The Vampyre (33 page)

‘I let him go. His questions were good ones, of course. The Pasha's heir, Lady Melbourne had called me - and the Pasha had been something very like a king. I did not want such power - the king times were over - and though I was a vampire, I could still value liberty. But the dead at Waterloo had paid homage to me - had they been conjured up, then, as a mockery? And by whom? The Pasha himself? But the Pasha was dead - I was sure of it - I had punctured his heart -
I had felt him die, I knew I had
.

‘It couldn't have been his face, then, which I had glimpsed at Piccadilly, or seen livid and pale against the sky at Waterloo. I began to guard my thoughts. I would not let them be surprised again. If some creature was abroad, who wanted to challenge me - well - let it - but

I doubted its powers would be equal to mine. We journeyed on, past Drachenfells and then into Switzerland. The Alps, wintry and vast, began to tower above us. All this time, I saw nothing strange. My dreams were uninvaded. The creature - whatever it was - seemed left behind. I was pleased, but not surprised. I remembered slashing its face at Waterloo. It would have been foolish to have dared contend further with me. As we approached Geneva, I began to relax.' He paused. ‘Which turned out to be a bad mistake, of course.'

Rebecca waited. ‘The Pasha?' she asked eventually.

‘No, no.' Lord Byron shook his head. ‘No, it was quite a different order of shock to that. We arrived at the Hôtel d'Angleterre. I left my carriage and walked into the hall. As I did so, I breathed in a scent. It was familiar, deadly, irresistible. I froze, then looked around, half-expecting to see Augusta. But there was only Polidori and the hotel staff. Numbly, I signed the register. Age, it asked. Suddenly, I felt a terrible, weary despair. One hundred, I wrote. Then I retired to my room, trying to empty out my mind. But it was impossible. Everywhere hung the tang of golden blood.

‘An hour later, a note was sent up to me. I ripped it open. “My dearest love,” I read, “I am sorry you are grown so old, indeed I suspected you were two hundred from the slowness of your journey. I am here with Mary, and with Shelley too. I hope we shall all see you soon. I certainly have much to tell you. But for now, Heaven send you sweet sleep - I am so happy.” It was signed, simply, “Claire”.

‘“Bad news?” Polidori asked, with his usual tact.

‘“Yes,” I said slowly. “You could say that.”

‘Polidori grinned. “Oh dear,” he said.

‘I managed to avoid Claire for two more days. But she pestered me all the time with notes, and I knew she would track me down in the end. After all she had crossed half Europe to be with me, so her madness was clearly not to be denied. She found me one afternoon, as I rowed with Polidori out on the lake. She stood waiting for me, two companions by her side. I was trapped. As I drew closer to her, so the perfume in my nostrils grew more and more intense. I scrambled from the boat, and walked slowly up to her. She held out her hand - reluctantly, I took it; I gave it a kiss. As I did so, I felt dizzy with thirst. Hurriedly, I dropped Claire's hand and turned my back on her - on her, and on the foetus of our unborn child.

‘“Lord Byron?” One of Claire's two companions had walked forwards to greet me. I stared into his face. It was delicate and pale, framed by long golden hair - a poet's face - almost, I thought, a vampire's face. “Mr Shelley?” I inquired.

‘He nodded.

‘“I am very glad to meet you,” I said, taking his hand. I shook it, then glanced at the third member of the group. Shelley, following my eyes, took his companion by the arm. He led her forwards. “You have already met Mary, Claire's sister, I believe?”

‘I smiled and nodded. “Yes, I have met your wife.”

‘“Not my wife.”

‘I stared at Shelley in surprise. “Oh, I do apologise, I thought . . .”

‘“Shelley does not believe in marriage,” said Mary simply.

‘Shelley smiled at me shyly. “I hear you don't have much time for the married state yourself.”

‘I laughed, and the ice was broken. Claire ran up to me, angry at being ignored, and tried to take my arm, but I shrugged her away. “Come and dine with me tonight,” I whispered in Shelley's ear. “Do not bring Claire.” And then, with a bow to the two sisters, I went back to the boat.

