by Linn Chapel
“Hush.” Dropping his hand, he eyed her coolly. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
She struggled to catch her breath. “Why didn’t you turn on the light?”
There was a short, tense silence. Finally, he said, “I didn’t want you to see it and run away.”
Tressa dropped her gaze guiltily to the floor.
Fabric rustled nearby. Looking up, she saw that Holt had found a sweater among the clothes she had stacked on the dresser. He handed it to her now.
“We’ll go outside, where no one can interrupt us.”
Feeling trapped, Tressa accepted the sweater and descended the stairs as Holt followed close behind. Her eyes darted to the living room where Peter and Luke were sitting near the fireplace, but when a steely hand landed on her shoulder, guiding her firmly to the door, there was nothing she could do but walk outside into the night.
Tressa paused to don the sweater, for the night had grown chilly, and together they passed through the front garden. Holt latched the gate quietly but firmly behind them. Then they walked up the lane without speaking.
When they reached the stone bridge over the Langley stream, Holt came to a stop. Tressa joined him near the stone guardrail, filled with trepidation.
Above the dark tops of the trees, a half-moon shone down, casting its cold light upon the stones of the bridge and turning them ghostly white. Below the bridge, the currents of water gleamed in the moonlight as they rushed onward.
Finally, Holt spoke. “I’m sorry, Tressa,” he said in a low voice. “My conduct has been contemptible ever since I learned about the transition.”
She stared fixedly down at the stream. “I never thought you’d be so unhappy about it.”
“Unhappy!” he snapped back angrily. “No, I’m not unhappy about it.” Then he took a deep breath and said more evenly, “In truth, I lived under a curse for so long that I can barely comprehend what has happened to me.”
Tressa listened in silence.
“And the change was so sudden,” he went on. “There was no time...” he stopped, leaving the rest unsaid.
Silently, Tressa fretted. Holt had always spoken of his old life as being cursed, but cursed or not, it was a life that he had shared for two centuries with Eleanor, a life in which neither of them could age.
“Do you wish it were possible to change back?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “Is that why you’ve been so angry?”
“Do I wish to change back?” he exploded. “Of course not!”
“Then why have you been so unhappy?”
Holt dragged in a breath. “I’m unhappy with myself. As you know all too well, I make a very poor human.”
She felt a laugh emerge, despite the strain and misery she was feeling. “You, with all of your principles? Don’t be so hard on yourself, Holt.”
He shook his head adamantly. “I had no expectations of myself when I was a vampire. Any gleam of conscience seemed a rare jewel in the dark circumstances of my fate. But now that I’m human, now that I’m free of so many constraints, I possess the means to strive for an ideal.” He added in a heavy voice, “And I’ve been failing miserably.”
It was just like Holt to cross-examine himself and worry about conscience and principles. But when was he going to explain about Eleanor?
Holt’s next words were about something else, again. “The fever of the transition troubled me, too, until recently. I felt hot and irritable and my thoughts were broken into pieces. I couldn’t even find all the pieces, let alone fit them together. But all of that’s over, now. My mind feels whole, and a sense of wondrous stability has come.”
Tressa felt relieved by his admission. Now, she told herself, was as good a time as any to clear the air about her own actions.
“You must resent me for keeping everything a secret from you.” She looked down at the moonlit waters below the bridge. “I was only following orders, but even so, you were dosed without your knowledge. I’m sorry about that, Holt. It’s so easy to fall into the trap of making decisions for people when you think it’s for their own good. It’s been happening more and more in hospitals, with all of the pressures on patient compliance. I never liked any of that, but then I did the very same thing to you.”
There was a short silence. “It was distressing to have my life altered without my consent. If you knew the manner in which I was turned you would not be surprised.” But Holt seemed just as unwilling to confide in Tressa about that fateful incident as he had always been.
She went on. “In my training sessions with the other operatives, we never talked about vampires as people. They were always called subjects. But as soon as I met you, I knew you weren’t just a thing, but a person. I could have said something to you that first night, but I was afraid of what you’d think of me.”
“I deceived you, too, Tressa. You were never meant to know that you were spending time alone with a vampire. I even used my powers on you so that you’d never find out about me. Mesmerizing you was my own kind of coercion.”
Tressa added softly, “Holt, you already know that your powers never worked.”
“But I believed I was mesmerizing you. I knew that preying upon you was wrong, but I did it anyway. My self-control has always been sadly lacking around you, Tressa.”
Tressa felt a flutter of awareness rise from her chest and lodge itself in her throat. Holt seemed to be struggling with his self-control right now, for his mood had changed and become something unpredictable that both confused and alarmed her.
“You’ve been too quiet lately, Tressa. Too good. It’s not natural, under the circumstances.” He gazed at her searchingly in the moonlight, as if he were bent on reading her innermost thoughts.
Tressa finally cleared the blockage from her throat. “You’re wrong. I haven’t been good at all. I’ve been coming up with all kinds of ideas that make no sense. I even wanted to spend time with an American who’s staying in Glastonbury, just to see if I could make you jealous.”
