Chapter 3

It was the longest week that Elizabeth had ever experienced. Time seemed to have slowed down especially for her, and she was in a permanent state of panic because she could no longer remember what Caleb looked like. She was almost starting to convince herself that she’d only imagined him to be handsome and that the next time she saw him it would all be quite dreadful.

“Oh, do keep still Buffy,” Dawn paused, a hairpin in her hand and contemplated her sister. “You look truly beautiful tonight, he cannot help but fall madly in love with you.” She sighed and continued pinning up Elizabeth’s hair. “I wish I were coming with you.”

“So do I, Dawnie, but I imagine it would be quite tedious for you. I understand it is to be a small gathering.” She turned her head from side to side to inspect Dawn’s work. “Intimate was the word he used. Just a few of his friends, then he and papa will, I imagine, talk of business.”

“But the enquiry has been made, regarding your prospects?”

“He has been informed of my inheritance from Aunt Joan, but I cannot imagine that it will be of any consequence to him. He is a very wealthy man.”

“Tell me again how it was when you first saw him?”

“Oh, Dawnie, I’ve told you this a dozen times,” Elizabeth laughed as her sister flopped back onto the bed, with a disappointed groan. “But I will tell you again.”

“When papa said the word reverend, well, my heart sank but when I saw the man . . . How can I describe it? Yes, he is handsome but there's something else. He has this aura about him which quite mesmerised me.”

“And are you in love with him?”

“I think so, because if this constant feeling of butterflies in my stomach is not love, then I don’t know what is.”

“And do you think he loves you?” Dawn sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. “I will miss you when you are married, Buffy. And you only just returned from America.”

Elizabeth laughed. “But you will visit us often, and I do not know whether he loves me or not, only that his look seemed to promise me something.” She frowned a little, remembering exactly how she’d felt under Caleb’s gaze. Like there was something in her that she herself hadn’t discovered yet, and it was just waiting for him to bring it forth. And Dawn was definitely too young to listen to that.

“That is mama calling.” She picked up her shawl and gave Dawn a peck on the cheek. “Wish me luck?”

Her sister hugged her back, holding onto her just a little longer than usual. “You will not need it, and I will miss you.”

“Oh, Dawn, don’t cry, I am not wed yet.”

She descended the stairs with mixed feelings. Part of her wanted to stay. She hadn’t realised how much Dawn had needed her and knew now that it had been quite selfish of her to disappear to America for four years and leave her. But another part of her wanted quite desperately to experience those things Willow had talked about, and for that she needed to be married. For the last week she had been able to think of nothing else. It was most wicked of her but she had even imagined herself doing those things with Caleb, and had nearly given herself the vapours on more than one occasion while thinking about it.

“Elizabeth, this will not do.”

“Her mother scuttled up to her and began to fan her vigorously. “What have you done to yourself? You are quite red in the face. It is most unfashionable.”

“Sorry mother.” She firmly banished the images from her mind, and then started worrying that they would pop back in at some inopportune moment during the evening. “I am nervous, that is all.”

“Quite natural, child.” Her mother took a few more moment to fuss with her hair and then looked at her with something that almost amounted to affection. “I was nervous when I first met your father, but don’t worry, you look so pretty tonight that the Reverend Caleb cannot help but be smitten by you.”

“Oh mother, do you think so, because I want him so much.”

“Elizabeth!” Her mother retrieved the fan and fanned herself with it. “That is not the way a young lady should speak. It may do for American society, ahh, here is your father.”

Elizabeth gave an inward sigh of relief as her father appeared and indicated that they should follow him to the waiting carriage. She tried to swallow her nerves as she seated herself, knowing that if the Reverend Caleb offered for her hand tonight, she would be the happiest woman alive.
 

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Now that I am decided upon my course I find that a strange peace, that has hitherto eluded me, has infused my whole being. Tara is to travel to Plymouth with Ethan in two days time, leaving only Alex in attendance. I have tried to persuade her to stay overnight so that I can be sure of attaining my goal without fear of discovery but she is adamant that she will return by sundown. I must therefore hope that this spell of fine weather will continue and that my end will be mercifully swift.

William blotted off the page and blew on the ink to ensure that it was dry. He then closed the book carefully and looked around his bedroom, wondering where he might successfully hide it from Tara. He knew she read his private thoughts and up till now he hadn’t really been bothered about it. She was the only one who ever read his poetry and even she seemed reluctant to do so of late, but he couldn’t let her read this. She’d be completely hysterical if she knew what he was going to do, and he did feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of how bereft she would be after he’d gone. But, he reasoned, sliding the book under his mattress, it would allow her to leave this place for good and live a normal life. She deserved that, so he was, in truth, doing everyone a favour in this.

As he stood, he caught his reflection in the large mirror that leaned against the wall. He told himself that he kept it because he admired its ornate frame, not because he was vain enough to want to look at himself. But he did look at himself, and often.

His white-blond hair he kept shoulder length, tied back with a black ribbon when he could be bothered. Tara cut it for him when it became too unmanageable and washed it for him when the lice became too unbearable. His skin was exceedingly pale, due he supposed to his lack of exposure to the sun, and it made his dark blue eyes stand out all the more prominently. He had sharp cheekbones that became more so when he did not eat properly and his bottom lip was fuller than the top one, which gave him a slightly petulant air. As for height, he was shorter than Ethan by a good head, taller than Tara and about the same as Alex.

And therein lay his problem. He could only judge himself by the people around him and since they were so few, it left him with no real idea of whether he was handsome, ugly or indifferent looking. He turned himself, the candlelight casting strange shadows which caused his cheekbones to appear even more hollow and wondered whether any woman would have found him attractive. Tara constantly told him he was, but he couldn’t trust her opinion of him. She would have called him handsome even if he’d looked like the rear end of a donkey.

