Jane and the Damned

by Janet Mullany

  “The militia’s gallantry is of little use against Bonaparte’s army.”

  “What will happen?”

  Clarissa shrugged. “We shall go on. The rest of them—oh, they’ll scurry around and panic, and in a century this will seem as nothing.”

  “But …” The water turned reddish brown and cloudy as Jane turned the soap in her hands. “Then why is Luke talking to Colonel Poulett of the Somerset Fencible Cavalry downstairs?”

  “Is he?” Clarissa sounded uninterested. “Possibly it amuses him. You must wash your hair, Jane.”

  Jane closed her eyes as Clarissa poured water from a ewer over her head and scrubbed scented lotion into her hair.

  “Why is Luke so cold to me?” Jane asked.

  “What do you expect? You turn up at his house covered in blood and stinking of garlic, which many will find offensive. You make your first kill without him being present, which is a grave discourtesy and you have not sought his advice on finding someone on whom to dine. Do you wonder at it?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “You will learn.” She raised her voice. “Yes, Ann, I know you are at the door. Come in, you insolent girl. Very good. Pray clean the dirt from Miss Austen’s shoes.” She took a gown from the maid and held it up for Jane’s approval. “This should do well enough.”

  “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” So it was, a white muslin with a gauze silver overdress.

  “Ann will help you dress. I have business downstairs. When you are ready, Ann will take you to join us.” Clarissa stroked the maid’s neck. “Maybe I shall call for you later, my dear.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” When Clarissa had left, Ann said, “So you’re a new one, then, miss.”

  “I suppose I am.” She hesitated. “Do you mind being bitten, Ann?”

  “Mind? Ooh, miss, it’s better than anything. Better than gin or plum cake or Christmas, and you won’t get a baby from it. And the Bible says you can do it and it’s not a sin.”

  “It does? Whereabouts?” Try as she could, Jane could not think of any Bible passage condoning relations with vampires.

  “Well, miss, it doesn’t say you can as much as it doesn’t say you can’t.” She wrapped a towel around Jane and giggled. “Some girls give themselves to vampire gentlemen, for they won’t leave you with a baby or a disease, but I’m saving my virtue for marriage with my young man.”

  “And your betrothed doesn’t mind that you …”

  With brisk efficiency Ann dropped a clean shift over Jane’s head and proceeded to lace her into her stays. “Oh, not at all, miss, for I make more than him in vails and the more we save, the sooner we shall marry. Shall I help you with your hair, miss?”

  “No, I can do it myself.” But when Ann stepped forward and took the comb from her hand she allowed her to do so.

  “You still have a reflection, miss. You must be very new. I’ll take you downstairs now.”

  Even if Jane had not entered a drawing room full of the Damned, this gathering was unlike any other she had seen. The room itself was far more opulent and fashionable than any she had ever visited, its walls decorated with painted panels and with gorgeous silk hangings at the windows. The furniture, also upholstered in silk, consisted mostly of sofas in the classical style, or heaps of satin pillows forming inviting nests. Gauzy draperies suspended from testers created fantastic tents, in which entwined bodies were visible. The air held an enticing, spicy scent.

  Blood.

  She walked into the room, her feet sinking into the luxurious carpet, self-conscious in her borrowed finery but aware that her elegant entrance made no impact whatsoever upon the gathered company. No gentlemen sprang to their feet; in fact, the gentlemen who lounged upon the sofa opposite were otherwise occupied. Clarissa lay between them, her slippered feet upon the thighs of one while she guided the wrist of the other, the beautiful young man whose company she was so anxious to retain, to her lips. As Jane watched, she blew on his wrist, released his hand and then pulled his head to hers for a long, passionate kiss. She withdrew her head from his, smiled, and then lifted her face to his to run her tongue over his lips.

  “Don’t stand there staring.” Luke came to Jane’s side and pushed her forward.

