Frozen in Time

A sequel to The Vampire's Kiss

By Atonia Walpole (Picture creations also by Atonia)

Chapter 1

Jane Simmons stood in her stirrups and shaded her gray eyes. Was that a rooftop? She thought she had become familiar with the surrounding landscape. She urged her horse forward, ducking beneath branches and trailing ivy. Soon the crumbling remains of a great house came into view, built of gray stone and nearly covered in ivy and honeysuckle. The tower still stood tall against the blue sky. She dismounted and carefully made her way to the heavy doors.

Jane had come over from America to care for her ailing aunt. She was due to inherit the estate and her aunt had requested that she come. Jane was the eldest of four children, all girls, and since she hadn’t found a suitable husband her father was more than agreeable to ship her to England.

She was not one to be content sitting by the fire with needlework. Her efforts were frowned upon by her Aunt Patricia Hammock.  Her parents came under heavy disapproval for her upbringing.  Given the chance, she was on horseback racing across the countryside with her russet hair blowing behind her. She’d been brought up in the Midwest where her father owned a large farm and dairy.

Surprisingly, the doors opened without too much difficulty. “Oh!” she exclaimed. It was like stepping into another world, a world frozen in time. Speechless she walked into the great hall. It was furnished from a forgotten time.  Seventeenth century? She wasn’t sure. The room was dominated by a huge fireplace and by a portrait, a life-sized portrait of a young man standing casually by his horse. In the background was a castle. This castle? She was drawn to it. Though darkened with age, he was still a striking figure, painted in the bloom of his youth. She looked at it for a long time. There was humor in his eyes and gentleness, the way his hand touched his horse, the way the artist had captured the softness of his hair.

“Who are you, lovely man?”

Her words echoed in the cavernous space. She explored the room and it was only when she reached an archway that it dawned on her. The room was clean. Clean as if it had been sealed up. Not a mote of dust touched anything. She thought someone must be looking out for the property and perhaps she shouldn’t be in there. Curiosity drove her forward into a wide hallway that was more like a room in itself. It was dark in the hallway and although she could tell there were portraits lining the walls, she couldn’t make them out.

She’d found her way to the music room and there a portrait of a beautiful young man hung alone on one great wall. He was dressed in black velvet and white lace. The portrait was beautifully done, capturing his eyes, a strange color of turquoise. His rosy lips were curved upward in a slight smile. He hadn’t been looking at the painter but off slightly to the side as if something wonderful had caught his attention. His hair was pulled back and tied behind his head leaving a long shank of curls over his shoulder. He was seated casually in a chair with a dark red drapery behind him. His hands appeared almost restless in his lap, a finger touching a ruby ring.

There was something vaguely familiar about the face. “I wish you could step out of that frame,” she spoke in a soft whisper. “Tell me who you are and what you know.”  While the painting was old, it was of a different time period than the other one she’d gazed up at.

She backed away from it and walked around the room. The furnishings were also of a different period and dominated by a large grand piano with elaborately carved legs. Two violin cases and a harp confirmed it as a music room. A large stained glass window sent colorful prisms around the walls.

“It’s almost like being in church, so silent and yet you know this room has been filled with music.” She laid her hand on the piano. A feeling of sadness came over her, sadness for what had been. She shook herself and noted her little gold watch attached to her tight fitted jacket. Aunt Pat would soon be wondering where she was. It was time to leave.

She paused again in the great hall for another look at the graceful young man in the portrait. “Bye,” she said and blew him a kiss.

“Oh, you must mean Cornagaugh. I didn’t know it was still standing. I don’t know much about it really.”

“It appeared to have been very grand at one time.” Jane didn’t want to reveal that she’d been inside the old house. “Is there a caretaker?”

“I shouldn’t think so, my dear. It’s a ruin. It belonged to a family called Cornith, a member of the old aristocracy, long dead now. Families do die out. Shame your father only produced girls. There will be none to carry on the family name.”

“Except me. I don’t think I’ll ever marry. Besides, I’m well past it now.”

Aunt Pat chuckled, “Twenty-five is not that old nowadays. In my day you’d be a spinster by now. Oh, you’ll marry one day. You’ll have this farm as bait.”

Jane smiled, “I’ve never been very good at fishing. Laurie will marry before I do and probably Sissy too. Mellie’s too young to think about it and I don’t think about it.”

What she did think about was the house she’d been in that day. It’d been like coming upon a secret and a secret it would remain for she intended to go back.

“I’ve heard the place is haunted…Cornagaugh.”

Jane was brought out of her thoughts abruptly. “Who haunts it?”

“A ghost!” her Aunt replied and laughed.

Jane smiled; a ghost with a duster.

Months passed and Aunt Pat had become frailer and had taken to her bed.  Her doctor sent a Miss Pinkum to sit with her. Mrs. Abrams took care of the cooking, leaving Jane with little to do during the days and evenings. She would often play the piano only to be shushed by Miss Pinkum. Aunt Pat’s solicitor had been and gave her a sorrowful smile as he took his leave. Jane knew it wouldn’t be much longer and she dreaded what was to come.

One afternoon she decided to go riding although Old Bill had warned her about the weather. His knees or something told him a storm was brewing. Looking up at the blue sky with its white sailboats moving swiftly along, she wasn’t worried about rain. She rode to what had become her refuge…Cornagaugh.

The silence and beauty of the castle seemed to welcome her. Becoming bolder with each trip, she’d actually sat down at the piano and played. It had a lovely tone and the room was designed to capture the music. However, today she decided to explore other sections of the house, a wing that had truly fallen to ruin. Parts of it were exposed to the elements and looking up she noted the white sailboats had turned into dark and menacing warships. Old Bill had been right. She began picking her way through the rubble trying to make it back to the intact castle when the wind blew up in a rage and sent a tree limb crashing down onto the unstable beams.

It all happened so quickly. Something came down across her shoulders knocking her to the debris-strewn marble floor. The second blast sent a beam down across her body trapping her in the ruins of Cornagaugh. She cried a bit from the shock of it all. Tentatively she began probing her body and limbs. Everything seemed to move a bit except her. She couldn’t move the thing that had trapped her face down on the floor. Her subtle movements shifted the weight and now a throbbing pain shot up her right leg.

“Unnnh…help….help me…somebody help me!” If anyone had been around, which was highly unlikely in the midst of a storm, the thunder would have muffled her feeble cries. The rain beat down on her, soaking her to the skin and the water began to pool up around her face. “I’m going to drown here!” She panicked, jerking herself around until the pain in her leg shot to her brain and she passed out.

