by Adele Clee
“I must go. Herr Bruhn will be worried.” Ivana climbed out of bed and scoured the floor, rummaged through the pile of discarded garments.
The branding mark on her hip drew his attention. Why hadn’t he noticed it before?
“The mark on your hip,” he said as she threw her chemise over her head and wiggled into it. “Is it the same as mine?”
Her face grew solemn, her complexion pale, ashen. “Yes. It is the same.”
He stared at the thorny cross in a circle of twine. “How did you come by it?” It suddenly occurred to him that someone must have bitten Ivana, too. She must have been human once; an innocent young woman lured by a devil.
“The same way you did.” She was being deliberately vague. “It is a symbol of the suffering we must endure.”
“Who turned you?” he asked bluntly.
She glanced at the floor. “It is a long story. Too long to begin when we have so many other things we must do this night.”
Curiosity burned away. “I have often wondered about its purpose.” When she returned from her visit to Herr Bruhn they would sit by the fire, and she would tell him everything.
Disdain flashed in her eyes. “It is to remind me I am cursed, to remind me my fangs are an instrument of death. Like the crown of thorns, they tear into flesh, inflict nothing but pain and misery. It is a sign of degradation and mockery. It heralds the fall of man.”
“And so you branded me for the same reason? To remind me of all that I am.”
She did not answer at first. “I branded Elliot and Alexander for the same reason.”
Why could she not speak plainly? Why was every question met with a cryptic response?
“And what of me, Ivana? Why did you brand me?”
“There is no time now. We will talk when I return.”
He sensed there were still many secrets buried beneath her charming countenance, perhaps harrowing experiences she struggled to reveal.
Ivana stepped into her dress, pulled it up and fastened the buttons, brushed the knots from her hair, washed her hands and face in the bowl of cold water. She never spoke a word, never glanced in his direction.
Well, he would give her something to contemplate during the carriage ride through the forest.
“I find I prefer to think of the mark in a different way,” he said, as he had ever been overly concerned with it and certainly did not see it in the same grotesque way she did. “To me, it is a symbol of hope. A sign that goodness can prevail even in the darkest times.”
Ivana gave a weak smile. She walked over to him, took his hand and kissed it gently, closed her eyes briefly as though searing the moment to her memory.
“Faith is a powerful thing, Leo. Let us hope you have enough for both of us. I have a feeling we will soon be in need of divine intervention. We are going to need all the help we can get.”
Chapter 11
“Do you think we should have told them everything we know?” Grace said as she stood at the bedchamber window staring up at the ominous building towering above the trees. The sight of the conical spires caused a deep sense of foreboding.
Evelyn came to stand at her shoulder. “The wench told us nothing other than Frau Lockwood visits a house in the village every evening. If anything, it was better we remained silent.”
Grace turned to face her. “How so?”
“Think about it. If Frau Lockwood leaves the castle to visit the elderly gentleman, then it will be easier for them to rescue Leo. With any luck, their paths will not even cross.”
“I do hope you’re right.” Grace could not hide the nervous edge to her tone. While Elliot had told her about the terrifying night in the mausoleum, she believed painful feelings of bitterness and resentment still lay buried deep within.
How would he fare when forced to confront the woman he blamed for stealing his humanity? What if the experience changed him? Grace wanted everything to be as perfect as it had been during the first few weeks they’d spent in Yorkshire.
“I have a strange feeling everything will work out just fine,” Evelyn said confidently. “In truth, I think they needed to come back here. They needed to confront the demons of the past.”
“That’s what scares me.” Grace glanced out of the window; the haunting sight of the full moon caused a shiver to run down her spine. “What if they don’t come back? What if they find others with the same affliction living in the castle? What if they want to drink blood openly and freely without the need to hide it from the world?”
Evelyn grasped her upper arms. “You’re starting to sound irrational.” She forced Grace to look at her. “Elliot loves you. You will need to find a way to control your emotions if we are going to be any help to them.”
Help to them?
What on earth could they do when faced with a devil in the guise of a temptress?
“What? Do you have a plan in mind?” Grace noted the sly smirk playing on Evelyn’s lips. “You do! I have seen that mischievous look in your eye numerous times before.”
Evelyn’s smirk turned into a beaming grin. “Of course. Why do you think I told you to shape the candle wax and put a blob in each ear?”
The mere mention of wax caused the itching to return. Grace scratched at her ear convinced remnants were still lodged inside the small canal. “I assumed you knew they would be over-protective. I assumed you would take umbrage at being manipulated, at losing your free will.”
“I refuse to be treated like a child,” Evelyn said with a firm nod. “If I want to risk my life to save the man I love, then that is my choice to make.”
“I must say I am somewhat relieved. Every minute spent standing by this window feels more like a day. Another hour and I would be fit for Bedlam.”
Evelyn took her hand and patted it gently. “Well, we would not want that. Now before we can do anything, we must check to see if the wax plug worked. When Elliot commanded you to stay in the room, did you do what I said?”
Grace nodded. “I hummed a tune in my head and stared at him blankly.” It had not been an easy task, but it helped that she imagined she was listening to her sister, Caroline.
