‘You have no conscience,’ said Darcy with a snarl, leaping forward and baring his fangs.
Memories cascaded through her mind: of her time in the library when the room was changing, and the door was opening and there was Darcy—surprised, at first, then angry, and then terrible.
Now she knew why she had fainted: because when he had let out a snarl, she had seen him for what he was. She had discovered his terrible secret and the shock of it had been too much for her. But it was not too much for her now.
She ran to the side of the clearing and stood, out of the way, amongst the trees as Darcy lunged forward. A wind blew up from nowhere and he had to struggle to move, but he fought it steadily and moved inexorably forwards, towards the ancient vampyre. Then the wind intensified and he could no longer force his way against it; it was all he could do to stand. There was a moment of stillness when he could not go forward and the wind could not push him back, then he began to move forward again. But the wind suddenly gusted, whipping him from his feet and flinging him back across the clearing until he crashed into a tree. It cracked and splintered with a tearing sound and he slid down the trunk, dazed. The vampyre leapt towards him, carried aloft by the terrible wind, and, seizing him by his coat, picked him up in one hand whilst reaching for his throat with the other.
‘No!’ cried Elizabeth, as the vampyre’s hand found purchase… and then suddenly the ancient vampyre screamed, a hideous sound, and he dropped Darcy to the ground as his hand began to burn. Clouds of black smoke billowed upwards and spiralled into the heaving sky.
‘Aaargh!’ he screamed in horror, folding in on himself, his hand still pouring forth clouds of smoke.
Elizabeth ran to Darcy, who was picking himself up rapidly from the forest floor, and hand in hand they ran to his horse, which stood rolling its eyes in fear. He lifted her into the saddle and mounted behind her, untangling the reins from the branch of the tree and giving the beast its head.
It needed no urging. The hate and horror filling the clearing was driving every living thing away. Birds rose from the trees, screeching and screaming as they darted off in hectic flight; animals scuttled from their burrows; worms left their holes in the earth. The ground was alive with living things swarming out of the clearing.
The horse ran, jumping streams and ditches, weaving between trees, lacing in and out of hollows. On it went, until the trees fell behind and the lanes were ahead; then on through fields and olive groves, on to the sea and along the coast; on until it came to a valley that nestled between green hills, with the sea on one side and the countryside on the other. And there, nestled in a hollow, was a small, square house, and for this, Darcy made.
They approached it via a quiet country lane and went in through wrought iron gates which swung open to Darcy’s touch.
‘A hunting lodge,’ said Elizabeth, as the horse slowed to a trot and they rode up the drive. ‘Is it yours?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
Elizabeth let out a sigh and leaned back against him as the fear rushed out of her.
They came to a halt in front of the lodge. Darcy dismounted and lifted Elizabeth out of the saddle, and she slid gratefully to the ground. Neither of them spoke of the revelation; it was as yet too terrible to be discussed. Beside her, the horse trembled. It had carried them for many miles and it was covered in sweat.
‘I will have to take care of the horse,’ said Darcy, ‘I have no grooms here who are capable of seeing to his needs.’
Elizabeth nodded in understanding.
‘Go in,’ he said, then added, with a smile, ‘There is someone inside you will be pleased to see.’
Elizabeth climbed the steps and went through the heavy front door. As she entered the hall, a woman was running down the stairs and to her delight she saw that it was her maid.
‘Annie!’ she exclaimed.
‘Oh, Ma’am, you’re safe!’ said Annie.
‘And you!’ said Elizabeth. ‘I have been so worried about you. When I found the letters I feared the worst.’
‘And I you… but you look fit to drop. Here is the sitting room,’ she said, going over to the door and opening it, ‘I will bring you some tea. I never thought to find any in Italy, but the master has it specially brought here. It was his valet who told me.’
Elizabeth went into the small but cheerful sitting room. There was little furniture, only a threadbare sofa and a few battered but comfortable-looking chairs. She did not sit down, having spent a great deal of time in the saddle, but stood by the window, letting her eyes wander as her mind tried to make sense of all it had learnt.
Annie returned with the tea.
‘It doesn’t taste as good as at home, but it’s hot and will put new strength into you,’ she said.
Elizabeth took it gratefully. After two cups she felt sufficiently refreshed to ask, ‘What happened to you, Annie?’
Annie needed no second bidding.
‘It was when you gave me the letter to post, just after you had fainted, that’s when it all began,’ Annie said. ‘I took it downstairs and gave it to one of our footmen and he said that he would see it was posted, but I happened to turn back a minute later, meaning to ask him when it would go to the post, and I saw him tucking it into his coat. I was about to say, “What do you think you are doing?” when I stopped short. He was looking round him all furtive like and I thought to myself, there’s something going on. I shrank back so he wouldn’t see me, then I followed him to see what he’d do with it so as I could get it back. He went to his room with it and a minute later he came out again. Well, it wasn’t difficult to see he must have hidden it there, so I waited until he’d gone and then I went into his room and looked through his cupboards until I found it. I’ll never forget seeing it lying there, because it wasn’t on its own; it was on top of a pile of your other letters, all tied up in a neat bundle.’
‘Was it the footman we hired in Paris, when our own footman was taken ill?’ said Elizabeth.
‘That was him. One of our own men would never have done such a thing. Well, I put the letters in my apron pocket and came to find you to tell you all about it, but then I saw you were with the Prince I hesitated. I didn’t trust the Prince, Ma’am. There were rumours about him in the servants’ hall. They said he’d inherited the villa from a cousin of his, but the cousin had died suddenly. One minute he was hale and hearty and the next he was dead. It was given out he’d met with an accident, but no one saw the body and no one saw the accident either, and they should have done, for there were villagers on the road at the time. Then the Prince showed up and claimed everything. There was talk he’d murdered his cousin for the inheritance, poisoning him most likely, and hiding the body. They said in the servants’ hall that the Prince had a friend who was much, much worse, and it was probably him who was behind it all. I paid them no notice to begin with, I thought it was just idle chatter, but once I found your letters I got to thinking. The footman wouldn’t have taken them on his own; why would he? So someone must have paid him to do it, and the only person who might do such a thing that I could see was the Prince.’
‘So you made an excuse about the handkerchiefs to make sure I would look in the valise,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Yes, Ma’am. It was the best I could think of at the time. I went back to your room and put them in your valise, but as I closed it I heard footsteps coming along the corridor. I don’t mind telling you, it was a nasty moment when they stopped outside the door, and when the door handle turned I took fright and so I slipped through the interconnecting door into Mr Darcy’s room. It’s a good thing I did. I heard the footman go into the room with the coachman and from what they said I knew they were looking for me. They didn’t want me to help you.