Miss Austen's Vampire (9 page)

Chapter 12

November 2, 1815

Hans Place, London

My Dear Cassandra,

It is with immense relief that I may finally report that my brother, Henry, is improving. After weeks of the fever, he finally mends. I first had reason to hope that he would soon improve when a new doctor was brought in for another opinion. This doctor, Dr. Baillie
,
is trying a new course of treatment. He also happens to be the Prince Regent’s physician, but Cassandra I assure you I am not holding this against him. He seems to be a fine physician, despite his other associations.

I would be amiss not to tell you that due to Dr. Baillie’s infamous acquaintance I am to make a visit to Carlton House on the 13
th
of this month. I have told no one of this yet, no one, and beg you to keep this in confidence. It seems that the prince is an admirer, or claims to be an admirer, of my books. As you can imagine I am not anxious for this honor. I fear I know to whom I will be obligated to dedicate
Emma
.

My dear sister, while I do write to tell you of Henry’s improving health, and my coming visit to Carlton House, it is for another reason that I write today. For several months I have longed to share this with you, but as you will soon see, I felt that to do so would be most imprudent. I still am of this belief, but I can no longer keep it to myself. But I do not wish to worry you, I assure you I am quite well. What I have to tell you is of a most intimate nature, and as my beloved sister I must reveal to you my closely held secret.

I am in love. Yes, at my greatly advanced age, I have fallen in love. Do not be angry with me for not sharing this with you before now. You will see that there are good reasons why I could not. But first, let me tell you about the man who has entranced me. Yes, entranced, for no other word will do. Gabriel is everything Mr. Darcy is, and more that Mr. Darcy could only wish to be. Mr. Darcy should wish to be so handsome. Mr. Darcy should wish to be so amusing, intelligent, kind, thoughtful, gentle, and devoted. Gabriel is every good man I have ever written, altogether in one. I love him dearly.

But sadly I must tell you that my relationship with Gabriel must never become known. You must tell no one. I know I should not be telling you, but it has become impossible to keep such an important part of my life from you. Gabriel and I will never marry. No, he is not married. I would never become involved with another woman’s husband. He is not a felon. But more than this I cannot tell you. Just please believe that we have sufficient reasons for keeping our love secret. Trust me and the Christian woman I have always been that I am not making a sinful mistake.

My heart has been so full of joy since Gabriel came into my life. And now my dearest sister knows of my joy, and this, too, brings me happiness.

I must return to Henry now. He will be wishing to go out to the garden for his air.

Please burn this letter after you have read it through several times. For I know you will be so incredulous that you will require many readings.

I am very affectionately yours,

Jane

Chapter 13

December 15, 1815

Hans Place, London

My Dearest Gabriel,

This line I wrote for
The Elliots
has great personal meaning for me, as you and what you have brought into my life inspired its writing. The heroine of the book shares some characteristics with me, and this line is to do with her. And as you will see, it is mine as well. It is as follows:

“She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.”

Do you not think it is as much about me, and my finding love so late in life? Finding you.

I do truly believe that romance at my age is the sweetest of all.

I am most affectionately yours,

J.

Chapter 14

February 4, 1816

Chawton

My Love,

To finally be so close to you. It is true bliss to know you are not two miles away. This cottage has already brought me such joy! If only I could be here always, and never be taken back to town by odious business. But to see you more often! Oh, Jane. Are we not fortunate to be able to meet again? I do love you so.

Dearest Jane, your enthusiasm for our activities last night impressed me. Greatly impressed me. Each time we partake in that activity, I am surprised by how much you seem to so thoroughly enjoy it. I wish you could see the smile on my wicked face as I write these words!

But, my love, the other bit. The part I worry about. Surely, it cannot be good for your health to lose so much blood, so often. I am most concerned for your well-being and do wish you could accept my pleas for moderation. I do understand your feelings on this matter, and appreciate the joy it brings you. But, as I said last night, I think it best that we be more moderate in that area.

Until I see you on Wednesday, I seal this with a kiss.

Yours,

G.

February 9

My Dearest Gabriel,

To be with you, it does bring me such joy. I do not believe I shall ever forget last night.

But alas, I must share something most unfortunate that has occurred. As I slipped into the house last night, I was most surprised to find my sister still awake. She was adamant that I tell her where I had been, as she had made excuses throughout the evening to my mother for my absence. I confessed. I confessed that I am no longer a maiden, and that I have no qualms about having a lover without the sacrament of marriage, because I am so deeply in love with him. With you. Gabriel, she is quite terribly angry with me. I must believe that sisterly love and felicity will win over. Someday. I pray. Until that day should arrive, however, I believe we shall need to be ever so discreet.

Most affectionately yours,

Jane

Chapter 15

March 12

Mr. Augustine,

I send this with a most discreet servant. I am not well today, am keeping to bed, so regretfully will be unable to meet with you. Trust that I will let you know when I am feeling well again. Surely it will be soon.

