Fortitude by Lorraine Jean, Part 6

Recent events have taken a strange and disturbing turn. This very afternoon the girls and I will remove to Shelburne House, leaving my husband and stepson here. I shall carry a letter to Sidwell requesting his presence in London, where the men of the family expect to make a stand against an enemy that threatens Archie. What Sid will say when he learns that he is to help defend a younger brother for whom he appears to lack even a modicum of brotherly affection, I will not venture to guess. Nor will I say that the household is in a tumult, although that would not be far from the truth. All I will say is that I would dearly love to be a little bird, safely watching the house from atop the nearest tall tree.

What is this about an enemy? you say. Please bear with me, for I can give you no simple explanation. First of all, Archie has recovered his memory of the events surrounding his death last month in Portsmouth. He attributes both events - the recovery and the death - to a man we have discovered camped practically outside our front door, where he has set up a pavilion in the park and is posing as an artist. The better to watch us, perhaps? This would be troubling enough in and of itself, but it becomes more so as one listens to Archie describe him, not as a man but as a creature with unnatural abilities and appetites.

I held a lengthy discussion with him regarding this person. By rights his father should have assumed this responsibility, but Emlyn dismissed his account out of hand and left the room without probing further. Archie maintains that the man, whom he knows as a Frenchman named Alcide Dufaux, is a monster he calls a vampire. I have never heard the term before. I will endeavor to explain it to you as Archie told it to me. Basically, the vampire is a dead man whose spirit has not left his body. Because of this, he is able to move among the living as if he were still alive. This ability comes at a price, for in order to continue his existence, he must repeatedly replenish his dead blood with the blood of the living. He does this by cutting his victim and drinking the blood that flows from the wound. He will then either drain his victim completely, thus ensuring his victim's death, or else he will take only a small amount, in which case his victim recovers with no memory of the encounter. If, however, his intention is to make a new vampire, he will drain his victim to the point of near-death, and then revive him by giving him his own tainted blood to drink.

The state of being a vampire is not without its advantages, among them great physical strength and freedom from ailments; the power to make oneself both invisible and incorporeal and so to pass through walls; the ability to travel great distances in the blink of an eye; and not least, the ability to influence the minds of ordinary mortals. There are some drawbacks. The vampire must avoid prolonged exposure to the sun, he cannot abide open water, and the touch of silver burns him. Archie tells me that in his own brief experience as a vampire, he was able both to touch silver and to go aboard ship without coming to harm. He is not sure why this should be, only that it is an aberration that seemed to mystify Dufaux as well. My guess, which comes more from what I want to believe than what in fact may be, is that Archie was never transformed into a vampire in the first place.

It is so unlike Archie to make wild allegations that I do not know what to make of it all. In the short time I have known him, he has shown himself over and over to be clear-thinking, conscientious, and above all, truthful. He will tell the small social lie, as will we all, to avoid hurting someone's feelings, but I have seen him either keep silent or else sacrifice his own dignity rather than tell a deliberate untruth. All of which begs the question: If he is not lying, can he be imagining these things? Archie does not strike me as being an excessively fanciful young man. Sensitive and intuitive, yes, but not given to flights of bizarre fantasy such as this.

Has Archie finally reached the point where his sanity has been compromised? One should not be surprised, given all that he has endured. The poor boy attracts trouble the way a lady's hems collect dust. He finally, albeit reluctantly, revealed to his father and me the ordeals he suffered during his imprisonment in France and Spain. That one person should have endured so much and returned to tell the tale is amazing in itself. That Archie could relate such exceedingly painful experiences so matter-of-factly and so quietly, makes the effect doubly devastating. But have they affected his mind? In asking him questions, listening to him speak and watching his face and hands as he does so, I do not detect any signs of madness. He gives the impression of being damaged, but sane withal. Still, one must wonder.

On the other hand, we have Doctor Tregaryn's medical opinion that Archie was bled to excess. Tregaryn put it down to incompetence on the part of the physician who attended Archie in Portsmouth. If the man was something other than a physician, however, it all makes a horrible sort of sense. And what of the notion that the vampire nourishes his victim with his own tainted blood? Before we had any talk of vampires, Archie discussed with his father his suspicion that he had been poisoned. Again, the vampire would appear to provide a convenient answer to a puzzle that continues to plague us.

All this is assuming, of course, that one even accepts the existence of vampires in the scheme of creation. The church has always operated under the assumption that demons walk among us, ready to ensnare the unwary. I should like to question a churchman to see what he truly believes. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to do so at Shelburne, for I shall make a point of going to church to pray for absent members of the family.

You will be wondering how Dufaux came to our attention. On Thursday evening we attended a party at Lord Treviston's London home. (He is one of our West Country neighbors, if you recall.) There, Dufaux made a point of placing himself in Archie's way, in effect challenging him to remember him. Archie said nothing about it until the next day after he and the girls encountered Dufaux in the park. Archie then went out in the middle of the night and confronted the man, who was standing across the road watching the house, if you can imagine. Though Archie will neither confirm nor deny it, they must have fought, for I found him in the morning with his clothes awry and traces of dirt and leaves on his clothing and in his hair that he could not have acquired except in a tussle. Had it been something else, such as a fit, I believe Archie would have told me.

