“Ten days later, give or take, he was on his own again – sometimes walking through the marshes with a dreadful expression on his face, sometimes jumping into his hammock, growling like a rabid animal and biting the cords. That man ain’t a Christian! I felt like shooting him down with my rifle...”
“Old Violette, no nonsense now,” Mother Muche interrupted him: “who’s that little girl that’s just arrived?”
“She’s a mere child... no more than seventeen years old! Ah, but he ain’t going to be touching that one, see? I’ll be acting as a policeman! Stop laughing, Mother Muche; this time, at the first hint of trouble, I’ll denounce him! He’s got to be made to explain himself...”
“Where did the little one come from?”
“She must’ve come from Barrichonne... she’s definitely a country girl... she calls him uncle!”
“Maybe he really is her uncle!”
“Maybe he is! Well, anyway, he won’t be causing her any trouble... he’s only disguised as a gentleman... he has the bearing of someone who thinks he can treat her like a minor servant... he makes her run all his errands... now that the baker no longer brings his provisions... no-one ever goes to the house... he even sent away that old fishwife that used to go there for two hours every morning to do the cleaning... they live alone, the two of them, away from everyone, sure of not being interrupted by anyone. The little lass is neither pretty nor ugly... her name’s Annie.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“Yeah... this afternoon, as it happens... I asked her if she liked our swamp... she said:
“‘Why wouldn’t I like it? My uncle is a good man!’ Chapter and verse...
“‘So much the better for your sake if he is good to you,’ I retorted, ‘but he ain’t been so good to all those who came here before you, otherwise they would still be here!’
“She seemed a little surprised by what I told her, and then she walked away, quite thoughtfully, without saying anything else. So I shouted after her:
“‘Just ask your uncle about them, ask him where they’ve all gone!’
“After that, she started running and didn’t stop until she’d reached the house.”
“All of this will end badly between you and that villain,” concluded Mother Muche. “You shouldn’t go meddling in what doesn’t concern you and which might end up doing you harm... in the meantime, drink up!”
“What in the name of G..., it’s him!”
“Who?”
“Our new neighbour!”
Old Violette jumped up and reached for his stick, as if to defend himself from some formidable, wild beast...
Mother Muche poked her long nose out of the window:
“Good Lord,” she cried, “he ain’t very handsome, and that’s the truth!”
Benedict Masson was coming across the courtyard. The man’s appearance, as the evening fell, can only be described as sinister.
He came lurching out of the woods like a wild beast, unleashed from its lair; and the manner, in which he turned his snout of a nose in all directions, as if sniffing out prey to devour, was enough to make you shudder.
All of a sudden, he spotted the landlady and, behind her, the gamekeeper, who were watching him – the former with trepidation and the latter with his customary hostility.
Without hesitation, he pushed into the kitchen.
“You! I want a word with you,” he said to the gamekeeper, abruptly, “if you’ll follow me outside, it won’t take long!” Old Violette sat back down on his bench, affecting a disdainful tranquillity.
“But I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he declared.
Mother Muche was far from feeling at ease... she had prepared a dinner for the gentlefolk from the Two Doves Park estate, who were expected to arrive at the villa that night, where nothing had been done in preparation to receive them, and would have liked to send these two men to ‘the five hundred devils.’ In the end, though, like many others, Benedict Masson made her feel afraid.
“Go outside and settle it in the arbour!” she suggested.
But old Violette would not budge. He called for more wine.
“Listen, Violette,” said Benedict Masson, “if you want us to have a drink together, then that’s up to you... but there has to be an understanding between us. The land is big enough for the two of us. We can’t go on annoying one another like this!”
“I annoy you, do I?” replied the other.
Benedict Masson sat down on a stool, head hung low, sombre and taciturn; and, looking away, he said:
“Yes!”
“Shall I have to disappear as well, then?”... the gamekeeper began sternly.
Then he was silent again, because, before he had completed his sentence, the other had raised his head and glared at him with eyes of fire. When finally the flame died down... his head slumped back on his chest, and Benedict Masson said, in a muffled voice:
“I know the things you’re telling people everywhere! You’d better keep quiet, old Violette! I’ve had enough! Well, yes: they have all gone... I can’t keep an apprentice girl... I can’t keep anyone near me... I frighten everyone! Just a moment ago, even Madame was afraid... allow me to speak, Madame... I am pleased to be able to explain myself in front of you! Perhaps you will be able to persuade old Violette that he has to hold his tongue... there is nothing mysterious about my life... I have never harmed anyone... you only need to look at me to understand that I do not have to harm them in order to persuade them to clear off! I didn’t come here to be nasty, I only came to tell old Violette this: that I have with me, at the moment, a young girl, my niece, a little orphan that I have taken in, whom I do not disgust that much... and she wants to stay with me as a servant... she was completely unhappy when she was small... and she is grateful for what I do for her... and so, old Violette, you had better not turn her against me!”
