Mr. Darcy, Vampyre

Chapter 6

Elizabeth was glad to rise the following morning. She had spent the night running through the forest pursued by wolves, or losing herself in the castle, or being tormented by other unsettling nightmares, and she was pleased to put them behind her.

She dressed warmly, wrapping her thick shawl around her, and left her room. She found her way down from the turret easily, but then she stood hesitating on the landing, uncertain which way to go. Luckily one of the Count’s footmen happened to pass by. He looked at her fearfully, but she did not let him depart before she had made him understand that she wanted to eat and he led her to the dining room. Darcy was already there at breakfast. He rose with a smile on his face and she was instantly calmed. Here was reality. Here was sanity and repose—not in sleep, but in the waking world.

‘Has the Count already eaten?’ she asked, as she was served with a kind of thick porridge which looked unappetising but tasted surprisingly good.

‘Yes, he was up before daybreak. He has gone to consult with some of his friends and neighbours on the matter which has been troubling me. They are scattered over thirty miles or so of hard riding terrain, and he will not be back until tonight.’

‘Has he been able to give you any advice?’

‘Not yet, but I hope that an answer will soon be found.’

She waited for the servants to leave the room and then said, ‘I asked you once before if you regretted our marriage and you said you did not. I need to ask you again.’ She paused, uncertain how to continue. She wanted to say to him, Why don’t you come to me at night? But now that the moment had come, she felt tongue-tied and did not know how to broach the subject.

‘No, of course not,’ he said with a frown. ‘You have no need to ask me and I am only sorry I have made you feel that way.’

‘Are the problems anything to do with the marriage settlement?’ she asked. ‘Is that why you need your uncle’s advice?’

‘Not precisely, no,’ he said evasively. ‘But matters will soon be cleared up, I hope, and then we can forget it and enjoy the rest of our wedding tour.’

He took her hand and kissed it, and she felt heat radiating out from the place where his lips had touched.

A shaft of sunlight came in through the window and Elizabeth, having finished her porridge, said, ‘Let us go out into the courtyard,’ for she glimpsed a small garden, of sorts, through the window and longed to be out of doors.

‘By all means,’ he said.

The rain had abated, but despite the gleam of sunshine, the morning was sulky and promised more rain to come.

The garden itself must once have been attractive, but it was now overgrown. It was square in shape, backed by the grey stone walls of the castle, and in its centre was a stagnant pool, choked with weeds. Little light entered the courtyard and even that was sickly and pale, as if the effort to find its way down into the courtyard had depleted it of energy. Weeds sprouted between the paving stones and yellow grasses competed for space with unhealthy looking ferns. A statue of a satyr rose from the tangle of creeping plants which stalked the ground, but it was broken, its pan pipes lying beside it, coated with moss and lichen.

‘What a pity it is so overgrown,’ she said. ‘It is protected from the wind, and it might be pleasant to walk here if the garden were cleared.’

‘The castle is old and the upkeep is expensive,’ said Darcy, offering her his arm. ‘My uncle doesn’t have enough money to attend to everything that needs doing here. His fortunes have suffered a reverse of late and he has had to let some parts of the castle fall into disrepair.’ He glanced at her as they began to stroll through the garden. ‘I suppose I do not notice its deficiencies because I am used to them. I have loved the place since I was a boy. But you, I think, do not.’

‘No, I must confess I don’t,’ she said. ‘It seems very forbidding to me, and it is not just the castle. The language is strange, the gossip…’

‘It is not like you to listen to gossip,’ he said.

‘No, I know, but I feel different here, not like myself. I feel shut in, trapped.’ She shuddered as she remembered the drawbridge clanging shut and she pulled her shawl more tightly about her. ‘When the drawbridge was raised behind me, I felt as if I were a prisoner.’

‘The drawbridge is to keep people out, not keep them in,’ he said, putting his hand over her arm reassuringly. ‘We are in a very remote part of the country and there are lots of bandits hereabouts. They would willingly prey on the castle if its defences weren’t secure.’

