Jane Austen: Blood Persuasion (22 page)

“We shall never see you again?” Cassandra asked.

“It is probably for the best.” She held out her hand and Cassandra took it; she wished she had not, receiving a wild storm of anger and misery from her sister. “My dear, there are some manuscripts I have been working on; you must do with them as you see fit, and also the one the publisher holds to ransom. I have little enough else to give you. You and Anna may have my jewelry and my music. My worldly goods are few, I fear. And Martha—where is she?”

But as she spoke, Martha rushed into the room and flung herself into Jane’s arms. “I shall never forget you, my dearest friend!”

“Nor I you. Pray have my silk stockings; you regard them as yours, anyway, and my books.”

“What happened at the Great House last night?” Martha said. “They say there were great blue flames shooting into the sky and the villagers thought it something from the Book of Revelation.”

“They were almost right. William is gone. And so is Duval.”

“Oh, Jane!” Martha produced a handkerchief and dabbed at the tears on Jane’s cheeks.

“Where has Duval gone?” Anna said.

“He has gone to a warmer climate.”

“It is no laughing matter!” Mrs. Austen said.

“Ma’am, either I laugh or I weep. You are impervious to my tears, yet I must not laugh; what do you expect of me?” Jane stood. “But you have little enough time to dwell on the matter for I must leave. Think well of me, if you can, ma’am. I beg you to remember only happier times. Cassandra, will you kiss me good-bye?”

Cassandra gave her a quick, shamed kiss.

Anna embraced Jane. “You’re so cold, Aunt. Will I truly never see you again?”

“I fear not.” She kissed her niece’s sweet delicate cheek. “Pray give your father my love.”

Anna burst into tears and ran from the room.

“I’ll come to see you.” Martha gathered her in a fierce embrace. “I shall tell you how everyone does. Dear Jane, this need not be so final as you think.”

“It must be. I shall lose the human qualities that make me your daughter, sister, friend. Pray do not seek me out, but remember me, I beg of you. Forgive me, dearest friend.”

She cast one last, agonized glance at her mother and gently pushed Martha away. She stood for a moment in the ordinary, comfortable drawing room she would never see again: the music she had copied stood on the instrument, and the volume of Cowper from which they had read aloud only a few nights ago lay on a small table. On the sofa someone’s sewing lay in a tumbled heap, a project she would never see completed. Cassandra sat weeping, with Martha standing bewildered in the middle of the room.

Her mother looked resolutely away, her face like stone.

Jane let herself out of the front door of the cottage, pulling her hat low over her face once more, and set off for the Great House. Thus she had left the house the last time, thinking that nothing could be as painful as the revelation of her true nature to her family.

She could not reach out to Luke. She suspected he was immersed in a grief for William so deep she had no understanding of it, for to her William had been an imperfect Creator for a brief time. What comfort could she offer Luke?

The funeral pyres smoldered still in the meadow, a group of her brother Edward’s tenants standing on the driveway and speculating what those great bonfires could mean, with the blue flames that had illuminated the trees almost as bright as day. They took no notice of her as she passed.

As she approached the Great House her uneasiness intensified. What was expected of her now, and why, as William lay dying, had he negotiated clemency for her? She had so much to learn among the Damned, and although once she had been one of them and Luke’s Consort, now Luke’s status had changed; everything was different.

The front door opened as she approached. Inside, Luke waited.

He bowed. “Your niece is well, I trust?”

“Thank you, yes. She is—she is safe now.” She could not say the words
at home
or
with my family;
the wounds were still too fresh.

She stepped toward him. “How do you do, Luke?”

“Well enough, ma’am, I thank you.”

Two members of the Damned emerged from the doorway that led to the Great Hall; she recognized them as Charlotte’s followers.

“We ask that you give up your weapons,” Luke said.

For heaven’s sake; what damage could she possibly do any of them with a pair of unloaded pistols and a knife? And why was Luke so formal and distant with her? She handed over the weapons to the other two vampires.

“You must come with us,” one of them said.

“Why?” She turned to Luke. “Forgive me, but will you not tell me what is the matter? Of what am I accused?”

Luke took her hands. His touch was gentle but held a hint of steel. “Jane, you are to go on trial for the destruction of Duval.”