“None of that is any of my business,” growled the gamekeeper.
The hostess slid another drink in the direction of Benedict Masson.
“The gentleman is right,” she declared, emptying the rest of the wine from the glass, “it makes no sense for you two to live on bad terms, especially since you live in the same place... drink a toast and shake hands, and let that be an end to the whole affair!”
But old Violette, as pigheaded as ever, simply repeated:
“None of that is any of my business... none of that is any of my business!”
Benedict Masson pushed away the glass, stood up and, planting his feet right in front of the gamekeeper, snarled in a hoarse voice:
“If it really is none of your business, then when that little girl passes you outside, hold your tongue... hold your tongue, old Violette... because, I’ll tell you... if she goes the same way as all the others, who probably left on account of you and your gossip, anyway... I will hold you responsible! Life means nothing to me, so I don’t care a damn... understand?... I’ll cut you down like a dog!”
Then he left and, after a brief acknowledgement to the landlady, crossed the courtyard, walked into the woods, and returned to the shadows.
“There, you heard him! You heard him, the savage,” old Violette could be heard saying when the other was already long gone.
“Listen,” said Mother Muche, “that man is at the end of his tether! I hope, for your sake, that the seventh will remain!”
XVIII
News From The Marchioness
First Letter. – My dear Christine, I am writing because I have no hope left except in you and Monsieur Masson, alas, no hope!
Now I am so far away from you, how can I convince you of my very real misfortune, you who would not believe it even when I was struck right before your eyes?
No, Christine, it is not a madwoman who writes to you; it is not a monomaniac who is dying for an idée fixe, as you have believed for so long, as you undoubtedly still believe (otherwise you wouldn’t have allowed them to take me away, you and Benedict Masson would not have abandoned me to my executioner): it is the most
wretched of creatures, whose life is stolen from her every day, every night, drop by drop; it is the victim of a monster who has already devoured entire generations, and who comes to seek for his nourishment from the veins he has drained with his insatiable bite!
Ah, Christine, do not smile that sad smile that I have so often seen... Why do you not believe me, when you have seen me? Why can you not accept my dying testimony? This word vampire, when I first uttered it in front of you, was nothing more than a vague phantasm born of my diseased imagination... and yet... and yet! It was there, among us all, in flesh and bone!
Christine! Christine, this is how vampires have always existed! I admit that they have been disappearing, gradually, from the surface of the earth, hunted down to the depths of their funeral lairs; but why can you not admit that at least one of this accursed race might have survived?
Sometimes sailors, returning from distant seas, tell us that they have seen the formidable coils of one of those monsters rise, from the bosom of the waves, that the testimony of natural history tells us have inhabited the oceans since the earliest days of the world... the serpent of Halong Bay [16] is perhaps the last of this dreadful species, just like the one that you know is perhaps the last vampire to be vomited up from the tombs! His tomb! His empty tomb, which he left more than two hundred years ago to feed on the blood of the living; I wanted to see it; I have seen it... I have lifted the stone that covers it! I was guided by a man, the most humble of men, in whom my fate inspired pity, and who secretly helps me to send you these letters. I went down into the mortuary crypt of the Coulteray chapel, aided by this man – who is the sacristan.
There lie the family tombs... the first and second vaults on the right... that’s the one!
“Here lies Louis-Jean-Marie-Chrysostome, Marquis de Coulteray, First Equerry to His Majesty,” and under the date, there is a plaque on which you will find these words inscribed: “The remains of Louis-Jean-Marie-Chrysostome were scattered in 1793, by the Revolution.”
Scattered? Scattered? I know where they are, the remains of Louis-Jean-Marie-Chrysostome! And you, Christine, who will not believe me: you will know this one of these days! They are doing very well! What a vision I witnessed in that crypt... the empty tomb attracted me! Something keeps telling me that one night I shall wake underneath that stone... and that I will, in my turn, rise up, a pale phantom that searches for her existence! Spare me from such a destiny, Lord! You know at what price, Christine... you know what will need to be done with my corpse to prevent me from rising more formidably after death!
At least allow my torment to cease with my life! Sangor has promised not to spare me when I am dead...he has no reason to deceive me when I am dead... and anyway, it will be in his interests to perform this last gesture that will liberate me forever from the horror of feasting on earth! I have arranged it all! You will think me even madder than ever... Christine... Christine! I hope that I shall soon have the opportunity to convince you of what is happening here...to give you decisive proof... irrefutable... and then you’ll come quickly (won’t you?) with Benedict Masson... you will save me, if there is still time!
The Marquis never leaves my side... now that I am little more than a breath, he has never loved me as much... the relative freedom that I enjoyed in Paris is over... he has given up abusing me over the nature of his mortal love. He no longer tries to deceive anyone... or to make me believe that I am nothing more than a sick woman... that stage is over! I am the prisoner of a husband who is devouring me! His lips will not leave me until I breathe my last breath... here he is, drinking calmly, without remorse, the thin blood that the diabolical genius of Saib Khan still causes to run through my veins... I don’t know how I am still able to drag myself around! That Hindu doctor can resuscitate the dead!