  He was accompanied by Colonel Poulett, who looked excessively ill at ease. Jane saw the colonel gaze around the room, noting the amorous play that took place on nearly all the sofas and pillows. A woman walked forward and ran her finger along the gold frogging of his uniform coat. “Why Colonel, your heart beats so fiercely. I should fear to engage you in battle. You must be a formidable opponent.” She parted her lips to reveal herself en sanglant.

  “Behave yourself, Maria. There will be time for dalliance later.” Luke walked past Jane into the center of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, our friend Colonel John Poulett has a proposition to make to us. Mark his words well.”

  Colonel Poulett stepped forward, incongruous in his uniform. “Ladies and gentlemen, the bridge to the city has been taken and within hours we shall negotiate a surrender. We have fared badly in the skirmishes in the streets and we fear retaliation on the populace should the fighting continue.” There were a few brief exclamations; one of the liveried servants cursed and then looked around guiltily. “We have heard that Portsmouth and Dover and London itself have fallen. We do not know the whereabouts of the Royal Family, and we expect the worst. Our only hope is that the Navy may cut off French supplies, but until then we must hinder the movement of Bonaparte’s troops. Undoubtedly there will be a curfew in the city at night and it is then that the French will move weapons and supplies. I understand that the French intend to leave a garrison quartered here in the city and to store munitions and supplies, probably in the city’s churches. We beg for your help, for you can do what an army cannot.”

  “So, you think we seek to prove ourselves?” A voice came from the shadows that made Jane start and shiver with fear and anticipation as recognition thrummed through her body. Once when she was very young and walking with her father she had lost sight of him, bursting into howls of fear and abandonment before he appeared and swept her into the blissful refuge of his arms. She remembered the piercing joy when Tom Lefroy smiled at her across a crowded ballroom, the recognition of two like minds thinking the same thoughts, the happy anticipation of talking and flirting and touching hands. And kissing. She’d never told anyone of that, not even Cassandra.

  It was he, she was sure, the one who had created her. Mr. Smith.

  She came to her senses in the midst of an argument that occupied all the vampires in the room, the women as articulate as the men.

  “Of course we should fight!” Clarissa said. She sat upright on the couch between her two companions. “What else is there to do?”

  “This is not a game, ma’am,” the colonel said. “Neither is it a fit pursuit for ladies …” He paused as she parted her lips and displayed herself en sanglant.

  “You think not, sir?” She rose in one fluid, graceful movement, pushing the beautiful young man aside. He slumped against the arm of the sofa, eyes closed, a smile on his lips.

  “Clarissa!”

  She ignored Luke’s warning and approached the colonel with a sinuous, predatory stride. “Try me, Colonel.”

  He looked alarmed. “Ma’am, I …”

  In a moment Clarissa had felled him, her slender hands holding his wrists, pinioning him to the floor. “Not a fit pursuit for ladies, sir? Can you escape?” Her gaze was on his neck.

  “Enough, Clarissa!” Luke strode forward and grasped her arm.

  She raised her head and snarled at him.

  “Let him go, Clarissa.” Again, that familiar voice from the far shadows of the room.

  Clarissa rose to her feet, looking distinctly sulky, and returned to the couch.

  Colonel Poulett stood and brushed off his uniform. “I understand you perfectly, ma’am. Yet even your immortality will not withstand the effects of a cannon shot. War is not a polite business, ma’am, and neither
is it an entertainment.”

  Clarissa’s lip curled. “My words, sir, indicated there was no alternative for us. We are obliged to drive out the French, for we have our own quarrel with them for what they have done to our kind. You are correct, Colonel. We can survive neither cannon shot nor Madame la Guillotine.”

  “So we are decided, then? Does any of us wish to speak further?” Luke waited for a response.

  “What do we gain from this?” A handsome fair-haired man strolled forward. A woman, her loosened gown revealing most of her bosom, hung on his arm, a dazed smile on her face. “And surely you do not expect us to fight alongside the rabble of the town?”

  “Your reward will be the satisfaction of knowing you have done your duty and the thanks of a grateful nation,” Poulett replied. “As for the rabble of the town, as you call them, I assure you there are plenty of them who are equally ill at ease in fighting alongside the Damned. You will have to make the best of it, sir.” Jane could see he was doing his best not to stare at the woman’s exposed breasts.

