Chapter 6 -Difficult Relations
Location: Paris
Time: September 6, 1878
Jean Pierre Picard got out of the cab and looked at the townhouse. He was a little bit drunk. He had been at the Folies Bergere with a lovely little dancer. He had seriously considered staying over at her place, but Frances was being difficult since she inherited. When they were first married, she hadn't been expected to inherit. Her family provided a decent dowry, but that was all. And he had been just starting out, apprenticed to his father. Now he was the major distributor for several wineries in the region of Provence. Things had been fine until Jane was turned into a vampire. Just the sort of thing that Jean Pierre would have expected of the spoiled cousin with her Anglish mother.
Jean Pierre looked around the cobbled street as the cab trundled off in a cloud of steam. The lamp posts had jewels of lighting in them and threw out a warm glow along the street. Jean Pierre wanted to whistle and maybe dance a little, not go into the house and talk to his wife, who now had more money than he did and had refused to place her assets under his management. He took a deep breath and started walking toward the door.
Then a shape emerged from the shadow on the east side of the house. "Hello, Jean Pierre," said a voice he recognized.
In other circumstances, he might have panicked, but he was full of liquid courage. "Hello, Jane. You're looking active for a corpse." He swept her a bow, but almost fell over and his wig slipped. The white wigs had gone away a century ago, but Jean Pierre had started losing his hair in his twenties, and by now looked rather like an egg. So he wore a wig, which looked acceptable, but itched, causing him to scratch and the wig to get loose.
Now it was angled at around fifteen degrees and he didn't much care.
"I'm not actually dead you know, Cousin," Jane said.
"According to the law you are, Cousin. And it was deucedly inconvenient for you to die that way. Frances was much more biddable before she had her own money."
"Really? I'm surprised. Well, good for Frances."
"Humph!" Jean Pierre looked at his cousin. She was wearing peasant clothing, but the clothes seemed to be wavering a bit. He could almost see dirty rags under the woolen skirt. He shook his head. "What do you want?"
"Money, actually." The peasant outfit disappeared and he could plainly see what was left the gown she'd been buried in. It was a mess.
"Well, you're not getting it from me," he said belligerently. "Apply to your cousin for charity."
In the blink of an eye she was next to him, her eyes only inches from his. "I could rip out your throat with my bare hands and drink your blood, you drunken sot."
He blinked. Shock had not rendered Jean Pierre sober, but the spurt of adrenaline had countered the alcohol in his blood to an extent. He breathed on her and saw her nose wrinkle. "Wouldn't do you any good." He laughed. "You need me to invite you in. That's it isn't it.?" Then he blinked in realization. "Say, why haven't you hypnotized me?"
"Because I have no desire to have that great a contact with your mind."
"I think I have just been insulted," Jean Pierre said haughtily, then laughed. "So it's up to me. Should I invite you in or not? Decisions, decisions. Not inviting you in would irritate you and that would be fun. Of course, you might rip out my throat, but I am a gentleman of France, not one of your Anglish milksops. Fear of a horrible death shall not deter me . . . ah . . . affect my decision in any way." He lifted a finger to the sky. "But! there are other considerations. Letting you in would terrify Frances and she has been rude to me since your timely demise. Yes, that is the reason."
Jean Pierre walked past Jane to the door and didn't see her rolling her eyes. He fumbled with his keys but eventually found them and unlocked the door. He flung it open and proclaimed, "Enter and be welcome in your ancestral home."
✽✽✽
Jane walked into the house she grew up in to see a mirror facing her. She could see herself, but it was her real self—grimey and pale faced. She had brought her body in the hopes that she could enter the house if she stayed in her body. But she hadn't been able to do it. It was as though her soul was being left behind as she tried to come in, and she couldn't make herself do it.
"Say, I can see you in the mirror?" Jean Pierre sounded confused.
