Her grey-violet eyes were full of amethyst shades that only vampire sight could perceive; her expression was an intriguing mixture of passion and seriousness. Unlike Madeleine, who was all sparkling surface, she kept her inner self closed away behind filigree doors and veils. Karl wanted to see her smile. He said, “Tomorrow we go to your aunt’s beautiful house again. I hope you have not changed your mind about singing.”
“I gave you my word, didn’t I?” Light came to her face, and the link flowed between them again, a shared unspoken secret. “I’ve practised a song with Maddy. Anyway, I can’t escape now.”
“Why not?”
“Henry is going to stay with his parents and he wanted me to go with him instead of to Parkland. But I told him I can’t let Maddy down.”
“You didn’t want to go away with your fiance? I think you are being rather cruel to Henry,” said Karl.
He hoped his teasing would not upset her. She only lifted her shoulders, half-smiling and half-sad. “I don’t think he really cares what I do,” she said.
***
Charlotte leaned her head back against the upholstery and gave herself up to the clean wind blowing hard into her face. She let sensation replace thought until there was nothing but the noise and movement of the motor car as it sped along the leaf-strewn lanes, trees rushing by in a blurred glory of tangerine and bronze and plum-red. Hopeless to keep on thinking, I must not want what I can’t have.
Normally, she and Madeleine and her father would have been driven to Hertfordshire by Maple, but Maddy had contrived to be offered a lift in Karl’s elegant dark red Hispano-Suiza. The next thing they knew, Father had found some excellent reason for Charlotte to go with them. Madeleine sat in the front next to Karl, talking with him as he drove, their words carried away on the wind. Charlotte was in the rear seat, knowing exactly what she was; an unwanted chaperone. She tried not to mind, yet she could not shake off a wistful sadness. Her companion in the back seat was a case containing a cello, borrowed from a Cambridge music society for Karl to play.
She did not wish that Henry was with them. She only wished that Madeleine was not—and then felt guilty for it.
Charlotte couldn’t say why one conversation with Karl had made such a difference to her, yet it had. That night she had met him in the study—some weeks ago now—he had ceased to be a terrifying figure and had become a friend. Strange and wonderful transformation. Now, in the euphoria of overcoming her fear, she wanted to talk to him all the time, as if to keep proving and proving to herself that the change was real. Still nervous, yes, but alight with a kind of delicious excitement that she had never experienced before. It felt right that they were friends, but only friends—so why was it so difficult not to resent Maddy?
The lanes grew narrower and deeply rutted, forcing Karl to slow down to a few miles an hour. At the gates of Parkland Hall he stopped the car to let a farm cart across the entrance. The shaggy white horse rolled its eyes at the Hispano-Suiza; the farmer, muffled in scarf and cap, called out a cheerful, “Thank you, sir. Mornin’!” as they passed by. Then Karl steered the car on to the drive that lay like a grey ribbon across the slopes of the estate.
Charlotte was pleased to see David’s Bentley already in front of the Hall. A footman was unloading his luggage. The front doors stood open and Newland was in the doorway, a broad grey-haired figure impeccable in black. He was always correct and disinterested, as a good butler should be. Charlotte knew he was fiercely loyal to Aunt Elizabeth. He came out to welcome them, telling Karl, “If you’d care to leave the motor car here, sir, Charles will unload your belongings and park the vehicle for you. I shall inform Lady Reynolds of your arrival.”
It was pleasant to be at Parkland again, Charlotte thought as she stepped into the portico. Perhaps it was the effect of the invigorating autumn air, but for once she felt optimistic.
Opposite the entrance was a staircase, red-carpeted and flanked by pillars of tawny marble, rising up from the lower hall to the family living rooms on the first floor. Doors at the base of the staircase led to the servants’ domain. At the top was the spacious upper hall, where sunlight slanted across the aquamarine carpets, flared on the frames of oil paintings and burnished the wood of the antique furniture to a golden red. Here Charlotte felt she was entering an older, more peaceful time in which she was completely at home and safe. Even the prospect of singing to an audience was less terrifying in the glow of Karl’s friendship.