“What! After he killed William?”

“There were protocols that should have been observed. They were not.”

No use to argue that she had no knowledge of protocol or rules, that Luke should have warned her. He was in her mind, finally, now, speaking of love and regret and sorrow. But he said aloud to her, so the others might hear, “I must do this, Jane, however much it goes against my heart, to establish a lasting peace. There has been too much destruction and sorrow.”

“I understand, sir.”
You act as a leader, not a lover.

Precisely. I am sorry for it.

“I, too,” she said aloud and let herself be led away.

Chapter 21

“I
have to stay in here all day?” Jane said, outraged.

“Luke thought you would be comfortable here,” one of her captors said.

He fell silent as her fangs extended. She looked around the bedchamber, which was quite pretty and cheerful with its chintz curtains and matching bed hangings, and saw it as a dungeon, a prison, for she would be alone.

“What am I supposed to do here?”

The two members of the Damned looked at each other, uneasy. “We can send in a footman if you—”

“Or there’s some books,” the other one said. “And wine.”

“Thank you. I wish for nothing.” They were trying their best, after all. She was not yet far advanced enough in her metamorphosis that the idea of a footman presenting himself to her did not fill her with embarrassment. She wasn’t even sure if she hungered, for all was unfamiliar to her now; she could not distinguish appetite from her general feeling of disorder. Although she hated to admit it, she needed her Bearleader; she wanted his presence, his scent, the soothing tones of his voice, even though he was the one who had ordered her imprisonment and trial.

All of this produced a restlessness, a compulsion to move. She paced, peering out of the windows to see if the daylight faded, for she longed for soft, voluptuous darkness that would enfold her like a lover’s arms. But the sun shone with resolute cheer, slanting through the windows and setting dust motes afloat in the air.

She glanced at the door. Was it locked?

She strode across the carpeted floor and forced herself not to try the door handle, for to do so would be an admission of weakness. Besides, whether it was locked or not was immaterial; she could scent the two who had brought her to the bedchamber standing guard outside and hear a soft rumble of voices. A flirtatious female voice joined in with a giggle, a pulse beating fast with excitement and anticipation.

Her jailers were about to dine.

Jane pressed her back against the door, shoulder blades against the painted wood, and clasped her hands in front of her so she would not be tempted to fling open or break down the door. On the other side cotton slithered against skin, layers of fabric slid and bunched, buttons were eased undone. A coat landed on the floor with a thud.

The woman gave a gasp of desire and fear mixed, her scent becoming ripe and luxurious. One of the men murmured softly to her. He was pushing her hair aside, a fragrant curtain, as he sought her neck.

And the other—his boots creaked as he knelt before her to dine on that most favored and intimate location at her thigh.

Jane closed her eyes. This was obscene, terrifying—for would not she become as they? What if they opened the door and invited her to join? She doubted she would hesitate.

The small punch of fangs against skin released the delicious scent of blood made heady by arousal, and the woman cried out, the sound of someone who experienced great delight or a surprising pain. Her nails scratched on the plaster wall; she sought purchase as her legs weakened with shock and pleasure.

The one who knelt at her feet laughed and took her weight with arms and shoulder, releasing a gust of her scent, and then resumed his dining. All was pleasure and gratification, a dark brilliance of blood and completion.

Jane rushed across the room to the washstand. She grasped the ewer with unsteady hands, poured water into the bowl, and plunged her face into its cool depths. She straightened and made the mistake of viewing her reflection, or what was left of it, in the mirror that stood atop the washstand; nothing but a blurred, ragged hint of her image.

She moaned aloud with horror and need, and sank to her knees, water dripping onto her shirt, her face in her hands, and wept.

When next she looked up, the light had changed, becoming softer and dimmer, and the glow from the windows was muted. She got to her feet and removed her coat, shirt, and neckcloth, and this time washed her face with the herb-scented soap in a china dish on the washstand. She rolled the soap in her hands, watching bubbles form and burst; she could take as long as she wanted to wash her face, or to do anything else she wished, for did not eternity stretch before her?

