Dracula in London Part 5

Well, of course the brandy was locked up-you don't leave brandy lying where any servant could sneak a gla.s.s, do you? So I went for Mr. Gage, straight through the kitchen where Mrs. Brockham, red-faced, was bent over the pots and Jeannette, parlor maid or not, was whisking eggs with just enough force to be surly about it, straight to the closed door of the butler's pantry, where I knocked.

He didn't answer. Well, of course I knocked again, and said his name. Mrs. Brockham left off her stirring to stare at me. I knocked again, fair pounding this time.

"Here now," Mrs. Brockham frowned at me. "What's the trouble, Mary Margaret?"

"I need brandy for Miss Lucy!"

We went through a bit more knocking and rattling before she opened the door and went right in. And screamed, her hands flying to her mouth. I squeezed around her and saw Mr. Gage lying half across his desk, his eyes bulging and gray. Dead for hours, likely. I suppose I might've screamed, too. It brought Jeannette running, who dropped to the floor in a dead faint, and George, the footman, who as a man was too mindful of his dignity to faint, though he swayed a bit and looked very pale.

"Better tell the mistress," Mrs. Brockham said, voice gone all weak. "Get on with you, girl!"

I went, my shoes knocking on hard wood. Mr. Gage, dead? Butlers didn't die, at least not in service, not in that undignified way like they were no better than the rest of us. Upthe stairs I went, my heart hammering in my chest.

Crouching there next to miss Lucy and the mistress was Elizabeth Gwydion, with a gla.s.s of brandy in her hand that she held to Miss Lucy's lips.

I wasn't thinking, mind you. Not a bit of it. I reached out and I slapped it out of her hand, sent it crashing against he polished wood of the wall.

Mrs. Westenra shot to her feet and snapped "Mary Margaret! Whatever has got into you? Stop this instant!"

I gulped down some air and tried to steady my voice, but I didn't take my eyes off of Elizabeth Gwydion. Behind me I heard the whisper of voices-Penny and Kate and Alice at the foot of the stairs, watching.

"I sent you for brandy," Mrs. Westenra continued coldly. "When you didn't return Elizabeth was good enough to fetch some. Now explain yourself."

"Mr. Gage," I managed to say. "Mr. Gage has pa.s.sed, ma'am."

"Oh," Mrs. Westenra said faintly. "Oh my. That is most- distressing. How-"

"Don't know, ma'am."

"I see." Mrs. Westenra took a deep breath. "I've already sent for Dr. Seward about Lucy. When he arrives, I'll have him examine the body. I'll address the staff presently."

"Yes ma'am." I dropped a very small curtsy and turned to do what she'd ordered, but she stopped me one more time.

"Mary Margaret," she said. "Tell Cook to make it a cold breakfast."

Mind you, she wasn't a cruel woman, Mrs. Westenra; she was a good employer, never harsh, never unfair. But if you ever wanted to know the difference between upstairs and down, there it was in the one short command. Mr. Gage was dead, and all it meant was a cold breakfast instead of a hot one.

Do? What could I do? We ate our cold meal, waited for Dr. Seward to come and tell us it was Mr. Gage's heart, most unfortunate, but natural enough. Took him all of a minute to glance at the body and say so, and then he was off to Miss Lucy.

The minute he was out of sight, Alice began to cry, and Penny too, both good for nothing the rest of the day because they were sure the house was doomed. Floors didn't get scrubbed, or the carpets swept, or the bra.s.ses polished. With Mr. Gage and Mrs.

Ravenstock gone, Mrs. Brockham didn't have the heart to force us to it.

Jeannette run off that night, not even asking for a reference. That left me, Penny, Alice, Kate, Mrs. Brockham, and George.

And Elizabeth Gwydion, of course. Herself.Poison? Oh, of course it was, Nora, whatever Dr. Seward might have said. Herself had tried to kill me already, and she'd done for Gracie and Mr. Gage and probably for Mrs.

Ravenstock as well. If I'd had any sense I would have packed my carpetbag and followed Jeannette. But I never did have sense, everyone's said so.

I stayed, instead. And that night, I dreamed of Whitby Abbey.

In my dream I followed Elizabeth Gwydion there to those tumbled white stones, and in moonlight she was all marble and shadow. Mind you, the place is harmless enough in daylight-I'd climbed the place from one end to the other, as a girl. But this dream-abbey was drenched with black, and every shadow hid horror.