And in the upper hall were David and Anne, and Aunt Elizabeth coming to greet them with effusive hugs and kisses. She looked more beautiful and sophisticated than ever, Charlotte thought; nothing old-fashioned about her at all. When she saw Karl—elegant as ever in a dark overcoat and white cashmere scarf—her face lit up and she made such a fuss of him that Madeleine began to look affronted, suspicious.
Charlotte sensed it at once; Elizabeth and Madeleine were no longer aunt and niece but rivals. Glances flashed between them like swords. Karl realised in the same instant and looked straight at Charlotte with a mixture of amusement and dismay, as if to say, “What am I supposed to do?”
“It’s so lovely to see you all, dears,” said Elizabeth, finally taking notice of the others. “Isn’t your father with you?”
“He’s stopping off to play golf at Royston with some friends,” said Charlotte. “He’ll be along later.”
“Fleur and Clive aren’t coming, unfortunately,” said Elizabeth. “Clive couldn’t get away from the bank.”
Madeleine pulled a face. “What a bore. Fleur could have come without him—unless it’s an excuse to carry on with her silly old painting. Never mind, we have enough turns without them. Karl and I have rehearsed a lovely duet, haven’t we? And I’m accompanying Charlotte, too.”
Elizabeth’s perfect eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh, so you’ve been persuaded to sing for once?”
“We live in hope,” said Maddy, “but there’s plenty of time for her to lose her nerve.”
Karl turned to Charlotte. “You are not nervous, are you?” he said, smiling. He took her hand and held it up so her palm rested lightly over his fingers. “No, your hands are perfectly steady. You are not going to let me down.”
“I wouldn’t dare!” Charlotte laughed, completely forgetting herself. Elizabeth and Madeleine looked at her as if she had grown an extra head. She stepped back hurriedly and looked at the carpet, her face hot.
Elizabeth slid her hand casually through Karl’s arm. “You must think me a frightful hostess, keeping you standing about in the hall. Come into the drawing room, we’ll be much more comfortable there.”
“Thank you, Lady Reynolds,” said Karl. “Don’t be so formal! Call me Elizabeth.” Charlotte could not account for the sudden hollowness she felt as her aunt led Karl away, with Madeleine resolutely on their heels. She suppressed the feeling, smiling as she recalled the amused look he had given her…
Anne kissed her cheek and said, “It’s nice to see you looking happier. Things looking up?”
It was so good to be with David and Anne again. They exchanged news as a footman took their hats and coats. “How’s Edward?” asked Charlotte.
“Very well, actually,” David replied. “He seems right as rain, except for the one problem.”
“He’s not still calling Karl a vampire, is he?” Anne said bluntly.
“I wouldn’t put it that strong, but he’s still edgy.” David pushed a hand through his fair hair. “That’s why I daren’t invite him, as Maddy was so insistent on Karl being here. But Edward hasn’t actually used the word again, which I supposed is an encouraging sign. I don’t know. Father’s full of praise for Karl, I can’t fault his behaviour or manners, and as far as I know he hasn’t laid a finger on Maddy, even though she’s flaunting herself under his nose all the time. It’s beginning to look as if it was all a figment of Edward’s imagination.”
“Even Charli gets on with him now—don’t you?” said Anne. “Well—well, slightly,” said Charlotte.
“
Oh, come on, Charli, it was pretty obvious he thinks the world of you. So it looks as if we had a panic over nothing.”
Anne stood on tiptoe to kiss David’s nose. “Never mind, old thing, you had to be sure.”
“Wish I could convince Edward,” said David. Charlotte said, “I can’t understand why I ever thought I disliked Karl. He’s terribly easy to get on with.” She looked at Anne and smiled. “I think I’m going to enjoy myself here.”
***
Pierre trod softly through the grounds of the Georgian mansion, looking up at the lighted windows. He felt like an orphan in a fairy tale, observing from a distance the enchanted life of the rich. Should he go and press his face against the glass? What a shock that would give them all, especially Karl!
This was so delicious, knowing he had the choice of watching from the outside or walking into their midst. He had that power.
