Swinburne said, “What should we do, monsieur?”
Levi addressed Arundell. “Your family, they are in the chapel, oui? Standing vigil over Mademoiselle Isabel?”
“Yes.”
“Just before dark come, you must remove them.”
“That won’t be difficult. They’ll need to eat and sleep.” Arundell raised his hands to his head and dug his fingers into his hair. “But, Mother of God, no! I know the deviltry you intend, sir, and I’ll not have my daughter’s body so violated without absolute proof that she’s become the thing you claim!”
Burton interjected, “Despite everything I’ve seen, I agree. You’ll not lay a finger on her, Levi, not unless she—” He swayed and grabbed at the mantelpiece for support. “Not unless she rises before my eyes.”
Levi considered the bowl of his pipe. “Then we must witness more horreur, que Dieu nous protège!” He addressed Arundell. “In my room, monsieur, there is a tall floor mirror. You have many such in the house?”
“One in every bedroom.”
“C’est fortuit. Will you have them all put in the chapel? C’est nécessaire.”
“Very well.”
Arundell’s haunted eyes fixed upon the objects beside the occultist’s chair: the second stake, the mallet, and the axe.
He poured himself another brandy.
At six o’clock, Arundell went to the chapel to relieve his family of their vigil, telling them he would sit through the night with his daughter.
His wife, Blanche, Smythe Piggott, the cousins Rudolph and Jack, and Uncle Renfric joined Burton, Swinburne, Monckton Milnes, and Levi in the dining room. The Birds and Beetons joined them, having spent much of the day since breakfast sitting with Sadhvi Raghavendra, helping to write letters, taking down the decorations, and arranging flowers all over the house.
The meal was a perfunctory affair. Halfway through it, Mrs. Arundell made tearful apologies and retired to her room, and afterwards the family members were quick to disperse, all exhausted by their grief.
Blanche hung back, clinging to Burton’s arm. “Richard—that this should happen at such a time. I am so sorry.”
“We’ve both suffered a dreadful loss,” he replied. “I wish I could somehow comfort you, Blanche, but it’s all I can do to keep myself standing. I don’t know what words I can offer.”
“I have my faith and my Bible. At times like this, religion proves its worth. I would be comforted if you would finally realise the value of it, too.”
His eyes met hers and she flinched at the smouldering anger in them. He said, “I’m afraid, if anything, I’m being pushed rather in the opposite direction.”
A tear rolled down Blanche’s cheek. She took his hand, squeezed it, and left the room.
Burton turned to his companions. “Let’s get this over and done with.”
They waited for Levi to retrieve the tools then followed Burton out into the hallway and along a number of passages to All Saints Chapel, which was incorporated into the west wing of New Wardour Castle, being undetectable from the outside. Semicircular at both ends, almost a hundred feet long, forty wide, and forty high, it was remarkably sumptuous, painted white with gold fittings and decorated with many paintings and vestments.
Leading the group along the aisle between the pews, Burton approached the chancel. He saw Henry Arundell sitting beside an open coffin, which was on a catafalque in front of the altar. The explorer mounted two steps and looked down into the casket.
The chapel fell away, as if rapidly sinking into a dark chasm. He felt hands grabbing him beneath the arms; heard Monckton Milnes’s distant cry of, “Richard!”
There was deep shadow, a confusion of memories and sensations. He smelled the spice-laden air of Zanzibar; listened to parakeets bizarrely cursing him in English; saw his reflection in the facets of a black gemstone; tasted blood.
Nurse! By God! Don’t lose him!
Stand aside, sir. Move! At once!
Is it another attack? His heart?
Will you please get out of my way? How am I supposed to do my job with you breathing down my neck?
He opened his eyes, looked up at Swinburne, and said, “It’s all right. Just a momentary dizziness. Not my heart.”
“No one thought it was,” the poet answered.
“I heard them say so.”
“No. You must have imagined it. The shock hit you hard—you fainted.”
Burton sat up and looked at Henry Arundell. “Why, sir? Why is she in her wedding dress?”
“It’s what she would have wanted, Richard. In the eight years since she met you, she desired only to be your wife. She talked about it incessantly. We thought it appropriate that she be interred in the dress.”
With help from Swinburne and Levi, Burton got to his feet and looked into the coffin again. Isabel lay motionless, white, with silver coins covering her eyes and her hands crossed over her chest. A rosary was wound about her fingers.
He said to Levi, “For pity’s sake, monsieur, we can’t do it. She’s at peace.”
“Pardieu! I wish it to be true!” the occultist replied. He pulled a hand mirror and clove of garlic from his pocket. “We test, oui?”
Reluctantly, Burton nodded.
“Wait!” Arundell snapped. “What are you doing?”
“Sir,” Burton said, “please allow Monsieur Levi to proceed. There will be no defilement at his hands—you know I would not allow it.”
Arundell frowned but conceded.
Levi broke the clove and placed it on Isabel’s upper lip. He waited for two minutes, then removed the coins from her eyes, pulled up the left lid, and held the mirror before it.
Silence.
The men stood motionless, holding their breath.
Burton looked at Levi and opened his mouth to speak.
Isabel cried out. Her arms flew up, knocked the mirror away then flopped back down. She moaned and became still.
Henry Arundell let loose a despairing wail and fell backward against the side of the chancel. He slid to the floor, cradled his head in his arms, and wept.
Burton felt the heat drain from his body. “It happens to all corpses,” he whispered. “The muscles contract. Air escapes. They spasm and emit noises. I’ve seen it many times.”
Swinburne rounded on him and took a hold of his arms. “Richard, you know it’s not the case. And you know what must be done. But you don’t have to be here; you don’t have to witness it. Go. I’ll help Monsieur Levi.”
“Help him what?” Arundell shouted. “Drive a stake into my daughter’s heart? No! No! No!”
Levi held out his hands placatingly. “Je comprends. But if we delay, the horreur you feel now, it is nothing to what will come.”
Arundell angrily wiped the tears from his cheeks. “You’re leading me down the path to hell, sir.”
“I seek only salvation for your daughter.”
“I forbid you to touch her!”
Levi’s shoulders slumped. “Then we have not the choice. We wait. You have the floor mirrors?”
Arundell pointed toward the pulpit. The mirrors were stacked against it.
“Messieurs,” Levi said to Swinburne and Monckton Milnes, “will you assist? They must be put in a circle around the coffin, facing it.” He asked Arundell, “You will allow this?”
The slightest of nods gave him permission and in short order the task was completed. The occultist then walked the length of the nave and turned the key in the chapel’s entrance door.
There were crucifixes of various sizes mounted on stands around the chamber. As Levi returned to his companions, he selected five of them—each about a foot high—then distributed them among the men, keeping one for himself.
“Si vous avez raison,” he said to Burton and Arundell, “if you are correct, I am very happy. But—je regrette—you will soon see the wickedness of the nosferatu. Close to midnight, Isabel will rise. These crucifixes will remind her of her faith. She see herself in the mirrors. She recognise that she is strigoi morti. This, I hope, is sufficient to overcome her hunger. She seek the oblivion of the grave. We help her achieve it.”