The Rest Falls Away

'If there are vampires causing all of this,' Melly returned, 'why has no one reported seeing one?'

'They are very careful… they sneak about in the dead of night,' Winnie replied. 'Make certain your bedroom windows are closed and bolted.'

'I shall ensure that mine are locked up tightly,' Petronilla replied a bit too earnestly. 'They do sneak around in the dead of night, don't they? But I heard they can change into mist or fog and slip through the crack of your window… and then turn themselves back into men. Right in your bedroom! Oh, dear, and Mr. Fen worth sleeps in his own chamber across the hall! I will be quite alone and unprotected!' Her voice was pitched loud, as though to make certain any vampires lurking about might hear.

'If they sneak around in the dead of night, then that is most definitely an indication that vampires—if they do exist—weren't responsible for the attack at Bridge and Stokes.' Melly leaned forward to drop a small lump of sugar in her tea.

'And what about that incident at Vauxhall Gardens the night before last?' Winnie commented. 'Did Jellington tell you anything about that?'

'No.'

'There was some sort of altercation there, but no one was hurt or injured.'

Melly raised her eyebrows. 'No one was hurt, injured, or—heaven forbid!—bitten… and you ascribe the incident—whatever it was—to nonexistent vampires? Winnie, my dear, you really are taking those gothic novels too seriously. Everything violent or unexpected that happens in this city cannot be attributed to creatures like vampires. There is enough evil perpetrated by man that we don't need to invent paranormal beings to blame it on.

'Now, let us dispense with this nonsense and talk about something much more interesting… such as how soon we might have a little marquess on our hands!'

His wife was mad. She had to be mad, for the alternative was terrifying.

For the first time he could remember, Phillip de Lacy, Marquess of Rockley, did not know what to do.

He left St. Heath's Row and drove his curricle into town. He stopped at White's, another of the clubs he frequented, and sat at a table by himself. He had several glasses of whiskey, a large hunk of beef that tasted like sawdust, and a slab of bread that could have carried weevils for all he noticed.

After White's, he felt restless and left to visit another gentleman's club, although he did not wish to be sociable at all. At Bertrand's he avoided his friends and sat in an empty room, ignoring the buzz about the unfortunates who had perished at Bridge and Stokes last night.

Perhaps that was the reason he did not wish to talk with anyone.

He did not want to know whether Victoria was right or wrong. He did not want to have to think about what it meant if she was right… or if she was wrong.

When Phillip had not returned to St. Heath's Row the next morning, Victoria could stand it no longer. She called for the carriage to come around and took herself off to Aunt Eustacia's home.

Her aunt took one look at her and understood. 'He knows.'

Victoria sank into a chair, angry that her hands were trembling and that tears threatened her eyes. She nodded. 'He's forbidden me to continue to hunt.'

Eustacia waited. She knew the power of silence. The sound of the clock ticking marked the minutes, paring away at the hope she'd placed in Victoria.

'I told him I could not stand by and let people die.'

Eustacia nodded. That was good.

'He became angry and left. He hasn't been home since we quarreled yesterday morning.'

'He saw you at his club?' Max had told Eustacia about the attack at Bridge and Stokes while she was tending to his wounds. It had been his attempt to keep her from lecturing him about taking better care of his injuries; she saw through it, and let him think he'd had his way. Then after he was finished, she chastised him roundly. Even Venators had to care for their wounds, she reminded him.

'Yes, he recognized me. I told him the truth; I couldn't hide it any longer, Aunt. I couldn't live the lie, keep feeding him salvi.'

'Of course you couldn't, cara. It is not in your nature to be deceitful. I realized it was a possibility that you would have to tell him at some time. I did not expect it to be so soon, and in the midst of this very precarious time—'

'What do you mean?'

'You and Max have had to stop two raids in the last three nights; perhaps there was even one last night that we weren't aware of. Lilith is gathering her forces. She is ready to make her move against you in retaliation for your besting her. She wants the book back, and she's put some plan in place to get it.' She rubbed the knuckles on her left hand, where the sharp sting of arthritis jolted her.

'Max is in no condition to be out, but he has been at the Silver Chalice since yesterday, trying to learn what is going on.' He'd suspected that Rockley would have recognized Victoria and that they would have had a confrontation, so he'd refused to let Eustacia get Victoria involved, insisting he'd handle it alone while she tended her home fires, as he put it so cynically.

'I knew he was badly injured, but he would not let me tend to them.'

'I know. He confessed it to me.' Eustacia sighed. She had other suspicions about Max's motivations, but now was not the time to air them. Instead she said, 'He doesn't like to be coddled.'

'Aunt Eustacia, did I do the wrong thing in telling Phillip?'

'I don't know how you could have done otherwise; but I do believe there will be consequences. They may be as simple as the marquess trying to prevent you from leaving when we need you; or they may be more severe. You must impress upon him that this is not something he can be involved in, as much as he might want to protect you. He cannot. You must make it clear to him; or send him to me, and I will do it.'

Victoria nodded. She would do that—if he ever came back to St. Heath's Row.

'Now, cara, you must go home and get some rest. Your husband loves you; he will return in his own time, when he has come to terms with your confession. And we need you. Max cannot do this alone.'

Victoria nodded… but for the first time she truly regretted her decision to accept the Legacy. She wished she had turned it down and had her mind cleared.

She wished for ignorance. And a normal life.

Chapter Twenty-Four In Which Three Gentlemen Meet Up

Late in the second day after Victoria had told him her fantastical story, Phillip realized what he needed to do.

Certainly, he'd already visited Bridge and Stokes, and found it closed, 'due to death.' And there definitely had been rumblings about the attacks that had happened there; but no one had mentioned vampires.

He'd even gone so far as to drive his curricle to Victoria's cousin Maximilian's home, planning to confront him as he had done before… but the man was not home, and the dark-skinned butler was unable to tell Phillip when his master would return within a day.

One thing he knew he could not do, yet, was to face Victoria. So he did not return to St. Heath's Row.

Instead he hired a hackney to take him to St. Giles. To the place he'd followed Victoria, to the establishment called the Silver Chalice.

There he would find the answer.

Oh, he wasn't foolish. Numb, perhaps, dull and mind-fractured with grief and pain… but not foolish. He prepared: He wore a crucifix under his coat. He stuffed full bulbs of garlic in his pockets. He even found something that could be used as a wooden stake—a broken walking stick in the cloakroom at White's.

Phillip didn't believe in vampires, and though he hadn't wasted his time reading that ridiculous novel by Polidori, he knew what lore said about protecting oneself from the undead.