Sepia and Silver (Tragic Silence Book 3) Page 8

  “Of course,” Norman said with a small smile. “Our son was born out of wedlock, but I did marry Henrietta afterwards. It was very difficult for us to wed before. However, three months later, the fighting began and I was summoned away on duty. I wasn’t expecting to survive the war. But when I did, I was forced to return to England without them – it was further complicated by the fact that we had only recently been made husband and wife.

  “Understand something, Eva. Not all the veterans of Crimea were treated fairly. Some of us were thrown to the dogs like scraps. I was unfortunate; I had nothing upon coming home. I had to seek refuge in the workhouse, and I lived there in squalor for two years. I was desolate. I was only saved when one of my richer uncles passed away and left me a sizeable legacy, with which I bought this house. Harry inherited his family’s mines around the same time, and he helped me rebuild my life. I gained new powers, and I used them to search relentlessly for Henrietta. I intended to bring her and our son over here at last, to have the life I wanted for all of us. But it was impossible for me to find them, because they had both returned to Hungary.

  “I eventually remarried; I gave up the search, thinking it was hopeless. I was sure she was dead. I had looked for almost a decade with no luck at all. But then, one day, I managed to find record of Jonathan’s marriage into the Tákacs family of Buda-Pesth, which in turn led me to the Farkas family and Hattyúpatak. And to you.”

  We looked at each other deeply, the only sound being the occasional crackle of the fire. It lit up Norman’s cheek from the side, creating a thin highlighted strip on his beard. His kindly face was crossed with wrinkles, and for the first time, I noticed the lighter lines of scars on his skin. I gazed at them, realising that they had been made with some kind of blade. It could only have happened in the war.

  The atmosphere between us was heavy with a new level of understanding and respect. I couldn’t hold back my adoration of the man before me. For somebody who had only entered my life four months ago, I somehow felt as though I’d known him forever. And I also noticed myself expressing sympathy for all he had loved and lost. It was clear he’d made great sacrifices, and maybe it was that finding me was finally the reward he deserved.

  Norman gave one of his broad smiles, before getting to his feet and walking to a sideboard. He rummaged through a drawer and removed a small velvet-lined box; then came towards me. He undid the catch, and opened it.

  I gasped in awe. Inside, atop a silken pillow, laid an intricate silver locket on an impossibly fine chain. It was engraved with the Calvin crest: the same coat of arms that I’d seen on my trunk aboard the Persephone.

  “Nobody has seen this for decades,” Norman said gently. “I had it made for Henrietta, when I first started searching for my family. And even though I never found her, or our son, I did find you, Eva. So now, it belongs to you.”

  With that, he removed the necklace from the box and fastened it around my neck. When he drew away, I looked down at it, carefully running my fingertips over it as though the slightest pressure would cause it to shatter. I’d never seen anything so fine in my life. I couldn’t even imagine how much this would have cost him. It would have probably fed me and my cousins in Hattyúpatak for months.

  “Grandfather...” I muttered, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” Norman knelt before me so our eyes were level, and took hold of my hand. “I will never be the cause of any harm to you. You will always be safe under my roof. I know you and Margaret are not on the best terms, but I’m afraid that can’t be helped. She is too set in her ways. But I would like to think that we are friends.”

  “Most definitely,” I replied, smiling. “Thank you so very much, for all you have done for me.”

  Norman beamed, gently stroking my cheek with his thumb. “You have so much of her in you, you know. My Henrietta. You have my eyes, true; but the shape of your face, your hair... it is all hers. You truly are a beautiful young lady.”

  He replaced the gun-book then and left me, to begin getting ready for his afternoon at his club. I waited until his footsteps had receded before I turned my attention back to the locket. It was oval, and heavier than it looked, which I supposed said something about the quality of the silver which had made it. I opened it, but both the frames were bare.

