The Delicate Dependency: A Novel of the Vampire Life (20 page)

After I had fulfilled that request she went with me to my laboratory. It was there I discovered what I could well have guessed. Lady Dunaway’s unnurtured thirst for knowledge fully matched her determination. Those few women who had visited my laboratory in the past—-other than Ursula, of course—had always recoiled with feminine delicacy from the experimental vermin, and the surgical horror. Lady Dunaway greeted the array of tinctures and glass as a marvelous world of mystery. She lacked information, her schooling in chemistry no doubt having been restricted to the mixing of watercolors at most. She made up for her lack of facts with an insatiable fascination. She fired a battery of questions at me, and hungrily absorbed my every word. How easy it must have been for Niccolo to pull her in as he had pulled me in. I wondered if there was some meaning in our mutual hunger for knowledge; if it was more than just the idiots savants who had entangled us with the vampire.

Much to my interest, after I finished showing her my most prized endeavor; the rabbit in the glass cupola, her expression became grave. She turned to me sternly. “Dr. Gladstone, I don’t think you realize the potential effect your discovery may have upon the world.”

“I guess I haven’t had time to realize it with the events of the past several weeks.”

“Well, you should realize it. I can well imagine, a virus that will always prove deadly must be an astounding scientific discovery, but it is also infinitely terrifying. Have you fully considered what you have in your keeping?”

“You are right, but I don’t have the time now.”

“You don’t have the time to do anything, but you certainly can consider what precautions you must take for dealing with this discovery in the future.”

I looked at her inquiringly.

Her mind seemed to be racing. “For example, when you reveal it to your colleagues and to the scientific world, what use will they see in your work?” From the tremor of her expression a sudden realization apparently hit her and she looked at me beckoningly. “You seem to me a good man, but I have known men like Lucien. Might they not see your virus as a weapon? Don’t you see? There are so many conflicts, so many wars. Surely our military will see how advantageous it would be to release such a virus in the homeland of a political enemy.”

“That would be foolhardy. There is no guarantee that the virus would remain within political borders.”

“Exactly!” she said excitedly. “But don’t you see? More foolhardy atrocities than that have been committed in the past.” A hint of experience moved through her eyes. “And many more are to come. If England were attacked by the Prussians, or the Germans, with absolutely no hope of victory, do you think some proper and stiff-upper-lipped British general would think twice about releasing that virus on the world before he would allow the black-booted soldiers to rape his wife and his daughter?”

“I wouldn’t dream of allowing my discovery to be put to such purposes.”

“What if it weren’t your choice? What if Her Majesty demanded it? Would you deny her?”

“I don’t know.”

“And after you’ve revealed the possibility of creating a virus that completely lacks antigenicity, how long will it be until others duplicate your discovery?”

“Really, Lady Dunaway, it’s impossible to say. Why are you so concerned?”

Again her face fell sadly. “Because I know the world, and I think you do too.”

“What would you suggest I do with
Camillus influenzae
while we are gone?”

Her lips moved hesitantly. “Destroy it. Never breathe a word of it to anyone again.”

It was the first time I had been disappointed in Lady Dunaway. I was moved by her words. I sensed in her a sincere concern, but it went against my every grain even to ponder destroying what I had worked so hard for.

“I could never do that,” I said.

The tension in her brow eased as she gazed at me sadly. “No, you are too much the scientist, the searcher, aren’t you? You would light a candle to explore a darkened room, never considering that the room might be filled with bales of cotton soaked in kerosene.” She looked at the most recently infected rabbit resting peacefully in the glass enclosure. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t preach to you so much. Who is going to take care of injecting the rabbits while you are gone?”

It was a question that had caused me great concern.
Camillus influenzae
could only exist
in vitro
, or in a culture dish for a few days, and then only under the most exacting conditions. To perpetuate the virus it was necessary to keep injecting new rabbits. Modesty aside, if there was one thing I knew, it was the potential scientific magnitude of my discovery. Outside of my family there was nothing more important to me than my research. I am sorry to say, but in my innermost thoughts I realized trusting
Camillus influenzae
to one of my colleagues—in the publish-or-perish world of academia—was like entrusting steak tartare to a jackal. What would I do with the virus?