One would not have thought the slight, graying man in his old fashioned black livery would have been able to move such a heavy wooden beam or toss the stone blocks aside like a child’s nursery blocks. Having accomplished both, he knelt down over the female and felt along her limbs, something propriety would have forbidden had she been awake. She wore a strange-looking outfit with a split skirt. He raised one side and frowned at the bluish calf above her boot. There was nothing for it…he could leave her there to die…but he couldn’t.  He picked her up and carried her into the great hall. She weighed nothing to him. She was wet and lifeless in his arms and he laid her down on the long sofa near the fire. He’d only built a small fire for himself but now he saw he needed to extend the heat in the room at least to the sofa.

Morvan brought a blanket and covered the woman. Sitting down at her feet, he unlaced her boot and slowly and gently began to pull it off her foot. He was grateful she was out for it must be quite painful, that broken leg. He wasn’t a surgeon but he knew many things. He pulled her leg into alignment and when he had finished, he’d splinted her leg and wrapped it tightly in bandages.

Now for the other thing. He sighed and looked down at her and wished his master was here for he would not have hesitated. He brought a thin linen night shirt, yellowed with time and so fragile it tore when he pulled it gently over her head. He could not make himself remove her chemise or her bloomers. Next to her skin they would dry quickly anyway. Her warm-blooded skin. He laid her clothes over a chair next to the fire to dry. It was not a thing he would normally do but it was the only fire in the house.

Something attached to her jacket caught his attention as it gleamed in the firelight, a tiny little clock. He removed it and, hoping for the best, he went down the spiral stairs into the darkness of the caves beneath the castle. With little effort he tossed the clock under the lid of a crypt and hurried back to his charge in the hall. She was moaning softly and he feared she would wake. Better if she didn’t, at least not yet. There was much to do. He must go out.  Looking toward the hallway he thought he should go down and wait with his master. All these years with nothing to do and now…

Chapter 2

Something had disturbed him. Brought him from his deep twilight sleep into consciousness. A sound, a ticking sound as regular as heartbeats. He lay still as his chest began to rise and fall…breathing again. It was an effort to breathe. Now other sounds, a shuffling about. He raised a hand toward the lid of his crypt. Withered to near bone. How could these be his hands? Feebly he pushed at the lid.

This was what Morvan was waiting for. Some indication that he wanted to rise. But perhaps he hadn’t wanted to rise. It was the clock. He tried to imagine the sound that tiny little clock would make in a lidded crypt. The lid began to move and he helped it along.

The thing that rose up from the crypt in no way resembled the handsome young man who had lain down in it one hundred years ago. Morvan had seen it before and it did not bother him at all. He lent a hand and steadied him. “Come, my lord, it is time.”

He was too weak to hunt so Morvan hunted for him and fed him at his own throat. The population had grown considerably in the last hundred years and so he did not have to go far to find his victims. It was all accomplished in a matter of a few hours. Lord William Keith Robert Jameson Cornith was alive again. Miraculously he watched his hands fill out. His body filled his clothes and his face once again became his face. He was still very pale but strong enough to go out and take his first victim.

When he returned Morvan lay out his clothes and he bathed away the dust of the crypt.

“Why have you brought me back?” William was buttoning his vest.

“It was time, my lord.”

“Whose time?” He looked up with his sapphire eyes glowing. He picked the little clock up from his dressing table. “Whose time?”

“Well, my lord, downstairs there is a young lady, badly injured. I’ve done what I could but you, sir, must make the decisions about what is to be done with her.”

“How does she come to be here?”

“I do not know. I found her horse wandering outside near the stables in the rain. I think she might have been trying to get inside of the stable. I did put it there and when I came back there was a terrible crash in the east wing. That is where I found her, my lord, under a beam and several large stones. Dusk had just come up.”

William looked at his servant then went downstairs. He studied at the splinted leg and felt her forehead. She was very warm, warmer than blood.

“She needs medical attention. Be there a surgeon about? Where does she come from, do you think?”

“I…I…perhaps the village. She might have…there is a surgeon in the village. I have seen his sign out.”

“Have we a carriage or a horse?”

“We do have horses, Sir. I’ve put them in the old servant’s quarters to keep them hidden.”

“Ride to the village and fetch this medical man…quickly now.”

Morvan moved very quickly to his horse and had it saddled in no time. So much to do…too much to do…

William threw another log on the fire and went to her side. Kneeling down he felt of her forehead and then noticed the lace about her neck. The sight of her neck caused his lips to tremble for a moment. He blinked and pulled the blanket back. She was wearing one of Jameson’s sleep shirts. He fingered the fabric and a wash of memories came over him. He felt his newly fed heart lurch and grabbed for his chest. Jameson…gone forever. How long had it been? He didn’t know what year it was.

Jane moved her hands a little. She wasn’t fully conscious and didn’t want to be. Pain wafted up from her leg. She opened her eyes a little. William’s face floated into view.

“Dreaming,” she mumbled.

William did not speak to her. He was pulling leaves and bits of debris from her hair that spilled out over the pillow. Her hair was still damp and curled around his finger when he held a strand. It reminded him of something from long ago. Cognac in candlelight.

He rose and backed away from the long sofa where Morvan had laid her. He felt like himself, but…was he? Would he frighten her? He felt of his face and it all felt in place. There were no mirrors left at Cornagaugh. Wait…in Jameson’s room. He ran up the stairs and into the room Jameson had grown up in. The windows had long been boarded over but everything else was as he’d left it. He shouldn’t have come into the room and he knew it right away. It was too soon. What good would a mirror do him anyway? He wouldn’t be able to see his reflection. He leaned against the door and took one last look around the room. It had almost been his undoing. He closed it up and thought he might get Morvan to board up the door.

The medical man, Dr. Marcus Wilton, was not in his quarters in the village. He’d been called out to Leadmore.  Mrs. Patricia Hammock had passed away during the storm. He was on his way home when Morvan recognized his carriage on the road.

“Young lady, you say?” He leaned out of the carriage window.  “Would it be Miss Jane Simmons?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“Lead the way.” Dr. Wilton sighed heavily and seated himself in his carriage. Would the night ever end? And still there was Betty Carole about to deliver.

He was not in good humor by the time he’d fought his way up the narrow horse path to Cornagaugh. He’d had to leave his carriage nearly a mile behind him.

“Why don’t you cut a proper road?” he roared at Morvan.

“We have been away, Sir.” Morvan calmly answered him. “If you’ll just come inside.”

Dr. Wilton took a look at the castle’s façade and shook his head. Whatever it was he expected when he entered the door it wasn’t what he encountered. It was an elegant room, very well appointed if not a little old fashioned. It blazed with candlelight. The young man who greeted him with a slight bow might have been playing at dress up except for his excellent manners and concern for the young lady.

He quickly examined her. “Ah, what a sad night it is for the young woman. I’ve just come from her Aunt and pronounced her dead.  Definitely a broken tibia. A fine job of splinting, sorry I had to unwrap it”. He was busy rewrapping it. “It needs casting but I’m without supplies here. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. She needs to be in bed. Have you a way to get her out of here, no roads I saw?”