Miss Austen

March 12

Miss Austen,

I instructed your servant to wait whilst I compose this reply to your missive. I hope some of my righteous anger is apparent in my writing: to wit, Miss Austen, I believe I pleaded with you for moderation, and yet neither of us had the wherewithal to follow through, and now here you are, ill. This cannot be allowed to happen again.

I will not be at ease until I have heard you are well.

Mr. Augustine

March 14

My Dearest Love,

While I was most thankful to gain admittance to your home this morning, what I saw concerned me greatly. Jane, your paleness and weakness are nothing to be trifled with. You remain quite unwell. And that your illness is my fault, my doing, weighs heavily upon me. But that aside, we simply cannot continue to enjoy what has brought you to this point. I will brook no argument on this point, Jane.

I am sure that I will have looked in on you again before this letter ever reaches your hands. I pray that I will see a great improvement in your health.

Yours,

Gabriel

Chapter 16

May 18, 1816

My Dearest Gabriel,

Yes, I know we did not keep to our promises once my health improved in March. Yes, I demanded IT. Yes, you gave in to my wishes. But I am not sorry for the joy it brought me, and dare I say that it brought you joy as well. So, please save your anger and your vitriol.

Of course the truth is, I am once again unwell, as you well know. It is the belief of Cassandra that time in Cheltenham and imbibing in the healing waters there will restore my health. The true cause of my illness is still and ever shall be, kept from my family, do not fear. However, I feel I should, indeed, go to Cheltenham, if for no other reason than to placate my dear sister. And yes, time away from our particular activity cannot hurt, either.

I shall miss you. My heart breaks at the thought of a lengthy separation. You will be my first thought every morning, and the last thought before I sleep, and every thought in-between. I love you, Gabriel. Please keep me in your heart whilst we are separated.

Yours,

Jane

Chapter 17

July 21, 1816

Chawton

Mr. Augustine,

While I would be insincere if I were to tell you my sister does not long for you to return to her, I must tell you how grateful I am that you do not, and implore you to keep away from her. Yes, she is bereft that she has not seen you since our return to Chawton. Indeed, she is but a shade, wandering about the house and even refusing to write. However, she is, at long last, in better health, which I am sure you would agree is what is most important. It is my belief that she will only continue along the road to full recovery and vitality if you stay away from her. Cheltenham worked its wonders. Now it is up to you, sir, to make the choice that allows her to continue her recovery. I am not a woman susceptible to the whims of superstition, but as a Christian woman I cannot help but think that the continual breaking of the Commandments played a role in my sister’s illness.

Do not, again, make my sister a fornicator.

I send this by copying the directions on Jane’s letter to you that she sends today. You may trust that this is the only such missive you will ever receive from me.

C. Austen

Chapter 18

May 30, 1817

Winchester

Dear Francis,

I write to tell you that you were always correct in your assertion that I am nothing but a monster. I am a monster. A monster that kills that which it best loves.

I fell in love, Francis. I fell in love with the most wonderful, delightful, brilliant woman. And she with me, which is the most astonishing part of this story.

And now I sit by her as she lie in what is most certainly going to be her deathbed. I put her there, Francis. The monster in me has slowly killed the only woman I could ever love.

We could not help ourselves. Our love manifested itself in a physical form, as all great loves do. But as a monster, our physical love included my abhorrent activity, and though you will be hard pressed to believe it, she begged for that part of our lovemaking. It is that, that has slowly killed her.

Oh, Francis, for a time we were able to stay apart. She had been very ill, and as I knew what was causing the illness I insisted we stop our activities. But, oh god, after she was again well we slowly began to give into our passion once again. And now, the inevitable outcome of our, no MY foolishness.

My beloved is dying.

I hope you are most satisfied to know you were right. Yes, Gabriel Augustine is a monster that kills.

I shall not ask that you pray for my soul, as I do not have one.

Your brother,

Gabriel

PART III

TO HAVE BEEN LOVED

Chapter 19

Late June 1817

Winchester

Cassandra stood at the foot of her sister’s bed, watching as she peacefully slept. That the calmness of her sleep was due to the presence of the man who lay at Jane’s side was impossible to deny, but still not easy to accept. Since her most recent setback, Gabriel was always on the bed with Jane, except when visitors came by, at which time he hid in the other bedroom until they left. The previous night had been one of Jane’s worst, with raging fever and vomiting throughout the night, and each time she was ill he tenderly held her head then cooled her temples with cool, wet cloths. While Cassandra did not care for the usurpation of her role as caregiver for her beloved sister, she had to begrudgingly admit that the man seemed to be good for her sister. He was certainly a devoted and gentle caregiver. And that he loved Jane deeply was truly undeniable.

Cassandra sighed. Was she jealous that her sister had the undying love of a man? Perhaps a little.