"The mirror shows what is truly here." She turned to face him, not liking what she was seeing in the mirror. She took a breath and told her heart to beat. She kept forgetting that. Then looked back at the mirror to see a bit of red in her cheeks. Just then Claude, the butler, arrived, took one look at her, and fainted dead away.
It was only her vampiric speed that let her catch Claude before he hit the floor. Before she'd been turned, she wouldn't have been able to hold him up, or carry him to the couch in the sitting room off the main hall. It was a Queen Anne with pink brocade roses on the upholstery. And in the normal course of things, Claude would never be caught dead on it. He was a very proper fellow, and ruled the back stairs with an iron hand. Jane had loved tweeting him before she died.
She looked over her shoulder at Jean Pierre, who had followed her into the sitting room a bit unsteadily. "Some brandy, quickly!"
Jean Pierre went to the sideboard, poured himself a brandy, and drank it down.
"For Claude, you dolt."
"Get out!" Jean Pierre said. "I retract my invitation."
The magic swirled and tried to force her out, which came as a surprise to Alice but not to Jane. In this world, apparently an invitation could be retracted once it was given, if it was done so explicitly in the presence of the vampire by the same person who had granted entry, as Jean Pierre had done or by the owner of the property.
The magic pulled at her. Jane clamped a hand on the arm of the couch, felt the forces of the magic try and pull her out and force her from the door. But this was different. She was already in the house. Her body was here, and what she had been unable to do, she could maintain. The magic pulled and she stayed. Then, like a bubble popping, it was over. She was here, her body and her spirit, and for now at least she no longer needed anyone's permission. She stood slowly, stalked toward her cousin-in-law . . . and Jane was honestly not sure what she would have done if Frances hadn't picked that moment to arrive.
A high-pitched scream jerked Jane from her stalk. She turned to face her cousin and Claude woke up. Frances had been looking at the butler and apparently thinking that he was dead. When he sat up, Frances fainted.
Jane rushed to catch her, and carried her to the couch. Claude stood up and turned bright red. "I do apologize." He looked around. "I'll fetch some brandy for the mistress . . . ah . . . for Mistress Frances." He headed for the sideboard.
"Wait a minute," Jean Pierre complained. "I ordered you out. You can't be here."
"Apparently, I can." Jane went to a chair and sat. "But you're right. I shouldn't be able to. It should take a master vampire hundreds of years old to be able to stay in the house after being ordered out. There must be something different about me." Jane smiled. She was sure in her own mind what was different. It was Alice Blake. Before Alice Blake, she had been an ordinary, very young, vampire, with very little control over the curse. She hadn't eaten anything in months, hadn't consumed anything but blood, no water even.
Now she ate regularly and exercised, breathed, and kept her heart beating when she remembered to. She was alive again, not in that frozen moment between life and death where vampires normally resided. Also, the agony that had been her constant companion, that had kept her from being willing to feel her body, was gone. That was at least part of what made the old vampire able to do what they did. Either after a time that agony went away or they got so used to it that it no longer prevented them from experiencing through their bodies. She wasn't sure which, but she was starting to think that she wasn't the easy meat for older vampires that she would have been before Alice.
"Never mind, Jean Pierre. I am not going to bite you." She looked over at Frances, who Claude was feeding a brandy. "Nor you, or anyone in this house. However, I find that even undead, I do have expenses."
"You mean you want your money back?" Frances didn't sound pleased by that.
"Not all of it," Jane said, as reassuringly as she could. She was not thrilled with the apparent greed that had invaded her cousin.
"It doesn't matter," Jean Pierre said. "Frances couldn't give it back to you if she wanted to. Remember, you are legally dead, and by French law you will remain so until you appear before a magistrate on a sunlit day."
"I am aware of the law, cousin. On the other hand, not every purchase involves lawyers. Cash can be spent. Magical items can be acquired."
"Can you use magical items?" Claude asked. And Jane immediately knew what he was talking about. Common knowledge said that the undead, whether vampire, zombie or animated skeleton, couldn't do magic. That it took a living being. At the same time, it was believed that litches were often powerful wizards.
