Edge of Midnight, Epilogue
The final bit of Edge of Midnight.
Outskirts of Rome, July 1889
The hour was very late, or very early depending on how one wanted to look at it. Gyorgy Faw stood at his front door looking at the approaching carriage with slight dread. A rider had arrived a few hours before, from the Convent of the Order to inform that Anna Valerious would need their hospitality. He again felt the jolt of fear in his stomach as he had for the past hour each time his eyes connected with those of his wife. She had huffed at the lateness of their guest at the messenger, but Gyorgy could recognise fear in her eyes.
She had prepared their large guest bedroom lavishly. Then she had moved to the kitchen to wake the maid. She had instructed the staff to start preparing for a very early breakfast; the richer the better. He had lingered behind her, observing the preparations, now and again catching her eye, but unable to hold the accusing gaze for long. He understood her anger, and felt guilty for causing it. He had sent the girl into the lion’s den without any protection, expecting her to come through to the other side. He had failed his kin and their clan; he had failed to protect that which was most precious.
The light of the candle flickered in his hand as the black coach stilled in front of the door. He could feel his wife’s presence materialising behind his back. The driver jumped off to open the door. A nun dressed in black stepped out, but turned back to the interior to help the Princess out. Her movements were shaky and uneasy; black hair falling to cover her bowed face. The nun’s face was stricken with worry as she slowly supported the other woman towards the door. Gyorgy could hear his wife huff again. She shoved him aside and rushed to help. Wrapping her arm around the princess and supporting most of her weight against her rather sizable hip. Slowly they made their way into the sitting room.
In the blaze of the fire Gyorgy could see that one side of her face was beginning to form nasty purple bruising. She waved away his wife’s offer of an armchair and continued to lean against the fireplace; even though Gyorgy could see that she was favouring her right leg. He looked at the stubborn set of her jaw and maybe understood why. The Sister pulled a small white envelope from the folds of her rope and handed it to Gyorgy. He gripped the white paper, slightly crumbling it and bid her goodnight.
He could not bear to look at the tense back of the princess, trying to occupy his gaze with all the trivial items which had accumulated in the room over the decades of living. Somewhere he heard a door close. His wife returned to the room carrying a tea tray, placing it gently on the side table.
“Gilly made us some herb tea.”
Anna pressed the palm of her hand to her mouth; her back bending like under some heavy weight. The sound which tore from her mouth was more of a howl than a sob. Gyorgy stood frozen, paralysed by the grief to which he was partly to blame. His wife however did not feel such sentiment, merely leaving the tea and moving to the other woman, catching her just before her knees gave out. Marona let Anna’s weight sink onto her knees; gently stroking the other woman’s hair. Anna wailed against her shoulder; screaming out the misery of the last day. Gyorgy slowly left the room, closing the door behind him.
When he retuned an hour later, the parlour was still filled with light. Marona was sitting in a love seat facing Anna who had pulled an armchair by the fire. Anna was holding a cup of tea between her palms. The bruising on her face was more prominent now. He stood by the door silently listening to the end of her story. Her voice was quiet, but she did not falter.
“It would have never dawned on any of us that while, the father was the progenitor; he was never their leader…”
Slowly he walked into the room, allowing the floorboards creak, so as not to startle the two women. Anna turned to look at him now for the first time. There was weariness in her eyes; only reserved to old warriors. He felt the tide of guilt rising in his throat once more.
“I am so sorry.”
She closed her eyes, and breathed, and then shook her head.
“This would have happened whether you commanded it or not.”
Marona got up from her seat.
“I think this is enough for today. Anna, I have prepared a room for you.”
She motioned the princess to follow her. Anna rose from the chair slowly, putting much weight on her arms. Marona made no move to help, and from the look in her eyes Gyorgy understood not to, either. When she made to pass him, Gyorgy placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You can stay here as long as you whish. My house is yours now.”
She smiled tiredly, and nodded.
The End
This is not, however, the end. The story will continue in part 3 which deals with Gabriel's past and how Dracula was killed the first time around.
