Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Elizabeth noted that the colonel quickly recovered from the surprise of the name. “That appears to be he.”
“Very good, Sir. I be afraid no one saw Mr. D’Arcy today. The maid reports his bed remains unused.Yet Mr. D’Arcy’s belongings be still in the room. He paid for three days, so I kept the gentleman’s personal things intact.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened on the colonel’s arm, and he brought his free hand to rest on hers. “Did my cousin speak to anyone of note?”
“The gentleman walked ’bout the village upon his arrival.
He sat for some time with Mr. Bruce. Bruce be pro’bly the most knowledgeable man in the area, lived here forever he has.
” The man puffed up with importance. “We be thinkin’ Mr. D’Arcy be attendin’ the St. Cuthbert dance last night at the assembly, but old Bruce say he not be there.You not be thinkin’ somethin’ bad happen, do ye, Sir? ”
The colonel smiled with confidence. “Most assuredly not. My cousin is a learned man—very interested in history. More than likely, he found himself in conversation and forgot where he was. I am certain he will return later with tales of the border wars with which to regale us all.”
“Mr. D’Arcy be findin’ plenty of those.” The innkeeper chuckled as he made arrangements for their baggage. “I be puttin’ the lady’s things in her mister’s room. You be needin’ one of yer own, Sir?”
“That would be excellent. A comfortable bed would take care of all my travel woes.”
“Ye be starvin’, too, I ’magine.”
Elizabeth looked about her. “If it would not be too much trouble, something hot would be most appreciated.”
“You and the lady take yerselves into yonder room. Me wife find ye some meat pies and some tea. She be happy to serve ye there.”
“Thank you, Sir,” the colonel responded. “Ask your kind lady to turn my tea into ale, if you would.” He maneuvered Elizabeth towards the private room. “And our coachman requires provisions, as well as our cattle.”
“All be seen to, Sir.” The man moved away to do their bidding.
When they were seated in the private dining room, they dropped the pretense. Elizabeth released her breath. “At least, we know William is here. I was surprised he used the old spelling of the family name.”
“Very astute of Darcy.”
Elizabeth looked anxious. “I suppose so.”
“It appears I will be spending time in the taproom after we dine. A few rounds of drinks should loosen the local tongues.”
“Where do you suppose William is now?” She spoke softly, although they were the only two in the room.
The colonel took her hand in his. “I doubt if Darcy waited for long before he approached Wickham’s coverture. Knowing your husband, he went through the front door.”
“Would you have approached it differently, Colonel?” she half teased.
“I would wait and watch and choose the right moment.” He laughed at himself. “I suppose Darcy’s way is the more honorable one.”
“But not necessarily the more prudent one.” Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “No one who ever met you, Colonel, would think you anything less than honorable.”
The innkeeper’s wife interrupted their conversation. “Hopin’ the meat pies serve ye,” she said as she placed the tea service on the table beside the colonel’s tankard.
“They smell delicious, Ma’am. Thank you for all your trouble.”
The coachman appeared at the door, and Elizabeth motioned him forward. “Yes, Peters?”
“Mrs. Darcy, I be takin’ note, as ye asked. The Master’s horse is in the stable.”
“Trident?” Her excitement rose.
“Yes, Ma’am. Trident be glad to see me—gave him a randy apple, likin’ I always do.”
“Watch Trident for us, Peters. Let me know if anyone goes near him.” The servant looked pleased with the new responsibility. “We will be staying here for a few days, so use the time to make whatever repairs are required.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He bowed out of the room.
The colonel spoke: “You must rest tonight, Elizabeth, and I will find where Wickham is and how we might best approach him.”
“You will be cautious, Colonel?”
“I have not my cousin’s powers. Like you, my dear, I am very much a human, and I must depend on my wits to survive. Trust me, I will respond with intelligence. When I know something of import, we will act.”
“Make it soon, Colonel. I fear William requires our assistance.”
The colonel nursed his drink as two men shared their stories of how each night those foolish enough to be out after midnight took the chance of meeting what these men simply called “bloodsuckers.” He also learned the whole neighborhood “knew” the source of these diseased creatures to be the master of Wickford Manor.