She let her eyes rest on the sleeping Gabriel. After months of despising the man who loved her sister, Cassandra had come to a new understanding, as she had watched him with Jane. He was indeed a most handsome man. A charming man. A gracious man. A caring man. Yes, her sister was a most fortunate woman to be loved by such a man. Months earlier, while still in the full bloom of health, Jane had confessed to Cassandra that Gabriel was everything Mr. Darcy should wish to be. Now, having had the opportunity to spend time with him and watch him lovingly tend to her ailing sister, she could see that Jane had spoken the truth.

Yes, Mr. Augustine was the best of Jane’s men.

July 17, 1817

Gabriel sat on Jane’s bed, cradling her in his arms. She had been unconscious for hours, and all that time he had been holding her. A sunbeam shone through the window, landing on the bed. He wished she could see the sun today, enjoy it. After days of rain, she would have loved seeing the sun.

He leaned to her and placed his lips on her forehead, and let them rest there. The scent of healthy Jane was gone now, replaced by a scent that he recognized as death. His dead heart, a giant stone in his chest.

As the hours passed with Jane in his arms, every moment they had spent together played in his mind, from his first sight of her at his sister’s party, to the first time they were lovers, to the hours they spent reading to one another. Each minute was a gift. A gift he had sorely not deserved, but had greedily taken.

And a gift he had ruined, killed. Never would he be able to forgive himself his selfishness—selfishness that had destroyed the woman he cherished.

“Jane, my love, I am sorry. God, forgive me,” he whispered.

Jane stirred, and her eyes opened. They found Gabriel, and she smiled. She held him in her smile for several long seconds, before her eyes closed again, and she slipped back into unconsciousness.

The rain returned later in the day, casting the sickroom in dark shadows. Even the many candles burning throughout the room could not dispel the pervasive darkness. Gabriel still sat with Jane pressed against him, her head cradled in his arms like an infant. Cassandra sat in the chair next to the bed, and neither spoke.

A seizure an hour earlier had wracked Jane’s body, and the doctor, who still stood in the room, observing his patient, thought it was perhaps brought on by a large blood vessel giving way. Gabriel found this sad diagnosis ironic, given what he knew had truly caused her illness.

Now they sat, he and Cassandra, awaiting what both feared was the inevitable. That they were both losing the person they each loved more than any other in the world was the monster in the room that they could not bear to face. Gabriel was jealous of Cassandra’s quiet weeping. Never since his change had he so regretted his nature and its inability to form tears.

July 18, 1817

In the darkness of the early morning hours, Cassandra climbed up on the bed and sat on Jane’s other side. Gabriel adjusted Jane so that both of them could hold her. He held her hand in his, and pressed it to his heart. Cassandra held Jane’s other hand. Thus they stayed for Jane’s remaining hours.

Just before the dawn, Jane’s labored breathing slowed. Gabriel tightened his grip on her and buried his face in her hair. A dry sob wracked his body as he listened to his beloved Jane breathe her last breaths.

“I love you, Jane. And will for all time,” he whispered into her ear. Then, bending to her mouth, he gently pressed his lips to hers as Jane breathed her last breath.

Cassandra took Gabriel’s hand, opened it, and placed the lock of Jane’s hair on his palm, then closed his fingers over the strands.

An hour had passed since Jane’s death, and her body lay as if sleeping, on the bed. Neither Cassandra nor Gabriel was yet able to leave the room and spread the word of her passing. Each found little tasks to attend to, forestalling the inevitable.

“Cassandra,” Gabriel said.

She turned from her task of snipping another lock of Jane’s hair—this time for herself—and looked at Gabriel.

“Yes?”

“I know you now understand the depth of my love for your sister. But I also must implore you to keep that love secret. Jane and I never wanted it to be known. That you know of it, that is fine, and as Jane wanted it. But beyond that it must be something I simply keep in my heart—for all time.”

She stared into the glorious, grief-stricken face of her sister’s lover, and nodded.

“I will go fetch the doctor. You may have some time alone with Jane.” Her voice was soft, clear, and matter of fact.

He watched Cassandra leave the room before kneeling beside the bed and laying his head on Jane’s silent chest. If he could have any wish granted, it would be to stay like this for all eternity.

At last he raised his head, and looked into the lovely face of his lover. So at peace. So calm. Removed from pain. He caressed her face, from temple to jaw, and back up to forehead.

“Oh, Jane. Jane. My loveliest, dearest Jane. You know I love you, and will for all time. And you will
never
be forgotten. Not by me. Not by anyone who has ever had the joy of knowing you, my love. And I will make it the mission of my long existence to see to it that your talent is never forgotten. Forever I shall spread the word of the talented, delightful writing of Miss Jane Austen. And, I confess, my reasons for doing so are selfish. Because by making sure your name is never forgotten, I shall forever feel close to you, even as we are no longer together.”

Gabriel drew a ragged breath, and softly kissed her lips one last time.