The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (37 page)

“I’m very well, sir,” she replied in the quietest voice, her eyes lowered.

“That’s good to hear, Peggy. Can you please cut me a slice of that delicious pie? I did not have dessert with lunch.”

I couldn’t help but stare at her long wiry fingers, badly damaged by the harsh work she was forced to endure prior to coming here. Her fingernails were in the process of recovering, but her hands were aged and dry. She had been little more than a slave, as in ancient Rome when young girls were held by predators in captivity without mercy.

Peggy reminded me of Linka, a young slave girl I managed to free on a wager in the year 62 AD. She was beautiful and luck shined on her, when in her freedom, she met and married a young man of good standing. They went on to have four children and were deliriously happy until her untimely death at the age of thirty-four. I hoped one day Peggy would find the same security.

“There you are, sir, a piece of pie.” She handed me the plate, a napkin and a fork but alas, still no smile.

I took the pie upstairs to my desk, where I proceeded to prepare a telegram to Bernie. I was expecting Roderick later, as he usually stopped by on his way from the office. Unfortunately, he was impatient to return to Virginia, his discontent showing more with each passing day, something I selfishly chose to ignore. I was to be disappointed, neither Roderick nor Marianne made an appearance, even though it was her night off. I dined alone and continued to read a fascinating new book, The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. I had known real characters that were vastly different in behavior from one moment to the next. Sometimes so shocking to see the change, I would prefer to walk or run the other way. I asked myself if this could be Jack, seemingly an upstanding citizen by day, at night becoming a monster.

Edward came into the study, his tall frame slightly stooped and his hair peppered with grey as age slowly caught up with his mortal body. “Sir, will you be requiring anything else, before I retire? It appears Miss Marianne is not coming this night.”

“I am just fine, Edward. I will finish this chapter and retire to bed.”

“I bid you goodnight, sir.” He was the epitome of politeness and respect. But I knew little about him other than he came highly recommended from Cyril, who praised his many years spent with an upper class family in Grosvenor Square. Unfortunately, they fell on hard times and had to dismiss most of their staff. After many years of loyal service, my previous butler, George, went into retirement and moved to Devon to be with his aged sister. I did the honorable thing and purchased them a comfortable cottage to enjoy and see out their remaining years. His sister, Agnes, was a devout Christian and I am certain to this day George remained loyal to my secret.

When Edward into stepped his shoes, he was similar to George in many ways and devoted to the core. Yet, unlike George, it didn’t feel right to confide the truth. I often wondered what would happen to them all if I were to take my leave from England. Perhaps an honorable intention on my part would be to secure them another position in a fine household, rather than leave them in dire straits. It would be a charitable thing to do
and
it would ease my conscience.

The next morning produced little results. No one came and no letters or telegrams arrived. My impatience was bothersome, as I did not like or enjoy idleness. I remained resolute in my sense of urgency which resulted in calling for the carriage to take me forthwith to Roderick. I was intolerant to isolation; the centuries failing to diminish the yearning for company I would seek by whatever means necessary. This was one of the days I could not stand to be left alone.

My driver, Donald, was a likeable chap. He had a wife and children in Aldgate, but took a live-in position with me, sacrificing family for finances. I had found out from Edward that Donald’s youngest daughter had been poorly. Being in my employ meant he could pay for her treatment and keep a roof over the head of his family, no matter what the sacrifice.

Regardless of what Roderick thought, I
was
trying to put my house in order so to speak, helping others without reward, concerned for people’s welfare and still praying for redemption.

The further we rode the more irritated I became. I was used to my existence being somewhat filled with adventure and intrigue, this experience becoming somewhat tedious and mundane. I needed excitement, a rush and a thrill. I banged loudly on the carriage, forcing a surprised Donald to a sudden stop.

“Take a detour to Hyde Park, please, Donald.”

