The Renaissance Man

The direct continuation of The Ghost of Cornagaugh

By Atonia Walpole

(Picture creations also by Atonia)

Chapter 1

Franklin Carson sat up on his bunk and held his stomach. He was not one to be seasick but after dinner the night before he became violently ill. He now put it down to something he’d eaten. Two days he’d been at sea and this was the first bout of sickness he’d experienced. Bad food; had to be. He raised his head and looked at the portrait he’d balanced atop his trunk. It was a small likeness of Jameson Cornish. He thought again of how it had come into his possession.

After his trip out to Cornagaugh, the ancestral home of the Cornith family, he’d looked up the London townhouse still owned by the family. As he’d done with the old house he boldly went up to the door and knocked, rang the bell, and then tried to open the door. Not wanting to be caught breaking into the townhouse he’d left and come back after dark.

“What is it you seek?” The voice seemed to come out of the mist.

“Ah, just dropping in on an old friend,” he’d answered.

“You are not a friend of anyone associated with this house. I would advise you to leave.”

“Are you acquainted with the Cornith family? Do you know anything about Jameson Cornith? I’m writing an essay and…if…anything at all, really…would…help.” A fear had taken hold of him and he could hardly speak. He began walking down the steps and through the iron gate onto the street. A figure emerged from the mist, tall and dressed completely in black. His face was…even now in the safety of the ships cabin he closed his eyes in fear.

“You will not find him here. He was destroyed. Who are you?’

“F…Franklin Carson…I’m at the Savoy, if you think of anything that might help. Good evening.” He’d run like a scared rabbit, seeking the company of others and a cab back to his hotel. The next morning he received a package as he was checking out of the hotel. In a hurry to reach the docks before his ship sailed he’d not opened it until he was aboard. It was a shock.

Ornately framed, the portrait itself measured about 12” by 12” or so. It was a beautiful likeness of Jameson Cornith. He was dressed in an open black shirt, unlike the life-sized portrait he’d seen at Cornagaugh. This was only a head and shoulders rendition. The painter had captured something about him not seen in the larger painting. The eyes were compelling, pulling you into his world.

This morning, Franklin wasn’t sure he wanted to be in that world. He rose unsteadily from his bunk and turned the portrait toward the wall.

As the days passed aboard ship he finally narrowed his illness down to the wine served with dinner. It was a mystery because no one else seemed to suffer any effects from it. Along with his ravaged stomach, something else plagued him, pain in his joints and in his very bones. The ship’s doctor had given him something that scoured out his insides but did little for the pain he suffered. Walking was difficult and made more so by the constant roll of the ship. He tried transcribing his impressions of Cornagaugh and his fingers would not obey and pained him constantly.

The three and a half weeks it took to sail from London to New York were agony for Franklin. He’d been given a walking stick by one of the carpenters on the ship to help him walk. Thus he disembarked with only a knapsack on his shoulder. A porter saw to his bag and the package he’d carefully rewrapped.

He took a cab to his lodgings and had the driver deposit his things upstairs by his door. The stairs were another thing. He dreaded the climb. Slowly he made it to his door and once inside he collapsed on the sofa. For five days he lay in bed barely eating anything and drinking only water. His whole body felt as though it were being torn apart.

On the sixth day he awoke without pain. Gingerly he tried walking again. He felt weak from hunger and thirst and still leaned on his walking stick. He opened his door and caught a maid in the hallway.

“I wonder if I might have a bath brought up.”

She stared at him for a moment and rushed down the hall.

He felt of his face. It’d been a month since he’d shaved and he’d grown a beard. “A bath brought up.” He repeated the words and his own voice sounded different in his ears. Not only different, but accented. He’d only been in England for a short time but somehow he’d acquired a strong accent. He shook his head and put it down to the ordeal he’d been through.

There was something about his hands he kept noticing when he’d pick something up. Of course it was only an illusion, probably part of his illness…his fingers were longer and his nails were different. Almost like having someone else’s hands. He turned his left hand over and looked for the tiny scar on his wrist he’d had since he was a child. It wasn’t there.

He examined his body when his bath was brought up and filled. He cried out before sinking into the warm water. He was losing his mind…that was it. A man knows his own body and this one wasn’t his.

His strength returned to him quickly after his illness. In fact he felt stronger than ever and was filled win an intense energy. He returned to the New York Daily where he worked as a reporter. There he began to organize his notes on Jameson Cornith. As he read through his notes his hand would pick up a pencil and mark through something he’d previously written. Sometimes it would even make notes on the side of the page, correcting an earlier assumption.  Such as:  Jameson was not left handed. He wrote with either hand. He was the son of: unknown; do not make such assumptions.

Franklin stared at that last bit his hand had written. Unknown? But of course it was known! He was the son of Jameson Cornith…or was he? He thumbed through his notes again to the page where he’d written down known dates of births and deaths. He sighed, well, the hand knows best. He began to puzzle over Jameson’s parents. Was he perhaps a bastard then?  It does not matter who his real parents were. He was adopted as an infant by William Cornith.

Franklin’s eyes widened at what his hand had written. This was something he did not know and yet he’d written it down.

“Hey, Franklin, old chap, I heard you were back in the city.”

