The London Vampire Panic

by Michael Romkey

  As for Kate Woolf and the others like her, I can only think that they are not predisposed to properly manage the special powers conferred on them by their vampirey. If the committee and Scotland Yard are not able to bring the criminal members of the race under control—which I very much doubt—we can only pray the lady who shared my compartment for part of the trip from London to Dover and others like her will step in to help.

  As the mysterious lady told me, only a vampire is strong enough to stop a vampire.

  * * *

  PART VIII

  The Lovers

  * * *

  34

  The Orangery

  COLLINGSWORTH SITS ATOP a knob of land, a bony protuberance rising up from the pastures and hedgerows, commanding a view of the surrounding countryside. The hillock has been a place of power for as long as people have been in Britain. A few remains of an ancient earthenware fortress built by the island's early tribes are in evidence behind the house. The Romans built a tower on the hilltop, which the Norman ancestors of the Collings family expanded into a castle.

  The estate has been made over many times, becoming less warlike with each successive generation. Collingsworth drew near the perihelion of elegance when the Palladian mansion, designed for Richard Boyle, the third Earl of Burlington, was completed in 1750. Capability Brown added the final grace notes thirty years later when the formal French gardens were made over in the naturalistic manner that has come to be known as the "English" style. The genius of Brown's plan—which spared the remains of the prehistoric Brit earthworks—was that it appeared to be no plan at all. From its eminence, the house presides over a pastoral setting more natural than Nature herself could have made it. Still, the sweeping curves and seemingly random groupings of trees are no more an accident than the house's pedimented portico.

  Attached to the house's southern wing is the Orangery, newly built in 1879, a confection of glass and iron in a faux-Moorish style of Victorian provenance. The greenhouse was the last major addition to Collingsworth, with the minor exceptions of plumbing, electricity, and a central heating system. But for that, the seat of the Collings family has remained frozen in time since the late 1800s.

  It was a brilliant winter day, so sunny that it was difficult to look out at the newly fallen snow dusting the countryside. Captain Lucian and Lady Olivia Moore sat side by side on a bench, not close enough to touch, and not daring to look at one another.

  Lucian cleared his throat as if to speak but continued the uncomfortable silence. Olivia already knew what he was going to say. Any woman in her position would have. What she didn't know was what she would say in return. Never had she wanted something so much while knowing it was all quite impossible.

  Olivia told herself she shouldn't have come to the Orangery alone with Captain Lucian. But Lady Collings, who had prevailed upon her to spend the weekend at the country house, was nowhere to be found that morning. It was but the latest complication in an already tangled social situation. Lord Beaconsfield had asked Lady Collings to invite Olivia to Collingsworth, as well as extending invitations to Lucian, Dr. Blackley, and Lord Shaftbury and his wife. Lady Collings told Olivia that even in his declining years, Mr. Disraeli loved to be in the company of lovely and intelligent women. Olivia suspected it was really Lucian who was responsible for the invitation, though that didn't make it any easier to refuse. Indeed, Olivia had surprised herself by agreeing to come, after Janos promised that Andrew would be well cared for in her brief absence.

  Lucian shuffled nervously. Olivia knew he was looking at her with that worshipful gaze that made her feel as if she were melting.

  A woman on horseback rode out of a covert at the bottom of the hill. It was Lady Collings. She rode at full gallop into the woods and disappeared. A few moments later a man on horseback appeared—Dr. Blackley, riding hard in pursuit of Lord Collings's wife. How Dr. Blackley had lived so long without being ruined in public scandal was a matter of amazement. He had cast his wandering eye Olivia's way, though it was obvious he was more interested in experienced women.

  Lucian again cleared his throat.

  Olivia glanced up at him, filled with anticipation and at the same time dread. Why did things have to be so bloody complicated?

  "You look as if you are about to say something," she said gently.

  "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this sort of thing," he said, blushing in a way Olivia found most becoming.

  "I hope you don't let that stop you." She gave Lucian an encouraging smile. She could not bear to see him suffer. The main reason Olivia had accepted the invitation to Collingsworth for the weekend was to find a way to ease poor Lucian's tormented heart, even though she did not believe they could achieve a resolution that would give them what they wanted—each other.

  "You know that I care for you very much."

  Olivia blushed.

  "If unhappy circumstances had not deprived you of your parents, I would ask your father for your hand. I like to think he would have given his consent. I am laird and have come into my estate. I would be able to provide for you as well as any lady in the kingdom. I would also take care of little Andrew. You know how fond I am of the lad. I would watch over him and raise him as if he were my son."

  "Then I suppose you will have to ask me."

  Lucian looked at her and blinked.

  "My father has gone to a better place. If you are going to ask someone for my hand in marriage, I suppose it will have to be me."

  "By heavens, Olivia," Lucian said, grinning. Olivia knew she was not like most girls Lucian knew. She was not demure, not unsure, and especially not silly—the trait she abhorred most of all in women.

  The young laird got down on one knee in front of her and took her hand between his.