‘Yes, of course. But it is not just the drawbridge—it is everything. When I looked out of my window this morning, I looked down onto a terrible drop with nothing but jagged rocks below. It is not what I am used to,’ she said apologetically.

‘You are used to rolling meadows and winding rivers in a peaceful part of the world,’ he agreed, ‘but the castle is in a less hospitable country. It was built as a fortress at a time when fortresses were needed. The rocks keep it safe. They make sure that no one can climb up and assault it from behind. I know it can seem forbidding if you are not used to it, but inside the castle you don’t feel afraid?’

‘Not afraid, precisely, but anxious. The windows are small and the castle is gloomy. And the rumours…’

‘Go on.’

‘Oh, they are foolish, of course, but they say in the servant’s hall that the axe falling was a portent of your death and that I will cause it. They say that the same fate befell the Count’s wife. Is it true?’

He hesitated.

‘After a fashion,’ he said. ‘The Count lost his wife, but there was nothing strange about her death. She had been ill for a long time.’

‘And did the axe fall?’

‘Yes, it did, but the castle is very old. Some of the wall fixings had worked themselves loose, that is all.’

‘Of course,’ she said, his calm words filling her with relief. ‘I don’t know why I took any notice of it. It is just the atmosphere here, it is oppressive.’

‘A pity. I hoped you would like it. But we will not be here much longer. The Count should return this evening and we need only stay a few days. I have a hunting lodge in the area, and I would like to visit it as we are so close by, and we must stay a little while longer for politeness’ sake, but by the end of the week, if you are still unhappy, we will go.’

Elizabeth was comforted.

‘Do you really have a hunting lodge here?’ she asked. ‘It’s a long way from Pemberley.’

‘I own hunting lodges throughout Europe, a relic of the old days. I don’t use them anymore, but from time to time, I find a tenant for one or other of them. The Count thinks that one of his friends might like to rent the nearest lodge and so I would like to see if it needs any repairs. Why don’t you come with me? We can go tomorrow, and it will give you some relief from the castle.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I would like that very much.’

‘Very well, I will go and make the arrangements.’

Whilst he went off to the stables, Elizabeth went inside, finding the drawing room after three attempts. She had seen little of it the night before, and she hoped there might be a pianoforte but there was no instrument. She took a turn around the room, examining the portraits which hung on the walls and coming to rest in front of the fireplace. Above it hung a fine portrait of two gentlemen in seventeenth century dress. They were clothed in the fashions of the time, in satin coats and breeches, and they wore dark, curling wigs which fell to their waists.

She looked at them more closely. It was not easy to see them clearly from her low angle but something about them was familiar. She wondered who they reminded her of and then she realised that it was Darcy and the Count.

‘The paintings are very good, do you not think?’ came a voice behind her.

She very nearly jumped.

‘My apologies, I did not mean to startle you,’ said the Count, for it was he.

‘I thought you were visiting neighbours,’ she said.

‘And so I was, but the riding, it is hard with old bones. I would have said to my servants, “Go! Do this errand for me!” but Darcy, he is a valued nephew of mine and I do not like to send a servant in a matter concerning him. When I arrive, my neighbours, they are good to me, they say, “We will go to the next castle ourselves to spare you the travelling. Your commission, it will be done in half the time and with less jostling to you of your old bones.” And so it goes. One visits another and they each of them travel only a short way to the next castle. I encourage them by saying, “You are welcome to my castle. I have with me a new bride!”’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You had small hospitality yesterday but today it will be not the same. You will like my neighbours, I think. Some of them are family and all of them are friends. They will entertain you and make up for the castle’s darkness with their humour and conversation. And they will like you. You are an ornament to my home. It is many years since such loveliness has been inside the castle. You are comfortable here, may I hope? You have everything you need?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘If there is anything I can do to make your stay more agreeable you must say, “Count! I will have this!”’

‘There is one thing,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Only say its name.’

‘There is no mirror in my room.’

He became as still as a heron. At last his hands moved and he said, ‘Alas! I have no mirrors. I have been a widower for very long, you understand, and a man with no pretensions to beauty, he does not seek to fill his home with these things. Ask anything of me but this.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Elizabeth hurriedly, hoping she had not wounded him. ‘Thank you, there is nothing else I need.’

