by Колин Глисон
“Goodwin, yes? Frederick Goodwin was the Runner’s brother?”
“Yes, Lord Truscott.”
“There was a Goodwin in the Tutela. It may have been him. If so, then I doubt he met his end-he or his cohort-at the hands of the undead.”
Victoria understood, and a flare of anger sparked. “But if not, I’m nevertheless absolved from my sin of passivity if Goodwin was a member of the Tutela? Mortal or no?”
“If he was a member of the Tutela, Goodwin would have been safe with the vampires,” Max reminded her. “You wouldn’t have been leaving him to his death. If he wasn’t Tutela, it wasn’t your place to determine whether he lived or died.”
“So I should have let him-”
“And,” Max continued smoothly, “if he was Tutela, it would explain his animosity toward you. The Venator who took his brother’s life.”
She didn’t like the train of this conversation, for the condemnation from Max still weighed heavily on her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left Goodwin at the hands of the vampires… but at that time, it was the only thing she could do… wanted to do.
It was as if all concepts but self-preservation had evaporated from her mind. Leaving only a single-minded need for survival. Red-tinged anger, blind wrath. Conscience-less fury.
Then she remembered. “He did say something… something about protecting his brother. ‘After all I did to protect him.’ ”
“He could have helped him turn undead to protect him. It’s been done before.” Bitterness.
Victoria looked at him sharply and recognized that he was speaking of himself. “As you did with your father and sister.”
“But Vioget has told you all of the sordid details, has he not.” Max’s voice was staccato and hard, and he turned to pick up the tangle of blades.
“I know enough from Wayren to be aware that you were young and had been tricked into believing in the promise of the Tutela. You did it to save your father’s life, and your sister’s too. They were both weak and ill.”
“Immortality. Protection from illness. Power.” He stood, holding the weapons. “Only a naive boy would believe there was no cost for such a prize.” Max turned, walking toward the cabinet where the weapons were stored.
Victoria realized that Kritanu had gone, and they were alone. “The way I understand it, the Tutela is more than a match for a naive boy. Mature and learned people like John Polidori have succumbed to their machinations.”
“Never fear, Victoria. I’ve come to terms with what I did. Why do you think I’ve dedicated my life to hunting the undead? I see no reason to wallow in self-pity or flagellate myself. There’s too much work to be done.” Max lifted one of the swords, fitting it onto its pegs inside the cabinet. He didn’t look at her as he latched it into place. “And I certainly don’t need your sympathy or pity.”
Victoria opened her mouth to reply, but Max was already out of the room.
Fifteen:
Wherein Victoria Breaks a Trust
“We called yesterday,” Lady Melly sniffed, “after we’d heard about that terrible fire. But that Verbena insisted that you were indisposed.” She glowered at Victoria. “She made us wait here in this room for an hour. Without tea.”
Victoria thought it was more likely that Lady Melly and her two cronies had refused to budge for that hour, rather than being forced to sit there… but then again, Verbena was just as strong-willed. Perhaps it had been a game of who would blink first.
Apparently, the ladies had blinked-or perhaps hunger had won out.
“I wasn’t feeling at all up to visitors yesterday, Mama,” she told her with a placating pat on her hand. In reality, Victoria felt a bit guilty for her mother’s worry- for the lines on her face seemed deeper, and the way she’d gasped upon seeing the scrapes and bruises on her cheeks and chin bespoke her concern. “But Verbena told me that you’d come, and it made me feel much better.”
“You do look rather worse for the wear,” Lady Melly said, her tone and her face softening. “Fires are terrible things.”
Victoria nodded and squeezed her fingers around her mother’s wrist. Lady Melly’s father had died in a stable fire when she was a young girl, and she’d often described the terror of the furious blaze and the screams of the horses trapped inside. “But I survived with only a few scars, and all is well.”
Lady Melly sniffed again, the tip of her nose tinged suspiciously pink. “When your maid wouldn’t allow us to see you-and I must say that I am quite offended that she should disallow your own flesh and blood to visit- we called on Rockley.” She looked at Victoria, the calculation back in her blue eyes. “It seemed the right thing to do.”
