The House on Blackstone Moor (The Blackstone Vampires) (29 page)

She shook her head. “Ah, but they feed! You have seen this surely.”

I recalled then that horrible time on the moors when I saw them devouring a rabbit and that time before that when I thought I was dreaming that they drank blood from a headless bird. “Yes,” I replied flatly. “I have seen them feed.”

She stared into my eyes, for I had not confessed everything. I had left out my own feeding.

“And you child, you were as they are—but it was not by choice…”

I nearly died, for I realized she saw even that brief period of my transformation.

I tried to explain but she put up her hand. “And the
being
who has your heart, you have seen terrible things with him, too?”

“I have seen
some
things...” I paused as I recalled seeing Louis quickly hiding a drink from me once, a drink that looked curiously like blood.

And then there were of course those horrid things in the cellar I had chosen to forget.

Kana took my hand in hers. “I can see it all, all that has been—the evil, the sin, the corruption, the decadence. It is not for you. This love has poison at its source, not sweetness; it is a damnable thing that you must flee from while you still can.”

I thought about all that she said for some days.

Yet I could come to no decision. At last Kana advised me. “I have been thinking too, my child, how best to aid you, and I have come to the decision that you need to speak with someone different…” she smiled apologetically. “I am
a
simple gypsy, who cannot even read. I should not advise you. Please go and speak your heart to someone wise. Yes?”

I nodded. “Yes, I will think about it.”

I went to sleep that night, my head spinning with all that she had told me and suddenly I knew to whom I would go. I would go to see Vicar Hobbs. Why had I not thought of it before?

*

The night was filled with nightmares, terrible dreams of devils and monsters. And all around me were death and dying and screams, too.

And then I woke to hearing shouts and cries. Something had happened.

I rushed out to find Marta crying. It was Janos her brother who told me, for Marta could not. “It is Kana, she is dead.”

Kana, dead? This could not be!

“No!” I cried. “No!” But it was true. When Marta was able to she told me, “I saw her sitting at the fire. I feared she was cold and asked her, but she grabbed her chest. It was obvious she was in great pain. ‘Kana, Kana!’ I cried. “Tell me what it is. ‘It is Rose!’ She said. ‘Tell her, please tell her! And you, Marta…”  But then before she could say more, she just closed her eyes and she was gone. She was dead, Rose, dead in my arms!”

I could hardly believe it. “She was warning us…”

Marta nodded. “It seems so. But I do not know what it is she saw.”

“It must be part of the evil that she mentioned.”

I did look at her face one more time, gazing upon the sweet face that was Kana, Kana who was no more.

*

There was so much sorrow. Much of it I did not understand but what I understood least of all had to do with the custom of burning Kana’s wagon and all of her belongings, every single item.

The only things that were not consumed in the great fire were the kittens but everything else—her trinkets and baskets, linen and crockery, was all put onto what to me seemed like a funeral pyre.

“All trace of her home and her things are gone. We will not speak her name now, for she is gone and must not return, for to do so, she would not be at rest.”

And so the elder Kana was buried after a little ceremony with only wild flowers to mark her grave.

Marta said they would all move on afterward. “Our mother is gone and her house, too. There is no reason for us to remain.”

“But when are you going?”

“We leave at the next sunrise and you, Rose, where will you go?”

We had spoken late into the night about it, with Marta offering me, pleading with me, to come along with her. But I could not and she knew it. “Are you going back to him?” she asked. Then she added, “I can understand though I do not agree, but perhaps you will find your truth, that is the truth of your destiny.”

“I am going to seek advice. There is a vicar I know in Egton. I shall talk things over with him.”

And so it was arranged for me to go with Marta and her brothers for they would pass near Egton.

If I wondered what Kana had tried to tell me. I would soon understand
its
terrible significance.

Volka and Janos rode in their own wagon
while Marta and I rode in hers. For much of the journey we were silent but not unfriendly; it was our thoughts that stilled our tongues.

I could not stop thinking of Kana or Marta’s words telling me of the moment of her death.
“It is Rose! Tell her, please tell her! And you, Marta…” 

Kana was trying to tell us something—to warn us perhaps of the evil she had spoken about, the evil she had seen which had a great power protecting it from, in her words, ‘searching eyes.’

I could think of little else on that journey to Egton. And I must have looked worried for Marta finally asked me what troubled me.

“I keep thinking about Kana’s last moments and what she was trying to say
.
”

“Ah yes, the warning,” Marta replied with a shrug.“I don’t know, Rose. I wish I did. Perhaps she was warning you about Louis and loving him.”

“Perhaps, but what about the evil she said she saw—the evil that was protected? And what of your warning, too?”

Marta shrugged. “Life is full of danger; we will have to be careful, for darkness may lie around any corner!”

Neither Marta nor I could know what Kana saw for we did not possess her gift. And so we sat silently and listened to the steady clip clop of the horses for they were slowing down. We had come into view of Egton, Egton with its hills and its winding streets.

She offered to drive me into the town but I declined for I knew gypsies preferred skirting the outskirts instead.

We parted as friends, Marta and I. “I wish you good fortune, Rose. I wish you what I wish for myself. You go to the vicar now? The one you told me about, that is good.”

We embraced then and I watched her and her brothers drive off.

I felt so many emotions as I walked along, so many things that ran through my mind. Kana and the evil she spoke of, as well as her mysterious warning—that I could not forget.