On Saturday Emlyn paid Treviston a call to see if he could find out more about Dufaux. After all, if Treviston knew Dufaux well enough to invite him to a social affair at his home, then perhaps the Frenchman was not the monster Archie argued him to be. If only my husband had consented to let Archie accompany him, for I fear he did not ask the questions that I should wish to have had answered. His report that Treviston claims no knowledge of the man who calls himself Alcide Dufaux troubles me. The only way Dufaux might have entered the house, according to Treviston, was as another guest's escort, yet Archie insists Dufaux was quite alone when he approached him. Is it possible that he simply attached himself to a legitimate arrival and entered as a member of their party? Treviston's servants would not have questioned him, I think, so long as he looked and comported himself as if he belonged there. It is a frightening prospect.

I wish I did not have to leave. Archie will need all the support he can muster. I do not doubt he has the courage to face this demon. I believe he would fight him alone, if necessary, to defend those who are dear to him. But he will need to be strong physically, and therein lies the challenge. Despite diligent attention to Doctor Tregaryn's instructions, he seems almost as weak now as on the day he came home nearly a month ago. Dufaux taunted him last night with the revelation that he will never recover, that the vampire's tainted blood will work against him until he dies. You have no idea how this worries me. I fear Archie will lose heart and choose an early death rather than live a life filled with sickness and pain.

Much as I would like to stay, my husband argues that London will be no place for us if Dufaux should mount a violent attack in order to repossess Archie. And all issues of safety aside, Lavinia and Laetitia will be happier at Shelburne House for the time being. They took offense at Archie's tale of vampires, reading it as an insult to their intelligence, and have made a show of snubbing him ever since. I do not believe their relationship with their stepbrother has been irreparably damaged. A period of separation should ease them out of their girlish snit. And Archie, poor dear, has too much on his mind right now to worry what they think of him.

You must come to me at Shelburne House, dearest Hortense. We shall have Sidwell's young ones underfoot to distract us from events in London, but even so I shall have Archie very much on my mind. I shall need someone with whom I can exchange ideas and opinions, someone who will not dismiss my fears as womanish and who will help me to put things in their proper perspective. And when all is over, God willing, you shall have the opportunity to meet your nephew and see for yourself what a fine young man he is. Do come at once, my dear Sister.

“We shall be very dull in the country,” Lavinia complained when the Kennedy carriage was still some miles from Shelburne Park. “No one to see but country bumpkins, nothing to do but write letters and wait upon the answers. We might as well be banished to Scotland.”

Lady Frances hid a smile. “You might well have been banished to Scotland, if your stepfather's ancestor had not come south when he did. As a younger son he had to make his fortune the best way he could, as a soldier, and was rewarded for exemplary service to the crown with land and a title here in England.”

Much as Lady Frances would have liked to answer this in the affirmative, it would not have been strictly true. She said, “No, dear. We have left London because Mr. Dufaux poses a threat to the family. The men will deal with it, and then we shall be free to come home.”

“I noticed that, too,” said Letty. “Any time men look at each other that way, there are sure to be pistols cocked or swords drawn at the end of it. Although,” she added disingenuously, “I did not think of it at the time.”

“And how would you know what makes men cock pistols and draw swords, Letty?” Lady Frances asked with equal parts of amusement and alarm. Precocity in either of her daughters always caused her disquiet, for who knew where it might lead.

Letty stuck her tongue out at her sister. “And pray tell Mama why you have suddenly developed a passion for reading, Vinia.” She continued before Lavinia could defend herself, “My sister, who never reads if she can find something more agreeable to do, has suddenly discovered that by cradling a book in her lap she can sit and watch Archie for hours. She has even watched him sleep.”

“I take it, from the turn this conversation has taken, that Lavinia is not the only one suffering from an infatuation with her stepbrother,” Lady Frances said. “You do realize, both of you, that he views you as sisters and not as the sort of young ladies to whom he might form an attachment?”

“If we knew that, Letty, we would know better how to deal with him. As it is, your stepfather did not want to take any chances that innocent people might be hurt, and so we are to stay in the country until the matter is settled.”

Sidwell Kennedy must have had spies on the road, for he came out to greet them as if he had had prior knowledge of their imminent arrival. He helped them down from the carriage, then looked inside as if to make sure there was no one else. He then turned his attention to Lady Frances.

“All in good time, Stepmother.” Never one to do as requested until it suited him to do so, he pocketed the letter. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit? From the amount of baggage atop the carriage, it would seem you plan to stay a while.”

Lady Frances looked Sidwell over from head to toe. If anything, he appeared even more dissolute than he had over the Christmas holiday. Not that he wasn't well dressed. Sid always saw to it that he was impeccably turned out, regardless of whether or not anyone would see him. But his red hair looked thinner, exposing more of his shiny, freckled scalp; he had bags under both eyes; one eyelid drooped; the lower half of his face had developed pronounced jowls; and his midsection bulged unbecomingly for a man of only thirty. All in all, he looked more like Archie's uncle than his brother.