“Good. Hopefully, the wax will have helped to muffle the sound.”
“It must have worked as I struggled to follow the conversation around the table. What made you think of using candle wax?”
“I don’t know. The thought just popped into my head. I recalled that in the Greek tale Odyssey, Circe tells Odysseus to make plugs for their ears from beeswax so they would not fall prey to the sirens song.” Evelyn shrugged. “I hoped it would work in the same way, but I am a little sceptical.”
Grace gave her a hug. It was the only way she knew to express her pride in her friend’s ingenious plan. “I would never have thought of something so clever. If it had been left up to me, we’d still be sat in this room come the morning.”
Evelyn rubbed Grace’s upper arms as she stepped back. “Let us see if it worked before you offer any more praise for my inventiveness.”
They turned and looked at the door, took hesitant steps towards it as though they expected to find a jeering crowd surrounding the hangman’s scaffold on the other side.
Evelyn turned the key, grabbed the handle and exhaled. “Well, here goes.” She opened the door and waved her hand for Grace to attempt to step over the threshold.
“Elliot will be furious with me if this works,” Grace said, imagining the look on his face if he returned to find their room empty. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the hall. The sudden rush of satisfaction made her jump and clap her hands. “It worked. Good heavens.”
Evelyn chuckled nervously. “What are the chances it worked for you but not for me? Alexander can be very domineering though he often struggles to form coherent sentences when I look at him in a certain way. Let’s hope his mind was on other things and his words lacked the conviction needed.”
With ease and with a cheer of elation, Evelyn joined Grace out in the hall.
“It’s rather gratifying to know we
are capable of weaving magic of our own,” Evelyn said looking terribly pleased with herself.
Grace straightened and, with a renewed sense of confidence, said, “So, we have managed to evade our captors. What now?”
Evelyn thought for a moment. “We will visit the elderly gentleman who lives at the end of the street. The wench said he cares for the orphan children of the village. So we will say we have come at Frau Lockwood’s behest and wish to make a financial contribution to the cause.”
“What if Frau Lockwood comes to see him while we are there?”
“The wench said she goes to see the children. Surely they’ll be tucked up in their beds at this late hour. Besides, I doubt she would cause us any harm while in the presence of witnesses. She also said that the children are often seen playing outside, so they do not possess the same affliction.”
Grace found the whole thing baffling. It was as though Frau Lockwood and the devil woman were two different people. On one hand she appeared to be caring and nurturing. On the other hand, she was capable of the most evil, inhumane acts.
“Why do you think she goes to visit them?” Grace asked curiously.
Evelyn threw her hands up. “I haven’t the faintest idea. But I remember the feeling I had in my stomach the night I found Alexander at Stony Cross. My mind told me to take a different path, but my feet refused to follow. I have a similar feeling now. We have no choice but to go where our hearts lead us.”
“Well, if nothing else, I should like to hear about the children. The gentleman must surely be kind and generous for giving them a home.”
What was the worst that could happen? The devil woman could poison their blood, could infect them with the same debilitating affliction. Grace could cope with anything as long as she had Elliot by her side. Nothing could be as terrifying as the thought of losing him.
“Herr Bruhn,” Evelyn suddenly chirped. “That’s what she said his name was.”
“Come, let us get our capes,” Grace said with some enthusiasm. They would go now while she felt confident. “It has started raining again, and there’s every chance the old man won’t even let us in.”
Ten minutes later, they stood outside the door of Herr Bruhn’s house, threaded their arms and huddled together as a way to suppress the shivering. Evelyn knocked once, knocked again when he failed to answer.
“Perhaps he is busy with the children,” Grace said glancing at the upstairs window.
“As I said, they are bound to be in bed at this late hour.”
Evelyn was about to knock for a third time when they heard the shuffling of feet behind the door, followed by the clunk of a lock opening. As the door creaked ajar a few inches they saw the old man peering out at them, confusion marring his already wrinkled brow.
“Good evening, Herr Bruhn,” Evelyn said with all the confidence of a lady of her station, although they had already agreed not to use their titles. “I am sorry to call when it is so late. I am Evelyn Cole, and this is my good friend Grace Markham. Frau Lockwood told us about the children and asked us to call and speak to you about making a financial contribution to your worthy cause.”
Herr Bruhn’s apprehensive gaze scanned them from head to toe. “Frau Lockwood asked you to call?”
“Yes, we met her up at the castle on the hill.”
Herr Bruhn’s countenance suddenly brightened. “Of course, of course.” He opened the door wide. “Please, come in out of this nasty rain.”
The old man hung up their damp capes and escorted them into a small parlour.
“Oh, what miserable weather,” Evelyn said, patting her hair.
“Please, take a seat by the fire.” He gestured to the two chairs hugging the hearth. “I shall just go and get a stool so I can join you.”
They sat down, grateful for the heat generated by the roaring flames.
Grace leaned forward and whispered, “It’s rather small considering he has so many children to care for.”
“Yes,” Evelyn replied with a weary sigh. “But it feels comfortable and homely. I could happily spend my days snuggled in this chair reading a book.”
