“In a sense,” said Justine, warily. So Mr. Gray knew about the Société des Alchimistes! What sort of association had he formed with this Lord Henry Wotton, and how had it set him on his current path, as he so enigmatically claimed? She would very much like to hear more of his story. But there was no time this morning. She was due back at 11 Park Terrace.
“If you could stay for luncheon—I have some cold tongue, caviar, and champagne,” said Mr. Gray.
She would have liked to, although she would have had to explain to him that she did not eat flesh food. But she did not want to be late for the meeting with Ayesha.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Gray,” she said, “but my friends are waiting for me.”
“Of course,” he said. “I envy you—friendship is the one luxury that money cannot buy. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Frankenstein.”
When she held out her hand, he leaned over it, turned it over, and kissed the palm. As she walked home from Mayfair to Marylebone, she could feel the imprint of that kiss inside her glove.
BEATRICE: Are you quite sure you want to go to Antibes with Mr. Gray for two weeks? Would you rather not stay with me and Catherine in Paris? There will be museums, and restaurants, and a painting from the Louvre to recover from whoever has stolen it.…
JUSTINE: Yes, I’m sure. I’m going to paint in the south of France. He has expressly invited me.
BEATRICE: I think it is a mistake.…
CATHERINE: But we all get to make our own mistakes. After all, Bea, you and I have made plenty of our own.
BEATRICE: Alas.
Lucinda was sitting on the window seat in the parlor. It had been lovely to spend a quiet morning all by herself, while everyone else was out on their respective errands. For the first time, she had been able to talk to Mrs. Poole, who reminded her of the Van Helsing housekeeper, Frau Müller. While she was growing up, Frau Müller had always been there, to bandage a scraped knee or provide a ginger biscuit. What would the world be like without women such as Frau Müller in it?
Just before lunch, Alice and Beatrice had brought back a group of mesmerists, who had eaten in the dining room with its large mahogany table. What an entertaining meal it had been! They had made water glasses and napkins disappear, turned apples into golden balls and slices of toast into butterflies that flew about the room. Magpies had flown out of a meat pie. Of course Lucinda knew it was an illusion, that with the passes of their hands and their patter they were merely manipulating her perception of reality. Still, she had not laughed so much since her mother had taken her to the fair, years ago, and she had seen the jugglers with their sharp swords, the little dogs with ruffs around their necks jumping through hoops, the Harlequin and Columbine of the Commedia.
And no one had commented on the fact that her lunch had consisted of a bowl of blood. Sheep’s blood, specifically, which was not her favorite, but Mrs. Poole had gone to get it from the butcher, Mr. Byles, especially for her. Of course, Beatrice had been drinking a bowl of something green that smelled foul to her sensitive nose, so she had not been the only one with unusual culinary needs. How comfortable she felt in this house, where no one bothered her and everyone accepted what she was! When she had agreed to become a member of the Athena Club, she had not truly understood what she was agreeing to. But now she knew. It meant becoming part of a new family in which she would always be welcome.
“Lucinda!” She turned from looking out at the street without seeing it, lost in thought, toward the door. There stood Laura in a walking suit. “Oh, my dear, I wish you’d come with me,” she said. She had already taken off her hat and gloves, and was holding a letter in her left hand. “Piccadilly Circus, lunch at Harrod’s Department Store, and then a walk through Hyde Park… It was all so perfectly English, even more so than I’d imagined. It’s heavenly here! I mean, I do miss Styria, and Carmilla, and Magda, and everyone at home, and the dear old schloss itself. In Styria I used to think I was very English, and now I realize how Styrian I am, even in my nostalgia. Still, it’s glorious to see all the places my father used to talk about with such longing. How I wish he could be with me now! Although I do think the cakes are better back in Austria, but don’t tell Mrs. Poole I said that.”
“Miss Jennings,” said Mrs. Poole, appearing suddenly behind her at the doorway. Lucinda wondered if she’d heard that remark about the cakes. “I see you found the letter that came for you today. There was also a telegram. I didn’t want to leave it on the hall table with the regular mail, in case it might be something private.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Poole,” said Laura. She glanced quickly at the telegram. The housekeeper had already disappeared again down the hall. “Now isn’t that just like Carmilla! ‘Vampire nest destroyed coming to England how would you like to tour the Lake District darling all my love C.’ I think she feels a little guilty for abandoning us. What do you think, Lucinda? Would you like to tour the Lake District?”
Lucinda shook her head. Really all she wanted was to sit here and feel the life of this house flow through her, to feel herself surrounded by friends.
“And this is a letter from my cousin, the Reverend Mr. Jennings. I wrote to him almost as soon as we arrived. He is my last living relative in England.” Neatly, she tore open the letter and glanced down the page. “He regrets to say that he is ill and under the care of a mental specialist named—I can’t read it, his writing is so spidery. Dr. Hesselius, I think. Therefore, he cannot come to London, but would be happy to receive me at his home in Warwickshire. I’m not entirely sure where that is, but he says there’s a day train from London. I suppose there is just enough time to see him before Carmilla arrives. Goodness, what a busy visit this is proving to be! We saved the Queen, and I had lunch at Harrods, and now I’m going to see where Wordsworth wrote his ‘Tintern Abbey’ and that daffodil poem.”
“It is not time for our meeting?” asked Beatrice, coming in with a mug of tea in her hand. Why must Beatrice always be drinking things that smelled so foul? But they probably did not smell foul to her. Lucinda reminded herself that not all the world shared her vampire senses. “Lucinda, if you don’t mind, I will share the window seat with you.” Beatrice sat on the window seat, as elegantly as always. Well, Lucinda would simply have to learn to bear certain smells. As her mother had once told her, a lady may feel disgust, but she must never show it.
“Of course. Please.” She slid over and made more room.
“The Athena Club’s meeting with Ayesha? Then I shall be off,” said Laura.
“You are most welcome to attend,” said Beatrice. “I do not think Mary would mind.”
“Attending a meeting with the Princess of Meroë, Queen of Kôr, and President of the Alchemical Society, as Count Dracula calls her, is not my idea of fun,” said Laura. “Whereas shopping is. I barely brought any clothes with me, and I’ll need more if I’m going to tour the lakes! Ta now.”
“Wait for me!” Just as Laura was leaving it, Diana burst into the room. “Don’t start without me! Oh. No one’s here yet.”
“Apparently, we do not count as someone,” said Beatrice to Lucinda with a smile.