Outskirts of Rome, July 1889
The hour was very late, or very early depending on how one wanted to look at it. Gyorgy Faw stood at his front door looking at the approaching carriage with slight dread. A rider had arrived a few hours before, from the Convent of the Order to inform that Anna Valerious would need their hospitality. He again felt the jolt of fear in his stomach as he had for the past hour each time his eyes connected with those of his wife. She had huffed at the lateness of their guest at the messenger, but Gyorgy could recognise fear in her eyes.
She had prepared their large guest bedroom lavishly. Then she had moved to the kitchen to wake the maid. She had instructed the staff to start preparing for a very early breakfast; the richer the better. He had lingered behind her, observing the preparations, now and again catching her eye, but unable to hold the accusing gaze for long. He understood her anger, and felt guilty for causing it. He had sent the girl into the lion’s den without any protection, expecting her to come through to the other side. He had failed his kin and their clan; he had failed to protect that which was most precious.
The light of the candle flickered in his hand as the black coach stilled in front of the door. He could feel his wife’s presence materialising behind his back. The driver jumped off to open the door. A nun dressed in black stepped out, but turned back to the interior to help the Princess out. Her movements were shaky and uneasy; black hair falling to cover her bowed face. The nun’s face was stricken with worry as she slowly supported the other woman towards the door. Gyorgy could hear his wife huff again. She shoved him aside and rushed to help. Wrapping her arm around the princess and supporting most of her weight against her rather sizable hip. Slowly they made their way into the sitting room.
In the blaze of the fire Gyorgy could see that one side of her face was beginning to form nasty purple bruising. She waved away his wife’s offer of an armchair and continued to lean against the fireplace; even though Gyorgy could see that she was favouring her right leg. He looked at the stubborn set of her jaw and maybe understood why. The Sister pulled a small white envelope from the folds of her rope and handed it to Gyorgy. He gripped the white paper, slightly crumbling it and bid her goodnight.
He could not bear to look at the tense back of the princess, trying to occupy his gaze with all the trivial items which had accumulated in the room over the decades of living. Somewhere he heard a door close. His wife returned to the room carrying a tea tray, placing it gently on the side table.
“Gilly made us some herb tea.”
Anna pressed the palm of her hand to her mouth; her back bending like under some heavy weight. The sound which tore from her mouth was more of a howl than a sob. Gyorgy stood frozen, paralysed by the grief to which he was partly to blame. His wife however did not feel such sentiment, merely leaving the tea and moving to the other woman, catching her just before her knees gave out. Marona let Anna’s weight sink onto her knees; gently stroking the other woman’s hair. Anna wailed against her shoulder; screaming out the misery of the last day. Gyorgy slowly left the room, closing the door behind him.
When he retuned an hour later, the parlour was still filled with light. Marona was sitting in a love seat facing Anna who had pulled an armchair by the fire. Anna was holding a cup of tea between her palms. The bruising on her face was more prominent now. He stood by the door silently listening to the end of her story. Her voice was quiet, but she did not falter.
“It would have never dawned on any of us that while, the father was the progenitor; he was never their leader…”
Slowly he walked into the room, allowing the floorboards creak, so as not to startle the two women. Anna turned to look at him now for the first time. There was weariness in her eyes; only reserved to old warriors. He felt the tide of guilt rising in his throat once more.
“I am so sorry.”
She closed her eyes, and breathed, and then shook her head.
“This would have happened whether you commanded it or not.”
Marona got up from her seat.
“I think this is enough for today. Anna, I have prepared a room for you.”
She motioned the princess to follow her. Anna rose from the chair slowly, putting much weight on her arms. Marona made no move to help, and from the look in her eyes Gyorgy understood not to, either. When she made to pass him, Gyorgy placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You can stay here as long as you whish. My house is yours now.”
She smiled tiredly, and nodded.
The End
This is not, however, the end. The story will continue in part 3 which deals with Gabriel's past and how Dracula was killed the first time around.