‘I am glad of it. The castle, it is ancient and not made for today, it is made for the old times, when my ancestors they needed a fortress from war, but I have made it my home.’

Elizabeth felt uncomfortable for a moment, wondering if he could have heard her comments on the castle’s upkeep, but then dismissed the notion as impossible.

As they continued to talk, she felt herself growing more at peace with her surroundings. The Count spoke deprecatingly of the castle, but it was clear he loved it as his home, and Elizabeth began to view it with new eyes.

‘The portraits are good, do you not think?’ asked the Count, looking up at the picture she had been examining. ‘Of them, at least, I need not be ashamed. They were painted by a local artist, a man with much talent. That one in particular is a favourite of mine. The artist has caught the fabric well. See the lace!’

‘Who are they?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘The men in the portrait?’

‘The first is of my sire, the first Polidori,’ he said, pointing to the man on the left. ‘It is from him I inherit the castle. And the one on the right is a Darcy.’

‘Yes, I thought it must be. The family resemblance is striking,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Oui, though I think that Darcy is slimmer than the man in the portrait. And more handsome, n’est-ce pas?’

He dropped into French with the ease of the English aristocracy, and Elizabeth was glad he had not lapsed into his own native tongue, which, although it bore some resemblance to French, was one she did not recognise.

‘When was it painted?’ she asked.

‘Over a hundred years ago, in 1686. Times, they were very different then. The castle was full of light and laughter. Much has changed.’ He seemed to be lost in a reverie and Elizabeth did not like to disturb him, but at last he roused himself and said, ‘But we cannot live in the past. We must accept what we have in the present, and that is not so bad, with a visit from friends to look forward to. My housekeeper, she will be doing what she can to improve the castle’s appearance in honour of my valued guests. If it will not discommode you greatly, will you take your meal at noontide in your room and remain there until we eat at six o’clock? We keep early hours at the castle. I believe, in England, you call them country hours.’

Elizabeth said that it would not discommode her at all and the Count excused himself. She soon followed him from the room, feeling more cheerful than she had done since arriving at the castle.

She found Annie in her room, pressing her evening gowns with a flat iron heated on the fire, and the homely scene further reassured her.

‘It will be lunch on a tray today, Annie,’ she said, ‘and then there will be guests for dinner. I will wear my amber silk, I think, with plenty of petticoats. It’s very cold away from the fires. And I will have my cashmere shawl.’

‘Will you wear the amber beads or the gold necklace?’ Annie asked.

‘The beads, I think,’ said Elizabeth, recalling the Count’s shabby clothes: she wanted Darcy to be proud of her, but she did not want to look too fine.

‘Very good, Ma’am.’

One of the maids soon arrived with a tray of hot, steaming stew which tasted exactly the same as the previous night’s meal, and Elizabeth thought of how shocked her mother would have been at this deficiency in the housekeeping, then fell to musing about the Count’s wife. She wondered what the Countess had been like and thought it a tragedy she had died, for she suspected that, if the Countess had still been alive, the castle would have been better looked after, even if the Count’s fortunes had dwindled.

After her lunch, Elizabeth finished her letter to Jane, but alas, she knew she could not post it in such an out of the way place and that she would have to wait until they returned to civilisation before she could send it.

There was no dressing room, the bedroom filling all of the turret, but one of the footmen carried a hip bath upstairs and the maids brought jugs of hot water so that Elizabeth could take a bath. It was a delight to soak in the hot, soapy water and soothe away all the aches and pains caused by the jostling of the coach the day before.

By three o’clock there were already sounds of commotion from below, gusting in through the door whenever Annie opened it to fetch hot water, and Elizabeth found herself looking forward to the evening. Scented, warm, and delicately flushed, she climbed out of the bath and dried herself before the fire, then set about dressing for the evening. Her amber gown suited her complexion, and with its round neck, it complemented the shape of her face. Annie dressed her hair and then said, ‘There,’ standing back with satisfaction.