William had been trying to follow his clipped speech. “We can get her out but where to take her?”

“Over to Leadmore. It’ll be hers now. Her Aunt Hammock was a fine lady. Leadmore is about three miles from here. Take the left turning off Compton Road. Your man said you’d been away. Need to see to a road out here. I had to leave my carriage. Give her five drops of this and it’ll help her through the night. I’ll be out to Leadmore in the morning. What did you say your name was?”

“William Cornith.”

“Cornith…thought they’d all died out. Pleased to meet you. You’ll be getting my bill; I suppose you have a post box? Well, never mind, you’ll get it all the same. Careful when you move her. Keep that leg straight.”

“Morvan, lend him your horse. What did you say her name was?”

“Simmons…Jane Simmons…she’s an American…different. G’night.”

Morvan followed the doctor on foot to retrieve his horse.

“Well, Miss Simmons,” William leaned over her, noting her pert nose sprinkled with a few freckles. Her dark lashes were shadowed on her cheeks. “How to get you home?”

Jane was still in and out of it. Dr. Wilton had spooned something vile into her mouth and now she was neither here nor there. Still from time to time she would see that face, hear his voice low and soft speaking. It was all a dream…a dream…William…William? Had she retreated to her refuge? Deep inside her she had a feeling that something terrible had happened but she couldn’t grasp it.

“Is there no way to get the carriage out?”

“No, my lord, I am sorry to say the road has disappeared into the forest.”

“I shall carry her out on horseback. Rig something up for her leg.”

Morvan padded her leg with blankets and carefully handed her up to William. He placed her in front of him and held her against him wrapped in a quilt. Morvan rode with him to guide the way. The landscape had changed greatly in the past hundred years. William realized he would have been lost without Morvan.

“What year is it?”

“1870, my lord.”

“Who is the King?”

“It’s a Queen now. Queen Victoria.”

Chapter 3

The cold night air revived her a little. She dreamed she was being held in someone’s arms. It was a good dream and she cuddled against him.

William stayed on horseback while Morvan went up to the house. Her warmth felt good against his chest. It took awhile for help to come. One man who limped and wore a gray beard came down from the house with Morvan, followed by a plump woman carrying a sheet.

“I says you can put her on this and carry her in,” the woman explained to William.

“You must take great care with her. She is broken.”

Morvan had already explained the doctor’s visit.

“Let’s have her then.” The man reached up for Jane. William was reluctant to let her go but he carefully handed her off.

“Much obliged to you, Sir. She’ll have a right shock when she comes ‘round.”

William reached in his vest pocket. “She’s to have five drops for the night.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cornish.” The woman bobbed her head.

“May I extend my sympathies to the house for the death of her Aunt?”

The woman bowed her head again and wiped a tear.

Mrs. Abrams tucked her in her bed. “Poor lamb.” She removed a curl from her cheek.

“William,” Jane turned her head on the pillow.

Mrs. Abrams frowned a little. Would that be William Cornish, the man who’d brought her home? What was the lass doing over at Mr. Cornish’s house…and alone with him?

Later, in the kitchen at Leadmore, Mrs. Abrams was putting loaves of bread to rise. “You’ll have a right job of it looking after her now. Riding off to God knows where…visiting young men.”

Old Bill had known Jane most of her life. He’d come over with her from America. “I reckon she can take care of herself. Not counting storms, that is. It was an accident, Mrs. Abrams.”

“Well, what was she doin’ there in the first place? Decent girls don’t go calling on single men alone.”

“Now if you’re gonna start on Jane, you’d better back up a little there. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with her. She carries a pistol in her saddlebag and…and she can take the tip off a ceegar with her whip.”

Old Bill cupped his tea mug. “She’s a good girl brought up right. Don’t make no matter what Mrs. Hammock thought about that.” He caught himself up. “I don’t mean no disrespect to the dead.”

“None taken, I’m sure.” She stuck her nose in the air. “It’s so unfortunate. Miss Jane won’t be able to go to the service.”

“I reckon she’s said her good-byes  already. She’s been pretty down here lately. Still, it’s gonna tear her up and there she is with that broke leg.”

“Is Pinkum going to sit with the body tonight?”

“I don’t know. Want me to check?”

William and Morvan slowed on a hillock to get the lay of the land. “It appears to be all cut up.”

“It is, my lord. Small farms now out here and on the other side rows of houses built for the miners. It’s not the same. The town has become a dirty place and grown with the mining.”

“I am glad you did not go down with me. Think if both of us were lost in this world? Everything has changed. Bring me newspapers, bring me books and find someone to cut a road to Cornagaugh.”

“Yes, my lord, and a tailor.”

William’s smile broadened. “And a tailor; you are beginning to look a bit rusty.”

Mrs. Abrams brought her a tray containing tea, toast and a soft boiled egg along with a bowl of oatmeal.

“Are you awake, Miss?”

“I am now. What is this thing attached to me?” She eased herself up in bed while Mrs. Abrams pushed a few pillows to her back. “Oh, I feel awful!”

“You’ve had an accident, Miss Jane. I understand you’ve broken a bone in your leg.”

“Oh…no!” she wailed.

“Doctor Wilton will be by this morning to fix it up right. Now you eat your breakfast and we’ll see about a bath before the doctor comes.”

It was coming back to her now, snatches of it anyway. “I was at Cornagaugh.”

“Yes, indeed you were.” Mrs. Abrams pursed her mouth and gave her a disapproving look. She fussed about the bed, straightening the covers, hoping for an explanation.

“How did I get home?”

“Mr. Cornish brought you home. I have a thing to say about that..."  She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Yes, Miss Pinkum?”

“The hearse is here for Mrs. Hammock, Ma’am.”

“Hearse?” Jane sat up.

“Oh, I am sorry, dear. Your Aunt Pat passed last evening.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There was no telling you anything last night and I’ve just come up this morning.”

Jane’s face came apart with tears.

“I’m very sorry, Miss Jane,” Miss Pinkum said.

It was Miss Pinkum who helped Jane out of her clothes and into a clean nightgown. She gave her a sponge bath and brushed her hair back, tying it with a ribbon.

“What happened to my clothes I was wearing?”

“I couldn’t say, Miss.” She held up the nightshirt and looked at it. “This is very old.”

“Let me see it.” Jane held the shirt in her hands and examined it closely. “I wonder which one wore it?”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing…nothing, Miss Pinkum. I think I’ll keep it.”

It wasn’t until the doctor arrived around ten in the morning that she got the full story of what had happened to her the night before.

“William Cornish. What did he look like?”

“Couldn’t say really. Tallish, dark hair, blue eyes I think. Pale…very pale. Don’t get out in the sun much I’d say. He’s a gentleman, courtly, mannerly. It was his man that found you.”

“His man?”

“Servant, butler, footman, can’t say really.” He slapped another layer of plaster on her cast.