  I sighed, letting it hang loose against my breastbone. Then I stood, and wandered towards the bookcases, deciding to choose something new to read. My eyes scanned the shelves, instantly at a loss for the amount of variety before me. I passed by collections of Bell and Dickens, before I focused on a thin scarlet-covered thing labelled under the author J. Sheridan Le Fanu. Giving a small shrug, I pulled it free from its neighbours.

  I went to leave, but paused as I walked by the fireplace. I eyed the inconspicuous book, imagining the weapon nestled inside, and gave a nervous swallow.

  I knew my grandfather meant well, but despite what he had said, I did not feel safe. What if James came back for me tonight? Or tomorrow night? What would he do to silence me, and ensure I couldn’t get away a second time?

  Before I could convince myself it was a bad idea, I grabbed the book, opened it, and took out the revolver. It was cold in my hand, and weighty, its barrel criss-crossed with the scratches of action. I quickly hid it in the folds of my skirts, ran to my room, and shoved it beneath my pillows.

  CHAPTER X

  As night fell, my nerves heightened. My eyes constantly flickered to the windows, watching the sky darken. Rain ran across the panes, and the temperature dropped, prompting Christine to go through the house and stoke the fires. Sitting in the parlour, I watched her squeeze a pair of bellows at the hearth, and a blast of colour subsequently leap in the flames.

  Desperate for something to occupy my mind, I fetched my embroidery hoop and began work on a new sampler, testing out a stitching pattern. After a while, Margaret instructed me to come to the drawing room for another piano lesson. At any other time, I would have let out a protesting groan, but I was glad for anything that would put off going to bed for as long as possible.

  Margaret’s face flickered with faint surprise when I sat on the stool immediately and placed my fingers on the keys in readiness.

  “Why are your hands trembling?” she asked, when I hit the wrong note. “Are you ill?”

  “No, I feel quite well,” I answered.

  “Good Lord, you’re not fretting because you’re afraid of another nightmare?” Margaret scoffed. “Pull yourself together, girl! Honestly!”

  I didn’t reply to that, instead gritting my teeth and stumbling through the first several bars of the piece. It was a definite improvement, but Margaret barely seemed to notice, continuing to chide my lack of ability.

  “You will need to learn to sing as well, you know,” she said, pacing behind me. “You won’t be able to get away with simple Christmas carols and Auld Lang Syne for much longer.”

  “I cannot sing.”

  “You can, and you will. But this music has no lyrics, so just concentrate on that for now. God knows we must have you be skilled in at least one helpful thing.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at her pointedly. “I can sew,” I protested, my voice a little firmer than normal. “And I can already speak two languages. Are they not helpful or acceptable?”

  Margaret looked straight at me. “Acceptable, perhaps, in a past life. And need I remind you that you have left such a past behind? Your sewing is adequate at best; and you still carry your old accent. You are in a new class now, so the least you can do is to attempt to be a part of it.”

  I pursed my lips in irritation.

  “If you wish me to sing, then I shall,” I said, and without waiting for a response, turned back to the piano and brought my fingers down on the ivories. As best I could, I improvised the tune running through my head, and then raised my voice.

  “Isten, áldd meg a magyart

  Jó kedvvel, bőséggel,

  Nyújts feléje védő kart,


  Ha küzd ellenséggel –”

  “What is that?” Margaret interrupted.

  I quietened, bringing my hands to rest in my lap. “Himnusz: the anthem of Hungary. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Margaret’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Pig-headed, immature girl!”

  “Please, Mrs Calvin,” I said calmly, “I was merely demonstrating that my singing is less than adequate. I would not be confident to carry a tune with my voice in any kind of party. I would hate to disgrace you, or the family, with such incompetence.”

  The two of us locked eyes intensely. I could tell she was trying to stare me down, to force me into apologising, but I had absolutely no intention of that. I would indulge her in most things, but I had done nothing to harm her, and I was tiring of her constant subtle insults.

  No further words were said, and when it became clear that I wasn’t going to let her win, she threw me a disdainful sneer and swept herself out of the room. I stayed sitting for a little while longer, running my fingertips gently across the tops of the keys, before lowering the lid and closing them off from sight.

