by Kirsty Ferry
***
Electric lights had replaced the gas lights in London and as the girls strolled the three miles or so towards the Criterion, Cassandra couldn’t help being astounded by them. One thing she had to thank Veva for, was the fact that she now had the chance to experience so much more of the future. She would remain, frozen in time, as a beautiful, young girl with the world at her feet. She flirted with the idea of eventually being able to perform somehow. What was to stop her, after all? Then she caught the scent of a crowd of theatregoers and started to walk towards them. She felt Veva’s hand on her arm, pulling her back.
‘No, darling,’ Veva said. She nodded at the crowd and walked past them. ‘You’ve still got a little way to go, Cassandra,’ she murmured. ‘You’re not quite ready to face the world on your own yet. We can’t draw attention to ourselves like that.’
‘I only wanted to see what the program said,’ snapped Cassandra.
Veva shook her head. ‘I don’t think that’s all you had in your mind,’ she replied. ‘Oh! See this – there appears to be a ball here. Come on, I think we’ve been invited. Oh no,’ she pouted. ‘I seem to have forgotten my invitation.’ She sighed. ‘Not to worry.’ She cast her eyes amongst the crowd. Plenty of people to wander amongst; there was bound to be some good sport to be found here.
Cassandra hung back. She could see the Criterion from here. ‘Why can’t we try the theatre first?’ she asked.
‘Because we are going to the ball,’ replied Veva. She walked confidently up to the door of a large house and looked at the doorman earnestly. ‘My sister and I have been invited, but I’m terribly sorry – we forgot our invitations.’
She looked so sad that the doorman did what they usually did. ‘Well, Miss, on this occasion, I think we can probably allow you in,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to see you tonight.’ He smiled and bowed and opened the door.
Veva’s smile lit up her face. ‘You are a lovely man,’ she said. She turned to Cassandra who was scowling behind her. ‘Isn’t he nice, Sister? We should remember that later.’ Cassandra did not reply. The girls disappeared into the house, Cassandra trailing behind, and they stood watching the people mill around. The house was bigger than it had appeared from the outside and the hallway was decorated with dozens of candles. Something shifted in Veva’s face as she remembered another ball, some time ago, where the hallway was exactly the same. The shutters came down and she disappeared somewhere inside herself.
‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Just perfect. I would lay my life on the fact that he will come and see me tonight - how very exciting.’
***
Not far away, a young man with fair hair watched the crowds leave the theatres of the West End. He held himself well and attracted many admiring glances from the ladies. It was far nicer, he thought, watching people in this area than it was further east. The east of the City held some odd memories for him. That was where he had met the woman who had transformed his life. Sir Guy Montgomery had left London, headed back to his debt-ridden estate and went about settling his debts in very satisfying ways. It hadn’t taken long for the estate to turn around, and that was when he had met Genevieve de Havilland. He often wondered what had happened to her. Still, she had not been a pet to be cosseted over, or even a child to be educated. She had been experimental; and in truth, he was a little horrified by what she had done to her brother. Although he felt no sympathy for the man, his demise held a sick fascination which had made Montgomery wonder just what else Veva was capable of.
‘Good evening, Guy,’ said a woman approaching him. She wore a scarlet gown and had jet black hair. Her eyes were green, the irises rimmed slightly with a scarlet that matched her clothing.
Guy reached out and smiled, taking her hand. He bowed over it and stood up. ‘Good evening, Clara,’ he said. ‘It’s an honour to see you tonight. I felt the need for a little fresh air; I am so pleased you accepted my invitation.’
The woman smiled. ‘My pleasure,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you didn’t feel the need for anything else tonight? I’m rather hungry, myself.’ She scanned the crowd, as if she was assessing them for the kill.
‘Perhaps later,’ smiled Guy. ‘You know, I would like to see the play first. The West End holds a certain appeal for me.’
‘But the East End is better for meals,’ replied Clara.
‘You are, of course, correct,’ smiled Guy, ‘although I don’t go there unless I have to.’
