The Burning (3 page)

Now he read the rest of the paper carefully and found what he was looking for. An outbreak of what the report speculated was influenza was spreading in the area around Cheddar Gorge. It brought about a strange lassitude and made the sufferers unusually pale. The paper wondered if it was a result of insect bites. There was a preponderance of insects after flooding on the river Axe. The paper didn’t say why the authorities thought it was insect bites, but Stephan could guess. He was sure the sufferers would exhibit two puncture wounds.

Deaths? Epidemics? Lord, Kilkenny’s creatures were not even being circumspect!

Stephan snapped the paper shut and consulted a map he had purchased in Jermyn Street. He picked out Bath, Wells, Shepton Mallet, and Cheddar Gorge. Well enough. If they had a shred of sense they would kill farther from home, but they would be feeding closer to their nest. That meant Cheddar Gorge was his most likely target.

He folded the map and rose, leaving scattered papers and the remnants of his meal. He must get word to Rubius. He’d scribble a note and let the Eldest know that he had found a nest of Kilkenny’s vampire army. He would have the note taken by courier with all possible speed to Horazu, where the villagers at Tirgu Korva would deliver it to Mirso Monastery. It would cost a fortune, but he did not care. He
always had plenty of money. He was getting closer to his goal, and that of Rubius.

First he would feed. Then he must get to a livery directly and see what could be had in the way of a horse. He was for Cheddar Gorge. With luck he would find Kilkenny there and at least a part of the army of vampires he was making. Kilkenny, the root of all evil. He dared not even indulge the hope that he could complete his task and return to Rubius and Mirso, for hope was an emotion, and he was not allowed those. Not anymore.

Two

Ann sat at one end of the long table in Maitlands’s principal dining room at her uncle’s right hand and across from her cousin. She had refused to entertain Van Helsing in the intimate parlor where she and her uncle usually dined. She didn’t want him spoiling it. The servants spent the day cheerfully removing dust covers from Maitlands’s grand dining hall and polishing everything in sight. A huge fireplace roaring at each end heated the hall. The skeleton crew at Maitlands these days deplored the fact that so much of the house was shut up. Well, the grand dining hall was being used tonight, though their three voices echoed and it took a hundred candles to light it. Ann glanced up to the disdainful glare of Brockweir ancestors hanging in their heavily wrought golden frames. If one looked closely enough, the eyes of some of the elegant women dressed in the style of bygone days glittered madly in the light of the crystal chandeliers. The room was all red walls and gleaming wood, silver service and sparkling goblets. She had brought her own silver, of course, and her own glass from the everyday dining parlor.

Ann was uncomfortable. The chair she was sitting in had not been used in a long time. Still she could feel the whispers of other nights around her. The room had hosted crowds. The tinkle of women’s laughter and the boom of the gentlemen’s guffaws played themselves out for her ears alone. A man who thought he was very important had sat in this chair last. It had creaked with his weight. But there were other, fainter echoes here, even back to . . . her mother. Her mother had once sat here.

Her attention was jerked to the present by the sound of Van Helsing’s voice.

“What a fine example of Grinling Gibbons sterling,” he exclaimed, gesturing to the massive epergne at the center of the table. His pale blue, bulging eyes were practically toting up the value. His blond hair would soon thin and his chin was decidedly weak, almost lost in his jowls. His lips were fleshy rather than full, the opposite of sensuous. In some ways they seemed . . . flaccid. She imagined that his kisses would be overly wet, and shuddered at the thought. His ridiculously padded coat covered a waistcoat that looked as though the buttons would pop at any moment. But truth be told, it was not the fact that he was overweight, or that his face reminded Ann of a fish, that made her cousin so distasteful. It was his expression. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something just not quite . . . right.

“The Ambassador of India gave that to Ann’s father during the time he was secretary to Lord Woolsey,” her uncle noted, as he slurped the lobster soup noisily. His color wasn’t good tonight, but he was making a heroic effort to entertain their guest.

“A valuable heirloom, then.” Van Helsing smiled. How could a smile look . . . greasy?

Ann pushed the whispers of the chair into the background. “I have been thinking of relegating it to the closet,” she said with too much insouciance. “All those dreadful
tigers pursuing the elephants . . . relatively bloodthirsty . . . and with the palms and monkeys and the flowers at the base it seems busy, altogether rather tasteless.” Ann sipped her soup, then glanced up to see she had discomfited Van Helsing by questioning his taste. Inside he wasn’t sure he belonged here. Good. He didn’t. Let him realize it on his own.

Her glance stole to Polsham, standing ready to signal their lone remaining footman, Peters, and Mrs. Simpson, who had cooked the lovely dinner, and her helper, Alice, to bring the second remove. Polsham was suppressing a smile. He didn’t like Van Helsing either. She raised her brows. His face shut down to impassivity. That brought a twitch to her own lips. Her cousin had not endeared himself to the servants with his overbearing, self-important nature.

“A shame, I’m sure,” Van Helsing murmured. Then, recovering, “I did not see any finer example of exotic themes in my travels through the capitals of Europe. Have you been, Ann?”

A hit direct. He must know she couldn’t travel.

“Ann has never been more than an afternoon’s ride away from Maitlands, Mr. Van Helsing,” her uncle said, motioning for Polsham.