“The driver has orders to wait so that he may convey you back to London,” she informed him, losing patience. If he would not read the letter, she would relay the heart of its message herself. “Your father requires your presence posthaste.”

He ushered them into the house, his manner no more courteous than his words. Lady Frances imagined him a peasant herding a flock of goats and had to hold back a smile. Then she spied her stepdaughter-in-law coming toward her and let her smile shine forth. Agatha Crumfold Kennedy enfolded her in a warm embrace.

“Lady Frances! It is so good to see you!” Agatha turned and embraced each of the girls in turn. So diminutive in size was she that she might have been the child and the two girls the grown women. “And Lavinia and Laetitia. How is everyone? I had no idea you were coming, but I am so pleased to see you all. Come in, come in. What is the news from London? We are starved for information here, as well as starved for company. As you can no doubt tell. Oh, I am so delighted to see you again!”

“They have had their dinner in the nursery and are abed now.” She glanced at her husband before continuing, “It is probably not wise to disturb them, for they would never go back to sleep. You know how children are. You shall see them in the morning, I promise.”

“He expects me to come to the aid of that puling bag of misery otherwise known as my brother, Archie. Right now, if you please. Drop everything, he says, and come at once. There is an enemy at the gates and we must stand together and fight him. An enemy! By all that's holy! Duncan is the soldier in the family, not I. Wouldn't you know that lucky dog is safely away fighting Frogs at this very moment. Well, I won't go. You will write him a note from me, Agatha, and give it to the driver to take back with him. I will not be at his beck and call for my brother's sake. He's not worth the effort.”

“That's horrid!” Lavinia leapt to Archie's defense. “Archie is worth two of you. No, I take that back. He is worth ten of you. If you were the one in trouble, Archie would not hesitate to help you. He would not fear to help anyone. He is the best brother anyone could have.”

“She shall do nothing of the sort.” Lady Frances stepped between Sidwell and her daughter, leaving Sid no choice but to back off. “We cannot force you to do anything, of course,” she said icily, “but I would remind you that, whatever your feelings toward your brother, you owe your father a debt of obedience. He has summoned you. A dutiful son attends to his father's wishes.”

“A dutiful son, eh?” Sidwell shot back, uncowed. “A dutiful son attends to his father's business. And my father's business is the running of this estate. Horses and dogs, my dear Stepmother, that's where my father's interests lie. Baby brothers in distress run a distant third.”

“I am truly sorry to hear that, Lady Frances. You probably expect me to share my husband's low opinion of his brother, seeing as I have never met him and have only Sid's word as to his character. But I know my husband, and how he takes against people, sometimes for little or no reason. And I see how quick your girls are to defend Archie, and imagine they would not do so were he not someone who is easy to like. He and Sid must be opposites of one another.” She sighed, her eyes moist. “I think I should like Archie very much.”

Sir Emlyn left his post by the window at the sound of his son's footfall. It said much for the vitality of the ladies of the household, that in their absence even a step as light as Archie's echoed. The lad looked haggard but determined. He no doubt intended to go down fighting. Father and son met in the center of the room.

It was laughable, really. The one son who most needed the sort of discipline the services could instill was the one son who had never tasted it. If he had it to do all over again, Emlyn would enlist Sidwell in the Navy and keep Archie at home, and let their respective positions in the line of inheritance be damned.

“And leave you by yourself to face a man who has vowed to kill you? What kind of father would I be if I deserted you now? No, don't answer that, Archie,” Emlyn said upon seeing the struggle for a diplomatic answer crease his son's brow. “Shall I bring you something from the kitchen to ease your time on watch?”

He would be at that, Emlyn considered, watching Archie take his place by the window, legs apart for balance (prepared lest the house begin to pitch and tilt?) and hands held lightly behind his back. The uniform and the queue might be gone, but Archie was still very much the naval officer, inured to duty. It was enough to fill a father's heart with pride - and break it in the bargain.

“You're welcome, Archie.” Emlyn paused a moment longer, watching his youngest son. From whence came this reserve of quiet strength? He would not have thought Archie had it in him, and yet he must have had it all along or it would not be in evidence now. Did it come from his experiences in battle and prison, or did it spring from childhood adversity? Upon what anvil had his backbone been forged into steel?

A short time later Emlyn reentered the salon carrying a small arsenal of antique swords, dirks, and targes, all wrapped in a length of Kennedy tartan. As he deposited the bundle into the center of the carpet, Archie turned at the clamor and then started to laugh.

“Show some respect for your highland ancestors, laddie. After all, I raided the armory of some significant pieces of family history for you. Would you be wanting a breastplate? Because if you do, I'll have to go back for it. This is all I could carry.”

“I'm not sure I know how to wind it. This branch of the family has been in England for so long, I would have had few occasions to wear it, even if the Proscription Act had not outlawed Highland dress. You were a small child when the act was repealed, but it was in effect through most of my early life. Because of it I know my ancestral dress only from family portraits.”