“Mr. Cornish brought me home?”

“He said he would get you home. Man of his word, I wouldn’t have doubted him. Needs to cut a road.”

“I didn’t know anyone lived there.”

Dr. Wilton looked up at her a moment. “Says they’ve been away. I believe it. Not even a road to the house.”

“How fortunate that they arrived in time to save me.”

“Fortunate indeed. You’ll need to let this dry. Miss Pinkum, a clean basin please. Now then, you may develop a fever. I’ll need to know if you do. Miss Pinkum, a bottle of laudanum I’ll leave for her. Go easy with it. You’re to stay put, young lady, and keep that foot up. Some pillows, Miss Pinkum. There we are, all set.”

“Dr. Wilton, did…did Mr. Cornish resemble the portrait?”

“Portrait? I couldn’t say really. I was looking at you.” He smiled and finished drying his hands on a clean towel. Ta-ra, Miss Jane and awfully sorry about Mrs. Hammock. Miss Pinkum, can I count on you to take on another patient?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Happy to stay with Miss Jane.”

Miss Pinkum gathered up the mess the doctor had left and Jane gathered up the nightshirt she’d stuffed under her pillow. “Oh, what a time to be laid up in bed.” She so wanted to meet Mr. Cornish.

Chapter 4

Morvan took William through the town and he was appalled at the changes. The sleepy little village he’d known was gone. He rode quickly away toward the outlying farms and cottages.  He and Morvan parted for Morvan had always hunted alone. How he missed Jameson at his side. Would it ever go away? He tried not to dwell on it and he’d yet to go into the music room where he knew the portrait he had painted in Paris lived. Jameson, so full of life and love and to be taken in such a fashion. He blamed himself for his death and it was a sadness that would never leave him.

When he returned from the hunt he took his horse to the stable and brushed him down. They would have to see to a new stable lad. He noticed Jane’s horse and went over, talking softly to it and brushing it down with his curry brush.

“I should take you home,” he said to the filly. The saddle interested him. He’d never seen anything like it. He soon found the gun in her saddle bags. What kind of lady carried a gun? Interesting…

He led the horse from the stable and saddled his again. It wasn’t too late, was it?

He arrived at Leadmore and went up to the front door and knocked.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Cornish.”

“Good evening, Ma’am. I’ve brought Miss Simmons’ horse.”

“Oh, well then, you’ll be wanting to see Old Bill. Come inside and I’ll just go and fetch him.”

“How is Miss Simmons, if I might inquire?”

“Well as can be expected, of course.”

She left him to wander about in the parlor. It was so very different from Cornagaugh but it interested him because of who lived there. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to determine which room she might be in.

“Mr. Cornith, I would of come and got Trilly. Today’s been all sixes and sevens. I appreciate your bringing her home.”

“My pleasure.” He wasn’t sure exactly who Old Bill was. “I have inquired about Miss Simmons and understand she is doing well.”

“Who told you that, Mrs. Abrams? It’s been a hard day for her. She’s, ah, had the casting done on her leg and then, of course, she learned of her Aunt Pat’s passing. I wasn’t aware you two were acquainted.”

“We are not acquainted. I only laid eyes on her last night. I’m very sorry about her accident and will make arrangements to have that part of the house torn down. It’s fallen into ruin, I’m afraid.”

“I understand you’ve been away.”

“Yes. Cornagaugh is my family home and I’ve just returned. I wonder, um, Mr....?”

“Franklin, Bill Franklin’s my name but everybody calls me Old Bill. I used to be her daddy’s foreman. When she got called over here he asked me if I’d like to go along too and kinda keep an eye on her.”

“I was going to ask if I might call on Miss Simmons when she is able to accept.”

“I don’t see why not. Give her a few days to come to herself again and drop on by.”

“Thank you. I look forward to seeing her.”

Old Bill walked out with him and took Trilly by the reins.

“That’s a fine filly she has.”

“Know something about horseflesh, do ya?”

William smiled a little. “Yes…something. My father once kept a racing stable.”

“Is that so? Well, ha.”

“Good night, Mr. Franklin.”

“I cannot believe you’ll allow that man up in her bedroom. Did you stop and think where she might be receiving visitors?”

“What do you think is gonna happen, Mrs. Abrams?”

“Well, I don’t know, I’m sure, but you don’t know anything about him. He’s awfully pale, if you ask me. People in prison come out looking just like that.”

“Maybe he’s just naturally light-skinned. You always got to find something wrong with everything. He comes across a perfect gentleman.”

“That’s just it…they always do.”

“Ain’t you got something in the house to do?”

Miss Pinkum brought Jane a glass of warm milk.

“Your young man has been and brought Trilly home.”

“I don’t have a young man, Miss Pinkum. Whom are you talking about?”

“Why, Mr. Cornish.”

“He’s been here?”

“Just this hour.”

“Oooh!” She fell back on her pillow.

William spent his nights reading. He read everything Morvan could find locally and sent off for the latest from London. There was so much to catch up on He wanted to know what music they were playing  in London and Paris. He knew he was going to have to make a trip to London. He needed to look out a man of business to handle his banking needs. Upstairs in Jameson’s room, in his chest, was his fortune. While it pained William he knew without a doubt Jameson would have given it to him without a thought. Still it hurt when he knew how that fortune was obtained, Jameson’s own heart and soul poured out on a keyboard.

He would not know anyone in London now and his name would mean nothing. Perhaps the townhouse no longer stood. It was not a trip he was looking forward to.

It was four days before he returned to Leadmore. He brought with him her clothes and her little clock. It was fortunate for him that Old Bill opened the door. After a brief conversation he led William up the stairs to her room.

“Jane, you got a visitor. Are ya up seeing someone?”

Jane put down her book. “A visitor, um, yes.” Her hand went to her hair, which she knew was wild, then to the neck of her night gown. She straightened the covers around her.

Old Bill was aware that this was highly irregular for her to have a young man in her bedroom but in her condition visiting in the parlor was impossible. Besides, he knew Jane as well as anyone. She was a lady.

Jane wasn’t prepared for her visitor when she saw him. It was the portrait come to life…almost.

“Miss Simmons,” William bowed slightly.

“William Cornish, it’s you.”

“At your service.” He smiled and laid her clothes on a nearby bench. “I’ve brought your things.”

It embarrassed her a little knowing she’d been undressed in his house. Had it been him? “Oh, well, thanks. I must have looked like a drowned rat.”

“I do not know of drowned rats. You were quite dry when I saw you.”

“Well, good. Um…please sit down. I’ve been wanting to meet  you…to thank you for all you did for me. What a bother I was.”

“You were no bother at all.” William pulled up a chair and sat by her bed. “How are you keeping?”

“I’m getting awfully bored. Dr. Wilton says I’m to wear this cast for four weeks and if it’s not healed in four weeks then another four weeks. I’m not sure I can bear it. It’s heavy and cumbersome. I’m not used to being still, being confined to one room.”