  "Olivia, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I promise to love you and care for you and cherish you all the days of my life. And I promise to help raise Andrew, giving him every kind of support it is in my power to provide, and helping him grow into a fine gentleman."

  Those words! Olivia had wanted to hear them more than anything else. He cradled her hand more tenderly between his, waiting for her answer. She bit the inside of her lower lip. She yearned to say the words Lucian wanted to hear, and yet she could not.

  "I cannot give you an immediate answer, Lucian."

  "Certainly you know I love you."

  She nodded.

  "And you know I have made a place in my heart for Andrew. It would be impossible not to. I have never known a brighter or more delightful little boy."

  "I know."

  "Then why do you not accept my proposal?" Lucian's face darkened though he did not release her hand. "Don't tell me it is Cotswold."

  "No," Olivia answered with a small smile, "although he has made his interest known. As brilliant and dashing as Professor Cotswold is, I could never love him. Some girls might be content to marry men old enough to be their fathers, but I am not one of them. Sweet as he is, I could never love James."

  "Then what is it? Please don't tell me you don't feel the same way about me as I feel about you."

  "I am very fond of you, Lucian. You know that. There is nothing that would make me happier or more proud than to become your wife." She stopped and looked away, unable to continue meeting his eyes. "But there are things you don't know about me, darling."

  "Is it your health? Are you unwell, my dear? Your hand is positively burning up."

  "That's just the way I am. My fires burn more fiercely than most."

  Olivia regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, for it sounded as if she were talking about one thing but meaning something entirely different. She gently pulled her hand free and turned away.

  "Listen to me carefully, Lucian, for I will not be able to tell you this more than once: Get up and leave me now and never look back. Forget me. Forget what you feel. In time, you will find someone else who might bring you a measure of real happiness. I fear that I can bring you only sorrow."

&nbs
p; She felt Lucian's strong hands take her by the shoulders and turn her toward him. Their faces were nearly touching as she looked into his eyes. She looked away. It was the only way to stop Lucian from doing what they both wanted him to do—enfold her in a passionate embrace.

  "I will never leave you, Olivia. Reject me. Spurn me. Send me away. It will make no difference. Nothing can break the bond tying us together. I want to be with you forever."

  "Lucian, my love, you have no idea. What you want is impossible."

  "Why? Do you not love me? If you don't, tell me now."

  Olivia felt herself begin to shake. She could never tell him that.

  "What is it that distresses you so, my love? We can beat it together, whatever it is. Share your burden with me. Your joys are my joys, your troubles are my troubles."

  He took her two hands in his, a protective gesture, tender and gallant. In spite of the Captain's worldly experiences as equerry to the Prince of Wales, in some ways he was almost childlike in his naive goodness of heart. It was his most appealing quality.

  "I want to know what is troubling you, Olivia. I need to know."

  "Very well, then," she said at last. A strange relief flooded through her. Any secret confers a burden, and the weight of Olivia's was crushing. The decision to free herself of it brought relief so intense that for a moment she felt almost weightless. There was no way to know how Lucian would react, she thought, falling back toward earth. But if Lucian wanted the truth, she would give it to him. Then she would see if he loved her as much as he thought he did.

  "Please get our cloaks so that we can go out into the garden. I do not want to be interrupted or overheard. And you must promise me to never repeat a word of what I am about to tell you."

  "I promise never to breathe a word of it, my darling," Lucian said. "I swear it on my life."

  * * *

  35

  Prelude

  "IT BEGAN WHEN Father was posted to Budapest," Olivia said.

  The great Palladian mass of Collingsworth was already receding behind them on the hilltop. It was cold but the brilliant sun made it seem less so. The powder of new-fallen snow quieted their footfalls; Lady Olivia Moore and Captain Lucian glided silently over the ground, two kindred spirits wandering Capability Brown's idyllically reconceived English countryside.

  "It was an adventure for me, traveling into the East, where everything was foreign and exotic. The deep forests, the mountains, the Orthodox influence on the architecture, Gypsy caravans—something about the very soul of the place was different. We saw forbidding castles where brave knights fought back the invading armies of Islam. Eastern Europe is a much fought-over place, the ground watered with the blood of many massacres and desperate struggles. Little wonder the area has given rise to so many strange things.

  "The house we moved into in Budapest gave Mama the opportunity to come truly into her own. You know that my mother died when I was a baby in India. Cecilie was Father's second wife. There never was a kinder person than Mama, as I called Cecilie. Though there weren't many years separating us when she married my father, she slipped easily and naturally into the role of caring for me. She was gifted with an ability to take care of people. That must be why she was such a marvelous gardener. Plants, animals, and people seemed to thrive on her attention and care. When Andrew came along, I thought he would monopolize Mama's affection. But love is a miraculous thing: It does not divide but multiplies.

  "Father's appointment to the ministry in Budapest gave Mama a chance to step beyond our house in Mayfair, with furniture and draperies my real mother had bought in London and India, and set up her own household, choosing the furnishings, hiring the servants. In Budapest our little family knitted together completely. To be blessed with a year of perfect love and contentment is more than many people know in this life. Still, it was hard to have end."

