“What of the work of the vampire—what do you know about that?”
Her expression became very serious as she looked out the window and nervously wrung her hands together. “As I have said, it is very difficult to obtain information on them. We believe they have been among us at least since antiquity and probably before. We know that on occasion they have mingled with kings and even infiltrated the highest offices in the land, but we do not know the true extent of their involvement in our cultures, the amount of their influence, or their ultimate purpose.”
“You must have some theories.”
She turned to us again. “There are those who say they are tampering with history. I do not know. I do know one thing: Their abduction of your daughter was a most astonishing act. Under ordinary circumstances they prefer to remain behind the scenes and perform their deeds indirectly, by influence and trick. That they would act so boldly and directly is most unusual. It must be a very special time for the vampire. Something very urgent is at hand, a major turning point.”
I recalled the similar remark of Madame Villehardouin, but I was befuddled. How on earth did my little Camille fit in? What possible consequence could my innocuous daughter have upon the matrix of history? I noticed that Dr. von Neefe had once again lapsed into her troubled meditation out the window. The trees on the Left Bank shone brightly in the sun, but it was not the scenery that disturbed her. It was something she was not telling us.
Dr. von Neefe, you still have not offered your beliefs on why they are doing these things. Is there some malevolent purpose to it?”
She regarded us pointedly “I do not know. That is why I was so reluctant to leave Monsieur des Esseintes’s house.
I felt I was getting closer to the truth. What that truth is I only wish I knew. There are some who believe there is a very definite evil close at hand, some danger. I”—she shook her head—“I just don’t know I don’t believe there is. I don’t want to believe. Dr. Weber has always proposed that the game of the mind is only an illusion, a side effect due to the vastly different rationale of our thinking and existence. He has done much research on encounters between widely dissimilar cultures—”
That’s preposterous. Niccolo’s deception was no side effect. He lied and created confusion for a specific purpose. His meeting with the woman in the garden is also no side effect, and the fact that the woman is apparently a professeur at the Sorbonne is no coincidence. They have a very definite interest in scientists, and their intentions are most definitely evil. They are sowing confusion and their objective is to drive their victims mad.”
A look of horror crossed her face. “How do you know that?”
I told her in detail about Dr. Chiswick, the engineer at Oxford, and the doctor in Liverpool. I told her all the other things that fit in as well, Madame Villehardouin’s words and des Esseintes’s meticulous scouring of a profusion of newspapers and scientific journals. I had not seen the Aerology Quarterly among them, but I had no doubt that it was there, that des Esseintes or Lodovico or some other of their number had spied the article on dirigibles by M. W. Radner and for unknown reasons sent out their minions to begin the game.
Profound disappointment shone in both women’s faces, although Dr. von Neefe’s expression had a stamp different from Ursula’s. In Dr. von Neefe’s features was a subtle indication she already knew or at least had considered what I was saying. It was also obvious she did not want to believe it. She shook her head slowly.
“Perhaps you are wrong. Your evidence is all very circumstantial.”
“I don’t think you believe I am wrong.”
She said nothing, but her grim countenance revealed her answer. She turned again toward the window.
“Why were you sometimes absent from your cell when I called to you?”
Without turning she replied, “There was a secret entrance. Des Esseintes often sent for me.”
“Why?”
“He is a creature of exceptional cunning. He met with each of us separately to gain a free hand in dividing us, setting us against one another.”
“Did he know your real name or that you were a vampire hunter?”
“No.”
I was skeptical. “But certainly des Esseintes could have looked you up in the Social Register just as Ursula did and discovered that you were lying. Why on earth didn’t he?”
“Because of my passport,” she answered simply. “As you yourself have seen, my passport does list my fraudulent identity. I have certain connections that enabled me to obtain a forged passport printed on official paper and with legitimate government seals. Because the passport itself proved genuine Monsieur des Esseintes did not question the information it contained.”
