A Master Himself - Chapters 1-4
They left the tavern, smiling and laughing as they walked, arms around each other loosely. It was the quietest time of night, the hour just before dawn, when nobody in that day walked the street except the dark creatures, all making their way home before the daylight could catch them. These two were no exception, their steps quickened even though their mood remained light. They reached the house with half an hour to spare before sunrise.
Angelus and Darla, sitting on either end of the sofa with the fresh corpse of their shared dinner resting between them, looked up when the two younger vampires entered the drawing room. Darla wiped the blood off her mouth with a handkerchief before she spoke. “Did you two have an enjoyable night?”
Drusilla’s smile was infectious. “I can still hear them singing in my head, a chorus of manly voices. They will never sing again.”
Darla knitted her brows for a moment before she looked as if she understood. “You carried out your plan? Drat. I wanted to see that. It sounded interesting.” She smiled after a second’s pause. “Oh, well, I suppose there will be a repeat performance, with different actors?”
Angelus rose from the sofa and went to the cart to pour himself a drink “Opening night is an over rated affair. The villain has never grown into his menace enough for my tastes.” He looked at William pointedly. “Maybe he would be worth watching after a few years’ practice.” He threw back his drink and walked toward the doorway. “Coming, Darla?” He walked up the stair without waiting for her answer.
Darla sighed with a dramatic flair. “Been like this all night, he is in such a mood.” She followed him out of the room and up the stairs saying on her way by, “Get Nigel to deal with our rubbish, would you?”
The knock on the door roused Angelus from his sleep. Darla, also awake now, sat up against the headboard when he got out of the bed and slipped on a pair of trousers. He walked to the door. “Yes? What is it at this hour?”
A worried voice came from the other side of the door. “It’s Nigel, Master Angelus. I think I’ve learned something you need to know.” With the door opened, Nigel held out his hand. “The London Times, Sire. The story is on the front page.”
Angelus took the paper from Nigel and read the front. He threw the paper back at Nigel with a growl. “Start packing. We leave tonight.”
Nigel exited the room with haste, closing the door behind him quietly. Darla started to get dressed. There was a hint of nervousness in her voice. “What happened, Angelus?”
Nigel knocked on another door, this time the one to Drusilla and William’s room. Drusilla opened the door a minute later, dressing gown hastily pulled on, hair rumpled. “We’re fleeing, aren’t we? I should have seen this happening but I did not.”
Nigel stated simply, “Pack your things.” He turned and walked away toward the stairs. Drusilla shut the door, worrying at her bottom lip with blunt teeth.
Drusilla stood in the doorway to the music room, suitcase in one hand, miss Edith held against her by the other. William walked up behind her, also carrying a small case. “Saying goodbye, love?”
She turned. “Not goodbye. I told you; the music is always with me. Ready?” He nodded in silent answer. She continued, “Daddy will be so cross with us. He’ll say I should have seen this.”
They walked to the front of the house in silence. Nigel, already loading bags on top of the carriage, took theirs to load as well. Angelus poked his head out the open door of the carriage. “Get in. We leave now.” They got in, following orders. Nigel shut the door behind them, got in the driver’s seat and urged the horses forward. When the carriage was moving along, Angelus spoke again, anger evident. “You never leave one alive who can identify you. What were you thinking?”
William started to speak. “It was only one frightened girl, Sire. We…”
Angelus interrupted him. “That one girl is talking to the authorities, boy. Granted, they think her to be insane but what if someone believed her? If someone who knows about vampires saw the truth beneath her story, we would be hunted. Perhaps we should leave you here, let them find you.”
Drusilla came to William’s defense. “He only did what I saw would happen. It was in the cards for her.”
Darla spoke as if she were the final authority, which, in fact, she was. “We will determine the correct punishment when we reach our destination, Angelus. They boy must be punished but this was not a fatal mistake. He will learn.”
Drusilla, smiling at Darla, asked, “Where are we going?”
Chapter 2 - Cambridge
Several days and nights passed on the journey, days spent sleeping in some inn or other while the nights consisted of driving and a small amount of time allotted for the hunt. Each night, the anger Angelus vented on his victims became more pronounced, more vicious. William and Drusilla spent their days with very little sleep to relieve them as they huddled together, worrying what Angelus might do if Darla let him vent his wrath on them.