"That is a very good question, Claude," Jane said. "You know that clothing brush of mine? Would you fetch it for me and we will see.
"Ah . . ." Claude looked to Frances, who looked to Jane, then back at Claude.
"You will find it on my dresser, Claude."
Jane felt resentment flare. That was her clothing brush. It cost her five pounds sterling at a shop on Piccadilly Circle. It would magically clean any stain on any piece of cloth and it was easy to fill with the spell that made it work. It was one of her prize possessions. Almost as soon as it arrived, the resentment fled. Of course they passed her goods to other family members. She had been dead for months.
And that was the problem. Her money was now Frances' money and her belongings, her gowns, her combs, her private possessions, were no doubt passed out among the family.
She couldn't stay here. She couldn't stay in Paris. She had to leave. She had to go somewhere else. Start a new life, rather than trying to collect up the shards of the life that Roderick destroyed.
Jane sat in the sitting room that had been hers but wasn't anymore, looking around at the things that she had had just so, but that were now often in different places. The sideboard with the brandy had a different selection of wines and brandies. The painting of Papa over the mantelpiece was replaced with a picture of Uncle Alex. It was her house and yet not. She sat there in a silence that became more awkward with every moment, until Claude returned with the brush.
She looked at it. It was made from the bones of a cat which had been cunningly assembled. It was painted with dyes and paints using dragon blood and egg yolks, and it glowed with magic. It was charged and ready. She invoked it and used it to clean the rags she was wearing, then carefully set it on a table. She had charged this a hundred times, and now she called up the first image, an orange ball two inches across. She held out her hand and she saw the magic twist. She had never seen it shift before. She had charged the item by rote, memorizing each step. Now she could see what each step was doing to the magic and the surprise threw her off. But she was alive, and the magic was responding to her. She went through the motions, visualized each object and said the words of the incantations, trying not to be distracted by the magic. And with each step, a part of the spell was placed in the brush. It took only a few minutes and it was done.
She was able to charge a magical item. More, she could see what affect her actions had on the flow.
That was new, and it opened up a whole slew of possibilities. She needed to find out how this worked. She needed to talk to Sir William, who was a practicing wizard, if only an amulet wizard.
Carefully, she lifted the brush, again fully charged, and walked over to where Frances was watching her. "Here, cousin. Invoke it and see that it is fully charged and in working order." Jane hesitated. "It's yours now, anyway. It's all yours." Jane turned then, unable to help herself, and ran from the house.
Location: Paris
Time: September 7, 1878
Jane woke at sunset. She got up and, taking her body with her, went through the sewers until she reached a place where her body could climb out onto the streets. She didn't want to do it, but she had to go back to the family home that had been hers. She still needed money.
She rang the bell. Claude came to the door and opened it. She didn't wait for him to invite her in, but attempted to walk into the building. There was a touch against her spirit, but apparently having broken the restriction once, she could now do so at will. At least in this house. Jane had a feeling it would be more difficult in other houses.
"The family is sitting down to dinner." Claude hesitated then, as though he had said something rude.
"I eat, Claude."
He looked surprised, then confused. Not sure whether to invite her to join the family or not.
"Why don't you tell Frances I'm here, and leave it up to her?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle Jane." Claude gestured to the sitting room, and Jane went in.
A few minutes later, Claude came back with a tray of food. Jane ate. By the time she was working on the dessert, Frances came in.
"Hello, Jane," Frances said, wringing her hands. "How do you want to proceed?"
"I've been thinking about that, and I don't want to do you out of your inheritance. I know this is a mess, and it's my fault."
"No, of course not. You didn't ask to be bitten, Jane."
"Not exactly, no. But I put myself in the position where it could happen. In any case, my fault or Roderick's, it's certainly not yours. But I am going to need some money and some help. Can you do that, Frances? For the sake of our shared past?"
