The Rest Falls Away

Chapter Ten Wherein Miss Grantworth Takes Herself Out of Training

When Phillip returned to the terrace carrying Victoria's filmy wrap, she was gone.

He stood in the pie-shaped wedge of light that spilled over the stones and looked around to be certain she hadn't moved into a more shadowy corner… but she was nowhere to be seen. The other couples had disappeared. The patio was empty.

Just then he heard a faint scream from down below, in the gardens.

He ran down the steps, her shawl fluttering in his hand, his feet crunching on the pebble-stoned path, spewing up a scattering of stones with each step.

"Victoria!" he called, dashing to the left, where he was sure he'd heard the scream—a sound so faint that if he'd been inside the building for one more moment, he would not have heard it.

Why had she left the terrace? What had happened?

Had someone taken her?

As he rounded a bend in the path, he nearly collided with a figure in skirts. She was staggering, half bent, sobbing, clutching at her gown. Without thinking about impropriety, he grabbed the woman's shoulders. "Victoria?" he said, giving her a soft shake.

She looked up. It was not Victoria but Miss Emily Colton, who had been standing with Frederick Truscott on the terrace only moments before. Her face was a terrified mask, and something dark, like a scratch, marked her neck. She was babbling something incoherent, clutching at him as if she were drowning and he was pulling her from the water.

Phillip was torn. Victoria was still out there, but Miss Colton needed him too. And what had happened to Truscott?

"Come," he said, pulling her after him, back toward the house, calling for help along the way. Over her muffled sobs, he listened fearfully for another cry from the dark.

"Did you see anyone else?" he demanded urgently. "Another woman? Miss Grantworth?"

She seemed to nod, to give an affirmation, but he wasn't certain what she was saying between her sobs and trembling. When they came in sight of the terrace, he gave the woman a gentle push and called for help, then turned and dashed back into the darkness.

"Victoria!" he called. "Victoria!"

He rounded another corner, and nearly ran into her.

"Victoria!" he exclaimed, grasping her shoulders and pulling her to his chest, crushing her there in gratitude that she wasn't the one sobbing, frightened. "What happened? Are you all right?"

She seemed to be breathing hard, but she did not appear to be in any distress, and she disengaged herself from his death grip more easily than she should have been able to. She was looking at him, surprise and something else…

intense… in her beautiful face. For a moment he forgot his worry and just enjoyed the perfection of her countenance—and wondered why her eyes carried such a predatory glint.

"Phillip? I am fine. I am not hurt at all. What is wrong?"

"I heard someone scream, and I thought it was you! You weren't on the terrace when I came back." He realized he'd dropped her wrap somewhere along the way, and he slipped his arm around her waist. After all, she had accepted his proposal. Although it wasn't official, they were engaged. It was proper enough.

"I dropped my indispensable from the terrace, and when I went down to get it, I heard a woman… talking, arguing—she sounded as if she were in danger."

"So you went after her to help?" Phillip wanted to shake her, his fragile love. "You could have been hurt!"

"But I was not… it was Emily Colton. She ran past me. Did you see her?"

"Yes; she is frightened, but appeared to be unharmed. Foolish girl," he said, squeezing her close to him with his arm around her waist. He should have expected nothing less of one who would dress down a young man half again as tall as she was when she was only twelve—her beauty and her boldness, her charm and her tendency to think for herself and not as Society would dictate. No wonder he loved her. "You were brave to go to her aid, but you could have been hurt yourself! You should have called for assistance."

Victoria nodded against him. They were walking up the steps of the terrace, and Phillip was pleased to see that the terrace was still empty. Miss Colton would be taken care of after her fright, whatever it had been—perhaps something as simple as a branch catching at her or an argument with Truscott, wherever he had gone off to—and he and Victoria could stand on the patio alone.

And start again where they had left off.

He looked down, ready to gather her back into his arms. "Victoria, what is that in your hand?"

He saw even in the half-light that her cheeks flushed light pink. She looked down at the slender piece of wood she held as if wondering how it got there. "I… it was falling from my hair as I hurried to help Miss Colton. I'll just put it in my indispensable, for only my maid knows how to repair my hair."

Phillip thought that the stick looked rather large and unwieldy to be part of such an intricate coiffure, but what did he know about how women dressed their hair? He appreciated the results, but had little interest in the mechanics.

