The Dead Travel Fast (15 page)

Now it was merely a sad old relict of a more feudal time. There was nothing sinister in that save the passing of years, I decided. It was a house tragedy had touched, but perhaps with the old count’s passing, a new era could begin. Perhaps with encouragement, Count Andrei would refurbish the place and fill it with light and conversation and music. It could be lovely again, and surely a gentleman with a connoisseur’s eye who spent the better part of his time in elegant cities was just the person to bring sophistication and modern thinking to this old horror.

But it was pointless to hope for such a thing, I reminded myself. Count Andrei had demonstrated his negligence quite thoroughly. He cared little for his castle and less for his people. To wish him to feel otherwise was futile and would only lead to my own disappointment that a man of such possibilities and such natural gifts would scorn them all. I even began to pity him, for while I used logic and reason to dismantle the stories of vampires, I thought of the tormented look upon his face as he ordered me from his room. He had believed he was protecting me from himself, but I did not fear him. By the cold light of day, I saw that he had fallen prey to the superstitions of this place, but I had not, I persuaded myself. There were things I could not explain, but neither could I lay them at the feet of vampires and call it truth, and so long as I did not hold the truth, I could not leave. He might believe he had been made monstrous by his father’s efforts, but I did not, and as the days stretched on, I became increasingly convinced that I must wake him from this nightmare and persuade him once more of his own mortality even as I fought the urge to flee.

The next fortnight passed quietly. By day I wrote in the library, my solitude unbroken, and my afternoons were spent with Cosmina. I saw little of Florian and nothing of the count. The latter suited me. My feelings towards the gentleman were so tangled, so indefinable, I could not think upon him with anything approaching equanimity. Perhaps I ought to have left the castle then. I could have taken myself to London or even to Anna’s and finished my book in more congenial circumstances. But when I lay down to sleep or put aside my pen and closed my eyes, I thought only of the count, of the storm of emotions he had raised within me. I relived every moment that had passed between us during that interlude upon the sofa, how his mouth had lingered over my pulses, the warmth of his breath raising the blood hot and fast just beneath my skin. The pleasures had been exquisite, yet even in my inexperience I knew they were the merest taste of the banquet he could spread before me. To remain in such a place with such a man was to court disaster, I told myself firmly, and yet I could not leave him.
I will protect you
, he had sworn. I believed him. Had he not sent me away for my own protection? In the face of my doubts and fears, I trusted him still.

Even if I had mustered the will to leave, I should have had a difficult time persuading Cosmina to accept it. Once or twice during the fortnight, I hinted at such a thing, and she fell immediately into such a passion of reproach and pleading I could not refuse her. We walked often down to the village so that she could play the Lady Bountiful in the countess’s place. We carried baskets of scraps from the castle table and little oddments to give them ease. Florian sometimes caught fat brown trout from the river for their suppers, and Cosmina spent much of her time knitting warm caps for the children and shawls for the old women. The weather was growing colder, the air clear and sharp, and each day the morning sun rose upon a landscape that glittered under the first frosts. The pigs in the piggery were growing fat and tall, and the smell of woodsmoke filled the valley from morning to night.

The whole of the valley began to take on a settled air as if preparing to tuck itself in for winter, and with the change in weather, the occurrence of sickness rose. Dr. Frankopan was too often abroad with his patients to call frequently at the castle, and Cosmina did her best to bring comfort and aid to the little hovels where folk could not spare the coin for his attentions. She cared deeply for the villagers, and in her affection for them, she often neglected to care for herself. Whenever she could be spared from attending to the poor of the valley, she devoted herself to the countess, reading aloud with a hoarsening voice or scurrying down to the village to bring some new embrocation from Dr. Frankopan. Not unexpectedly, Cosmina took a chill and grew thin and pale, rather too much of both for my liking, and I began to fuss over her. I saw that she rested better and ate more in my company. She took care of the countess, and in turn, I took care of Cosmina, reminding her to wear a hat on the occasional sunny afternoon in the garden or to take the strengthening tonic prescribed by Dr. Frankopan. In a frank moment, he revealed to me that it was nothing more than a bit of good beef tea, boiled down and flavoured with herbs and wine, but he felt that Cosmina needed a bit of cosseting.