He pulled a face at himself, thinking that if he had been a vampire he wouldn’t be able to do this at all. And soon it would all be immaterial because he wouldn’t be here any more. No more flesh, no more bones. Only ashes and dust. Then he could find some real peace.

He spared himself one moment of regret that his only experience of women was through his collection of lewd books that he’d discovered in his father's study, then he drew himself up straight and looked his reflection squarely in the eye.

“You can do this,” he told himself, but for a moment he wavered. Then he caught a glimpse of the next twenty years in his mind’s eye, stretching out before him, one lonely day after another and that strengthened his resolve like nothing else. He nodded to his reflection, then went in search of the sleeping draught. To do this properly he was going to need that.
 

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Dinner was a pleasant affair, although Elizabeth couldn’t eat much due to the butterflies in her stomach. Every time Caleb caught her eye, and he managed to do so often, she felt such a fluttering that it almost made her light headed. After dinner the men retired for their cigars and brandy, leaving the ladies to take a walk in the gardens.

“He is very handsome, is he not?”

Elizabeth turned to the young lady who had fallen into step with her. “I can’t say I’ve noticed.” She tried to assume a casual air, not wanting to seem too eager.

“Oh, come on Elizabeth, I saw the way you watched him all through the meal. No, don’t blush, he’s a very, how shall I put it... desirable man.” She gave a low laugh. “And I could see that he desires you.”

“You could?” Oh dear, had it been that plain? Had everybody seen? She glanced at the woman as they walked, only now noticing that she was wearing a little too much rouge and that her dress was cut far too low for a formal dinner party. “Do you know him well?”

“Quite well, yes.” She took hold of Elizabeth’s arm. “Come, let us go back inside, I’m sure the men are having a better time than this.”

Elizabeth looked at the party of ladies who were seating themselves in the rose arbour. “Mama will never allow it, and surely the men would not want us intruding on their cards and business talk.”

“You know nothing of men, do you?” The woman propelled her towards the group of seated ladies. “A man always has time for a pretty face, and yours is exceptionally so. Did you know that Caleb is going to formally ask for your hand tonight?”

“Really?" Elizabeth couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “I had hoped, but...”

“So you see, he is practically your fiancee. Ahh Mrs. Summers, may I borrow your daughter for a while, she has expressed an interest in seeing the house. She will be well chaperoned, of course.”

Elizabeth covered her surprise at the lie, and managed a nod of agreement.

Her mother looked flustered for a moment, then to her relief, she waved them off with her blessing.

“There, that wasn’t hard was it?” The woman winked conspiratorially at Elizabeth as they turned back for the house. “I can think of better things to do than talk about charity work and crochet. Let’s go upstairs, there’s something I want to show you.”

They entered the house and climbed the staircase in silence, her companion suddenly devoid of any conversation now that she’d got her alone. Elizabeth was starting to feel a little bemused as she was led down a side corridor and through a door, behind which was a long gallery full of paintings. And she was even more surprised to see Caleb standing there.

He advanced on her, giving her the smile that did strange things to her insides. “You must forgive me Elizabeth, I asked her to bring you here. Are you very cross with me?”

“No.” She managed an answer without stammering. And how could she be cross with him? Surprised, yes. He was the last person she’d expected to find. And to be alone with him before their marriage? It broke every convention she had ever lived by, and the thought was so exciting that her knees were trembling and her legs threatening to give way.

He took her hand and contemplated it for a moment. “I just wanted a moment alone with you Elizabeth, I’ve thought of nothing but you since our last meeting.”

And I of you, she thought, although she didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead she gave a nervous giggle. “This is most improper,” she managed, looking up coyly and then dropping her eyes to his hand where it rested on hers. He was doing that thing with his thumb again, rubbing it lightly across her palm and each stroke was sending a tingling feeling from the middle of her stomach right down to the area that no genteel young woman ever talked about.

“Do you mind?” His voice was low and seductive as he drew her along the corridor.

“No, I don’t mind.” She followed him because she couldn’t resist. Didn’t want to resist, because she’d never felt anything like the feelings he was eliciting from her right at that moment. And all he was doing was touching her hand and talking to her. Willow’s description of her wedding night flashed into her head and she felt a flush creeping along her cheeks.

“Ahh, Elizabeth.” He hadn’t missed it. “What are you thinking about?” He leaned down and looked right into her face, and her flush grew even deeper.

“Umm, I was admiring your paintings.”

He chuckled, a low rumbling deep in his chest. “Let me show you my favourite.”

He walked her to the end of the corridor where there was another door leading to a yet another room full of paintings. The entire end wall was covered with a mural, in front of which he stopped her. By this time her heart was fluttering so wildly in her chest that she could hardly breathe. Papa would kill me if he could see me now, she thought as Caleb moved behind her and put one hand on each of her shoulders. He positioned her squarely in front of the mural and leaned down to whisper close to her ear.

“Do you like it, Elizabeth?”

She looked absently at the painting, concentrating more on the feel of his hands on her shoulders, than the image in front of her. They were moving lightly over her and as he pressed himself closer to her she felt them sliding down to the tops of her breasts, the fingers splaying and closing as he caressed her. She dropped back against him, lost in the erotic haze in which he was engulfing her, and wondering whether she ought to be responding. She didn’t because she had no idea what to do and he seemed to be content just to be touching her as he was.