Herr Bruhn shuffled back into the room, placed the wooden stool between the two chairs and sat down. “I must say it is a joy to have company this evening.” He suddenly shot to his feet. “Forgive my rudeness. I have not offered you refreshment.”
Grace waved her hand. “Please sit down. We have only just eaten.”
Herr Bruhn nodded as he settled back into his seat. The dark circles framing his eyes marred his cheerful countenance. His lips were dry and chapped, his complexion pale and drawn. A man of his years must surely struggle to cope with energetic infants.
“Frau Lockwood spoke very highly of the work you do here,” Evelyn said.
“I do not see it as work. The children are my family. Frau Lockwood is an angel sent to do the Lord’s bidding. Without her tireless efforts, we would not be able to care for them as we do.”
Grace swallowed down her surprise. How could a woman be an angel to one man and a devil to another? Perhaps there had been some mistake?
“Does Frau Lockwood come to visit you every evening?” Grace asked, wondering what the old man knew of her affliction.
“Yes, yes. She comes to read to the children and to put them to bed. It gives me a chance to eat my supper and tend to my wife who is still ill in bed.”
Grace felt a rush of relief, quickly replaced by a feeling of dread. As the children appeared to be in their beds, Frau Lockwood must have already been and left. She would be on her way back to the castle.
“She told us she cannot help you during the day, which is why we thought we could contribute. With the extra funds, you could employ someone else to assist you.” Grace was sincere in her offer. The old man looked so tired and weary she felt compelled to help. Judging by the look of pity on Evelyn’s face, she was of a similar mind.
Herr Bruhn clapped his frail hands. “That would be wonderful. Frau Lockwood is so busy during the day, and she does so love to read her folk tales. I know she worries terribly, worries that she cannot do more for them.”
“We were told the children are orphans,” Evelyn said, “but what happened to their parents? Was there an illness in the village?”
Grace knew why Evelyn had sought to pry. Were their parents suffering from the same terrible affliction? Was guilt the reason for Frau Lockwood’s involvement?
Herr Bruhn narrowed his gaze. “Frau Lockwood did not tell you?”
“No. Perhaps she thought it would be best if you did.”
“Ah, I see.” The old man sighed. “She finds it too distressing to speak of. Perhaps it is not for the ears of such gently bred ladies.”
Evelyn sat forward. “We would like to understand.”
Herr Bruhn was silent for a moment and then nodded. “There is a waterfall but a mile or two from here, high up in the hills. They claim the waters flow from Heaven, that they have a spiritual potency to heal all wounds. Some fifty years or more an Englishman stumbled upon this place on his journey to Italy. He spoke of the magical waters, of the beauty to behold here and ever since it has been one of the attractions for the fancy lords on their Grand Tour. Of course, it is all nonsense. It is just a mountain stream after all.”
“Forgive me,” Grace said not meaning to be impertinent, “but what has that got to do with the children?”
“Many of the gentlemen who come here are on expeditions, expeditions of a debauched nature. They are not interested in the paintings, the beautiful statues or magnificent scenery. They care not for the mystical waters. Their interests lie in wine and women. They care not for the devastation they leave behind.”
They were all silent for a moment. There was a gravity to his words, a hint of contempt. As always, Evelyn’s logical mind deciphered his meaning.
“You mean these children are the offspring of English lords who pass through here?” she asked, and Grace could sense her apprehension while they waited for his answer.
“They are. The gentlemen move on. The women, well, some do too.”
Grace put her hand to her throat. Poor little innocent hearts and minds discarded by men who were indifferent to their plight. Anger flared. If they were in London, she would race round to the nearest ball and call out the scoundrels for their callous disregard.
“I see,” Evelyn said with a sigh.
“My heart feels heavy when I think of it,” Herr Bruhn said, “but the children lift my spirits.”
Grace smiled. “They must truly be a blessing to you.”
“They are,” he nodded. “Would you care to see them? They are sleeping, but it would not hurt to peer around the door.”
Grace locked gazes with Evelyn. She knew they were both struggling with various conflicting emotions, and wondered if the same questions burned in Evelyn’s chest. Had the golden-haired devil chosen to curse the men who behaved so recklessly? Had their husbands been just as cruel and indifferent during their adventures abroad? She could not imagine either Elliot or Alexander turning their back on a child. Indeed, she prayed there was a flaw in her logic. Perhaps she was not thinking clearly, her mind being somewhat overwrought and irrational.
“Yes,” Evelyn began, sucking in a deep breath. “We would like to see the children.”
Herr Bruhn led them upstairs to a chamber at the far end of the landing. “This is where the girls sleep,” he said using both hands to ease the door from the jamb.
They peered inside at the two young girls sleeping in their wooden beds. Grace’s heart lurched. They looked so serene, so utterly peaceful in slumber with their silky hair fanned across the pillows, with the comforting rise and fall of their chests as they drifted in and out of dreams. In those precious hours of sleep, all the people in the world were equal. There were no rules to separate them, no debilitating diseases to mark them as different. There were no emotions at play, no feelings of sadness or loneliness.
They crept back out into the hall.
“The boys sleep here,” Herr Bruhn whispered moving to the door nearest the stairs. “When they are not arguing that is.”