“Current master be the family of Seorais Winchcombe,” the one called Gordy told him, “the one who be lovin’ Lady Ellender.
The lady and Lord Benning be buried up in the cemetery with all them others. It be odd the man returned here.”
“How far is it to Wickford Manor?” the colonel asked casually.
“Half’n mile back towards the church. Wickford Manor be not much by London standards, but it got some land. The thing is, it sit right on the back of the line where be the church’s graveyard. Like Wickford Manor takin’ in them souls.”
His partner offered his own insights. “Some be sayin’ them bloodsuckers dance in the hall every night. I nary believe it, but everyone be sayin’ it so.”
At length, claiming all the information he could from the men, the colonel bid the two a safe evening.
“It is near eleven, gentlemen. I shall not detain you longer. I thank you for sharing your insights.” Edward Fitzwilliam knew he should disclose what he discovered to Elizabeth, but if what these men said was true, he must act, before the “dance” began.
A quarter hour later, he stood before the church’s graveyard.
Everything appeared quiet, but after the past hour of listening to two grown men excitedly describe what they knew of the grave sites looming before him, the colonel steeled his nerves before proceeding.
As rambunctious children, he and Darcy often played soldiers, hiding behind family headstones in a pretend battle, and in the military, he spent more time than he cared in remembering the dead and fighting in what would easily become a graveyard with the next day’s light.Yet this was different, and the colonel sensed it. In this cemetery, death lived.
Chastising himself for his fear, he quickly crossed the mounds to exit through the hedge shrub outlining the graves. A glance over his shoulder showed him a low, creeping fog spreading across the granite memorials.
His drunk tavern mates had described the house as being behind the cemetery.
However, they forgot to mention the hill and the wooded field.
Fortunately, light streamed from the house’s windows, serving as a beacon as he took unsteady steps on the hill.
He made his way stealthily through the forested area to exit where the steps led to the kitchen.
Edward reasoned how country homes would never be lit up as such at this time of night, but this was no ordinary household.
Armed with cloves of garlic and a crucifix purchased in one of the small villages through which he and Elizabeth had passed, he edged the kitchen door open and slipped into a perfectly clean room.
At first, its pristine condition shocked him, but then he recalled Elizabeth’s remark of vampires feasting only on blood.
The pots and pans and kettle were purely Wickham’s playing at being the master of his estate.
Leaving the kitchen behind, he followed a staircase leading to the private living quarters, but again the rooms offered no insights into how to defeat Wickham, because they stood unused, a mausoleum to an unemployed life.
Only one door was locked, and although he wished to force his way into it and view what it might hold, a pulsating cadence caused him to curtail his search and find his way towards the center of the house.
Drawn by the unusual sound, he crept on all fours to edge forward to where the upper floors overhung the center hall.
He glued himself to the wall, crouched so he might respond if necessary, and looked upon what he could not explain.
The sound increased as he peered between the slats of the railing to the room below.
He feared his presence might affect the show, but nothing stopped the accentuated movements as one after another shadowy eidolon entered a spiritual gambol.
They turned and twisted and oscillated to an undulating rhythm.
Periodically, one pasty form would hazard a challenge to another, and the room would fill with squeals of despair and of yearning before returning to the murmured chants.
Then a creature as pale as the colonel had ever seen rose from his grotesquely adorned chair.
He held out his hand to a pretty sort of girl with curls pinned tightly to her head.
Then, horror of horrors, the image the colonel assumed to be George Wickham looked on in infinite sadness as the girl slid into his embrace.
Wickham brought her closer still, swaying with her in a primitive invitation to passion.
His hands searched her body, and then wordless voices rose in exultation as the fiend lowered his head and drank the girl’s blood.
Edward bit back a cry of dark contempt for the display.
He shuddered in anguish at his inability to prevent Wickham’s variance.
With a gesture of despair, he withdrew to the servants’ stairs.
He must escape before the surging call of the coven pulled him in.