What they were doing was quite wrong, and him a man of God. But it felt so good, and she had travelled to America and back. That made her a woman of the world, and really she ought to have these experiences before she was wed, and he was to be her husband after all. A thousand excuses coursed through her mind, but the biggest thrill of all was that her mother and father were downstairs, totally unaware of what she was doing, and for once in her life she had control, and not they.

“I knew it.” His arms came right around her, trapping hers as his hands came to rest directly over her breasts. She gave a small gasp as his thumbs grazed them. If this was so wrong, she thought, breathing a little erratically, then why did it feel so good? She closed her eyes and rocked back, eliciting a shuddering groan from him as she encountered something hard pressing into her back. She tried to move away, thinking she’d hurt him but he jerked her back, tightening his grip.

“I knew you’d be just like all the rest. My dirty little Elizabeth. I’m going to enjoy taking you through the cleansing fire.” His face was so close to her that she felt his warm, moist breath fanning her cheek as he spoke, and suddenly it didn’t feel so nice any more. A small feeling of panic gripped her as she struggled to free herself, bringing her hands up as best she could to break his grip on her, but he was far too strong.

“Caleb,” her voice was shaky as she pleaded with him to let her go. “Mama will be waiting for me.” What had he just said? The words were only now making sense as they filtered through the haze.

“You haven’t looked at my painting yet.” He was still holding her firmly, forcing her to look. Perhaps if she did, he’d let her go. She raised her eyes to the mural, scanning back and forth. “It, it’s lovely, Caleb.”

“No, look properly.”

She looked again and her breath caught in her throat as she realised just what she was looking at. Satyrs and nymphs, devils and harlots all engaging the kind of activities that she could never have dreamed of. She wanted to tear her eyes away but with a kind of morbid fascination she kept on looking, as he chuckled behind her.

“Does it excite you?”

His hands were hurting now and the way he was breathing, harsh and heavy, was frightening her. She made another effort to push him away, and he let her, laughing as he did so.

“You can’t run away my little bird,” he shouted after her as she fled from the room. “I already have your father’s consent and I’m not letting you go.”

She ran back along the corridor, slamming the door behind her as she exited to the landing, then down the stairs and she didn’t stop running until she’d reached the safety of a quiet corner at the side of the house.

He’d called her dirty. But why? And he’d been so rough, after making her feel all those things. Willow hadn’t mentioned any of that. Were all men like this? Her mind was a whirl of confusion. That picture, it had fascinated her, and revolted her at the same time.

She caught her breath and tried to compose herself, so that she could join the other ladies, unsure now that she wanted to marry the reverend Caleb. That she wanted to marry anyone at all. Perhaps all marriages were like this and Willow’s was the happy exception?

She straightened her skirts and pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. She needed to talk to papa, tell him that she’d changed her mind. But what reason did she give him? She was as guilty as Caleb in this, hadn’t she allowed him to do those things to her? He’d called her dirty, and perhaps she was, for no lady of any morals would have done the things she’d just done. Papa would be furious with her, but maybe he’d listen to reason.

As she made her way to join the rest of the party, fervently hoping that she wouldn’t encounter Caleb again, she very much doubted that he would. If consent had been taken and given then she was as good as engaged. She’d gone willingly into the trap, and now there was no way out.



Chapter 4

All due credit to Joss and ME for the following transcript, which I have Williamified slightly. Also, bear with the angst for a little longer, William and Elizabeth will meet soon, I promise and there will be frivolity, dancing lessons, bread making, beautiful regency gowns, kittens and of course......(you'll have to keep reading!)

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“What are you searching for, slayer? My weak spot?” The vampyre slowly circled around the young woman standing in front of him. “Give me the best you have.”

She made to stake him with the small stick she held so boldly, but at the moment when it would pierce his heart, she stopped and looked at him as if for the first time.

“You cannot do it?” He took the advantage and encircled her with his arms.

“No.” Her voice was small. “I want to hurt you, but I cannot resist the sinister attraction of your cold and muscular body.”

“Maybe I should repay you for your gentleness.” She felt small and helpless in his embrace. “Maybe I should let you go?”

“No Spike.” She made no effort to free herself. “Never let me go.”

“You know that you should be afraid of me.” The vampyre tightened his grip on her fragile form. “I am bad.”

“You are bad,” she agreed. “Very, very bad.” Then in a single motion he found himself pinned against the wall, the stake once more in her tiny hand. They stayed thus for a long moment, each staring into the other’s eyes. Each learning the truth there.

“You cannot do it?”

“I could never do it,” she declared, her voice a symphony of passion. “I am helpless against you, you fiend, for you are truly evil.”

“And you find that excites you?” He loved her. His unbeating heart seemed to swell, he loved her so.

“It excites me, it terrifies me. I try so hard to resist you, but the lure of your sinister attraction is so strong that I find I cannot.” She was almost swooning now from the sheer joy that this declaration had elicited in her.

“I could bite you, make you like me, but then you would be condemned to live forever in the dark.” The vampyre pushed her away, almost unable to resist her, but she followed him and pulled him back.

“I want you to bite me, I want to live with you forever. Oh Spike, devour me, make me truly yours.”

I cannot resist her, thought the vampyre as his fangs descended to her neck. She will always be mine, and I hers. Until the end of time.

And so ends my gift to posterity, the tale of the fearless slayer and Spike the vampyre who stole her heart. I know it is not fashionable to write a happy ending and that Spike should pay for his sins in order to earn his redemption, but I am foolish enough to believe in the notion of redemption through love. Perhaps this will be read at some time in the future by someone who understands what I am trying to say, although I hold little hope of that. I sign my name now, and close this story that has kept me occupied for the past seven years, for it has come to it’s rightful conclusion and I am satisfied.

William leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. With the completion of his novel the last of his affairs were in order. He bundled up the manuscript and searched in the drawer for a ribbon to bind it up with, thinking that he might leave it for Tara to find, along with the letter that he had already written her, and of course his will. He had no idea whether it was legally binding or not, neither did he know whether there were any living heirs to the Angelus fortune, or lack of it. And he found that he didn't care, for tomorrow he would leave this wretched place for good, and all those earthly worries would be far behind him.

He wandered over to the window and looked out at the distant hills, over which the sun was just beginning to set. He hadn’t lived a bad life, but it suddenly occurred to him that he should perhaps be making some sort of confession of his few sins before he did what he had to do. He’d never been to church, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed with any sincerity, but surely he wouldn’t be made to languish in purgatory for too long. A fondness for wine, and a weakness for lewd books hardly constituted mortal sins. And he hadn’t shouted at Tara that often, why he’d even said please and thank you to her on occasion.

Perhaps he’d taken to pleasuring himself a little too often of late, and he’d read enough on that matter to know that it was frowned upon by the church, but he could only hope that God, or St Peter, or whoever was in charge of these things would understand his dilemma, given his lack of contact with women. They were of the male gender after all, and must sympathise, he reasoned.

All in all, he was fairly satisfied that his entry to paradise would be swift, until a thought popped into his mind that wouldn’t then leave him alone. There was an scripture that said the sins of the father would be visited on the children, or some such thing. He couldn't remember exactly, but for the first time in his life he wished he knew just what his father really had been like. All he had of his parents, apart from a few fleeting memories of his father, were the portraits that hung in the picture gallery. And those told him nothing at all, save that his father had a grim expression and his mother looked to be very beautiful, although a little sad.

And of course, the legend.

Surely if he were to be made to pay for his father's sins, he was doing so already and he reckoned himself to have paid handsomely. Well, soon he would find out for sure. He took himself off to the library for one last look at his precious books and wondered what a betting man would give for his chances. Heaven or hell? Tomorrow he would find out.

When he finally got to bed he fell asleep with surprising ease for a man who was contemplating suicide on the morrow.

He awoke the next morning to the sound of heavy rain spattering against the window pane.

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“Elizabeth!” Willow engulfed her cousin in a hug as she welcomed her into her home. “This is a pleasant surprise, goodness, let’s take your coat, surely you did not walk in all this rain?”

Elizabeth shrugged out of her coat and removed her dripping bonnet, handing them to the maid. Then she smoothed back the wet strands of hair that were clinging to her face and looked around her. “You have a beautiful home Willow, and I’m sorry that I didn’t let you know that I was coming. I need to talk with you.”

Willow looked at her, then took her hand. “What is wrong, Elizabeth, why you look quite glum.”

“I am...” Elizabeth’s mouth quavered as she tried to speak, but the tears that had been threatening to come all morning finally began to fall. She wiped at them with her hand, turning away in embarrassment from the maid’s curious stare. “Can we...”

“Of course, where are my manners,” Willow quickly ordered some tea, then led her to the sun - room. “Sit down, and tell me what’s wrong. Has something happened to your father or mother? Or Dawn?”

“No, they are all well.” Elizabeth took her handkerchief from where she had tucked it into her sleeve and blew her nose. “It’s me.”

“You? But what...”

Elizabeth stopped her, “Willow, I want you to help me run away.”

Willow sat back. “What did you just say?”

“I need to run away, and soon.” She twisted the handkerchief as she spoke. “I cannot marry him.”

“Caleb? But I thought you were engaged. It is all about the village.”

“We are, but Willow, I don’t want to be any more, he’s not the man I thought at all.”

“But what has changed? The last time I saw you, you were madly in love with him.”

The two girls lapsed into silence as the maid brought the tea in and poured them out a cup each. They waited until she was out of earshot before resuming their conversation.

"Now, what is this about running away, has he offended you in some way?”

“When we were at his house,” Elizabeth didn’t know how to say it, how could she explain to Willow what she’d done and still expect to leave her reputation intact? “He lured me upstairs and showed me a dreadfully lewd picture, then he touched me in a most improper manner.” She looked away, a blush creeping across her cheeks.

“He attacked you?” Willow’s hand went to her breast. “You poor girl, have you told your father?”

“No. He wouldn’t believe me, he is so set on this match.”

“But he must be told, Caleb is a scoundrel to do such a thing. Elizabeth, you must tell him.”

They sat, silently again, Willow frowning with righteous indignation on her behalf, and Elizabeth starting to feel guilty that she hadn’t told Willow the real truth of the matter. The story she told laid all of the blame at Caleb’s door and made her sound like an innocent, when in truth she was not. She’d let him touch her and had even enjoyed it at first. She’d known it was wrong to be there, unchaperoned with him, yet she’d gone willingly, and almost revelled in the fact. And now she was compounding it with this lie.

She placed her cup down on the table, and looked squarely at Willow. “I haven’t told you the whole truth in this. I'm dirty and wanton. I let him touch me, Willow, and I enjoyed it. I’m nothing more than a harlot.”

Willow flew across to her and sat beside her. “What kind of talk is this? Did you encourage him?”

“No, but I didn’t stop him, when I should have.” She gave a large sniff as a fresh round of tears started. “It was horrible, he was so rough, and he said those awful things. And the painting, they were doing such things that I could never have imagined.” She raised her tear-stained face to her cousin, presenting her with the very picture of abject misery. "Why would a reverend want a picture like that in his house?”