Still another question surfaced in my mind. “But why did you behave so strangely and refuse to speak with me about your disappearances?”
“I was afraid. I remembered Niccolo’s warning to my grandfather”—she fingered the locket—“to tmst no one. Des Esseintes used that to make me suspicious of you, to drive us apart.”
Suddenly Ursula stepped forward. “I have a question: How did you know it was Niccolo who had kidnapped Camille? When you read about it in the newspapers how could you be so sure it was the vampire?” The acuity of her inquiry pleased me.
“Because of this,” Lady Dunaway—or Dr. von Neefe— asserted and pounded her bosom with her fist. “There is something in my heart that guides me. I am compelled. It is my destiny. I think you may comprehend even more fully than your father the nature of this special obsession. We are seekers of a magical world, you and I. We are possessed by a mysterious and unknown force. All I can say is that, inexplicably, the moment I read about your little sister in the papers I knew with complete conviction it was the work of the vampire.”
In her typically proud and aloof way Ursula prickled at the comparison between herself and the older woman. Dr. von Neefe noticed this, seemed disappointed by it, but took it in stride.
“I have another question,” Ursula continued. She directed it to both of us. “What will Monsieur des Esseintes do about your escape?”
Dr. von Neefe answered. “About that I think we can both agree. For the sake of his survival alone he will be intent upon recapturing us. If your suspicions are correct, Dr. Gladstone, that the vampire are involved in some sort of vast design, they may be willing to risk everything to get us back.”
“There is but one thing for me to do,” I said.
“Yes,” the older woman replied. “If your daughter is correct about Niccolo’s booking passage at the Gare de Lyon, we must follow him.”
“No,” I said.
At this Dr. von Neefe’s eyes widened in shock. “What do you mean?”
“I have discovered my life’s work is in the hands of a man of no integrity. It is imperative I return to London.” An unreasonable rage returned to her face. “You can’t be serious! You mustn’t abandon this chance. If’—she faltered—“if you are correct about the vampire, somehow your daughter seems to be the crux. Surely you must realize Niccolo is leading us right to her.”
“Of course, I realize it. Ilga herself told me Camille was somewhere in Italy.”
“And your work is more important to you than your own daughter?”
“No!” I snapped angrily. “I have much greater concerns than my investment in my research or even my daughter. Do you remember what I told you about the virus I was working on? You yourself recognized how potentially dangerous it is. It is a strain of influenzae that completely lacks antigenicity. You are intelligent enough to know what would happen if it were ever released.” I shook my head. “You do not know this man as I know him. I know it is the height of folly to return to London, to the very place they’ll be looking for me, but if Camillus influenzae were to be handled improperly, more than just Camille’s life may be in danger.”
Dr. von Neefe stormed toward me. “But—” she sputtered. “You—” And then another change shot through her face. It was as if she suddenly realized th
e seriousness of the situation. With wrenching reluctance she said, “Very well, London. We will go to London first.”
“We?”
“As you said yourself, Dr. Gladstone, we have had our differences, but we are still in this together. Won’t you understand? Won’t you forgive? We are still striving for a compatible goal, you and I. Given our ignorance of what dangers lie before us, isn’t there still an advantage to our working together?”
Was there? A thousand little doubts flitted about my mind. I still harbored a great deal of resentment over what she had done, even mistrust.
“Very well. If you wish to accompany me, you may. I must warn you, however, you will not sway me from my decision.”
With a resurgence of painful resignation she said, “Then I will accompany you.” Again something in her winced. “But Niccolo...” she murmured. “We can’t just let him slip away from us.”
She turned to Ursula.
“You must follow him.”
Ursula’s eyes darted toward me for acceptance. In light of the peril of such an undertaking I writhed at the notion of letting her pursue this seraphim of a darker realm.
“Father, please,” she begged. “All I’ve ever wanted was your approval. I understand the risks involved. I want to help.”