  After dinner, I bid everybody goodnight; and slowly made my way towards the first floor. Every single step on the staircase seemed like a cavernous void, and I almost secretly wished that they would open up beneath my feet and swallow me, so I wouldn’t have to face the darkness. But for as much as I tried to hesitate, I was soon inside my room, and shut the door behind me, clinging onto the handle like a desperate child.

  I looked around, checking all the corners. The place seemed ten times larger than normal. I was relieved to see Christine had already lit the gas lamp when she had come to feed the fire. I supposed she must have known I would be anxious. Despite myself, I let loose a grateful smile.

  I went to the window, ensuring once again that it was locked firmly, before changing into my nightgown and going to the washbasin. I poured some water into it, carefully sponged my face and hands. I towelled myself dry, looking into the mirror on the wall.

  I kept my eyes on my reflection as I removed the pins from my hair, hardly daring to blink in case I missed them turning red again.

  What had caused that to happen? Surely I’d imagined it. That’s what everybody would tell me. How long could I go before I had to accept the verdict of the majority, and agree?

  But the vampire at the end of my bed last night had been no hallucination, I was sure of that. And how else would I have seen him if it hadn’t been for that red glow? Wasn’t that proof enough?

  And not everybody would say it wasn’t real, Éva, I thought. Zíta would believe it.

  What would she say? How was it possible for my eyes to have transformed like that? And to what purpose?

  My attention was drawn to the scars on my neck and arm. I remembered how I’d been lying there in the middle of the forest, prostrate and helpless, pinned by the invisible force of the Izcacus. I recalled the burning hunger and fury in his face as he brought those dagger-teeth into my flesh. Wasn’t that the same as how he’d killed poor Ilona, and I’d simply had a lucky escape, as was the general consensus?

  Or was it something more?

  I flung my towel down, trying not to look at the wounds. Maybe, if I prayed hard enough, my angel would come back and stand sentinel over me until daybreak. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to evoke the hazy image of my mysterious rescuer. But it was like trying to hold onto smoke; hampered by my disorientation at the time. I gave a sharp sigh of impatience and let it go.

  My throat suddenly burned with thirst, so I poured myself some water and drank it all in a few gulps. Still unsatisfied, I topped up the glass again, and went to get into bed, but then hesitated. For as tired as I was, I was still terrified of falling asleep, especially since I was unguarded in this room.

  So I decided against it, dragging a coverlet off the mattress and taking it over to a chair near the fireplace. Then I returned to the bed to retrieve my book and Norman’s revolver, before wrapping myself amidst the blanket. I rested the gun in my lap, concealed beneath the cocoon, and reached over to grasp my drink.

  A sudden tapping sound stopped me instantly. My eyes whipped around in fright. The fire was burning brightly, feeding off a small breeze which had wormed itself through the flue. I suddenly remembered something that Zíta had said to me years ago:

  “What if they came behind you, down the chimney or through a crack in the window?”

  My mind raced, trying to think of something I might be able to use to block the hearth, when I heard the patter again. I instantly realised where it was coming from then; and stared at the window. I’d deliberately left the curtains open, hoping the light from within the room would act as a deterrent. But I couldn’t see anything on the other side of the glass.

  I watched intently, feeling my heart pounding in my throat. My hand curled around the handle of the revolver.

  Then I drew in a gasp of horror. The latch between the window frames was slowly lifting, by itself.

  I watched it for a moment, transfixed, before adrenaline fired into my muscles. I leapt from my chair, flinging the coverlet aside, and stumbled into the centre of the room. The hook turned vertical and the panes swung wide open, sending the curtains fluttering in a strong breeze. I felt the cold air on my skin and shivered, wrapping one arm around myself in a vain attempt to hold in some warmth.

  I went to run and slam the window shut again, when a dark shape suddenly flew towards me and stepped out of the air, as casually as though it were exiting a carriage. I saw curly blonde hair; a wiry body; and the same infinite black eyes as I’d been dreading. And above, sprouting from the shoulders, two great wings were splayed wide, like those of a giant bat.