“She is beset by nerves,” he told me seriously. “This business with the
strigoi
is difficult for one of her temperament. The best remedy for overset nerves is the company of those who are sturdy and strong,” he said with a meaningful look at me.

I felt ashamed then, that I had neglected her rather badly since my arrival. I applied myself to her care, and we spent many happy afternoons stitching together or picking the strange black-skinned apples that grew in the castle garden.

As ever, the countess’s health waxed and waned, and when she was strong enough she joined us of an evening to dine and play piquet. Even Tereza resumed her duties, although she never smiled, and I noticed she wore a vial of blessed water about her neck.

And so the days passed, days when I grew more comfortable at the castle, days when I felt as if I had sipped from the river Lethe, forgetting those I had left behind and the life I had once known. It began to feel as though I had always lived in this mountain fastness, always dwelt in this strange and beautiful land. And even the occasional letter from Anna did nothing to recall me to my previous life. Her existence was an easy and peaceful one, and it seemed far removed from the life I now led.

One morning, a few weeks after the unsettling events in the crypt, Cosmina ran me to ground in the library, fairly dancing in excitement and dressed for an outing, a pretty basket looped over one arm.

“Oh, I am so glad I have found you! You must come, hurry now—I’ve brought your shawl,” she ordered, urging me from my chair and thrusting my plaid into my hands. Her colour was higher than it had been for the past fortnight, almost hectic, but her eyes were shining, and I was pleased to see her looking so well.

“Where are we going?” I demanded.

She grasped my hand and tugged me along behind. “We haven’t time to tidy your papers. You can do that later. If we tarry we will miss him!”

We hurried into the early afternoon sunshine of the court. It was a glorious day; a bright golden haze lay over the valley and it was unseasonably warm.

“The pedlar is come! We have expected him for weeks, but he was held up in Buda-Pesth. Hurry now, Clara is just ahead there.”

I saw Frau Amsel moving heavily down the Devil’s Staircase, red in the face and puffing. Out of courtesy, I slowed my steps.

“Frau Amsel, the way is difficult, is it not? I think we should descend more safely together.”

I proffered an arm, which she took with a grudging nod.

“Florian usually helps me, but he is very busy today with work for the count,” she advised me. I could smell the distinctive aroma of plum brandy upon her, but her steps were steady and firm.

Cosmina walked hard upon our heels, impatient to descend, but she need not have hurried. A knot of village women had assembled to wait for him as well, and it was fully a quarter of an hour after we arrived before the pedlar drew up in his gaily painted wagon. He was a shifty-looking fellow with sharp features and lank, greasy hair, and he gave us a jovial smile which did not touch his eyes. But he bargained fairly, and after perusing his wares—the pretty painted tin cups and the strings of bright beads and the dainty little looking glasses—I put out my hand to touch a length of fabric. It was violet, the colour of half mourning, and almost appropriate for my state of mourning. It had been woven with a pretty pattern of small black roses, barely noticeable on the field of purple. Too late I remembered I had not stopped to collect any coins before I left the castle.

I turned to Cosmina, dropping the length of fabric. I meant to ask her for the loan of the price just until we returned to the castle, but before I could speak, Frau Amsel swept the fabric into her arms.

“I will take this,” she said, fixing me with a challenging stare.

The pedlar, whose sharp eyes I suspected missed very little, put his thumbs into his braces and rocked back upon his heels with the air of a man who intended to make the most of an opportunity.

“I have only the one dress-length, and I have carried it the length of Hungary. Which of you will give me the best price?”

Frau Amsel thrust her hand into her pocket and withdrew a faded, washed-leather purse. She sorted through the coins and produced a handful.

“Here, this is what I will give you,” she told him, flicking me a triumphant glance. She seemed certain of victory, and well she ought, I mused, for I had no coin to counter the offer and no desire to brawl with Frau Amsel, although she had clearly decided to dislike me.

