The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (34 page)

I was truly stung by his comment, but he was, in part, correct. I had, by my own admission, been carried clean away with all manner of material gains and delights. Marianne being one distraction I found
so
hard to ignore.

I made a commitment. Later in the evening when my guests had taken their leave I would sit down with Roderick and discuss the matter in hand - his troublesome feelings. In the meantime, we would eat, drink and be merry.

It was a fine meal indeed; Cook did us proud and her apple pie- a masterpiece. But I was itching to talk with Roderick and fought the urge to dismiss my guests early, a social mishap in these circles. They lingered after dinner drinks, cigars, talk of politics, the grand opening of the new Royal Court theatre. It was of no surprise that inevitably talk turned to Jack.

“Detective Inspector Reed has his hands full with this investigation and I read in The Times this morning that a new fellow, Donald Swanson, is heading up the investigation. If Scotland Yard fails to solve this case, no one can,” said Cyril, with a look of disdain, never one to give praise to Scotland Yard.

“I’m positive he will be caught, he’s bound to slip up at one point. I hear they’re going house to house questioning residents in the area and there’s even talk of a vigilante group going around the streets at night.” The Captain was clearly in a different frame of mind, although he did possess very moral views that would slip out with alarming regularity. “Of course, we could argue that the streets are better off without women of
that
nature.”

“I wholeheartedly agree, after all they are a disservice. Women of ill repute bring extra crime to the streets of London.” Mr. Fitzgerald surprised me, as a devout Christian and a missionary, I wrongly assumed he had compassion to those less fortunate than himself.

The discussion continued, as I preferred to stay in the background and remain the gracious host not wanting to offend. But I breathed a sigh of relief when the last carriage appeared outside. With the house now empty, and the staff downstairs, I could get on with planning my agenda. I was, regardless of risk, prepared to take myself into the dark poverty stricken hole that had become Jack’s hunting ground.

There was always a possibility that I would come to harm. I had been, many times. Too many to mention. So far I have rejuvenated, often instantly or within minutes and long may it stay that way.

On the other hand if I was to be so unfortunate as to be cut wide open, there would be no telling if I survived. The last time my innards were attacked was right here in fourteenth century England. Far from pleasant and, a lucky escape. I preferred not to dwell on the experience; counting myself most fortunate not to have met such a grisly end.

The moment we were alone, Roderick thrust another invoice in my hand. “This must be signed also. The other thing Copper will make the dock delivery later tonight.” This was our young lad who delivered opium to the dens in Lime House. In return, I would pay him enough to live better than some. He was skilled at the job, keeping his head low and avoiding the authorities who tended to turn a blind eye. I supplied a small Chinese community who indulged regularly. It brought in a tidy sum, extra I could lock away free from taxes.

By day I sold opium imports to pharmaceutical companies for medicinal purposes, fortunate, there was little or no control on its distribution. I was free to sell it wherever there was a demand.

“I know you don’t approve of some of my practices. But I hope you can see that I do no harm. These people desire opium and I supply a good quality product. They are assured buying from me guarantees them a speedy delivery with minimum risk,” I said.

“Your justification does nothing to sway me from my view of this illegal practice, Manny.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that, my name is Emmanuel.”

“You have more name changes than I have hot dinners.”

“What I choose it to be is up to me, my friend. That’s the advantage of being immortal. I can dream up any identity and make as much wealth as I desire. Just as you can and do.”

“Thirty coins were never enough Judas. You have gone through every century desiring more and more. What does it say in the Bible? That the greedy man curses and spurns God. Have you forgotten? Where is
your
conscience?” he replied with great sarcasm.

“My dear friend, have you not noticed my trials and tribulations as I try to recover the coins? Hopefully in exchange for absolution?”

“When you bother to look. I’ve known you long enough to see you don’t take it seriously. Jesus
begorrah
!”

Our argument raged on. But he was correct on one point. What on earth was I thinking to be involved in the illegal sale of opium and revel in my obsession for increased wealth? Why had God not yet struck me down for my selfishness and greed? I was weak from the moment I stole the thirty pieces and, to this day, the abnormality clings to my being like a leech.