‘Thank you, Annie,’ she said.

She found it strange going downstairs without first looking in the mirror to make sure she was dressed to her own satisfaction, but there was no help for it and so, putting on her gloves and picking up her shawl, she went downstairs.

The castle looked brighter than formerly, with a profusion of candles lighting the hall and bowls of wildflowers set on the tables. There was a murmur of voices and, from outside, the sound of horses and carriage wheels. The door opened and a draught swirled into the hall. With it came the sound of laughter.

‘You’re looking very lovely,’ said Darcy, materialising beside her. ‘Shall we go in?’

She took his arm and they entered the drawing room.

It looked altogether different. Candles were set on every surface and the room had a bright and welcoming air. The fire roared in the fireplace, giving out not only heat but light, and the sound of conversation bubbled everywhere. It was in a foreign tongue, but it sounded good humoured and lively.

Gradually the hubbub died down and one by one the Count’s guests turned towards the door. They were mostly men, dressed in shabby, comfortable clothes which nevertheless had the air of being their best. The few women amongst them were all dressed in woollen clothes that were shabby too, and Elizabeth felt conscious of being finer than her neighbours.

It was the first time she had had such a feeling since the start of their wedding tour. In France she had felt positively dowdy by the side of the butterfly-like creatures who flitted about the ballrooms and salons, but here she felt like an exotic bird in a room full of sparrows. She quickly saw that the Count’s guests did not resent the fact, but that they liked seeing a bride in all her glory.

‘So you are the woman who has captured Darcy?’ said one of the men jovially, coming forward. ‘It is easy to see why he has lost his heart.’

The introductions were made, and Elizabeth was made to feel very welcome. For the first time since her marriage, Elizabeth felt she was in a world she could understand. Although the clothes, the customs, and the castle might be unfamiliar, she was being given the courtesies always accorded to a bride on her wedding tour. She was the centre of attention, her every word was being listened to with great interest.

‘You must tell us how you met,’ said Gustav. ‘We have heard nothing about it.’

‘We never hear of anything here!’ said Clothilde.

‘Yes, do tell us,’ said Isabella.

‘Indeed,’ said Frederique.

‘We met in Hertfordshire,’ said Elizabeth, ‘when Darcy’s friend rented a house in my neighbourhood. Darcy attended the local assembly with his friend…’

‘And it was love at first sight. I comprehend!’ said Louis.

Elizabeth laughed.

‘Far from it!’ she said.

‘No? But what is this? Darcy, you did not fall in love at once with the beautiful Elizabeth?’ He turned to Elizabeth. ‘If I had been there, I would have prostrated myself at your so-charming feet.’

‘When, then, did Darcy see the error of his ways?’ asked Gustav.

‘It was not until many months later,’ said Elizabeth.

‘No? Darcy! You are a veritable blockhead!’ said Frederique.

Darcy smiled.

‘Ah, yes, my friend, you can afford to smile, you have at last won the hand of the beautiful Elizabeth and you bring her to us as your bride.’

‘But how did it happen?’ asked Carlotta. ‘You must tell us how Darcy changed his mind.’

Nothing would do for them but to hear a full recital. Elizabeth left out any mention of Georgiana and Wickham, and she passed lightly over Lydia’s elopement, saying only that Darcy had come to the aid of her sister when that sister found herself in difficulties a long way from home.

They were still asking her questions when dinner was announced, and over that meal, which consisted of venison, root vegetables, and partridge, they teased out more information about Elizabeth’s home in Hertfordshire. Gustav announced that he had been to England many years ago and he discussed its merits with Elizabeth.

The women were engaging and the men were attentive, so that Elizabeth felt herself charmed. For all their shabby clothes, they knew how to set her at her ease, and the men knew how to flatter her delicately and how to make her laugh.

After dessert, the port was passed round and the ladies withdrew. The Count’s female guests were full of admiration for Elizabeth’s gown and they were eager to hear about the Paris fashions.

‘Tell me, how are the sleeves this year? Are they long or short?’ asked Clothilde.