It would be good to release some pent up frustrations and Hyde Park was the perfect location to do such a thing in relative safety. I was hoping to catch at least one religious speaker at what was known as Speakers Corner, long ago the site of Tyburn gallows where many executions took place going as far back as 1196. The reason for it now being a place to speak out in public on any subject was due to the condemned man once being allowed his final words before the hangman’s noose.

It was no longer a hanging spot; instead it had turned into a hot bed of heated discussion and debate. It took a mere moment upon arrival in the park to find what I was looking for. A deeply religious man with a bible in his hand and a conviction of what he perceived as the absolute truth. “Jesus cometh, Jesus answered and said unto him except a man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of God. Jesus cometh, he will be reborn,” he shouted.

“Are you absolutely certain of that, good sir?” said I, loudly so all around could hear.

He was standing on a small wooden box so as to be seen by all, surrounded by a small group of six people, myself included. He did not look kindly in my direction.

“Jesus cometh. The end is nigh!” he proclaimed loudly.

“Are you certain my good man? Perhaps Jesus will never return and what, sir, do you make of Judas Iscariot?” He quickly turned the well-thumbed pages of his bible, determined to answer my question.

“That when Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he changed his mind and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders, saying, ‘I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.’ They answered, ‘What is that to us see to it yourself.’ And throwing down the pieces of silver into the temple, Judas departed, and went and hanged himself. Matthew twenty seven, verse three to five.”

“But what if the bible is wrong and Judas Iscariot did not hang himself, then what?” I replied, determined to release my tension.

“The devil was in the heart of Judas. He forced him to hang, to trap his soul in eternal damnation.”

“But what if he did not die, instead becoming doomed to wander for all eternity?”

The man fell silent as did the group, He was short in stature, with glasses perched on the end of his nose and a slight twitch in his left eye. Highly strung, perhaps?

“Judas Iscariot was a thief and a disciple of the devil, stealing any monies that came his way until he hung himself with great remorse for his hideous crime against Jesus, his closest friend.”

“What if he was standing right in front of you at this given moment? What, kind sir, would you have to say to him?”

“That he would be walking with Satan and shunned by God.
A heathen!
”

This seemed to be the consensus of opinion wherever I ventured. The majority of people, who followed the Bible and the teachings of Jesus, perceived me as a devil’s disciple: greedy, without compassion, a betrayer, a swindler and a thief to boot. They assumed I was once hanging by my own rope and now burning in the fires of hell, as did this well intentioned man who lived by the teachings of the bible. Who was I to judge what he believed or didn’t believe? It was but a select few who had taken the time to become acquainted with me, foregoing any judgments and accepting I was doing my utmost to change.

It was true I had once been a thief and a scoundrel with no compassion for others. Just like a prisoner behind bars for the rest of his days with plenty of time to think about his misdeeds, I too had time to think of my crime and its devastating consequences. My dear father, Simon Iscariot, taught me duty and honor was the most important attributes in a man, without them he would be lost. So, why did I take the wrong path and lead myself into temptation?

The debate continued, “I am sure Jesus is a pious, forgiving soul who would surely lead Judas into the kingdom of God where all would be forgiven upon atonement.” I decided to make my point as polite as possible.

“Then you are a trite naïve, good sir, and deluded. Judas Iscariot would never be accepted into the kingdom of our Lord God, he would be doomed forever in Satan’s lair!”

I wondered why I was drawn to such a place, far too frequently for my own good. Could it be a form of self flagellation, somewhere deep in my conscious was a driving need to be reminded of what I had done? Only I knew the answer.

It was fine weather indeed, a warm temperature for November. I loved the sunshine, no matter how small the dose. It appeared I was not the only one. Nannies strolled with their small charges; men rode their magnificent horses and Speakers Corner in full swing. I decided to relent on the discussion. There was no point in attempting to reason with the man and his bible. He had his mind set and I did not care to hear I would be doomed forever, even if a grain of truth were to be found in such a prolific statement.