The door clicked open as she patted her face dry. It was Luke—she knew before even she saw him—but her delight was dimmed by what the remnants of her humanity recognized as betrayal. Her next reaction, that of a respectable spinster, was that she was half naked, but she would not let him see her shame; she could not bear mockery from him. Her physical metamorphosis might well be complete, but Miss Jane Austen had not yet cast aside her human emotions.

He bowed and opened a drawer in a dresser, and another, and produced a clean shirt and neckcloth for her. “I trust you have been well looked after?”

“I asked to be left alone and your jailers obliged.”

He nodded and tossed a clean pair of drawers and a pair of stockings onto the bed. “I can send for hot water if you wish to bathe.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but what I really wish is to know what is going on and what heinous crime I have committed.”

He crossed to the table where a decanter of wine and two glasses stood. Pouring wine, he said, “You killed Duval. It was not your place to do so, nor were your weapons proper.”

“And ignorance, of course, is no protection against the law of the Damned.”

He nodded and handed her a glass of wine. “My preference would be to treat it as the indiscretion of a young fledgling, for if you had not killed Duval, certainly I, or one of my choosing, would have done so. But Charlotte thinks otherwise, and as the leader of this household I understand her wish to abide by the letter of the law. We have had misrule; now we wish for peace and order.”

“So what happens?”

He stood with his back to her, looking out of the window, and she slipped the clean shirt over her head.

“Take off your boots,” he said without turning.

“I beg your pardon?”

“They need to be polished.” He nodded toward a bootjack in the corner of the room. “There will be a trial. You need to look your best, for witnesses will attest to your character. I of course cannot oblige, for I am too close to you. I am sorry for it. I have spent the day talking to others who will testify on your behalf.”

“And if I am found guilty?”

“The knife or exile.”

She realized then the full horror of being cast out; she would have nowhere to go, no friends, no connections, no family among either the Austens or the Damned. “So I contemplate a slow descent to hell or a fast one?”

“I would do anything in the world to prevent either,” he said. “Anything, that is, but compromise the honor of this household and the possibility of peace.” He took her boots and carried them to the door. The simple act of putting boots outside for a servant to collect, polish, and return made the situation even more bizarre, like some hideous parody of everyday life.

“When will this take place?”

“Tonight. Before we dine.” He gazed out of the window again, his frame expressing unease. “You will need to keep up your strength. I fear for you, so recently created once more. We must proceed with caution.”

“Indeed. You have a nice plump servant in mind for me?” Despite her sarcastic tone, she became
en sanglant
and raised her hand to her mouth.

“Indeed no. I was suggesting nothing of the sort. In your relatively inexperienced condition, you’d probably reduce that nice plump servant to a weakened shell and still hunger for more. You need someone who can temper your hunger and help you curb your passions. If you will have me, Jane, I think it might be best.”

“Best for whom?” Her fangs shot forth once more. This time she did not bother to hide them, and when he turned back to her, she saw he was also roused. “It is most good of you, sir, to offer.”

“Good of me! I think not.” He advanced upon her, beautiful, dangerous, as desirable as she remembered. “The leader in me insists that justice be done, but I—your Bearleader, your Consort, your lover—I want you, Jane. I want you with me forever.”

She stepped back. “You may offer me eternity, but in this case it is not yours to grant.”

“Then I offer you what I can in this moment. My blood. My love.” He sank to his knees before her and, with a burst of shame, she thought of the vampire outside her bedchamber offering and taking pleasure.

He pressed the side of his face against her knee. “I know. The poor girl could barely stand after, but I do not think she had any regrets.”

“You knew?” Of course he did, just as she had known. “I trust you did not arrange that charming episode to take place outside the bedchamber door to whet my appetite?”

“And did it whet your appetite? I see it did, from the brightness of your eyes. You hunger, Jane. Do not deny yourself. Do not deny me.” He tipped his head up to gaze at her,
en sanglant
.

“I should refuse you. I do not think you have entirely forgiven me for leaving you.”

He laughed. “And you want my forgiveness? Now?”

“No. Not now.” The past came rushing back as she reached for his neckcloth and tugged it loose, revealing the perfect column of his throat, and then the present overwhelmed her memories.

“F
irst you are my dinner, then my lover, and now my valet,” Jane said.

