Elizabeth didn't understand why this wolf was good, when all the others were bad. I explained to her best as I could that wolves were one of God's creatures, too, and were not "bad" animals at all. Wolves were faithful to their mates, and they didn't mistreat their cubs, which was more than I could say for some human beings.
Elizabeth fell asleep soon afterward. She said she understood my story since I'd explained to her about wolves, and liked it very much.
I wasn't so poor that I could buy nothing for her. Still, our money supply was tight. She had had to survive on her own for a week or so before I discovered her, and she had become pretty scrappy and resourceful in the process. I didn't like having to sleep all day while she was out in the city, but at least she understood why I could never accompany her.
I did take her with me to my pub jobs. I always kept an eye on her while I waited on people, and she was usually quite well behaved and didn't bother my employer. Eventually I was able to talk him into giving her a few pennies a week to help clean dishes. She was very excited about having an actual job and especially loved the money. I wasn't paid much more myself, but I let her keep her pennies to spend them as she pleased, but always advised her to save as much as she could.
Every now and then, say once a month, I ventured out onto the moors and did some hunting. This was always during a full moon. I should not have left Elizabeth alone back in our cellar, but then, I much preferred that she not see me during full moons. I would summon some wolves and satisfy myself, and afterward, if lucky, I'd find a hare to bring back and cook for Elizabeth. I kept the pelts for future use. Naturally I fed on the animal myself before preparing it for her, and found it was a much more palatable meal than a rat.
I did the best I could do for her with what I had. What hurt me the most was the few short hours we could spend together, but Elizabeth rarely gave me much of an indication that she was suffering for it. She seemed to have the attitude that any parent at all was better than no parent, but even with this attitude I still felt extremely guilty for being able to do so little for her.
Eventually her sleep schedule began to shift to accommodate mine more readily. Simply because I did things with her only at night, she began to stay up later and later, and sleep later and later. But our schedules never actually matched, unfortunately. It seems that humans have a lot of trouble really adapting to night hours, especially when society has always been geared to the daytime. But that was fine with me. As long as we were getting more time to spend together.
We had few other opportunities to make money, but sometimes we had to make them ourselves—for instance, when poverty forced me to sell my ring. Not my wedding ring, of course, but the emerald one Gaar had given me later on. It had far more sentimental value to me than any amount of money paid for it. After many excursions into the wealthier parts of London, I was able to sell it to some nobleman for several coins and fine bits of clothing for Elizabeth. I accepted whatever was offered for it, in other words, which pleased me since I now could help Elizabeth, but I felt empty for many days afterward.
One of the happiest memories I have is the time Elizabeth told me that although people kept saying that vampires were bad, she felt safer with me than with any of those other people who said things like that. I started to cry and scooped her up into my arms and hugged and kissed her, and she thought I was being silly and laughed, but I didn't care.
Another time she slipped and addressed me as "Mama" in conversation.
"Elizabeth," I said, "Did you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"You called me 'Mama,'" I said. She seemed embarrassed.
"Oh…" she said. "I'm sorry."
"No, no, I'd like… I mean, I would never want to replace thy true mother. She will always have a special place in thy heart, I'm certain. But I would be very proud to be called Mama, if you truly want that."
"Um… Um…" she said. Maybe I'd jumped to conclusions. But I wanted it so badly…
"Well…" she continued, "I guess you are my mama, now, I guess—"
She stopped and looked down, and I heard her sniffle a little.
"Elizabeth?" I said, "I hope I've not offended thee."
Then she burst out into tears, and I knelt down and held her tight.
"What is it, child? What's wrong?" I said, but she wept a while longer before answering.
"I miss them!" she cried. "I miss my Mama! Papal They're dead, Mara! They're all gone!"
"Shh, yes, I know, cub… I know…" I whispered. "Yes, of course you miss them."
"They're all gone!"
"Yes, I know, cub… I'm sorry…" I whispered some more. "I know how it feels to lose a family. Believe me, I know…"
It was the first time in the two years I'd known her that she'd cried over her family. I hoped I personally hadn't brought them on, but I also knew that tears were good healers, and I kept holding her tight.
"Both of us…" I continued. "We're more alike than you might think, child. I, too, have lost people I've loved. And you know something?"
"What?" she sniffled.
"You never stop missing them," I said. "You'll always remember them. But you mustn't let your grief rule you; neither of us must. We owe it to them to keep going, and keep living. Do you understand, Elizabeth?"
"Uh huh," she murmured. She raised her head, but did not look me in the eyes and wiped her nose with her sleeve and sniffled. I wiped away some tears with my thumb.
"So you keep crying, cub," I said. "Cry until no more tears will come. Tears can wash away many troubles."
"All right," she sniffled. "Thank you, Mama."
My heart leaped once in joy. This time, I knew the "mistake" was no mistake.
