Immortal With A Kiss Part 2

I made an effort to pull myself together, and I am sure my manner grew cool. We continued to talk, and he took his leave close to ten o' the clock, extending his good wishes for my success tomorrow in procuring the teaching position and expressing his wish that we might see one another again soon.

As soon as he was gone, my fatigue returned and so I asked to be shown to my room. I was taken upstairs to find a very nicely appointed bedroom. The bed was already turned down and my mother's portmanteau lay open, unpacked enough for me to quickly access a light blue night rail and my hair brushes.

I had waited to finish reading the last entries of Victoria Markam's journal, wanting to be close to the origin of action when I came to the heart of what had driven her off. However, as I settled under the fluffy featherbed, my expectation that Miss Markam's account would build to a crescendo was sadly deflated. I plodded through repet.i.tive writings. The mutinous att.i.tudes of the girls grew, along with her despair. She was nearly obsessed with proving them guilty and vindicating herself.

The last entry was not dated, but it seemed to come a good deal of time after the others. The handwriting had deteriorated substantially. I could barely make out the wild scrawl.

They think I am mad, although they will not say it. Elizabeth watches me all the time. She hates me, for I have disgraced her. No one wants a raving sister to set the gossips' tongues wagging. London is so far away from the Penines, and still I do not feel safe. I close my eyes and see the bodies. No one believes me. G.o.d, I still see them. The small hand of the baby, lying limp with its fingers spread like a tiny star. The blood, brown and old and dried, like rusted necklaces. They'd been cast off like rubbish. The girls had to know they were there. Did they kill them? Is that what they were forever whispering about among themselves? Whispering, whispering. Dear saints, the sound of their hushed voices fills my ears even now. The boy knows. The Irish boy. Maybe he killed those people, and the girls are innocent. Does that mean one of the girls will be next? Who? Not Vanessa. Let it be Margaret. I must stop thinking of it. I cannot help them. I tried. No one listened. I had to flee. I would help them if I could, but they despise me, ridicule me. I tried and That was the end; there were no more pages. I felt let down as I folded the excerpts and tucked them in the nightstand drawer, then pinched out the candle. The particular mention of blood on the victim's necks was inarguably evidence of a vampire, but it was disappointing that there was no more firm proof than this. Still, the question remained, buzzing in my veins with a low hum of excited conjecture: Was this the same vampire that had touched the life of a young Laura Newly, my mother?

The following morning, I traveled into the fells forest to meet with Miss Sloane-Smith, the headmistress of the Blackbriar School, armed with the falsified doc.u.ments Sebastian had sent. These were necessary for the ruse I had in mind.

People, I have found, rarely surprise us. One would expect a woman who ran a prestigious school dedicated to the education of young girls from the Quality to have a certain air, a certain look. Miss Glorianna Sloane-Smith surpa.s.sed all of my ideas of what these should be.

She was a matron of perhaps two score and ten years, a tall, dignified personage with impressive posture and steel-gray hair pulled into a tight chignon. Small eyes darted sharply behind a pair of wire spectacles. I was sure those clever glances missed nothing. Her dress was high-necked, the penultimate of modesty and fashioned of good material and tailoring, plainly cut and in a color so drab it was only a step above mourning.

I suffered a surprising attack of nerves as I was shown into her study and seated on the other side of a monstrosity of a carved mahogany desk. I have never been a good liar and I was going to have to tell a lot of lies now.

With Sebastian's help, every bit of doc.u.mentation I placed into her hands had been manufactured: references, past experience, even my schooling had been enhanced. According to these papers, I was the epitome of what an instructor in such a well-known establishment should be.

Miss Sloane-Smith perused the forged doc.u.ments from behind her desk, peering disapprovingly at them, then at me. Her hand lifted, smoothing her hair with the lightest of touches, as if this were meant to keep any errant hairs in place. It was unnecessary; I doubted a lock would dare venture from its bindings. I clasped my hands together on my lap and composed myself as best I could while she read my fabricated qualifications.

"How is it you were made aware of the position?" she inquired, not glancing up.

"My friend is an acquaintance of Miss Markam's sister. He told me of the situation and suggested I apply."

Miss Sloane-Smith pinned me with a discriminating glare. "Did he indeed? And what did he tell you of Miss Markam's sudden departure?"

"Troubles," I replied vaguely. "Although I heard in the village it was consumption. How sad."