“Pray hold your tongue. This is serious business.” Luke knotted her cravat and stepped back to admire his work. “Now turn. I must brush your coat. I wish you and I were going out to hunt the French, Jane, instead of what we must do.”

“I, too.” She sighed. “Luke, if I am found innocent, what then?”

He looked away. “You were—are—my Consort.”

“You do not sound entirely comfortable with the idea.”

“We shall talk later.”

“I suppose I should think we have all of eternity to squabble and patch up our differences,” she said.

He did not reply but straightened her waistcoat and gave her an approving nod. “We gather in the Great Hall. Let us go.”

They went downstairs and into the room, which was occupied by a great number of the Damned. Other households in the area must have heard of the duel and its outcome and come to see the spectacle, a thought that did not cheer Jane particularly. There were even some of
les Sales,
their desperation temporarily soothed by Luke’s hospitality, identifiable by their poor clothing.

The rest of the Damned were dressed for the evening, the men in coats and knee breeches, and the women in graceful gowns and flashing jewels.

“It is not merely vulgar curiosity that so many are gathered,” Luke said, probing her mind to her annoyance. “This is something of importance to all, that we get this matter settled and are able to live at peace.”

Jane held her head high and was glad for her clean linen and polished boots. She might be considered a criminal, but she would not act as one. Memories of the shameful episode concerning her Aunt Leigh-Perrott flooded her mind; the whispers and evasion, the well-meaning attempts of the Austens to pretend one of their family had never been accused of theft, stood trial, and risked transportation. Far worse prospects than Botany Bay lay ahead for Jane if things went wrong.

Luke led her to Charlotte, who stood at the great fireplace, wineglass in hand. She was dressed with great elegance in an ivory gown trimmed with ermine, a large paste comb in her dark hair.

Charlotte nodded at Jane with little interest and addressed Luke. “We should proceed.”

She tapped the wineglass she held with a heavy, bejeweled ring, and the room fell silent at the insistent high chime that resulted. Charlotte sat in a heavy chair by the fireplace, and Luke, after giving Jane an encouraging smile, took his place among the other Damned. Some stood; some sat in chairs clustered together. Jane was not offered a chair.

Charlotte spoke. Jane had never seen a woman address a room so, particularly a room where both men and women gathered, or with such assurance; she reminded herself that she, too, must be prepared to speak rationally and clearly when the time came.

“This is Jane. Though recently created, she was one of us before having taken the Cure. She stands before us accused of destroying one of our kind, Duval, with improper weapons and with no authority. The penalty will be the knife or banishment. Jane, you may speak.”

Jane took a deep breath. “I am aware that ignorance is no defense, so I shall not dwell upon my lack of knowledge of laws and customs. I was one of the Damned for only a short time when the French invaded, and I believe I acquitted myself well then. My second metamorphosis took place as William, my Creator, was killed. You may ask yourself what any of you would have done in such circumstances. I gave Duval the justice he deserved for his treachery, and I do not regret it.”

There was a short silence. Charlotte said, “Thank you. Who will speak on Jane’s behalf?”

“I shall.” Clarissa pushed her way through the crowd and dropped Charlotte a slight curtsy. “My name is Clarissa Venning. I knew Jane in Bath when she was first created one of the Damned. She fought bravely against the French and was captured but did not betray us. I regret that she left us for her mortal family. She had the promise of great powers, but she was taught little of etiquette or correct behavior in those times; you may remember how things were. We all thought most highly of her, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte sounded dispassionate, almost bored. “Is there another character witness?”

“If I may, ma’am.” Raphael came forward. He bowed to them, and Jane noticed Charlotte frown slightly. “I too have undergone a second metamorphosis following the Cure. We shared the same Creator. Had she not acted as she did, I would have taken the responsibility. Jane is—”

“You need continue no more,” Charlotte said. “I believe you work on a new cure, a most unnatural and abhorrent practice. It is also clear to me that you desire this woman, and as such your evidence is not trustworthy.”

“Very well, ma’am.” Raphael bowed deeply to Jane and made a shallow, mocking bow to Charlotte.

At the side of the room Luke became
en sanglant,
and Raphael returned his snarl.