Eight coins recovered, eight alone. I
must
find the rest. I admit to having a penchant for fantasy. Imagining I were to stumble upon the remaining coins purely by chance. My lack of enthusiasm needed to change, forthwith

For my indifference to the sale of illegal opium I make no apology, it was too late, the damage already done.
But
I can exonerate myself a little by stopping Jack and, with good fortune, appease Roderick. I could offer no more to the proud Celtic immortal whose life ended and rejuvenated in a watery bog in Ireland long ago. How we met is another story.

“I expect you to make work of this hunt, Manny, and I’ll give you assistance. But I’m asking you, please do not expect me to wander the dirty streets of Whitechapel. The place is an abomination.”

“I promise not to press you to accompany me. I ask only for your support, nothing more.”

In spite of our occasional differences, I would lay my life down for Roderick, who suffered greatly with his sometimes hideous complexion. Due the length of time the poor chap was under water, he would, on a daily basis, mix any concoction, dirt or ashes from the fire to darken his deathly pale complexion. Upon knowing his true identity, and predicament, Marianne thoughtfully purchased the darkest face powder used by performers. It enabled Roderick to look as natural as possible with relative ease of application. ‘We don’t want to see a clown,’ Marianne remarked, making sure he applied the correct amount. The poor air quality of the east-end could easily affect his breathing, shallow at the best of times. No one, apart from me, was allowed to see Roderick without his darkened glasses. His blue eyes were tainted with specks of gold flickering constantly, giving the appearance of someone quite unnatural and possibly evil. They didn’t know him like I did. A strong and fearless man, the opposite of evil, but first impressions were imperative, hence the glasses.

“I expect Marianne will be calling round on her way from the theatre, she seems to always appear in the dead of night. Is there something you’re not telling me?” His mood lightened and his uncovered Irish eyes sparkled.

Roderick was insecure around her, finding her flighty and too humorous for a woman. Marianne was a new breed and he had little or no time for her outward personality, more used to the well brought up plantation girls of the South who knew their place. I also suspected a tinge of jealousy. “It has been perfectly respectable since the night we, well, I don’t have to divulge the details. Now we’re friends, nothing more.”

“Try to keep it that way. It’s better for you not to invite complications, if you can help it, and I suspect she would be one.”

If he only knew how I had to control my passion for the sleek contours of her perfect body and desire for me. Making love with Marianne was like walking in the garden of Gethsemane, west of Mount Olive, a paradise and place for lovers. I could not help but digress and remember I once walked there with more than one woman.

“I hear a carriage outside, I wager it’s her,” said Roderick, intruding on my memories. The doorbell rang and poor Edward could be heard scurrying up the stairs. It’s considered bad taste to answer my own door in these formal times.

“I expect that’s the lady in question, coming for her nightly sojourn, a glass of champagne and a plate of caviar. I will leave now and one last thing, try to use constraint as I fear you’ll weaken.”

“That will
not
happen my friend. Your overreaction is misguided, it is only her company I desire. She’s such a delight to have around, like a breath of fresh summer air.”

As Marianne breezed in Roderick took his leave, both meeting at the door to the drawing room and somewhat uncomfortable in each other’s company. In spite of her assistance in the cosmetic department, he had little tolerance for what he called ‘her outspoken personality.’

“My dearest!” she cried out, barely acknowledging Roderick, “I’ve had a dreadful evening, simply dreadful.”

It did not irk me she appeared on my door almost every evening. Secretly I enjoyed it. “What happened?” I asked.

“That awful Clarence van Helsing was hovering by the stage door again. I have rebuffed him so many times. It appears he will not take no for an answer and makes for such a pitiful sight, standing there with a bouquet of roses and a forlorn look. What must a girl do with a man like that?”

“Tell him in no uncertain terms that your interests lie elsewhere. That should do it.”

