Kristian had raced along the dark canyons of the Crystal Ring, pulled by the Shockwaves of Karl's destruction… and in London he had found Pierre, Ilona, Stefan and Niklas, all drawn together by the same wave. From the shadows of trees they had watched the lighted doorway, the street busy with onlookers and ambulances, the police going to and fro. And after a long time, Kristian had seen them carry out three shrouded figures and drive them away in a police van.
"Who killed those two humans?" he had asked.
"Not us," Stefan replied.
Kristian had looked at Ilona, but she remained silent, not meeting his eyes. "Who destroyed Karl?"
"I don't know, I swear I don't know!" she said fiercely.
"I will find out the truth of this, eventually," Kristian had said. His voice was low but he was glad to see them quail at his contained fury. "Now go home, all of you. It is finished with these humans; there is no cause for you ever to go near them again."
And at his command they had vanished, all except Pierre who said he had lost the strength to go through the Crystal Ring. "Come with me, then," said Kristian, and together they had trailed the van through the streets to the police mortuary.
They had waited until the early hours of the morning, when the activity within the building died down and Kristian sensed that there were no living presences within the morgue. Then he had lent Pierre enough energy for them to enter the Crystal Ring for just long enough to pass through the walls to the interior. Above them and around them we pass unseen; moving by the Almighty's law, not man's.
Sickening scents of organic chemicals, alien glint of tiles and metal; Kristian wanted to be away from this web of mortal evil.
"I don't see the point of coming here," Pierre whispered, as if he imagined someone might overhear them. "You say grief is human, but if you don't want to mourn, why bother?"
"Because I am going to take him home," said Kristian.
"For God's sake, he's dead!" Pierre laughed, but his voice was raw. "What's the use? Do you want to give him a decent burial—in the Weisskalt?'
Of course he is bitter. Was Karl not the most beloved and lovable of my flock? Who would not grieve for him?
Aloud, Kristian answered, "I am not leaving him here for humans to probe and defile, to practise their science on him." He bent forward and lifted Karl's stiff, pale body, holding it easily against him with one arm. With the other hand he picked up the head by the hair… like a warrior carrying a trophy.
Pierre was shaking his head, looking completely at a loss with disbelief. "Beloved Father, how will you take him home? It's impossible to take another being into the Crystal Ring alone and I can't help you."
"I hope you are not questioning my power." Kristian glared at him. "Don't judge me by your own petty standards; I have the strength. For Karl's sake, God will provide! You will have to find your own way home, Pierre. Feed well, and return as fast as you can."
Then Kristian let the room of death dissolve into the crystalline silence of the Ring. Karl's body had been no burden at all on earth, but here it became so impossibly heavy that he almost let it fall back into the physical world. But God aided him. Clasping Karl tight to him, Kristian skimmed through the convolutions of the mind of God towards Schloss Holdenstein.
***
Charlotte felt as though she were drifting on a glassy grey river that had no beginning and no end and no meaning. Under the surface she could see shapes which made no sense to her. But at last, as she began to come out of the delirium of shock and the hypnotic drugs they had given her, she realised what the shapes were. She was staring at windows and furniture and the brown oak-panelled walls of her room. She was at home, in Cambridge.
Memories came back like a picture torn in pieces. Lying in a hospital bed, Anne stroking her head… only a fragment, like a brief dream. Then in a motor car… On my way up to London with Karl? No! Coming home with Father, Maple driving, Elizabeth holding me all wrapped in a blanket. Why? We were all at Parkland… why am I here?
Then the pain gripped her. Then the memory came back with the swish of a blade, cruel as justice. She wanted to scream but she could not breathe in or out, and his name was pounding through her mind again and again. Karl Karl Karl…
Why am I still alive?
A voice said, "I think she's waking up. Charlotte? Darling, it's all right, we're here."
