Chapter Eleven A Practical Guide to Staking One’s Neighbours #3
“You once promised that explanations would be provided when you considered it safe.” Elizabeth held Mr Darcy’s gaze.
“I have waited. Mr Wickham’s eyes turned black when he touched me, Mr Collins is upset, and everyone in this room behaves as though daylight has committed a social offence.
I have therefore decided that safety may no longer be the only consideration. ”
No one spoke. Miss Bingley regarded Mr Darcy, then her brother and Mr Hurst. Mrs Hurst made the smallest movement of her head. Whatever passed among them required no words, yet Elizabeth saw the moment resistance ended.
Miss Bingley indicated the sofa Elizabeth had abandoned. “Please sit down, Miss Elizabeth. There is no use hovering over our heads while accusing us of unnatural conduct. It gives you an unfair advantage.”
Elizabeth resumed her seat, though every muscle urged her to remain ready for flight. Charlotte sat, calm enough to suggest that they had called to settle the number of musicians rather than determine whether their hosts were alive.
Mr Darcy drew a chair closer but did not sit.
Mr Bingley occupied another near the end of the sofa, while Mr Hurst stayed with his wife.
Miss Bingley reached for the bell, dismissed the footman who entered, and ordered that the household not disturb them.
When the door closed again, Mr Darcy faced Elizabeth.
“What are your questions?”
Charlotte folded her hands on her lap. “It would be fairer if you told us everything first. We cannot frame useful questions when we do not know which impossibilities require explanation.”
Mr Hurst inclined his head to her. “Miss Lucas continues to justify her invitation.”
Mr Darcy rested one hand on the empty chair. “Before I tell you anything, you must believe that you are safe in this house. No one in this room intends to harm either of you.”
“That is an alarming beginning.” Elizabeth watched his fingers against the carved wood. “People rarely announce that a drawing room is safe unless it has recently become doubtful.”
“Nevertheless, it is true.”
“Then tell us why it required stating.”
Mr Darcy’s eyes held hers. “My family is ancient, although not in the ordinary sense. The condition which has passed through it for centuries is not an illness, nor is it death as your books describe it.”
Elizabeth’s skin tightened. “How do you know what my books described?”
“You smell of dust, old leather, and Calmet.”
Mr Hurst lowered his face to conceal a smile, while Miss Bingley appeared offended that any woman would arrive carrying evidence of a study.
Mr Darcy continued before Elizabeth could decide which part of the remark deserved objection. “The name used in those books is vampire. I am one. Bingley, his sisters, and Hurst are the same.”
The word landed without thunder, darkness, or any assistance from the weather. The fire burned steadily, the curtains did not move, and Mr Bingley remained so amiable that Elizabeth briefly resented him for failing to become horrifying at the proper moment.
“Are you dead?” She leaned forward, abandoning the orderly interrogation she had planned during the drive.
“Do you kill people? Is that why your skin is cold? Do your hearts beat? Why does your breath not mist in the air? Why do none of you eat? Why do you avoid sunlight, and why are there no mirrors?”
Mr Darcy lifted one hand. “If you permit me to respond before advancing to the next superstition, I shall attempt each question in order.”
“I have not yet reached the punch bowl.”
“The bowl will require its own category.”
Elizabeth sat back. “Begin.”
“We are not dead.” Mr Darcy finally took the chair, placing himself opposite her. “Our bodies were changed. Our hearts beat so slowly that a human hand will rarely detect the pulse, and our blood does not maintain human warmth. We can breathe, but we do not require air except for speech and scent.”
Charlotte’s gaze moved to Mr Bingley. “You have been breathing since you entered.”
Mr Bingley appeared embarrassed. “It is polite.”
Mr Hurst folded his arms. “He also forgets and begins again whenever Miss Bennet enters a room.”
“I do not forget,” Mr Bingley protested.
“You once inhaled for twenty minutes.”
“She was speaking to me!”
Elizabeth pressed her fingertips to her temple. “And food?”
“We cannot digest it.” Mrs Hurst lifted one hand from the sofa. “The taste is unpleasant, and swallowing it causes considerable pain.”
“The cakes,” Charlotte murmured.
Mrs Hurst regarded her calmly. “I had no wish to carry one around the drawing room. Your Mr Collins forced the plate into my hand.”
“He is not my Mr Collins.”
“Not yet,” Mr Hurst observed.
Charlotte ignored him. “What do you consume?”
“Animal blood is sufficient for ordinary survival.” Mr Darcy’s voice hardened, anticipating the question behind hers. “We also maintain supplies obtained from humans who give small quantities willingly. No one is killed to feed this household.”