He was just pulling her close to him, tipping her chin up with a gentle nudge of his thumb, when he realized she was looking over his shoulder into the ballroom. "Phillip… I really must go check on Miss Colton and make certain she is unhurt."

Disappointment rolled over him. "I am certain she is being cared for. Although I do not know what became of Lord Truscott."

She pulled easily from what he thought was a firm grip. "Phillip, I promise… I will return in just a moment. I feel responsible for her. Won't you come inside with me?" She smiled so prettily, and hugged his arm so close to the length of her body, brushing against the side of her bosom, that he couldn't refuse.

Back inside the Madagascar home, Victoria quickly excused herself from Phillip. Frantic with the delay he'd caused by catching her in the gardens, she hurried through the throngs of people, knowing that she would have to offer more explanation to him later.

She was relieved that there didn't seem to be a massive sense of panic or outrage from the party goers; more clusters of people were talking than dancing, but they did not seem to be upset. It appeared that possibly Miss Colton had made her way to the ladies' changing room without causing too much of a commotion about the vampire attack that had happened only yards away from the merrymaking.

Victoria prayed that was the case, and hoped that Miss Colton was in no frame of mind to speak of what had happened… or ask about the whereabouts of Lord Truscott. She wasn't sure how she was going to explain that he'd poofed into a cloud of ashes.

It was perhaps too much to hope that Emily Colton hadn't realized what was happening before Victoria arrived upon the scene; but she did indeed hope. It had happened quickly; Lord Truscott was just bending his face to her neck when Victoria burst upon them.

Emily escaped, disappearing into the brush with a shriek, before Victoria had come face-to-face with Truscott and plunged the stake into his chest.

Now she hurried down the hall and reached the ladies' retiring room. Pausing to collect her breath and pat down her hair, Victoria eased the door open and found a small cluster of women around a white-faced Emily Colton.

"Emily," Victoria said, slipping inside and closing the door behind her. "How are you?"

"Oh!" shrieked Emily, leaping to her feet and throwing herself at Victoria. "You are unhurt! I was so frightened for you!"

Victoria gently extricated her from the other woman's arms. "I am not hurt at all. And how do you feel?"

Emily ignored the question and began babbling to the others, pointing at Victoria with a shaking finger. "She came right in at the moment he attacked me! I ran away; I shouldn't have left her, but I was too frightened to think!"

The five other ladies looked from Victoria to Emily and back again, as if measuring the difference in their demeanors. Victoria was careful to keep her expression gentle even though she needed to know what Emily had seen, and whether she'd realized what happened.

Emily was still speaking rapidly, as though she had to let the words loose or she would lose them. "What happened? Did Lord Truscott—?"

"I do not know what happened to him," Victoria replied, clasping her fingers around Emily's hand. "As soon as you ran, he turned and disappeared in another direction. He did not hurt me." That, at least, was true.

It appeared that Emily accepted this explanation; and the others had no reason to question it. The word vampire had not been uttered; she need give no explanation for Truscott's disappearance. Now Victoria could excuse herself and find Phillip.

It would be easy to return to her betrothed; but it would not be so easy to accept that she had killed Lord Truscott of the soft brown eyes and clumsy feet.

"It has happened!" Lady Melisande burst into Winnie's drawing room without waiting for the butler. "Oh, glory be, it has happened! Victoria is to be a marchioness!"

"Rockley has come up to snuff?" Winnie leaped to her feet with surprising agility for one so well cushioned. "Oh, Melly, I am enraptured for you! And for Victoria, too, of course!"

"Victoria is to marry Rockley?" Petronilla exclaimed at the precise moment the duchess squealed. "Get out of my way, Winnie, so I can hug her too!"

The ladies danced around the room, the china and knickknacks clinking in their wake.

"He came just shortly ago to get my blessing—as if he needed to ask!" Melly, out of breath, huffed as she sank into a chair.

Winnie, who had snatched up two blueberry scones, did not pause in her enthusiastic prancing until she'd poured tea for the newest arrival. Then she plunked down next to her.

"We shall have to begin planning the wedding immediately. It will be the event of the Season!" Petronilla said. "But do tell, did Victoria have any details about the incident at the Madagascar ball last night? It is the talk of the town!"