There was a sound at the door of the laboratory and we both turned to see Ursula coming in.

“Your trunks—” she began, but then quieted when she saw Lady Dunaway for the first time.

“This is my older daughter, Ursula,” I introduced, motioning toward the door. “Lady Dunaway,” I said, nodding at my incongruous friend.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Lady Dunaway said politely.

To my surprise Ursula curtsied. “May I ask what this is all about?”

“Lady Dunaway has also had an encounter with the vampire,” I explained.

Her eyes widened as she once again examined Lady Dunaway. “Where?”

“In Cornwall,” Lady Dunaway broke in.

“Do you know where they are, where they live?”

“No, but-”

“When did you last see them?”

Lady Dunaway coughed, a little ruffled. “Please, dear, calm down and I will tell you.” She proceeded to explain the entire story. When she had finished, something disturbing penetrated Ursula’s breathless fascination.

Lady Dunaway’s face became a little reserved. I fancied she understood Ursula’s change in mood all too well.

“So you knew Niccolo?” said Ursula.

“Yes. I might guess you knew him also, didn’t you, dear?”

“You guess correctly.”

“Yes,” Lady Dunaway continued. “Such a captivating young man. One cannot blame you for falling under his spell. Everyone does.”

“Where are you going?” Ursula said, glancing one last time at Lady Dunaway before she once again turned toward me.

I told her about the stone hand and the postmark from Paris.

“So you’re going there! Father, you must let me come. Please, you don’t know how much it would mean to me.” A thought shot through her expression. “Who’s going to look after your work?” She looked at the cupola and then back at me.

How could I ask her? After everything that had happened, how could I expect her to take care of the injections? It was difficult, but I had to. Ursula was the only one with both the skill and the integrity to tend to the laboratory. I could trust no one else.

“I’m looking for Camille, not Niccolo,” I said.

“But you must let me go with you. I might be able to help.”

I looked at her imploringly. “You wall be able to help me more if you stay here, Ursula. I’m sorry to ask you this. I wouldn’t if it weren’t so absolutely necessary.”

Ursula tilted her head back and her nostrils flared as if she were about to stamp with fury. Her dark eyes met mine, first filled with anger and then, much to my surprise, she seemed to find something in my gaze that warmed her. She was still raging with disappointment, but she relented. Her shoulders slumped a little. All the blood rushed from her face, making her complexion chalky against her deep red hair.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow, early evening,” I replied sadly.

“Do you know how long you will be gone?”

“A week or two, I suspect.”

“You mustn’t be too upset, dear,” Lady Dunaway soothed. “You will be helping more than you might imagine.”

“I know,” Ursula sighed as she looked at me. Her voice was mechanical.

That evening I telegraphed Paris and made reservations for us at the Hotel Madeleine on the Île Saint-Louis. I finished packing my toiletries and tried to do as much work in the laboratory as possible before I left. The next day I finished the necessary preparations for my departure at Redgewood. It was much to my displeasure that as I was leaving I collided head-on with Cletus.

“Hello, John,” he grunted cynically. He was sitting on a bench beneath one of two stone lions flanking the front entrance of Redgewood. He clutched a periodical in his hands. Majestic plane trees lined the length of the walk and the summer sun shone down warmly “Taking a break?” I retorted.

“Just thinking,” he returned. “I hear you are going to Paris. For a holiday?”

“Yes, to get away from it all.”

“The London police are still without any leads?”

“None.”

“Ursula’s quite disturbed you’re not allowing her to go with you?”

“How do you know that?” I asked quickly.

“I saw her this morning. She came over to my office here at Redgewood.” He calmly lit a cigarette as he watched my reaction out of the corner of his eye.

“Now, listen, Cletus, I don’t like you having anything to do with my daughter. You know that. What’s your interest in her, anyway? Why, after all that has happened between us, do you still insist on being interested in me and my life?”