Dracula? Oh, aye, I'll give you Dracula, you silly bint, because that's who came to her there in the dark shattered ribs of the church. He poured himself out of the shadows, tall, he was, tall and cream-pale, with heavy foreign features-red, red lips the only touch of color to him.

The evil of him made my skin crawl, even as far away as I was. He looked like a man, but he wasn't, he was more, he was worse, and he stank of rotting blood.

Elizabeth dropped right to her knees in front of him, drowning herself in a thick puddle of fog.

"Well?" His soft, deep voice carried to me on a dream wind. "Is it done?"

"She is prepared for you, master," Elizabeth said, and she looked up at him with a slave's devotion, fair turned my stomach. That accent to her voice, the one she claimed was Welsh, it sounded thicker now, and I was dead certain it came from farther away than Cardiff.

"Excellent. I will go to her soon. The others?"

"Servants of no consequence." Elizabeth's face twisted in sudden distaste. "There's a meddling maid who deserves your personal attention."

"I do not stoop to battling servants," he said. "If you think she does not recognize her place, then show it to her, Elizabeth my beauty. Teach her the pleasure of obedience."

She groveled to him. She crawled to him, crawled. It made me sick to see anyone, even Elizabeth, stripped of dignity like that. He put a booted foot against her ribs and rolled her on her back.

The pleasure of obedience, indeed. I'd see him in h.e.l.l first, and her too. At that moment he-the thing-turned and met my eyes. Not surprised at seeing me-he'd known I was there the whole time.

It was like staring into the sun, all that blinding hunger. He drank me down like a bracing tot of hot gin.

"Well." He smiled slowly, those red lips parting like the edges of a new wound. "Adreamer."

He rushed at me, darkness and the stench of rotten blood, and I screamed myself awake.

Dr. Van Helsing had been in and out of the house by that time, though I'd had aught to do with him. He'd come back to do some terrible strange thing to Miss Lucy, taking blood from Mr. Holmwood and putting it in her veins. A G.o.dless thing to do, I still say; no good can come of a thing like that. Still, Dr. Van Helsing had a kind way about him, and I saw him cross himself once, when they were praying over Miss Lucy. So I knew it was likely we had a bit in common-and, anyway, he was foreign.

I made myself bold and talked to him uninvited.

Yes, of course I know it could have gotten me shown the door! Blessed Mary, well I know it! But I had to do something, so I spoke to him about the dreams, and Elizabeth Gwydion, and all the deaths below stairs. Which he hadn't heard, of course-the deaths of servants weren't worth mention, I suppose. And he was gravely worried about it. Did you know he smelled like caraway seeds even then? And a sharp mint he liked to chew. He was ever so nice to me, and he told me to watch Elizabeth Gwydion close, and tell him what she did. He'd be gone that night and the next day, going back to his home, but he'd receive my report on his return.

Mind you, the household was in chaos. No butler, no housekeeper-poor Mrs. Brockham wasn't up to the task. And the maids were in hysterics, terrified of losing their positions but even more terrified of leaving them. George, the footman, insisted nothing whatsoever was wrong, but then he was a dim sort, and as the only man in the house, I suppose he had to say it. So there was no one left to tell me that I couldn't stay with Miss Lucy. I sat up outside her room that night, and when Elizabeth Gwydion came to the door I told her right sharp to be on her way. Later that day, going down the stairs I'd traveled at least a thousand times, something wrenched hard at my foot and I fell. It was a fearful long fall, but I turned on my side, wrenched my shoulder, bruised something terrible-and I didn't break my neck, like poor Mrs. Ravenstock. Must have been a terrible disappointment for Miss High-and-Mighty Elizabeth.

After that, it was a quiet night. I suppose I fell asleep in the chair outside of Miss Lucy's room. I woke up in pitch darkness, and something cold was touching my throat.

Well, you might imagine, I drew breath to scream, but a hand clapped over my mouth, and I pushed, pushed hard, threw myself off of the chair and down to the carpet. This time I did scream, and loud enough to wake the dead. Wasn't more than a minute I suppose before light bloomed gold in Mrs. Westenra's doorway, and there she was staring at me, her face gone dead pale, her eyes big as saucers.

