The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing (29 page)

“How could I be so stupid?” Jane asked herself morosely. Not only had she lost the nightingale, but her husband as well. He might have to face Dracul alone!

“I should have known that a vampire bat in hand is worth some bird in a bush! What a fowl mistake,” Jane grumbled as she walked along the deserted path.

Suddenly she caught sight of a wrought iron arch among the trees, and she grinned as she recalled what it signified. “Of course! It’s the Rest in Peace Cemetery. Well, Dracul, I think I may have just found your day-time resting place, you crafty old count. Your peace will be anything but restful from now on, if I know my brother.”

Her steps considerably lighter, Jane hurried along the pathway into the cemetery. Halting abruptly, she shook her head—it was trouble ahead. Here were the proud and the profane, the glory brigade: her Van Helsing cousins.

“Curses and double curses! Foiled again!” she muttered, taking in the sight before her. Digging in the dirt about five feet away was the dirty half dozen. They were covered in grime, with their cravats askew and mud on their faces. They looked like little boys playing in the sandbox, but then her cousins had always liked having mud on their faces—and getting it on hers. And as they’d matured, their tastes hadn’t changed; playing in graves was not only a duty for them, but a joyous hobby.

Jane knew she should make her great escape, run silent, run deep before her cousins discovered her behind enemy lines at the cemetery. But the sight of all her brave-hearted cousins so focused on that one hole gave her pause. Worriedly, she wondered whose grave they were digging up. Had they too unearthed the fact that Dracul had come to Town?

She wanted to kick herself, knowing that cemeteries were one of the top three spots her cousins liked to play, even topping the gaming hells. Of course, their all-time favorite remained brothels.

Her frustrated sigh alerted Jane’s cousins to her presence. Her eldest cousin, Dwight, waved her over. Reluctantly Jane obeyed. She really disliked Dwight, with his bullying ways and bulging eyes.

“Well, well, little Ethel Jane,” he said. “What are you doing out and about? Or should I call you Countess?”

Jane eyed her cousin’s portly figure. Apparently he’d lost the battle of the bulge since she’d had seen him two years before. His waistcoat had popped two buttons, his protruding stomach a clear winner.

Dwight, as eldest of all the cousins, had lorded over them mercilessly in the nursery days, and he still did now. But since Jane was a female, he was more ruthless to her. As a child, he had put spiders in her bed and caused her to go into fits. Frogs had gone into the fake coffins where she was to stake vampire mummy dummies. She had given those to Clair’s uncle for experiments.

“Well, well, it’s just one big happy family,” Jane retorted. She knew she needed to keep on her toes. Dwight wasn’t the quickest guy around, but her third eldest cousin, George, was. She couldn’t let any of them know why she was out lurking in the cemetery. She couldn’t let them realize that Asher was a vampire, either. Dwight, the toadeater that he was, would take great delight in staking a noble.

“Of course,” George spoke up. “Jane, what are you doing out here alone?”

“I was bird-watching. Following the song of a nightingale,” she answered primly.

Dwight grabbed her arm and yanked her to him, while the youngest and smallest, Jemeny, chortled. His nickname was Cricket, due to his large bug eyes and his habit of popping his joints. If Jane could wish upon a star, she would wish herself well away from here—far, far away.

“Try again,” George ordered coldly, moving to Jane’s right while Dwight held her fast. George was bright, and loyal to the Van Helsing name, but had little compassion for the weak. He would die for her, if asked, but he could also be ruthless. Most times Jane admired George’s intensity. Tonight was not one of those times.

“I find it highly suspicious that a new bride would be out in a cemetery at night. Where is your husband, the earl? Why aren’t you with him?” George questioned.

Dwight laughed. “If I were married to Jane, I’d be out and about too.”

Jane, George and Jemeny all glared indignantly at him.

“Well, I would,” Dwight said. “Besides, you didn’t answer the question. Are you hunting? Is there a vampire you’re seeking? Perhaps the one we think is taking the prostitutes? The one who no doubt made Lady Veronique one of his own?”

“Why are you so sure it’s vampires?” she asked.

“Who else? Some Nosferatu nest must have moved into London,” Dwight answered. “But we Van Helsings will show them what’s what.” He finished, squeezing Jane’s arm tighter, pinching her flesh in his strong grip.

