Jane Fairfax 3 - Jane Vows Vengeance

by Michael Thomas Ford

  Miriam, who was getting up from the bed, said. “Don’t be stupid. He’s not a vampire.”

  “But he was biting you!” Jane said.

  Miriam patted her hair. “Actually, he was kissing me,” she said.

  “That’s even worse!” said Jane.

  “I was trying to find out who he’s working for,” Miriam said.

  “Working for?” Jane said. “What are you talking about?”

  Miriam poked Bergen with her toe. He remained still. She looked at Jane. “You really are the worst vampire I’ve ever met. Can’t you recognize a familiar when you see one?”

  Jane looked at Bergen. She remembered what Walter had said about the odd man reminding him of Renfield, Dracula’s bug-eating assistant.

  “Whose familiar is he?”

  Miriam sat on the end of the bed and sighed. “That’s what I was trying to find out,” she said, “before you barged in here. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  Jane, remembering why she’d come, stood up. “That’s right,” she said. “Before we talk about what to do with Mr. Faust here, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

  The sound of wild scratching distracted her. It was coming from the bathroom. “Oh, right,” Jane said. “But first you should probably let Lilith out.”

  Tuesday: Venice

  Libiam libiamo, ne’ lieti calici,

  che la bellezza infiora;

  e la fuggevol fuggevol’ora

  s’inebrii a voluttà.

  Libiam ne’ dolci fremiti

  che suscita l’amore,

  poiché quell’occhio al core

  onnipotente va.

  Libiamo, amore; amor fra i calici

  più caldi baci avrà.

  ALFREDO LIFTED HIS GLASS AS HIS VOICE FILLED THE PORTEGO OF the Palazzo Barbarigo Minotto with the opening lines of his famous drinking song. The small group of listeners, now understanding their role in the night’s performance, lifted their own glasses in return.

  “Very clever,” Jane whispered to Walter, who stood beside her. “We’re not only the audience, we’re the guests at Violetta’s party.”

  Walter sipped his glass of champagne. “It’s too bad my mother has a stomachache,” he said. “She would love this.”

  Jane said nothing. She felt terrible about the lie she’d told Walter. But Miriam had insisted on interrogating Bergen herself. She’d ordered Jane to go to the opera and make an excuse for her absence. A stomachache had seemed the easiest explanation, and so Jane had invented a bad oyster and the resulting digestive distress to explain her mother-in-law’s failure to appear.

  She was still unclear on several points regarding the night’s events, and as the performers continued to toast the joys of friendship and love, Jane went over again what she knew and did not know. She had gone to Miriam’s room assuming that Miriam was the one who had stolen the Pierrot from her room in Paris. Miriam, however, had not taken it. She had found it, she said, sitting on the floor of the elevator at the hotel just moments before Sam had gotten on and seen her holding it. Assuming this was true—and Jane had no reason to think that it wasn’t—the identity of the real thief remained a mystery.

  Then there was the matter of Bergen. Miriam continued to insist that she had lured Bergen to her room with the promise of a tryst. The very notion filled Jane with a horror beyond imagining. She tried very hard not to remember seeing Bergen kissing Miriam’s neck, but of course, having thought about it, it was all she could think about. She shuddered and drank some more champagne, hoping its intoxicating effects would dim the disturbing image.

  What she didn’t fully understand was why Miriam had suspected Bergen of having nefarious intentions in the first place. That he was a vampire’s familiar was, frankly, not surprising. From a casting point of view he was perfect for the role in every possible way. Which was probably why it had never occurred to Jane to seriously entertain the thought that that’s exactly what he was.

  Miriam, though, had suspected something. Of course, she suspects everyone of something, Jane reminded herself. Still, she couldn’t help but be reluctantly impressed. It had been a brave move to invite Bergen to her room, and it could have ended very badly for her. Jane hated to think, for several reasons, what might have transpired had she not arrived when she did. Miriam had promised to explain her suspicions later, and Jane was looking forward to that conversation.

