Chapter 29--The Seat of Desolation
Chapter 29 The Seat of Desolation
Wherein Asheton’s seat becomes no less than an earthly perdition
Several tense days and nights had passed since the troupe of vampires had arrived from London. Every night for a week, horrific cries and peculiar sounds had issued forth from the corridors near the west wing quarters of the visitors. A parade of unsavory characters came and went mysteriously in the night: Trollops from the London stews and burly sailors clad in stinking wool garments appeared briefly, never to be seen again. Broken glass littered the downstairs and the remains of a drunken party still lay in the front drawing room; there was an odor of decay about the whole house, as if it were falling apart as he watched.
Angelus passed through the corridors as though they were already his, and woe betides anyone who crossed his path. The Lady Darla was more circumspect, but more than one servant had felt the lash of her tongue and the side of her cold hands.
Drusilla danced on the lawns at twilight, draped in white samite, while her faithful acolyte, Wyndam-Pryce looking more gaunt and hag-ridden than ever, gamboled behind her muttering nonsense. Of Lord Asheton, nothing more had been seen.
Xander had wisely remained out of sight of them all, finding a myriad of details to occupy him during the day and remaining behind locked doors after sunset. The household servants spoke in low whispers and glanced fearfully into the shadows, nervous and shivering. Their only hope was to escape with a whole skin from this unhealthy house before nightfall. Even the fulsome Webster was unsure of his place in the confusion, although he’d made it his business to fawn upon the guests at every opportunity.
Only the servitors brought up from London walked unmolested in the great house, but none of them ate or socialized with the other staff and as a result, rumors flourished.
He had been privy to one such conversation only yesterday as he lingered in the morning room.
A young housemaid hissed in low tones to her companion, “It’s true! I seen it with me own eyes! That flash dresser of Madame Lightskirt has eyes like a nanny goat and t’other one…” Her companion drew in a frightened breath, while the first continued.
“That val-et---‘e’s got a tongue like a snake! ‘ E’s bound t’be a demon. Brung down to kill us in our beds by Satan hisself!”
“Brrr, Becky, You’re givin’ me the chill talkin’ like that! Glad I am to be stayin’ wif me Gran. I’d never stay here at night wi’ them about!”
“Well you may say, for the devil walks at night here. You’ve seen him, too.”
“Nay, not our master! He might ha’ been bacon-brained enough to get leg-shacked to that female, but he ain’t evil. More like that barmy wife ‘o his ‘tis. She gi’ me t’willies!”
“’Tis t’other one. That Irishman-he was here before, remember? With her. If she’s his sister, I’ll be hanged. He’d hold a candle to Lucifer, that one would. T’way I see it, he ain’t no more kinsman to our lord than….”
Their voices lowered and they continued along the dim hallway and down the backstairs, leaving Xander seized with the disquieting sense that he needed to do something, and quickly, about the situation.
Friday afternoon, he rode into the village, Smoke prancing with delight at being outdoors once again. Little Ashgrove was bustling on this market day and Xander enjoyed a pleasant hour sampling the winter apples and sugarplums, as well as a bag of hot roasted chestnuts. He hoped he might see Miss Giles, or rather her father. Mr. Giles might hate Asheton for what he was, but he would certainly recognize the threat posed by the new arrivals. Giles could be a strong and wily ally if he could be persuaded to help. He was preoccupied with his thoughts, when he heard a familiar voice call his name.
“Mr. Rayne? What brings you to our village?”
“Well you might wonder, my friend. A bit of this and that, “ he said dismissively. “ Are you still plagued with the headache?”
He confessed, “Some days, I vow. But let us repair to the Black Dog, sir. The landlord does a excellent steak & kidney pie and brews a very fair ale.”
Rayne examined him critically; a quirk of a smile on his lips, and followed him into the old inn.
“Will you stay here in Little Ashgrove long?” Xander asked.
“Who can say, “ he took a long draught of his ale and pronounced it very fair indeed. “ Perhaps a visit to the seaside for my health would be more pleasant. But, dear boy, it is painfully obvious you are ill. May I not give you something for it?”
“No, no. I assure you I am fine,” but his words were belied by the lines of pain in his face.