  “So we will receive no reward of a more material nature?”

  “Pray do not be so vulgar, James. This is a matter of honor.” Luke glared at the speaker, and then stepped forward and pulled the woman’s gown into place. She giggled and tipped her head to one side, presenting her neck to him.

  “His Majesty may well be prepared to consider something of the sort,” Poulett said. “That is entirely out of my control, sir.”

  James shrugged and hoisted the woman into a more upright position as she began a slow slide toward the floor. “This one proves tedious. I tire of her.”

  “Revive her, else she’ll be dead by morning,” Luke said. “Are we in agreement, brothers and sisters?”

  A chorus of “ayes” resounded through the room, followed by a silence when Luke asked if any dissented.

  “Excellent. England thanks you,” Colonel Poulett said, and then addressed Luke. “I must leave you now, sir. I have to negotiate the terms of our surrender.” He bowed and turned away. His face showed despair and exhaustion, and Jane, feeling as though she had intruded on his most intimate thoughts, looked away.

  But she could wait no longer. She pushed through the room—a dance set was forming, the musicians having picked up their instruments—and to the double doors that stood open revealing a card room. Mr. Smith, in shirtsleeves and silk breeches, sat at a table with some others, frowning at the cards in his hand. James, with his female companion clinging to his arm, passed by Jane and took his place at the same table.

  As Jane approached Mr. Smith placed a handful of gaming pieces on the table.

  “Sir!”

  He looked at her and there was a moment of recognition before his face became a polite mask. He gave his companions a knowing smile and turned his attention to his cards.

  “Mr. Smith, what is this? Why do you not speak to me?”

  He laid his cards on the table. “Madam, I regret I do not have the honor of your acquaintance.”

  “But—but you do. Do you not remember? You—”

  “Pretty enough, if somewhat green,” one of the others at the table commented. “Your play, I believe, William. James, why do you not give that girl to her to deal with?”

  “An excellent idea.” James shoved the half-conscious girl off his lap and toward Jane. The girl giggled and wrapped her arms around Jane’s waist. “Here, make yourself useful. Revive her.”

  Jane disentangled the girl from her, pulled the descending gown into place, and shoved her onto a nearby chair. “Mr. Smith—”

  “What is this, Jane?” Luke joined them. “William, your charge is safe? Excellent. Come, Jane, do not bother the gentlemen.”

  “Stop treating me as though I am a child!” She shook off his hand. “This is he. This is Mr. Smith.”

  “On the contrary, ma’am, my name is William and I do not believe we have ever met, although I am delighted you wish to spend some time with me. After the game, of course.” He turned his attention to the table.

  Luke looked from Jane to William and his face hardened. “To my study, sir, if you please. You too, Jane.”

  William stood and his chair tipped backward with a thud onto the fine carpet. “You do not have the authority to speak to me so, Luke.”

  Luke’s canines lengthened. “I care not for age and rank. What you have done may well undermine us all in these perilous times. Have you forgotten France already? Your memory will be refreshed, I am sure, when a guillotine is erected and the tricouleur flies above every town in England.” He turned to Jane with an irritable air. “You should not be en sanglant in polite company, if you please. It is most improper. Correct yourself.”

  “This is polite society? I do beg your pardon. As for my teeth, I regret they seem to have a mind of their own.”

  “Good God, you know nothing yet and I am to blame. Come with me.”

  She dodged away from him before he could take her arm, and walked with him through the tables of card players and the dancers, into the hall, and into a room at the back of the house. Recent signs of male activity were in evidence—Luke’s coat flung over a chair, the scent of tobacco, a half-full bottle of claret and two empty glasses. A map of the city lay on the desk.

  “Sit, if you please.” Luke bent to light a spillikin at the fire and touched it to an oil lamp that sat on the desk. William, who had followed them, stalked to the fireplace and kicked at the coals.

