The Blood of the Vampire

by Florence Marryat

  But they were not as entirely alone as they imagined. A pale face full of misery was watching them through one of the panes in the French windows, gazing at what seemed like his death doom, too horribly fascinated to tear himself away. Bobby stood there and saw Hally—his Hally, as he had often fondly called her, without know­ing the meaning of the word—clasped in the arms of this stranger, pressing her lips to his and being released with tumbled hair and a flushed face, only to seek the source of her delight again. At last Bobby could stand the bitter sight no longer and with a low moan he fled to his own apartment and flung himself, face downward on the bed. And Anthony Pennell and Harriet Brandt continued to make love to each other until the shadows lengthened and six o’clock was near at hand.

  “I must go now, my darling,” he said at last, “though it is hard to tear myself away. But I am so happy, Hally, so very, very happy, that I dare not complain.”

  “Why cannot you stay the evening?” she urged.

  “I had better not! I have not been asked in the first instance, and if what you say about the Baroness’s altered demeanour towards yourself be true, I am afraid I should find it difficult to keep my temper. But we part for a very short time, my darling! The first thing to-morrow I shall see about another home for you, where I can visit you as freely as I like! And as soon as it can ever be, Hally, we will be married—is that a promise?”

  “A promise, yes! a thousand times over, Anthony! I long for the time when I shall be your wife!”

  “God bless you, my sweet! You have made my future life look all sunshine! I will write to you as soon as ever I have news and then you will lose no time in leaving your present home, will you?”

  “Not an instant that I can help,” replied Harriet, eagerly, “I am longing to get away. I feel that I have lost my footing here!”

  And with another long embrace the lovers parted. As soon as Anthony had left her, Harriet ran up to her room to cool her fever­ish face and change her dress for dinner. She was really and truly fond of the man she had just promised to marry, and if anything could have the power to transform her into a thinking and responsible woman it would be marriage with Anthony Pennell. She was immensely proud that so clever and popular a writer should have chosen her from out the world of women to be his wife, and she loved him for the excellent qualities he had displayed towards his fellow men, as well as for the passionate warmth he had shewn for herself. She was a happier girl than she had ever been in all her life before as she stood, flushed and triumphant, in front of her mirror and saw the beautiful light in her dark eyes and the luxuriant growth of her dusky hair, and the carmine of her lips, and loved every charm she possessed for Anthony’s sake. She felt less vexed even with the Baroness than she had done, and determined that she would not break the news of her intended departure from the Red House that evening, but try to leave as pleasant an impression behind her as she could! And she put on the lemon-coloured frock, though Anthony was not there to see it, from a feeling that since he approved of her she must be careful of her appear-ance for the future to do justice to his opinion.

  Madame Gobelli appeared to be in a worse temper than usual that evening. She stumped in to the dining-room and took her seat at table without vouchsafing a word to Harriet although she had not seen her since luncheon time. She found fault with everything that Miss Wynward did, and telling her that she grew stupider and stupider each day, ordered her to attend her upstairs after dinner as she had some friends coming and needed her assistance. The ex-governess did not answer at first and the Baroness sharply demanded if she had heard her speak.

  “Yes! my lady,” she replied, slowly, “but I trust that you will excuse my attendance, as I have made an engagement for this evening!”

  Madame Gobelli boiled over with rage.

  “Engagement! What do you mean by making an engagement without asking my leave first? You can’t keep it! I want you to ’elp me in some thing and you’ll ’ave to come!”

  “You must forgive me,” repeated Miss Wynward, firmly, “but I cannot do as you wish!”

  Harriet opened her eyes in amazement. Miss Wynward refusing a request from Madame Gobelli. What would happen next?

  The Baroness grew scarlet in the face. She positively trembled with rage.

  “’Old your tongue!” she screamed. “You’ll do as I say, or you leave my ’ouse.”

  “Then I will leave your house!” replied Miss Wynward.

  Madame Gobelli was thunderstruck! Where was this insolent menial, who had actually dared to defy her, going? What friends had she? What home to go to? She had received no salary from her for years past, but had accepted board and lodging and cast-off clothes in return for her services. How could she face the world without money?