Franklin looked up; it was his friend Roger Dawes. “Hello, Roger. I’m not sure I’m all here. I’ve been ill, ill for some time. Tell me something…look at this page that I wrote about five months ago and look at this one, look at the side notes.”

Roger looked at one and then the other. “So?”

“Look at the handwriting.”

“Which one did you write?”

“The first one is five months old. The second one I wrote this morning.”

“Ha, ha, you’re developing a distinctive old style of forming your letters. Looks like something from the last century, even the spelling is old world. Where’d you learn this?”

“I…I didn’t. I need to talk to someone, Roger. I think…I’m afraid I’m losing my mind."

Roger pulled up a chair. “I could say something about that but I see you’re serious. What makes you think so?”

“I…my body is changing or has changed. My fingers are longer. My clothes don’t fit the same way; I even notice I walk differently. I…I know it sounds crazy and it is. Just like my hand jumping out here on the page and writing down something I had no knowledge of. I don’t know what it means…I’m afraid I’m going insane. There are times my voice is different, heavily accented and…deeper.”

Roger looked down at Franklin’s hands. “To tell you the truth I never noticed your hands before so I…I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s not just my hands…my body.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “A man knows his own parts. They’re different…it’s…well…bigger.”

Roger threw his head back and laughed. “I’m sorry, Frankie, but that sounds like a wishful dream to me. What kind of tonic have you been taking? You know some of those patented medicines are nothing but pure alcohol.”

Franklin frowned, “I can no longer drink alcohol. Even good wine makes me ill.”

“Now that is serious. Have you seen a doctor?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should. You said you’d been ill. Could be your problems are coming from that illness. Probably nothing to worry about…except the alcohol part.”

His eyes became sensitive to light and he took to wearing tinted glasses. His doctor prescribed medicine for him that was mostly opium so while he felt just fine he couldn’t think straight and was unable to work.

He sat in his rooms and looked at the portrait of Jameson Cornith. It occurred to him that the woman he’d tried to interview, after the discovery of new Jameson Cornith music, might like to have it. After all, she had some connection to the family. She also might be more disposed to speaking with him if he presented this picture to her.

He sat down at his desk to pen her a note.  Mrs. Jane Cornith… His hand went away to write something else.  Jane Simmons, wife of William Cornith.

“O…kay.”  He began his note again, addressing it to Mrs. William Cornith. After he was satisfied with it he sent it by messenger to Jane. He puzzled over William Cornith. The townhouse in London belonged to him and the music sent to the publisher came from him…where was he? No one seemed to know. Was Jane his widow? Were they divorced?  He hadn’t come across any reference to his death and surely it would have been noted.

Absently he brushed a lock of hair back from his face. His hair grew at an alarming rate. He’d had it cut shortly after arriving home from England and regaining his strength. Now it poured over his shoulders again. He reached back and tied it with a ribbon he found on the desk. While the pain had left his body he still had terrible headaches which affected his eyesight. At times his eyes appeared bloody and the tinted glasses helped hide his misery as well as protect his eyes.

He received an answer to his missive. Jane Cornith would see him for a brief time. Excitedly he wrapped the portrait in a linen sheet and exited his building. His headache became worse until he finally hailed a cab to take him the four blocks to her house. As the cab began to move…his mind exploded.

“Here we are sir. May I help you with that?”

“Thank you.” He took the portrait and opened the gate to her townhouse.  One foot resting on the top step and one on the second, he balanced the portrait against his knee and looked toward the door.

Jane opened the door herself. She didn’t recognize the reporter, didn’t remember a beard or glasses. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Cornith.”

She swallowed and bit her lip. “Yes, you’re Mr. Carson?”

“May I come in?”

Something pulled at her…the voice. “Yes, sorry…for a moment…but no matter. Please do come in. What have you there?”

Chapter 2

He looked at her through the tinted glasses…lovely. “Something I think you may want. It was given to me in London by…an old acquaintance. I never knew he had it, something he’d rescued from the fire, I suppose.” He set the portrait on a chair and unwrapped it. He turned to see her reaction.

“Oh!” Her hand went to her mouth and she took a step toward the portrait. “Oh…ohhh!” Her eyes filled.

“Do you recognize him?”

“It’s Jameson."

“Do you care for him?”

She came to the chair and touched the face in the portrait. “Yes, oh, yes. Lost…all lost from me.” She wiped her eyes. “My heart torn apart not once but twice. Twice damned, he once said to me…and I was.”

“Do you love him?”

“Who…who are you?” She stood up, wiping her eyes.

He removed the tinted glasses.

She made a sound in her throat. “Jameson…it’s not possible!”

“It has not been easy. You didn’t answer the question I asked you.”

“Do I love you? Yes, I love you!” She went into his arms, feeling them up and down and touching his face. “Is this really you?”

“It is now. Shall I tell you?”

“Please,” she smiled and held onto his hand, leading him to a couch.

“William returned after a two year absence. This was long after I sent the music in for publication. By then I had faded into nothing again. I wasn’t even able to communicate with him. If he’d waited a bit I could have gotten there but he didn’t.  I think he was not in a good way. He’s asleep now.”

Jane’s eyes shone with tears ready to fall. She reached for his hands and he held hers while he talked.

