Part 7 (1/2)

It was as if an electrical charge went through me. ”That is wonderful!” I exclaimed, surging forward in excitement. ”Please tell me. I am so anxious to learn anything I can about her.”

”Come in to dinner and sit with me while I finish my meal and I will tell you about it. It was a terrible accident, you see. It was something of a scandal at the time, with what eventually happened with Alistair.”

She was leading me into the dining room when a shadow pa.s.sed, and I caught a vague movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look more closely at it and saw it was the floating smudge of soiled air I normally a.s.sociated with the little witches. It darted across the ceiling, as a streamer might unfurl behind someone running. My nostrils flared, detecting an acrid, sulfurous smell that clenched my full stomach in a terrible cramp.

If I had not seen the dark mark, I would not have looked in the shadows at the end of the hallway. But I did and saw Vanessa there, stealing furtively and silently away from the dining room. She clearly did not want to be noticed.

Eloise had seen nothing, neither the smudge, of course, nor the fleeing student. I was in a dilemma. I wanted desperately to hear what Eloise had to tell me of my mother, but I had to follow Vanessa who was obviously up to something.

”I am so very sorry, but this is an inconvenient time. I am eager to hear your recollection, but perhaps another time?”

Blinking in surprise, Eloise stammered, ”W-why . . . of course. I suppose you are tired.”

I was sorry, for she seemed disappointed, and I was anxious to speak with her, but my muscles twitched to be underway lest Vanessa get too much of a head start. ”Yes, very. Would you excuse me?”

I broke away and headed down the hallway as if to take the stairs that led up to the teachers' quarters. Once I saw Mrs. Boniface had returned to the dining hall, I reversed my direction, going back to where I had last seen Vanessa, and slipped into the opposite hallway.

I spied her at once. The long, willowy form threaded gracefully through light and shadow of the dimly lit corridor leading to the back of the house. When she reached the kitchens, she had no trouble stealing around a distracted cook to gain the back door. Without anyone else but me to notice, she opened it just enough to dart outside.

Cook looked up when I pa.s.sed through her domain. She nodded grimly at my smile, saying nothing as I went out the door to the kitchen gardens. I paused, scanning the warren of walled gardens in which cook oversaw the vegetable rows and thatches of herbs.

Denuded apple trees stood in rows to my left. They appeared like ghastly regiments of the dead, I observed with a s.h.i.+ver. Against the starlit sky, their graceless branches were flung in wild, desperate angles. I heard nothing for a moment, then the faint sound of whispers beckoned me deeper into the orchard.

I moved as quickly and silently as I could. When I saw the pair of them-Vanessa unmistakable with her long, glorious waves streaming down her back, her head thrown back, and a tall male figure bent over her-I nearly screamed.

I had nothing with me with which to do battle, for my tools were secreted upstairs in my room. I did not think I had time to return for them. Vanessa writhed in the creature's arms, and a low, guttural moan rippled through the air, igniting pinp.r.i.c.ks of horror across the back of my neck. I had to do something, I decided. Even unarmed, I had to try.

Prayers, I thought, my mind going to the opening vesper prayer used by those priests secretly anointed as vampire extirpators. I began to mutter, drawing on my strength.

”Deus, in adiutorium meum intende.” G.o.d, come to my a.s.sistance.

I rose, stepping out of the shadows. ”Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina.” O Lord, make haste to help me.

I walked forward. ”Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto.”

I raised my voice, but the fiend was too enraptured; it did not raise its head. The prayer was having no effect. Fear constricted my throat, and my voice strained against it to be heard: ”Sicut erat in principio, et nunc et semper, et in saecula saeculorum.”

As it was in the beginning, both now and ever, and unto ages of ages.

Suddenly, the Latin died on my lips and shock froze me in my tracks. I blinked as comprehension dawned. My G.o.d, I saw suddenly that I'd completely misread what was happening.

Vanessa's hands grasped the man, pulling him close. She was not struggling at all. Her movements were not a result of fear . . . but of pa.s.sion. Embarra.s.sment flushed through me like a scalding rain. This was not a victim in the death throes of a ravenous vampire! I saw now that the man's hands cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which were nearly bared by her disarrayed clothing. His mouth was on her neck, but not to feed. Her moans were driven by ecstasy, not helplessness. Moreover, I saw, too, who the male figure was. Colin O'Hara. Vanessa and the Irish boy were lovers.

He must have driven the girls back from the village, then waited for her to sneak away. How many times had they arranged meetings like this? Did the other girls know about it?

Eustacia did. And Margaret was too keen not to.

Stepping out of my hiding place, I called out: ”Vanessa!” I strode up to them purposefully, a sharp admonition in mind.

The Irish boy released her. Vanessa made a little purr of protest, and looked about. She turned lazily toward me, her expression petulant. It appeared she was utterly unconcerned with her gaping dress, nor was she showing any indication of shame at having been found in flagrante delicto.

”Do up your blouse at once,” I told her. ”Get into the house and wait for me in the students' parlor. I will deal with you in a moment.”