  “You go at your peril,” she exclaimed, hoarse with rage, “you know what will ’appen to you if you try to resist me! I ’ave those that will ’elp me to be revenged on my enemies! You know that those I ’ate, die! And when I ’ave my knife in a body, I turn it! You ’ad better be careful and think twice about what you’re going to do.”

  “Your ladyship cannot frighten me any longer,” replied Miss Wynward, calmly. “I thank God and my friends that I have got over that! Nor do I believe any more in your boasted powers of revenge! If they are really yours, you should be ashamed to use them.”

  “Gustave!” shrieked the Baroness, “get up and put this woman from the door. She don’t stop in the Red ’Ouse another hour! Let ’er pack up ’er trumpery and go! Do you ’ear me, Gustave? Turn ’er out of the room!”

  “Mein tear! mein tear! a little patience! Miss Wynward will go quietly! But the law, mein tear, the law! We must be careful!”

  “Damn the law!” exclaimed the Baroness. “’Ere, where’s that devil Bobby? Why ain’t ’e at dinner? What’s the good of my ’aving a ’usband and a son if neither of ’em will do my bidding!”

  Then everyone looked round and discovered that Bobby was not at the table.

  “Where’s Bobby?” demanded the Baroness of the servant in waiting.

  “Don’t know, I’m sure,” replied the domestic who, like most of Madame Gobelli’s dependents, talked as familiarly with her as though they had been on an equality. “The last time I saw ’im was at luncheon.”

  “I will go and look for him,” said Miss Wynward quietly, as she rose from table.

  “No! you don’t!” exclaimed the Baroness insolently, “you don’t touch my child nor my ’usband again whilst you remain under this roof. I won’t ’ave them polluted by your fingers. ’Ere, Sarah, you go upstairs and see if Bobby’s in ’is room. It’ll be the worse for ’im if ’e isn’t.”

  Sarah took her way upstairs, in obedience to her employer’s behest and the next minute a couple of shrieks, loud and terrified, proceeded from the upper story. They were in Sarah’s voice and they startled everyone at the dinner table.

  “O! what is that?” exclaimed Harriet, as her face grew white with fear.

  “Something is wrong!” said Miss Wynward, as she hastily left the room.

  The Baroness said nothing, until Miss Wynward’s voice was heard calling out over the banisters, “Baron! will you come here, please, at once!”

  Then she said, “Gustave! ’elp me up,” and steadying herself by means of her stick, she proceeded to the upper story accompanied by her hus-band and Harriet Brandt. They were met on the landing by Miss Wynward who addressed herself exclusively to the Baron.

  “Will you send for a doctor at once,” she said eagerly, “Bobby is very ill, very ill, indeed!”

  “What is the matter?” enquired the stolid German.

  “It’s all rubbish!” exclaimed Madame Gobelli, forcing her way past the ex-governess, “’ow can ’e be ill when ’e was running about all the morn-ing? ’Ere, Bobby,” she continued, addressing the prostrate figure of her son which was lying face downward on the bed, “get up at once and don’t let’s ’ave any of your nonsense, or I’ll give you such a taste of my stick as you’ve never �
��ad before! Get up, I say, at once now!”

  She had laid hold of her son’s arm and was about to drag him down upon the floor when Miss Wynward interposed with a face of horror.

  “Leave him alone!” she cried, indignantly, “Woman! cannot you see what is the matter? Your son has left you! He is dead!”

  The Baroness was about to retort that it was a lie and she didn’t believe it when a sudden trembling overtook her which she was powerless to resist. Her whole face shook as if every muscle had lost control and her cumbersome frame followed suit. She did not cry, nor call out, but stood where the news had reached her, immovable except for that awful shaking which made her sway from head to foot. The Baron on hearing the intelligence turned round to go downstairs and dispatch William, who was employed in the stables, in search of a medical man. Miss Wynward took the lifeless body in her arms and tenderly turned it over, kissing the pallid face as she did so—when Harriet Brandt, full of mournful curiosity, advanced to have a look at her dead playmate. Her appearance, till then unnoticed, seemed to wake the paralysed energies of the Baroness into life. She pushed the girl from the bed with a violence that sent her reeling against the mantelshelf, whilst she exclaimed furiously,

  “Out of my sight! Don’t you dare to touch ’im! This is all your doing, you poisonous, wicked creature!”

