by K. T. Tomb
Chapter Two
Alfred Covington recognized the marks immediately.
He might have passed by the woman with the disheveled, flaming-red hair and thought nothing of her, had he not happened upon her as she was trying to cover up her exposed skin. His eyes were drawn to her as his carriage passed by and, in that brief moment, he noticed the rash-like blisters on the back of her pale, slender hands. When she’d looked up at him, he could see the same rash starting to form along her cheeks.
Yes, he knew the marks very well.
She was a new one, just coming into her own, and no doubt confused.
He had been passing through Limehouse en route to Fobbing upon the orders of the Duke of Cambridge, who had been appointed to head the agency. Although on urgent business, he could not ignore the woman, knowing full well the effect the sun would have on her skin and the excruciating pain she would endure later on.
Alfred had hurried her into the seat, not caring that she was obviously suffering from something other than the burning of the sun and made certain that she was well shaded. He didn’t question the wadded-up garments in her hands. Where she had been or what activity she had been engaged in was none of his business.
“Alfred Covington at your service,” he announced, giving the reins a soft flick to start the pair of black horses that were drawing the carriage.
“Nora,” the woman replied in a low voice. “Thank you.”
Alfred wondered about her but tried to keep his eyes straight ahead. She was attractive and shapely. Her hair, though at the moment a tangled mess, was a glistening hue of copper that outshined the brass on his carriage. Though he had avoided looking directly into her eyes, it had been impossible for him to miss the rich, green hue that was often found in the eyes of those from the Emerald Isle.
“Nora is Irish?” he asked.
“It is.”
Given her features and the rather boisterous tendencies of the Irish, he hadn’t expected her to be so timid. It was likely that his proper speech and obvious societal trappings were intimidating to her. The odor lingering on her and her condition suggested that she might have been coming down from an opium high the night before. Not exactly the type who is recruited into Her Majesty’s service. In spite of his reservations about her, Alfred was intrigued. He also had compassion for her social station.
Of late, there had been a great deal of concern being raised over the conditions of those in the East End, more specifically the plight of women. A week earlier, he had finished reading Henry Mayhew’s work on the London poor, had been stirred by it, had certainly felt that something ought to be done, but hadn’t seen how he, personally, might affect the situation; up until that point.
They rode in silence a moment before Alfred was able to form some sort of offer to make her. “If you will permit me,” he began. “I can help you.”
“Help me?” she asked.
“With your problems, with your poverty, with your condition…”
“My condition? My poverty?” There was irritation in her tone as she repeated his offer back to him in questions.
“I can offer you a better life,” Alfred replied.
“A better life than this?” she sneered. “I’m livin’ my dream. I’ve got a warm and dry place to sleep. I’ve even got a bed; something most don’t have in Limehouse. I’ve got clothes on my back, and I can buy a bit to eat. What more do I need?”
In spite of her obvious discomfort, he’d stirred up her ire; a practice he ought not to make into a habit. Still, he couldn’t help pressing his point a bit further. “You could have plenty of money to spend. You could ride in fine carriages. You could wear the most fashionable clothes. You would never want for food or comforts and you wouldn’t have to do what you do anymore.”
“If you’re proposin’ marriage, I’ll have to decline,” she replied. “Those of my station don’t marry those of your station.”
“I’m not proposing marriage,” he replied, taken aback by the suggestion.
“If not marriage, then you must be askin’ to cart me back to Buckingham Palace to entertain the gentlemen there.” She laughed softly at her clever retort.
“I’m suggesting nothing of the sort.” His attempted offer had gone terribly wrong. He’d insulted her somehow, but wasn’t sure exactly how it had all come about.
“Then how am I going to have all of these comforts you’re talkin’ about? How am I to live in luxury, never want for food, ride in fine carriages, wear fashionable clothes and have plenty of money to spend? There’s one thing I know, Mister Covington, you can’t get somethin’ for nothin’. So, just what somethin’ do you want and what’s it going to cost me?”
“It will cost you nothing,” he said evenly. “Except service to Her Majesty.”
“You want me to service Her Majesty? Do you know my vocation?” she laughed.
“I don’t want you to serv—” He realized that repeating what she had said was utterly distasteful and couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Perhaps he’d made a grave mistake in assuming that Nora wanted to be saved from her condition. Still, he pressed forward. “You would be employed in one of Her Majesty’s special agencies.”
“Pull the carriage over here, Mister Covington,” she responded.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” he replied. “I’m extending a legitimate offer of employment.”
“Actually, Sir Covington,” she mocked, “it’s because we’ve arrived. Unless you plan to take me home with you and present me to your mother.”
The house Alfred stopped the carriage in front of wasn’t much. It was a decent enough house by Limehouse standards, but by Richmond Upon Thames standards, it wouldn’t pass as a shed for the storage of coal.
Alfred had little chance of refusing to help her down from the carriage. Clutching the wad of clothing, she’d all but leapt out of the carriage the moment they came to a stop.