‘Quite,’ said Clara. ‘Well, I suppose I could wait a little longer if you promise to look after me tonight.’
Guy smiled. Clara was an acquaintance he had met after the Genevieve disaster. She had lived her half-life since 1832 and was well versed in civilised behaviour. It was now the accepted thing that, whenever he was in London, they would visit a show and go hunting together. It was a guilty pleasure, perhaps, but who was there to tell Guy it was wrong? His lifestyle was of his own choosing. It did not harm the relationship when Guy discovered that Clara was an expert in love-making – she had learned it well over the years and enjoyed putting it into practice. She wasn’t even sure if she had made love to the Prince; it might have been him, she had laughed, although she couldn’t swear to it.
‘It’s very interesting what one hears within society,’ said Clara, accepting Guy’s arm and walking with him towards the entrance to the theatre. ‘For instance, there is a rumour surfacing that some of our kind are stalking the human population and becoming rather adventurous around the West End. I have heard that there is apparently a group who can annihilate an entire houseful in seconds. All I can say, is that I would raise my hat to the individuals concerned regarding their expertise, but what prevents me from doing so, is the fact that we all know it is a complete waste of human life.’ She sighed. ‘There is a time and a place; it is in our nature to be secretive and they must ensure they are exceptionally careful. The last thing we want is some slayer hearing about it and crawling unfettered amidst the population.’ She shuddered. ‘Still, there is safety in numbers for our kind. We shall be quite safe tonight. The house is, as always, empty apart from myself. You are welcome to come back with me after we have eaten. I can ensure you have a perfect end to the evening.’
‘That is an offer I cannot refuse, my love,’ smiled Guy, ‘but you have piqued my interest in this group you talk of.’ He had a feeling that, if they were messy, violent kills, it was a group of relatively new and deeply crazed vampires that were storming the City. ‘How many work within this pack, do they say?’
‘That’s the thing,’ said Clara, looking up at him. ‘Nobody knows. Opinion is divided – some people say it has to be a pack, and others suggest that there may just be one highly skilled and extraordinarily powerful vampire involved.’ She smiled. ‘There are never any witnesses.’ She stopped suddenly and lifted her face to the evening breeze. It was a very faint smell, but she caught it; burning fabric, smouldering brickwork and seared flesh. ‘Oh, I say. These idiots should invest in electricity - candle-lit events are simply too much of a fire risk, nowadays.’
Guy said nothing. He was remembering another ball, lit by candles, and a dark-haired vampire who had proved herself to be vicious and unrestrained. Was it just a co-incidence, he wondered? His instinct told him she was somehow involved. Not to worry, though. It wasn’t his problem. He looked at Clara and smiled. ‘Come on, then, you beautiful woman. The theatre, dinner and an evening at leisure awaits us.’
‘How utterly perfect,’ Clara said and smiled back at him.
Present Day
As usual, Drew greeted the next day with moans and groans and promises never to drink again. As usual, Lucas ignored him and was already packing his rucksack up for the day ahead.
‘Time?’ demanded Drew, his head buried under his pillow.
‘Nine,’ replied Lucas, pulling the zip closed. He slung the bag over his shoulder and turned to survey his friend. ‘You missed breakfast.’
Drew murmured an expletive from the depths
of the covers and forced his head out. ‘So you didn’t wake me. Thanks, mate,’ he said.
Lucas shrugged. ‘I tried,’ he said. ‘Anyway, the landlady says she’s used to people like you. She’s packed you a lunch up. If you’re lucky, she might have a bit of toast left for you. I’m off.’
‘Where you going?’ asked Drew. ‘I thought we were doing this one together?’
‘That was the plan. But you slept in, mate. I’ve got to go. Got to be back for tea then up to the lime kilns.’ He couldn’t resist it. ‘Places to go, people to see. If you know what I mean.’
‘You what?’ snapped Drew. He sat up in bed, wide awake. ‘Who is it?’