  Harriet stared at her hostess in amazement! Had she suddenly gone mad with grief?

  “What do you mean, Madame?” she cried.

  “What I say! I ought to ’ave known better than to let you enter an ’ouse of mine! I was a fool not to ’ave left you be’ind me at Heyst, to practise your devilish arts on your army captains and foreign grocers, instead of letting you come within touch of my innocent child!”

  “You are mad!” cried Harriet, “what have I done? Do you mean to insinuate that Bobby’s death has anything to do with me?”

  “It is you ’oo ’ave killed ’im,” screamed the Baroness, shaking her stick, “it’s your poisonous breath that ’as sapped ’is! I should ’ave seen it from the beginning. Do you suppose I don’t know your ’istory? Do you think I ’aven’t ’eard all about your parents and their vile doings—that I don’t know that you’re a common bastard, and that your mother was a devilish negress, and your father a murderer? Why didn’t I listen to my friends and forbid you the ’ouse?”

  “Miss Wynward!” said Harriet, who had turned deadly white at this unexpected attack, “what can I say? What can I do?”

  “Leave the room, my dear, leave the room! Her ladyship is not herself! She does not know what she is saying!”

  “Don’t I?” screamed Madame Gobelli, barring the way to the door, “I am telling ’er nothing but the truth, and she doesn’t go till she ’as ’eard it! She has the vampire’s blood in ’er and she poisons everybody with whom she comes in contact. Wasn’t Mrs. Pullen and Mademoiselle Brimont both taken ill from being too intimate with ’er, and didn’t the baby die because she carried it about and breathed upon it? And now she ’as killed my Bobby in the same way—curse ’er!”

  Even when reiterating the terrible truth in which she evidently believed, Madame Gobelli shewed no signs of breaking down, but stood firm, leaning heavily on her stick and trembling in every limb.

  Harriet Brandt’s features had assumed a scared expression.

  “Miss Wynward!” she stammered piteously, “O! Miss Wynward! this cannot be true!”

  “Of course not! Of course not!” replied the other soothingly, “her ladyship will regret that she has spoken so hastily to you to-morrow.”

  “I shan’t regret it!” said the Baroness sturdily, “for it is the truth! Her father and her mother were murderers who were killed by their own servants in revenge for their atrocities, and they left their curse upon this girl—the curse of black blood and of the vampire’s blood which kills everything which it caresses. Look back over your past life,” she continued to Harriet, “and you’ll see that it’s the case! And if you don’t believe me, go and ask your friend Doctor Phillips, for ’e knew your infamous parents and the curse that lies upon you!”

  “Madame! Madame!” cried Miss Wynward, “is this a moment for such recrimination? If all this were true, it is no fault of Miss Brandt’s! Think of what lies here, and that he loved her, and the thought will soften your feelings!”

  “But it don’t!” exclaimed the Baroness, “when I look at my dead son, I could kill ’er, because she ’as killed ’im.”

  And in effect, she advanced upon Harriet with so vengeful a look that the girl, with a slight cry, darted from the room and rushed into her own.

  “For shame!” said Miss Wynward, whose previous fear of the Baroness seemed to have entirely evaporated, “how dare you intimi­date an innocent woman in the very presence of Death?”

  “Don’t you try to browbeat me!” replied the Baroness.

  “I will tell you what I think,” said Miss Wynward boldly, “and that is, that you should blush to give way to your evil temper in the face of God’s warning to yourself! You accuse that poor girl of unholy dealings—what can you say of your own? You, who for years past have made money by deceiving your fellow creatures in the grossest manner—who have professed to hold communication with the spiritual world for their satisfaction, when if any spirits have come to you they must have been those of devils akin to your own! And because I refused to help you to deceive—to take the place of that miserable cur Milliken and play cheating tricks with cards, and dress up stuffed figures to further your money-getting ends, you threat­ened me with loss of home and character and friends until, God forgive me, I consented to further the fraud from fear of starving. But now, thank Heaven, I have no more fear of you! Yes! you may shake your stick at me and threaten to take my life, but it is useless! This,” pointing to the dead boy upon the bed, “was the only tie I had to the Red House and as soon as he is dressed for his grave I shall leave you for ever!”

