The Rest Falls Away (16 page)

“We shall have to begin planning the wedding immediately. It will be the event of the Season!” Petronilla said. “But do tell, did Victoria have any details about the incident at the Madagascar ball last night? It is the talk of the town!”

Winnie slammed a hand to her chest, closing her fingers around the crucifix that rested on the shelf of her bosom. If possible, it was an even bigger cross than the one she'd been wearing last week. “Nilly was just telling me about it. I'm certain it was a vampire attack!”

Melly looked at them. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Miss Emily Colton was attacked last night, in the gardens at the Madagascars' house. She was not hurt, but frightened, and her escort, Lord Truscott, has disappeared,” Winnie explained.

“Why do you think it was a vampire attack?” Melly said, rolling her eyes. “Lord Truscott likely got too familiar with Miss Colton and she sent him on his way…and did not want to confess that she'd been walking in the garden alone with him. Miss Colton has been known to be a bit loose, you know.”

“But no one knows where he is,” said Winnie. “And it was in the dark. And her neck was scratched.”

“Perhaps Lord Truscott is a vampire,” said Petronilla.Her eyes gleamed like sapphires. “Perhaps he was overcome by lust and could not resist any longer, and tried to seduce Miss Colton in the gardens.”

“What nonsense! Nilly, Winnie, I declare, if you would rather go on about vampires instead of helping me to plan Victoria's wedding, then I will leave you two to it!”

“No, Melly, we'll stop. I don't want to talk about them anyway,” Winnie said, shooting a look at Petronilla. “There's nothing about them that fascinates me on any level. They are evil bloodsucking creatures, dirty and smelly with claws and long hair—”

“They are not! Mrs. Lawson's daughter's neighbor's sister was the one who had one in her bedchamber, and she said he smelled like licorice and that he was clean-shaven and—”

“I thought you didn't want to talk about them!” Melly interrupted, standing. “I am going to leave if either one of you mentions the word
vampire
again.”

Winnie clamped her mouth shut. Petronilla raised her teacup to her lips and sipped, gazing innocently out the window.

“Now,” Melisande said, settling back into her chair, “which modiste should we have make the dress?”

“Victoria always looks well with Madame LeClaire's designs,” replied Petronilla.

“I was not talking about Victoria's gown! I meant my dress!” said Melly indignantly.

“Well, in that case, I suggest we take ourselves out of here and down to Bond Street for a shopping excursion!” said Winnie.

And they very happily did just that, with Winnie clutching her cross the whole way.

 

+ + +

The sun was lowering when Victoria climbed out of Barth's hackney only a short distance from the home of Rudolph Caulfíeld, the man who owned the Book of Antwartha. Sebastian had clearly indicated that the vampires acting on Lilith's behalf were to arrive at night, after the dangerous sun was down, but Victoria was taking no chances they might come and go before she got there.

Verbena had helped her to dress, not as a man this night, nor as a debutante, but as a Venator, in a costume the maid had specially prepared. It consisted of a split skirt that appeared no different from any other day dress, but which would allow her more freedom of movement. The sleeves were firmly anchored to the shoulders of the dress's bodice, unlike the filmy, frothy ones that were often barely basted onto normal evening apparel. The cloth was dark blue, with very little ornamentation, and a soft cotton, so there would be no rustling noises of taffeta or charmeuse. Its length was also a bit shorter than what Victoria was used to wearing, several inches from the ground.

The most unique aspects of the costume were two small slipknots into which Victoria could slide stakes to hang at her waist, and two deep pockets hidden in the folds of the skirt, where she might put salted holy water, a crucifix, and other accoutrements.

When Victoria slipped out of the hackney, she left her cloak behind. It was a balmy summer evening, and the excitement of the adventure would keep her warm. Barth was given his instructions, and she turned from the coach.

Earlier in the day she and Verbena had traveled to Caulfield's home, known as Redfield Manor, in order to ascertain its location, its geography, and an appropriate place where Victoria might wait and watch without being noticed.