His father smiled. It was good to see a sparkle in the lad's eyes again. A few minutes later, the predominantly black and dark blue plaid hung from the stair rail under Biddle's bemused gaze. Archie ran back down to admire his handiwork.

“Aye,” Emlyn said, “the claymore's an awkward weapon when you're not used to it. You'll be better off with something lighter. Try this.” He handed his son a shorter sword, followed by a small ceremonial dagger with a bone handle. “And you'll not go amiss with a sgian dubh in the top of your boot.”

“Thank you for that, Archie. Another man would have said Frances was too old.” Emlyn smiled to set his son at ease. “I'm beginning to think I misjudged you yet again, Son. Your true talents would appear to lie in the area of diplomacy. I'll let you practice your skills on Sid, but then I think we might consider a career for you in the foreign service. Especially considering the effect you have on women.”

“Oh, come now, Archie. It may not be something you do consciously, but you cannot fail to have noticed. It's not just Frances, you know. There are Lavinia and Laetitia, who, if I can believe the reports that have reached my ears, have been falling all over themselves trying to attract your notice since the day you walked in the door. As have the female staff. Not to mention that actress from Loughlander's party. What was her name? Cobbler? Compton?”

“I mean, Archie, that women are drawn to you. No matter their age or social standing. Strong, intelligent women, as well as impressionable chits. Like bees to nectar. A diplomat could make good use of such a talent in gathering information. Think about it.”

Dividing the day into watches had probably been a waste of time, in Archie's opinion, for since they had begun his father hardly seemed to leave the room for more than a few minutes at a time. Did he fear that Archie could not handle Dufaux should the vampire make an appearance while Sir Emlyn was elsewhere engaged? Or was it simply that his father had no experience of military service and did not understand the concept of being on watch? Sooner or later one of them would have to sleep, or they would both be useless when the enemy struck. Archie sighed. Perhaps he should suggest to Sir Emlyn that they make up a bed on the couch.

Darkness fell without bringing Sidwell, of no surprise to either Archie or his father. There was still the chance that Sid had deemed it too late to start on the journey today and would come tomorrow. In that case, Dufaux could make his journey entirely unnecessary.

Archie still couldn't understand why Dufaux had announced his intention to return. Why give Archie the opportunity either to arm himself or to flee? Did Dufaux find the chase more exhilarating this way? Should he take it as a fair warning, a case of the vampire's giving him a fighting chance, or as a serious threat? In his brief association with the vampire, Archie could not remember him giving any victim an opportunity to defend himself. He was far more likely to pounce upon his prey, catching him unawares. By warning Archie beforehand, he could only mean to undermine Archie's confidence, to ensure that Archie would worry himself into a state where he was too paralyzed to act. After all, what sort of preparation could Dufaux possibly make before he struck? None was required. Archie knew that from experience.

Shortly after eleven, Archie took his father aside. “Father, if Dufaux means to strike tonight, I believe that he will come between midnight and the hours of one or two. Neither of us has slept. Let me continue to watch for him while you try to nap for an hour or so. One of us needs to be fresh to confront him.”

Archie considered this, then agreed. “Very well. Dufaux may try to create some sort of diversion to draw us outside where he can more easily attack us. Make sure Biddle knows not to admit anyone to the house. Do not open any door or window for any reason.”

Before Archie could answer, a louder retort shattered the glass. Both men shielded their faces from shards carried in on a storm force wind. Archie felt the point of one shard pierce his skin above his collar. Almost immediately, blood trickled hot and sticky down his neck. Panicked, he pulled the piece of glass out of his flesh and cast it away from him. He fumbled for a handkerchief. Dufaux had not yet shown himself, but he would not be far away, and he would be drawn irresistibly to the blood.

Archie did not have time to use it. An unseen force parted him from his father, shoving both men to opposite sides of the room. Archie bowled into a small table, upsetting it and scattering its contents across the floor. The sudden reek as of a distillery told him that the table had held the brandy decanter and glasses. More broken glass to crunch underfoot. He struggled to his feet, blinded by the necessity to shut his eyes against the wind that continued to swirl around his head, where it buffeted him with tiny, irritating particles of dust, dirt and glass, as well as pebbles and leaves that must have been sucked into the maelstrom from the street. This was not an attack to retake him - this was punishment. Punishment for rejecting Dufaux and his life-in-death; punishment for reaching toward light and life.

“Use your powers, Mr. Kennedy. Oh, you still have them, have no fear of that. My blood is in you yet, and with it all that you learned from suckling at my wrist. Come forth, Mr. Kennedy, and fight me vampire-to-vampire, if you dare.”

A number of retorts rose to Archie's lips, all of them feeble in the face of Dufaux's latest threat. How could he bear to lose the family he had only just found and that was already so dear to him? And how could he bear the alternative - to lose himself to eternal damnation as a creature like Dufaux? Either choice would be untenable.