The darkness had a silver bloom to it and the air was very soft, stirring the ivy and the wisteria in its lazy drift along the ; terrace. A pair of french windows stood open, spilling out the life of the house in a rhombus of light. He heard the velvet-deep notes of a cello threading through the clarion brightness of the piano. Recognizing Karl’s touch, he smiled. How delightful it would be to appear through the windows now; how dramatic. He envisioned all those humans in that room, the air dreamy and golden with their warmth, and thirst drew demanding fingernails down his throat.
Pierre paused, watching the curtained light.
Do not touch the family, Kristian had ordered. But Kristian was not here. Mortals were faceless to him. How would he ever know?
***
In the music room, with its floor of polished wood, white and gold decor and curtains of powder-blue velvet, Charlotte stood clutching the edge of the Blüthner piano. The women in sparkling evening dresses and feathered bandeaux, the men in evening suits, were all a shifting blur; high society people who would give generously to Elizabeth’s pet charity. Appearances, all of it, Charlotte thought. David and Anne were in the front row with her father, Elizabeth firmly ensconced next to Karl. She could not look at them. She tried to pretend that they were not there, that she and Madeleine were alone at home, practising.
Madeleine played the introduction and Charlotte began to sing. Her voice trembled a little, but she did not falter and the room fell so quiet that the clear, mournful notes seemed to echo. She sang,
“Calm is the night;
The streets all are silent;
This house she dwelt in,
She, I loved dear;
‘Tis long ago since she hath left it,
So long, long ago
Yet the house is here!
Here, too, stands a man who skyward is gazing
His hands he’s wringing in woe and despair;
Oh! horror!
For when I mark his features,
The moon revealeth mine own visage there!
Oh! hateful shadow!
Oh! pallid companion!
Why mockest thou my grief and woe?
The anguish all by love begotten
On summer nights so long ago!”
As the last note rang away, a sensation struck very clear and sharp through the haze of faces. Karl was staring at her. Even from the corner of her eye she felt the intense light of his gaze. He seemed so utterly still amid the others, like the moon shining through scudding clouds. And he watched her with the complete attention of a cat, his eyes clear and emotionless and unwavering. The look turned her hot and cold all over.
Too melancholy. I should have chosen something else. Why is he looking at me like that? Then the moment was over. Applause and voices washed over her to break the tension.
Charlotte found herself shaking from head to foot. She and Madeleine went back to their places, people crowded round to praise them, but the smiling faces were too close, the voices too loud. It was the old fear again. She had to escape.
While Elizabeth was calling them in for supper, Charlotte slipped out through the french window and on to the terrace.
She leaned on the stone balustrade, taking deep breaths of the air. The gardens lay in moon-washed gloom beneath her, tranquil and soothing. Although the air was mild for mid-autumn, her silk voile dress—printed with pale roses, inset with gold lace—gave no warmth, and gooseflesh sprang up on her bare arms.
She heard soft, slow footsteps behind her. It was as if a cold draught had blown across her back; without looking round, she knew it was Karl. Silky material slid across her arms, wonderfully warm on her bare skin; he took his time arranging the shawl, then his hands remained on her shoulders.
“I thought you might be cold,” he said.
“Thank you. It was so hot indoors.” Without thinking, she added, “How did you escape from my aunt?”
He laughed. “How could you tell I wanted to escape?” Then, moving to look into her eyes, “Your sister was right, you do have a beautiful voice. But that song—why did you choose it?”
His intensity unnerved her; it was like a tidal wave rolling through her, impossible to see through or avoid. “Didn’t you like it? Perhaps it was too slow and mournful, but everyone chooses happy songs; I like sad ones. It was ‘The Shadow’ by Schubert.”
‘“Der Doppelgänger‘,” said Karl. “And the words are by Heine. I remember, though I have not heard it for such a long time. But the way you sang it was so haunting… “
“I should have chosen something happy,” she said.
“No. You shouldn’t be afraid to be different. Everyone loved it, and they wanted to tell you so. I didn’t realise quite how much you dislike being the centre of attention.”
