The Delicate Dependency: A Novel of the Vampire Life (11 page)

“That’s never bothered you before,” I interrupted. “Well, it doesn’t bother me now, so much. I know I’m not going to live my life according to the deadly smiles, but what I don’t know is what I am going to do.” She regarded me imploringly. “I can’t help feeling I don’t fit in, Father. I have luxury and position, but I feel trapped in the world, and I don’t know what I want to do with my life.”

“My poor Ursula,” I said as I guided her once again toward the chestnuts. “You know what I wish you would do. I wish you would get married and settle down happily, but, as I’ve always told you, you can do whatever you want to do. There’s the university or travel, but we’ve been through all of this before. I don’t understand why you are so unhappy all of a sudden.”

She looked me straight in the eye. “I know what you’re going to say to this, Father. I know the very reply that will pass your lips, but I want you to think about it and answer with every bit of truth and conviction that’s in you.”

I released my grasp upon her as I gazed into her dark eyes and saw something familiar there, a fire and intensity that reached back to another person, another time.

“Very well,” I said, swallowing.

She drew in her breath slowly. “Do you think there was something wrong with Mother? I mean, do you think she was bad?”

I paused for several moments before I answered. “Of course not. No... of course I don’t.”

I noticed Ursula’s expression fell ever so slightly, as if it was the answer she was hoping I wouldn’t say, the answer she knew was a lie.

“Of course not,” she repeated hollowly “I guess it’s just that sometimes I worry. Sometimes I think it’s bad that I’m different.”

“No,” I told her sharply, “it isn’t bad, and I don’t want you to ever think that again.” I once again placed my arm around her shoulder and hugged her tightly. “Whatever brought this on, anyway?”

She shook her head and I could tell that she was still deeply upset. “I suppose I should tell you. I didn’t sleep very well the other night. I had a dream.” Once again she drifted into a troubled silence. “You know, the celebration of May Eve wasn’t always people dancing and laughing with garlands and hawthorn and a
May
Queen.”

I nodded.

“It’s a rite of spring, an ancient fertility ritual. Last night I think I dreamed about May Eve as it must have been celebrated when people still believed in the old ways.” She shivered. “I was here in Mayfair, but I could see through all of the blocks and ornate flats as if they were only phantasms, reflections in a shop window. And through the shadow buildings I could see many strange things. I could see the land, rolling and green, unviolated, save for a few rugged thoroughfares. And standing still and silent within each ghost of a building I could see all the ancient cairns and cromlechs like insects within their chrysalises. There were people, too, and everyone was running, celebrating the May Eve. I was running with them, but I didn’t realize at first. The people weren’t dressed in silk or velvet, or even wool or flannel. They were almost naked, and their robes were coarse. Their faces were shining in the moonlight and I could see that they were smudged with grease and ash.” Ursula allowed one hand to caress the rough bark of the chestnut as she continued.

“We may have maypoles and bonfires today, and it all may be very happy, but a long time ago it was different. When we burn the old witches today we don’t realize what their rag and wicker bodies really mean, what they represent. I realized it all the other night, in the dream, when I noticed the people had a leader, a dark and ragged man, and I noticed he was pointing toward me.” Her face paled and I squeezed her tightly.

“I ran, but they chased me, and the dark and ragged man began the chant as he grabbed at my nightgown with his suet-covered fingers: ‘
Through the rowan and through the keep, spare the horse and spare the sheep!’
They continued the chant as they backed me up against an immense bonfire, and I could hear the flames roaring and crackling in the wind. ‘
Spare the fox and spare the hen’
they shrilled,
‘but throw the woman in!’
I began to scream when I realized I was the ritual maiden, the sacrifice, but they just continued. ‘
But throw the woman in, aye, and throw the woman in!’
I felt cold and empty with terror as they lunged at me, and I woke up in my bed covered with...”

“There, there,” I comforted. “It was all just a bad dream. What makes you think it has anything to do with your mother?”

“I don’t know,” she said somberly. “It just set me to thinking, I guess. I know it was all just a bad dream, but somehow I can’t get it out of my mind that the dream meant something.”

“And what do you think it meant?”