Willow slid her arms around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “I have no idea, and let me tell you cousin, that a man will always lay the blame on a woman when he is driven to uncontrollable desires. He will say it was your pretty face that caused him to lose control, that you are Eve sent to tempt him, or some such nonsense. Be assured that you are the innocent party in this, and Caleb as a man of the cloth should have more control, not less.” She nodded reassuringly at Elizabeth. “Your father will understand. Tell him about the painting, that will add weight to your argument.”

Elizabeth leaned her head wearily onto Willow’s shoulder. “I wish it were that simple. How can I even find the words to describe what happened. Papa would have a fit. And Caleb would probably deny everything anyway. What if he told papa I did encourage him?”

“Perhaps if you went to see Caleb and told him how you felt he would release you?”

“I don’t think so. He said he would never let me go. And I don’t want to see him again.” Elizabeth stood up and started pacing up and down. “Running away is the only answer.”

“But where will you go? How will you live?” Willow regarded her anxiously.

“I will go to Plymouth.”

“But Plymouth is full of sailors, you would not be safe there.”

“I will secure myself a position as a governess. I can read and write, surely someone will be able to make use of me.”

“But how will you get there? You will need money for the coach, do you have any money?” Willow was looking more anxious by the moment.”

“No, but I will sell something, some jewellery. Aunt Joan bought me some in America, I should get a good price for it.”

“Aunt Joan, of course.” Willow’s face lit up. “Can you not send word to her? She will understand and maybe intervene for you.”

Elizabeth sat down again. “I can’t. She has gone back to Bath, and taken Dawn with her, and Dawn was so excited to be asked. I cannot spoil it for her with my troubles. No, I have it all planned, you only need take part in a small deception.” She waited to see what her cousin would say. It did seem unfair to pressure her like this, but Willow was the only one she could trust with this.

Willow looked at her for a long moment, then she sighed. “You have always been a good friend to me, I cannot abandon you now when you need me. I will help you, but you must promise me that you will at least make one attempt to speak with your father.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I will try, but I hold out no hope of him relenting. I fear I will have to do this.”

“Willow held out her hand and clasped Elizabeth’s. “Then tell me what I have to do.”

As Elizabeth elaborated on her plan she noticed that the rain had stopped and the sun was now shining brightly. Things always seemed so much better when the sun shone, and she felt her resolve slipping a little as the storm clouds rolled back to reveal an impossibly blue sky.

But then she thought of Caleb and the way he’d touched her, and the things he’d said and she wondered just what she would be prepared to do to get away from him. She’d fleetingly thought of throwing herself off the cliff, but would she really be able to do that? Take her own life? She shuddered at the thought and knew that she never could. Anyone prepared to go that far must know real despair indeed.

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I am rapidly becoming of the opinion that the powers that be do not want me to leave this world after all. I am quite resigned to my fate, yet today, when I would have it fine, the sky is overcast with clouds so black, and the rain so heavy, that I would surely drown before I had achieved my goal. And I do not think that a vampire can drown, so where would be my glorious and legendary death? I watch the sky anxiously for signs that the storm will pass, for I am ready for this.

William stood in the large bay window, his forehead leaning against the glass, one arm extended above his head. He traced the rivulets of rain as they zig-zagged down the pane and watched them pool on the window sill. For it to rain today after a dry spell of nearly two weeks was a fitting irony. It seemed that he couldn’t even kill himself properly. Yes, there were other means of achieving his goal, but he’d wanted to do it this way. Had it all planned. He didn’t want to be found poisoned, or bleeding to death, or battered from a fall from the tower. He wanted a vampire’s death and for that he needed the sun.

He heard Tara bustling about in the hall, getting ready for her trip. For an awful moment that morning he’d thought that she wasn’t going to go. She’d taken one look at the rain and declared that she was postponing it, and it had taken all of his powers of persuasion to convince her to go. Ethan was preparing the small coach. Tara flatly refused to travel in the larger one bearing the Angelus crest, even though it was by far the most comfortable. She had no desire, she declared, to scare the villagers half to death by appearing in the very coach that they all vehemently believed had taken Lord Angelus to hell.

William, on the other hand had always believed it would be the height of amusement to do so. When he was younger he’d imagined painting it a bright scarlet, donning one of his father’s old greatcoats and driving it through the village on All Hallows eve. It would have been amusing, but he’d never done it, and now he never would.

He turned his head as Tara came into the room fastening her bonnet.

“Now, I’ve left you a pie for your dinner. Promise me that you will eat some of it, and don’t let that greedy son of mine have it all? And please come away from the window.”

“Yes Tara.” He roused himself from his contemplation of the rain and turned to her. “Come here, I want to kiss you goodbye.”

She bustled over to him. engulfed him in a hug, and then looked surprised when he did not immediately let her go.

“My dear boy, whatever is the matter? Are you unwell, because I could stay.”

“No, you go.” He dropped his arms and stepped back. “Just wanted to say a proper goodbye.”

“You are unwell.” She reached for his forehead and placed her hand on it. “Do you have a fever my sweet?”

“No.” He stood still as she trailed her hand through his hair, muttering that it needed cutting. “But I like it when you do that.”

She dropped her hand and cocked her head. “You are in a strange mood today. I think I will stay.” Her fingers pulled at the ribbons of her bonnet, but he stepped forward and took them from her, deftly retying them for her.

“Go to Plymouth, you know how you enjoy your trips out, and don’t hurry back. Stay as long as you like.”

Tara pursed her lips and stared at him, then she shook her head. “I’ll go then, but I will not be late back. God keep you William.”

“And you.” He followed her to the front door, earning himself another suspicious look.

“Just thought I’d wave you off.” He was in truth finding the parting rather more emotionally disturbing than he’d imagined it would be, and if she didn’t go soon he was sorely afraid that he was going to disgrace himself by crying.