  The primary question, though, was who Bergen’s master or mistress was. Naturally, being a vampire’s familiar required having a vampire, otherwise the role was nothing more than a pretentious affectation. And where Bergen was concerned there were a number of possibilities. Jane’s immediate assumption was that he was working with Joshua. That made the most sense, as it allowed him to gather information without having to expose himself to possible discovery. But the more she thought about it the more she realized that she couldn’t rule out the Tedious Three, Charlotte, or really any other vampire in existence. If Gosebourne knew about the Needle, there was every reason to suspect that a lot of other vampires did as well, and while many of them would write it off as a legend, many would not. And the easiest way to get it would be to keep an eye on Jane, wait for her to find Crispin’s Needle, and then take it.

  Returning to the matter of the stolen doll, she again considered various explanations. Certainly Bergen could have broken into her room and taken the clown. Really, that made the most sense. But Jane was troubled by the fact that Walter had clearly been glamored. Her assumption was that he had interrupted the thief in the act and had been glamored to make him forget what he’d seen. But Bergen was human and would have no glamoring ability. A vampire had to be involved. And that meant that whoever Bergen was working for, she or he was nearby, or at least had been as recently as their time in Paris.

  She hoped that Miriam was getting to the bottom of these matters at that very moment and that there would be news when they returned. In the meantime, she tried to enjoy the opera. When the first act ended the entire party moved into the Sala Tiepolo, so named because it featured glorious frescoes done by the artist of that name. It was the perfect setting for Violetta to be miserable in, and the soprano worked both her voice and the gilded furnishings with great success. By the time it came to move into the camera da letto for Act Three and Violetta’s inevitable tragic end, Jane had almost forgotten about Bergen and Miriam. Despite being very familiar with the libretto, she found herself hoping that this time Violetta would rally, marry Alfredo, and live happily for the rest of her life.

  But of course she didn’t. People in operas seldom do. And so they watched, tears in their eyes, as Violetta rose from her bed for one last duet with Alfredo and then expired. To preserve the mood of the evening, the audience was escorted out while Alfredo remained weeping over the corpse of his beloved. It was all very tragic and wonderful, and Jane exited into the Venetian night with a strong impulse to throw herself off a tower, or perhaps drink some poison.

  The rest of the party, however, was more inclined to drink espresso, and so off they went to a coffee bar. Not wanting to call undue attention to herself by once more claiming heartburn or fatigue, Jane went along. Miriam would be fine for another hour or so, she figured, and as it was their last night in Venice, she wanted to enjoy it as much as possible.

  Seated next to Lucy at the table, she told her friend as much as she could about the night’s events. Lucy listened, her eyes getting wider with every new detail. Thankfully, Walter and Ben were engaged in a conversation with Brodie about the architectural details of the Palazzo Barbarigo Minotto, and Brodie’s booming voice drowned out the sounds of Jane and Lucy’s conversation.

  “So you don’t think Our Gloomy Friend is behind it?” Lucy said.

  “I really don’t,” said Jane. “For one thing, I think she likes being undead. I don’t know why she would want the Needle.”

  Lucy thought for a moment. “Maybe she doesn’t,” she said. “Maybe the Needle has nothing to do with it.”

  �
��How so?” Jane asked.

  “Think about it,” said Lucy. “Ever since we got here, one thing after another has gotten in the way of your wedding. First your husband shows up.”

  “Technically he’s my husband,” Jane reminded her.

  “Then Ryan McGuinness is killed and all fingers point at you,” Lucy continued.

  “I’d forgotten that bit,” said Jane.

  “And we’re fairly certain a vampire is behind that,” Lucy continued.

  “Oh, and there’s Walter’s glamoring,” said Jane. “But honestly, apart from Joshua showing up and Ryan getting thrown off the keep, nothing else has happened.”

  “What else could happen?” Lucy said. “And it’s only been five days since Ryan was killed.”

  “Is that all?” said Jane, surprised. “It seems like ages ago.”