Would it be possible to fight him? Could he and his father combine their strength to vanquish this beast? They had certainly started off on the wrong foot, for Archie had arisen from sleep without arming himself. Not one of the weapons his father had brought up from the armory lay within reach - unless his father could lay hold of one. But how would he get it to Archie?

From across the room, Sir Emlyn watched the impossible become real. Where initially there had been a raging wind so fierce it had flung him aside like a child's rag doll, there now stood a tall man clad in black. When and how had he entered? Had he come in through the broken window while the whirlwind made them shield their eyes? He could see only the man's back and just beyond it, Archie's anguished expression. The man spoke, though Emlyn could not make out the words.

Whatever was said, Archie advanced slowly in response. Why did he not fight? Where was his sword? Why did he not pull his sgian dubh? Blood soaking his collar, he moved as if in a dream. The man grabbed him and still he did not fight. Then the man did something incomprehensible. Was he kissing Archie? Emlyn shifted his position to see better. No, not on the lips. Lower. God help him - he was lapping the blood off Archie's neck. Archie must have fainted, for only the assailant's grip seemed to keep him on his feet.

If Archie was unable to act, his father was fettered neither physically nor emotionally. He reached for a weapon. But not any weapon. Only the claymore would do. This man - this assassin - had broken into his home and assaulted his son. There was only one way to deal with him.

Raising the heavy sword above his head he charged across the room. An ancient battle cry rose in his throat but he bit back on it, unwilling to alert the assailant to his purpose. The claymore was not a weapon of stealth - its size and the amount of room needed to swing it mitigated against its use in anything but battle on an open field - but that did not deter Emlyn. Dire circumstances necessitated dire acts. He swung the weapon in a huge arc, letting the claymore's weight and momentum carry it to its objective. He felt the momentary resistance of flesh and bone, then the claymore cleaved the assailant's right shoulder, followed a diagonal path downward and made its exit just above the man's left hip.

A wound of that nature should have let loose a fountain of blood. So why was it that the only blood in evidence was Archie's blood on the man's lips? Why did the assailant not fall to the ground? Instead, he turned and glared at Emlyn with eyes that glowed as red as coals in the fire. Then, as if slowly becoming aware of what had happened, he let Archie fall to the floor and pressed his hands to his shoulder and side, examining his own hurts. Why did he not fall? The man's trunk had been cleanly severed from his lower limbs, and yet, as Emlyn watched they appeared to re-join before his very eyes. No. Such a thing was not humanly possible. What was it Archie had said . . .?

Could this indeed be a fiend from hell? A dead man who preyed upon the living? What good would a sword of mere silver do against a creature such as this? Emlyn felt the first quivers of doubt and stepped back from the man he had wounded. He wanted to go to his son but the man stood between them. The man looked at him curiously with eyes that flickered as the eerie red light in them was slowly extinguished.

The man's voice faded first, then his body, until he had vanished into the very air around them. The maelstrom did not return. Instead, a deathly calm pervaded the room. Emlyn did not trust such a calm. It too much resembled the eye of a storm.

Shaking off his lethargy he made his way to Archie. The lad was unconscious. The cut on his neck which had bled so profusely appeared as a faint scar that faded even as he examined it. If not for his blood-soaked collar, Emlyn would have questioned whether he had been cut at all. Whatever had happened here tonight - and Emlyn was not at all sure what that was - it did not belong to this world. The vampire, for Emlyn now acknowledged that this was no ordinary man and as such needed to be referred to in different terms, would doubtless spend the next few hours nursing his wounds. Archie likewise looked as if he would not awaken for some time. Emlyn roused the household, ordered his carriage brought round and bags packed for himself and for Archie. By the time the vampire returned for Archie, they would be safely ensconced at Shelburne House.

“Shelburne House!” Archie bolted upright on the couch where he lay, scattering several small cushions onto the floor. It was true. Behind his stepmother he recognized the appointments of the great hall at his father's country seat, which Sidwell had not changed appreciably during his tenure. Moreover, the light streaming through the mullioned windows attested that it was no longer night but full morning. “But why? Where is my father?”

“If I am feverish it is because of the danger he has placed you in by coming here. You don't know what Dufaux is capable of. He will stop at nothing. Nothing.” A strange face appeared over his stepmother's shoulder. Archie paused and looked at her. She was small, but not a child. Childlike and womanly at once, she gazed upon him kindly through warm brown eyes still heavy with sleep.

Agatha gazed at him in a way that recalled to him what his father had said the day before. It must be true. He and his sister-in-law had known each other for only a few minutes and already Agatha seemed drawn to him. Archie blinked and looked again. No. He had not imagined it. She continued to gaze at him in exactly the same way. Almost in the way Lady Frances looked at him.

Later, having bathed and changed his clothes, Archie joined the rest of the family for breakfast. His brother Sidwell, presiding at the head of the table despite his father's presence, looked him over but did not rise in greeting. Archie decided to break the ice.

“As one of the ladies involved,” said Lady Frances, “I would like to make it clear that I am glad to help in any way I can. We of the fair sex are not completely helpless, you know, Sidwell. We may not have the knowledge of weaponry that you have, nor the physical strength, nor again the warlike disposition, but you must admit that the sting of a bee can be just as effective in its way as the horns of a bull are in theirs.”