I had the most absurd sensation that the headmistress saw right through me. Laying down my papers, Miss Sloane-Smith sat back in her chair. "Her illness was the main reason she was dismissed. However, prior to her collapse, she became distressed about certain things and worked herself into something of a state, which of course became of concern to the trustees of this school. As you can imagine, we take utmost care with our professional staff to maintain the high standards our families expect. Behavior such as Miss Markam's will not be tolerated. I trust there have been rumors, and you may have heard some of these. She was not always discreet, Miss Markam, and I would not like it if any gossip she spread had attracted curiosity-seekers."

"No, ma'am," I replied dutifully. And then, absolutely out of the blue, I had the most ridiculous urge to laugh. It was not funny, not in the comic sense, but what could be more absurd? Miss Markam's wild claims were exactly why I was here.

Miss Sloane-Smith snapped the papers I'd provided and resumed reading them. "There is no place for flighty, imaginative women here. We have a solemn duty to see to the education of the daughters of the finest families of England, and to do this, one must be serious-minded and dedicated. I trust you are the practical sort, with a good head on your shoulders, and mindful of all the things young ladies need to be taught in order to take their places as dutiful wives."

My cheek twitched. "I a.s.sure you, Miss Sloane-Smith, I am exactly that." The lie was like cotton in my mouth. How she did not see through me, I could not imagine.

She nodded, frowning at the papers I'd provided her, but I knew I'd pa.s.sed muster. It was not long before she sniffed and p.r.o.nounced, "You will do," with an air of resignation.

"Thank you. I will give you my best on every level," I promised, quite sincerely.

She made a point to appear unimpressed. "You will begin at once. We have been without a literature instructor for some time, and require the post filled immediately. I will have Miss Easterly show you the school, where your rooms will be, and the cla.s.sroom you will be using, all of that." Her critical eye took me in from head to toe. "I trust you have suitable attire. We like to maintain a serious atmosphere here at Blackbriar."

I a.s.sured her I did, although I had not given any thought to my wardrobe. My tastes did not run to the somber sort of dress she was wearing, which must be what she had in mind for me. However, I did have a few items. A royal-blue skirt I wore with a white lace shirtwaist was quite plain. Also, my forest-green day dress would do for my new role, and perhaps the lavender muslin, which was made with a high neck and long sleeves. The rest of my wardrobe would prove too fashionable. I could rework a few dresses, if I had to, to make them functional.

Miss Sloane-Smith rang a bell. "Good day to you, Mrs. Andrews. Ann Easterly will show you about. You may wait for her in the hall. I shall expect you to arrive with your belongings no later than Thursday so that you might acclimate. You are familiar with Dante? Good. You will be teaching The Inferno. I suggest you reacquaint yourself with it in the meantime and be prepared to discuss it with the students."

"I will be ready." I rose, adopting a mien of subservience I had often used when my stepmother was alive. I had learned many tricks to appease Judith's need to dominate me. "I feel I must ask, headmistress, although I a.s.sure you I am not doing so from salacious motivations. Were the girls much affected by the murders?"

"Murders? I am not aware of any murders."

Deep in the pit of my stomach, a hot coal burned, and I sensed my mistake before my brain comprehended it. "The bodies, madam. The ones in the woods."

"As I've told you, Miss Markam was a troubled woman," Miss Sloane-Smith said comfortably, all but laughing at me. "She imagined some dreadful things before her illness became apparent. One can only a.s.sume it was the result of some sort of fever a.s.sociated with her consumptive disease."

I faltered, made uncertain by her lack of concern. "Then . . . there were no bodies found in the woods?"

The headmistress narrowed her eyes and for a moment her placid face appeared quite cunning. "This is exactly the rumors, the gossip I mentioned a moment ago. Allow me to be quite clear, Mrs. Andrews-definitively no, there were never any bodies found."

"But I . . ." I trailed off, the words withered by the realization that I must sound a dupe. Worse, a fool who thrived on such lurid stories.

And now the older woman, with an air of superiority that made that coal of humiliation blossom like a conflagration to flush my entire body with discomfort, confirmed my worst suspicion. "Miss Markam was mistaken. She had a frightening experience out in the woods, where she had wandered due to her illness. Her delirium made her imagine things that were not there." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, somehow making the slight movement menacing. "The authorities were taken to the spot where she had had her apparition, and found not a trace of anything untoward in the woods. And that is the end of it. Now, I hope you will never speak of this again."