She glanced out before giving him a last peck on the cheek. “Thank heavens the rain is easing at last. We may well see some sunshine before this day is out after all. Goodbye William.”

“Goodbye Tara, and thank you.”

She didn’t hear his last words because she’d already gone. William looked out at the sky to see for himself that the sun was indeed coming out from behind the clouds. He walked back towards the grand staircase and began to climb. He needed to find a nice, sunny spot and drink a large quantity of the sleeping draught to make sure he didn’t wake up before he’d achieved his goal.

And Alex wouldn’t be bothering him any time soon. He’d made sure of leaving out all of his father’s most private collection of books and etchings in the library and then asking Alex to go and tidy them up. That should keep him busy for the next few hours and if he was true to form, he would then fall asleep from his exertions as he usually did. Good old Alex, so predictable.

As he walked down the galleried landing, he paused in front of the portraits of his mother and father. Liam and Darla Angelus. His hair as dark as the night, and hers as bright as the sun. Together they’d produced him, and then left him cursed and abandoned in this prison. He bowed to his mother and made a rude gesture to his father.

“Thank you for nothing,” he muttered as he went into his room to prepare himself.



Chapter 5

To the Reverend Caleb.

I find that after great consideration I cannot marry you after all and hope that you will release me from the contract...

“No, that will not do.” Elizabeth screwed up the sheet of paper and threw it down. She dipped the pen in the ink and tried again.

After the incident at your house, I find that you are not the man I thought you to be, therefore...

No, no, this had to be just right. How did she word this so that Caleb would know that she was serious? That he was not going to get away with the way he’d behaved?

You are a pig, Caleb. I would find marriage with you akin to an eternity in hell, and would no longer contemplate it, were you the last man on this earth.”

That one made her smile, albeit briefly, for she was not in the mood for frivolities. But like the others, it swiftly found its way to the waste paper bin. Enflaming him with insults was probably not the best way to go about this. Perhaps if she appealed to his better nature?

Caleb, You must know now that after the way I reacted during our last meeting, I am not the woman you thought me to be. Therefore I must ask you to take me seriously when I say that I cannot marry you, now or ever. I will speak with my father on this when he is returned from London, and have great hopes of his understanding in this matter.

Elizabeth S.

She read it through three times, wondering what else she could say, and deep inside holding out little hope that he would take any notice of her plea. But she had fulfilled part of her commitment to Willow. Now all she had to do was wait for her father to return from his business trip, and in the meantime store up enough courage to tackle him on the matter. In truth, her confidence in her plan to run away was waning with each moment that passed. A post as a governess would not be easy to secure without good references and who was there to give her those?

And Willow had been right to worry about her safety. Yes, she had travelled widely with Aunt Joan, but always with the benefit of a large entourage of servants to look after them. A young woman travelling alone would surely attract attention of the wrong kind. She prayed fervently that by some miracle her father would understand and that she would not have to elaborate too much on the detail of the matter. Then, satisfied that the ink was dry, she folded the letter and went in search of someone to deliver it.

--------------------------------

William slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. Since he hadn’t eaten anything, the sleeping draught was taking effect rather more quickly than usual, and he staggered a little as he struggled to free the cuffs. Removing his shirt would expose enough of his body he supposed to achieve his goal as quickly as possible. He had, in truth, no real idea of what was going to happen to him, never having stayed out in the sun for long enough to achieve anything more than a mild sunburn.

He squinted up into the now almost cloudless sky and thought that maybe the gods did want him after all. Then, reaching for the bottle, he took another large swig and fell to his knees. Who was going to miss him apart from Tara? Nobody. His life meant nothing to anyone, save her. A picture of her following his coffin floated into his befuddled mind as the bottle slipped from his hands. Her crying, Alex in his Sunday best with his usual sullen face, Ethan walking emotionless behind them.

The grass was cold and wet as he rolled onto his back. It made him shiver as he stretched out his arms, offering himself as a sacrifice to the sun. He knew that being a suicide, he couldn’t be buried according to the rites of the church, so would he find rest in some forgotten corner of the grounds, quietly slipping into legend as his father had done? It was what he’d wanted. As his eyes fluttered closed against the brightness of the sun, he saw them all; Tara, Alex, Ethan. Turning away as they left him there, cold and alone in his grave, to continue with the rest of their lives. And then someone else.

He frowned and tried to open his eyes. Standing behind them, a figure, small and delicate, with hair that floated like a veil, and glowing all over like the sun. And she was looking at him with such love and concern that he thought his heart was going to break.

Her mouth was moving, as if she was trying to tell him something, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hear the words. And his last thought before he slipped into unconsciousness was that he didn’t want to do this anymore. What was he thinking of? He had to find out who she was, why she’d come to him now. Of all the times he’d fantasised about her, he’d never been able to clearly see her face, yet now she stood before him almost as real as he was.

He made out just one word as the blackness overwhelmed him.

Stay.
 

-------------------------------
 

“Ethan!” Tara stuck her head out of the coach window, holding on to her bonnet for fear of it blowing away. “Ethan, stop the coach.”

The coach ground to a halt, jolting her against the seat as Ethan pulled up the horses, muttering under his breath He jumped down and walked around to the window.

“What is it now, woman? Did you not relieve yourself, just a mile back.”

“I do not want to relieve myself, Ethan.” She took a moment to regain her breath. “’Tis William, I never should have left him this morning. Turn the coach around.”

“I will not.” Ethan folded his arms and glared stubbornly back at her. “There are things to do in Plymouth, and William will survive one day without you, you do fuss over him far too much.”