“The conversation was intriguing,” she smiled. “In spite of my condition, but I’m afraid your offer is less believable than a fairy story.”
“I really can help you,” he insisted, not fully understanding how the woman could turn down his offer.
“I hate to be contrary, Mister Covington, but I don’t think you can.” Without further pretense, she turned away from him, made her way up the steps, and entered the house.
Chapter Three
Truth be told, Nora had been grateful for the ride. She had been in a weakened state after vomiting in the gutter. Getting out of the sun and being able to rest in the comfort of the carriage seat had lifted her spirits a bit. It was the surprising conversation that had really brought her back to life.
To assume that she, Nora Kelly, could ever live in luxury, not want for food, dress in fine clothing and have all of the comforts of life, was completely unbelievable. It was so far out of the realm of possibilities, that it had made her suspicious of him immediately. That suspicion and her instinct toward survival had forced the pain and nausea of the morning out of her system.
She knew men and their deceptive ways; even the deceptive ways of gentlemen. They visited women like her to take as much pleasure as they could while paying as little as they could get away with. Her adolescent love of Patrick Murray had taught her all she needed to know about the ways of men. Patrick had been falling all over himself to win her, up until she’d given up her virginity to him. While she set her eyes on a home, children and growing old together, he fixed his on sipping nectar from the next flower to come along; Emily O’Toole. When she caught the two of them without a stitch of clothing on—in the same hay mow where she’d given herself to him, no less—her world had collapsed around her.
“You’ve lied to me, Patrick,” she’d shouted at him.
“No more than you’ve lied to me,” he’d returned. “I wasn’t your first, like you said.”
“But you were,” she’d responded as the torrent of sobs pulled her under.
The memory of Patrick walking away and ref
using to listen to her still burned into her memory as though it had taken place that same morning. She shoved aside the painful images of her memories of home and family in Ireland and focused back on the conversation she’d had with Covington in the carriage. She smiled at her comment about “servicing the queen” and realized that that clever turn had frustrated Covington.
“All the better,” she muttered as she started up the stairway to her second floor flat.
Her mind jumped to the strange, nude woman who had been lying with her on the opium bed and wondered again what had transpired in that room before she’d lost consciousness. What had she done? Who had she serviced for free in that room? I’ll never do that again, she promised herself. In fact, it was the same promise she made to herself the last time she’d awakened sick, and the time before that, and the time before that, and… she could have gone on, but it was terrible to do so, and the churning in her stomach was warning her that her insides were wanting to attempt to become outsides once more.
Nora hurried up the stairs, rushed through the door into her apartment, and ran straight for the chamber pot in her bedroom.
“Hello Nora,” Kate and Mary said in turn as she passed through the common room.
When Nora finished heaving, she went straight to her bed and collapsed onto it.
“Did you go to Emma’s again?” Mary called out.
Nora didn’t answer. What would be the point in that?
Kate appeared in her doorway several seconds later.
“Oh, Nora, look at your face,” Kate exclaimed, moving across the room toward her. “Why didn’t you keep it covered up? You know what happens when you’re out in the sun.”
“I tried, but I had to stop and vomit.”
“It looks like you’ve stuck your hands and face in a fire,” Kate commented, her voice sympathetic.
“That’s what it feels like too,” Nora groaned. “It’s because of my pale skin.”
“It’s more than that,” Kate objected. She held up her arm next to Nora’s. “My skin is as pale as yours and I don’t burn that way.”
“Imagine if I hadn’t gotten a ride in that carriage.”
“You rode in a carriage?”
“Just for a short while,” she replied. “A man of some means—Alfred Covington gave me a ride. He said he would—”
“Who rode in a carriage?” Mary interrupted, stepping into the doorway. But her tone changed when she saw Nora’s face and hands. “Nora, you’ve blistered again.”
“I should know better than to stay at Emma’s until daylight. This happens every time.”
“You should know better than to go to Emma’s at all,” Mary retorted. “Look at you. You’re barely alive.”
“Mary, you’re not helping,” Kate growled.
“I want to know about the carriage,” Mary said, dodging Kate’s rebuke. “A wealthy man gave you a ride, you say?”
“He said he could help me with my... condition, make it so that I never want for anything again, plenty to eat, dressed in the latest fashions and live in the finest houses.” Despite the appeal of it all, Nora snorted.
“Was he proposing marriage?” Mary asked, giggling.
Nora shook her head. “He said that I would be in service to Her Majesty.”
“Queen Victoria?” Mary asked.
“Do you know of another person who goes by Her Majesty?” Kate snapped.
“But what possible service would you be able to perform for the queen?” Mary wrinkled her brow as she asked the question.
Kate’s eyes narrowed. “No doubt he was trying to take you to one of those Magdalene asylums.”
“What did you tell him?” Mary asked.
“I told him sure, I’ll go with you,” Nora snapped. “What do you think I told him?”
“It has to be an asylum,” Kate continued, almost to herself. “Those places are hell-bent on driving Satan out of soiled women. They do it by working you to your death washing clothes and delivering a continuous harangue about how disgusting prostitution is. You want nothing to do with that, Nora.”