"Of course," Frances agreed. "But what are your plans? What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. I haven't really had a chance to think it through."
"But you've been dead . . ."
"For months, yes. But for most of that I was either under Roderick's spell or, well, let's just say I wasn't myself." Jane shook her head in amusement at the situation. "Never mind. I will think of something."
But Frances pulled her purse open, and from it drew a wad of bills that would choke a horse. "What about your clothes? I can have Claude put together a bag with your underthings and some of your dresses. You had a great deal of clothing, and much of it is in storage. It will take a few days to gather it up and I will need an address to send it to."
Jane laughed. It was a tinkling sound, but it carried a throaty undertone. "Send it to Londinium, 113 Eaton Square. I need to see the people living there anyway."
Location: 113 Eaton Square, Londinium
Time: September 7, 1878
The cab that brought them to this five-story townhouse was much the same as the one Tom drove before all this happened. Tom looked out as the front doors opened and a large beefy man with blond hair and mutton chops came out. He was wearing striped pants and a tailcoat, but while they were well tailored, for him it was like putting livery on a wild boar. The man belonged in a workman's slops, just as Tom did. That, or a kraut sergeant's uniform. And he didn't look happy to see Tom. He was followed by four women including, Tom's ma and sister. Between them all, they made short work of the bags.
Ma was looking worried and Missy resentful, but no one said anything beyond hello and welcome back. Missy looked like she wanted to, but Ma sent her a look that quieted her for now. The first floor was what might be called the public rooms, the parlor the dining hall, but also the kitchen and scullery. Karl Baars had a room in the basement and the rest of the servants had rooms on the top floor. Aside from the stairs, the townhouse had a lift that the servants could use when Herr van Helsing and Sir William were not in residence. However, with their return, the servants were again relegated to using the back stairs.
✽✽✽
"Sir William is on the third floor with his workshop, and Mr. Baars says you are to be put in a fourth floor room to have access," Ma said, and Tom nodded.
The Blackwells were, for the moment, in the room that Ma and Missy shared on the fifth and top floor. It was a small room, but hardly a closet. And if the ceiling was low, well, Ma and Missy weren't over tall. It was not quite as large as the room they'd rented before Tom made his accidental trip to Casablanca, but it was only shared by Ma and Missy. There were two cots, a chest and a wardrobe. The water closet was just down the hall, which was better than the old rooms, as they'd been on another floor there. "It looks nice, Ma," Tom said, but he was looking at Missy. Who was sitting on one of the beds with her hands on her knees. She still looked rebellious but it was easier to see now that the belligerence was hiding fear.
"The gorilla won't let me in the library," Missy said, "and Julie and Susan say we're a charity case, and we'll be gone once the gorilla has a talk with Herr van Helsing. And they won't teach me how to load magical items, wouldn't even let me touch them."
Tom looked over at his ma, and she was looking worried. "I don't think you need to worry about us being thrown out. Herr van Helsing is an honorable man. He may not be thrilled with the situation, but I don't think he's looking to back out. And if he does, I'm back now. We'll think of something." Tom didn't think Alan van Helsing would throw them out because Karl Baars said to. For one thing, the man was too stubborn to be pushed that way. On the other hand, from what Sir William said, Karl had known van Helsing since he was a sprout, so he probably knew just how to get around him. "Anyway, let me have a talk with Mr. Baars and see what's what. If that doesn't work, I'll have a chat with Sir William." He turned back to Missy. "Since when have you been interested in libraries? I thought all you cared about was clothes and boys." Not that Missy had ever had much in the way of clothes. She had two dresses, one for workaday and one for church on Sunday. She had a bonnet for work and a hat for church, and that was it. But she loved to look in the shop windows.
"I like to read," Missy insisted, then added, "Besides, it's a pretty room. The wallpaper is light tan with lilies, and the books smell nice. I was just looking at one of the magic books. I wasn't hurting anything."