“I wandered up to my bedroom…a nothing…unable to hear or speak or see. There I remained until about six or seven months ago. Something came into my room. I found it to be living flesh and I attached myself to it. It turned out he was a reporter for the New York paper...and after a grueling few months of transformation…I am here at last…able to hold you…and kiss you.” And he did.

“You’re warm.” She kissed him again, teasing his tongue with her own. “Umm.” They finally parted. “Are you human or do we know?”

“It does not matter to you, does it? As far as I know I am human. I settled inside a human body and began to rearrange it to suit me better. I made it mine.”

She kissed his fingertips. “I know these hands. Oh, Jameson, you have no idea how I have missed you. I have never been so alone in my life.”

“Why did you not go home to your people?”

“I’d come too far away to go back there. I’ve slept with vampires and kissed ghosts. Not quite the Midwestern farm girl I used to be.

He placed a palm on her cheek and caressed it. “I thought about you constantly after you left with William. I was worried about you and…something else I had not allowed myself to even think of. You were William’s woman and he said to me I was not to have  you. Of course,” he shrugged, “I was in no condition to have anything…I wanted you.” He smiled a little. “I loved you then and now. I did not know until this very evening that I was coming to you. When I heard the address for Jane Cornith, I moved at last and destroyed my host.  I already had his body and part of his brain.”

“You are not…a vampire?”

“In truth, I do not know what I am. I have human feelings and desires.”

Jane looked into his eyes and she could see a fire burning there. Was it for her? She did know he loved her. He’d told her through his music. There was an intensity about him that was not present when he was in his ghostly form.

“Are you still…William’s woman?”

“William deserted me. I know why he did so but it didn’t make it any easier. I still mourned him and grieved for him. I truly loved him. I have neither seen anything of him or heard anything from him since he walked out of our bedroom in Paris. So…no…I am no one’s woman but my own.”

“You are still Mrs. Cornith.”

“How does one go about divorcing a vampire? Where would my lawyer send the papers, Jameson? What is it you want to know…to do?”

“I want to make love to you. Does that shock you?”

“No,” she grinned and looked down at his hands holding hers. “I do not shock easily. I have no one. There isn’t anybody else in my life…but you.” She leaned forward and met his lips.

She led him upstairs to her bedroom and in a flurry of buttons and hooks they came out of their clothes. He wasn’t rough with her but had not the gentle touch that William had. Instead he filled her with a passion for him that matched his for her.  He ignited a flame inside of her. When finally spent, he rolled off her, turned and looked into her eyes.

“You once asked me if I’d ever loved a woman. I can answer that now. I love you, Jane Cornith.”

“Stay with me.”

“I am with you. Whatever I am or become I know you will be with me and a part of me. I will never let you go.”

“Good, because I can’t think of anywhere I'd want to be without you.” She gazed into his turquoise eyes and across his chest. His body was as beautiful as was his face. “I’ve never seen you with a beard.”

“Not sure I’ll keep it. It’s been longer and unkempt. I’m afraid I gave my host a rather hard time. Poor fellow thought he was losing his mind. It was necessary. I needed his body. This does not distress you?”

“No more than anything else. No, it does not. If I could live with William’s appetite, nothing you can do will distress me.”

“You are truly an unusual woman. One of your many attractions.” He sat up and looked down at her nakedness and smiled.

The tips of his incisors were revealed. Jane had felt them with her tongue. That was part of Jameson and had been all his life. What would it mean for him now? She didn’t think his lips had strayed to her neck but they may have. It had all been so…so very intense.

He ran his fingertips over her stomach. “Do you have live-in help?”

“No, I have a man and his wife that come three times a week. There’s only me and I can look after myself…but now there is you. What do you require, Jameson?”

“Only you.” He kissed her stomach and then got out of bed. “I will say this about my unfortunate host; he did not have a very good tailor. I will require some clothes, whatever is fashionable at the moment. Do you have a piano?”

“Yes, and a very nice one. It came with the house…too heavy and cumbersome to move. I’ll ask Mr. Dugan to inquire about a tailor who might come here for fittings.”

He slipped on his shirt and slacks and shoes. Leaving off the ill-fitting jacket, he went downstairs in search of the piano. He found it and the music he’d had sent to Jane. Music was so much a part of him he could barely wait to test the keys. That had been the worst thing when he’d began to fade away. At that time he could see the piano but could not play it.

Jane came down a little later, hearing the sounds that only Jameson could make. It gave her such a feeling of joy to have him there. It was though her wish had come true. She now had him in the flesh. She made a pot of tea and brought it up to the lounge room where he was playing.

“It has good tone.”

“I’ve had it tuned. It was badly in want of it when I came here. I’ve made tea.”

He took a cup from her and sipped it. She was glad to see him do so. “Do you play often?”

“Every day. I can now play your pieces that you sent to me without the notes before me. That was a very generous thing for you to do. I’ve banked the money and it's there for you.”

“I had not thought about money. It couldn’t be very much. I suppose I’ll have to work.”

Jane laughed a little. “What sort of work does Jameson Cornith do?”

“Plays piano,” he answered. “That’s all he knows.”

“You can perform again.”

“I can…yes, but not as myself."

“A distant relative who inherited the talent?”

“I have no relatives.”

“If you’re to stay here you’ll have to be mine.”