I had an interesting encounter one night. It was little more than an hour before sunrise, and I was on my way back home when I heard the sounds of a horse being ridden close by me. I paid little attention to it at first, even when I could tell the horse was being made to follow me from a certain distance. I decided to mind my own business and walk faster.
"You there! Woman!" a harsh voice called behind me, and it was only then that I stopped and turned.
I didn't recognize the man, but I did recognize that he was of the, shall we say, upper classes. It was also rather clear that he was very angry with me, but I did not know why yet.
"You walk the streets," he said, "Barefoot. In rags. Half starved. How dare you allow this to happen to yourself?"
It took me a moment to get my bearings, to figure out exactly why he would be so angry that I was poor. It didn't take long once I'd gotten a good look at him, though.
"It displeases his lordship to see a poor woman such as I?" I replied eventually.
"I can see that you do not belong to the mortal world," he said. "You are as I am, yet you allow yourself to live amongst filth and rabble! This should not be!"
"Should anyone live amongst filth and rabble, m'lord?" I asked.
"There are those mortals who deserve such an existence," he said, "But I am not mortal. And neither are you. Yet you live as one, and a wretched one at that! Why do you do this, woman? Why do you scorn the power you have over others, the power that could bring men crawling to you, begging to obey your every whim? Why do you disgrace our kind?"
My answer to him would have taken far too much of both our time. Nor was I too sure he would even begin to understand, least of all appreciate it. I simply smiled a little and looked up into his eyes.
"If his lordship forgives me, I am tired and wish to return home," I said. "My child waits for me, and neither of us has much time before the sun appears."
He did not reply, but only glared for a while before turning his horse about and riding away. But I'm certain I heard him mutter, "Filth" before leaving earshot.
He was the first vampire I had met whom I had not been directly involved with, or responsible for, for that matter. I only pondered a short while on whence he might have come. I figured that Agyar might have converted others before he got to me. It w
ould have suited him to involve himself with aristocrats, after all, or at least with those folks who were of wealthy families and who were destined to become aristocrats. Another thought, which I eventually chose to avoid, was that Agyar was still around and was "mingling" with the upper classes. This vampire did seem to have Agyar's attitude, though.
Either way, I never saw the nobleman again. I busied myself as usual in taking care of Elizabeth and doing what I could to get some money. The Plague was waning away. We were able to take more evening walks together without suffering the sights of plague-infested bodies and body carts everywhere.
We were preparing to return home one evening when Elizabeth began to slow down and kept looking behind her, and even though I hurried her along, she ignored me and eventually came to a stop.
"Elizabeth, why aren't you walking?" I asked."'It is cold and we should return home." I then took her hand and walked, but she offered too much resistance. This was getting frustrating.
"Dost thou want me to pick thee up and carry thee home, child?" I asked mockingly.
"No, Mama," she said, "I can walk."
"Good," I said, "Because I want to return home, and you are not making things easy for me."
"I am home, Mama," she said.
"Huh?"
"My home is near here," she said slowly and quietly. "My old home. Before everyone died there. But I haven't been back here until now."
I said nothing to her for a long time, but only knelt down and stroked her head a little.
"Oh," I said at last, "I didn't know. Do you want to leave this place, child? Or—perhaps see it again?"
She bit her lip and looked off in another direction for a long time before answering.
"I think I'd like to see it again," she said, and I stood and took her by the hand and let her lead me through the streets.
She led me past several of the nicer homes, many of them even two stories, until we reached a faded old home, two story, all of wood and brick, in front of which Elizabeth stopped and stared. I was going to speak, when it became clear as to what she was staring at. There was some light visible within. I watched the windows for some time, hoping to spot some movement, but saw none.
"Somebody's there," Elizabeth murmured, and I bent over to whisper to her.
"It seems that way, child," I said, "But then, all is silent within. I see no movement. Perhaps it is only—"
I stopped only because there was sound and there was movement at that time. I brought Elizabeth closer to me, but no one emerged from the front door or appeared at any windows.
"I want to see who's in there," she announced. A slight chill crept up my spine.
"Are you certain you wish to do this, child?" I whispered. "I mean, it may simply be some other family who has—Elizabeth, come back here…"
My words were in vain, for she had slipped from my grasp and was now advancing determinedly up the steps to the door. At first I remained behind and called to her until she reached the door and knocked. I had little choice but to follow her up the stairs and take her hand as the door opened.
A middle-aged man appeared. He was of average height and build, better fed than most folks I'd seen, and dark-haired. He looked at me first, then at Elizabeth, who suddenly cried out in surprise.
"Uncle!" she cried, and rushed forward to grab his legs. But he was taken aback and immediately pried her away from him.
"Uncle Richard!" she cried again, and he bent onto one knee to get a better look at her.
"What? Unc—Who? I—" he stammered until his face lit up with recognition.
"Elizabeth?" he finally blurted out, his face flushed with joy. Mine may have been flushed also, but with growing dread, not joy.
"Uncle Richard" was all she said.