‘They are scarcely there at all,’ said Elizabeth. ‘They are nothing but frills at the top of the arm.’

‘That is all very well for a heated drawing room where the press of bodies makes one hot, but it will not do for the mountains where we have snow for half the year,’ said Isabella, laughing.

‘It might, if we sit close to the fire,’ said Clothilde. ‘I like the thought of sleeves that are nothing more than a frill.’

‘Do you really want to sit close to the fire all day?’ Isabella teased her. ‘No, you cannot sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. You would be jumping up and going somewhere, doing something.’

‘Not all the time; in the evening now and then sitting still would not be so bad if it meant I could be comme à la mode. And how are the skirts, are they all like your dress, with the waist very high?’

‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth. ‘They have been this way for some time.’

‘We have much to catch up with,’ said Carlotta. ‘We used to get the fashion journals, but since the troubles, they have not been so easy to come by.’

‘Then we must go to Paris,’ said Clothilde. ‘We must treat ourselves. Too long have we been content to live in the forests. We will take a trip to the capital and return laden with gowns and shawls and gloves and fans. We will startle our men folk with our fashionable dress and perhaps it will prompt them to go to town themselves and get some new clothes, too. I am sure they could benefit from them. They look very clumsy, our friends, next to Mr Darcy.’

‘I cannot believe Frederique will wear new clothes; his old ones are too comfortable,’ said Clothilde. ‘He will wear them until they fall from his back! Have you men like this in England, Elizabeth?’

‘We have men of all kinds,’ she said, ‘some who follow the fashions closely and some who dress as they please.’

‘Ah! Then it is the same everywhere, I think! But here they are now. We were just saying how we would like to go to Paris and buy some new clothes, and that you should come too,’ she said, as the men entered the room.

‘New clothes!’ said Louis in horror. ‘I cannot abide them. Always they are uncomfortable. They scratch or they are too tight or they are too loose, and they are never the right shape. A coat needs to be worn for a year before it is comfortable.’

‘You see, Elizabeth, we can do nothing with them!’ said Carlotta with a laugh.

A game of cards was suggested and everyone readily agreed to the plan. They were just taking their places at the card table when there came a sudden loud knocking on the front door.

Elizabeth looked up in surprise and all eyes turned towards the hall.

‘Now who can that be?’ asked the Count.

There was the sound of voices in the hall. The butler’s voice was angry and contemptuous, and the other, a woman’s voice, was feeble with age and yet at the same time resolute. A moment later the door was flung open and the old woman entered, followed by the outraged butler, who said something in his own language to the Count. Although Elizabeth could not understand his words, his indignation was clear, as was his step towards the old woman. But the Count lifted his hand and the butler stepped back, muttering.

‘We have before us an old crone who asks to tell our fortunes. What say you?’ said the Count.

‘Let her in!’ said Frederique, laying down his hand of cards. ‘It would be a thousand pities to miss such sport.’

‘What do the ladies say? Would it amuse them?’ asked the Count.

‘Certainly,’ said Clothilde.

‘But assuredly! I would like to discover what she makes of my hand,’ said Isabella with an impish smile.

The Count, his eyes glittering in the candlelight, turned to Elizabeth. ‘Do you object, Mrs Darcy?’

The old woman came forward. By the light of the fire Elizabeth could see that she was not as old as she had at first appeared. Her face was lined but not wrinkled, and her stoop was assumed. Elizabeth guessed that the woman was a friend of the Count’s, someone who had agreed to pose as a fortune-teller in order to amuse his friends, and she said, ‘No, I don’t object at all.’

‘Alors, then please, come closer to the fire,’ said the fortune-teller.

She spoke with a heavy accent, but she spoke in English, confirming Elizabeth’s opinion that she was a friend of the Count’s and not the peasant woman she appeared to be.

She established herself on a stool by its side, protected from the brightness of the candles by the shadow of the mantelpiece.

Clothilde stepped forward, but the old woman said, ‘Not yet, my dark lady. There is one here who must come before you; I see a bride.’ She fixed her eyes on Elizabeth. ‘I would give a fortune to the bride.’