Victoria smothered a sigh. “Mama, you must understand-”
As if to forestall any declaration of her disinterest in the marquess, Melly interrupted. “He is quite besotted with you, Victoria. There’s no need to feel uncomfortable about it. It’s not as though he and Rockley-your Rockley- were brothers or any such thing. As I hear it, they’re very distantly related and it wouldn’t be odd at all. And then you would be a marchioness.”
“I’m still a marchioness,” Victoria reminded her dryly. “But, Mama, you really must cease this matchmaking. I’m a widow now, and I haven’t any real desire to marry again. Nor do I need to.”
Even as she said those words, and registered the bald disapproval in her parent’s face, Victoria felt an odd nudge deep inside. Marriage in the way Society expected of her was most definitely out of the question. But there was the fact that she was the last direct descendant of the Gardella line-as far as she knew. If she died, as Max had said, without issue…
And, if she examined things even more deeply, she couldn’t deny that being a Venator, especially Illa Gardella, was a lonely, terribly lonely, life. Even Aunt Eustacia had had a partner, someone to share it with, to sleep next to, to be held by when times became dark and frightening. Someone who understood her, and loved her. After all, Aunt Eustacia had had a brother, who had been Melly’s father, and thus she knew the line wouldn’t die with her. Perhaps it really was time for Victoria to think in that manner, and to stop taking the special potion that kept her from getting with child.
Sebastian flashed into her mind, and she smiled. He had made it more than clear how willing he was to be with her. Intimately. Whether he loved her or not wasn’t clear, but he certainly cared for her.
Unlike Max.
Victoria focused back in on her mother, who had launched into a breathless diatribe about how terrible it was to remain unmarried and alone. She let her go on for a moment longer, then said, “But Mama, you’ve been widowed for more than four years now and I haven’t heard you speak once of wedding Lord Jellington.”
Lady Melly’s barrage of platitudes abruptly stopped and she blinked at her daughter.
And then, thankfully, before she was able to gather up a full breath to respond, a knock came at the parlor door. Charley opened it and Victoria saw that behind him were not only the ladies Winnie and Nilly, but the tall, rumpled figure of James Lacy.
“Ah,” Lady Melly said, standing. The tea table rattled in her wake. “At last.”
Victoria realized that the trio of women had implemented a divide-and-conquer campaign. Lady Melly was to ascertain her daughter’s condition, and the two other ladies were to retrieve the prize and deliver him in a timely manner.
“And it was such a frightfully frightening event!” Victoria didn’t know for certain what Lady Nilly was babbling about, but whatever it was, it had been… frightening.
“Good afternoon, Mrs.-Lady Rockley,” said James. He smiled warmly at Victoria. “I’m right glad you’re feeling better today.”
She returned the smile, but without the depth of warmth. How was she going to make her mother understand that James was not going to be her next son by law? “How kind of you to call,” she said a bit stiffly.
“What a pleasure to see you again, Lord Rockley,” crooned Lady Melly. As if she were the hostess, she gestured for
him and the others to sit. “Victoria and I were just agreeing that September is a lovely time for a wed- mmph!” She gasped and jerked her leg out of range of Victoria’s pointy slippers.
“Are you quite all right, ma’am?” asked James.
“Oh, yes, indeed, pardon me, my lord,” she said. “Er… a bit of arthritis, and I’m never quite certain when it will kick”-she glared at Victoria-“in.”
“Perhaps you ought to return home and rest a bit if it’s too painful, Mama.” Her daughter smiled blandly. Then she turned to James. “I see that you recovered from the fire with nary a scratch.”
“I was lucky. And it ’pears that although you didn’t completely escape injury, you’re feeling better today. I’m glad to hear it.” His blue eyes twinkled. “I was afraid you’d be feeling too ill to join me tonight.”