Luckily for them, Darla had long since told Angelus, much to his annoyance, that their fear of him should be considered punishment enough. She had said to him one day while they were in their bed, “Fear makes them tremble, pain would only make them angry. Anger will not help them learn but the fear will.” Angelus said nothing but promised himself he would make them pay for disrupting his comfortable existence in London, one way or another
It rained the night they arrived in Cambridge. The house they approached was dark, barely visible through the gloom of the night and the low clouds. The house, after sitting empty for the several years it had been since they last stayed there, would need some repairs. The closer they came, the more peeling paint and broken shutters they saw. Drusilla, remembering happy days spent in this house, whispered quietly, although all those in the carriage were still able to hear. “Home, sweet, home.”
William cringed inwardly as he stepped out of the carriage. He knew the sounds, smells and sight of the area better than his companions could know. The home he approached stood less than half a mile from his uncle’s estate, a place where he had spent some time a few years earlier. After his father died, his mother, too distraught to face their home and all the memories it held, took him and his little sister, Alicia, to stay with her own brother in Cambridge for several months. William hated Cambridge; it held only sadness for him.
Drusilla, as if sensing something was wrong, took his hand as they approached the double doors that marked the entrance to their new home. “Worry not, my sweet Spike. You will be happy here; I will make certain of it. And look, all the stars are brighter here than in London.”
The fireplace, much larger than the one in London, was ablaze with orange light. It was supplemented only by oil lanterns placed strategically around the dining room. The home, not as modern as the one in London, was not plugged for gas, meaning the warm glow of gaslights would be missed.
Angelus, lighting a cigar off one of the candles, seemed in unusually high spirits. Finding the cigar not to his liking, he threw it in the fire, causing the room to fill with the odor of burnt cherries. “I think we should head into town, see what this place has to offer these days. I remember this town held a lot of fun to be had once.”
Darla walked to stand behind him. She put one delicate hand on each of his massive shoulders and leaned a cheek against his back. “I say we stay in tonight. Half the night is already gone, the journey has been long, and we could all use the rest.”
Drusilla, in a quiet voice , asked, “Can I have my old room, then, please?” She kept her head bowed, as if afraid of the answer to her question.
Darla laughed boisterously, in disproportion to the question. “Of course, Dru. You should feel at home here.” Angelus started chuckling as well. They ended up laughing so hard, tears were running down Darla’s cheeks.
Drusilla took no notice of their strange mirth. Instead, she rocked her doll in her arms slowly. “Our room, Miss Edith. I know you can be happy here again.”
Darla, still laughing at times, unable to stop herself, addressed Nigel when he entered the room. “Nigel, we are heading upstairs now. See to the house so it is a bit more livable by tomorrow evening.”
Heading through the house and up the stairs, William saw that this had once been a great home. He wondered what events could have let it fall into the hands of Angelus and into such disrepair. Much of the architecture, wood in serious need of cleaning and oiling, could likely be returned to its former glorious state with a bit of labor. Here and there, however, were stains, probably dried blood, that would be difficult if not impossible to remove after all the years that had passed. One wall, he saw, had several large holes in it, which looked almost as if they had been punched through with and enormous fist.
Darla and Angelus, walking ahead, paid little or no attention to their surroundings. Drusilla, walking slowly next to William, however, was running one hand lovingly along the railing as they climbed the stairs.
In the hall to all the bedrooms, the walls were covered in portraits. William glanced at them as he walked by, the faces somehow eerily familiar to him. Then, he saw one portrait that showed him why the others seemed so familiar.
Chapter 3 - Coming Home Again
He stared at the portrait, a face he had come to know well in a short time staring back at him. She looked so innocent in the facsimile, paint lending a more purely happy expression than he had ever seen on her in person. “So,” he thought, “that was how she had looked while her mind was still intact.” Three girls sat together for the artist that day. The oldest face he would come to know over the years far better than his own. The youngest he could not remember ever having seen, although he could safely hazard a guess at her name. The middle girl, though, her face brought back memories from years ago. He believed he had been in this house before.