Elizabeth studied each face. “Have you killed people?”
Mr Bingley’s hands tightened on his knees. Miss Bingley turned to Mr Darcy, but he did not evade.
“Yes.” His answer came without defence. “I have killed in war, in protection of others, and in carrying out sentences imposed under our law. I have never killed a human being to satisfy hunger.”
Mr Hurst moved from the sofa and walked to the mantelpiece. “Neither have I.”
“Nor I.” Mr Bingley’s voice lost its usual lightness. “I have never fed from anyone who did not consent.”
Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley offered the same assurance, each in her own manner. Mrs Hurst spoke quietly; Miss Bingley delivered the words as a rebuke against the possibility that Elizabeth might class her with a creature lacking standards.
Elizabeth’s heartbeat had become painfully loud. Five vampires occupied the room, and every one of them could possibly hear it. The knowledge placed her body on display in a way that clothing could not prevent.
“Can you hear my heart?”
“Yes.” Mr Darcy did not allow his eyes to move from her face.
“Can you smell my blood?”
His fingers closed around the arm of the chair. “Yes.”
The single word carried greater danger than every corpse in Calmet.
Charlotte shifted closer until her sleeve touched Elizabeth’s. “Can you force people to obey you?”
Mr Bingley glanced at Mr Darcy. Mr Hurst turned from the mantelpiece, and Miss Bingley’s expression grew guarded.
“We can influence the human mind,” Mr Darcy admitted. “Age and strength determine the degree of control. A master vampire can compel most humans for a limited period.”
“Have you compelled us?” Charlotte’s voice was steady, although she placed both feet firmly on the carpet.
“No one in this house has used compulsion against either of you or any member of the Bennet family.”
Miss Bingley settled back against the cushion. “Had I compelled you, Miss Lucas, you would not be wearing that ribbon in your bodice.”
Charlotte touched the ribbon. “I selected it because it discourages interference.”
Mr Hurst released a low sound which might have been laughter. Miss Bingley reconsidered Charlotte with reluctant respect.
Elizabeth refused to permit humour to soften the question. “Have you ever attempted to compel me?”
“No.” Mr Darcy leaned forward, bringing them closer. “I would not. In your case, it would also fail.”
“Why?”
“That answer belongs to another part of the explanation.”
“Then I shall reserve my irritation until we reach it. What of sunlight?”
“It burns us. Weak winter sun can be endured briefly, but direct exposure causes injury. Fletcher has a protective salve developed by his father, although it is difficult to produce and must be used sparingly.”
Elizabeth remembered Mr Bingley retreating from bright windows during Jane’s illness. “That is why Mr Bingley avoids the windows.”
“Fletcher applies the salve when we must ride or remain outdoors. There was no reason to waste it inside the house.”
Mr Bingley spread his hands. “I had intended to look mysterious.”
“You hid behind curtains,” Mr Hurst reminded him.
“Mystery requires practical arrangements.”
“What happens in summer?” Charlotte examined the heavy curtains and the shaded positions each vampire had chosen.
“The salve must be renewed frequently,” Mr Darcy continued. “Rain washes it away, and stronger sunlight can burn through it. We travel at night, use closed carriages, and remain indoors during the brightest hours.”
“Mirrors?” Elizabeth pressed.
Miss Bingley gave the nearest wall a resentful glance. “We cast no reflection. Nature has denied us the opportunity to admire ourselves and left it to other people.”
“That explains a great deal,” Elizabeth murmured.
Miss Bingley’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“It explains the scarcity of mirrors,” Elizabeth said more loudly.
Mr Hurst chuckled and walked back to take the seat next to his wife. “She has you there, Caroline.”
Elizabeth’s thoughts struggled to reorder years of certainty around five impossible people. “What about the cold? Mr Collins felt fear when he touched Mrs Hurst, yet when our fingers met over my fan at Lucas Lodge, I felt nothing beyond cold.”
Mr Darcy’s expression changed, and she knew he remembered the same contact. “You felt it. You merely accepted the ordinary explanation.”
“You had declared me barely tolerable the week before. I was distracted.”
“That was not my intention.”
“Which part?”
Mr Bingley covered his mouth. Mr Hurst made no attempt to conceal his amusement, while Mr Darcy endured the question in rigid silence.
Charlotte rescued him, although Elizabeth doubted that kindness had motivated her. “Why did Mr Collins react so violently?”
“We do not know.” Mrs Hurst examined the hand which had touched him. “Some humans have a natural sensitivity. Clergymen occasionally claim that religious vocation sharpens it, although the evidence is inconsistent.”
“Mr Collins will be devastated to learn that his usefulness is inconclusive.”