looked up at Van Helsing. “Stay away from her, or you will answer to me.”

“Go now, Mr. Sincai,” she whispered fiercely.

He tried a little smile, hoping it was reassuring. “Right here?” He glanced around, then shook his head. “Can you sit?”

She nodded and he pushed up on her shoulders with the pillow to help her. “He knows,” she whispered, only for his ears.

“I see that. Jennings,” he called, and the man materialized from just outside the tavern door. “Take Miss Van Helsing home.” Jennings touched his forelock. Stephan slid the pillow downward to help her stand and steadied her with it.

A mulish expression crossed Miss Van Helsing’s face. “I won’t go until I know where they’re taking you.”

“Well, come along then,” Steadly said. He took the heavy shackles from his belt. They clanked ominously.

Stephan shoved up the sleeves of his coat and held out his wrists. Steadly clamped the cold, thick iron around them. Miss Van Helsing touched her fingers to her mouth in dismay.

“Go now. I’ll be fine.”

Again she set her lips. “I am up to this, Mr. Sincai, I assure you. I don’t know why I fainted. A momentary weakness.”

“Shall we?” Steadly gestured to the door. Stephan led the way, followed closely by Miss Van Helsing with Jennings hovering over her and the tavern’s denizens trailing behind them.

Day was winding down. The sun shot deep red-gold rays between the leaves of the trees as it set behind the half-timbered town hall. Stephan squinted against its feeble light and felt his cheeks burn in reaction. Uncomfortable, but he wasn’t naked, and it wasn’t noon. He was old and he could stand a little sun these days. The party wended its way around the back of the hall and through a narrow wooden door strapped with iron. Inside, a lamp on the wall flickered and smoked, but shadows lurked everywhere. There were two stone-walled cells with rusty iron bars, obviously rarely used.

But what was most amazing was that one cell was draped with braided garlic and woven garlands made of some leafy branches with small white flowers. Stephan suppressed a smile. Wolfsbane.

Ann stared at the garlic and the wolfsbane hung over the cell. What was this? She searched her memory. Those would not hurt Stephan or keep him locked in the cell. The thought that garlic or wolfsbane would harm vampires were mere myths that had grown up around his kind. So, Erich didn’t know as much about vampires as he pretended. Had his “associates” deliberately kept him from separating myth from fact? Perhaps they didn’t trust him as much as he let on. She glanced to her cousin, whose face displayed a self-satisfied smirk. He thought he had trapped Mr. Sincai. She mustn’t disabuse him of the notion. She took a breath and let it out. Sincai would be free as soon as they were gone. A few hours with the stink of garlic in his nostrils was the worst he would suffer.

She glanced to him and saw the tiny suppressed smile.

Mr. Steadly opened the cell door with a spine-scraping shriek and motioned Sincai in. He strode through the cell door, forced to duck to accommodate his height.

“Comfortable?” Erich asked.

Sincai sat on the hard wooden bench and stretched a leg out in front of him, folding his arms across his broad chest. Steadly slammed the door and turned a large key in the lock. Erich stepped forward and looped a large silver crucifix on a leather thong around the bars and tied it.

Ann carefully arranged a blank expression on her face. Another myth. Stephan had once been a Jesuit priest, and kissed a crucifix a dozen times a day. It could not harm him.

“That should keep you,” her cousin announced, and turned to the runner.

Squire Fladgate sailed across the yard like a frigate with all sails spread. “What’s this? Van Helsing, Steadly? Why wasn’t I consulted about this?”

“We have a runner from Bow Street here, Fladgate,” Erich said, and waved a dismissive hand. “That should be enough authority for you.”

“Not in Cheddar Gorge, young man,” the squire puffed. “Here
I
represent the Crown.”

Erich barked a laugh. “Well, then. We have caught your murderer for you. Are you saying we should let him go?” Several in the crowd guffawed.

“Well, no. No, of course not.” The squire realized he was not in command of the crowd. More, he had made himself an object of fun. “Just that we should make it official. I shall conduct the trial on Tuesday.”

“So you shall,” Erich said magnanimously, clearly in control.

“Why this folderol, Van Helsing?” Steadly frowned at the strings of garlic and flowers.

“Indulge me, Steadly.” Erich grinned. “You saw the room
at Bucklands Lodge after the murders. You don’t think a normal man could have done that, do you?”

“No.” That word said it all. The whispers from the crowd that pressed in at the doorway behind him contained the echoed word “vampire.” Ann turned to see several villagers make the sign against the evil eye. She had seen that sign often in her life. Stephan would be outcast now. He would have to leave the village even if by some miracle he was acquitted of the murders. The crowd at the door dispersed as though they were leaves blasted by an autumn wind.

“Come, Cousin,” Erich said, motioning her to the door with exaggerated deference.

She glanced to Sincai and felt the small reassuring smile as much as saw it. She couldn’t muster a smile in return. This would be the last time she would see him.

When Ann and her cousin got to Maitlands, Polsham and Mrs. Simpson were hauling loads of garlic and wolfsbane up the main staircase to the first floor.

“Ah, I see the delivery has arrived,” Erich said, throwing his hat and gloves onto the table in the grand foyer. “Haste, haste! It’s full dark. I want my room entirely covered.”

“We’re done with your room,” Polsham said, barely civil. “These are for the nursery.”

“Then I’ll take dinner in my room.” Erich hastened up the broad stairs. “Bring in a bottle of brandy, as well.” He didn’t seem so confident now that night had come on. What had he to fear? Sincai was probably long gone by now.

The drive home with Erich had been excruciating, what with his gloating and reliving the expression on Sincai’s face when the shackles had been applied. She had huddled in the corner of the carriage. The only consolation was that he had not brought up the special license. How long would it take to arrive from London? Anxiety had given way to despair.

Now Ann was truly exhausted. She tottered up the stairs after Polsham and Mrs. Simpson and stopped in to see her uncle. She daren’t tell him about Van Helsing’s threat of a special license. She was most afraid he would agree with the plan. Nor could she let on that the entire town was afraid of Sincai. She didn’t want to worry him. Her uncle seemed to be a little better, though with twilight his spirits too had sunk and he could only murmur his thanks for her sitting with him.

When at last she left her uncle, Mrs. Simpson followed her up the stairs, tut-tutting, plainly frightened by her cousin’s odd proclivity for garlic and wolfsbane. She gave Ann her mother’s crucifix to wear and brought a bowl of barley soup. Soon enough Mrs. Simpson and her nervous chatter were leaving with the empty bowl. Ann huddled in her bed, an empty ache growing within her. Dark eyes, wild dark hair, and the sense of strength she’d gotten from him already seemed to be fading. There seemed no escape. She couldn’t leave her nursery or her uncle. But if she stayed, her cousin could well carry out his threat. He probably waited for marriage only to keep the goodwill of the servants and the townspeople. After he married her . . . Horrible images of her cousin’s wet mouth over hers, his tongue slimy, his soft hands kneading her, came to roost behind her eyes like carrion birds and would not leave. And then there was the madhouse. She felt it lurking just out of sight. She had seen her mother there, rocking in dirty straw, scratching her flesh until it bled.

There was no one to help her. Her uncle sick, Mr. Sincai no doubt already gone, the servants cowed by her cousin—she had never felt so alone.

Fourteen