Charlotte woke properly then. All the shrieking turmoil had been deep inside her; her body, heavy with unnatural languor, remained motionless. Too numb to weep, almost too heavy even to speak, she looked up and saw Madeleine sitting beside her, her face puffy from crying. Aunt Elizabeth was on the other side of the bed, her bony face dry but taut, showing her age.
"We're here," Madeleine said again, taking Charlotte's hand as she had not done since they were tiny children. With her head bent, copper-red hair falling forward, she looked so like Fleur. Fleur. God help me, it was no dream. That's why she's been crying.
"Maddy," Charlotte said with an effort. "What's wrong with me? I feel so tired."
"That's the sedative, dear," said Elizabeth. "It will wear off, don't worry. You were in such an awful state when they took you to the hospital."
"How long have I been asleep?"
"You spent last night in the hospital, then we brought you home this morning. It's afternoon now. Dr Saunders said it was best you slept for as long as possible."
"I don't remember any of it."
"It's just as well."
"But I remember what happened before," Charlotte said dully. The tide of horror flowed in again; vampire eyes gleaming, Ilona biting through Fleur's neck and throwing her aside, Karl hurling himself at David and the deafening concussion of gunfire. The stark unbearable certainty that Fleur was dead—We were going to talk… what is there to tell her now? It's over, Karl is gone… I'll never touch the light again, never—but just as the wave threatened to overwhelm her it receded along the dreary, endless shore. The pain was there, but she could not grasp it.
There was a moment of silence. Madeleine started to cry again, and Elizabeth said, "Don't think about it, dear. It won't change anything to get upset, will it?"
"But what about David? Where is he?"
"Downstairs," Maddy said quickly, as if glad to impart some good news. "They didn't charge him after all."
"Charge him—what with?" said Charlotte, confused.
"It's nothing to worry about," said Elizabeth. She shook her head at Maddy, frowning. "It was just a muddle. We'll explain when you're feeling better."
He killed Karl, Charlotte thought. Yet the words didn't really mean anything. It was too unreal, she could not blame David. She was only glad he was safe, yet her relief seemed distant. Each emotion she was capable of feeling drowned blindly in the edge of the savage implacable ocean; the knowledge that Karl… was… dead.
Through her tears, Madeleine said, "We've been so worried about you. I was longing for the chance to tell you I'm sorry for the wretched way I treated you. It was unforgivable, but I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?"
It was all Charlotte could do to remember the quarrel they'd had over Karl; though it had only been a few days ago, it seemed in another lifetime. Before she could reply, Elizabeth said, "Can't this wait, Maddy? You know Dr Saunders said we mustn't excite or upset her."
"But what if she had—if it had been her instead of Fleur—and I'd never had the chance to say it?" said Madeleine. "I don't see how it can hurt to tell Charli we love her." She hugged and kissed Charlotte, for the first time in years, with real affection.
Charlotte was taken aback, moved. Her sister's love was not only unexpected; it was—she felt—undeserved.
Madeleine went on, "The way you put yourself in my place and made—made him let me go." Her voice shook. "David says that's true courage, to act bravely even when you are terrified."
"I wasn't brave," Charlotte said quickly. She did not have the strength to explain her true, muddled motives—and how would it help if she did? It's al
l past now… And he's gone, gone… Is it the sedative that won't let me scream or cry?
Maddy's grief was uncomplicated; she could not begin to imagine the fogged complexity that lay in Charlotte's soul. And that made Charlotte feel helpless with guilt; she so wanted to return Maddy's love, but she could not. I'm too wicked… but if it's true, I'm paying. All she could do was to stroke her sister's bowed head and murmur, "It's all right." But that was a lie.
***
"What on earth were you thinking of, David?" George Neville's voice was hoarse with strain, anger, relief—all the anguish of the last few days. "Dashing down to London like that without telling a soul! And taking Anne with you! And to cap it all—for God's sake—nearly ending up on a murder charge!"