“His excuse is he fears for my safety, perpetually informing me I could be at risk from the Ripper fellow. Nightly, I walk directly from the stage door to my carriage. Surely I can come to no harm within a few short steps?”

“Of course not, he is overreacting.”

Clarence van Helsing was a distant family member of the Royal Dutch court. Unfortunately, his reputation in London preceded him. He was, by nature, a procurer of women unable to curb his devotion to Marianne, much to her disdain. It would be an ill suited match had she been smitten. Clarence was effectively banished from his country to save the embarrassment. Having impregnated a young housemaid, the scoundrel was now running loose in London with a generous allowance.

He lived on the fringes of the upper classes, neither fish nor fowl, shunned by most social circles and barely tolerated in others. Rumors hinted his strange, sometimes angry, behavior made him a possible suspect in the Ripper case. Marianne and I thought it laughable on account of the man being simply incapable. His ego and passion for the limelight would have him caught in no time.

“I expect you’d like some champagne.” I rang the bell for Edward to bring a bottle of Krug. He was accustomed to Marianne appearing at such a late hour and was relieved when the champagne was served. It meant his services were no longer required; he could retire for the night.

“Just what I needed my darling. Good company, fine champagne and do you have some of that divine Beluga caviar? I am ever so peckish.” Her mood brightened as we sat together, close to the fire, reveling in each other’s company. Throughout the long laborious centuries, I enjoyed my fair share of beautiful and exotic women, some more passionate than others. Women who enticed and, eventually, repulsed me. Women I loved and lost. Then there was Marianne, who possessed an intense curiosity of my past dalliances, sometimes an irritation.

“Tell me more about Aelia. The last conversation we had was cut short by time. I am intrigued by her and cannot stop myself from wanting to know more.”

Inadvertently, before our night together, I divulged to Marianne a few of my past encounters as she thought it strange I was never seen much in the company of women. I did not want her to think my passions leaned toward members of my own sex. A true scandal if gossip begun in earnest so, to defend myself, I told Marianne the story of Aelia Verina who I met in the year 484.

It was a passionate secret liaison that left me broken and consumed with regret…

“She was fair and beautiful, an Empress of the Byzantine Empire. Sultry, ambitious and dangerous are not words I would use lightly, but they applied. We had a sexual liaison for a while, mostly when her husband Leo the First was away at war. I knew I wasn’t the only one. Her bed was never cold.”

“She must have been a Roman femme fatale. How exciting.”

“In retrospect, she was an opportunist from a family of great wealth. There were three children, one
not
the son of Leo. She went below her station with someone who was not from a prominent family. To cut the story short, Leo earned the nickname ‘Butcher’ on account of his orders to assassinate anyone who got in his way. Instilling fear, he climbed to the role of Emperor very easily. Personally, I could not stand the man. He ruled with an iron fist and did not give Aelia what she needed, love and passion.”

“So what happened? Do tell!”

“We had delightfully wicked milk baths together while her handmaidens, sworn to secrecy, stayed in the background waiting for us to finish.”

“I did not mean that, Emmanuel. I
meant
what happened to her and how did it end between you?” she replied, a twinge of jealousy in her tone.

“Oh, I was rejected in favor of another, she simply tired of me. I heard that she’d died mysteriously in the siege of Papyrus. Leo had died years before of dysentery, Aelia quickly remarried, but her turbulent life continued. When the siege was over, they found her body. No one was ever sure how she had met her untimely end.”

“How sad and how fascinating. Her life would make a wonderful play, don’t you think?”

“I’d much prefer to put her out of my mind. The idea of watching her life being acted out on a stage nightly leaves me cold,” said I, shuddering at the thought.

Marianne’s visit did not end as auspiciously as it began. She began to slide closer to me and, in the flickering light of the slowly weakening fire, her eyes filled with wanton desire.

“My dearest friend, I am half inclined to consider that alone as we are, another moment of passion could be shared. But I must say no. I have to take a moral stand and not give in to my weaknesses. I have, by my own admission, enjoyed many pleasures of the flesh and the result has been nothing but emptiness,” I continued, knowing it would offend.