‘No-one you know,’ said Lucas.
‘The girl from last night?’ pressed Drew ‘The one from the bar?’
‘The very same,’ grinned Lucas, giving in. He’d thought about her last night in bed. What harm could it do? Really? All he had to do was meet up with her; spend a couple of hours with her and then say goodbye. They were leaving the Island the morning after. If it didn’t work out, it didn’t work out.
‘So where are you off to then?’ moaned Drew. ‘You know - for this joint project of ours?’
‘I’m going to the castle and the Gertrude Jekyll Garden,’ announced Lucas heading towards the door. ‘I’m picking up my lunch from the landlady. I won’t be back until tea time, so have a good day. You know where I am if you want to meet up. It’s not that big an island.’ Drew muttered something unintelligible as Lucas closed the door on him. He headed down the narrow stairs and couldn’t help but feel a little bit curious about the nooks and crannies of the B&B. Little staircases and corridors seemed to branch off, and he couldn’t quite get his bearings.
‘Good morning,’ said a fellow guest, standing in one of the corridors. Lucas looked up and paused. It was the tall, quiet man who had been in the lounge last night when he and Drew had rolled in sometime short of midnight. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Oh. Oh, yes. Thanks.’ He felt the colour rise in his cheeks, suddenly remembering their laughter and lack of inhibitions. ‘Ah no. I’m sorry, mate. Did we keep you awake?’
The man laughed and shook his head. ‘Please don’t concern yourself about that,’ he said. ‘I assume you had a good time?’
Lucas grinned. ‘Yes. We did. Sorry again, mate. We’ll be more quiet tonight. I won’t be around for one thing. Well, not until later. Maybe.’ The man raised his hands, palms up.
‘You enjoy yourselves. I was young once. I remember the old hedonistic ways...’ he laughed. ‘They were good while they lasted.’ He paused. ‘I met some interesting people,’ he said.
Lucas was intrigued. ‘You’re not that old!’ he said. ‘Sorry. That sounded wrong. You know what I mean though...’ He decided to shut up before he dug himself in any deeper.
Fortunately, the man didn’t seem bothered. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Ancient history,’ he said, echoing Lucas’ comments from last night about Laura. Something in Lucas’ demeanour must have changed when he thought about it, because the man tilted his head to one side and stared at Lucas. ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.
‘What? Oh yes. Yeah, fine thanks. Look, I’d best go. Sorry again about the noise,’ replied Lucas heaving his bag onto his shoulder. ‘We’re all leaving tomorrow anyway. Just got to wait for the tide to turn and we’ll be off I guess.’
‘Not a problem,’ said the man and stepped back, allowing him to pass.
Lucas had the distinct impression that the man watched him all the way down the stairs. It was a little un-nerving, actually. Almost like he was reading his mind. Lucas shook the thought away and found the landlady in the kitchen, her back towards the door.
‘Excuse me, Mrs ummm... Mrs...errrr...’ he said, embarrassed that he didn’t know her name.
She turned from the bench where she was busy wrapping sandwiches in greaseproof paper and smiled at him. ‘Christine is fine,’ she said. ‘We’re not formal around here. I suppose you’ll be wanting your lunch?’ she reached behind the kettle and produced a paper bag which she held out to him. ‘Everything you could need,’ she said. ‘I’ve put a bottle of water in there, but if you want a hot drink there’s places you can get them on the island. We’ve plenty of tea-rooms.’
‘I’d noticed,’ said Lucas. ‘Thanks again.’
‘Be back for tea,’ she said. ‘It’s crab salad. You should like it. My kids grew up with it. They can’t stand it now.’ She laughed. ‘Best that they moved onto the mainland I suppose. Anyway, watch out for that tide, now. The tables tell you one thing, but with high winds and the like...’ she shook her head. ‘There’s been too many accidents recently. And if I’m not mistaken, there’s a storm blowing up.’ Lucas thought about Cass and her promise to meet him at the lime kilns at five.