“I do hope the time will pass quickly for you. I see you like to read. I am to make a trip to London. If you would like I will bring you back the latest books.”

“Thank you.” His gaze unnerved her. “I have a confession to make. The day of my accident wasn’t the first time I’d been in your house. I want to apologize because I had no idea anyone was living there. I found it quite by accident when I was out riding.”

“You are welcome to come there.” His eyes feasted on her simple beauty.

“Well, that’s good because I did…several times. You see, my Aunt was dying and knowing that I was going to have the responsibility of this place and my family is so far away, I began to think of Cornagaugh as a kind of refuge from the storm that was about to hit me.”

“And the storm followed you there. I am very sorry for what happened to you. I’m going to have that part of the house brought down.”

“I miss…miss going there. It was so quiet and peaceful. I used to sit and stare at the portrait of your ancestor.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re so very like him.”

“The one in the great hall? The portrait was painted on his twenty-first, a young man with the world waiting for him.”

“What was his name?”

“His name was William.”

“Same as yours?”

“The very same.”

“And the one in the music room?”

William took a breath and looked away from her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, and it’s none of my business anyway.” She had upset him.

“His name was Jameson Cornish.”

“James Cornish?”

He turned back to her. “No, Jameson Cornish.”

“He wouldn’t by any chance be THE Cornish, the composer?”

“He was a composer and a pianist like the world had never known.”

“He was your relative? Oh, how extraordinary! I know his music very well. I once gave a recital with Dance of the Waters. He was such a romantic figure. I thought I’d seen his face before. It was in my music book along with a brief biography. Tragic that he died so young. I can’t believe you’re related to him.”

“He was greatly loved.”

“I imagine he was. I’m afraid I’ve sat at his piano and even played it.”

“He wouldn’t have minded. You must come back…soon.”

“I’d love to as soon as I’m up and around again.”

“I’m having a road cut to the house. I would be happy to send a carriage for you.”

“Maybe Old Bill will bring me over one day.”

“Evenings are better for me. But you are welcome to come anytime...even if I am not there.”

“You are being very kind to a confessed trespasser.”

“I admire your honesty,” he smiled. “I should go and let you get your rest.”

“No, I mean all I do is rest. Please come back.”

“I will…I will come back. Do not be surprised to see me if I should appear again soon.”

He rose from the chair. “I have something else of yours but I’ve become quite attached to it. Your little clock.”

“My watch,” she smiled. “Keep it for me.”

He held her eyes for a moment and it was all he could do not to pull her to him. But he would not…could not destroy her. “Goodnight, Miss Simmons.”

She could get lost in those eyes. He evoked feelings in her, feelings deeply rooted and until now unnourished. “Good night, Mr. Cornish.”

She lay back on her pillow and heard voices in the hall. Mrs. Abrams, no doubt with her ear to the door. William Cornish…oh. She looked down at her cast and damned it for holding her back. It was his face she saw in her dreams and sometimes it merged with the portrait. She’d had a good look at him now. He was older than the portrait but still…oh, he was so handsome. Mrs. Abrams had remarked about his paleness and he was pale but with a nice healthy flush to his cheeks and his eyes…they sparkled. And his hands…what was it about his hands…the ring. He wore his ancestor’s ring.

She lay in her bed trying to remember every little detail about him. The way his hair waved, his voice sent chills up her spine. Low and soft. His manners were impeccable. He had the beginnings of a beard. Her hands curled in her lap, wanting to touch him. She realized that she had touched him. He had carried her home. “I wish I’d been sane at the time,” she sighed and fingered the nightshirt under her pillow.

“Now, Miss, let’s get you ready for the night. Late callers will not be tolerated in this house. He can come at a reasonable time or not at all.” Mrs. Abrams began fussing around her bed.

“Mrs. Abrams, I think you forget. This is my house now and if I want visitors at midnight you will have nothing to say about it. Is that understood?”

“Well!”

“Exactly. Please ask Miss Pinkum to come in.”

Chapter 5

It was a London that he could never have dreamed of, sprawling and busy, so many people and carriages. The streets were clogged even at this hour of the evening. He had Morvan take them by the townhouse. Sadly it was no longer there. Sitting in the same space was another house. William frowned and thought it not right that someone else should occupy the very spot where Jameson had lived and loved...where he’d died. The house was ablaze with light. No…it was not right and it would not bear.

William booked himself into a hotel and made inquires about the Bank of London.

“You won’t find them open at this hour, Sir.”

“They’ll open for me. Send a boy around with this note.”

Indeed the bank did open for him. It was very rare for one to be depositing gold. He received the attention and respect he expected.

“I should like to inquire about a house…a particular house.”

William found the owner of the townhouse to be an ale merchant. He made an offer for the property and was turned down. This further incensed him. On a dark and foggy night William and Morvan went hunting in the townhouse. Now cleared of its former owners he took possession of it. He made sure all transactions were legal and a fair price paid to the descendants of the ale merchant. He now had a house in London and no longer had to occupy the tombs in the cemetery during the daylight hours.

He went about furnishing the house to his taste. During this time he also acquired a tailor and a new wardrobe fitting for the times. Morvan had to be talked out of his rusty livery and into new uniforms. He bought a new carriage and donated his old one to a museum. He bought books and printed music. He attended concerts and the theater. Also he sent packages to Jane Simmons, the latest printed matter which he had promised.

One particular book of music he bought had a section on James Cornish. Why they insisted on calling him James he didn’t know but for sure it was Jameson. A printed likeness of him accompanied the section. He looked at it for a long time. It was the same likeness that had been printed on the handbills when he performed in Italy.

“If I could for one brief moment bring you back to me. Ah, Jameson. Too brief was your life…I loved you so.”

He sat down at the piano he’d chosen for his new house. It was very much like the one Jameson had played. The last music Jameson had written was in his trunk. Morvan had packed everything that meant anything to William or to Jameson when he took him from the townhouse back to Cornagaugh. William had never played it through. He remembered parts of it as he sat there and somewhere in the realm of his consciousness the entire piece began to flow from his fingers. He’d thought himself beyond tears.

He received a letter from Jane.

Dearest William.

I’m not much for letter writing as you will see. I did want to thank you for your kind thoughts and to tell you that I am very much enjoying the books you sent.

It seems you have been gone for so very long although I know it’s only been six weeks. I am out of my cast now and find I must learn to walk again like a small child. Old Bill has made me a cane. I feel lost somewhere between a child and an old hag.

Thank you again and I look forward to your visits when you return.

Yours most affectionately,

Jane Simmons

Hours had she agonized over ‘dearest’ and ‘most affectionately’. Would he think she was too forward? Pressing the issue? But was there an issue to press? She knew how she felt about him. He’d been constantly in her thoughts. She had no idea how he felt about her or if indeed he felt at all. She’d surrounded herself in a fog of misery, imagining this or that.