“I hate it,” she said with a slight shiver.
“Is that why you came outside?”
“It was partly that.” She glanced up at him. “And the way you were looking at me.”
He drew a soft breath. “Your voice, and the words… they made me aware of so many things.”
“What do you mean?” She looked sideways at him. The light from the french windows illuminated his skin, caught tiny gold highlights on his dark brows and lashes. His jewel-like eyes were intense, unblinking, seductively beautiful. Perhaps she should have felt fear but instead there was a sensation of inevitability, like falling. Thrilling danger.
He took her hand and said, “Will you walk round the garden with me, Charlotte?”
They walked the length of the terrace, past the orangery, and along a path that wound between arches of soft foliage. The leaves were dry and poised to fall, but the moonlight transmuted them into a mass of silver and crystal. Karl’s arm was round her shoulders now; his touch felt heavenly. No desire to pull away, only to press closer to him. No need to speak. The affinity between them was too strong to be mistaken for friendship. Charlotte was caught up in a floating excitement, a blur of thoughts. When did the change begin? She did not know, but the transition seemed so natural that she felt no doubts—only wonder that she could ever have been afraid of loving him. Yes, let us walk together in the garden, deeper and deeper until the leaves cover us and no one can find us, no one judge us…
They came to the water garden, a shrouded secret place where a pool lay beneath a tree-covered mass of rock. Karl led her on to the little bridge that spanned the pool, and they leaned side by side on the wooden rail. The water was obsidian-dark. Their shoulders were pressed together, and she felt an ache of anticipation so deep that it hurt.
“What did you mean about the song?” she said. “You didn’t explain.”
“Yes, the song, Charlotte,” Karl said softly. His eyelids swept down; he was not looking at her eyes but at her mouth; and he looked sad, so sad. He slid an arm across her shoulders, fingers stroking her neck. Then he leaned towards her and kissed her, very gently, but for a very long time.
Charlotte found herself arching towards him, strung taut with an exquisite mixture of desire and relief. Mouths joined like moist, opening roses. Strange heat pulsing inside her. The taste of him. Could there
be any other moment to compare with this? A fragile burning, frost vaporising into the sun—nothing really—and yet, the ache more poignant than any fulfilment, the simple and bone-deep relief of touching, when touching had been wordlessly forbidden for so long. She pressed her palms into his shoulders, trying to feel his skin through his clothes. She couldn’t let go.
Oh, God. All this time I thought I felt nothing, that I couldn’t love and didn’t care… and I was so wrong… God, yes, he is beautiful. I’ve fallen just like everyone else. I thought nothing mattered when all the while I was in despair—the lies I told myself-—I didn’t know. This can’t be happening—but it is and I’m glad, so glad…
Then Karl folded his arms around her, rested his cheek on her hair, and said, “Forgive me.”
“What for?” she said, breathless.
“I vowed not to intrude on your life. Now I have broken the vow.”
She was too spellbound to question his words. “Karl, I hardly had a life until I met you! There’s nothing to forgive, and even if there were, I’m sure I’d forgive you anything.”
“Anything?” He held her away from him, his hands clasping her arms; his eyes lynx-bright, his face shaded with sorrow. “Be careful what you promise. Some things are unforgivable.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I am bound to hurt you. Your sister, too, though I never meant to.”
Then she felt a trickle of anxiety, a reminder that his inner life was completely unknown to her. A glimpse of hidden darkness… Why is he saying these things? Dear God, if he’s going to tell me he’s already married, I don’t want to hear it! But his eyes were so tender… and it seemed perfect that they left the bridge and walked on slowly through the shadows of the wild garden, arms around each other. She was too euphoric with the fire of hope to believe he was capable of wrong. He must have a good reason… A cascade of emotions, paradise and torment mixed. Oh don’t let this end, ever!
After a while she asked quietly, “What did you mean—about hurting Maddy?”
***
Pierre stood beneath a huge plane tree at the edge of the lawn, listening to the skeins of music flowing out, the applause following like rain pattering on dry leaves.
Freda Warrington - Blood 01 Page 13