Jane and the Damned (10 page)

She had a Bearleader and surely he would know what she should do. Although Miss Jane Austen would not be so foolish as to walk alone through a battle, the new Jane—Jane the vampire, who had killed and fought—was fearless.

In Queens Square all of the houses but one were shuttered and silent; only the Damned could be so ostentatious as to keep candles blazing in every room and curtains open at such a time. Inside, some sort of gathering seemed to be taking place; she heard laughter and music and saw people moving around inside. She walked up the steps and tugged at the bellpull, angry that they should amuse themselves while the people of the town, barely armed, fought and died.

The door swung open to reveal a half-dressed man. His coat and waistcoat were discarded, his shirt open at the neck. He had a familiar, dreamy expression on his face.

“Another one.” He swayed toward her and tipped his head to one side, revealing small wounds on his neck. “Drink from me, beauty.”

“Beauty? Hardly. Let me pass, sir, if you please.” Jane pushed the man aside and he fell against the wall as though drunk. She stepped onto the marble slabs of the hall. A door opened and a gentleman dressed in a militia uniform emerged.

“Good God, girl, what has happened to you? Venning! There’s an injured woman here, a servant, I believe, who must have fallen foul of the French.” He rushed to Jane’s side and gripped her arm. “Sit, if you please. Where are you injured?”

“I am not a servant. I am Miss Jane Austen.”

Luke emerged from the same room. “So it is.” He looked at her coolly. “Am I to take it that you have made your first kill?”

“I have been fighting the French.”

Luke was silent, merely raising an eyebrow.

Jane continued, “You should have been there, not entertaining! All of you!”

“Indeed.”

“Well, what did you expect me to do? Sit at home and quiver in fear? So far I have found only one useful facet of my condition—my cold hands make me excellently suited as a pastrycook.”

The gentleman in militia uniform looked from Jane to Luke, burst into laughter and bowed. “Pardon me, ma’am, your appearance gave me quite a fright. A pastrycook, eh? You’re a brave woman, Miss Austen.”

“Come with me, Jane,” Luke said. “Colonel Poulett, excuse me while I deal with this. You’re welcome to join the others upstairs in dancing or cards.”

“I think your excellent claret will suffice my needs,” the officer said. “Your servant, ma’am.” He returned to the room from which he had emerged.

“You,” Luke said to the man who had let Jane into the house, “behave yourself, and take care who you admit, do you hear? Tell the others to send hot water to the bedchamber, if you please.”

Luke grasped Jane’s wrist none too gently and pulled her upstairs.

“Where are we going?” Jane asked, alarmed at his reference to a bedchamber.

“To make you decent.” His tone was curt. “You have much to learn, and the first is that you do not allow yourself to appear in such a disgraceful condition.”

“The country is being invaded and you are concerned only with appearances?” Jane fought to free her wrist. “Are you all mad?”

He ignored her and stopped at the first landing. The sound of music was louder here and through the open doorway Jane saw couples dancing. “Stay here. Do not wander off.”

“What is the matter with you?” Jane asked but he ignored her and entered the room. He walked over to a sofa and whispered in the ear of a woman who sat there with a young man reclining next to her, his head on her lap. She nodded, stroked the man’s hair, rose, and accompanied Luke to the doorway. The
man slumped back onto the couch and his head rolled to the side, revealing a smudge of dried blood on his neck.

“This is Clarissa. I must return to the colonel downstairs.” Luke bowed briefly and went downstairs.

The woman eyed Jane and sniffed. “The French, I presume? Phew, you stink. Come with me, if you please.”

“Why? Where’s Luke going?”

“If you prefer he helps you bathe, then you do not need my services.”

“Oh!” Obediently Jane followed the female vampire up the stairs.

“Your name?” the woman threw over her shoulder.

“Jane. I am sorry if I disturbed you.”

“You should be. He was such a delicious young man and I had not quite finished with him. Now probably someone else will take him.” At the landing she opened a door and beckoned Jane inside. “We shall burn your clothes. I’ll find something else for you.”