Elizabeth went over to the woman and sat opposite her and the woman held out her hand.

‘You must cross my palm with silver,’ she said.

‘Ah! Now we come to it,’ said Frederique, laughing. ‘The fortune is nothing, the silver is all.’

There was a murmur of laughter amongst the Count’s guests and then Darcy stepped forward, placing a coin in the old woman’s hand.

The fortune-teller nodded, bit it, and then slipped the coin into the folds of her cloak.

‘Now, come close, ma belle.’ She took Elizabeth’s hand and turned it over so that it was palm upwards. ‘I see a young hand, the hand of a woman at the start of her journey. See,’ she said, pointing to lines that ran across it, ‘here are the dangers and difficulties you will face. Your hand, it is the map of your life and the lines, they are the dangers running through it. They are many, and they are deep and perilous. You will be sorely tried in body and spirit, and you must be careful if you are to emerge unscathed.’

‘That all sounds very exciting!’ said Gustav.

‘And very general,’ said Clothilde with a laugh.

She had drawn closer and was now standing by the fire.

‘You think so?’ asked the fortune-teller sharply. ‘Then give me your hand.’

Before Clothilde could react, the fortune-teller seized her hand and turned it palm upwards. She ran her finger across its lines and then let out a moan and began to rock herself.

‘Darkness!’ she wailed. ‘Aaargh! Aaargh! The emptiness! The void! Everything is darkness!’

‘She puts on a fine show,’ said Frederique in a stage whisper.

‘I put on no show,’ said the woman, turning to him sharply. ‘Never have I felt such emptiness, such terror and such darkness. The cold, it terrifies me. It turns my bones to ice. But you, ma belle,’ she said, giving her attention once more to Elizabeth and looking at her earnestly, ‘you are of the light. You must beware. There are dangers all around you. Believe this, if you believe nothing else. The forest is full of strange creatures, and there are monsters in many guises. Not all who walk on two legs are men. Not all who fly are beasts. And not all who travel the path of ages will pass through into the shadow.’

Elizabeth could make nothing of the old woman’s words, but she was impressed despite herself by the woman’s intensity and her glittering eye.

‘Mais oui,’ said the old woman, nodding. ‘You begin to believe. You have seen things in your dreams. And you are not the first. No, assuredly you are not the first. There was a young woman like you, many years ago, who came to this castle. They called her la gentille, because she was kind and good, and because she loved the flower gentiane. She wore a spray of it always in her hair. She was young and in love, and like all young women in love, she thought she could conquer everything. And she was right, for love, it can conquer everything if it is deep and true. But when the terror came, she doubted. And when the horror came, she fled. Through the forests she ran, and the wolves, they pursued her and in the end, they ran her down. Take care! Take care! There is darkness all around you. Do not falter. Do not doubt, or you too will share her fate.’

Elizabeth stared into the old woman’s eyes, chilled, despite herself, by the woman’s words. Then a touch on her arm brought her back to her senses—to the drawing room with the dancing candles and the air of bonhomie and good cheer—and she laughed at herself for being drawn in by the fortune-teller, and she agreed with the other guests that they had all been well entertained.

The woman was paid handsomely by the Count, but as she walked out of the door, Elizabeth glanced at Darcy and she could see that he was not smiling. Instead, his look was dour.

There was much laughter as the fortune-teller’s visit was discussed and then it was dismissed as attention once again turned to the game of cards. They separated into groups and played at cribbage, with Elizabeth coming second to Clothilde in her group and Darcy winning in his.

‘Darcy, he always wins,’ said Louis.

‘Not always,’ said Darcy, and a shadow crossed his face.

But then it was gone.

The evening at last drew to an end. One by one, the guests said their goodnights and withdrew to their rooms. Elizabeth excused herself and she too retired. It was cold in her room, the fire having burnt down low. She undressed quickly and was soon in bed. But as she was about to blow out the candle she caught sight of the tapestry and something caught her eye. She lifted the candle to see it better and she saw to her horror that the woman peering out from the mass of strange creatures was wearing a spray of gentian in her hair.