“Please, Mr. Harris, you must tell me--- have these headaches have gotten worse-come more frequently?” Rayne examined his face with a practiced eye, seeming to derive satisfaction from his analysis. “And the nightmares? They have returned?”
Xander was ill at ease with these personal questions, but finally muttered “Yes.”
Rayne’s lips twisted in a satisfied grin and he gave Xander a small bottle from his pocket. “A spoonful in a glass of water at night and you’ll feel like a new man.” He sidled closer to Xander and put a companionable hand on his shoulder, “And the Pharaoh’s Oil…did you enjoy that?”
“What!”
Ethan Rayne’s eyebrows arched higher and he leaned in to whisper, “I have a fondness for it myself. In fact, there’s an old friend I’ve been meaning to look up while I’m here-unless, of course, you’d…” His sly innuendo passed over Xander’s head. “Although I imagine Asheton is a demanding master. I’ve always wondered if it’s true what they say…”
“Does anyone else know about Will…Asheton’s…You haven’t told…”
“Pish tosh, dear boy, no one suspects that of him-why, he’s even brought home a bride. And his heir.” He smirked broadly, “they seem quite close, if you take my meaning.”
“Angelus and William…?”
“But of course, my dear. Both he and his cousin have been in my shop many times for one thing or another. I’m lucky to have such wealthy patrons.” He insinuated deft fingers along the younger man’s quivering thigh but Xander’s mind was clearly far away and Rayne desisted with a sigh. “In fact, Angel…I mean to say, Angelus enjoys quite a fine custom with me in certain…unique delicacies and unusual preparations. He’s a man of, shall we say, lusty habits.”
Xander finished off his ale distractedly and stared at his empty glass.
Rayne looked over at the barmaid’s overflowing charms and licked his lips; “Well then, if you’re not interested, I have other business this evening. But feel free to come visit me again. Anytime. I have plenty of the Egyptian oil.”
Xander leapt from the seat as if he’d been shot from a cannon. “I must leave. Thank you for the sleeping draught, sir. I…” He ran for the stables while Rayne laughed and beckoned the barmaid closer.
Other chapters may be found here: spander
Wherein Asheton’s seat becomes no less than an earthly perdition
Several tense days and nights had passed since the troupe of vampires had arrived from London. Every night for a week, horrific cries and peculiar sounds had issued forth from the corridors near the west wing quarters of the visitors. A parade of unsavory characters came and went mysteriously in the night: Trollops from the London stews and burly sailors clad in stinking wool garments appeared briefly, never to be seen again. Broken glass littered the downstairs and the remains of a drunken party still lay in the front drawing room; there was an odor of decay about the whole house, as if it were falling apart as he watched.
Angelus passed through the corridors as though they were already his, and woe betides anyone who crossed his path. The Lady Darla was more circumspect, but more than one servant had felt the lash of her tongue and the side of her cold hands.
Drusilla danced on the lawns at twilight, draped in white samite, while her faithful acolyte, Wyndam-Pryce looking more gaunt and hag-ridden than ever, gamboled behind her muttering nonsense. Of Lord Asheton, nothing more had been seen.
Xander had wisely remained out of sight of them all, finding a myriad of details to occupy him during the day and remaining behind locked doors after sunset. The household servants spoke in low whispers and glanced fearfully into the shadows, nervous and shivering. Their only hope was to escape with a whole skin from this unhealthy house before nightfall. Even the fulsome Webster was unsure of his place in the confusion, although he’d made it his business to fawn upon the guests at every opportunity.
Only the servitors brought up from London walked unmolested in the great house, but none of them ate or socialized with the other staff and as a result, rumors flourished.
He had been privy to one such conversation only yesterday as he lingered in the morning room.
A young housemaid hissed in low tones to her companion, “It’s true! I seen it with me own eyes! That flash dresser of Madame Lightskirt has eyes like a nanny goat and t’other one…” Her companion drew in a frightened breath, while the first continued.
“That val-et---‘e’s got a tongue like a snake! ‘ E’s bound t’be a demon. Brung down to kill us in our beds by Satan hisself!”