“I’ll be your long-lost husband. Our names are the same. Do you still think of William?”

“I do.”

“So do I, now that I can think again. Do you know why he left you in Paris?”

“Because he could no longer keep himself from me.”

“He couldn’t make you into a vampire. He hadn’t it in him to do so.”

“He wanted to feed upon me and he did…once.”

“What did you think of it?”

“I didn’t even realize what he’d done at first. It was, um, very sensual. But then something sparked inside of me and I thought he was about to make me and we hadn’t talked about it or anything.”

“You didn’t want to be made, did you?”

“Not then…not without knowing.”

“When you wrote to me and told me he’d left you, I loved him for it. He sacrificed his own love and happiness with you for your life. However, it did not wear well on him. I could not communicate with him but I could sense his complete unhappiness when he came home. He’d changed in some way.  I do not know what.  He searched for me but, of course, could not find    me."

“I had hoped he’d come home to Cornagaugh and be with you. I worried about you alone there.”

“He left it too late. It was love that kept me going. Without it I disappeared.”

“You won’t disappear here because I will shower you with it every day.”

He smiled and reached for her. “Sit with me here…play with me.”

“I remember the last time I did this…I’ll try and do better this time.”

He looked at her as he played and could not believe fate had brought him to her again. He would not leave her…no matter what happened.

She looked up at him and he held her eyes. That look and the music was almost like a joining. She had joined with him bodily but this was something more…there would be more…joining. Before it was over she would be a part of him. This she knew…and she was not afraid.

“No more teardrops on the keys,” he said softly.

“I have you and no need of tears.” She leaned into him and his left arm went around her.

Chapter 3

Jameson was anxious to find out what kind of music people were listening to.  He and Jane attended concerts regularly.  They also took rides around the city and walked in the park to get a feel of the place where he’d landed. He still kept his strange hours of sleeping late in the day and staying up most of the night. For Jane it was like living with William. She adapted quickly to his schedule.

He began working on some new music. For hours he would play and write. Sometimes restlessness would take him away from the piano. He’d tried to harness it, use it on the keyboard, but he knew what it was. He knew where he was again. Unable to contain it any longer he left one night for a walk. He didn’t tell Jane what he was about.

He was gone for some time and when he came home he was flushed and his eyes glittered.  He looked at her for a long time and neither of them said anything. She knew then that he was not wholly human after all.  She went to him and held him against her, wanting him to know that it changed nothing.

He rested his forehead on hers. “You are not afraid of me?”

“No, I am not afraid of you, Jameson.”

“I…I cannot change anything about myself. I am again this half man-half beast.”

“This time…you have me. I am here with you and will always be with you. I do not turn away from you. I love you.”

He held her tightly to him. “I love you, Jane. I do not want to hurt you.”

“Can you make me like you?”

“NO!...No, I don’t know. I’ve never tried to make another.”

“Will you drink from me?”

“Jane…don’t.”

“If you do, I’ll drink from you. I will.”

“Not tonight…there will be no more…of that tonight.”

“You’re not totally opposed to it though, are you?”

“I do not know what the…what would happen to you. If I were a made vampire then, yes, I would. I am not William.”

“I know you aren’t. You absolutely fascinate me, Jameson. I loved William but I didn’t have this desire to…get inside of him. I want to be a part of you and you a part of me, to join with you as one.”

He looked into her eyes. “I am going to get inside of you right now.”  He picked her up and took her to bed.

He presented himself as James Cornith and it rankled him that he had to audition. Once he began to play everyone who was present down to the ticket seller stood in the aisles of the theater in silent awe. Who was this man? Where had he been?

However, as good as he was, he was an unknown and therefore could only open for another act.

Jane was nervous for him but he wasn’t. He’d played before royalty and in the great theaters of Europe. This was nothing.  He walked out onto the stage and bowed slightly. Only a piano dressed the set and the curtains were red and blue behind him. He sat down and began to play. He played  a Mozart piano concerto #9 to give them an idea that he could play and then he launched into his own. He played some of his new music and some of his old. Whether they would recognize it or not he didn’t much care. It was all appropriate to the mood he wanted to set. The applause built up to a deafening roar. He bowed again, blew them a graceful kiss and left the stage.

Jane was in tears. She’d never been witness to his performances before. “Beautiful, just beautiful, Jameson!”

He was never asked to audition again.

He played other composers' works too because his audience expected it, but the greatest reaction was for his own. He had a way of playing that reached out and touched you intimately and played on your emotions. He played with an orchestra most of the time but sometimes in a small theater he would play alone or with a violinist or two.

He quickly became the darling of New  York. His looks and talent opened all doors for him but he rarely passed through them. He was not a social animal and preferred to spend his evenings at home with Jane.  People were interested in him and newspaper reporters plagued him for interviews but he would not talk to them.

Jane bought all the papers and clipped the reviews for her scrapbook. It was she who came upon a lengthy story in the New York Daily about Jameson Cornith and the uncanny resemblance of James Cornith. She took the article to Jameson to read.

“I know whose work this is.” He tossed the paper down. “Someone has his notes.”

“What…I don’t know what you mean?”