“I wish you ladies would stay out of this altogether,” he said. “Much as I appreciate your willingness to help, Mr. Dufaux is not an ordinary adversary. He will not hesitate to harm anyone who gets in his way, age or sex notwithstanding. Please, do not make me shoulder the guilt for any injury that comes to you. I could not bear it.”

Sidwell glared down the table at him, even though Archie had said nothing he could possibly find objectionable. Perhaps, Archie reflected, Sid simply could not bear the idea of finding himself in agreement with anything Archie had to say.

“Enough!” Sir Emlyn barked. “I will hear no more of blame, nor of your unwillingness to present a united front. You are a Kennedy, damn it! Act like one. Dufaux will be back. If not tonight, then tomorrow night. We will fight him with all the ammunition at our disposal, whether that means actual firepower or a woman's wiles. He cannot possibly fight every one of us at once. That is our strength and his weakness. We must capitalize upon it.”

In answer, Sidwell took a swing at him. Archie saw it coming and raised his own arm to deflect Sid's fist before it could connect. The force of the blow he absorbed surprised him. Even more surprising, considering his loss of blood last night and the fact that Sid was taller, broader, and outweighed him by more than fifty pounds, it did not throw him off his feet.

Undeterred, his brother lashed out again. This time Archie grabbed Sid's wrist and spun him around, wrenching the arm up behind his brother's back. If this was an example of the vampiric strength that Dufaux claimed still resided in him, heaven should not begrudge Archie's taking advantage of it in a good cause.

“Only if you promise to belay this foolishness. I know you hate me. I don't know why, only that it seems to be the way of things. I can accept that. What I will not accept is your setting yourself up as lord and master over all, not while Father is head of this family. When he is laid to rest in the family crypt, then you may cast me out. Not a moment sooner.”

They resumed walking down the lawn toward the grove where the Kennedy mausoleum stood. Unfortunately, their altercation had taken place in full view of the house. What must the family be thinking of him now? Brawling in broad daylight, as if he and Sid were children. At least he was still standing. That should count for something.

“Only that your adversary is a Frenchman named Dufaux. That he entered the house through a broken window and attacked you. Father says he struck him what should have been a mortal blow with a claymore, but the man escaped amid threats that he would return to finish you off. Nice fellow, from the sound of it.”

“I don't know that he has a reason. Just that he wants me. If I refuse him, he'll kill the rest of you, one-by-one, probably in such a way that I shall never be free of the images - or the guilt. I thought at first I could fight him, but I discovered last night that I cannot. Not without sacrificing all that is human in me.” Archie stopped short of explaining how he had been transformed once before. It was probably too much for Sid to absorb in one session.

They left the sun-drenched lawn for the shade of the oak grove. Archie's ears picked up the trickle of the brook that ran through the woods. He had never heard it from this distance before, which was odd, because his hearing should have been less acute now, after the cannon fire of repeated naval battles had dulled it, than it had been in childhood. Maybe there were fewer birds in the woods than there used to be. Their sounds would have masked that of the running water.

His brother, undistracted by what must be the everyday sounds of the estate, continued the conversation. “What you seem to be saying, Archie, is that you have given up on fighting him. Do I take it that you are ready to give this vampire creature what he wants?”

Sidwell withdrew a large iron key from his pocket as the mausoleum came into view. Unlike some of the aboveground tombs that the landed gentry constructed to house their dead, the Kennedy crypt was a modest affair. A passerby who did not know its function would take it for a gardener's hut, or else a small, disused chapel, overgrown with vines and moss. It had rough stone sides, a pitched slate roof, and a small single window placed high at the gable end opposite the door, which was made of thick planks reinforced by a closely spaced grid of iron bands. The surrounding vegetation had been allowed to encroach upon it in the years since Mairi Kennedy's death. Archie wondered if Sid had come here since.

He waited in silence while his brother turned the heavy key in the even heavier lock. In a way it seemed a waste of effort to lock the place when it lay so far off the beaten track. Who would even try to breach it? Brigands looking for a place to stash stolen goods would find it uncomfortably close to human habitation. A solitary traveler seeking shelter for the night might try the door, but would he be tempted to stay once he saw what lay beyond? Or was the lock intended to keep in such beings as had no business roaming among the living? In that case, Archie wanted to tell his brother, no lock had been devised that could confine them.

For all that the place looked abandoned, it had obviously been kept in some repair, for the hinges did not protest when Sidwell swung the door open. The brothers stood in the doorway until their eyes became accustomed to the dimness within, then they entered. Inside, all was as Archie remembered it. One large tomb in the center held a stone effigy of Gideon MacLeod Kennedy, the first of their clan to lay claim to English soil, while plaques along the walls displayed the names of family members deceased since. Archie went directly to the walls to look for his mother's name. It should be the last name inscribed, for no one had died in the intervening years, so far as he knew. The sight of his own name just above his mother's brought him up short.