“Brrr, Becky, You’re givin’ me the chill talkin’ like that! Glad I am to be stayin’ wif me Gran. I’d never stay here at night wi’ them about!”
“Well you may say, for the devil walks at night here. You’ve seen him, too.”
“Nay, not our master! He might ha’ been bacon-brained enough to get leg-shacked to that female, but he ain’t evil. More like that barmy wife ‘o his ‘tis. She gi’ me t’willies!”
“’Tis t’other one. That Irishman-he was here before, remember? With her. If she’s his sister, I’ll be hanged. He’d hold a candle to Lucifer, that one would. T’way I see it, he ain’t no more kinsman to our lord than….”
Their voices lowered and they continued along the dim hallway and down the backstairs, leaving Xander seized with the disquieting sense that he needed to do something, and quickly, about the situation.
Friday afternoon, he rode into the village, Smoke prancing with delight at being outdoors once again. Little Ashgrove was bustling on this market day and Xander enjoyed a pleasant hour sampling the winter apples and sugarplums, as well as a bag of hot roasted chestnuts. He hoped he might see Miss Giles, or rather her father. Mr. Giles might hate Asheton for what he was, but he would certainly recognize the threat posed by the new arrivals. Giles could be a strong and wily ally if he could be persuaded to help. He was preoccupied with his thoughts, when he heard a familiar voice call his name.
“Mr. Rayne? What brings you to our village?”
“Well you might wonder, my friend. A bit of this and that, “ he said dismissively. “ Are you still plagued with the headache?”
He confessed, “Some days, I vow. But let us repair to the Black Dog, sir. The landlord does a excellent steak & kidney pie and brews a very fair ale.”
Rayne examined him critically; a quirk of a smile on his lips, and followed him into the old inn.
“Will you stay here in Little Ashgrove long?” Xander asked.
“Who can say, “ he took a long draught of his ale and pronounced it very fair indeed. “ Perhaps a visit to the seaside for my health would be more pleasant. But, dear boy, it is painfully obvious you are ill. May I not give you something for it?”
“No, no. I assure you I am fine,” but his words were belied by the lines of pain in his face.
“Please, Mr. Harris, you must tell me--- have these headaches have gotten worse-come more frequently?” Rayne examined his face with a practiced eye, seeming to derive satisfaction from his analysis. “And the nightmares? They have returned?”
Xander was ill at ease with these personal questions, but finally muttered “Yes.”
Rayne’s lips twisted in a satisfied grin and he gave Xander a small bottle from his pocket. “A spoonful in a glass of water at night and you’ll feel like a new man.” He sidled closer to Xander and put a companionable hand on his shoulder, “And the Pharaoh’s Oil…did you enjoy that?”
“What!”
Ethan Rayne’s eyebrows arched higher and he leaned in to whisper, “I have a fondness for it myself. In fact, there’s an old friend I’ve been meaning to look up while I’m here-unless, of course, you’d…” His sly innuendo passed over Xander’s head. “Although I imagine Asheton is a demanding master. I’ve always wondered if it’s true what they say…”
“Does anyone else know about Will…Asheton’s…You haven’t told…”
“Pish tosh, dear boy, no one suspects that of him-why, he’s even brought home a bride. And his heir.” He smirked broadly, “they seem quite close, if you take my meaning.”
“Angelus and William…?”
“But of course, my dear. Both he and his cousin have been in my shop many times for one thing or another. I’m lucky to have such wealthy patrons.” He insinuated deft fingers along the younger man’s quivering thigh but Xander’s mind was clearly far away and Rayne desisted with a sigh. “In fact, Angel…I mean to say, Angelus enjoys quite a fine custom with me in certain…unique delicacies and unusual preparations. He’s a man of, shall we say, lusty habits.”
Xander finished off his ale distractedly and stared at his empty glass.
Rayne looked over at the barmaid’s overflowing charms and licked his lips; “Well then, if you’re not interested, I have other business this evening. But feel free to come visit me again. Anytime. I have plenty of the Egyptian oil.”
Xander leapt from the seat as if he’d been shot from a cannon. “I must leave. Thank you for the sleeping draught, sir. I…” He ran for the stables while Rayne laughed and beckoned the barmaid closer.
Other chapters may be found here: spander