I thought also of Louis. Truly, I had to fight with myself not to turn around and go back to him.

But I could not, for I owed Kana much. She wished me to seek wise counsel and I would do this if for nothing else than to honor her.

It was a fine autumn day, that day I approached Egton. The sun was shining as it had the last time I was there with Dora, poor Dora.

I could see the steeple from far away. It was a comforting site, like a welcoming beacon.

I smoothed my skirts and began the climb up the hill that would lead me to the kindly Rev Hobbs.

The church looked welcoming and I smiled as I hurried toward the rectory. No sooner had I raised my arm to knock, the door opened and I once again beheld the gentle face of Vicar Hobbs. “Come in, child.” I must have looked shocked for he added, “I saw you walk up the hill. Have you journeyed far?”

“I have not come from the house, but from another place.”

I told him from where and he smiled. “Ah, the gypsies. Good people, if a bit exotic for my taste. Would you care for some food or drink?”

When he mentioned tea I shuddered, as I recalled the wolfbane tea. “Plain tea, sir.”

He smiled. “Plain, without milk you mean?”

“Without anything at all but the tea, sir.”

I followed him into the kitchen. “Sit by the fire I shan’t be a moment.”

I took my seat and watched as he pottered about. “There is some I just brewed. It is quite convenient that you came now.”  He handed me my cup and sat down with his own.

It was obvious he wasn’t going to overwhelm me with questions. Instead he wanted me to feel I could speak to him as I liked and as much as I liked.

I thanked him and wondered how I would start.

He could see my hesitation and so he began himself. “Things are nearly the same since you were last here as life often is in a village like Egton. There have been two births and three deaths, not an exact balance but close. Also, the church organ is on its last legs. I thought—”

This was where I interrupted him with a sob I couldn’t hold back. I so wanted to talk, to tell him, but I found myself overwrought instead. I broke down, utterly, and felt so lost and vulnerable. He allowed me this moment, concern etching his face. 

“Please, there is no need to rush into anything, do calm yourself.” I think he didn’t quite know what to do for me.

When I was able to I expressed all that was in my heart. I told him quickly, in a torrent of rushed words. Everything. All about Eco and the horror he brought with him, and the attacks on my person and Martha’s.

His face softened. “And you received medical attention?”

I explained that I had. He nodded and said he was pleased. “And the children are safe, as well as Mr. Darton, you say?”

I was so relieved he called them children.

“Yes, the children have gone to stay with friends of Mr. Darton’s and I was told Mr. Darton was alright. You see there was this gypsy…”

He smiled indulgently as though he put little stock in fortune tellers. “Yes, well we shall hope that is the case.” When he saw the look of fear on my face, he patted my hand. “I am sure the gypsy was correct. They are said to be accurate in their readings, I would not worry about it.”

I cried again then. I wept for some time.

“You’ve come to the right place. You may remain here as long as you like,” he said when the tears subsided.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I am the shepherd who gathers the flock, not my own to be sure, but the one for the master.” Then, patting my hand once again, he smiled reassuringly. “You are welcome, daughter! The prodigal has returned home.”

The word, ‘daughter’ did it for I soon began to sputter, the words tumbling out fast and furiously as if I could not wait to tell him all of it. “You see my father…”

“First things first,” he said, motioning me to calm down. “You must start at the beginning.”

I realized that, but it was so difficult. Here he was, a man of God, and I was about to discuss the worst kind of sin imaginable. Depravity so unconscionable, I felt I could not continue. Yet he urged me on. His hand gently tapped my arm, coaxing, as he said gently. “You’ll feel better.”

He wanted me to confess, to truly purge the poison from my mind and my soul where it had dwelled too long.

“In your opinion Rev. Hobbs, was my father evil or insane?” I asked with trepidation.

I had to know. I’ve always tried to answer that myself but now I was with a Vicar of Christ, not Dr. Bannion who had aligned himself with Hell. This was a man of God who I trusted.

He took a long time to answer, but when he did his tone was even and gentle, so much so I had to strain to hear. “I think both perhaps, evil and insane, not that one is dependent on the other.”

“He changed after he fell ill…”

So opened the veritable floodgates; all the filth I had buried for so long began to surface, and also things I had forgotten came tumbling free of their dark constraints. I even remembered the man in the shadows! The man who I now knew to be Dr. Bannion.

“Yes,” I said. “I am remembering.”

I thought back to all those countless times I would see my father in the doorway watching me sleep and sometimes, he’d walk slowly into the room and whisper my name. “My Rose, come Rose let me tell you a story…”

Story? Not a story as much as a testament of his own mad, sad, evil yearnings that he sought to satisfy with
me,
his own daughter! 

“Yes, sit here and we shall play a game or two.”

“Mother!”

Had I called for her or had I only imagined it? This I asked the vicar.

“Can you not remember whether she appeared?”

“I am trying.”

I tried so hard. I did conjure up her face in my mind.
Her
face—not the hellish wraith that had so recently visited me—no, this was my mother’s face I did picture in my mind. Her pale, fragile face with its gentle features and her sad, haunted eyes…but perhaps there was more. Had she known Dr. Bannion was there? “I think she was nearly mad herself,” I admitted aloud.

His eyes darkened with pity. “She suffered as you all did.”

“Yes.”

“What was she always like, can you remember?”

“She was always sad and haunted looking, I suppose.”

He lit his pipe, slowly and carefully, as he pondered his answer. “Had they married for love, do you think?”