“The man whose body I took was named Franklin Carson. He was a reporter, the same one that once came to your door. He’d been to Cornagaugh and to the townhouse in London. He’d nearly filled a notebook with his assumptions and a few scattered facts. Questions are going to be asked that I cannot answer.  This Roger Dawes is a danger I cannot afford.”

“Do you mean to kill him?”

He smiled a little. “How vicious and ruthless you are, my darling. I mean to find his source, the work of Carson, and destroy it. If he disappears all the better.”

“I’ll help you.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind.”

“You can’t go poking around this Roger Dawes' life. You’re too recognizable. I can walk into the newspaper office and demand to see him.”

That is exactly what she did. She adopted an outraged posture and shook the rolled up paper in his face.

“How dare you print such lies about my family!”

“Lies, madam?”

“You infer that James Cornith has pilfered music from his ancestor, that what he writes today is not original. You are mistaken. From where do you get this information about my family?”

“My information source is secret.”

“Not anymore it isn’t. You cannot print any more lies about the Cornith family or I will sue you in a court of law. I will visit the Times’ office and tell them exactly what I think of the Daily reporters who go about trying to blacken the name of the greatest composer and pianist this age has known. You’re just trying to make a name for yourself. Well…you can make it by some other means.”

“Madam, I apologize if what I have written offends you and I see it has upset you, but I assure you my source is reliable. A former colleague did extensive research into the Cornith family and..."

“You forget, Mr. Dawes, I am the Cornith family. Where is this reporter who supplies you with this filth?”

“I’m afraid he is dead, Mrs. Cornith. Well, he’s presumed dead…he disappeared about nine months ago. This work I’m using was found here among his effects.”

“You cannot document it then, the musings of a man now deceased. How convenient for you. I ask that you turn over this information to me or you will face the consequences of your refusal.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that, Madam.”

She stood up. “Then you are a fool, Mr. Dawes, and you invite your own destruction.”

A little tremor of fear ran up the back of his neck but at the same time he was fascinated by the beautiful woman who’d just left his desk. What fire she had…and she was the wife of William Cornith, who remained a mystery as he was not to be found.

Jane returned home and tossed her hat on a bench. “He wouldn’t give it up. I threatened him with legal and professional embarrassment but he’s not budging. One thing I did find out is that his so-called source was found at the newspaper office and so we might assume it is still there.”

“How tiresome he is.”

“I agree. So, what do we do next…burn down the newspaper office?”

Jameson laughed. “You would have made a good criminal, Jane.”

“I’m only just beginning. I’d do anything to protect you.”

He pulled her to him. “You won’t have to. I’ll take care of him.”

Take care of him he did. The body was found in the Hudson days later with its neck mutilated. His death was reported in the Daily paper.

Jameson read the reports and took a deep breath, looking over the street in front of the townhouse.

“Jane, what do you say to a trip across the ocean?”

“I go with you wherever you go, Jameson. Perhaps it is time to leave this place. Where will we go?”

“To London. We have a home there, and for awhile at least we shall have some peace.”

She looked at him and her heart constricted. He would never know peace except at Cornagaugh and there she could not go.

Arrangements were made and their trunks were packed.  The ship would sail in the morning. Jameson was sitting at the piano picking out a variation on Jane’s Heart. She came to him and put her arms around his shoulders, kissing him on the neck. He pulled her down into his lap and kissed her deeply and thoroughly.

“You’re not sorry, are you, Jane?”

“For you? Never in this life or the next. You were my destiny.”

“That’s a rather heavy thing to possess…your destiny.”

“But you do.” Her breathing increased and she kissed the vein in his neck and licked it.

“Jane…don’t…don’t, darling.”

“Let it be now…I’ve never felt closer to you. Take me, Jameson.”

With his eyes on hers he opened her bodice and fondled her breast. He kissed her and teased her lips with his tongue. “Pray I don’t kill you.” His lips slid down her neck and he bit.

She let herself go with the feeling of his mouth on her neck sucking. Her whole body reacted to him. He pulled away and tore at his wrist and pressed it to her mouth. She hadn’t the teeth to take his neck. She swallowed and swallowed his blood and her throat felt hot and her stomach warmed with it. He sucked her neck again, and again they exchanged blood. Somehow they’d moved to the floor and partially undressed. It became part of a sexual act and when it was over…they were one.

She looked pale and bruised in his arms. He licked the blood from her lips and from her neck. She’d swooned at last. He held her gently, rocking her in his arms. His eyes were filled with blood-tinged tears. He could sense her heart beating in rhythm with his and laying his hand on her breast he could feel it like his own pulse. “Live with me,” he whispered.

He sat up, holding her for over an hour before she moved against him. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at him. Her senses returned to her quickly. She knew him at last…completely. “Jameson.”

“My darling, how do you feel?”

“Loved.” She sat up still in his arms. “That was incredible…it was for you, too, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Do you feel different…do you want to drink from me?”

“Not now. I don’t feel much different, only a little hot. Your blood has warmed me.”

He kissed her gently at first and then let her kiss him back with intensity.

He worried about the sunlight upon her but she seemed not affected by it. It was all new to him, too. He’d never tried to make another and didn’t know what to expect. He tried to recall his own body when William had made him. The change in himself had been gradual. But then she may not be a true vampire…he just didn’t know.