Cambridge 1858
Three children ran through the hallway lined with portraits. Delphinia Edwards’ house, clean and elegant in those days, was filled with sunlight. All the curtains and windows, open against the summer afternoon, let a light breeze blow down the hall as they ran. William and his cousin Peter followed their new friend, Mary as she ran ahead. “Quickly. In here.”
They ran into one of the rooms just as a voice called out in the distance. “Mary.” Mary shuffled the boys into a closet, following after them and closing the door. They sat in the darkness waiting to see if the pursuit had ended. Mary made a quiet shushing noise when she heard steps coming down the wooden floor of the hall. They peeked out through the slats in the closet door.
The human Drusilla, bathed in sunlight streaming through the open windows, walked into the room. “Mary, are you in here?” She stopped, having reached the center of the room, and looked around. “Oh, bother. Where could she have gone? She knows when luncheon is served.” She went to the mirror over her dressing table and looked at her reflection. She brushed her hair, wincing a bit as the brush momentarily caught in a tangle. She picked up a ribbon from the dressing table and used it to tie up her hair away from her neck, gave a last cursory look about the room and left, bound for the dining room.
Cambridge 1880
William shook his head, attempting to banish the memories running wild through his mind. No wonder Drusilla had seemed so familiar to him; no wonder he was comfortable with her. He had seen her, as if it were a dream once, when he was just a child. He jumped when Drusilla put a hand on his back. “You were far away, my sweet.”
William cleared the lump out of his throat. “You lived here?”
She walked to one of the portraits, reaching out fingers to touch the nameplate; it read “Delphinia Edwards.” Drusilla cocked her head to one side, studying the image. “I only visited. London has always been home but here it was magical.” She closed her eyes. “Grandmother Del held the most lavish parties. It was a palace, then.” She paused, thinking. “The dining room had a chandelier that glimmered like diamonds when the candlelight hit it.”
He spoke before he realized the words were on his tongue. “I remember.” Drusilla looked at him in confusion, but only for a moment. Through his eyes, she saw that he had seen this home, a benefit of her second sight. He turned away and went directly to the door to her room, memories showing him which one it was.
Angelus and Darla commandeered the master suite, as per their usual tastes. Nigel had dusted and aired out the room while they had been downstairs. Another fire was burning in an elaborately carved fireplace, gray marble with a Honduran mahogany mantle. Angelus sat on the floor, looking at the flames dancing in colors. “I really do love this house. Some of my finest work has been here.”
Darla lowered herself to the ground next to him, sitting with her feet underneath herself. “What you did to the old woman was work the Devil himself would envy. You made me so proud that night. Strange she seems not to mind being back here again. I always think it will distress her.” She played with the lace that edged her bustle. “He looks more upset than she does. Maybe she saw in advance where we were going and told him.”
Angelus smirked at her. “Perhaps the smell of blood in this house has just made him hungry.”
Except for a thick layer of dust covering everything other than the bed, which Nigel had prepared for them, the room appeared exactly as he remembered it. Rose colored wallpaper with blue flowers, now a bit more faded with age, displayed the only real color in the room. All the bed linens shone white, just as the bed in London had been. All of the wood, including the wood of the looming armoire and four post bed, was a deep cherry, which had held up well without any cleaning. A little dusting and the room would almost look new again. Then, he noticed one thing that was different. The mirror that matched the dressing table was missing. He walked straight to the closet, opening the door, hinges creaking from lack of use and oil. “Almost every detail.”
She came to him, sliding her arms around his waist and pulling him till his back was cradled against her chest. “When were you here? I cannot see it.”
He turned in her embrace so that he could return it. “We never met but I saw you. I remember it clearly now. It was Summer in 1858. My whole family had come to stay with my Uncle and his family. My cousin Peter and I met a girl while we were out playing…” He stopped. He didn’t want to ask the question but felt the need in the pit of his stomach. “What did he do to Mary?”
Chapter 4 - Mary
Drusilla answered quietly. “Mary, Mary quite contrary. Queen of Scots, she lost her head when Elizabeth found her merry.” At times her babbling could be seen for what it often really was, as escape from the painful truth.
William persisted, insistent that she tells him. “Please, pet. Try to remember what happened.”
