The Dead Travel Fast

often pointed out. I cannot play King Cophetua to your beggar maid.”

With this last bit of savagery, he rose and walked a few paces upon the path and back again before turning to me. “If only you had read the letter. My pen is more eloquent than my tongue. I made confessions to you there I cannot bring myself to say again in the light of day. You would have a better measure of me now if you had read it.”

“I could not, for it was not there,” I reminded him.

“But I put it beneath the necklace so you would see it.”

“There was no letter,” I said, slowly and distinctly.

Comprehension dawned upon his face. “Of course not,” he murmured. “I apologise. If you will excuse me, I have something I must attend to.”

He rose to leave, but before he quit the garden, he turned back. He said nothing for a moment, but his expression varied wildly between fear and hope and something indefinable. He strode back and collected me to him, raising me from the bench and kissing me without either preamble or permission. But this was no sweet lover’s caress; there was desperation in his lips, and in spite of myself I was moved. I clung to him for a moment as he abandoned my mouth to kiss my temples, my eyelids, my brow. At last he drew back, and when he spoke his voice was rough.

“If only you had read the letter. Things are moving apace now. I do not know what will happen, but you must be safe. You will leave-tomorrow. I will speak with Beecroft and he will take you from here. It is impossible that you should stay.”

“I do not want to leave you.” The words left my mouth before I could guard against them. Hearing them, he groaned and kissed me again.

“Do you think I would send you away if there were any way to keep you? I am master here, but there are things beyond even my control. You will go because I say you will. I have never asked for obedience, but now I demand it.”

“But-”

He gripped my shoulders, his fingers biting into the flesh so hard I would bear the bruises of it for weeks to come. “Do you not understand me? I cannot protect you now.”

Realising the strength of his grip, he released me, his expression sorrowful, imploring, and yet with an air of command I dared not refuse.

“Who will protect you?” I asked him, putting a hand to his face. For an instant, he closed his eyes, giving himself up to my touch. Then he stepped sharply backwards and the moment passed.

“I will not see you again, Theodora. Leave at dawn, and do not think of coming back. You will not be welcome, and you will not be safe.”

And with that last brutal pronouncement, he left me.

I went to my room and began to pack, and some time later there came a knock at my door. I hurried to answer it.

“You look disappointed,” Charles said with an attempt at jollity. “Expecting someone?”

“Of course not,” I said dully, turning back to my packing.

“I happened across that fellow the count and he said you changed your mind, that you wanted to return to Edinburgh straight away. I do not pretend to understand you, Theodora, but I must admit I am relieved. Of course, one hopes the book will not suffer, but I have put my mind to it, and I have recalled an acquaintance of my mother’s who I think may do us an excellent service. The Duke of Aberdour has a wonderful old place up in the Highlands, all pointed towers and crumbling stone, just like this. Well, not precisely like this of course,” he added with a sharp laugh. I heard him as if from a distance, through a veiled mist of misery. I could not quite take in the fact that I must leave this place. That I must leave him.

“Well, what do you think?” Charles asked, his question tinged with impatience, as if he had put it to me more than once.

“About what? I am sorry, I was not attending,” I told him as I folded a shawl into the box. I had forgot the one I had worn into the garden. It was still doubtless draped over the tarragon bush. I made a note to retrieve it before I left and reached for the necklace of blue beads and a handkerchief in which to tie it.

“About staying with the Duke of Aberdour, of course,” he said testily. “He is a terrible old flirt, fifty years old and he’s already seen three wives buried. Still, you can manage him well enough, I daresay. The place is wildly atmospheric, and I should think it would suit your purposes. A very congenial place to finish the book,” he told me, rubbing his hands together. There was nothing Charles liked better than a tidy solution.

“Very well,” I said quietly.

“It is not like you to be so amenable.” He regarded me suspiciously. “And it is not like you to hurry away from something that you find diverting. You are snappish as a dog with an old bone when something captures your attention. Why have you had the sudden change of heart, my dear?”

I was too miserable to summon a lie. “Because I have been told I am unwelcome. The count is sending me away.”

“What?” Charles bolted upright. “Of all the arrogance! Who is he to-” He broke off as the truth of it was borne in upon him and subsided back into his chair. “I see. That is how it is. Well, I ought to have guessed. He is a singularly handsome fellow, and you are certainly comely enough to catch his attention. Lovers’ quarrel, then?”

The words were spoken lightly, but they were laced with pain. And something made me quite savage then. I carried enough of my own burden; I could not shoulder his as well. I flung a book into my travelling case. “Yes. That is precisely the nature of it. I am dismissed, for reasons I cannot understand or support. I do not know what excuses I will make to the others,” I said suddenly, the sharp edge of anger dulled as quickly as it had been whetted.

Charles cleared his throat. “I think it best if we simply say that I have business in Edinburgh, and it concerns you. I will affect an air of mystery and say I cannot disclose the details, but you must fly at once to retrieve an opportunity that must not be missed. I had a letter today, forwarded me from Vienna. It was a note from Mother, but if I wave it around, no one will look too closely and it will be easy enough to convince them of its importance.”

I bent swiftly and kissed his cheek. “I do not deserve a friendship such as yours, Charles, but I am heartily glad I have it.”

He blushed a little. “Yes, well. We are quitting this place, and that is good enough for me. I had the most curious discussion with Dr. Frankopan today, and it has put me right off this village and the castle as well.”

“I suppose he told you the same stories he told me about the strigoi?”

“Yes, and ghoulish tales they were as well. Quite chilled me to the marrow, I do not mind telling you. Tale after tale of wives throwing themselves from towers and deals with the Devil and things that are dead but not dead. But then Madame Popa served us a sort of plum brandy that has played havoc with my head. I found myself telling him all sorts of things, confidences and such.” He darted a look at me, and I knew well enough what the subject of those confidences had been. “And we talked of our disappointments in life. Did you know his family disowned him? That is why he lives in a tiny cottage here, in the land God forgot.”

“I thought you liked this place,” I remonstrated gently.

He shrugged irritably. He seemed restless and ill at ease, as if the Carpathians-so seductively sinister to me- had proven too much for him. He reached into his pocket for a sweet and sucked at it, most likely for comfort, I surmised.

“I do like it, or at least I ought,” he told me. “But I am so puzzled by it all. It does put me greatly in mind of the Highlands, you know-all majestic scenery and superstitious peasants. But I have always been able to laugh at the Highlanders. Here, I would not dare to make sport of them. Here, I begin to believe it,” he finished, his voice nearly inaudible.

I reached a hand to cover his. “Frighteningly easy, is it not? I hope now you understand what came over me.”

“Understand? Theodora, a wolf howled from the woods as I was sitting and having a quiet drink with the doctor. A wolf, boldly walking abroad in the middle of the day! Who would credit such a thing?” He gave a shudder. “It is a place where quite anything could happen. And I do not blame you for any foolishness you may have indulged in whilst here,” he added, a trifle sententiously. Whether he referred merely to my overblown imagination