Sidwell, noting his reaction, sidled up beside him and purred, “That was erected when you were lost at sea and presumed dead. By the time we learned otherwise, Mother had taken her place here and Father deemed it best to leave the inscription alone. There was a time when I was a frequent visitor to this place,” he added. “Seeing your name there gave me a good deal of satisfaction.”

Leaving Archie to his thoughts, Sidwell moved away. He said, from somewhere behind Archie's right shoulder, “It's funny, is it not? When I was a child I never thought to ask where the bodies were actually interred. Did you know there is a crypt below us? When there is to be a burial, they push back Sir Gideon's slab to reveal a flight of stairs. It's rather fascinating. Would you care to see it?”

For the rest of the morning, Sidwell kept questions at bay by making himself unavailable for questioning. It was not difficult. The family expected him to return to the house, so he went to the stables instead. By the time they sent someone to the stables to look for him, he had ridden out to oversee the horses in the paddocks. From there he made his way to the kennels, and so eventually back to the house in time for luncheon, where he noted with satisfaction that everyone expected Archie to join them from moment to moment.

Sidwell turned the conversation to more mundane matters and the meal progressed without further mention of the missing Archie. Once or twice the girls exchanged looks. Fine. Let them. After luncheon, if they still intended to look for their stepbrother, he would send them off in a direction guaranteed to bring them nowhere near the crypt. They could search to their hearts' content all afternoon, the devil take them.

His father would be harder to put off. Although Sir Emlyn forbore asking him questions during the meal, it was obvious from the look on his face that he would require some direct answers afterwards. As it happened, he did not even wait until the others had left the dining room, but rose first and asked Sidwell to follow him to the library.

“If you saw us tussle on the lawn, as you put it, then you also must have noticed that I did not best my brother. He is well able to take care of himself. Stop pampering him. Wherever he has chosen to run to ground for the day, he is well.”

Archie's eyes soon adjusted to the low light now available to him. As long as daylight held, he would see well enough. But if no one had come for him by the time the sun set, would the moon provide adequate illumination? The window was set too high up for him to see anything outside but the branches of the nearest tall trees. Even had it been large enough for him to squeeze through, he would have had no way to climb up to it. After making a few circuits of the interior space to make sure he was not missing an obvious extra door or passage, Archie lowered himself to the slate floor. There was nothing else to sit on except Sir Gideon's tomb, and Sir Gideon - or more properly his effigy - already occupied it.

What did his brother hope to gain by imprisoning Archie here? Sooner or later the rest of the family would look for him, and one of the first places they would look would be the last place anyone had seen him. Provided Sidwell did not send them all on a wild goose chase in some other part of the park, one or the other of them should turn up long before sunset.

Then there was the question of why Sid had brought the access to the lower crypt to his attention. Had he tampered with the release mechanism so that anyone going down the stairs would be trapped within? No. Archie rejected that idea out of hand. Sid had no advance knowledge that Archie was coming to Shelburne or, more to the point, that Archie would want to visit his mother's grave. He would have had no time and no reason to set a booby trap. Was he instead offering Archie a means of escape? There could conceivably be another exit from the crypt up into the woods, perhaps for the convenience of workmen who could prepare a grave in time of need without intruding upon the grieving family above. It was something to keep in mind in case no one came to release him.

Or perhaps the ever-devious Sid planned to hold him until Dufaux's arrival, hoping to trade Archie for his family's safety. How long would it take Sid to realize that Archie would go willingly in order to spare the others? If this had been his father's doing, rather than his brother's, Archie would have deduced that Sir Emlyn meant to lure Dufaux to a place where they could contain the vampire. Of course his father would not know that the vampire could not be contained, at least not by stone walls and an iron-barred door. Archie doubted that even the sacred nature of the place would seriously impede the creature's progress.

Last night Dufaux had insisted that Archie retained his vampire powers. At first Archie had dismissed the claim as a ploy intended to tantalize and lure him to Dufaux's side. The vampire must have guessed that Archie's scruples would not let him test that claim, for if he put any of those powers to use, he would be accepting the creature's nature as his own. Even if it meant that these stone walls and iron-barred door could not hold Archie, either, he could not in conscience use those powers and hope to keep his fragile hold on his humanity. Nor would he, unless it became necessary to employ the powers of evil in order to defeat evil.

“We have unfinished business, you and I,” Simpson said. As in life, the ghostly Simpson's voice dripped with menace even as a smile played around the corners of his mouth. Taunting, always taunting, turning even the most innocuous statements into threats. Twisting words in the way he would twist a knife, so as to cause the greatest hurt without appearing to do any harm at all.

“I envy you, Archie. Oh, I didn't always. After all, who would envy a boy so weak he would let Jack Simpson have his way with him? My God, but you were pathetic then. So trusting. So easily hurt. And so pretty I couldn't help myself. Your fault, you see, Archie?” Simpson paused to chuckle. The sound echoed as if the room were full of Simpsons all chortling together. It was all Archie could do to keep from stopping his ears.