Christine, I will try to tell you how I endeavoured to profit from those powers he uses to revive me and prevent me from departing on my final journey – I don’t know whether it is sorcery or not... but that’s enough for the moment...enough, they’re coming... I can hear them! They are coming back after their drive, and they’ll come here looking for news of my health! Sing-Sing is already opening the door...
Second Letter. – My dear Christine, you know how they made me leave Paris after the scene that you and Benedict Masson witnessed... they never counted on you seeing it, I can assure you of that... they thought they had the mansion to themselves...
When you ran to answer my calls for help, when you entered the room where I was already his prey, struggling in vain against his bite, his face bent over me, drunk with his passion for blood, for my blood... his face became terrible... I said to myself, “It’s all over for them!”
But I was the one for whom it was all over! They left you downstairs... because if they had done away with you things would have become too serious... far too complicated. After all, what exactly had you seen? Nothing. What had you heard? The scream of a madwoman... only a madwoman! The things I had confided in you earlier? Just the imaginations of a diseased brain!
All the same, after such a scene there was nothing more to do than finish with me, until they were no longer thirsty!...
So they carried me away!...
Ah, I knew that this would be the end... the horrible fear of such a death, to be followed by I know not what, maybe even more horrible, made me drag myself towards you one last time, at the moment when they believed me to be incapable of another movement... Christine, Christine! It seemed to me that, in that last glimpse, the all-too-well established equilibrium of your mind, that too-tranquil spirit, tottered...
In your eyes I saw not only your customary pity that I read there with despair, but something else, something that I might formulate thus: “What if, by chance, the madwoman was right?” And there was something new in the eyes of Benedict Masson, too! Well, then, hurry! Come quickly, if you do not want to see me dead!
As I told you in my last letter, I had wanted to run away in the course of the journey here. Yes, I had resolved myself to it! I had decided to risk a padded cell in the madhouse, with which they have threatened me more than once, rather than continue in this agony! But they guessed what I was going to do! They anticipate everything! Sangor and Sing-Sing foresee every move that I plan to make! Saib Khan, who also made the trip, as you well know, can read my thoughts! And the Marquis can rest assured: they are keeping a close guard on his prey!
All the same, I attempted this impossible venture. In the automobile, I could not hope to do anything... we were still in Paris, and the car was transformed into an iron cage... the shutters were closed over the curtains... in there, what would my cries matter?
But I did not cry out! I waited for an opportunity... it presented itself... at dawn, we had a breakdown... they had to work on the car... I pretended to be asleep: drained of life, I simulated death... they carried me to a hotel room, on the ground floor, which overlooked a yard, where they were repairing the car on one side. The other side opened into a garden that led into the open fields...
A few hundred metres away, I could see the edge of a forest.
Oh, if only I could get to that wood... to bury myself in the leaves, in the dead leaves, in the earth... to escape from them!
From the bed on which they had laid me, I could perceive the small distance that I would have to cover in the dawn’s early light... in my thoughts, I had already crossed it and was delivered into the sanctity of the woods!
But, in reality, how could I accomplish this? Sangor stood outside my door... a little further on, the Marquis was pacing up and down with Saib Khan; while the employees of the garage, whom they had woken, hurried to repair the car down in the yard... underneath my window, in the garden, was Sing-Sing.
I knew well that he was a thief, a sneak, and a snooper, incapable of resting in one place... in the mansion, they used to tie him up in his kennel, like a bad guard dog that they could only be sure was in his place when he was chained by his collar... my hope was in the certainty of this. Already, agile
as a cat, I had seen him climb up a tree to munch on some kind of green fruit... what could he see from the top of this tree? Then, as ever, swinging from branch to branch, he sprang onto the ledge of an open window, propped open on the first floor, and disappeared into the building.
In a second, I was on my feet... I opened the window... I had not felt as strong for a long time! I weigh no more than a feather... my legs dropped me down into the garden...and then I felt a shooting pain... and, all of a sudden, I emitted a terrible scream... I had felt the bite!
Third Letter. – My dear Christine, I write to you as and when I can... more often at night, by the light of a small lamp... at the slightest noise, I hide everything under my sheets. I feel that I must write to you, in order to convince you that I need you to come! Show my letters to Benedict Masson. I am counting on you. I am counting on the pair of you. I repeat this to you, and will not stop repeating it... and if you arrive too late, maybe these letters I write can be used to save others... because it is impossible that the truth will not be discovered one of these days... it is impossible that this monster that bites from a distance will continue to roam for centuries among his victims who may perhaps believe that they have suffered a scratch from a rosebush… that ends up killing them!
The Bloody Doll Page 15