She waited so long he thought she wasn’t going to answer him but, then, she said, “It was so long ago, after everyone in London was already gone except for Mary and I. She was so beautiful, the fairies themselves envied her. We came to stay with Grandmother, hoping to change our fortunes.” Drusilla drifted off into memory as if it were a play unfolding before her eyes at that very moment. William took her to sit on the bed, kneeling at her feet while she told him the story.
Cambridge 1860
Drusilla walked into the dining room, expecting dinner, as well as her Grandmother and sister, to be waiting. She found the room empty, the candles in the chandelier still unlit, no food on the table. The silence ran through her like a building terror. “No.” She thought. “Please, not again.” She called out loud, desperate for an answer. “Grand Mummy Del, where are you?” A quiet chuckle, one she dreaded ever hearing again, answered her. She walked with measured steps to the foyer, from whence the sound had come.
He was there, by the door, moonlight drifting in the windows giving a strange shape to his face. She walked as close to him as she dared before asking, ”How?”
He laughed heartily. “How did I get in without your inviting me?” He looked into the shadows. Squinting, Drusilla could see her Grandmother lying on the floor. He walked toward the prone figure. “When I mentioned I was a friend of yours from London, she was kind enough to invite me in to dine with you.” He reached down to touch the old woman and brought his fingers, covered in her blood, back up into the light. “Sweet old thing.”
He licked the blood from his fingers sensuously, eliciting a whimper from Drusilla. “Is she…?”
“She is still alive, for the moment.” He picked up the old woman, limp like a rag doll, by the back of the neck. Drusilla ran toward him; he batted her away with his free arm so that she landed, sprawled on the floor. “You think you can fight me? How amusing.” He threw the old woman at the wall as if she weighed nothing. Her head hit the wall hard, punching a large, almost round hole. She fell to the ground with a thump, lucky to have already been unconscious.
Drusilla sat up, looking at her grandmother’s still form. “Please, let her go. It is me you want.”
Angelus strode across the room and grabbed Delphinia again. “Why let her go? This is too much fun.” With that, he shoved her so that her head punched another hole in the wall, near the first one. Drusilla screamed. He slammed her head through the wall a third time, cocking his head to the side afterwards. The smell of blood became strong enough its copper tang reached Dru, across the room. “My mistake. I guess she is dead, after all.” Drusilla fainted.
She came to groggily. Trying to move, she quickly realized she had been tied to something. That something felt to be her dressing table chair. Darkness, impenetrable by human eyes, covered the room but she could hear something rustling around and a soft whining noise. The sound came of a match being struck. As Angelus lit the candles, she was able to see the room. She didn’t like what she could see. She had been correct. She was tied to the chair but that was not what disturbed her.
Mary, whining around the gag that filled her mouth, lay tied to the bed. Drusilla could see the poor girl had been crying for some time. Seeing Drusilla was awake, Mary renewed her struggles, pulling at the rope that bound her to the bed frame. Angelus noticed the movement and turned to Drusilla. “Awake, I see.” He leered at the girl on the bed. “I do believe we should get started, then.”
He pulled the gag out of the child’s mouth. The night became screaming and blood as Drusilla’s last living relative was torn to bits, starting from the inside.
Cambridge 1880
Her tale complete, madness fell back over her visage like a veil, behind which one would not wish to see. William tried to take her in his arms but she rose from where she sat and picked up Miss Edith. Rocking the doll, and herself, Drusilla hummed. William could barely speak past the rage that boiled within him. “Where are they? Which room would they have?”
Drusilla, singsong, answered, “The King and Queen always have the best room in the palace.” When William started for the door, she caught him by the coat. “No. Do not go to them. You are not ready for the joust, brave knight.” She paused. “Please, they are the only family we have now.”
He soothed her with a hand on her face. “One does not treat family like that, Dru.”
The door to Delphinia’s old bedroom burst open. “You bastard!” William yelled as he advanced into the room. Angelus and Darla sat up in the bed, startled by the intrusion. On the way by the fireplace, William picked up the poker and advanced on Angelus, just rising from the bed.
The first swing hit Angelus squarely on the left side of his head. He looked surprised at the blood running down his face. “What are you after, boy? Think tonight is a good night to die?”