  “My guess is that there’s something big coming,” Lucy said.

  “But why would Our Gloomy Friend care if Walter and I get married?” Jane asked. “It doesn’t affect her one bit.”

  “Why does she have to have a reason?” said Lucy. “Maybe she just wants to see you be as miserable as she is.”

  Jane sniffed. “That would be just like her,” she said. “That whole family was obsessed with being unhappy. No wonder it rains so much in their books.”

  “Who else would want to put a stop to your wedding?” Lucy asked.

  “Miriam,” Jane said instantly. “But she wouldn’t do anything as extreme as killing someone. At least I don’t think she would. It seems a bit much, even for her.”

  “I agree,” said Lucy. “Which brings us back to Our Gloomy Friend.”

  “I still don’t know about that,” Jane said. “Whoever it is, he or she has been hanging around during the entire trip. Frankly, I don’t believe Charlotte is clever enough to keep herself hidden for that long.”

  “Even if Bergen was doing all the dirty work?” Lucy asked.

  “She’s too vain,” Jane said. “I just can’t see her being content to hide in the shadows.”

  Lucy sighed. “You vampires and your need to be the center of attention,” she said. “For creatures of the night, you certainly do like the spotlight.”

  Jane looked at her watch. “It’s almost midnight,” she said. “We should be getting back. Maybe Miriam has gotten some more information out of Bergen.”

  She waited until there was a break in the conversation the others were having, then suggested to Walter that they return to the hotel. He was only too happy to oblige, and half an hour later they were back in their room. Jane had removed her evening wear and slipped into a decidedly unglamorous pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Walter was in bed, reading.

  “I’m just going to pop in and check on your mother,” Jane said. “See if she needs anything.”

  Walter raised one eyebrow. “Really?” he said.

  “You sound skeptical,” Jane said.

  Walter laughed. “I am skeptical,” he replied.

  “For heaven’s sake,” said Jane. “You make it sound as if I slipped her that oyster myself.”

  Walter grunted and returned to his book.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jane asked.

  “Absolutely nothing,” said Walter, still reading. “Tell Mother I said I hope she sleeps well.”

  “I will,” Jane said, opening the door and going out into the hall. As she walked to Miriam’s room she congratulated herself on having played things just so. I really do make a convincing concerned daughter-in-law, she thought. Well, a semi-convincing one, at any rate.

  When she reached Miriam’s room she rapped three times on the door. When there was no answer she knocked again. And when there was still no answer, she tried the handle. She experienced a moment of déjà vu as, for the second time that night, the door opened easily. Only this time there was no one on the bed. The room was empty.

  She went inside.

  “Miriam?” she called softly.

  When there was no answer she looked in all of the usual places—the closet, the bathroom, under the bed—that a body, dead or alive, might be concealed. She found nothing. Nor was there any sign of a struggle. In fact, the room was as neat as if it had just received maid service.

  That’s when Jane realized that not only was Miriam gone, so was her luggage. There were no suitcases, no toiletry bags, no clothes thrown over the back of the chair or tossed carelessly on the floor. No Lilith or her carrying case. It was as if Miriam had never been there at all.

  Where on earth could she have gone? Jane wondered. And why?

  Clearly, something had happened. The most obvious answer was that Bergen had overpowered Miriam and done her a mischief. Really, it was the only answer. Miriam would never have just allowed Bergen to go free. And Jane doubted very much that she would have taken off without so much as a note for Walter.

  But what was Jane to do? She could hardly tell Walter that his mother had been kidnapped by a vampire’s familiar. Nor did she have any idea where to start looking for Miriam and her captor. For all she knew, Miriam was dead. She was surprised, and a little relieved, to find that this idea saddened her.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Lucy and Ben’s room. When Lucy answered Jane said, “We have a problem. Miriam is gone. Can you come down here?”

  “Of course I have that book you wanted,” Lucy said. “I’ll bring it right down.”

  “Good girl,” said Jane, knowing Lucy had just given herself an alibi that Ben would not question.