  The room filled with light, allowing Jane to see once again the features that had so enchanted her at the Basingstoke assembly, the handsome aquiline nose and sensual mouth, the piercing dark eyes and straight brows. She remembered his mouth on hers, and yearned for him to touch her or even acknowledge her, but he stared resolutely into the glowing heart of the coals.

  Luke propped himself on the edge of the desk and sat, one foot swinging. “This is a fine predicament, William. She’s fed from me. If we had time it would be a different matter, but the French are underfoot and I have other business on my mind.”

  “I regret I too am otherwise occupied.” William shrugged. “I cannot be Bearleader to both, and the other is of the greatest importance.”

  “Why did you do it?” Jane asked.

  Both men turned and stared at Jane as though she had spoken out of turn, and it struck her that she probably had, by their standards.

  “Was it for sport?” she continued. “You thought so little of me that you used me and abandoned me? Knowing you had another—another engagement? I know, that is the wrong word; you know my meaning, I think. You have damned me and made me a stranger to my family—oh, good God, they do not know where I am. I must return immediately.”

  “Do not agitate yourself,” Luke said with slightly more kindness than he had shown so far. “I have sent them a note explaining that my sister and I passed by in our carriage and persuaded you to dine with us.”

  “In the middle of a battle?” Jane said, incredulous.

  “Yes, with you wandering out to take the air wearing your servant’s clothing. Most strange, is it not? But to return to our problem, William, I have taken her on and you know there will be difficulties. Regard how she yearns for you.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir, I am able to speak for myself, and I assure you I do not yearn for anyone!”

  Luke ignored her. “The bond between me and her barely exists. She has drunk from me once and now you reappear. Her metamorphosis will be difficult at best. She may never reach her full strength.”

  William shrugged. “It was the whim of a moment. I needed to dine, I found her charming and pretty, and I created her. May I remind you, my dear sir, of the most urgent business which I undertook for the sake of Britain?”

  Luke shook his head. “We’ll talk later, William. I am afraid you are stuck with me, Jane.”

  “No, I am not. I am here to take the cure and that is what I shall do. I hope the French will allow the sick to take the waters. If not, then I shall die.” She stood. “Thank you for your hos
pitality, sir. I must return home. I want to be with my family. I want my sister.”

  “Oh, good God, tears.” Luke shoved a handkerchief into her hand. “Well, it might be for the best. I am afraid you might not be cut out to be one of us after all. I shall see you home.”

  In silence they left the house.

  “We seem always to be saying farewell, Jane,” Luke said as they approached the house. The body of the soldier still lay on the street. “I shall remove the corpse for you lest it cause your family any embarrassment. I regret I failed you.”

  “You did not.” She hesitated. “Thank Clarissa for the loan of her gown. I shall return it soon. Thank you, and I wish you well, Luke.”

  Chapter 8

  Jane prowled the bedchamber, pausing to stroke the delicate fabric of Clarissa’s gown, which now lay crumpled on the bed. She half imagined a faint odor of blood, even a scent of Luke himself, rose from the garment. She glanced down in distaste at the gown she had changed into, a modest striped cotton day dress that was once a favorite but now seemed dull and unbecoming. But it was not only a desire for finery that caused her restlessness. She needed to feed again, and yet in a matter of hours she would go to the Pump Room and take the waters for her cure. Cassandra had taken one look at her this morning and fled, muttering that she would see about some beef tea, if there were any beef in the house, and how would they buy food with all these Frenchmen in the city.

  Downstairs there was a commotion, a loud banging at the door and shouting, male voices raised in anger, and the clump of booted feet in the hall. Something fell over with a crash.

  Her father’s voice and her mother’s sobs joined the hubbub. Jane could make out some French words. So they were in the house! How dared they!

  She ran downstairs to find her parents with a French officer and a couple of soldiers in the hall, a side table lying smashed on the floor, and much shouting. The footman leaned against the wall, bleeding from the mouth.

  She looked away quickly, but it was too late. Already she hungered, becoming en sanglant. She raised a hand to her mouth and touched the exquisitely tender, aching canines, which retracted beneath her fingertip. See, Luke, I don’t need you after all.