There was a bond between them now. They both felt it. He would love her and protect her forever and she felt the same for him. She belonged to him as she’d never belonged to William. During their voyage across the ocean her teeth pained her but it was only her incisors becoming more prominent.

Chapter 4

Jameson forced the door open into the London townhouse. He’d not been in this one but the location held memories for him. It was laid out much as the other one had been before it went up in flames. He liked William’s décor. It felt like home to him. He paused on the landing and noticed this townhouse had no window there. He wondered if that had been William’s own doing. Upstairs he wandered into William’s room. There was such a sense of him there but, of course, he wasn’t. The second bedroom was largely unfurnished except for an ornate bed. The walls were covered in a deeply red, flocked paper.

Jane joined him in the room. “He didn’t know what to do with this room. He said it was yours but he never hoped to see you in it.”

“I didn’t stop and think that you’d spent time here with him. Does it bother you being back here?”

“There is sadness here, Jameson. Too much has happened on this spot of ground. I hope we can add a little happiness to it.”

“Were you happy here with William?”

“Yes, I was but while we were here he began his withdrawal from me. That culminated in his desertion in Paris. Were you happy here with him?”

“I was always happy when I was with William. Much of the time I spent here I was alone.

“I didn’t know that. I always thought you and William were together.”

“There is a lot you do not know, darling Jane. It is all right that you do not know everything. None of that concerns you now. How are you today? Do you feel all right?”

She touched his face. “I am fine. The bout with the wine is over.  I cannot drink…that I get from you and anything that comes from you is very special to me.”

Their trunks were delivered to the red room. Jameson tipped the deliveryman and closed the door. The piano called to him but there was something else, too.

“Jane?”

“Yes, love.” She looked over the upstairs railing.

“There is no food in the house.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of it. I’ll need to go shopping.” She came down the stairs. “There are times we need Morvan about. He always took care of the shopping and food preparation. I’m afraid I don’t know where to shop.”

“Neither do I. I did not eat when I last lived here.”

“No matter. I will find out what must be done and if I find someone to cater to us, I shall hire them. You eat now…don’t you…still?”

“Yes, and so do you.” He smiled at her take-charge attitude. Off she went in a cab and he went to his piano. It was like the one he used to have here but a newer model. He sat down and played William’s theme as he’d written it over a hundred years ago. All the old longing and sadness came over him, his love for William and the sadness of their lives.

He had Jane now and she filled him but he still longed for that which he never had…William.

It was unheard of for a lady of her standing to be poking about in the markets with cooks and maids. She felt a little out of place. This was different from New York. In fact, she reminded herself, she had probably sat at the dining table in some of the homes these women came from.  There was something else that kept her apart from them, too. She drank blood.

Jameson shunned society, unlike William, who liked to be a part of it. She dropped her eyes and went about purchasing food and goods for their house. It suited her not to be paraded around London. She never felt comfortable in that role.  The cab driver helped her load her purchases.

The only blood she’d had came from Jameson. She was able to bite him now and they frequently indulged in each other.

She made dinner for them but later in the evening Jameson caught her eye. “I’m going out.”

“Can I come with you?”

“You know why I’m going.”

“Yes, I…I have to do it sometime. Better I’m with you.”

“You will always be with me when you go out. Do you think I’d let you hunt alone?”

They dressed in dark clothing and hid their heads under hooded cloaks. There was an excitement in Jane that she did not recognize. This was something she used to cringe over. Now she was a part of it. Her senses were heightened, especially the sense of smell.

Jameson chose his victims along the riverbanks in the fog. They never knew what took them. He shared  his victims with Jane. She had a taste for it now, although it shamed her to want it. Wanting Jameson seemed natural and right. But to want to sink her teeth into a total stranger seemed wrong. She still had the act confused with the love she and Jameson shared.

Later he told her, “But it is an act of love. You must love them because they feed you. You speak to them in your mind and tell them how wonderful they are and truly, Jane, they love you before they die. I was once a true vampire and relied on blood to keep me alive.  I need it now as you do but it does not sustain me daily. There are many tricks to ply.”

“What happens between us is not the same.”

“What happens between us is love, lust, passion and sex. Do not confuse the two.”

“Would you want to be a true vampire again?”

“That would require William and I do not think he would be so inclined to accommodate me again. Especially now that I’ve taken you.”

“Why must it be William?”

“There is no one else I would want to commit myself to. It is not so bad now…this life…because I have you to share it with. Before there was only William and he is a true vampire. I wanted to be him. There was once a vampire here in London, in fact I am sure he still is about somewhere. I was with him for awhile but I would not allow him to bite me nor would I bite him. He loved me in his way but he knew I belonged to William and he could not make me.”

Jameson opened the back door to the townhouse and they entered.

“Jameson,” she removed her cloak, “if, if ever you want to go to Cornagaugh and see William…it’s all right if you go. I cannot go there but you can.”

“I would not leave you alone here in London…or anywhere, for that matter. Do you think I would desert you? You have me confused with someone else.”

“No, I could never confuse you with anyone else. You are the center of my life, Jameson. I also think William is still very much in your thoughts.”

“He is in my thoughts, Jane, but that is the only place he is right now. When he wakes then we will deal with him together. We are not one…we are two now. That is how I see it. We share our lives…and everything else. That is not to say I do not love him, for I do and I believe you do also.”