“Ah, well, there is much to be said for the country, of course.” He said it as though it were a lie, as indeed for him it was. Polsham, Peters, and Alice paraded through the door holding huge covered trays. Ann noticed Alice glancing fearfully at Van Helsing. Had she been crying? Van Helsing’s voice droned on. “Still, Venice, Paris, Vienna, Madrid . . . now that Old Boney has been clapped up, the Continent is England’s playground once again. You really should go, Miss Van Helsing.”

“I have no desire to go traipsing around Europe,” she said dampingly. True, given her current circumstances. “My books give me a window on the world.” Polsham and Mrs. Simpson and Alice whipped the covers off the trays in unison, revealing
pheasant, a butt of ham, and buttered crabs.
Dear me,
thought Ann,
Mrs. Simpson does want to impress the little prig
. Silence reigned as Mrs. Simpson retreated, only to reappear with a tray covered with various dishes of vegetables. She arrayed the dishes around Uncle Thaddeus, while Polsham poured claret for the men and ratafia for Ann. Alice had hurried away and had not reappeared.

“I think his lordship will be especially partial to the parsnips tonight and the creamed leeks,” Mrs. Simpson murmured, before bowing herself out as Ann’s uncle chuffed his thanks.

Ann resolved to seek out Alice and see just what had been happening. She suspected the worst, even though her cousin had only been in the house for an afternoon. The men dished themselves huge helpings of everything. Van Helsing looked up. “Miss Van Helsing, are you not partaking of this feast? Let me help you to some pheasant.”

Ann bore his ministrations to her plate with as much civility as she could for her uncle’s sake and wondered how she would stand the rest of the evening. At least the boor would probably lose himself in his food for the next half hour.

Even such a slender respite was not to be.

“Books . . .” he mused. “Hardly a substitute for reality. Still, many young ladies are fond of novels, and escape from reality is just the point of those sorts of books.” He smiled in condescension. “I’m sure you read novels, Miss Van Helsing.”

“I read everything,” she said, stung. “Including novels.”

“You mean everything fit for a young lady’s mind, do you not? Surely your uncle guards you from anything which might offend your sensibilities.”

Her uncle waved a fork. “Not necessary, my good fellow. Ann reads what she wants, newspapers, London and Paris magazines, political tracts, war journals, sermons, philosophers, poets . . . The lot of ’em. Always asking Polsham to
bring her some book or other from the lending library in Wells or Meyler’s in Bath. Writes letters even to the publishers in London. What I don’t pay for the delivery of the post! The poor fellow can hardly carry the load of parcels up to the door.”

“A bluestocking, Cousin?” The expression on Van Helsing’s face could only be called a smirk. Ann so wanted to slap him.

“Bluestocking? A term made up by insecure men to denigrate an educated woman. Surely you are not insecure, Mr. Van Helsing.” She made her voice deliberately sweet.

It didn’t fool her uncle. “Now, Ann, don’t badger your cousin. Van Helsing—”

“Excuse me for interrupting, but please call me Erich, both of you. I am family, after all.” Erich turned that greasy smile on both of them.

Her uncle grinned back as though he didn’t see how insincere and cloying that smile was. “Very well, Erich, tell me where you got that showy chestnut you’ve been riding.”

Don’t say anything more,
Ann ordered herself, as the men talked horseflesh.
You’ve already been rude
. She even kept her opinion of Van Helsing’s showy chestnut to herself. She’d just bet this little toad had been after Alice. Her uncle kept him mercifully engaged through the meal and invited him to retire to the library after supper for some of the fine local cheese with his port.

“Why don’t you join us in half an hour, Ann, my love?” her uncle said as he heaved himself out of his chair. He wobbled a bit.

“Your cane, Uncle Thaddeus,” she whispered, though she could not hand it to him or take his arm to steady him.

“Yes, yes, my dear. You worry too much.” But he grabbed his cane.

Van Helsing took his arm in what he thought was an ingratiating way. He looked like a fat vulture. “Let me help you, sir.”

They were gone. Ann sank back in her chair. She really must have a talk with her uncle. Family or not, “Erich” was insupportable. Would her uncle eject him once he had been invited? Unlikely. They were stuck with him. What if he
was
badgering Alice? Lord knew Alice was no better than she should be. Mrs. Simpson worried that she was cavorting with the boy who was the boots down at the Hammer and Anvil. But Ann didn’t like the look she had cast at Van Helsing. She’d have to find a way to protect Alice from him at the very least.

Polsham brought her tea. She forced herself to calm and smoothed her dress over her lap. It was her best. Her uncle had insisted on it. In truth, she liked to dress up. She would have a hundred dresses, all the latest stare of fashion, if she could. This one had the big sleeves and slightly lowered waist in fashion a few years ago. It had been recut from a dress she had had since she was seventeen. Still, the silver toile brought out her eyes and set off her complexion. She wore it with the pearls her father had given her before his death nearly ten years ago.

She smiled secretly and touched the pearls. No one thought she had traveled. But she knew the shop in Amsterdam where the pearls had been strung and the aqua-blue waters where a brown, naked boy had first cradled them in his hands after an afternoon of diving.

She lifted herself out of her reverie as the long clock in the corner chimed the half hour. Time to face the lions in their den, or in this case, the library. Polsham and company began clearing the table even before the dining room door had closed behind her.

The door to the library was open. She paused as she heard Van Helsing’s voice. Her uncle sat next to the fire, his back to the door. He was always cold these days. She couldn’t see Van Helsing. “I’ll make no bones about it, Erich, Ann’s an odd duck, and you should know it.”

“Young females are strange creatures in general, I find.”