"We got Charlotte out, didn't we?" David said angrily. "And von Wultendorf is dead. If we'd told you and waited for everyone else to vacillate, we'd still be at Parkland now and she might be dead as well as—" He stopped sort of saying Fleur's name. He and his father were facing each other across the stuffy drawing room, both white with exhaustion, grief, rage. Anne's father, Dr Saunders, stood quietly, not intervening, but Anne had had more than she could stand.
"Oh, stop it, please!" she exclaimed. "Arguing won't solve anything."
"I suppose it did not occur to you," said Dr Neville, "that you were breaking your word to me not to do anything to endanger Charlotte's life? Bravado—idiocy—I don't know what to call it. And yet—" suddenly he moved towards David. "Thank God you did. Thank God." The two men embraced. "I know—I know it was not your fault—what happened to Fleur and Clive. God in heaven, I can't believe it; I thought all the danger was to Charlotte, how could anyone have dreamed that Fleur—"
"I wish I could make some sense of what happened," David said, his voice rough. "Yes, we were in time to save Charlotte, but if only we'd got there sooner… "
Anne sat down heavily on the leather couch, shaking, the ticking of Dr Neville's numerous clocks echoing through her head. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up and found her father offering her a glass of whisky.
"Medicinal," he said brusquely. Anne knew he was angry about the escapade, and that he was also proud of her; it was in his eyes, and there was no need for him to say anything. They both knew it.
"Thanks, Dad," she said. "And—sorry and all that."
Dr Saunders straightened up. "By the way, David, why exactly did the police decide not to bring charges against you?"
David and his father exchanged a concerned look. Dr Neville began, "Well, I doubt the charge would have stuck anyway, with David's good character and excellent War record. Anne was the only reliable witness to the actual—erhm—event, and she could have testified that David acted in self-defence during extreme provocation. The Hertfordshire police would have confirmed that that—I hesitate to call him a man—was a maniac who'd put one man in hospital, killed a police constable and kidnapped my daughter." His voice rose. "And that's without mentioning Fleur and Clive! Charged? My son should be given the blasted Victoria Cross!"
David cleared his throat. "Thank you, Father, but of course it helped that the police somehow lost von Wultendorf's body."
"They what?" said Dr Saunders.
"Ash told us that it vanished from the police mortuary sometime during the night. There were no signs of a break-in, no one heard anything; not a single clue. How the devil can the police manage to mislay a corpse? Anyway, altogether the case against me wasn't looking very good."
"What on earth happened to the body?" said Dr Saunders.
"God knows. If I can believe in vampires, I can believe they just vanish into thin air when they die."
Dr Neville sat down next to Anne, cradling a glass of whisky. Anne touched his arm; he patted her hand. The effort of hiding his pain must be making it worse.
"As for the rest of it, I don't know what will happen," David went on. "There were five other people in the room, unconscious or injured, but they're all recovering. Only Fleur and Clive died. It's all confusion as to what actually happened. Some of the party guests mentioned a red-haired woman, but no two of them came out with the same story. Some had seen a blond man, or two men, some nothing at all. The trouble is they were all too drunk or doped to know what they'd seen."
His father made a faint noise of denial, distress. "What do you think?" asked Anne's father.
David said, "I think it was Karl who killed them. I think Charli escaped, ran to Fleur and he followed. Perhaps Fleur and Clive were trying to protect her. As for this woman in red; well, Fleur has—had—red hair and Charli was wearing a red dress… or it could be some hallucination he planted in their minds himself. The police may never solve it, but as far as I'm concerned it's a closed episode, ended with the death of Karl." David took a sip of whisky and stared out of the window, rocking slightly on his heels. In a more introspective tone he added, "I lost so many friends in the War. One found ways to accept it. But to lose members of one's own family in such circumstances… there's no way to make sense of it."
"You have my utmost sympathy," Anne's father said gravely. Anne was glad of his impartial, kind presence. "And anything we can do—it goes without saying."
Dr Neville went to the sideboard to refill his glass, and turned to him. "Tell me honestly, is Charlotte going to be all right?"