Lying half across me was Miss Lucy, her skin ice-cold, her color like ashes. She had two wounds in her neck, fresh drops of blood staining the white linen of her nightgown. Poor thing, she was like a breathing corpse. I got to my feet, and Mrs. Westenra bent down tohelp, but her color was almost as bad as Miss Lucy's. I couldn't drag the girl, it wasn't proper, but George was nowhere to be seen, nor any of the other servants.

Except Elizabeth Gwydion, coming, up the steps with a candle. She was smiling.

"I'll help you," she said, and took Miss Lucy's feet. I hated the idea, but what choice did I have, then? We carried her into the bedroom and laid her in the disordered bed; I tucked her carefully in, added blankets from the wardrobe, and closed the open window.

All the garlic flowers Dr. Van Helsing had left around the room had been swept into a corner. The necklace he'd asked Miss Lucy to wear was broken on the floor.

I looked up and Elizabeth Gwydion was staring into me, digging her eyes in like claws.

Smiling.

"Too late," she said.

"We'll see about that," I snapped, and saw that Penny had finally worked up enough courage to come down, and lurked like some hunted animal behind the doorframe, only her round pale face showing. "Penny! Get George and tell him to drive like Jehu for Dr. Seward.

Go now!"

She went, her bare feet padding on the carpet. Elizabeth Gwydion never quit smiling.

"Mary Margaret-" Mrs. Westenra, who'd been standing quietly by my side, put a hand over mine as I straightened blankets atop Miss Lucy. "That will be all. I'll sit with my daughter."

Elizabeth Gwydion lost her smile. She didn't like that, didn't like it at all. She'd thought Mrs. Westenra defeated, I saw.

But she bobbed a curtsy and said, "Tea, ma'am?"

"Fine," Mrs. Westenra snapped. Elizabeth went.

"Ma'am-" It was terrible forward of me to say anything, but I had to. "Ma'am, best not to drink anything she brings you. Until Dr. Seward arrives."

She blinked and nodded. After a moment she looked at me again, and there was new strength in her eyes.

"You'll defend my daughter?" she asked. "Against anyone?"

"Yes ma'am."

She took her hand out of the pocket of her nightrobe. She was holding a shining silver paper knife, and she pa.s.sed it to me and folded my fingers around the warm handle.

"Take it," she said. "Use it if you have to."

I left her and went downstairs to warn Cook that the battle was on.But Cook was gone. Whether she'd run or been dragged away, we never knew; no trace of her was ever found. Penny had found George and sent him on his way, but as the day dawned, then dragged on, Dr. Seward didn't come. There was no telephone at Hillingham, though the Westenras had one in the London house; I missed it most sorely, because help was miles away. Still, Dr. Seward would come. Surely.

Towards five I sent Kate out to walk into Whitby and find help-the constable, if nothing else. She'd only been gone a few minutes when she came back, screaming like the house was afire, to tell me that George was lying dead, the carriage smashed, on the rocks at the turn of the road. After that I couldn't get any of them to go.

So night fell, and we were all alone. Four maids, two ladies, and Elizabeth Gwydion. But Dr. Van Helsing would be back early in the morning. All we had to do was see daylight again.

So I told the others, and so it was.

But it was a terrible long night. Dead quiet outside, not even a breath of wind. Just the crash of the sea in the distance, and the sense that the whole house was holding its breath.

Mrs. Westenra dismissed Elizabeth. Oh, you should have seen the woman's face-cold, haughty, amazed. But Mrs. Westenra was too soft to make the woman leave the house in the dark; she settled for sending her to her room and telling Penny to watch the door.

It was close on midnight when I took Penny a cup of hot cocoa and found the chair outside of Elizabeth Gwydion's room sitting empty, though the seat of it was still warm.

And the door open just a crack.

I pushed it to find poor dear Penny lying on the cold wood floor, struggling. She flung out a hand to me. Elizabeth Gwydion had hold of her feet, and stooped over her, like an evil black shadow- Yes. Him. Dracula. He tore loose of Penny's throat and looked at me, parted b.l.o.o.d.y lips in a smile, and his teeth were sharp and white, and Elizabeth Gwydion let go of Penny and shot to her feet, grabbed hold of my arms. I cried out and tried to fight but she was horrible strong, and the stale smell of her, the rotting stench of him, made me faint and sick.