She favoured him with an equally stubborn expression. “If you do not turn around this instant then I will get out and walk back.” To back up her declaration, she made to open the door, but Ethan leaned in and caught her hand.

“God’s blood, woman, if you won’t be the death of me. Calm yourself, and I’ll take you back. Anything so I don’t have to put up with your incessant nagging.”

“Please Ethan.” She was almost in tears now. “I have such a dreadful feeling. We must go back.”
 

--------------------------------
 

She was digging with her hands. Clawing at the soil, breaking her nails, stripping the skin from her knuckles. He was down there somewhere, and she had to get to him. Before his flesh melted from his bones, before his beauty became but a memory. She called out to him, but she knew he couldn’t hear her, and she couldn’t find him no matter how hard she tried.

Elizabeth awoke with a jolt. She took a moment to realise that she was at her writing desk, and that she must have fallen asleep while writing in her journal. Stretching out slowly, she caught sight of her hands, still white, the skin soft and unmarked, her knuckles unscratched. She inspected them closely. Not a mark. But it had felt so real. She pushed back her chair and stood up, shivering as she did so. Perhaps a turn about the garden would help her shake off the strange feeling that the dream had left her with.

What had she been trying to do? No-one came back from the dead. When you were in your coffin, you stayed there. Unless you were a...

Stop it, Elizabeth. It’s nothing but a stupid legend made up to frighten children - and emotional young women, she thought ruefully. It was nerves, that was all. This business with Caleb had sorely upset her, and the thought of talking with her father - that was enough to induce nightmares in anyone.

But as she walked around the garden, she couldn’t shake it. The feeling that she should have completed her task, that he was still waiting for her, desperate and sad because she wasn’t coming for him.

Why did this have to happen now? Did she not have enough to worry about between Caleb and her father? Or perhaps she was slowly escaping into madness, and this was but a symptom of it?

Ahh, she thought, there was the solution to her problem. She would go quietly mad and, in her mind, run away with the man who called to her so eloquently from his grave. Perhaps it was a sign that she was to join him, and live forever in the cold dark with him, for would that not be preferable to a life with Caleb?

She laughed at the thought, a slightly hysterical sound, earning herself a strange look from the gardener who was tending the roses. He cut one and handed it to her as she passed him.

“Because you look so sad, Miss Elizabeth. ‘Tis your favourite colour, I believe.”

She took the red rose and stared at it wistfully. “It is, thank you.” She contemplated it for a further moment, inhaled it’s scent and made to walk on, but then she stopped a turned back to him.

“Would anyone miss me if I were gone?”

The old gardener stopped and leaned on his spade, smiling kindly at her. “Now what kind of talk is that, Miss Elizabeth? Why, if you weren’t here, who would kill all the monsters and demons?”

She blushed slightly at the memory. “I wanted to be a hero, didn’t I? Do you remember the sword I begged you to make?”

“You were going to rid the world of all evil, feisty little thing you were.”

“I was, wasn’t I? What happened to that little girl, I wonder?”

“Oh she’s still there, I wager.” He nodded slowly, remembering. “And when you need her, she’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

Elizabeth took her leave of him and hurried back into the house, tears threatening to fall once more. It was too much. She wanted to be that little girl again, the one who hadn’t a care in the world beyond her imaginary dreams. Dreams of saving the world, of being brave enough to stand against evil. And Caleb was evil personified.

He wasn’t going to have her, she thought, clenching her fists and straightening her spine, the fighting spirit was still there. She had a choice in this. To bow to her fate or to make a stand. It might break her but she would talk to her father, she would make him understand. And if he didn’t?

Well, then she would make that choice. And it was hers alone to make.
 

----------------------------
 

“Ow! Ow, ow.” William tried to lift his arm to fend Tara off as she applied yet more lotions and ointments to his skin, but it felt as if someone had tied a lead weight to it, and it wouldn’t move.

His vision was so blurred that he couldn’t make her out properly, and he was going to vomit again. Had spent the whole night vomiting, and hurting, and seeing and hearing strange things. Damn them all, why hadn’t they let him die? He’d been so close, had even seen what he’d thought to be paradise, but someone or something had stopped him. Even as he’d strained towards the bright, white light, someone was gently pulling him back.

Back to the indignity that was his life. Why? He’d come back fervently believing that the angelic vision would be waiting for him a solid, real woman. Someone to ease his loneliness, someone to grow old with, but all he’d found was Tara weeping and wailing and pulling and poking at him. And a half remembered dream, for that is surely all that it had been.

His stomach finished heaving at last and he flopped back against his pillows with a groan of pain, as his burnt skin came into contact with the bedclothes. This caused a fresh flurry of activity from Tara, who did not seem to have stopped crying the whole night. Something cool and wet was applied to his forehead and it was heaven. But he was on fire everywhere else, and the lotions and potions they were rubbing on his skin were only making it worse. He could not, however, make them understand how much it were hurting him, so he gave up and endured it. And, now, more than ever, he needed the laudanum, but she wouldn’t give him any, no matter how much he pleaded with her.

Suicide was a sin, and here was his punishment. He sighed as waves of sheer exhaustion rolled over him and the pain gently ebbed away as he sank into sleep, thinking that perhaps he would live after all. Dying was just too painful.
 

-----------------------------------
 

“Stupid lad, he could have ruined everything.” Ethan stood at the foot of the bed, his face it’s usual impassive mask. “What if he’d succeeded and anyone ‘ad found out. All his goods be forfeit, that’s what. And where would that leave us?”