"I see. My apologies, Miss Sloane-Smith. I should not have listened to such a fantastic tale."

She was not appeased by my contrition. In fact, by the way she peered angrily at me, I feared I might be sacked before I began. I'd made a terrible error in pressing the matter so soon, and with the wrong person. As I sat outside her office awaiting Miss Easterly to give me a tour of the school, I wondered how badly I had damaged my position.

But then I realized something. I had almost missed it, what with Miss Sloane-Smith's stern dressing down and the officious, stifling manner in which she had delivered my rebuke. Now that I reflected, however, I thought I'd seen a momentary flash of something cunning in her eyes when she'd slapped down my questions about the bodies, and I knew she was hiding something.

Chapter Four.

I waited in the dark hallway, the deep walnut wainscoting surrounding me like a drab monk's cell. Obviously, the place had once been richly appointed, but the old house had lost its glory long ago. It was clean, but not charming. The wood was scored and dull with age. The scuff of girls' shoes showed on the floors. The place was a demoralized testimony to the violence of impetuous youth rushing here and there within these walls. I was wildly curious to see the students Victoria Markam had written of in her diary. Vanessa, Margaret, and what were the other girls' names?

A woman rushed toward me with an ingratiating smile and a ready apology for keeping me waiting, which she had not done at all. She held out a hand. "I am Ann Easterly." Perhaps a score of years older than myself, she possessed the kind of unfortunate figure that widens drastically as one's gaze lowers. In her green dress, she gave the impression of an emerald pyramid.

I took her hand. It was frail and cold. "Thank you for taking the time to show me the school."

"It is a wonderful establishment," she said, turning efficiently on a heel and sweeping toward a doorway off the dingy main hall. We entered what I deduced was the dining hall. A faded Renaissance-style mural was the only decoration, its figures looming like ghosts above the long sideboard on the near wall.

Ann Easterly gave me only enough time to peek inside before taking me back out again. "It is quite a modern idea of girls' education," she told me as she marched me down a whitewashed hallway leading off to the east wing, "and not without some controversy. We do have the extra subjects here, not just the elementary ones. I teach geography and history."

"Why controversy?" I asked, intrigued.

She made a face. "You know quite well there are those who are against the formation of the female intellect."

"It does make for inconveniences, such as opinions and the like," I said dryly.

Miss Easterly did not laugh. "Our goal," she said, "is to prepare the girls for marriage and the demands of the sophisticated society in which they are expected to travel. The art of intelligent conversation is the aim, conversation others should find amusing but not offensive."

Judith would have loved that sentiment. And although I secretly balked, I knew most people of society agreed with it.

We peeked into the formal parlor where the girls received family on the rare occasion of visits. As we moved on to the cozy, almost masculine library, I became aware that we had a companion shadowing us. After three or so turns through the serpentine halls, I turned to face the spy. "h.e.l.lo," I said pleasantly.

The girl should have been taken aback, and rightfully embarra.s.sed at being so handily caught up. Instead, she merely stared quite boldly back at me without speaking. It was extraordinarily rude.

"Margaret!" The word burst out of Ann Easterly as if she'd had a fright.

Ah. This was the tormenting, unlikable Margaret. I studied her closely, taking in the long dark hair coiled in fat sausage spirals that reminded me of the perfect coif of a shiny new china doll. I judged her age to be thirteen or fourteen years, just over the cusp of adolescence. Her eyes were deep brown, unnaturally large and fitted with lashes so thick it appeared as if a small tiny moth perched on the end of each eyelid. Her nose was a tiny b.u.t.ton, pushed up too much. Under this an exaggerated bow of her upper lip turned the corners of her thin lips down in a look of unhappiness or displeasure. She was almost beautiful-and the resentment that stared out at the world from her lush, glorious eyes gave away all; she knew her features had conspired too hard, missing their mark. And it infuriated her.

"Margaret is one of our brightest students," Miss Easterly said. "I am certain you will enjoy her insights and challenging questions, Mrs. Andrews."

Margaret did not reply. Those large, sullen eyes took my measure. I felt myself respond with something stronger than mere dislike. I mentally recoiled against her, as one would curl the tongue against the hint of sourness in milk just barely turned, that metallic tingle, the unrealized reflex to a foul taste.

"What is this?" a new voice cut in. I saw a reedy woman sweep into the hallway, her pinched, intelligent face frowning fiercely. "Margaret Elizabeth Kingston, where are you supposed to be at this hour?"