She led Jane into a bedchamber and into the dressing room beyond it. Two maidservants poured steaming water into a tin bathtub while a third placed a large kettle into the embers of the fire.

“You may go,” Clarissa said. “Yes, you too, Ann,” as the maid at the fireplace lingered. “You may fetch this lady some of my clothes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl curtsied and grinned, then followed the others out through a doorway cut in the paneling of the room.

“A cheeky little piece,” Clarissa said, “but palatable enough. Off with those filthy clothes, Jane.”

“Do you live here?” Jane fumbled with her apron strings.

Clarissa pushed her around, untied both apron and gown, and
then began on the laces of her stays. “Several of us do. So Luke is your Bearleader. I have never known him to create anyone before.”

“He didn’t.” Jane was relieved as her stinking clothes fell to the floor in a sodden heap. “I suppose he adopted me.”

“Allow me.” Clarissa reached for her hand and uncurled her fingers from around the knife. “You do not need this. You are among friends now.” Her voice was a little more gentle. “It explains why your manners are so bad.”

“I do not have bad manners!”

“Among us you do. You are unschooled and uncouth, but it is not entirely your fault if your Bearleader abandoned you.” She examined Jane’s clothing. “We shall burn all of these, but your stays are unmarked. Ann shall clean the shoes for you.”

“Is she a vampire too?” Jane stepped into the hot water.

“Ann?” Clarissa’s eyebrows lifted. “Indeed not. She is a servant who likes to perform certain services outside her normal duties. We of the Damned are of impeccable lineage, many of us descended from princes. We are not peasants.”

“Oh.” A barrage of gunfire nearby made Jane jump. “Have you heard any news?”

“They’re taking Bath,” Clarissa replied as if commenting on the weather. She handed Jane a bar of lavender-scented soap.

“The militia’s gallantry is of little use against Bonaparte’s army.”

“What will happen?”

Clarissa shrugged. “We shall go on. The rest of them—oh, they’ll scurry around and panic, and in a century this will seem as nothing.”

“But …” The water turned reddish brown and cloudy as Jane turned the soap in her hands. “Then why is Luke talking to Colonel Poulett of the Somerset Fencible Cavalry downstairs?”

“Is he?” Clarissa sounded uninterested. “Possibly it amuses him. You must wash your hair, Jane.”

Jane closed her eyes as Clarissa poured water from a ewer over her head and scrubbed scented lotion into her hair.

“Why is Luke so cold to me?” Jane asked.

“What do you expect? You turn up at his house covered in blood and stinking of garlic, which many will find offensive. You make your first kill without him being present, which is a grave discourtesy and you have not sought his advice on finding someone on whom to dine. Do you wonder at it?”

“I didn’t know.”

“You will learn.” She raised her voice. “Yes, Ann, I know you are at the door. Come in, you insolent girl. Very good. Pray clean the dirt from Miss Austen’s shoes.” She took a gown from the maid and held it up for Jane’s approval. “This should do well enough.”

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” So it was, a white muslin with a gauze silver overdress.

“Ann will help you dress. I have business downstairs. When you are ready, Ann will take you to join us.” Clarissa stroked the maid’s neck. “Maybe I shall call for you later, my dear.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” When Clarissa had left, Ann said, “So you’re a new one, then, miss.”

“I suppose I am.” She hesitated. “Do you mind being bitten, Ann?”

“Mind? Ooh, miss, it’s better than anything. Better than gin or plum cake or Christmas, and you won’t get a baby from it. And the Bible says you can do it and it’s not a sin.”

“It does? Whereabouts?” Try as she could, Jane could not think of any Bible passage condoning relations with vampires.

“Well, miss, it doesn’t say you can as much as it doesn’t say
you can’t.” She wrapped a towel around Jane and giggled. “Some girls give themselves to vampire gentlemen, for they won’t leave you with a baby or a disease, but I’m saving my virtue for marriage with my young man.”