“But Dufaux,” Simpson resumed. “Now there's a man I should like to have met while I lived. I would have struck a bargain with him that would have made the angels cry. Just think, Archie. If I had met him first, you would be submitting to me this day. My blood would be coursing through your body, and yours in mine. Picture it, Archie. You and me. Yoked together for all eternity.”

Simpson's hateful laughter filled the small space. It rebounded off the ceiling, the floor, the walls, Gideon's tomb, bombarding Archie from every direction. Archie covered his ears but he could still hear it. Though he closed his eyes he could see Simpson standing there, larger than he had ever appeared in life and imbued with the easy arrogance of one who knows that he can do anything he pleases and get away with it.

Sidwell busied himself at the books in the estate office after luncheon. The ladies, he knew, were organizing a search party to look for Archie. So far, not one of them had thought to apply to him for the key, so even if they found Archie they would not be able to release him. That they exhibited so little sense in planning did not bode well for any upcoming struggle against the creature. Thank goodness it would not come to that.

Her look said plainly what she thought of that statement. How inconvenient that she should have appointed herself Archie's champion. If only she had sent Agatha instead, his mousy little wife would have accepted his boldest lie at face value and carried it back to the others as documented fact. Sidwell gave silent thanks that this woman had not had the raising of him, instead of the lovely but weak Mairi Kennedy, or he might have turned out a different man altogether. More like Archie, no doubt. Perish the thought.

Sidwell watched the door shut without further comment. The woman was resourceful enough, it probably would not take her long to locate the under gardener whose duties included preparing the crypt for burials and who held the second key. With luck the man would not have the key on his person and would have to go fetch it. Sidwell should remove it now, before Lady Frances caught up with him. Every moment they delayed in finding Archie brought them a moment closer to Dufaux's coming. He could not afford to shorten that time by even a minute.

He uttered a sound more like a strangled cry than a proper word, and cursed the singular cruelty of fate that allowed his mother's softly accented, gentle voice to reach him while it prevented her loving arms from enfolding him. If only he could wrap himself in that voice and wear it as protection against the coming night . . .

“I disagree. You are deserving of every drop of kindness that has been poured into your cup and more besides. Never doubt your worth, Archie. And never believe that you deserve the mistreatment that is so often your lot in life.”

“Never mind. It doesn't matter.” Archie finally turned around to face her. She looked older than he remembered, but her beauty - the serene beauty of the portrait in the morning room - had not diminished. In spite of everything, he had to smile. “Mother, perhaps I should not ask you this, but are you able to see the future? Do you know - will I come through this trouble as someone it would not shame you to acknowledge?”

As soon as Lady Frances approached a gardener about the maintenance of the crypt, it took no time at all to secure a key. All the gardeners and under gardeners had access to it, the man assured her, and led her to the precise shelf in the glass house where it resided when not in use. If, as now, the key was gone, all knew where to lay hands on the spare key at the back of the drawer in the main potting bench. That Sidwell had omitted to mention the existence of an extra key did little to elevate him in his stepmother's estimation.

Her daughters, accepting Sidwell's story that Archie had gone for a walk, had set off across the gardens along with their stepsister-in-law. Emlyn, while keeping to himself the tenor of his conversation with Sidwell, had gone to the stables, though whether to search for Archie there or to saddle a mount and pursue the search farther afield she could not be certain. Sid's complete lack of interest in helping them look only reinforced her notion that he not only knew where his brother could be found, but also believed he was in no danger of moving from that place. And that place could only be the crypt.

Let those who worried about soiled hems and shoes keep to the more circuitous groomed path; Lady Frances struck out across the lawns in the most direct route to the Kennedy mausoleum. She set a furious pace, arriving flushed with the heat of exertion and struggling for breath. When she had composed herself sufficiently that her hand no longer trembled as she tried to fit the key to the lock, she set to work to free her stepson.

The door, though well-oiled, was heavy. Surely if Archie were inside and aware that the door was opening, he would push from his side the more quickly to break free. Provided he was conscious and Sid had not bound and gagged him, that is. It occurred to her that Archie would not know who was on the outside. For all he knew, Sid could be returning with murder on his mind. Or worse, he might be anticipating Dufaux and preparing to attack his hapless rescuer.

But he did stumble over the threshold as the full light of day struck him. Lady Frances thought it wise to let him sit on a nearby bench for a few minutes until his eyes adjusted to the change. She re-locked the mausoleum, then returned to sit by his side.

“I will be, shortly.” He squinted and continued to shield his eyes. By now his pupils should be mere pinpricks in a brilliant field of blue, but the sunlight had not perceptibly reduced their size. He looked dazed. “Thank you for coming.”

“You're most welcome. Heaven knows, Archie, I have tried to get to know your brother. I have even tried to like him. But this action was so unworthy, so cowardly, that I fear I shall not be able to forgive him. Did he say why he was shutting you in like this?”

“Did she really?” She looked into his eyes, gratified to see that they had returned to normal. The expression in them was, as always, totally honest. And why not? If he could be possessed by a vampire, why should he not also be granted visions of his dead mother? “That is high praise indeed, Archie. I am honored.”