Winnie slammed a hand to her chest, closing her fingers around the crucifix that rested on the shelf of her bosom. If possible, it was an even bigger cross than the one she'd been wearing last week. "Nilly was just telling me about it. I'm certain it was a vampire attack!"

Melly looked at them. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"Miss Emily Colton was attacked last night, in the gardens at the Madagascars' house. She was not hurt, but frightened, and her escort, Lord Truscott, has disappeared," Winnie explained.

"Why do you think it was a vampire attack?" Melly said, rolling her eyes. "Lord Truscott likely got too familiar with Miss Colton and she sent him on his way… and did not want to confess that she'd been walking in the garden alone with him. Miss Colton has been known to be a bit loose, you know."

"But no one knows where he is," said Winnie. "And it was in the dark. And her neck was scratched."

"Perhaps Lord Truscott is a vampire," said Petronilla. Her eyes gleamed like sapphires. "Perhaps he was overcome by lust and could not resist any longer, and tried to seduce Miss Colton in the gardens…"

"What nonsense! Nilly, Winnie, I declare, if you would rather go on about vampires instead of helping me to plan Victoria's wedding, then I will leave you two to it!"

"No, Melly, we'll stop. I don't want to talk about them anyway," Winnie said, shooting a look at Petronilla. "There's nothing about them that fascinates me on any level. They are evil bloodsucking creatures, dirty and smelly with claws and long hair—"

"They are not! Mrs. Lawson's daughter's neighbor's sister was the one who had one in her bedchamber, and she said he smelled like licorice and that he was cleanshaven and—"

"I thought you did not want to talk about them!" Melly interrupted, standing. "I am going to leave if either one of you mentions the word vampire again."

Winnie clamped her mouth shut. Petronilla raised her teacup to her lips and sipped, gazing innocently out the window.

"Now," Melisande said, settling back into her chair, "which modiste should we have make the dress?"

"Victoria always looks well with Madame LeClaire's designs," replied Petronilla.

"I was not talking about Victoria's gown! I meant my dress!" said Melly indignantly.

"Well, in that case, I suggest we take ourselves out of here and down to Bond Street for a shopping excursion!" said Winnie.

And they very happily did just that, with Winnie clutching her crucifix the whole way.

The sun was lowering when Victoria climbed out of Barth's hackney only a short distance from the home of Rudolph Caulfleld, the man who owned the Book of Antwartha. Sebastian had clearly indicated that the vampires acting on Lilith's behalf were to arrive at night, but Victoria was taking no chances that they might come and go before she got there.

Verbena had helped her to dress, not as a man this night, nor as a debutante, but as a Venator, in a costume the maid had specially prepared. It consisted of a split skirt that appeared no different from any other day dress, but which would allow her more freedom of movement. The sleeves were firmly anchored to the shoulders of the dress's bodice, unlike the filmy, frothy ones that were often barely basted onto normal evening apparel. The cloth was dark blue, with very little ornamentation, and of a soft cotton, so there would be no rustling noises of taffeta or charmeuse. Its length was a bit shorter than what Victoria was used to wearing, several inches from the ground.

The most unique aspects of the costume were two small slipknots into which Victoria could slide stakes to hang at her waist, and two deep pockets hidden in the folds of the skirt, where she might put salted holy water, a crucifix, and other accoutrements.

When Victoria slipped out of the hackney, she left her cloak behind; it was a balmy summer evening, and the excitement of the adventure would keep her warm. Barth was given his instructions, and she turned from the coach.

Earlier in the day she and Verbena had traveled to Caulfield's home, known as Redfield Manor, in order to ascertain its location, its geography, and an appropriate place where Victoria might wait and watch without being noticed.

Verbena, quite into the spirit of things after her evening drinking ale with vampires at the Silver Chalice, approached the servants' door in an attempt to learn what she could about the household schedule and layout. Victoria wasn't sure how she managed to extract the information, but she learned that the servants were leaving with Rudolph Caulfield that afternoon, and that the gentleman coming to stay at the home would be bringing his own retinue.

And, as Victoria slipped behind a tall iron gate, she was grateful that Verbena had also learned that the garden was very rarely used… and thus would be the perfect place to wait.