Jane jerked her arm back with all her strength, dislodging Dwight’s grip, but she tumbled back into the opened grave with a muffled shriek. With a loud bump, she landed on the coffin inside. Luckily for her tailbone, there was a thick pad of dirt.

Feeling the casket underneath her, Jane began to panic. What if her uninvited visit had alerted or awakened a vampire within?

“Get me out of here now!” she cried.

Throwing her arms upward toward the yawning opening above, she leapt; listening to her cousins’ guffaws. Once again, she had provided her barbaric cousins amusement at her expense. Just once she wished she could see pride in their eyes instead of derision.

Hopping up and down, she managed to see four of her cousins. They were lying on the ground, rolling about with tears of mirth streaking down their faces. George, the least dirty of the half dozen, was still on his feet. He stood near Douglas, the second youngest, who was braying like a jackass.

“Don’t look now, Ethel Jane, but you fell into a grave,” Douglas mocked.

“Wonder what will pop up this time?” Steven Ray added.

Jane was beginning to feel like a bouncing ball. “Please, please, give me a hand and get me out of here.”

“Tell us the truth and we will,” George advised, his laughter fading as he bent over the grave. Soon Douglas joined his brother. To Jane, they were silhouettes in black against the soft glow of the moon. “You see, Jane, we’ve heard a rumor that something wicked this way is coming. Something big with big, white fangs. Have you heard anything to that effect?”

“I am a new bride. The only big thing I’ve heard about is Orville. Asher let him come live with us.”

Douglas shook his head. “Jane, Jane, your nose grows when you tell a lie.”

“It’s really long right now,” Jemeny added, his face a dark blob at the top of the grave.

“Quit pulling my strings. I’m not lying. I know nothing of any rumors,” Jane managed, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I’m your cousin, a blood relation. Get me out of here. It wouldn’t do the Van Helsing name any honor if I were found frozen to death in this grave. Or worse.” Worse being, having her throat torn out. The thought made her queasy, and she leaned against the cold dirt wall of the hole.

“It’s not that cold,” George argued pragmatically.

“Well, it wouldn’t do my reputation any good if I was found not frozen in the graveyard, either. I don’t think my husband, the earl, would countenance all the gossip that would ensue.”

Dwight seemed to consider. He wouldn’t relish the Earl of Wolverton being angry with him.

“Come on, Dwight, George, help me up,” Jane begged. She wiped her dirty hands on her gown. Realizing that she had once again ruined dress, she muttered, “Humbug!” At this rate, she would be naked by January.

Frowning, she tried and failed to tuck her hair back into its elegant French twist. Her dress was ruined, her hair was a mess, she was stuck in a grave, her cousins brayed like jackasses—this was not the way to spend a happy night. This was certainly not one of her finer moments.

“We probably should let her out,” Jemeny advised.

“Yes, you should,” Jane agreed. She had always liked Jemeny. He had a sweet disposition, except when he was playing a prank.

Encouraged, Jane continued, “Uncle Jakob might wonder why his gentlemen sons were less than gallant to their female cousin, even to the point of endangering her. And my husband might call one or two of you out to a duel.” He probably really wouldn’t, since he could care less about her. However, her barbaric cousins didn’t know that, Jane decided ruefully.

“When Jane is right—which isn’t often—she is right,” George conceded.

Jane sighed. Her calves were beginning to cramp from jumping up and down and she had hurt her leg slightly when she fell. She let out a shout. “All right, my fine fellows, I’m warning you that I’ve had enough. I don’t intend to spend the night in the cemetery with whatever or whoever is or was in this grave. By the way, whose grave is it?” Hopefully it was someone of a cheerful disposition, if they were undead—a good-natured vampire or ghost who wouldn’t be upset about her stepping on his home or her cousins’ invasion of it.

“The casket you’re standing on belongs to a vampire fledgling. A babe in the tomb, so to speak. A prostitute—one of those prostitutes,” George informed her. “We were going to stake her, but nobody was at home.”

“We were covering the grave back up when you dropped in,” Jemeny stated.

Jane exclaimed, “That’s right. They found one of the prostitutes with holes in her neck.”

Dwight leaned over the grave, smiling smugly. “My connections are superior to yours. They found one prostitute with holes in her neck, drained, and one dismembered. Definitely the work of vampires.”