  Olivia walked on a ways in silence, Lucian beside her, quietly waiting for her to resume.

  "Budapest is a city of music. It is not as great a musical city as Vienna, but a close second. The symphony and opera are excellent. And, as you may have heard, it is known as the City of the Piano. Budapest is the home of Franz Liszt, the greatest living pianist, a man whose name is spoken of in the same breath as Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart.

  "It seemed that the Fates were taking care of me in sending us to Budapest, although it ended up to be a good deal more complicated. Though I have been but little disposed to give myself to it of late, music has been the central force in my life."

  "I had no idea until Lord Beaconsfield asked you to play after supper last night," Lucian said. "I have never heard anyone play with such emotion."

  "Thank you again," she replied. She was accustomed to hearing effusive praise after getting up from the piano, but hearing it from Lucian was especially gratifying. "I have been an enthusiastic student of music since I was young. Father was always more interested in me becoming educated in the traditional way. All the time I was growing up I had tutors and governesses drilling Latin and Greek into me. If you would ever care to hear me recite long declamations of Homer and Virgil, I could do so without effort. And yet it was my musical studies that engaged me most fully.

  "Mama encouraged me to pursue a real mastery of the piano. She helped me understand my ambition. I enjoyed playing for myself and my family in the parlor, or for my friends at parties, but without knowing it I had started to secretly yearn for more. There have been great women pianists—Clara Schumann comes to mind—but a profession is not considered desirable for a young lady. Would it scandalize you to hear me say that I hope one day this will no longer be the case?

  "Mama arranged for me to have an audition at the Academy in Budapest so that I might continue my studies in a serious way. I was nervous as I sat down to play. The great Liszt was not there, of course, and a good thing, too, for I would have been too petrified to play. Attending me was Doktur Jutt, who as senior professor at the Academy was responsible for interviewing prospective students. I did not think I played well enough to be accepted, but when I was finished, Doktur Jutt told me when to come back to begin my instruction. I wanted to kiss the old German. There I was, in the City of the Piano, in Liszt's own school, accepted as a pupil.

  "I threw myself into my studies. I was not presented to Liszt. He did not trouble himself with ordinary students. Yet I worked hard, harder than I have ever worked in my life, struggling to improve my playing to the point that I would deserve the honor of an introduction to the great Maestro.

  "And then, over the course of several weeks, the happy part of my family's story drew to a close. There was something wrong with Andrew. Toddlers never stop moving, from the time they get up in the morning until the time they fall asleep, happily exhausted. You know there is something wrong when they become pale and listless. He had just started to walk, so it was natural that he would be subject to a certain degree of bruising. But he bruised easily, too easily, a light bump that should have left no mark causing instead a frightful black and blue spot."

  "My God, the vampire," Lucian said in a harsh whisper.

  "No," Olivia said with an abruptness that surprised him. "It proved to be something far worse, something without mind or capacity for mercy.

  "A physician was called in. The diagnosis was arrived at quickly, the symptoms easily identified. Little Andrew had juvenile leukemia. There was no known treatment, no known cure. The physician told us he had, at most, six months to live."

  * * *

  36

  The Maestro's Command

  "THE CHILD IS dying?" Lucian had put his gloved hand on Olivia's arm and stopped her, turning her toward him.

  "Andrew is fine now, but he was a very sick little boy. Listen a little longer and everything will become clear.

  "We each reacted to Andrew's illness in our own ways. Mama withdrew until the only thing in her world was Andrew. She spent every waking moment with him, playing with him, caring for him. Father threw himself headlong into his work. Neither
of them could sleep. Mama would sit in a chair beside Andrew's bed, dozing fitfully. Father sat up late into the night in his study, reading dispatches and writing reports.

  "I escaped into music. I spent my time in a practice studio at the Academy, working on the most difficult pieces I could find to occupy my concentration. One evening I was trying to play Liszt's La Campanella Number 3 in the Six Grand Etudes after Paganini. It is not a piece for small hands. In measure thirty-five there is a passage with sixteenth-note octave reaches that are physically impossible for me to play. But I tried. Again and again I tried. My frustration grew until I began to cry. It wasn't because I couldn't play the Etude, of course. I was crying for Andrew, and for my helplessness.

  "I heard the door open behind me. A gentle hand pressed itself against my shoulder. A handkerchief was proffered. It was a rich silk handkerchief monogrammed with the letter I… I turned and looked up to see Franz Liszt himself standing over me."

  Olivia climbed the stairs to the pavilion overlooking the lake and took a seat, Lucian beside her. The trees on the far shore formed a ragged silhouette against the winter sun. The trackless snow on the frozen lake seemed to invite a wanderer's footsteps, although it was impossible to know whether the ice was thick enough to support someone's weight.

  "The Maestro was—is—a gracious man. He pretended to believe I was weeping over the beauty of Paganini's music, not my inability to play it—or, as happened to be the case, for another reason entirely. 'I wept myself when I first heard Paganini perform in 1831,' he told me. 'Do you know his violin playing was so prodigious that people thought it inhuman? Some actually believed he had sold his soul to the Devil to achieve such genius.'