Holt drew in a sharp breath. “Make me jealous?” His mood darkened ominously. “Who was this fellow? How did you meet him?” he grated.
“He was with a group of hikers, but Peter directed them down the road, away from Langley. That’s not important, though,” Tressa added, filled with unease. It was time to get to the point at last. “What’s important is the one thing you haven’t told me yet.”
“You mystify me, Tressa,” he said in a guarded voice.
“You don’t have to hide the truth from me anymore, Holt.” She edged away from him, taking one small step and then another. “I know that you feel sorry for me, but...”
With one swift movement, Holt closed the distance between them and grasped her by the shoulders, making her face him. Moonlight gleamed on his black hair and brought the contours of his lean, hard face into sharp relief.
His voice was like honed steel. “There must be something you haven’t told me.”
Should she come clean about her encounter with Eleanor at the gorge? The prospect made her feel sick with dismay, for there was no way to describe the incident without Holt realizing exactly how she felt about him, and how searing it had been for her to learn the truth from Eleanor.
In vain she tried to detach herself from his hold but it was no use, for his strong hands grasped her even more tightly by the shoulders.
“Tell me.”
Mutely, she shook her head.
Suddenly, Holt turned sharply as he listened to some sound that was too faint for Tressa’s ears.
A few moments later, she heard the rumble of an engine. The sound grew louder and soon a pair of headlights shone between the trees.
Holt’s hands dropped away from her shoulders. “How can it be possible,” he fumed, “for a man to own nearly a hundred acres in the country and still be interrupted at every turn?”
As the car approached, they were forced to move quickly from the narrow bridge to make way.
Thirty
Near the edge of the lane, Holt stood
stiffly waiting to interrogate the visitor.
After crossing the bridge, the vehicle came to a stop and the window was rolled down. Albert Chu peered out at Holt with friendly interest.
Surprised, Tressa stepped up and quickly performed the introductions. Holt spoke little beyond the barest of greetings, but he seemed to relax his guard.
Tressa asked with a questioning look, “Albert, what are you doing in England?”
“I’m staying at Oxford for a month-long seminar. We’re having a break between sessions right now. Luke told me that it wasn’t a good idea to show up in Somerset, but I decided to rent a car and come visit you anyway. Where’s Luke? And Peter?” he asked eagerly.
Tressa pointed down the lane, giving Albert the directions to Cup Cottage. With a wave, Albert drove off.
“He shouldn’t have come to Somerset,” murmured Tressa. Now that her surprise had faded, a sense of alarm was growing. “Ted Johnson could be tracking him because of his connection to Luke. They share an apartment in Boston, you know. We should join the others and find out what Peter and Luke have to say about it.”
Holt agreed, but in a reserved and moody way. Together they walked swiftly down the lane. “Our troubles only seem to thicken, Tressa. But we’ll finish our conversation tomorrow, have no fear,” he warned her.
Tension throbbed at her temples, but Tressa reminded herself that she’d be gone by the time Holt woke up, if the previous pattern of his days held true.
Lights glowed from the living room windows of Cup Cottage up ahead, and as they drew closer, the sound of muted voices could be heard.
When Tressa stepped through the front gate, Holt remained behind in the lane. Hesitantly, she turned and said, “Aren’t you coming in? You could ask Albert any questions you have about the transition. The two of you have a lot in common, after all.”
“Not tonight.” Holt then parted from her with a terse farewell.
Tressa’s gaze lingered on him until his black clothing had blended in with the shadows and he had disappeared completely from her sight. She’d probably never see him again, she realized.
She turned back to the cottage, dashing away the tears that had just appeared on her cheeks. Willing the layer of ice that surrounded her to thicken even more, she walked slowly up the front path.
Inside the cottage, Tressa found the others huddled in the living room near the hearth with Albert looking chastened and apologetic.
Luke glanced around at the little gathering. “None of us should leave Langley tomorrow. Peter, we’ll have to postpone our plans for Internet casting in Bath.”
Tressa’s eyes widened with dismay at Luke’s pronouncement.
“Albert, you’ll have to stay here for a few days. But turn off your phone.”
Albert nodded and obeyed, bringing out his phone.
Tressa silently fretted. There seemed to be no way she could leave Langley the next morning, as she had planned.
“We can’t sit around for long,” said Peter. “Every day that passes, Ted and Margot are moving forward without any interference from us. If Luke’s hunch is right, they’ll soon be trading in the most dangerous mercenaries that ever existed. Then it won’t be just our own lives at stake.”
Luke shot Peter a determined look. “After tomorrow, we’ll take our chances. We’ll drive to Bath so that I can use my new routine for casting.”
“Have you been spying on the Operation?” asked Albert. His glum look disappeared. “I’ll come with you to Bath and help.”
As the others talked over their plans, Tressa quietly left the room to ready herself for bed.
She’d have to wait a day to enact her own plan. But then she’d have her chance.
When Peter rose for the morning, he was surprised at the silence within the cottage. Tressa was an early riser and it had become her habit to join Peter for breakfast at Arbor Cottage.
As he emerged from his bedchamber, he saw that her door was still closed. He knocked lightly, but there was no answer. He knocked again and the door, which had not been firmly latched, swung partway open.