I suppose what saved me was the crucifix, which I'd mended and still had hung around my neck. It swung free and caught the light, sending Dracula reeling back. Remember that I told you I never saw him make himself dog or wolf or bat? I saw him turn to a stinking black mist like flies that whipped away through the open window. At the time I thought he was afraid of me. Now I think it was just that he was impatient to be about his other business.

Elizabeth still had hold of me. She was fearful strong, but I had a lifetime of scrubbing and lifting and hard work behind me, and I threw her off- -Out the open window. I rushed to it, hoping to see her crushed on the stone below, but she was clinging to the brick, clinging with needle-sharp nails. Her pale face grinned up at me, and I screamed; she laughed and scuttled away down the wall like a black-sh.e.l.ledbeetle.

I ducked back in and slammed the window sash and bent to help Penny to her feet.

That was when I heard the crash of gla.s.s, and the screams.

You know how it ended, I suppose. Poor Mrs. Westenra's heart gave out. Miss Lucy's own letter says a dog came through her window, though I never saw it; we found her lying pale and gray on the bed with her mother dead beside her. Penny, Kate, Alice, and I did the best we cold-covered the broken window, wrapped Mrs. Westenra in blankets, and took Miss Lucy downstairs away from the horror.

"Mother," she kept crying, and wanted to go back. But there wasn't no use in it, and besides she was too weak. I took everyone into the withdrawing room and found the liquor cabinet standing open. The brandy was empty-George, no doubt, which would explain the wrecked carriage-but the sherry was still full. I poured everyone a stiff measure, and we sat close to Miss Lucy while she wept. A sip or two of sherry was all she would take, though the rest of us drank up willingly enough; Penny even gulped down what Miss Lucy wouldn't.

"What'll we do, Mary Margaret?" Penny asked, her eyes huge and terrified. She had a wound on her neck like Miss Lucy's, but she didn't seem the worse for it. Just tired.

"We'll stay here," I said. "Let morning come, and Dr. Van Helsing arrive, before we do anything more. Here, Miss Lucy. Are you warm enough?"

She was shivering, poor thing, though we'd wrapped her up. I felt warm enough.

Over-warm, perhaps. Time pa.s.sed, as time does even in the worst of circ.u.mstances; Miss Lucy wept, and we tried to comfort her.

It must have been near an hour later when I looked up and found Alice curled asleep in a red Moroccan chair. Kate had nodded off, too. As I watched, Penny dropped her gla.s.s and sank down on the fainting couch, her long dark hair spilling over the carpet.

My legs felt weak. When I tried to rise from where I sat, I found I couldn't. My arms had gone numb, and I could feel it stealing through me now like a cold wind.

Laudanum, to put us fast asleep.

"Miss Lucy?" I whispered. She didn't seem to hear me. The door of the withdrawing room opened without even a creak, and there in the dark stood Elizabeth Gwydion.

"Come," she said to Miss Lucy. And Miss Lucy, who hadn't but touched the sherry, wandered away, leaving the blankets on the floor. I couldn't follow, couldn't master my own legs enough to try.

Elizabeth came straight to me and looked me right in the eyes, grinning like a skull, and said, "My master's seeing to your Miss Lucy. But it's my privilege to see to you, you meddling cur."

I started to pray then, because I didn't think I could move. The world was going gray, the edges fraying, and she bent close to me, her lips cold on my neck, sucking like a baby atthe breast, and I knew in the next instant she'd bite, and suck blood like red milk. I'd never feared anything so much, never felt such despair.

Something in my robe's pocket felt hot against me. Hot as the sun. Holy Mary.

Mrs. Westenra's paper knife! I grabbed it and stabbed for her, not able to feel my hand, nor the shock when it hit. I only knew I'd made the target when I saw her eyes go wide and strange, saw her stumble back from me and sit down clumsily on the floor with her legs splayed.

The hilt of the silver paper knife glittered on her black dress. I'd pinned it to her heart. She looked amazed.

"You-you English dog-"

"Irish," I snapped.

She was still trying to understand that when she died. Yes, I killed her-but here's the thing, Nora: as she died, she turned to ashes. Ashes, no different than you'd sweep up out of the grate in the morning. Ashes that stirred in the breeze of the door swinging open again.

Her master stood there, looking at the mess I'd made of Elizabeth Gwydion, and his lips drew back from his teeth. His face was ruddy now, his lips smeared with blood, and I thought of Miss Lucy with a terrible sick pang. I didn't have the knife anymore, I had nothing to protect me but my small crucifix and my fear.