  She hung up. Not two minutes later Lucy knocked on the door. Jane opened it.

  “Wow,” Lucy said when she’d looked around the room. “She’s not just gone, she’s gone.”

  “We have to figure out what we’re going to tell Walter,” Jane said.

  “Well, obviously we can’t tell him the truth,” said Lucy. “So we’ll have to stall. Tell him she’s still not feeling well and wants to be left alone.”

  “But we’re leaving for Switzerland in”—Jane looked at her watch—“less than fourteen hours.”

  “At least it gives us some time to think,” said Lucy. “He won’t expect to see her until breakfast, and with a little luck we can put him off even longer while we look for Miriam.”

  “I should never have left her alone with Bergen,” Jane said. “But she insisted.”

  “She’s a vampire hunter,” Lucy reminded her. “She’s dealt with things a lot worse than Bergen.”

  “Good point,” said Jane. “I really shouldn’t blame myself. None of this is my fault.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly true,” Lucy said. “It’s a little bit your fault.”

  “Some friend you are,” Jane said.

  “You know it’s true,” said Lucy.

  Jane sighed. “Yes, I suppose I do,” she said. “Still, you needn’t remind me.”

  “You’d better get back to Walter. He’s going to wonder why you’ve been gone so long. Make sure you tell him Miriam is feeling worse. But don’t overdo it. We don’t want him coming down here to check on her. Do you think you can do that?”

  Jane nodded.

  “Good,” Lucy said. “Oh, should we check Bergen’s room?”

  Jane shook her head. “That would be too obvious,” she said. “Wherever they are, I’d bet anything they aren’t in the hotel.”

  “Then I guess there’s nothing else we can do tonight,” said Lucy. “At least not without causing more trouble. So try to get some rest. Maybe we’ll think of something during the night.”

  “And if we don’t?” Jane asked.

  Lucy looked at her. “If we don’t, you’ll be explaining to Walter how his vampire hunter mother disappeared while interrogating a familiar.”

  Jane turned out the lights and followed Lucy into the hall.

  “You’re really quite horrid. You know that, don’t you?” Jane said.

  Lucy turned and smiled at her. “I love you too,” she said. “Now get back to your little Indian.”

  “My what?”


  “Your little Indian,” Lucy repeated. “Remember, the Agatha Christie novel?”

  “I’d forgotten all about that,” said Jane. “Yes, I’ll get back to my little Indian. Good night.”

  While Lucy took the stairs to the next floor, Jane walked back to her room. As she did she found herself humming the rhyme about the ten little Indians. She couldn’t remember all of it, but one verse came to her.

  “ ‘Four little Indian boys going out to sea,’ ” she sang. “ ‘A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.’ ”

  She stopped just as she reached the door to her room. An idea was forming in her head. She stood very still, allowing it room to grow. Then she laughed lightly. Oh, Agatha, she thought. You are a clever old bird.

  Suddenly she couldn’t wait for the morning.

  Wednesday: Venice

  “GOOD MORNING,” JANE SAID PLEASANTLY AS SHE WALKED INTO the hotel dining room.

  “Good morning,” Chumsley called out. “Come and sit by me, my dear girl.”

  “Thank you, but no,” Jane replied. “I have something to say, and I would prefer to do it standing.”

  Walter, who had come down a few minutes before Jane (she had purposely arranged it that way), set down the glass of orange juice in his hand and looked at her. Jane avoided his gaze.

  They were all of them staring at her now, some with expressions of curiosity, some with expressions of annoyance, and some with no expressions whatsoever. Jane stood for a moment in silence, letting the tension build, then announced, “I know the identity of the murderer of Ryan McGuinness.”

  Genevieve, who was eating a croissant, set it down. “Are you confessing?” she asked.

  “No, I am not confessing,” Jane snapped. “I am identifying.”

  “And what makes you think you know who the murderer is?” said Enid. She was holding an egg cup and, with a spoon, was poking with great determination at the soft-boiled egg inside it.