Old Bill had become exasperated with her, trying to talk farm business while she mooned off in the distance.

“Jane, you’re in danger of making a fool outta yourself, girl.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“You just made my point.”

William’s mind had been occupied by the house, his man of business, his wardrobe and most of all by Jameson. Jane’s letter brought him up sharp. He needed to see her.

He was fresh from London in his new clothes and carrying an oddly-shaped package.

“William!” She had to hold onto the door to keep from rushing him.

He smiled and bowed his head slightly. “Miss Simmons.” He’d been surprised at her use of his first name.

Jane hadn’t even noticed that she’d addressed him by his first name. He’d been William in her mind since the night he’d visited her.

“Come in, please.”

“It is good to see you up.” Indeed it was. She looked lovely. Her coloring was so intense.

“You can’t imagine how dreary it is to lay in bed all day every day and all night every night. Your books helped. Please sit down.” He remained standing.

“I’ve brought you something.” He handed her the package.

“Oh,” she smiled broadly, “a cane and a fancy one at that.” He’d brought her a silver topped cane, gracefully made for a lady.

“So very thoughtful of you.” She tried it out. “It’s perfect.” Like you, she thought.

“Would you like a drink? Some tea or something stronger?”

“No, thank you. We arrived home last night but it was very late. I wanted to see you.”

“I’ve been wanting to see you, too. I can ride now, carefully, but I'm back in the saddle. If you’re not busy maybe I can ride over tomorrow.”

“Come at dusk, the house will be open for you. I will see you home.”

“Dusk.”

“Unfortunately my days are…taken up.”

“That’s all right. I don’t have anything to do at dusk. I’ll come.”

“I look forward to it. I do not mean to compromise you, Miss Simmons. If you would like to bring Mr. Franklin along, I wouldn’t mind it.”

She was still up walking with the new cane and she paused at the door to the parlor. “To be perfectly honest with you, and I know you prize honesty, I would like to spend some time with you just getting to know you a little.” She banged the tip of the cane on the door. “Alone, so that we might talk freely.”

She opened the door a crack to see Mrs. Abrams' back retreating down the hall.

William suppressed a smile. “If that is what you wish then it is acceptable to me.”

“Sometimes I feel like a caged bird. I long to fly, William, to fly.”

She looked into his eyes. “I’m not some wanton, careless woman. I…I just wanted you to know that.” She blushed to her hairline. “You probably think I am.”

“I think nothing of the sort. What a breath of fresh air you are. I think you are beautifully alive. Such spirit you have. Your letter brought me back from London where I was in danger of spending too much time in the past. It made me realize how much I needed to see you. I am your servant, Jane, if I may call you by name.”

“Call me Jane. Let’s dispense with formalities. You’re already William to me.”

“Very well. Jane.”

“Don’t let me put you off by my plain way of speaking. You see, I’m the eldest of four girls. There are six years between me and the next one. I spent more time with my father and Old Bill than I did with my mother. By the time my sisters were growing up I was well on my way. Not that I don’t know how to behave like a lady. I do and I wouldn’t be an embarrassment to any man. I’ve just never met one that I wanted to spend any time with. I expect you to be just as honest with me.”

“I’ll be as honest with you as I can be. There are some things it is perhaps better not to know. I can honestly say that I have never met anyone quite like you. I look forward to getting to know you, Jane.”

Jane smiled. “You’d better remember those words; you might have to eat them.”

“With pleasure.” He moved close to her and lightly kissed her cheek. “Until tomorrow.”

She touched her cheek where his cool lips had rested. “Tomorrow at dusk.”

“Good night, Jane.”

“Ooooo!” She twirled around on her good foot when he’d left. “He kissed me.”

Chapter 6

“It ain’t right, you know, it ain’t right what you’re doing.”

“He said you could come but I don’t want you to come, Old Bill. I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

“Well, he’s got more of a gentleman on him than you got lady on you. Your Mama would have a fit.”

“My Mama’s not here and, besides, I never listened to her anyway. “

Old Bill steadied her while she mounted her horse.

“Goin’ off at night is not a good thing and you know it.”

“He’ll see me home.”

“An I’ll be waitin’ up for ya, too.”

“You do that, Old Bill. Just make sure there’s a pillow handy when you fall out!” she laughed over her shoulder.

William had just arrived back from hunting. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, my lord, there’s tea, biscuits, coffee, chocolate, spirits.”

William ran a hand through his hair and straightened his coat. “She may not want anything…I just wanted to…to have it for her.”

Morvan smiled, “Yes, Sir.”

“Well, that will be all.” He glanced at Morvan to see an amused look in his eye. “That will be all.”

Morvan left to hunt.

“You’ve come!” he said breathlessly.

“Hi. I wasn’t sure exactly what time dusk was. Somebody has my watch.”

“Would you like it back?”

“No, I like that you have it.” She walked into the great hall. “I love this place. I don’t know why but the first time I ever came in here…there was something.”

“Something that wanted you here.”

“Yes, yes, that was it.”

“That something was me. I didn’t know it, of course, didn’t know you at that time.”

“Well, then, there must have been something of you here.”

“I’ve lived here all my life so I am sure there was something of me here.”

“But you were away…you said.”

“Yes. Still this is my home.”

“Where did you live?”

“In London, Paris and Florence.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Those were exciting times in my life.”

“I’m glad you came back home.”

“It was you that brought me back.”

“Maybe I left something of me in here, too.”

“I’m sure you did.”

She walked over to the portrait. “That’s this house in the background?”

“Yes, it is.” He moved behind her. “It was built by the first Lord Cornith in the year 1620.”

“Umm.” She turned and looked at him. “Is that the first Lord Cornith in the picture?”

“No, he was the third.”

“If you shaved you’d look just like him. Your hair’s shorter, though. Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is amazing.”

“I’ve never had my portrait painted. Not sure I could sit still for that long. Can we go and look at the other one?”

“What other one?”

“In the music room.”

“If you wish.”

She looked at him a moment, registering the sadness that moved across his face. “If you’d rather not, I’ll understand.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand, Jane. Come and we’ll have a look.”

The room was dark but William went around lighting candles.

“You don’t come in here much, do you?”

“You are too perceptive. There he is, Jameson Cornish.”

“He’s beautiful. I guess I should say handsome.”

“No, you had it right.”

“How were you related?”

“It’s rather complicated.”

“So much talent and what a horrible way to die.”

William looked at her. “How do you know?”

“I did some research on him when I had my recital. His house burned down. He was only twenty-six”

“Twenty-five.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Yes.”

“Whose nightshirt did I go home in?”

“It was his.”

“May I keep it?”

“Of course you may.”

“I kinda thought it was his. It was too old to be yours.” She turned from the portrait. “What do you play?”