“Oh, John,” he snorted, “you don’t have to worry. I’m too old to be any threat to Ursula.”

“Then why?”

He snorted again. “I’m simply counseling her a little. She’s considering going into medicine. In fact, she says that’s why you won’t let her accompany you on this little holiday. She says you’re having her take care of some very important ‘in process’ experiments you’re conducting at home. Are you onto something, John?”

“Nothing,” I stated simply and he gazed at me with his usual suspicion. “What about you?”

After all those years of secrecy I finally realized Cletus was involved in no grand projects. He never published. He only pretended. His enigmatic research remained enigmatic. His reputation for scholarship was based on intimidation. He was a hollow man.

“Oh, nothing... nothing. I mean, at least, nothing in the scientific realm.”

I regarded him blankly, refusing to grab at his bait.

“I have discovered something I think bears a little thought. I know you think I’m batty connecting Mr. Cavalanti with Chiswick’s death, but in light of this kidnapping and all, it’s just set me to thinking.”

“About what?” I asked before I could stop myself. Why should I care what Dr. Cletus Hardwicke had to say?

“About Chiswick’s paranoia. I’m still certain that somehow it’s all involved.” He puffed slowly on his cigarette. “In any case, I’ve been asking around, writing letters to colleagues at different universities and such. I’ve discovered a few things.”

“Like what?” I said, becoming slightly more interested.

“Well, a friend of mine at University College in Liverpool says that about seven years ago exactly the same thing happened to a physician engaged in research there. He announced to the trustees of the college that he had made a discovery that would ‘make history,’ no less. Then, instead of carrying through with his announcement, he began having the most terrible rows with his wife.”

“Is that so uncommon?”

“It was in his case. According to my friend they had a model marriage, at least until the physician
changed
.”

“
Changed?
”

“Became obsessively paranoid. He locked the poor woman out of the house and suddenly insisted upon keeping his papers in a safe-deposit box. The trustees prodded him for his discovery. He snapped and destroyed all of his research and equipment and went over the deep end.”

“Committed suicide?”

“No, committed to an asylum outside of Liverpool.”

I refused to allow myself to be convinced. “And this happened seven years ago?”

He nodded.

“Cletus... every single day there must be some physician somewhere going crazy. What’s to connect your friend in Liverpool with Chiswick besides your imagination?”

“A feeling in my bones. Besides, that isn’t all.” He opened up the periodical he had been holding and held it so that I could just barely make out the print. “A friend of mine at Oxford says that recently an engineer there named M. W. Radner published an article here in the
Aerology Quarterly
alleging that he had made a major breakthrough in dirigible design. He says that his proposed dirigible would be faster, more maneuverable, and could carry more weight than any airship hitherto conceived. I don’t pretend to understand the mathematical hodgepodge he spews forth in this article, but engineers who are in a position to judge say that he let out just enough to be impressive. My friend at Oxford says that Radner’s dirigible could change the world.”

I tilted my head so as better to see the article Cletus held in his hand.

“Radner announced that he was going to reveal his plan at an aerology convention just last month. Unfortunately, Radner’s no longer speaking to anyone. He remains locked up in his office at Oxford and has purchased a chimpanzee to taste all of his food before he eats it to make sure it isn’t poisoned. Tch, tch,” Cletus clucked. “I guess a chimpanzee’s metabolism is closer to a human’s than a dog or cat.”

“So perhaps he has professional enemies. Or perhaps he stole the idea from someone else, and now he’s afraid of retribution.”

“Perhaps,” Cletus said, glancing down at the article and pretending to contemplate it “You still haven’t convinced me,” I ended. “All I know is if there’s one person in this world I don’t trust, it’s you, Cletus.”

The little man looked taken aback.

“And I’ll thank you to leave the counseling of my daughter to me from now on.”

“Our teas will have to be social, I guess,” he sneered.

My temper rose, but I restrained myself. “As a gentleman I must ask you to stay away from my daughter.”

For the first time he lost his smirk and regarded me with acerbity. “Or else?”

“Or else I will forsake my honor and expose you to the world for what you are.”