"It cannot be you, Elizabeth," he said. "Your family has gone with God; we thought you were called with them!"
"No, I was not, Uncle!" she said, visibly bouncing with excitement. "I am here, and she took care of me!" she added, pointing to me. I shrank back a little, not expecting to be put under the spotlight like that. "Uncle" straightened up and scowled a bit as he gave me a quick going-over. I smiled weakly at him.
"And thy name, woman?" he said finally.
"Uhhhh… uhhhh…" I murmured.
"Her name is Mo—her name is Mara, Uncle Richard."
Elizabeth finished for me.
"Let the woman answer for herself, child!" the uncle snapped, and then turned to me again.
"Took care of her, she says, woman," he continued. "Who are you? I do not know you. Art a distant cousin, perhaps? Didst thou speak with them ere they left us?"
"Um… no, Unc—urnm, Master Richard; you see, I… I had not known her before" her family… um… well, see I found her in an alley and, um…"
"In an alley?" he said.
"Aye, master," I said. "She was alone there, and, um… I… had no idea she had an uncle and… it was cold outside and all and I just… um—"
"Mara has taken care of me, Uncle Richard," Elizabeth broke in, "She has been good to me."
"Did you know the family at all, woman?" he pressed on, ignoring his niece. "Dost thou know what has happened to them?"
"I was told they died from the Black Death, Master Richard," I said. "But I did not know her family. You see, I found her in the streets, and um…"
"You took her from the streets?" he said.
"I thought she had no home, no family—"
"Did you not even try to find them?"
"Please, Uncle Richard, I was so frightened!" Elizabeth cried. "Mara found me and took me home with her, and I have been liv—"
"Be silent, girl!" the uncle cried, then to me: "Why did you not take her to the church, then? We would have received word of my brother's passing on much sooner."
"Oh, please do not be angry with her, Un—"Elizabeth's voice sounded on the verge of tears, but her words were broken off by her uncle's icy stare. He turned to me again.
"Where have you been keeping her all this time, woman?" he asked.
"Um… only a few miles away, Master Richard," I said. "Master Richard," I continued "We were only walking home, when Elizabeth wished to see her old home again, and we knew not that others would be living here again and um… I only did what I thought was best for her…"
We were all silent for an uncomfortably long time. The uncle let his gaze fall alternately on Elizabeth and me for some time, which made her nervous, as she moved closer to me and held on tightly to my robe. Then the uncle slowly smiled at me and placed his hands on my shoulders.
"Thou hast cared for the child all this time, and thou art neither cousin nor friend to her family?" he asked.
"Aye, master," I said.
"And have you a husband?" he said. "A family of thine own?"
"No, master," I said. "I am widowed. But Elizabeth is as a daughter to me, now."
"Perhaps I was harsh to judge thee, woman," he said after a time. "Thou hast done a good thing. A Christian thing, to care for this child during her great grief. And now God has delivered her back to us through thee."
"It would seem that way," I murmured.
"Aye, He has, woman! And we offer you our most gracious thanks!" he cried. He then bent down and took Elizabeth's hands gleefully.
"Welcome home, child!" he said. "God has returned thee to us!"
"Uncle," she said, and he let her hug him tightly. And after all the tearful reunions and greetings were through, Richard stood again, still holding Elizabeth's hands, and beamed at me.
"How shall we repay thee, good woman?" he said. "We shall keep thee in our prayers from now till we die, but what else ought we do?"
"Well, it—" I stammered. "I mean—you need not—"
"Thou must have something, good woman," he said. "Name it; if we are able to provide it, we will."
"Oh—well, that is most kind of thee," I said, "But—well, may I perhaps just warm myself by your fire for now? It is awfully cold here."
"Of course, good woman!" h
e said, and began guiding me to the door. "Come, child," he then said to Elizabeth, and we were inside.
The furnishings were humble, but they were far better than what I had become accustomed to. Actually, any furnishings would have been better than mine. Uncle Richard guided us to a small table before calling his wife from the bottom of the stairs.
"Heather!" he called. "Wife, come!" He was about to rejoin us when he added, "And wake our sons, also! A miracle has happened!"
Meanwhile I leaned over to whisper to Elizabeth. "I think your uncle and his family have moved in here, child," I said. "Was the house willed to him?"
"I don't know, Mara," she said. "I was hoping… it would be Mama and Papa here. I saw the light inside, and I thought it was them, come back…"
"I'm sorry, child," I said. "This house must be bringing back painful memories. Perhaps I should have taken thee to my home instead."
"But Uncle Richard is here," she said. "Papa's brother. He can take care of us now. We won't have to live in an old room, and—" I shushed her as her aunt descended the stairs with three sleepy boys in tow. She seemed a number of years younger than her husband, and all three boys looked about Elizabeth's age, give or take a year or two. Richard explained excitedly what had happened, and I stood when he mentioned me, and I motioned for Elizabeth to follow.
The Vampire Memoirs Page 26