She glanced back at the Irish boy and smiled sadly. ”Sorry, love,” she whispered with a coquettish little moue. She sighed. ”I shall warn you not to bother running to tell Miss Sloane-Smith. She'll do nothing, you know. She did nothing when that whining Miss Markam told her all about us.”

My hand flexed at my side. It was all I could do not to slap the supercilious expression from her face. ”I think you are mistaken if you believe she would condone this.”

”She understands something you should, too, Mrs. Andrews. She may not know all, but she knows enough to fear it, and she will protect the secret of the Cyprian Queen.”

I tensed. ”What is this Cyprian Queen?”

”She is beauty, and love.” She smiled coyly. ”She is the G.o.ddess.”

G.o.ddess. Now I understood! The G.o.ddess of beauty and love was, of course, Aphrodite. I knew my Greek mythology well. Aphrodite, or Venus to the Romans, was said to have been born from the sea, carried aloft on the foam to Greece from Cyprus. She was sometimes referred to by her country of origin, thus the Cyprian.

Yes, and now I recalled why the term had seemed familiar. Cyprian was also an old-fas.h.i.+oned name for a sophisticated prost.i.tute. For Aphrodite was the G.o.ddess of love, beauty, and s.e.xual appet.i.tes.

”What are you playing with, Vanessa?” I whispered, horrified. A terrible thought occurred to me, and I wondered if the girls were actually engaged in selling their bodies. Was this a cadre of prost.i.tutes operating out of one of the most prestigious girls' academies in all of England?

”Miss Sloane-Smith will never wish anything to be revealed or all at the school would be ruined. Every last girl.” She held a finger to her lips and giggled as she skipped past me.

My gaze shot to the boy. He was a young man, really, strapping and handsome with his Black Irish coloring. ”I will tell the headmistress,” I informed him, putting starch in my words, ”and she will no doubt forbid your coming to the school ever again.”

His bleak gaze did not move as Vanessa drifted through the orchard, fading into the darkness. His mouth was twisted in a bitter line. ”It doesn't matter, I'll not come back here again.” Suddenly he swung his eyes at me. I saw the faint sheen of tears unshed. ”I am not the one she loves,” he spat, and he glanced over his shoulder, into the thickest part of the blackness around us. I followed his gaze but saw nothing.

He turned back to me, and it seemed he wanted to say more. His lips peeled back, suddenly grotesque in a grimace of unspoken suffering. Then, suddenly, he was gone.

A trickle of fear bled cold down my spine, but I did not call out to him, demand he come back and explain what he had meant. I looked to where he had glanced, his face full of impotent rage. What was out there?

In truth, I had no wish to find out, not unarmed and alone in the darkness as I was. I hurried inside.

I thought about what Vanessa had said about Miss Sloane-Smith, and had no doubt there was some merit to her confidence the headmistress would not take action even if I told her of Vanessa's transgression. I had seen firsthand the headmistress' priority to keep the name of the school pristine. I was not so naive I did not recognize her motivations: not the welfare of the girls but the welfare of the school, an ent.i.ty fed by the pounds charged to wealthy families each year, parents who wanted the prestige of a society education for their daughters.

If I brought a scandal like this to her attention, it would not be met with grat.i.tude. And I was already on such shaky ground with her. I hated the decision I made, but I had more important things than the moral failure of a student to contend with. If I were dismissed, I would not be here to fight the vampire when I found him.

Or her. The Cyprian Queen, she'd said-just as Madge had done. Who was she? Was it a myth, a fiction? Did it mean anything at all?

Chapter Nine.

I chose unwisely when I selected my gown on the night of Suddington's dinner party. It was made of French silk in a shade of ivory so rich it swallowed the light, throwing it back to the eye in a soft, pearlescent gleam. The intricate folds around the bodice glowed like swirls of thick cream. In the full skirt, the delicate s.h.i.+mmer of mother-of-pearl rippled so that each footstep was a dizzying concert of fairy light combined with the crisp symphony of expensive silk.

My sister, Alyssa, had designed it, conspiring with a ridiculously expensive dressmaker one rainy afternoon a few summers ago when we were in Bath. She was good with fas.h.i.+on and always on me to dress better, never failing to stress that I could afford it. She was rather infatuated with the wealth my late husband had left to me, far more so than I ever was. I had to admit my wardrobe was the better for her interest in these matters, and I was at present most grateful to her.

As I pinned up my hair, I wondered at my foresight in including this elaborate gown among the more practical selections I'd had sent from my home after settling into Blackbriar. I'd done that after making the acquaintance of Lord Robert Suddington. Had I perhaps harbored a secret hope that I might have occasion to wear it for him?

When I joined my headmistress, I was met with a glare. This I took as a sort of reverse compliment, as I had known it would displease her to see me dressed so grandly. However, Miss Sloane-Smith herself made an impressive appearance. Her hair was perfectly in place, her dress made from swaths of gray lace, very artful and flattering to her figure. The color did her justice, and I glimpsed the beauty she'd once been.