"I'll talk to Sir William about that, too." Tom knew that the servants were taught to reload certain of the magical items. None of them were wizards of any sort, but most people could be taught to load a simple magical item, and that was one of the things servants did in wealthy households like this one. Like cleaning out the fireplace, or scrubbing the floors. However, loading items was perhaps the most preferred job for servants. There was less physical labor to it, and it was generally cleaner.
✽✽✽
Tom knocked on the door and a gravelly voice ordered, "Come."
Tom opened the door a bit and looked in. Karl Baars had a pronounced jaw that was accented by the long blond mutton chops. It did give him a gorilla-ish look that was only increased by his long arms and wide shoulders. Right now the mutton chops might be making his frown seem more pronounced that it actually was. But sideburns or no the man was certainly not smiling. He waved Tom in but didn't offer him a seat.
"Mr. Baars?" Tom asked as he stepped into the little room.
Baars didn't say "Call me Karl" or "Yes," instead he asked. "Mr. Blackwell, is there something you need?"
Tom wasn't entirely sure what to say but it didn't matter. Baars never gave him the chance.
Instead Baars held out a hand and said. "I haven't had a chance to talk with Herr van Helsing and until I do I can't tell you what is going to happen. However did you managed to get stuck on the Angola?"
Tom smiled a little. "Sir William was a bit short of the readies."
Baars snorted. "Sir William usually is."
"Maybe so, Mr. Baars, but he's a skilled amulet wizard. I have seen him work."
"I don't disagree, Mr. Blackwell. In fact, he's also not unskilled as an amulet maker. This house is proof enough of that. We have all the modern conveniences, or at least most of them. However, this is Herr van Helsing's house, not Sir William's. As I said, I won't know anything until I've had a chance to talk with Herr van Helsing. So whatever this is about, it's going to have to wait."
Tom felt his face go hard. He'd hoped that they could settle things a bit among themselves, one serving man to another, but it was clear that wasn't going to happen. "Good enough, Mr. Baars. Then I'll go see if Sir William needs anything."
✽✽✽
That could have gone better, Karl Baars thought as Thomas Blackwell left his small office. He considered Blackwell's tone as the man left. It could have gone worse, but it definitely could have gone better. If the Blackwells were to be a permanent addition to the household, he didn't need the resentment he may just have engendered. But neither was he willing to commit himself to anything until he had spoken to the master.
Karl was not sure of the situation. The letter from Herr Alan had been short, with not a lot of details, understandably enough considering the cost of such messages. All it said was to make sure the women had a place to stay and employment. The other servants, Julie and Susan, were not happy with the additions. In fact, they were worried and they had reason to be. This was a well appointed townhouse and quite well equipped with labor-saving magic. It, unlike the houses on either side, didn't need a large staff. Admiral Fitzsimons on the left employed eight servants, and Lord Mabary on the right, fifteen. But that was because neither of their houses were nearly so well equipped with devices. Herr Alan could probably get by with just Karl and Joseph. Not that the two maids didn't make life easier for everyone, sweeping the floors and making the beds, but Karl wasn't entirely sure what the house was going to do with two more maids. He was even less sure what they were going to do with this cabbie who had gotten himself stuck on the airship.
✽✽✽
If Tom had been able to hear Karl's thoughts as he left the basement room, he would have agreed. Things certainly could have gone better. Rather than going to the back stairs, Tom went to the elevator, and in defiance of the "no servants in the elevator when the masters are in house" rule, he got on it and pulled the lever that caused it to start to lift. There was a wheel behind the lever that was spinning as the elevator rose. It was a geared wheel and Tom studied the mechanism. A series of gears turned, and as they did Tom could see a final wheel outside the elevator that was attached with gears to a bar that went from the basement to the top floor.
The elevator climbed slowly, using a combination of magic and gears to provide lift. It was an open car with a collapsing gate that slid open to the sides so Tom could see each floor as it passed. There was no one in the hall on the first floor, and the door to van Helsing's apartment was closed. When the lift reached Sir William's floor, Tom got off and released the elevator to return to its home in the basement.