Victoria opened her mouth to explain that she was, indeed,feeling the renewed throb of a headache. But Lady Melly’s strident voice overruled anything she might say, claiming that her daughter was of strong constitution and had fully recovered from her fright of the previous night.
Victoria considered whether speaking even louder than her mother would negate her claim of a headache.
“That’s quite a shame, ma’am, Lady Rockley,” James said, all charm and dimples, speaking easily over the volume of Lady Melly. “Mr. Starcasset and his friend Miss Regalado invited me to join them this evening. They claim there is some special comet that can be seen tonight in a certain location, near one of the parks. I confess, I’m not altogether sure I care about stargazing, but I thought it was a splendid excuse to see if you’d join me for a drive later tonight.”
Victoria closed her lips around the automatic declination. George and Sara had invited James to join them for an evening ride? “Of course I’d be honored to attend with you,” she replied, aware that she had just sent Lady Melly over the moon.
What more could a matchmaking mother hope for? Victoria was certain her maternal parent was imagining a romantic carriage ride by moonlight, whereas the reality was likely something much more disagreeable. Namely, a ruse to entrap someone.
But who was the intended prey: James… or Victoria?
“And where might your paramour be this evening?” asked Max. His tone implied that Sebastian’s appearance would relieve him of the taxing obligation of conversing with Victoria. “Tell me there hasn’t been a lovers’ spat. You do seem a bit… distracted.”
Distracted was one word to describe Victoria’s state of mind, but not the one she would have chosen.
It was after dinner. They had settled in the only sitting room on that floor-the small parlor that had entertained not only Lady Melly and her friends, but which also held the cupboard wherein the Gardella family Bible was kept. When Aunt Eustacia had been alive, and first acclimating Victoria to the world of the Venators, the three of them- four, when Kritanu was there, and sometimes Wayren- had sat here many times.
“I’m pleased to inform you that your plans for my future are still intact. Sebastian and I have done nothing but share wistful glances, swoon at the sight of the other, and spout poetry-all since you’ve given your blessing to the match.” Her smile was sweeter than the double-iced pink sugar biscuits favored by Lady Winnie.
Max’s lips twitched. “Ah, if only I had been witness to such a spectacle. I expect it would have provided me amusement for weeks to come.” He stretched his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Did Vioget position himself on one knee so as to look up into your crystalline eyes whilst waxing rhapsodic?”
“I believe I shall have a bit of sherry,” Victoria said. “Would you like me to pour you some whiskey? Apparently my aunt had a fondness for it, but I can’t say I share her taste.” She closed her mouth with a snap, realizing how close she was coming to babbling nervously.
“By all means.”
Victoria stood at the sideboard and prepared their drinks, then turned back to deliver the amber liquor to Max. Then she took herself to the chair near a small piecrust table where she’d sat, sharpening stakes, nearly two years ago, defending her decision to marry Philip.
A glance at the clock told her it was after nine. James was due to arrive at ten o’clock. Victoria took a significantgulp of sherry, despising the watery liquid for its weakness. And herself.
“Am I to understand that you haven’t any intention of going out tonight?” Max asked. He was looking at her over the rim of his glass. Then he drank, and put the glass back down.
“Perhaps later,” Victoria replied.
He raised his brows. “No social engagements? No vampire hunting?”
“James is to call for me later.”
“James, is it? And what does Monsieur Vioget think of this? Or are you hunting the daytime vampire?” His eyes narrowed in speculation. “You believe it’s he, don’t you. I’m not so certain.”
“Truly? How odd, since you were the one who suggested that it might indeed be he.”
“Ah, so you hadn’t considered him before my mention.” He looked utterly pleased with himself.
She stood abruptly and walked over to the cabinet which housed the Bible. “I have not seen this since the first time Aunt Eustacia told me about the legacy of the Gardellas.”
Feeling Max’s attention on her, she fumbled the small gold key into its slot. Click, click, clunk. She swung open the bifold doors, heavy and slick.
Inside the cabinet, on its gently inclining display, rested the elderly Bible.