  “And where would you go?” enquired the Baroness. The voice did not sound like her own; it was the cracked dry voice of a very old woman.

  “That is no concern of yours, my lady,” replied Miss Wynward, as she prepared to quit the room. “Be good enough to let me pass! The inexcusable manner in which you have insulted that poor young lady, Miss Brandt, makes me feel that my first duty is to her!”

  “I forbid you—” commenced Madame Gobelli in her old tone, but the ex-governess simply looked her in the face and passed on. She made the woman feel that her power was gone.

  Miss Wynward found Harriet in her own room, tossing all her possessions into her travelling trunks. There was no doubt of her intention. She was going to leave the Red House.

  “Not at this time of night, my dear,” said Miss Wynward, kindly, “it is nearly nine o’clock.”

  “I would go if I had to walk the street all night!” replied Harriet, feverishly.

  Her eyes were inflamed with crying and she shook like an aspen leaf.

  “O! Miss Wynward, such awful things to say! What could she mean? What have I done to be so cruelly insulted? And when I am so sorry for poor Bobby too!”

  She began to cry afresh as she threw dresses, mantles, stockings, and shoes one on the top of the other, in her endeavours to pack as quickly as possible.

  “Let me help you, dear Miss Brandt! It is cruel that you should be driven from the house in this way! But I am going too, as soon as the doctor has been and dear Bobby’s body may be prepared for burial. It is a great grief to me, Miss Brandt, I have had the care of him since he was five years old and I loved him like my own. But I am glad he is dead! I am glad he has escaped from it all, for this is a wicked house, a godless, deceiving and slanderous house, and this trouble has fallen on it as a Nemesis. I will not stay here a moment longer now he has gone! I shall join my friends to-morrow.”

  “I am glad you have friends,” said Harriet, “for I can see you are not happy here! Do they live far off? Have you sufficient money for your journey? Forgive my asking!”

  Miss
Wynward stooped down and kissed the girl’s brow.

  “Thank you so much for your kind thought, but it is unnecessary. You will be surprised perhaps,” continued Miss Wynward, blushing, “but I am going to be married.”

  “And so am I,” was on Harriet’s lips, when she laid her head down on the lid of her trunk and began to cry anew. “O! Miss Wynward, what did she mean? Can there be any truth in it? Is there something poisonous in my nature that harms those with whom I come in contact? How can it be? How can it be?”

  “No! no! of course not!” replied her friend, “Cannot you see that it was the Baroness’s temper that made her speak so cruelly to you? But you are right to go! Only, where are you going?”

  “I do not know! I am so ignorant of London. Can you advise me?”

  “You will communicate with your friends to morrow?” asked Miss Wynward anxiously.

  “O! yes! as soon as I can!”

  “Then I should go to the Langham Hotel in Portland Place for to-night at all events! There you will be safe till your friends advise you further. What can I do to help you?”

  “Ask Sarah or William to fetch a cab! And to have my boxes placed on it! There is a douceur for them,” said Harriet placing a handsome sum in Miss Wynward’s hand.

  “And you will not see the Baroness again?” asked her companion.

  “No! no! for God’s sake, no. I could not trust myself! I can never look upon her face again!”

  In a few minutes the hired vehicle rolled away from the door, bearing Harriet Brandt and her possessions to the Langham Hotel, and Miss Wynward returned to the room where Bobby lay. Madame Gobelli stood exactly where she had left her, gazing at the corpse. There were no tears in her eyes—only the continuous shaking of her huge limbs.

  “Come!” said Miss Wynward, not unkindly, “you had better sit down, and let me bring you a glass of wine! This terrible shock has been too much for you.”