  My blood roared through my ears with terror. I forced myself to keep breathing, and raised the revolver, pulling back on the hammer until I heard it click. I wasn’t even sure if it was loaded, but hoped it was.

  James didn’t move, but I could tell it was not because he was afraid. For as calm as I was trying to keep myself, I knew I barely looked composed. And he was a policeman – he would have faced much more dangerous folk than me.

  His huge eyes flitted to the weapon before fixing mine intently.

  “Are you going to kill me, Miss Calvin?” he asked, with such perfect self-control, I immediately began trembling. How could he not be scared? How could he be making the fear rebound onto me like this?

  Frustrated with myself, I determined to stand my ground.

  “I’ll shoot,” I barked, wishing my mouth wasn’t so dry. “I will pull this trigger if you come near me, demon!”

  “Then do it.”

  James started walking closer, as though I’d given him a command rather than a warning. I took a small step back, but then stopped myself. James did not falter, and soon he was near enough to have snatched the gun from my hand. But he didn’t. His stare had never broken with mine. One brow was elevated, as though in shrewd expectation.

  I risked a look at the huge wings, quivering overhead.

  “Shoot me, Eva,” he said quietly, resting his chest against the muzzle. “I dare you.”

  I hesitated, pressing my lips together tightly. The revolver grew heavy in my hand.

  James rolled his eyes as though with impatience; then lunged forward at me, hissing like an insane cat. Petrified, I squeezed the trigger.

  There was an almighty bang; I stumbled backwards with the rebound, only just keeping hold of the gun. I glanced at it in shock, seeing a small line of smoke fluttering out of the end.

  James sniggered quietly. I stared at him, mouth agape. He was still standing; had barely moved a muscle. Not even the tiniest flicker of pain crossed his face. But there was a definite hole in his white shirt, and I could just see a single trickle of dark blood running through the material.

  I whimpered in alarm; then James took a reverse step and practically disappeared into the shadows. I brandished the revolver frantically, looking all around, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  I
clutched at my chest, struggling to breathe, and heard footsteps running along the landing. Thinking quickly, I shoved the weapon back under my pillow just as the door was flung open, revealing Norman and George.

  “Eva!” Norman cried, hurrying to me and grasping the tops of my arms. “Good heavens, what is going on in here? I heard a gunshot!”

  “No, no,” I mumbled shakily. “I am fine.”

  George instantly set about searching the room again. “Why’s the window open, Miss?”

  My eyes turned to it in fright. “I... uh...” I started, but then cut myself off. What was the point in trying to tell the truth again? Where was James? I couldn’t repeat my story from last night and expect to be believed if there was no assailant in here.

  “I just unlocked it a little to let in some air,” I said, eyes still scanning the corners. “The wind must have blown it wide. I had another nightmare and fell out of bed,” I added for good measure. Even as I spoke, I realised the open window had already drawn away any residual aroma of gunpowder.

  Norman grasped my chin. “That was an awfully loud bang for simply falling out of bed.”

  “I knocked the nightstand over as I went down,” I said hastily. “I put it back upright before you came in.”

  George and Norman glanced at each other dubiously, and for a moment I was scared that they would find the revolver. But then I noticed my grandfather give his valet the smallest of nods, and George pushed the window closed, locking it tightly.

  My heart sank. I was certain that James was still in the room somewhere, but now there was no way for him to get out.

  “Are you sure you are alright, dear?” asked Norman. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Not too far from the truth, I thought.

  “Anything else, Sir?”

  “No, thank you, George,” Norman said. “Would you like anything, Eva?”

  I shook my head. “No, I am fine, honestly. I’m sorry for disturbing you again. It shan’t happen again.”

  “Don’t worry. We will have to see what can be done about these dreams, won’t we?” he smiled. “Try to get some sleep now. You look exhausted. Call if you need to.”