As he exited the elevator, Sir William looked up. "You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. That bloody thing scared the crap out of me. It's Bill Goldman's memories. That thing has no safety mechanism at all."
"I shouldn't say that, sir. The mechanism itself is a safety mechanism of sorts. Should the magic give out, the gearing would probably catch, slowing the fall."
"Maybe, but it still gave me the willies. I think I want to have it reworked using a counterweight and an arrestor gear."
"What's an arrestor gear?"
"That's the hard part, Tom. I don't actually know."
Tom blinked.
"Elevators in my . . . that is, Bill Goldman's . . . world were closed boxes and you couldn't see the workings. I know there was a safety device that would stop the elevator if the cable broke, so that you'd only fall a few feet before it stopped, but I have no idea at all how it worked.
"What cable?" Tom asked realizing that he had wandered into yet another of the occasional strange alleys that Sir William's memories of that other world produced. The thing was, they were often very useful strange alleys, and offered new ways of seeing what was going on in the world. Like the electromagnet they had made, and the work they were now doing on the magically charged batteries. That was a combination of Sir William's knowledge of alchemy and Goldman's knowledge of electrochemistry. "We can look into that, Sir William. In the meantime, I was wondering about my family and this man, Karl. I just came from him and he was not all that helpful."
"Wait on that, Tom. I know Karl better than you, and I bet he just wants to talk to Alan before he commits himself. What was the problem, anyway?"
"It's Missy. She wants to use the library and, well, both Ma and Missy are a little worried that we are going to be put out now that you and Herr van Helsing are back in Londinium."
"Well, it's Alan's house, so I can't make promises. But as to the library, that's mostly mine. I'll mention it to Karl, but let it wait until Alan has had a chance to talk things over with Karl. Wait a moment . . . is your sister interested in higher education? For that matter, didn't you mention that you had a scholarship to Cambridge?"
"Yes, sir, I did. But Da got bad sick about then, and I had to come home and go to work. Missy . . . well, she's a bright girl, but I wouldn't say she was a scholar, exactly." The truth was that Tom was pretty sure his sister had been in the library to avoid work, not because she was studying.
"Well, give me a day or so on that. I want to work out some tests to give me a better idea of each of your educational levels. But I think we are going to need to send Missy to school. It's not right to leave the young uneducated."
Tom felt himself grinning. He didn't think that Missy was going to be happy about what came with the library privileges.
✽✽✽
"It's not that we can't use the help, sir," Karl told Alan, and Alan felt himself grimace. The truth was that Karl had been pushing him to get more staff for years, and Alan had resisted, preferring William's magical gewgaws over more servants, even though the magic was more expensive than the servants would be. The truth was that Alan didn't like being fussed over. He was a private man and preferred to keep his space to himself.
"I'm afraid I was at fault in this matter. Thomas was completely within his rights to expect to be paid and it was me who refused the extortion of the airship company, so lost him his position permanently. Whatever happens, I am obligated to make that good and you know better than I how difficult it is to find a situation in Londinium these days."
"Is the master saying that they are to be permanent employees?"
Alan looked at Karl with a lifted eyebrow. His manservant and butler was always punctilious, but only resorted to the third person master when twitting Alan about something. "Yes, Karl, they are to be considered permanent employees. Unless they are utterly incompetent?"
"Mrs. Emilia Blackwell seems a fine woman, if hard used by life. The girl, Missy, is a bit lackadaisical about her duties and the house rules, but that's a problem of youth. A firm hand will solve it, given a bit of time, sir. What about Julie and Susan? I would be reluctant to release them for something that was none of their doing."
"You have quite made your point, Karl. You are victorious. We will now have a permanent staff of seven, rather than the four we had before. However, consider Tom to be Sir William's servant and apprentice. The man has a knack with equipage, Karl, a true knack."