“Everything. I had quite an extensive musical education.”

“Where did you study?”

“At home…here. I had a tutor. I learned the piano on my own. There was a pianoforte here at one time.”

“I learned the piano. It was my one compromise for being an accomplished lady. My needlework is atrocious. There wasn’t much use for fancies where I come from.”

“Fancies?”

She smiled back. “Tell me about you.”

He led her to the sofa. “I am too complicated to explain.”

“Try me.”

“I once raised horses for the track.”

“And…?”

“Oh, Jane.”

“I don’t care what it is. Mrs. Abrams is convinced you’ve been in prison.”

He laughed. “No, I can honestly say I have never been behind prison bars.”

“Not that it would have mattered if you had. What did you do in Paris?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I mentored a young man with his music. Helped him to get it written down. I arranged some venues for him.”

“In Florence?”

“I was with a young woman.”

“In London?”

“You are full of questions. I lived there for awhile. I keep a house there.”

“The only way I will ever gain any knowledge of you is to ask direct questions. I appreciate that you answer them.”

“Be careful what you ask.”

“Do you care for me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know I’m falling in love with you?”

“Yes, and it frightens me.”

“Why?”

“I have a history of destroying those I love. You should be warned. You should probably run from me.”

“I can’t run and I wouldn’t if I could. I’ve waited twenty-five years for you. I won’t run. I told you I was direct. I’ve never been very good at small talk. What do you say after you’ve discussed the weather? I don’t know. I never bothered to find out. You said you wanted me here…I’m here, William.”

“Then may God help you.” He pulled her into an embrace and kissed her.

“You’re all I could think about when I was laid up in bed.” She ran her hand around the back of his neck. “Do that again. I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“You push me, Jane, beyond the point of control. I cannot answer for what may happen.”

“Then let it happen.”

“No, no, you do not understand.”

“I understand plenty. I grew up on a farm.”

He leaned his head back and laughed a little. “You are so innocent and lovely.”

“My daddy taught me if you want something badly enough…go get it”

“And what if the thing you want is not what you thought it was?”

“I’ve never gone after anyone before.”

“Well then, you’d better stop now before you are disappointed.”

“I get it.” She pulled back. “You don’t want me.”

“You are mistaken.”

“Is there someone else? I…I never even thought to ask.”

“No, there is no one else. Not anymore.” He traced her cheek with his fingers.

“But there was…you’ve been hurt badly.”

“Yes, but it is a pain of my own making. I go back to the same fountain again and again, knowing what I drink will only bring destruction.” He rose and walked to the piano. “I should not have asked you here.”

“You did because you wanted me to come. Now you push me away. I guess Old Bill was right. He said I’d make a fool of myself.”

“No, Jane, it is I who am the fool. I am a fool to think that I can only play at love. I cannot…you are…Jane.”

She went to him and they embraced. He found her lips again and held her tightly against him.

“Come, now, and I will escort you home.”

“You’re trying to protect my virtue. I’m trying to give it to you.”

“I am trying to protect your life for if you stay with me…you will lose it.”

She looked into his eyes. “The way I see it, it wasn’t going anywhere until I met you.”

He blinked his eyes and looked to the side. “Would you like a cup of tea, biscuits, chocolate? I forget…I have offered you nothing to drink.”

“Tea I can get at Leadmore.”

“All right. I will take you to Leadmore.”

She saw the humor in his sparkling eyes. “Time I quit, huh?”

“Yes.”

“At least you know where I stand. I don’t know anything about where you are.”

“Another time, Jane.”

Chapter 7

“You’ll be happy to know I have arrived back home with everything I left with.”

“I’m happy to hear that, Jane. You don’t want to go do something foolish. The boy ain’t asked you to marry him…has he?”

“No…no he hasn’t.”  She handed her reins over to Old Bill and walked thoughtfully up to the house.

William rode back to Cornagaugh in a turmoil of emotions.

He stood before Jameson’s portrait. “You would laugh at me, I know. I cannot bring myself to…to take her. I know where it would lead. She is an innocent girl with the misfortune to fall in love with me. How I miss you at my side. Loneliness becomes a tangible thing. Am I so lonely that I would debauch an innocent for my own pleasure? And she…would welcome it with open arms but she does not know the whole of it. She does not know the beast within me. I fear it would finish her.” He sighed and moved over to the piano, sitting down.

“I wish I had your gift but I can only follow in your steps.” He opened one of Jameson’s music books. It was one he’d published when they were in Paris. He made a selection and began to play. His fingers knew the music for he’d helped Jameson write it.

“Make her and she will be your companion for life. Why continue with this charade and deny what you are? Reveal yourself to her and if she does not take flight then you’ll know. You wear your loneliness as a hair shirt. It is not necessary for you to do so. She has come to you for a reason. Do not let her pass.”

It was Jameson’s voice in his head, talking to him. He stopped playing. “Jameson.”

Slowly he got up from the piano and left the room.

Jane waited two days and during those two days no one could say anything to her without getting their head bitten off. Mrs. Abrams had stopped talking to her except for directions for dinner or did she want the parlor turned out today.

Old Bill ignored her and gave back as good as he got.

She came out of the house around three-thirty and began saddling her horse.

“Where are you off to?”

“I’m going to Cornagaugh.”

“All I can say is I’m damn glad you ain’t coming to see me.”

Jane shot him a deadly look. “I’ll be back when I get back.”

She stabled her horse and went around to the front door.  She often wondered why it was never locked.

“Hello? Anybody here…William?”

She walked over to the portrait of William Cornith. There was something there she needed to see. The ruby ring was clearly on the young man’s little finger, left hand. Same place he now wore it. Into the music room and she stopped before Jameson’s portrait. The ring was on his right hand, little finger. What did it mean…anything? Could it be the third Lord Cornith’s little finger was the same size as William’s. Same sized finger and same little mark between his eyes. How very strange.

She looked up at Jameson. “You know the answers. Do you know I sleep in your shirt?” She looked at his curved lips. “Somehow I don’t think you’d mind.”

She lit a candle and walked down the hall illuminating the portraits there. “How stern you look, Sir.” Another one, an obvious lady of the house. “You have to be the mother. Lovely.” But how could she be William’s mother? Same eyes. Family likeness was very strong in William’s family. She stopped and looked again at the other portraits. The men wore white wigs or long curling wigs. It confused her.

If these were William’s ancestors, where were his parents? She went back to the music room and set the candle on the piano. The room was shadowy now. She looked up at Jameson again. “Something about you upsets him.”  She marveled again at the rich colors, black and white and dark red. “A master painted you. I think he might have been a little in love with his subject.” She stared at him a little longer. “You don’t look like the rest of them. Odd one out, like me. Why do I talk to you?” She lowered her eyes and opened the keyboard. The music book was before her opened to a page. She struggled with it a little in the beginning until she got the flow of it.