Jameson’s words cemented her security with him. She did not fear William or anything else now. She had to think about whether she still loved William. Jameson was her focus and she felt a strong disposition to protect him from William for she knew when he awoke he would not like what Jameson had done with her.

William, however, was not sleeping. He’d been awake for some time. Cornagaugh offered him little comfort. He’d wandered over the house and grounds and found no trace of Jameson. He found plenty of memories, though. He even rode over near the farm that had once belonged to Jane. It had a new owner now but the property was deserted. He tried reading and playing the piano and his violin but he was so totally alone except for Morvan, that it was painful for him. The house seemed to echo with Jameson’s music. Finally he could stand it no longer and told Morvan to make ready to go to London.

Arriving in the middle of the night, they were surprised to find it alight with candles. William stayed in the carriage while Morvan went up to the door. He didn’t bother to knock and came immediately back to the carriage.

“My lord, it’s Jameson playing the piano.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d be sure on that.”

William’s heart filled as he ran up the steps to the door and opened it. Inside the front parlor he stopped. Jameson’s back was to the doorway and he was unaware.

Jane, however, was aware and had looked out through the curtains. She’d heard sounds of horses. Now she withdrew into the shadows in silent agony. William stood in the doorway. He was as elegant and beautiful as ever and her heart turned over. There was no question but that she still loved him but her heart was with the man lost in his music over the keyboard.

Jameson looked up and saw Jane back in the folds of the draperies and at the same time sensed a presence. He turned around and stopped playing. His first reaction was joy and he rose from the piano stool and went to William. They embraced and kissed.

“How…how is it you are alive?” William held him back and looked at him. He looked good, fit and happy.

“It is a long story. I did not know you were awake.”

“I have been for awhile. Jameson, tell me how you come to be here. I have searched for you in vain at Cornagaugh.”

William was so caught up in Jameson he didn’t sense Jane’s presence. Jameson told him how he attached to a man and began to possess his body.

“I had no way of knowing who the man was or where he might be going. He sailed to New York. Once there I took my time and by then I knew what I was doing. It turned out he was a reporter for some New York paper. He was researching me, of all things. That explains what he was doing at Cornagaugh. Really, William, you should see about great locks on the doors.”

“I shall see to it.”

“It seems he came across a painting of me. You remember the small one that used to be in the old townhouse?  Well…the poor creature thought to take it to someone he’d once tried to interview about me. She wouldn’t talk to him…and so…he…”

William’s face changed and his consciousness picked up her presence in the room.

Jameson was fully aware of William. “He sent a message to her and she agreed to see him. On the way to her house I came forth and destroyed what was left of my host’s brain. I was reborn as myself again. It was of course, Jane. We’ve been together for nearly a year now.”

William stepped back from Jameson and his eyes went completely blank, without feeling. He hissed at him. “You made her! I should destroy you for you have done.”

Jane stepped forward. “You’ll have to destroy me as well, William.”

William blinked. She was as beautiful, if not more so, than he remembered her. A physical pain went through him and he turned away from both of them, leaning against the door.

“Do not worry, Jane. He will destroy neither of us…and he knows it. There are few things in this world he loves. He loves Morvan, he loves you and he loves me. He knows he is loved by all three of his chosen ones. He is angry because I have done what he could not bring himself to do. I do not think he will be displeased with the results.” He held his hand out for Jane. She took it and stood in the shelter of his arm.

“I am as I once was, half human with a vampire’s desires. Being such an abnormal crust I have produced the same in Jane.  She was ready for it and desired it. It was done with love…I do love her more than my own life. If you must destroy one then let it be me.”

“You have proved yourself to be indestructible.” William turned around. “And an opportunist of the highest order…to take my wife from me...”

“Wait a minute, William! He didn’t take me from you. You dropped me like a hot potato in Paris. One bite and you were gone. Can you begin to imagine how you left me and what I went through?  I was put on a ship for America, alone and in shock…I was bleeding for you. For all purposes I was dead. I spent over a year alone in a little townhouse I bought with the money you gave me from the farm. When Jameson showed up it was like a dream come true. You didn’t want me anymore, that was plain to me. Desertion is desertion no matter the reason for it and I do understand the why of it.

“I love Jameson…we belong to each other now. That’s how I see it.” She looked at Jameson, who smiled. “But having declared my love for him I can still honestly say that I still love you, William. I knew it when I saw you come in the doorway. We both love you.”

William looked into her eyes. “We should never have married. That was my mistake. I’ve always had a tendency to fall in love with pretty human women. It never ends…pretty, but it always ends. You were fortunate. Had I not left you, I would have killed you. It was only a matter of time.”

“I thought you were going to make me a vampire.”

“No…I wanted you as a human.” He looked at Jameson. “You were right after all.”

Jane looked from one to the other.

“Fate stepped in, William,” Jameson said.

“I agree…well, she is yours.” He took one look at Jane and went upstairs to his room.

Chapter 5

“Does he hate me?”

“No, my darling Jane, he does not hate you. He’s had  a shock and needs to go away and have a think about it. Do we have any coffee?”

“Yes, I’ll make it…oh, perhaps Morvan will?”

She came back a few minutes later. Morvan had been glad to see her and to have someone to wait upon.