‘So what’s the safe crossing time?’ he asked.
‘You need to be off the shore by four, I would say, at the latest,’ she said.
‘What about the kilns? I was heading there later on,’ he said.
Christine shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t want to be near them too close to high tide.’ She shuddered. ‘Nasty, dark place. It’s all abandoned now, you know - nothing to see. If you can go there sooner, it’s probably best. They fill up quite quickly when the tide comes in.’
‘OK. Thanks. And thanks for this,’ he said, raising the paper bag. ‘I appreciate it.’ He smiled and left the kitchen. He made up his mind to go to the kilns anyway, as he’d arranged. Cass was a local of sorts wasn’t she? She should know whether it was safe at that time as well. And if they stayed on the cliffs and didn’t try to clamber around the old, hollowed out tunnels, they would be fine: no problem.
***
The crab salad was out of this world. They all agreed it was definitely the best they’d ever tasted. The man from this morning was sitting alone, buried in the newspaper again. His salad lay partially eaten by his side and the landlady was fussing around him.
‘Don’t you like it?’ she was saying. ‘Can I get you anything else?’
‘It’s fine. I ate earlier. I made the mistake of filling up at lunch time,’ laughed the man. ‘It’s no reflection on your cooking, honestly.’
‘I could manage his leftovers,’ muttered Drew, ‘due to the fact I missed breakfast.’ He glared at Lucas.
Lucas grinned, not taking offence. ‘Well you’ve got tomorrow, mate,’ he said. ‘Make sure you fill up on breakfast then. It’s a long way home.’
‘Yeah, you’re the one that’ll be having the heavy night,’ muttered Drew, reaching for the last bit of crusty, homemade bread slathered in farmhouse butter. ‘I worked hard today, I deserve the crab salad.’
‘Yeah, you worked hard when you eventually found me!’ grinned Lucas. ‘Anyway –a heavy night? Well, we’ll have to see.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Oh, and it’s time to leave. Right. I’m off. See you later.’
‘Yeah. And I’ll text you. Right in the middle of stuff,’ threatened Drew.
‘Pointless. No signal,’ laughed Lucas. He stood up and slapped his friend on the back. ‘Catch you later.’
1904
It was grey and drizzly outside, the early December streets of London full of people and carriages rushing to their next appointment. Since Edward had come to the throne, the capital had been the centre of a dazzling social life – ideal for people to come and go as they wished, no questions asked. After all, if the King could do it, why couldn’t they?
Genevieve preferred to shun society. She’d had enough of that at the Hall. The memory of that last ball was still with her, replayed over and over as she remembered Will and the summer house. Then she would recall her brother’s face as she had borne down on him at the chapel and it would make her smile. She inhabited the world of two decades ago more and more often. For hours, she would sit on the floor and sing to herself, staring into space and living in the past. Cassandra was different. She was desperate to be amongst people, to see the operas and the plays, to visit the mus
eums and the art galleries. Cassandra would often wander out into the city alone, wanting to experience as much as she could when Veva was otherwise occupied with thoughts of Will Hartley.
Cassandra felt that she had missed out on too much living. Always, foremost in her mind, was the memory of waking up, choking in agonising pain as venom flooded through her veins. She had opened her eyes and seen that girl there; the one who had killed Will. Veva. That was it. Cassandra had opened her mouth to scream and the girl had pounced on her, covering her mouth up with a cold, hard hand.
‘Why? Why aren’t you dead yet?’ Veva kept saying. ‘What have I done wrong?’ With intense hatred in her eyes, the girl leaned over Cassandra. Cassandra saw her fangs and tried again to scream. Instinctively, she flung her arm upwards and the dark girl slammed across the room and hit the wall. Veva shrieked and ran at the bed again. Cassandra dragged herself upright and snarled. Veva had backed away and stared at her. Then she grabbed Cassandra by the throat.
‘Did you even love Will?’ she hissed. ‘Because he’s dead and you should be dead as well.’