"I'm sure she is," the doctor replied. "I would not have brought her out of the hospital if I'd thought otherwise. She's mainly suffering from emotional shock, in which case she's better off at home."
"So she hasn't been physically harmed in any way?" Dr Saunders hesitated. "There are some marks on her neck and her wrist. They're barely visible, but I was a little concerned about them because they're similar to the marks on Edward's neck and that of the dead policeman. As I said, this is no proof that a vampire was responsible, but I keep an open mind—"
Neville's hand shook, and he spilled whisky on the polished sideboard. "The damned fiend! To think I believed he'd keep his word not to harm Charlotte!"
"She is slightly anaemic," Dr Saunders said calmly. "I couldn't swear that the blood was lost through those wounds. But it's nothing rest and a good diet won't put right; what really concerns me is her state of mind. She's been through some appalling shocks and it will take her a considerable time to get over it."
"I think the best thing is to help her forget," said Neville. "We should keep her quiet and say as little about it as possible. Least said, soonest mended. I'm certainly not having the police asking her questions."
"I'll tell them she's not well enough to be interviewed. It's nothing less than the truth."
"I don't agree," said Anne. The three men looked at her. "I think she should be encouraged to talk about it; oh, not to the police, but to us. It could do her terrible harm to bottle it up and feel she can't say anything to anyone."
She was thinking of the way Charlotte had looked when they had carried her from the hospital to the motor car; eyes like clouded glass, dead to this world, staring into another. That was not just the sedative. Anne was desperately worried.
"My daughter has a point," said Dr Saunders. "We need to know her state of mind. She may be in need of spiritual help."
David breathed out grimly. "I don't want to upset her—but I would like to know exactly how that swine mistreated her. One thing, though, we must all agree never to mention; the fact that Karl's body disappeared. God knows what it would do to her, to hear that."
Dr Neville sat down on the edge of the couch. His shoulders were hunched, his head bowed and hands dangling helplessly between his knees. "Very well, we'll talk to her—but not until she feels better. Perhaps it's this old fool who wants to be treated with kid gloves, not my daughter. I would just like to pretend it never happened."
***
Charlotte was sitting up in bed the next day, staring at her lunch tray without seeing it. She had eaten without hunger or revulsion, without tasting anything. She felt nothing.
The door opened. She expected to see Sally, come
to take the tray away; instead it was her father, Elizabeth, David and Dr Saunders, filing in as if on some sort of official visit. Because they were being so kind to her, she made herself smile.
"Hello, m'dear, how are you feeling?" her father asked. "Very much better, thank you," she replied. "We just want to talk to you for a little while, about—about events. The last thing we want is to upset you, but it's very important. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all," she said tonelessly. They seated themselves around the bed, making nervous little jokes as they sorted out the chairs. Charlotte waited impassively.
She loved them; she shared their grief for Fleur, she knew how they loved her and had her best interests at heart. She wanted to give them what they needed; reassurances that yes, Karl was a monster and she had had a terrible time but was getting over it now. She even understood why David had killed Karl and she forgave him for it… and yet she felt so far away from them, as if she was seeing them through the walls of a glacier. If only I could make them understand.
It seemed Dr Saunders, as a neutral party, had elected to conduct the interview. He spoke gently and firmly, as to a patient. "Charlotte, do you remember anything about the night you were rescued?"
"Rescued?" She blinked at him, then said. "Oh, I see. Yes, I remember."
"You know, then, that the man who kidnapped you was killed."
She looked down at her hands. "You can say his name. Karl. Yes, I know."
"I realise this is hard for you, but we must know; how did he treat you? Was he unkind or cruel to you in any way?"
She raised her head and stared at a spot on the wall between Dr Saunders and David, her eyes burning. With a shock that cut through her apathy, she realised that there was no one to speak in Karl's defence except her; and that she was facing a jury who had already found him guilty.
A Taste of Blood Wine Page 37