Verbena, quite into the spirit of things after her evening drinking ale with vampires at the Silver Chalice, approached the servants' door in an attempt to learn what she could about the household schedule and layout. Victoria wasn't sure how she managed to extract the information, but she learned the servants were leaving with Rudolph Caulfíeld that afternoon, and the gentleman coming to stay at the home would be bringing his own retinue.

And, as Victoria slipped behind a tall iron gate, she was grateful Verbena had also learned the garden was very rarely used…and thus would be the perfect place to wait.

Finding a stone bench thrust under a small tree that had refused to sprout buds that spring, Victoria sat and slid to the edge so she could watch the house. From this vantage point she could see anyone approaching the front door. She assumed Mr. Caulfield and his servants had left and been replaced by his houseguest during the afternoon.

As she sat, trying to ignore a persistent bee determined to find nectar in the vicinity of the dead tree, Victoria felt a stab of guilt. She had argued long and hard with herself and with Verbena about whether to tell Aunt Eustacia and Max about her plans for the evening…but in the end she had decided not to. She could take care of herself. Kritanu had trained her well. She knew what she was doing.

So she'd decided to do this alone, for several perfectly logical reasons.

First, if Sebastian's information was wrong, she would feel foolish having dragged Max to the site of Redfield Manor, for surely he would have been the one to accompany her, not Aunt Eustacia.

Not to mention the fact that she would have to be in his company the entire evening.

Second, Victoria was certain she'd be able to handle two or three vampires alone—particularly since the element of surprise would be in her favor. She could determine when and how to strike.

Third, she had braved the dangers of the Silver Chalice on her own to get the information, and Sebastian had warned her not to tell anyone. If she had told Aunt Eustacia and Max, they would have demanded that she divulge her source. Once she had the Book of Antwartha in her possession, no one would care how she got the information.

And fourth…Max and Aunt Eustacia all seemed to be willing to keep their own secrets from her. So why shouldn't she act on her own if they weren't going to include her in all of their plans? After all, she was a
vis bullaed
Venator, and she
had
staked a Guardian vampire whilst he was biting her.

Never mind Verbena's clicking tongue or wagging chin. Victoria was comfortable with her decision.

So she waited and turned her thoughts toward more pleasant ones—such as the passionate kisses she and Phillip had exchanged on the terrace, and in the carriage, and on the front doorstep of Grantworth House.

She was to be married! She could scarcely believe it had happened so quickly, so easily and wonderfully. She'd always thought fondly of the young man she'd met that summer; perhaps even then she'd given him her heart. Whatever had happened then, whether she had felt love for him or not, didn't matter, for she loved him now.

The sun seemed to move infinitesimally slowly toward the ring of trees that edged the street. Victoria watched, noticing each person as he or she walked by, confident she would recognize the vampires when they approached.

Suddenly her attention was caught by a movement at the corner of her eye…from the back of the garden. Victoria held her breath and shrank more closely into the shrubbery surrounding her bench, slipping quickly to a crouch on the ground.

The backyard was shaded in this late afternoon, and would soon be dark, so the shadow that eased from a crack in the stone wall was at first indiscernible. It moved with speed and grace, and as it drew closer to the back of the house and became recognizable, Victoria's mouth dropped open from behind a boxwood.

Max.

There was no mistaking his height and the spare, measured movements as he made his way toward a set of wooden cellar doors.

A bolt of fury shafted through her, and Victoria slammed her teeth together so hard a crack of pain shot through her jaw. She was surprised he didn't hear the loud snap; and she was glad he didn't.

What was he doing here?

Not looking for her. He would easily have found her if he'd cared to look

Somehow he must have learned about the book, that it was here and that the owner was gone.

In that moment the blankness of shock and the red haze of anger burst over her, Victoria had missed his next move. When she refocused her attention toward the house, toward where Max had been approaching the wooden doors, he was gone.