"I had to use the necessary," the girl murmured.

"Get along, now, then. You will see the new teacher in cla.s.s. Go on, and do not pull a face at me, Miss Kingston, or I will see you in detention."

Margaret's mien of rebellion dropped away and she turned, disappearing in a flash. She might hold Miss Easterly in contempt, but she feared this new arrival.

"Thank you Miss Thompson," Ann Easterly said tightly, not meeting her colleague's gaze. "I was just showing Mrs. Andrews the school."

Miss Thompson addressed herself to me. "You are taking Markam's place?"

I inclined my head. "I am to start the end of this week, I believe."

She gave a sharp nod of her head. "Agatha Thompson. Mathematics." She looked me over with approval. I felt at once the force of her personality, the kind of strong-willed, no-nonsense sort Miss Sloane-Smith had described as the ideal for Blackbriar instructors. "Welcome, then. And do not let the girls intimidate you. They are good girls from excellent families, but of course they are spirited, coming from impressive pedigrees as they do. That is a fine thing in its place, but we must have order here at Blackbriar. I find a firm hand best." Her look to Miss Easterly was almost chiding.

"Indeed," Miss Easterly said with an injured air. "If you will excuse us, we must continue our tour."

We were about to leave when Miss Thompson surprised me by suddenly grabbing my hand. I started, and when I looked at her face, I saw something hidden in the plain, st.u.r.dy features, something I did not quite fathom.

"Have a care in the school, Mrs. Andrews," she said. "This house is old, and we are isolated up here on the Fell. Be sure never to go out of doors at night."

"Certainly, I shall not," I a.s.sured her. "Why would I do such a thing?"

"No reason," she said, but I thought of Miss Markam. Was that her meaning?

After a beat of awkward silence, Miss Thompson added, "There are wolves hereabouts." She abruptly dropped my hand and took her leave.

"Let me show you the music room," Miss Easterly announced. I was then taken next to the conservatory (ever since the Great Exhibition, all ladies of quality were expected to know their flowers) and then the informal parlor, which was used daily and contained neat rows of embroidery baskets bristling with colorful thread and handkerchiefs proudly sporting carefully st.i.tched monograms.

Mrs. Eloise Boniface, the dance instructor, met us in the hall and introduced herself. She was surprisingly old and plump and was dressed severely in widow's weeds, but her smile was warm and welcoming.

"Mrs. Boniface has been here the longest of us all, even longer than Miss Sloane-Smith," Miss Easterly said.

The dance teacher bobbed her head proudly. "That is true. Nearly thirty years. Dear me, it always surprises me."

I immediately wondered if she'd known my mother. I wanted to pull her aside that moment and ask her, but Ann Easterly led me away, this time at last to the cla.s.sroom in which I was to teach.

I was happy to find it brightly lit by large windows with eastern exposure. It contained a desk and chair for me and long tables with chairs for the girls. Along the wall, bookshelves teemed with novels and collections of sermons, poetry-Spenser and Tennyson, Milton, a volume of Keats-and a good many of Shakespeare's plays, which was surprisingly modern, I thought.

"I would love to teach this," I said, grasping a copy of The Merchant of Venice. "I adore Portia's speech on the quality of mercy. Do you know it?"

"Unfortunately, no," Miss Easterly said. "But Miss Sloane-Smith chooses the a.s.signments. You must speak with her."

I caught myself up. I was not here to share the pa.s.sion of good literature. But I had been a lonely, isolated girl and books my only friends. And I had loved the fiery, rebellious Portia-she whose life had been trapped so singly by her father's death wish. I had believed I, too, was blocked from finding happiness by thoughtless adults who did not understand me. I always loved how it was she-a woman-who finds the wisdom to save her beloved Ba.s.sanio from having to deliver a pound of flesh to Shylock. How clever she had been to determine that the moneylender could indeed collect his debt if he could do so without extracting a drop of blood.

Shakespeare understood the profound metaphysical value of blood, its precious worth, its sacred embodiment of life. The remembrance of that sobered me. My heart squeezed lightly and I carefully put the book back in its place.

Noises from the hallway alerted me that the cla.s.s period must have ended, and indeed I saw several students crowding at the doorway to peek in at me. Word had apparently traveled swiftly that the new teacher was in her cla.s.sroom.

"I see I am going to be the object of some curiosity," I observed to Miss Easterly calmly.