It was heavy, with gilt-edged pages that shone stubbornly despite its age. The leather corners were rounded and bumped, but the spine was as rigid as Aunt Eustacia’s own had been. Three faded silk bookmarks fell lifelessly from their places.
She pulled out the book and placed it on the larger table in the middle of the room. She needed something to focus on, rather than the thoughts and questions running rampant through her mind.
Opening the front cover, Victoria smoothed her hand over words written in ink of varying shades of black, brown, and sepia. Listed there in the front pages were the names of the Gardellas who had accepted their calling as Venators. She touched one of the last names scribed there: Eustacia Alexandria Gardella. Below it was her own name: Victoria Anastasia Gardella. Seeing it there, its ink relatively fresh and bold, Victoria shivered.
Would there be any other names beneath hers?
Feeling the weight of Max’s gaze, she was compelled to lecture. “Aunt Eustacia told me that the original pages of this Bible were given to the family during the Middle Ages. Six hundred years ago.” She looked up, saw that he was silently sipping his drink. “A Gardella monk scribed this book in the twelfth century. I wonder if there was any connection to the monks who built the subterranean crypt Sebastian and I visited by the sewers.”
“One could contemplate the beautiful irony of monks scribing a Bible in chambers next to those penning vampire secrets,” Max said gravely. “It would not surprise me, as the monks and undead have intertwined-usually at odds-for centuries.”
The Bible’s pages had been bound, and rebound, and more pages added to include the growing family tree as the decades passed. Victoria carefully turned the crisp brown sheets. They crackled like a gentle fire. She saw images on some of them, and fading script on others, line after line. Ornate lettering, patterns, and illustrations in faded colors decorated the first letters of each book of the Bible.
Turning back to the front, she resumed scanning the list of Venator names. Catherine Victoria Gardella. An image of a vivid redhead with a flashy emerald ring and a saucy expression came to mind, and Victoria nodded to herself. Yes, she’d seen her portrait in the hall at the Consilium in Rome.
Another name, faded and further up the list, drew her attention. Rosamunde Joanna Gardella. The mystic who wrote pages of prophecy during her youth in an abbey… before she learned of her calling as a Venator.
A thought struck her, and she turned back to the end of the list. “Sebastian’s name isn’t written here,” she said, lo
oking up at Max.
“Nor is mine.” He sipped, swallowed. “That list in the front is confined to those who have descended directly from Gardeleus, with strong Gardella blood-such as yourself.”
An odd expression crossed his face and he stopped, blinking hard. Victoria tensed. But then he continued, “I believe the back of the book shows a full family tree, and also every Venator from the extended branches of the family tree-and those of us who can’t claim one drop of Gardella blood. You’ll find Zavier there, I suspect, and Brim, and Michalas as well. Or so I’ve been told.”
“I see.” A little shiver worked its way over the back of her shoulders. It wouldn’t be long now. “If I had looked more closely at the book early on, I would have known the truth about Sebastian much sooner, since you and Aunt Eustacia chose not to tell me.”
“There was no point in telling you.” Max shifted in his seat. “And Vioget should have been struck from the list years ago. He had no cause to be there.”
Knowing that this could be the last conversation she and Max ever had, Victoria closed the book and looked at him. “Why do you hate him so?”
“You ask because you know why he loathes me… but you can’t help but wonder what possible reason I could have for enmity toward him. I know he’s made his case to you.”
“There is no case to be made, Max. I understand why he… dislikes… you, and holds you responsible for Giulia’s death-even though it was by his own hand. But I also know that you’ve forgiven yourself for the horrible mistake, and that you didn’t bring her to the Tutela to hurt her. Only because you thought to help her, and that you’ve done everything you can to atone for it. But I do want to know what it is about him that makes you so disgusted.”
He looked at her, and she saw the signs lingering in his gaze. “Vioget has the calling-the blood, the innate skills, to be a Venator-and yet he rejected it. For years. I can’t forgive him for that. Nor can I understand it.”