“She has already proved herself to be extraordinarily resourceful and capable,” Dr. von Neefe added. “I will put her in contact with Dr. Weber for advice and counsel. She will not be able to wire us while we are in transit, but she will be able to wire him at the university. For the sake of little Camille we cannot let this chance pass us by.”
I looked again at Ursula standing before me in the garb of the New Woman. Expectedly, she still prickled at Dr. von Neefe’s assistance. Ursula was such a proud creature, but the hope and need in her eyes struck me to my soul. I looked again at the portmanteau. It was unheard of to allow a female to undertake such a dangerous and responsible mission, let alone one’s daughter. It went against everything I had been taught. In the whirlwind of my confusion I recalled a little boy who had stood before his father, longing, wishing with every fiber of his existence that insight would somehow transcend tradition.
“Very well,” I consented.
We sent out for a couturier to outfit Dr. von Neefe. For her dress she was content with plain brown cotton. As for her outer garment, she was not happy until she had a tweed cloak and ulster. In the short time permitted we were unable to obtain a two-peaked cap. I was terribly angry with her, particularly in light of the gravity of our situation, although I discerned new significance in her Sherlock Holmesian attire. In view of her new identity as a vampire hunter, several other quirks of her character made more sense as well—her unladylike aggressiveness at the British Museum, her resourcefulness in seeking out the Services en Commun, her artful display of lock picking when we first broke into des Esseintes’s house.
I was also struck by something else. I had underestimated the woman I had known as Lady Dunaway. I had seen certain unusual and admirable traits in her, but I had not foreseen the intellect or the full scope of the personality now before us. Indeed, the fact that she had been able to carry off such a masquerade so unwaveringly was a tribute to her ever surprising will. Although I did not tell her, these new insights into the woman I now knew as Dr. Hespeth von Neefe only increased my already marked esteem of her. I was still deeply chafed by her hoodwinking me, but another equally powerful emotion swelled within me. Although I tried to conceal it, and didn’t even quite want to admit it to myself, I was intrigued and fascinated by her newly revealed line of work.
It was afternoon when we finally bid Ursula a tortured farewell and left the Hotel Madeleine. On the way to the Gare du Nord we stopped to wire Dr. Leberecht Weber at the University of Vienna. Dr. von Neefe was taken aback when I insisted on reading the message and address for myself. I was not going to take any chances. Considering the knavery she had perpetrated already, I thought such an action was completely justified. The address appeared to be legitimate and the message was an innocuous and brief account of our status as well as an introduction for Ursula. During the day when Niccolo was sleeping Ursula was to wire Dr. Weber from the resting point and wait for his counsel by return wire.
We had but one purpose in returning to London: to get Camillus influenzae away from Dr. Cletus Hardwicke. I did not know exactly how we were going to achieve this. I knew we could not waste time bringing in the authorities. Not only would this give Cletus time to formulate some plan of evasion, but it also would give the vampire more time and opportunity to intercept us. I had only one option: to take my old adversary by surprise and confront him myself. I did not know how I would retrieve my work. I only knew from the rage and hatred within me that I would succeed.
At last we reached the Gare du Nord and purchased one-way tickets to Dunkerque. Even though it was the middle of the sunny afternoon I was apprehensive. Dr. von Neefe’s words kept passing through my mind. For the sake of his survival alone he will be intent upon recapturing us. I looked around at the crowded bookstalls and the waiting rooms. There was the typical rush and bustle. If your suspicions are correct... that the vampire are involved in some sort of vast design, they may be willing to risk everything to get us back.
We had no luggage. We went directly to the boarding line. There were perhaps twenty people ahead of us. It was the same at the other gates up and down the cast-iron supports of the roof. The queues were backed up and at the head of each line was a conductor punching tickets and two men in plain clothes checking papers. I looked at the station bar behind us. It had been gaslit and busy when we had first arrived in Paris. Now it was closed, but several conservatively dressed gentlemen still leaned against the counter. People were grumbling all around us. It was unusual for the queue to be moving so slowly.