“And your betrothed doesn’t mind that you …”

With brisk efficiency Ann dropped a clean shift over Jane’s head and proceeded to lace her into her stays. “Oh, not at all, miss, for I make more than him in vails and the more we save, the sooner we shall marry. Shall I help you with your hair, miss?”

“No, I can do it myself.” But when Ann stepped forward and took the comb from her hand she allowed her to do so.

“You still have a reflection, miss. You must be very new. I’ll take you downstairs now.”

Even if Jane had not entered a drawing room full of the Damned, this gathering was unlike any other she had seen. The room itself was far more opulent and fashionable than any she had ever visited, its walls decorated with painted panels and with gorgeous silk hangings at the windows. The furniture, also upholstered in silk, consisted mostly of sofas in the classical style, or heaps of satin pillows forming inviting nests. Gauzy draperies suspended from testers created fantastic tents, in which entwined bodies were visible. The air held an enticing, spicy scent.

Blood.

She walked into the room, her feet sinking into the luxurious carpet, self-conscious in her borrowed finery but aware that her elegant entrance made no impact whatsoever upon the gathered company. No gentlemen sprang to their feet; in fact, the gentlemen who lounged upon the sofa opposite were otherwise occupied. Clarissa lay between them, her slippered feet upon the thighs of one while she guided the wrist of the other, the beautiful young man whose company she was so anxious to retain,
to her lips. As Jane watched, she blew on his wrist, released his hand and then pulled his head to hers for a long, passionate kiss. She withdrew her head from his, smiled, and then lifted her face to his to run her tongue over his lips.

“Don’t stand there staring.” Luke came to Jane’s side and pushed her forward.

He was accompanied by Colonel Poulett, who looked excessively ill at ease. Jane saw the colonel gaze around the room, noting the amorous play that took place on nearly all the sofas and pillows. A woman walked forward and ran her finger along the gold frogging of his uniform coat. “Why Colonel, your heart beats so fiercely. I should fear to engage you in battle. You must be a formidable opponent.” She parted her lips to reveal herself
en sanglant.

“Behave yourself, Maria. There will be time for dalliance later.” Luke walked past Jane into the center of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, our friend Colonel John Poulett has a proposition to make to us. Mark his words well.”

Colonel Poulett stepped forward, incongruous in his uniform. “Ladies and gentlemen, the bridge to the city has been taken and within hours we shall negotiate a surrender. We have fared badly in the skirmishes in the streets and we fear retaliation on the populace should the fighting continue.” There were a few brief exclamations; one of the liveried servants cursed and then looked around guiltily. “We have heard that Portsmouth and Dover and London itself have fallen. We do not know the whereabouts of the Royal Family, and we expect the worst. Our only hope is that the Navy may cut off French supplies, but until then we must hinder the movement of Bonaparte’s troops. Undoubtedly there will be a curfew in the city at night and it is then that the French will move weapons and supplies. I understand that the French intend to leave a garrison quartered here in the city and to store
munitions and supplies, probably in the city’s churches. We beg for your help, for you can do what an army cannot.”

“So, you think we seek to prove ourselves?” A voice came from the shadows that made Jane start and shiver with fear and anticipation as recognition thrummed through her body. Once when she was very young and walking with her father she had lost sight of him, bursting into howls of fear and abandonment before he appeared and swept her into the blissful refuge of his arms. She remembered the piercing joy when Tom Lefroy smiled at her across a crowded ballroom, the recognition of two like minds thinking the same thoughts, the happy anticipation of talking and flirting and touching hands. And kissing. She’d never told anyone of that, not even Cassandra.

It was he, she was sure, the one who had created her. Mr. Smith.

She came to her senses in the midst of an argument that occupied all the vampires in the room, the women as articulate as the men.

“Of course we should fight!” Clarissa said. She sat upright on the couch between her two companions. “What else is there to do?”