She whipped her head about, a startled bird, then nodded, smiling nervously at the girls. "Oh." With an effort, she did a poor imitation of Miss Thompson's severe tone. "Vanessa Braithwait and Marion Tilman, get on with you." She waved a shooing hand at them. "You girls should be in the conservatory with Miss Brown."

The girl with the pre-Raphaelite curls spilling down her back, a face like a Madonna, and the long, lithe body of a prima ballerina had to be Vanessa Braithwait. She stood poised like a painter's model, her features composed in soft lines as she gave me a shy smile.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the plump, plain-faced girl with stringy brown hair, who stood beside her. She did not seem petulant as Margaret had, but neither did she seem in any hurry to obey Miss Easterly. No one did, it appeared.

The girls left in their own good time. I stared after them, Vanessa's height and swanlike neck making her head visible above the throng in the hall. My breath caught as I noticed the thing trailing after her.

A few other girls darted to the doorway to take a peek at me but I kept my eyes on Vanessa. My heart stopped for a second or two. The sound of Ann Easterly's voice, straining to bear some authority as she sent the new wave of students away, faded as a p.r.i.c.king sensation that had no physical cause rode lightly along my skin, and my gut twisted.

I had seen this before. I can describe it only as something oily and foul, the stain of evil, no more than a smudge of darkness in the air. It was the mark of the vampire that only I, as Dhampir, could see, and it curled like a finger around the graceful curve of Vanessa's neck. I knew without a doubt she was in terrible danger.

Dinner at the Rood and Cup that evening was quail, baked with a crisp skin, the succulent flesh underneath running with savory juices. Mrs. Danby served it with baby carrots sweetened in brown sugar and red-skin potatoes as soft on the inside as custard.

Lord Suddington, dressed in a formal waistcoat and again sporting the elegant touch of a flower pinned to his breast, begged to join me. We chatted amiably while we dined, and he showed himself knowledgeable on topics ranging from horticulture to the theater. He had traveled to the United States, he told me, referring to the young country by the gentrified term of "the colonies" and laughing at himself when I caught him at it.

I relaxed with him, and pleasant lull of his male attention wove a spell around me. I'd never been a woman to whom men paid much notice, perhaps because in my younger days I was usually paired with the irresistible confection that was my younger sibling, Alyssa. But then Simon, my late husband, noticed me, and I found that I was not unattractive, nor unwanted. Then there was Valerian.

I started somewhat at the topic I had been so determined not to reflect upon. I realized I had not been entirely successful. While Valerian was not always in my conscious thoughts, he had not gone far, only to the back of my mind. There the memory of him was ever present, along with the dull sadness at all that separated him from me.

The dining room was busier tonight, and my dinner companion never failed to introduce me to the locals who came by to say h.e.l.lo to him. One young couple, a man of my age with a frothy young wife on his arm, paused to converse. I was amused by their reverent obsequiousness to Lord Suddington. Me, they ignored, until Suddington mentioned my appointment to Blackbriar's teaching staff.

The wife regarded me with an arrogant sort of pity that made my blood boil. "Oh, dear. You are to be congratulated, I suppose, although it must be a dreadful thing, having to earn one's living."

Before I could defend myself, Suddington's eyebrows forked dangerously. "Miss Sloane-Smith runs an excellent school. Its reputation is known down into Kent and all the way up into Scotland. As I am on the board, I am intimately aware of the great service she provides for the children of the best families from all over England."

"Some think her too exacting," the wife countered. I saw she was looking for entertainment, the way some nasty children pull the legs off an insect and watch its mortal struggle. "I heard she is a taskmaster indeed."

"Well," I said in a blithe tone, with an eye on Suddington's growing ire, "one must have discipline."

Suddington shifted his gaze to me, somewhat surprised. I remained sanguine. After all, I was quite used to dealing with her sort of woman.

My serenity drove the couple off, the wife in something of a huff. "Heavens, what a witch," Suddington muttered, his eyes following her retreat. And then his mouth moved, and I believe he whispered something. I did not hear it, but I would wager it was not pleasant. That he would take umbrage on my behalf raised a giddy swell of pleasure inside my breast that was girlish and quite unlike me.

"Come, we must not allow such a spiteful creature to ruin our dinner," I said. "She is hardly worth our notice." I indicated the long stone wall and the widemouthed hearth. "I have been meaning to ask you all evening if you know where Mrs. Danby's mother is tonight? She is conspicuously absent from her chair. Is she well?"