“I think this lady wants it more,” I said softly. The pedlar looked disappointed; doubtless he had anticipated a better price, but there was none on offer, and he accepted with an unctuous smile. He wrapped the fabric into a paper parcel and tied it with a bit of grubby string. Frau Amsel scarcely waited for the knot to be secured before she left without a word. I turned to Cosmina, lifting my brows.

She had seen the exchange, but merely waved a hand. “She is an odd creature. She was doubtless afraid you would carry off what she fancied. Although it was rather stupid of her, for she is frightful in purple. It would have suited you much better.”

I shrugged. “No matter. I am in mourning in any event. Let me see the beads you have there. What a pretty shade of blue. They quite match your eyes.”

She beamed happily and chose a few more things, counting out her coins happily while the pedlar wrapped her purchases in paper bundles, pleating the paper to make tidy little packages in the shape of animals.

“How clever,” I said, admiring the little monkey he had just fashioned.

With a few quick movements of his fingers he created another, this one a dog with rather familiar features. He presented it to me with a flourish.

“I thought you might like a little tribute to your dog,” he said.

“My dog? I have no dog,” I told him, but even as I said the words, I felt a familiar weight press against my leg. “Tycho!” I rubbed at his silken ears. “You curious thing, did you follow me here?”

“He must have,” Cosmina said. “He seldom leaves the count. It seems you have made a conquest,” she said. Her tone was light, but her colour had faded and she looked a little breathless.

“We have walked too far,” I chided her. “You are only just out of bed after that nasty cold. I ought not to have let you come.”

She gave me a gentle smile. “You could not have prevented me. He comes only four times a year, and it is always a wonderful treat. I will be fine. I am a little tired, that is all. A short rest and I will be good as new.”

“Perhaps something to drink at the inn,” I urged, and she complied, letting me carry her basket full of parcels and guide her to the familiar iron gate with the horse’s skull.

The innkeeper’s wife hurried out and motioned for us to sit at a pretty little iron table in the shade of a great elm. We settled there, and she hurried back with a tray of cold plum wine and a plate of small sweet biscuits. We drank and ate slowly, Tycho at our feet, and after half an hour or so, Cosmina seemed restored. She sat with her back to the tree, lifting her face to the dappled shade. She was so pale I could see the blood moving in her veins, and I thought of the countess, lying wan and feeble in her magnificent bed. I thought too of Cosmina’s mother, lost so young, and I wondered what weakness ran in the blood that the women of their family proved so frail.

As if sensing my scrutiny, Cosmina opened her eyes and smiled. “You needn’t worry so. I am not as fragile as all that.”

“Of course not,” I said stoutly. “A little rest and you will be right as rain.” I hated the sound of my voice, jovial and hearty, as if I could promise her restored health, when the truth—if I could bear to own it to myself—was that I feared for her. She tired herself on behalf of the villagers and her aunt, and I wondered if she could be persuaded to temper her efforts before they took too sharp a toll upon her.

She peered into the basket and picked among the parcels until she came to a tiny one in the shape of a mouse.

“This is for you,” she said almost shyly, pressing the little mouse into my hands.

“How thoughtful of you!” I tugged at its tail, unfolding the clever paper to reveal the strand of polished blue beads, each scarcely larger than an apple seed.

“I chose them for you, not for me,” she told me. She motioned me forward and I knelt before her to let her clasp the necklace about my throat. “How pretty they look!”

I turned, running a finger over the beads.

“That is just how you used to worry the rosary of your mother’s, do you remember?” she asked suddenly.

“Oh! I had quite forgot. Fancy your remembering that,” I murmured, feeling the unpleasant tug of memory.

“I remember how upset you were to have lost it that day. We were on a picnic, I remember. With Fraulein Möller. She took us to the little waterfall in the woods. We were meant to be sketching birds, I think. But we ate a picnic in the meadow and told stories and ate too much of the marzipan she had brought for a treat. I made daisy chains and you gathered the flowers for me. And the afternoon was so warm, we dozed off in the sunlight, with the bees and the butterflies dancing about us. And when we woke to leave, you found you had lost your rosary. You were so unhappy, I remember the day was quite spoilt.”