“I think it means that when May Eve approaches, something’s going to happen.” She turned to me quickly. “Oh, I don’t think the people of Mayfair are going to run me out or anything. I just think I’m going to have to change, make a few decisions about what I’m going to have to do with my life. Perhaps I’ll meet that dark and ragged young man.” She gave a grisly chuckle.

“Well, I don’t think he’s the dark and ragged young man of your dreams, but we do have a house guest I’ve been meaning to tell you about.”

She regarded me inquisitively.

“He’s a young Italian gentleman named Niccolo Cavalanti, and he arrived very late a couple of evenings ago. I don’t know how long he’ll be staying with us, but I must warn you. We’re going to have to make some special allowances for him. He has a very unusual medical disorder, and is acutely sensitive to sunlight.”

“Will he be joining us at dinner?”

“I’m afraid not,” I explained. “Because of his medical disorder Signore Cavalanti requires a very special diet, and I’ll have to take care of all of his meals.”

“My goodness,” Ursula broke in, “what is wrong with this Signore Cavalanti?”

“He suffers from a rare disorder of the lymph system,” I said glibly. “The technical name for his condition is phototropic leucocythemia.” She pursed her brow and I wondered for a brief moment if she knew I was making the term up.

She nodded her head slowly. “How did you meet him?”

“I knew his father,” I continued. “The young man has come to London to visit a specialist, and I told him he could stay here until he found out whether he’s going to have to move to London permanently or not.”

“How very interesting,” Ursula murmured, and I could see a sparkle of interest in her dark eyes. “How old did you say this young man was?”

For some reason, even after I had lied so fluently, the question caught me completely off guard. I stood dumbfounded for several seconds.

“Why don’t you judge for yourself?” a voice said suddenly from the direction of the astrolabe. I looked up to see Niccolo standing there exactly as he had been standing when I had first set eyes on him. Once again he was an angel in the shadows of the garden. When I glanced at Ursula I was more than a little surprised to see she was completely cold and expressionless.

He swiftly crossed the courtyard and elegantly kissed her hand. “And you, I presume, are Signorina Gladstone.” She nodded, coolly unimpressed by his gallant gesture. “And you must be Signore Cavalanti.”

He smiled and gave a slight flourish with his hand. “Signore Cavalanti,” she repeated, “I’m so sorry to hear about your unusual medical disorder.”

Without raising an eyebrow he smiled and nodded.

“It must be dreadful to be so sensitive to the sunlight.”

“One gets used to it after a while,” he said, shrugging “Well, I hope that the specialist you’ve come to see here in London can cure you of this awful condition.”

“Ahhh... yes,” Niccolo returned. “Actually, I was hoping your father might offer some solution.”

Ursula regarded me curiously. “But surely he’s told you he spends most of his time doing research on
Haemophilus influenzae
.” From many long hours of assistance in my laboratory she had learned to pronounce the words perfectly.

“Oh, yes,” Niccolo agreed.

“Has he shown you the laboratory yet?”

“No,” he answered with growing interest.

“Father!” Ursula burst out, “I can’t believe you haven’t shown Signore Cavalanti the laboratory.”

“Indeed, Signore Gladstone,” Niccolo added, “I would be very interested in seeing your work.”

They both regarded me excitedly, and I conceded to their wishes. I motioned toward the back door, and gestured past the study. The laboratory was a large circular room in the east tower of the house, and more than half of its walls were covered with windows that normally overlooked the huge astrolabe in the garden. Now, however, all of the shutters had been closed and the twilight passing through the louvers splayed the room in an eerie skeleton of light. A faint rustling sound betrayed the presence of numerous test animals in unseen cages.

I slowly turned on the gas lamps and Niccolo gave an audible gasp. “
Scusa,
” he apologized, “but I am a being of the senses, and the magic of the flame always entrances me.” He waved his hand at the jungle of glass tubing, distillers, and flasks that covered most of the counters. They captured the flickering light of the gas jets and reflected it like luminous blood through so many scintil-lant emerald veins. After he stepped into the room I noticed that something else had caught his eye. To the right of the door there was a small alcove set off from the laboratory, lined with window seats and green leather cushions. In the very center of the tiny space stood a huge glass cubicle with an ornate brass frame and cupola housing a single brown rabbit.