Tressa’s chamber was empty and by the look of the coverlet, the bed had been hastily made. He entered the chamber and walked slowly about, feeling puzzled.
Tressa’s spare clothes were stacked on the dresser and the tote bag she used for trips rested near the bed. Peter realized with relief that she hadn’t embarked on another crazy jaunt across the countryside. With the risk of detection so high, it seemed that even Tressa was exercising some common sense.
Still, any change in her habits made him uneasy. He left the room, hoping to discover that she had already arrived for breakfast at Arbor Cottage.
Only birdcalls broke the early morning quiet as Tressa crossed the stone bridge and turned onto the small lane that led to the manor house.
She had spent a restless night, finally rising at dawn. Outside her chamber window, the sky had stretched out bright and cloudless above the treetops across the lane. She’d known instantly how she would spend her day of waiting. She’d venture from Langley on a long, meandering hike through the Somerset countryside, for that would be the perfect way to avoid Holt and his probing questions.
Risky business, she had reminded herself, considering the bind they were all in – but at least she’d be on foot. There’d be less chance she’d show up on any surveillance scans.
After dressing quietly, she had collected the English currency left over from her shopping venture in London and had slipped it into her pocket. There hadn’t been time to pack herself food and drink, but she had known that she could buy whatever she needed at a country market or inn.
On tiptoe she had left her chamber, closing the door softly behind her. Peter and Luke had remained asleep in their own chamber, and as she had made her way downstairs, she had heard Albert snoring lightly on the sofa in the living room.
Once outside, she had passed Arbor Cottage without Hugh spotting her. Soon she’d arrive at the manor house and circle around to the boggy hollow, where she had earlier noticed a footpath leading into the hilly country beyond.
The narrow lane wound through the trees, bringing her out into the open. On the other side of the clearing, thick sprawls of ivy and smothering undergrowth pressed up against the walls of the ancient hall and its two broad wings. All around the old manor house, the white morning mist hovered like a pale, diaphanous shroud.
She wondered if Holt and Eleanor would live there in the future. But Eleanor seemed to have expensive, modern tastes, and Tressa couldn’t picture her taking part in a restoration of the old, spreading manor that lay so deep within the country, far away from London. Langley Manor would be left to molder on its own, no doubt, but whatever became of it was really none of her business, for she’d never see it again.
And I’ll never see Holt again, once I’ve left England. Her heart began to ache painfully under all the layers of ice. Giving herself a shake, she tried to believe that everything would be easier once she had returned to the States.
Tressa walked steadily onward, rounding the west wing and coming to the rear gardens where her route led her across the terrace and past the tall French windows of the library.
Through the glass she could see the dim outlines of the room, and suddenly, she remembered Holt’s angry outburst.
Holt must have returned to pick up the book he had thrown so violently against the wall. He had to treasure the small collection of books he kept in the library; the volume of Shelley’s poetry was probably resting on the desk right now, awaiting some careful repairs.
The library windows beckoned to her. Helplessly, Tressa drifted closer.
Peering inside, she could make out the library’s hearth. Near it stood the antique desk. The surface of the desk was empty, but on the floor lay the book of Shelley’s poetry in the same spot where it had landed, face-down, pages splayed.
Tressa turned away from the windows and passed through the hedges and overgrown beds with tears pricking at her eyes. Holt
had forgotten about the book – either that, or he no longer cared what became of it.
More eager than ever to leave the grounds of the Langley estate, Tressa made her way past the derelict gardens and down the slopes to the marsh. Circling the boggy ground, she found dry footing on an old flagstone walkway that must have skirted the banks of the former lake. She followed the walkway until it disappeared under the murky water that had long ago crept up over the old banks.
She stepped carefully over the wet ground after that, passing an ancient willow that hung curtains of thin, silver-green leaves over the water. Tressa parted its leaves and stepped through to find a footpath just beyond.
Winding and climbing from the north end of the marsh, the footpath led Tressa up to a gate in an old fieldstone wall that marked the boundary of the Langley estate. As she passed through the gate, she tried to leave all thoughts of Langley’s master behind.
Soon the steady rhythm of walking made her troubles recede. Feeling a little better, she followed the footpath to a rushing stream, which she forded with the help of several stepping stones. Fresh breezes played over her face as the footpath wound higher and higher, bringing her to the top of a grassy hill.
When she arrived at the summit, she came upon the ruins of an ancient stone structure. Walking closer, she investigated the remains of the walls and a bell tower, all of which had the look of an old Saxon church.
The stones must have been standing on the hilltop for a thousand years, give or take a century or two, she thought with a sense of awe. She made her way to the crumbling portal and peered inside. Tall, dewy grass grew within the shady interior, and at the far end of the space stood the remains of an altar.
She ran a hand thoughtfully over one of the stones, and then she was about to continue on her way when the old, leaning gravestones in the churchyard drew her attention. Stepping over to the nearest stone, she bent down to read the inscription, but the growths of gray-green lichen made the letters unreadable.
Straightening, a feeling of desolation swept through Tressa. She suddenly felt as if she had come full circle.