Morvan brought a tray in. “Master Jameson, how good it is to see you again.”

“Thank you, Morvan. It’s good to see you, too…it is good to have the family together again.”

“The family…yes…yes, it is. May I say, Sir, that my lord William is much in need of…family.”

Jameson and Jane drank their coffee and glanced at each other several times. Finally Jameson said, “Let’s do it.”

Together they climbed the stairs and walked into William’s room. He was standing by the fire and staring into it. “What is this? Can a man have no peace?”

“Not in this house, not with us here. I think you’ve had too much peace. That’s what happens when I’m not around you.” Jameson walked over to him and kissed him. He wasn’t sure if William would allow it, but he did.

“Your lips are warm. You are truly as you were before you became a true vampire.”

“I told you I was. You loved me this way.”

“I still…love you, Jameson.” William embraced him and met Jane’s eyes over his shoulder.

She was unsure how he felt about her and didn’t step forward. “I love you, too, William...if you will allow it.”

He broke away from Jameson. “How am I to prevent it?”

“You can’t.”

William looked at Jameson, “How you defeat me. You have changed, matured at last, I think. She has done this for you?”

“You might give her credit for it. I began to care deeply for her while at Cornagaugh.”

“I knew of it. Why do you think I took her away?”

“She was yours. I couldn’t have done anything about it. I was a whisper.”

“No whisper now.”

“No…can you not love us as your family? You have known us both intimately. It is different now but the love is still there for you.”

William looked into the fire. “My loves…my lovers…my children…my family.”

Jane went to him then and put an arm around his waist. He looked down at her for a moment and then held her to him and kissed her. “You have teeth.” He looked at her mouth.

“Yes, I do, and I use them.”

“I…I never wanted this for you.”

“I’m only half,” she smiled. “I am like Jameson…a part of him.”

“I understand.” William smiled a little. He did understand about Jane and Jameson. He was glad for Jameson. He’d never loved anyone like that before. It was fate…his loss and Jameson’s gain.  But Jameson needed her more than he did.

He looked up at Jameson. “I never thought to have a family of vampires.”

Jameson grinned, “Your life hasn’t been the same since I came into it. Why would it change now?”

“I am so very glad you are back into my life. You have suffered much, Jameson.” He looked at Jane. “I think the time has come for you to experience something else. Tell me, are you playing, performing?”

“I did in New York and I have written extensively. Times are changing, William. Newspapers are becoming bolder and people want to pry into your private life. People want to read what you had for breakfast and where you came from. They want your darkest secrets in print so that they may sell their rags to the greedy public. I cannot expose myself to that kind of publicity. I do not know what I will do now. I will play for it is my life to play. Perhaps in intimate settings but I will not go on stage again. Alas…those days are over. What a time it was, William.”

“Yes, indeed it was. Jane, you did get to see him perform?”

“I did and I am so glad I did. He was magnificent.”

“Oh, you should have been in Venice. That was a performance! If I never saw another one that would last me a lifetime. He was perfect and the music was all new, none of it written down. And in Paris, they loved him in Paris. He was all the rage. He made love to them on his keyboard and they ate it up."

“He still does put his heart out there on the keys,” Jane said. She thought of the music he had sent to her from London.

“You have new tunes…you must play them for me.” William took his arm and reached for Jane’s.

He listened attentively while Jameson played his new music. From time to time he glanced over at Jane. He smiled to himself. She was obviously besotted with him. The music was different, as though he’d found himself at last. Some of it charged with emotion but none of the raging seas he’d played before. Yes, Jameson had matured. It saddened him a little…to lose that impetuous young man so full of himself. He still showed signs of it from time to time but overall…he’d grown into a man, and a man who had suffered greatly in his life and his death. Now he was reborn, reincarnated once again. Would he age and die in this new form? The thought of losing Jameson again sent a pain through his heart.

No…no, he would not let that happen. Time enough to figure all that out.

Jane closed her eyes. Jameson’s music took her to a different realm, a place where she was joined with him. It’s what he meant for her to feel. She wondered if William knew. Could he interpret as she could? William may know him well and have shared his life with him, but he did not know Jameson as she did. She thought about the portrait upstairs in their bedroom. It was not William’s favorite but it said a lot about Jameson. There was more to him than talent, more than looks…if you cared to look behind his eyes. There had been his torment, the thing that set him apart, the thing he could not say except through his music. Now the thing was back but he had someone to share it with. He was not alone anymore.

From time to time Jameson looked up at Jane. Jane understood him and what he was. She accepted him and even joined with him without question as to what she might become. She was a brave woman and she was his completely. He smiled at William and saw the love on his face for him. Yes, William still loved him and had been there for him all his life. He was still there in spite of everything. He loved him but he no longer wanted to be William. He’d found his own place in the world and whether his time would run out or not he didn’t know nor did he care. He had a strong, very strong, life force that just might transcend time again.

It was good to be here with people that knew him and loved him. He no longer needed the adoration of hundreds or thousands. He’d had that. He’d loved them back, too, but from a distance. He let his fingers flow over the keys…he was content in the bosom of his family.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7HHxzlqi9_Y

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBhZAQlOtwg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0Wam9BEgOQ

ON TO THE PRODIGY

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