“Yuck,” Jane said, her face paling. “Get me out of here now.” It had to be Dracul who was doing these heinous deeds. And they had to stop him.

Reaching down, Jemeny gave Jane a hand up. They had apparently teased her enough.

She smiled brilliantly at her bug-eyed cousin. “Thanks.” She turned in a circle, glaring at the rest of her rambunctious relatives. “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” she chided.

“Do you think?” George asked.

Jane shook her head. “Oh, never mind. I need to be getting myself home.”

“Do you need an escort?” George asked.

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine,” she replied. And she turned and headed toward the cemetery gates, as dignified and ladylike as she could be with her gown torn and her hair hanging in tangled wisps around her face.

Glancing up at the star-studded night, Jane made a wish. “I wish my cousins would all turn into frogs.” The thought made her smile. Then, glancing back up at the heavens, she added silently, I wish my husband would love me, and that Dracul would die with a horrified frown on his fanged face.

Now, if only her dreams could come true.

“Curses!
Foiled again!” Some wonderful subterfuge I planned, Jane thought sardonically as she eyed the overdone interior of the bedroom where she’d been forcibly placed. “A brothel by any other name would sell ass, teats.”

She had wondered at Asher’s interest in bird-watching when she’d heard him and Renfield discussing this club. She had been so excited to think that they shared a love of feathered friends; they would have something in common to discuss over the upcoming years. But…

“Humbug! Bird-watching, my aunt Fanny,” she groused. “What a silly goose I am.”

Because of her husband’s comment, Jane had come unescorted and in disguise to scout out this so-called bird club. And when Madame Saunders and her husband, the henpecked colonel, had asked if she was experienced, Jane had answered briskly, “Of course.” After all, nobody knew birds better than she. However, it wasn’t avian experience Madame Saunders was interested in. More like, experience in all kinds of cocks—large, small, fighting cocks or placid cocks, a veritable birdhouse full of cocks.

Yes, unfortunately Jane’s assumptions had been quite wrong. The Birds of Paradise Club was a brothel that catered to gentlemen with an appalling lack of taste, she thought critically, surveying the scarlet and gold furnishings of the bedchamber she was in. A huge birdcage, empty for the moment, hung from the ceiling. It had bright scarlet cushions and was large enough to accommodate Orville.

“Yes, definitely no sense of class,” Jane mumbled to herself. And these would be gentlemen, if they could be called that at all, who had strange taste in bedfellows. As Jane was unceremoniously dragged into the room, she’d caught a glimpse of a few of the soiled doves, who were probably in this line of work because they didn’t have a feather to fly with. Although… one tart was actually dressed as a dove, and the others wore various skimpy costumes that resembled birds, plumage included.

Jane had spied a Madagascar cock, a form of lovebird, dressed up in white, green and yellow feathers. To the right of her, Jane had seen a robin redbreast—and what breasts she displayed in her tight red costume! Jane next swallowed a gasp upon glimpsing a darkwing duck whose few feathers barely covered her chest and the area just below. The plucky duck’s jaunty little costume also revealed long white legs, showcased by the thigh-high cut in her gown, and two gentlemen followed her like it was hunting season.

Pouring herself a glass of wine, Jane scrunched up her brow. Due to her concern for Asher, Dracul and her brother, she now found herself stuck in a house of dodos, with herself possibly being the biggest birdbrain of all.

She shook her head and glanced around her, commenting, “Madame Saunders’s decorator must have kicked the bucket. How can she use bright purple pillows with a red-and-gold wall and bedspread?”

Taking a rather large sip of wine, Jane grimaced. The ruby-colored drink had a strange sweet taste. Actually, it was too sweet even for her, who had a sweet tooth. But since Jane was thirsty, she drank more and pondered her regrettable situation.

She knew exactly what the major would say of her mistake, and it wouldn’t be complimentary; he’d be off and running, calling her bird-witted. And this time, he would be absolutely right. She should have realized what this club really was when Madame Saunders smiled that lecherous smile, looking her over from top to bottom. She should have noticed the woman’s feathered bonnet and gray down slippers. But no, Jane berated herself, she had continued blindly on when the madam asked her if she was interested in work.