I looked again at the two plainclothesmen at the head of each line, and back at Dr. von Neefe. She did not seem particularly worried about them. I snapped my fingers and motioned for a porter. “Could you please find out what is taking so long?” I said, producing a sizable banknote. His eyes twinkled at me knowingly. He strolled up to the gate and scuffed about with a perfect air of slovenly disinterest. It was obvious he was an old hand at it. He asked one of the men for a light and casually perused the papers he was holding. He engaged in a brief discussion and then walked away. Instead of coming directly back he assisted a lady with her luggage. I glanced at the men at the station bar. They were looking in the opposite direction.
At last the porter returned to me. “They’re Agents de Sûreté, monsieur. They are looking for an Englishman. It is said he stole a vast fortune of jewels from a wealthy gentleman on the Île Saint-Louis.” He winked at me shrewdly. “May I suggest, monsieur, that you go down the street and take the stagecoach to Chantilly. From there you can take the railway to the coast.” I nodded and covertly pressed another bill into his hands. Thank God it was a day and age when porters had to help the passengers—or starve.
Dr. von Neefe made a pretense of ruffling through her cloak and forgetting something. I shrugged my shoulders with commiseration and we sedately turned to leave. In the flurry of the crowd no one paid any attention. We slowly made our way to the door. I turned one last time and looked at the men leaning against the counter of the station bar. Their eyes were still on the gates.
We walked through the exit into the street. I was about to squeeze Dr. von Neefe’s hand when we walked face to face into Grelot. He was fashionably dressed in a dark frock-coated suit. His hair was pomaded. The falcon perched upon his arm.
“Bonjour, Monsieur le Docteur, were you going somewhere?” He lifted the hood from the falcon. A third of its body and the side of its face were singed and blistered. It ruffled what few remaining feathers it had left against the nauseating gray of its flesh. It leveled its enraged eyes upon me. It gave a low and guttural rasp of recognition.
“We were wondering which station we would intercept you at.”
“What are you going to
do?” Dr. von Neefe demanded.
“Nothing if you will slowly walk toward that waiting carriage.” He nodded at des Esseintes’s black hansom across the street The same liveried boy sat in the driver’s seat, waiting patiently for us.
“And if we don’t?” I asked.
For the first time since I had known him “little bell” broke into a grin. “I will allow this falcon to make its reparations.”
“I think not.”
The smile was short-lived. “Do not tempt me, Docteur.”
“Do not try to make me believe what is not true.”
“What do you mean?”
“The station is crawling with police officers. I do not think you will make the falcon attack us in front of so many witnesses. Don’t you realize you would be sent to the guillotine for that?”
It was obvious Grelot was not an intelligent man and had not considered that possibility. He was visibly shaken. He looked first in my eyes and then in Dr. von Neefe’s. “You would not take the risk.”
“Oh, wouldn’t we?” I said, taking Dr. von Neefe’s hand. She hesitated, but then turned.
“Stop!” Grelot called behind us as we slowly walked away.
I could feel it, feel the falcon’s rabid eyes burning into my back. It gave another feverish and grating cry.
“I warn you for the last time: Stop!”
We continued to walk away, expecting at any second to hear the falcon take to the air. But it did not. When we had traveled a good distance down the street I turned to see Grelot standing and shifting his weight from foot to foot, speechless. When we reached the carriage stables there was already a stagecoach loading. The driver motioned for our luggage, but when I told him we had none he motioned for us to get in. Once seated on the fusty, straw-stuffed cushions inside I looked back at the station. Grelot had overcome his stupor and rushed inside. I did not have to be told why. He was frantically enlisting the aid of the Agents de Sûreté to track down the thieves who had “stolen” Monsieur des Esseintes’s fortune in gems. I leaned out the window. “When is this coach due to leave?” I inquired.
The Delicate Dependency: A Novel of the Vampire Life Page 35