“Douglas, next stop the office.” I climbed into my carriage, a little unnerved by the experience and feeling quite melancholy. But my spirits rose when the carriage entered fashionable Bond Street. This was where I secured a chamber of offices at a good rent. Considering the high prices, it was a find. The street housed some of London’s most sought after shops. Ladies and gentlemen’s clothing of the highest standard, their windows sparkling clean, with the finest quality mannequins, mingled with England’s most exclusive milliners and art galleries. It was a pleasant sight to watch the ladies as they strolled by in the latest fashions, the rich and privileged of the capital showing off for all and sundry. It was a marked contrast to the starving poor who languished just a few miles east of the city.

Upon opening the door to the office, the division between rich and poor suddenly became unnatural and dreadfully unjust, not something I previously paid great attention to. I put it down to the constant newspaper stories of Whitechapel having an influence. Roderick was deeply ensconced in the ledger, meticulously writing in the monthly incomings and outgoings, when I disturbed him.

“I am surprised to see you make an appearance, rare indeed,” said he. “Should I be alarmed at your presence?”

“No, not all. I’m merely passing by and thought I would update you on my progress. How is business? Prospering?”

“It’s going great guns. England is wanting foreign imports more than ever before and the office boy, Malcolm, is working out very well. But, Manny, it saddens me that you pay him such a pitiful wage. The poor lad struggles to feed his family on account of his father passing away.”

“Albert is assisting me to obtain files from Scotland Yard. I am waiting for his response. I
knew
he could be bought.”

“Did you hear what I just said? Malcolm
must
be paid more for the work he does.”

Yes, I had heard, but residues of greed forced me to change such a delicate topic as an increase in wages.

“I intend to make progress with this Ripper chap, there will be no more of my lethargy or indifference.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, you have asked that drunken idiot Albert to steal files from Scotland Yard? Have you gone insane? What if the man is caught? Do you not think he will want to save his own skin first and damn yours?”

“What’s the worst that can occur? I will state categorically that I know nothing of the matter and accuse him of slandering my good name for his own means.”

“Why are they so important? You never mentioned a need of them before.”

“The police are not very forthcoming in details to the newspapers. A lot of what you read is contradictory and misleading. I need to see witness and crime scene reports.”

“What is to become of the coin searching now you have transformed yourself into a sleuth? Will you next be hunting wild boars in Borneo? Chasing lustful women in Cuba?”

Roderick’s Irish bluntness stopped me dead in my tracks. He would say precisely what weighed on his mind, even when I did not want to hear and, always at the most inopportune moment for example, like now.

“I have recovered coins and not without personal sacrifice, you know that.”

“A meager amount for so many years of searching.”

“I have, to date, done my best and, besides, they are not easy to recover. Detective work is needed, plus I have been busy in other things,” said I, knowing it sounded a trite too arrogant.

Soon after I betrayed Jesus, I returned my payment to the chief priests, in the hope I would be exonerated in the eyes of God. I vowed, upon finding myself still alive after the hanging, to find every coin that had scattered to the four winds. I believed if I was successful in recovering all thirty pieces of silver, I would finally be able to grow old and die. Whether myth or fact, I was willing to try with little to lose either way. There had been many obstacles I was forced to endure as I traveled to far off lands too numerous to mention. Journeys that became nothing more than a wild goose chase, with nary a coin in sight. The hunt for Jack surely had to be less of a complication, considering his close proximity. “Will you consider changing your mind and accompanying me on my search? After all, two heads are better than one,” I asked.

His effort to reply was painful indeed, “That’s
something
I would need to think about.”

Roderick had much to bear- his own immortality and my exceedingly embarrassing behavior, irksome for someone who tended to have his feet firmly rooted on the ground.

I enjoyed the short moments I spent in the office. The view from the high Georgian windows onto the bustling street was agreeable, as was the fine oak carved desk made exactly to my taste by a skilled wood maker in Lancashire and delivered in perfect condition. I also acquired a beautiful rug imported from Persia. An impressionable sight for prospective clients, it showed we were doing well in business, an absolute prerequisite to a sound deal.