“Of course not,” Nora responded. “And how do you know so much about the Magdalene asylums?”
“Do you remember Sarah?” Kate asked. “I saw her a while back and she told me all about it. She was taken to one of them after being approached by some wealthy woman who promised her food, care and a place to sleep. She told her she wouldn’t have to work her nasty job anymore. I could tell that Sarah regretted her decision, but couldn’t cut loose from them. I think they brainwashed her somehow.”
“Brainwash?” Mary’s eyes widened. “You mean they take away all your freedom; even to think your own thoughts?”
“That’s what it sounded like to me,” Kate replied.
“You’re not really considering his offer, are you, Nora?” Mary asked.
“No.” The force with which she voiced her answer made her stomach start to churn again. “But I need to lay back and try to rest.”
Chapter Four
In spite of the fact that Nora Kelly had flatly refused his offer, Alfred couldn’t help thinking about her and the possibilities for her as he went on his way to Fobbing.
He easily recognized the mark on her. She had a severe case of blistering on her hands and face and had only been, as far as he could gather, in the sun for a few moments. Besides that, she was clearly a prostitute, which made her another likely candidate for the newly-established agency.
He had recruited several men on behalf of the Duke of Cambridge, but he had been specifically ordered to look for some women as well. Not being particularly adept at conversing with the fairer sex, however, he’d failed to recruit a single woman up to that point. Nora Kelly had been his opportunity to turn that trend around.
“Forget it, Alfred,” he muttered to himself. “They must come willingly or it’s of no use.” With that rebuke of himself, he turned his thoughts toward his mission in Fobbing.
He had been informed that there was a particular person there who was already among the immortal dead and might be recruited into service. Recruiting such a person had its advantages because neither he nor the Duke of Cambridge would need to convince their new charge to be transformed.
Of course, working with one of the immortal dead also came at a tremendous risk. Should Covington happen upon one when he or she was thirsty for blood—or particularly aroused—he, Covington, might find a pair of fangs penetrating his own neck. For that eventuality, he was armed with a cross, garlic and, should things become particularly nasty, a stake.
Arriving in Fobbing, his thoughts were focused on the task at hand and he directed his pair of black steeds toward the abandoned and dilapidated house at the far end of Forest Lane. At one point, it had been a grand house and might have become one again, were it not occupied by a fierce immortal whose desire for blood tended to drive away those who might consider purchasing and restoring the house.
Quitting the carriage and securing the horses to the post in front of the house, Alfred returned to the boot at the back of the carriage, opened it and armed himself with his three most powerful objects. In reality, Alfred’s mission was twofold. Ideally, he would recruit the immortal into the service of Her Majesty’s agency; failing that task, he was to rid Fobbing of this particular undesirable personage. It mattered little to Alfred which path he was ultimately forced to navigate.
He wasn’t fond of vampires, nor did he despise them. He carried out whichever duty was necessary, just like he had been doing well before the Duke had recruited him to help with the new agency. Covington, after all, had been a renowned vampire hunter and had begun to accumulate a great deal of wealth due to his success; success which had attracted the attention of the Royals.
Armed with his knowledge, experience, and his weapons, Alfred strode with purpose down the stone walkway, up the steps, across the wide porch and approached the weathered door of the dilapidated house. He crossed himself, inhaled and exhaled purposefully, and reached for the knob
. Without further hesitation, he turned it, pushed the door open and stepped into the house.
Inside the door, Alfred hesitated, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. There was no need to call out and announce himself. If there was a vampire resident in the house, he’d know it within a few minutes. Even if the creature was asleep, he’d probably be awakened by the scent of mortal blood and come to greet his guest. Whether he would come like a debonair and seductive gentleman or in a rage was yet to be seen. Alfred took several steps into the room, leaving the door open to cast a bit of ambient light into the room, and waited.
He heard the hiss and the charging footsteps before he saw the dark entity materialize within the shadows. He sidestepped the figure and held up the cross, catching some of the sunlight spilling through the door upon its reflective, silver surface.
“Down!” he commanded.
The vampire shrunk away from him and slipped back into the shadow. Alfred could see his telltale glowing red eyes. “What do you want with me?” he hissed.
“To have a discussion, if you can behave yourself,” Alfred responded.
“A taste of your blood and we can talk all you like.”
“That’s not going to happen, hell-spawn. I’ve come on behalf of Her Majesty, Victoria, Queen of the Realm of England. I am extending an offer for you to live in peace among mortals, to never again thirst for that which you desire most, and to be trained to perform a special service for the benefit of the Realm.”
The red eyes flared. “I’ve no desire to serve the Realm!”
“You’ll also be able to return to the light of day,” Alfred continued patiently. He hadn’t been overly optimistic about his chances of recruiting this vampire to begin with, but he was also a realist. Recruiting a vampire allowed the agency to skip several steps of the orientation process. “You won’t want for money, food, clothing, or shelter. You will have the eternal gratitude of the Realm for your service.”