“Most impressive,” Niccolo said, nodding. “So this is where you do your work on—”

“
Haemophilus influenzae
I filled in.

“Forgive my naïveté,” he continued as he walked up to the cubicle containing the rabbit. “Understandably I am rather ignorant on diseases. Would you mind explaining to me exactly what that is?”

“There’s not much to say,” I began.

“Don’t let Father fool you,” Ursula said as she crossed the room and pulled out a terrarium containing an Asian viper. Next she plunged her hand beneath the counter and came out with a dangling brown mouse. She casually tossed it into the terrarium and pushed it back against the wall. “Father can go on for hours and hours about
Haemophilus influenzae
if you trick him into it.”

“That may be true,” I conceded, “but what I meant to say is, of all the things I can tell you about
Haemophilus influenzae
, I still can’t tell you what causes it.”

“Was Dottore Pasteur wrong?” Niccolo asked.

“Oh, no,” I returned, impressed by the erudition of his question. “As you apparently know, Pasteur discovered that many diseases are caused by microorganisms known as bacteria, and this has enabled us to make stupendous advances. However, even though
Haemophilus influenzae
possesses many of the properties of a bacteria, no such bacteria has ever been found under the microscope.”

“Another enigma,” he said, smiling.

“Of sorts,” I answered as I tapped the cubicle, and the brown rabbit stirred slightly in its sleep. “But as T. Bryant stated in
Practical Surgery,
published in 1878, ‘It should never be forgotten that it is the virus that attacks the system’ We don’t know for sure what viruses are, but they behave like microorganisms even though they must be incredibly small—so small, in fact, that they cannot even be seen under the microscope. According to our current way of thinking,
Haemophilus influenzae
seems to be just such a virus.”

“You see,” Ursula said smartly, “with a little prodding you’ve already got Father convinced he’s in the lecture hall.”

I blushed as I turned to Niccolo, but his eyes were steadied upon the little brown mouse as it pawed furiously at the glass walls of the terrarium. There was an unmistakable expression of horror on his face as the viper languidly tilted its head to one side. Ursula also noticed his horror, and across her face flickered first shock, then regret, and finally a strange sort of smug arrogance. An electricity passed between the two as Niccolo, in turn, watched Ursula’s expressions, and both of them finally tilted their heads, haughtily and knowingly, as if each had discovered something about the other that they neither liked nor felt was worthy of verbal criticism.

“There are several other things Father could tell you about
Haemophilus influenzae
,” Ursula continued with a subtle and chiding contempt. “For example, it is infectious and can easily be transferred in test animals by injecting the blood of a stricken animal into the blood of a healthy one. This fact, of course, substantiates the viral explanation. In medical terminology the attacking virus is known as the ‘antigen’ Now, in response to the attacking antigen the lymphatic system produces specific chemical substances known as ‘antibodies’ to combat the particular offender. Do you have that? The invader is the antigen; the defenders are antibodies.”

Niccolo remained expressionless as she removed a white rabbit from a cage beneath the counter. “About a week ago,” she went on, “Father injected this little fellow with blood infected with the
influenzae
virus. Needless to say, he became quite sick, but his system continued to create antibodies, and he survived the disease. Then an interesting thing happened. The rabbit had so many antibodies in his blood that he developed an immunity to the particular strain of
influenzae
Father injected him with. If Father were to inject him again he would remain healthy and active, for he is now completely immune.”

“Ursula—” I began, but then quieted. Etiquette demanded that I stop her, but somehow I felt Niccolo would be able to handle himself.

“It’s the same with human beings,” she said, putting the rabbit back into its cage. “Once we have had a particular strain of
influenzae
we become completely immune to it. The odd thing is that
influenzae
epidemics continue and people do get
influenzae
over and over again. Why? Because the virus appears to be very malleable, genetically, and has the ability to undergo what we call an antigenic mutation. In other words, every year or so, it changes its chemical structure slightly, and it becomes increasingly more difficult for our antibodies to ward it off. Even stranger, medical science has discovered that about every ten to twelve years
influenzae
becomes an entirely new disease. That is why periodically there are worldwide epidemics of the virus.”