Jane never claimed to be an accomplished pianist. She felt her fingers stretching for the keys. They seemed to be moving on their own. The volume of the music increased and no longer was she turning pages.

“Whoa!” she said with her eyes wide. The next movement was softer and she began to get into the emotion of the piece. When it ended there were tears running down her face. She curled her fingers in her lap. They say it’s haunted.

Something she understood now about Jameson Cornith’s music. “Silly me…I thought I knew you.” She looked up at his portrait again. He’d been portrayed as a young romantic composer. He was a tortured soul. She didn’t know the source of it but clearly he was. Something or someone had used her fingers to explain it to her. She wiped her face and turned around on the piano stool. William was standing under the archway.

“I can’t explain it,” she said.

He recognized Jameson’s playing. “Come away, come with me.”

“I don’t play that well, could never have mastered that piece…never.” She went to him and he put his arm around her, leading her into the great hall. He sat with her on the long sofa while Morvan built the fire.

“He could never stand to hear music played badly. At his twenty-first birthday he took the pianist aside and played with the orchestra hired for the occasion. He was before his time, Jane. His star rose before his kind of music and the way he presented it came into fashion. Even so, he dominated the stage. There was complete silence when he played and when he stopped, the bravos and applause rose like a thunder cloud and rushed him. He loved it, the response he received. Women threw roses onto the stage and nearly mobbed him when he would try and leave. He had to hire body guards to escort him. There had never been anyone like him before. No one could touch him, no one ever has.”

“It was him that guided my fingers.”

“Yes, without a doubt.”

“Is it…is he a ghost?”

“No, he is not a ghost. I believe that it’s his spirit that visits. Did it frighten you?”

“Not really…well, I didn’t know at first but he taught me something about him through his music that I didn’t know. Something tortured him. I’ve been so stupid spouting off about him, things I’ve read that weren’t true. I even…oh, I sleep in his shirt.”

“I do not think the shirt has anything to do with anything. It would have amused him.”

“You speak of him as though you knew him.”

William looked toward the fire. “I did know him. I have something to tell you about myself. I well know that you may find me abhorrent and sicken of me very quickly. I am not like other men, Jane. Touch me, touch my face. What do you feel?”

“You.”

“Am I not cold to your touch?”

“Cool, you’re always cool.”

“First…kiss me.”

She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the mouth.

“I’ll have that to remember.” He looked into her eyes and his own glowing.

“I am not human, Jane, not like you. I haven’t been human in two hundred years. I am a vampire.”

Her eyes went wide and she dropped her hands from his face. She rose and walked to the fire, turning to look back at him. “This is you in the portrait?”

“Yes. I would have seven more years before my death.”

“But…you’re not dead. You aren’t!”

“I died at the age of 28 from vampire disease. I was bitten out on the moors and the fiend made me drink from him. Within three days I was dead and buried. I rose from my grave and thus began my eternal damnation on this earth.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t believe it.”

“We are honest with each other, Jane. I stay alive in this state by drinking human blood.”

“Oh.” She made a face and turned toward the fire.

“I can quite understand your reaction. That is why I tried to warn you. You were so open with me and I could not tell you. This is the reason I held back and did not confess my feelings for you. You are in no danger with me.”

A sob escaped her before she could cover her mouth.

“I am so very sorry.” He wanted to go to her and comfort her but he held back, waiting to see the final rejection and revulsion.

It took her a little while. She had to find her handkerchief up her sleeve and blow her nose. “William, it was you I fell in love with.”

“I quite understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do. This is a lot for me to swallow, about the last thing I expected to hear. I even went as far as to think you might be a ghost. I never thought…vampire. One thing I know, whatever you are has never affected the time we’ve spent together. You’re still you and I’m still me. I came over here today to…to find out what your intentions were towards me. I’m going crazy with it.”

“I do not intend to cause you harm.”

“It’s not harm I’m worried about. I’m twenty-five years old. I finally found a man I could love and even think about marrying. I wanted to find out what you thought about all that.”

“My dear Jane, you cannot possibly want to continue.”

“I will agree that your line of work doesn’t bear thinking about but aside from that, William, I still love you”

“You are young and will marry someone who can give you children.”

“Children? Bah! I grew up with three little sisters, dirty, whining, nasty little creatures. I never wanted to have children. That’s one reason I wasn’t marriageable material back home. Can you still…I mean…are you capable of…um…the um…marriage act?”

“You mean have sex?”

Blushing, “Yes.”

“Quite capable.”

“Well, how does this vampire life work? You only come out at night?”

“I cannot bear the sun. At dawn I’m down in my crypt and stay there until dusk. When I rise I hunt and then I am up until dawn.”

“Kind of having your days and nights mixed up. Do you eat or drink?”

“No.”

“But you offered me tea?”

“That was acquired for you alone.”

“Morvan?”

“Is a vampire.”

“Does anybody know about you?”

“Only you.”

“I’m not telling.” She played with her handkerchief for a minute. “Would you marry me?”

“You must know that is…I will never change, Jane. I will go on like this forever.”

“How do you become a vampire?”

“Please, don’t even think about it.”

“I am thinking. I’m thinking before I lose my youth you could make me one, too.”

“You want me to marry you? What kind of a life would you have?”

“One shared with you. That’s the thing about love. I don’t have anybody to share it with except you. We could work it out. No one ever need know what you are or what I become. I’d live here at Cornagaugh and still have the farm at Leadmore. Have you ever been married?”

“No.”

“Does it…bother you…scare you?”

“Yes.”

“Scares me, too.”

“You aren’t afraid I might…bite you?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really. It’s rather pleasurable.”

“Then I’m not afraid.”

William rose and came to her. “You aren’t afraid of me, of what I might do to you? I will eventually cause your death.”

“When that time comes you’ll know what to do with me. I’m not afraid, William, not afraid of anything except being alone for the rest of my life.”

“I love you, Jane Simmons.” He kissed her and then holding her close over her shoulder, “I accept your proposal.”

“Oh, William, you won’t regret it! I’ll make you happy. I’ll love you forever.”

“Listen.” He went still for a moment.

“The piano.”

He took her hand and led her to the music room. It was playing all by itself or so it would appear. Theme for William, the last thing Jameson had written.

He felt his eyes fill and he took her in his arms and began to dance with her. A slow waltz.

“Your eyes are bleeding.”

“It happens when I cry.”

“It’s beautiful…the music. He loved you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, and I loved him.”

“It shows. I love you, too. I think he knows it and approves.”

“He’s glad I’m getting rid of the hair shirt.”

“Hair shirt! Vampires wear hair shirts?”

“No, my love, not anymore.”

ON TO THE GHOST OF CORNAGAUGH

BACK TO THE VAMPIRE'S KISS

BACK TO THE HYBRID, PART ONE

BACK TO LIBRISCROWE