Tara sniffed and wiped at her nose with a linen square. “How can you talk that way? My poor William, did he not think we loved him?" She gave another sniff, this time unable to stop the tears that poured down her cheeks. “I’ve tried to be a mother to him, I’ve tried so hard.” She leaned over and stroked William’s arm, causing him to flinch in his sleep. “Oh, I’m sorry my lamb.” She bought the cloth again to her face and sobbed into it, “I’m so sorry.”

“And how is this your fault?” Ethan shook his head and walked over to Tara, placing his hand on her shoulder. “No blame lies with you, if anyone, then blame that wretch of a father that sired him. God rot him, wherever he is, but Tara,” His hand moved to her chin which he took hold of, firmly turning her face to his.

“It suits me here, so just you make sure he never tries this again. The crown will have everything if he kills himself and someone finds out, so it’s your job to make sure he doesn’t.”

Tara nodded as best she could, given that he was holding her so tightly. “I will watch him night and day, Ethan, do not worry, I will keep him safe.”

Ethan let go of her and walked to the door. “Never mind safe, just keep ‘im alive.” He made to leave, then he stopped and grinned wickedly. “You know what they did to suicides in the old days, don’t you? Buried them at cross roads with a stake through their heart. He’d ‘ave liked that, what with ‘im thinking ‘imself a vampire ‘an all.” He gave a low laugh at that “Get ‘im back on the laudanum, best way to limit his behaviour, easy to control then. Goodnight Tara.”

He left the room still chuckling to himself as Tara glared after him. She took another look at William tossing and turning in restless sleep and wiped the remnants of tears from her eyes. She didn’t know how much of the sleeping draught William had taken, so she dared not give him any more tonight , but tomorrow she would start it again. He’d been so much happier on it, she reasoned, and he’d begged her for it last night so it wouldn’t be hard.

Her heart was near to breaking as she regarded his skin, angry and red and contemplated the pain he must be experiencing. She’d been that close to losing him, and it didn’t bear thinking about. Tomorrow he would go back on the laudanum and they would all rest easier in their beds.
 

------------------------------
 

It was a full two weeks before Elizabeth’s father returned from his business trip. During that time she, thankfully, had no contact with Caleb, her letter having gone unanswered, and she also discovered to her dismay that all her best pieces of jewellery were nowhere to be found.

“But mama,” she said, contemplating the contents of the jewel case that they had retrieved from the safe. “Where is the chain with the locket? And the emerald bracelet?”

Her mother looked up from her needlework. “Elizabeth, have you quite finished? I am uncomfortable having those out while your father is not here. I really would like to lock them back up again.”

“You have not answered my question, mama. Where is my bracelet?” It was by far the most expensive thing that Aunt Joan had bought her and she had hoped to realise a goodly sum from it’s sale. And now it was nowhere to be seen, although she was beginning to suspect, with a sinking heart, that she would not see it again.

Her mother waved her hand absently. “Your father mentioned taking them to London for appraisal. He was most anxious to learn of their value.” She looked up again. “Now please pack everything up and we shall put them back. We do not want them to fall into the hands of a thief, do we?”

“They already have mama.” Elizabeth stood up, spilling what was left of her jewellery, all worthless trinkets, onto the floor. “I will not see my bracelet again, will I?”

“Whatever do you mean, child?” Her mother looked at her curiously. “Now look at what you have done. Do pick them up.”

“Father has sold my bracelet, and my necklace, hasn’t he?” She waited as her mother struggled to summon up a reaction to what she had just said.

“Why Elizabeth, you are distracted this afternoon. Why do you not go and lie down for an hour or two? I have noticed you to be most agitated of late, when you should be rejoicing in your good fortune. The Reverend Caleb is quite the catch and we are the talk of the town.”

“I am agitated because father has stolen my jewels. He had no right to take them, Aunt Joan gave them to me. Mother, are you listening?” Elizabeth regarded her mother with despair, and knew that she wasn’t going to find an advocate in her. Her mother had a wonderful way of blanking out things that were too difficult to cope with, and she seemed to breeze through life in a world of her own.

Elizabeth’s scream of frustration was met with a small smile.

“Pre-wedding nerves, I was just the same before I married your father.”

“I do not have pre-wedding nerves, because I will not be having a wedding.” Elizabeth folded her arms and waited. That news would surely provoke some emotion.

But her mother merely continued with the needle and thread, holding up the cushion cover she was finishing. “It’s for you dear. I hope to finish the set before the day. Shall you be married in July as I was?”

Elizabeth gave up, but at least she’d said the words now, even if they had gone unheeded. She’d said out loud that she wasn’t going to marry Caleb. Now all she had to do was tackle her father with the same declaration tomorrow and hope fervently that he would listen to her. Her plan to run away was in tatters now that her jewels were missing, for without them she had little chance of getting to the next village, let alone to Plymouth.

All her hopes were now pinned on her father abandoning the habit of a lifetime, and actually listening to what she had to say, and having some sympathy for her plight. She hastily picked up her baubles and put some of them back into the jewel box. The rest she hid in her sleeve, knowing that they wouldn’t raise much in the way of funds, but that every penny was going to count from now on. Then she excused herself, pleading a headache.

Tomorrow was going to be one of the most difficult days of her life, and she needed to spend time in contemplation, and in building up as much courage as she could muster. She needed to find that little girl she’d once been. The one who’d been so determined and so brave, and who had disappeared, bowed down by the responsibilities that society had heaped upon her as she’d become a woman.

She wasn’t going to be bullied, and she wasn’t going to be bossed by men who thought they knew better than she did. If she didn’t win the argument tomorrow, and her father had indeed sold her valuables, then leaping from the cliff was beginning to look like one of the better options. She only hoped that if it should come to that, she would indeed be up to the challenge.


 

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