Finding a stone bench thrust under a small tree that had refused to sprout buds that spring, Victoria sat and slid to the edge so she could watch the house. From this vantage point she could see anyone approaching the front door. She assumed that Mr. Caulfield and his servants had left and been replaced by his houseguest during the afternoon.

As she sat, trying to ignore a persistent bee that was determined to find nectar in the vicinity of the dead tree, Victoria felt a stab of guilt. She had argued long and hard with herself and with Verbena about whether to tell Aunt Eustacia and Max about her plans for the evening… but in the end she had decided not to. She could take care of herself—Kritanu had trained her well. She knew what she was doing.

So she'd decided to do this alone, for several perfectly logical reasons.

First, if Sebastian's information was wrong, she would feel foolish having dragged Max to the site of Redfield Manor; for it was certain he would have been the one to accompany her, not Aunt Eustacia.

Not to mention the fact that she would have to be in his company the entire evening.

Second, Victoria was certain she would be able to handle two or three vampires alone—particularly since the element of surprise would be in her favor. She could determine when and how to strike.

Third, she had braved the dangers of the Silver Chalice on her own to get the information, and Sebastian had warned her not to tell anyone. If she had told Aunt Eustacia and Max, they would have demanded that she divulge her source. Once she had the Book of Antwartha in her possession, no one would care how she got the information.

And fourth… Max and Aunt Eustacia all seemed to be willing to keep their own secrets from her. So why should she not act on her own if they were not going to include her in all of their plans? After all, she was a vis bullaed Venator, and she had staked a Guardian vampire whilst he was biting her.

Never mind Verbena's clicking tongue or wagging chin. Victoria was comfortable with her decision.

So she waited and turned her thoughts toward more pleasant items, such as the passionate kisses she and Phillip had exchanged on the terrace, and in the carriage, and on the front doorstep of Grantworth House. She was to be married! She could scarcely believe it had happened so quickly, so easily and wonderfully. She'd always thought fondly of the young man she'd met that summer; perhaps even then she'd given him her heart. Whatever had happened then, whether she had felt love for him or not, did not matter, for she loved him now.

The sun seemed to move infinitesimally slowly toward the ring of trees that edged the street. Victoria watched, noticing each person as he or she walked by, knowing that she would recognize the vampires when they approached.

Suddenly her attention was caught by a movement at the corner of her eye… from the back of the garden. Victoria held her breath and shrank more closely into the shrubbery surrounding her bench, slipping quickly to a crouch on the ground.

The backyard was shaded in this late afternoon, and would soon be dark, so the shadow that eased from a crack in the stone wall was at first indiscernible. It moved with speed and grace, and as it drew closer to the back of the house and became recognizable, Victoria's mouth dropped open from behind a boxwood.

Max.

There was no mistaking his height and spare, measured movements as he made his way toward a set of wooden cellar doors.

A bolt of fury shafted through her, and Victoria slammed her teeth together so hard a crack of pain shot through her jaw. She was surprised he didn't hear the loud snap; and she was glad he didn't.

What was he doing here?

Not looking for her; he would easily have found her if he'd cared to look.

Somehow he must have learned about the book, that it was here and that the owner was gone.

In the moment that the blankness of shock and the red haze of anger burst over her, Victoria had missed his next move. When she refocused her attention toward the house, toward where Max had been approaching the wooden doors, he was gone.

Had he gone in?

Or had he found another hiding place, as she had, and would also lie in wait for the vampires?

He was a blasted fool if he thought she was going to wait here by herself.

Victoria eased from her hiding place, gratified that, although the sun hadn't set completely, the shadows were long enough in this garden that they afforded her a protective cover as she hurried along in Max's path.

As she approached the building, one of her questions, at least, was answered when she saw a tall, unmistakable figure pass in front of a window at the back of the house. Max was inside, in the servants' quarters, if one were to judge by the size and placement of the window.

Did he think to snatch the book from under the vampires' noses? Before they had the opportunity—

Oh, God. Max was going to take the book himself! If he touched it before it was out of the house, he would die!

Victoria launched herself from her shield of bushes before she realized that she couldn't go haring into the house willy-nilly.

And she realized quite suddenly that she had made a mistake. She should have told Aunt Eustacia and Max.

For if she did not stop him in time, he would die… and she would be to blame.