Had he gone in?

Or had he found another hiding place, as she had, and would also lie in wait for the vampires?

He was a blasted fool if he thought she was going to wait here by herself.

Victoria eased from her hiding place, gratified that, although the sun hadn't set completely, the shadows were long enough in this garden that they afforded her a protective cover as she hurried along in Max's path.

As she approached the building, one of her questions, at least, was answered when she saw a tall, unmistakable figure pass in front of a window at the back of the house. Max was inside, in the servants' quarters, if one were to judge by the size and placement of the window.

Did he think to snatch the book from under the vampires' noses? Before they had the opportunity—

Oh, God.
Max was going to take the book himself! If he touched it before it was out of the house, he would die!

Victoria launched herself from the shield of bushes before she realized she couldn't go haring into the house willy-nilly.

And she realized quite suddenly that she had made a mistake. She should have told Aunt Eustacia and Max.

For if she did not stop him in time, he would die…and she would be to blame.

+ 11 +

In Which Maximilian Encounters Dust Bunnies

Max paused, listening
intently. He'd made it inside Redfield Manor with no problem at all. No surprise. This wasn't the first time he'd slipped into a building undetected, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

From his resources at the Silver Chalice, he knew the Book of Antwartha was to be stolen tonight from this very location, and that Rudolph Caulfield had left the city, taking his servants with him, leaving an unsuspecting houseguest to watch over his belongings.

This was their only chance to get the book before Lilith did. Once she had it in her possession, hidden away wherever she was holding court, it would be impossible to retrieve it.

Satisfied his presence hadn't been detected, and that there was no one about to come strolling around a bend in the servants' hallway, Max hurried along the passage. Although he wasn't familiar with the layout of the house, logic suggested something of a valuable nature would be kept in a study, where it might be locked away, or in a private parlor in the personal quarters of the owner of the house.

Max was hoping it would be the latter, as the private quarters would be on an upper level and less likely to be inhabited by the houseguest or investigated by his staff.

The servants' staircase was accessible and would lead to the upper floors. The pale blue door that ended the passageway was made of warped and buckled wood, and it creaked faintly when Max opened it. He slipped through and dashed with light feet up the narrow steps, pausing at the top to listen.

When silence continued to reign, he cracked the door and put his ear to the edge. A dull thump from near the front of the house below told him that at least someone was in the vicinity. But then he heard the doorknob on the warped door below as it turned with a dull clink, and he couldn't wait any longer—he pressed through the narrow aperture and found himself in a blessedly carpeted hall on the second floor.

On cat feet he hurried down the passage, pausing at each entrance to listen, gently open its door, and peer in. The rooms were dark and uninhabited, the furnishings covered with sheets or other protection, as if they hadn't been used for years. Mr. Caulfíeld had recently returned from India—which was how the Book of Antwartha had made its way from the colony to the mother country—and it was obvious his home had been closed up for that purpose. This would make Max's task easier, for the items brought from India, including the book, would stand out as new additions to the room, and would likely be in a chamber that was obviously in use.

Max had three more rooms to search when he heard the door at the top of the servant staircase open at the far end of the hall. He pivoted through the entrance at which he stood and closed the door swiftly and silently after him. Turning, he faced the room, hoping to heaven it was empty, for he hadn't time to check…and found himself in a bedchamber that had been used recently.

Fortunately for him, it was empty, but Max couldn't be certain it would remain so. He heard footsteps moving down the hallway. They were barely discernible, but his hearing was nearly as acute as a vampire's.

Max dove under the high bed, sliding the chamber pot, which fortunately was empty, out of the way and closing his eyes against the puffs of dust he'd stirred up. They tickled his nose and made his eyes water as he fought to keep from sneezing. Any little bit of disturbance of the air seemed to go right into his nostrils. He pinched the bridge of his nose, right under the innermost edges of his brows, and felt the urge to sneeze dissipate.