‘Shelley did come that night, and he came alone. We talked until the early hours. His conversation enchanted me. He was an incorrigible infidel. It was not just marriage he damned - he damned priests and tyrants and God as well. “This is the winter of the world,” he told me. “Everything is grey and burdened with chains.” And yet this recognition had not bred despair - instead, his faith in the future burned like a flame, and I, who had forgotten what passionate hope could be, listened entranced. Shelley believed in humanity; believed it could attain a higher state. I mocked him, of course, for many of his speculations - he was talking of things he couldn't possibly know. And yet I was intrigued as well when he spoke of opening his mind to the universe, of tautening his perceptions like the strings of a lyre, so that his visionary senses might be immeasurably increased. “There are strange forces in the world,” he told me, “invisible to us, but as real, for all that, as you or me.”

‘I smiled. “And how do you make contact with such forces?” I asked.

‘“Through terror,” said Shelley at once. “Terror and sex. They can both serve to open up the world of the unknown.” My smile broadened. I stared into Shelley's eyes. I thought again what a beautiful vampire he would make.

‘I decided I would stay in Switzerland. Shelley and his ménage were already settled in a house by the lake. I rented a large villa some two hundred yards away - at the distance where the scent from Claire's womb became faint. Claire herself was still importunate, and there were times when she refused to stay away. Mostly, though, I avoided her successfully, and the torture she bore me in her flesh was kept at bay. Shelley, of course, I saw all the time. We boated, and rode, and talked late into the nights.

‘After a few weeks, the weather took a marked turn for the worse. There were endless fogs, and storms, and heavy rains. We kept to my villa day and night. In the evenings, we would gather in my front room. A fire would blaze in the giant hearth, while outside, the wind would scream across the lake, and buffet the glass of the balcony doors. Often, we would stand by them and watch the play of lightning over the icy mountain peaks. The sight would inspire me to renew my questionings, about galvanism, and electricity, and whether there existed a principle of life. Shelley too was fascinated by such issues, and at Oxford, it seemed, had even conducted experiments.

‘“Successful?” I asked.

‘Shelley laughed, and shook his head. “But I still believe it might be possible to generate life,” he said. “A corpse, perhaps, might be reanimated.”

‘“Oh yes,” said Polidori, butting in, “my Lord Byron would know all about that, wouldn't you,
My Lord
?” His face began to twitch. “Emperor of the Dead,” he spat. I smiled faintly, and ignored him. Polidori was jealous of Shelley. He had good cause. Shelley and I continued to talk. After a few more interruptions, Polidori swore at us, and stormed away.

‘He brought out his tragedy, and began to read it aloud. I heard Claire giggle. Polidori broke off and flushed. He stared around the room. We all fell silent. “You,” said Polidori suddenly, pointing at Shelley. “My poem. What do
you
think of it?”

‘Shelley paused. “You're an excellent doctor,” he said at last.

‘Polidori shook. “Are you insulting me?” he asked in a low, tremulous voice.

‘Shelley looked surprised. “Dear me, no,” he said. He shrugged. “But I'm afraid I don't think your poem is worth very much.”

‘Polidori slammed his manuscript down onto the floor. “I demand satisfaction,” he shouted. He crossed to Shelley. “Yes, sir, you, I demand satisfaction!”

‘Shelley burst into laughter.

‘“Oh for God's sake, Polidori,” I drawled, “Shelley is a pacifist. If you must fight a duel, then do it with me.”

‘Polidori glanced at me. “You mock me, My Lord.”

‘I smiled. “Yes, I do.”

‘Suddenly, Polidori's shoulders slumped. Crestfallen, he turned back to Shelley. “In what way do you think my poem fails?”

‘Shelley thought. At that moment, lightning stabbed across the Jura, and the whole room was lit up silver with its glow. “Poetry,” Shelley said, as the roll of thunder faded away, “must be” - he paused - “must be a spark of fire, an electrical charge, giving life to a dead world, opening eyes which have been shut for too long.”

‘I smiled at him. “Like terror, then?”

‘Shelley nodded, his eyes wide and solemn. “Yes indeed, Byron - like terror.”

‘I rose to my feet. “I have an idea,” I said. “Let us try to see if Shelley's theory is right.”

‘Mary frowned at me. “How?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

‘I crossed to a shelf, and held up a book. “I shall read you ghost stories,” I said. “And then, each one of us will take it in turn to come up with a story of our own.” I walked round the room, dimming the lights. Only Shelley helped me. Polidori watched sniffily, while Mary and Claire looked uncertain and afraid. I gathered them round me as we sat by the fire. As I began, there was a satisfying rumble of thunder from outside. But I had no need of the storm - my voice alone, I knew, would cast a spell of fear. I seemed, to the others, to be reading from the book but, of course, I had no need of it - the tales of horror I told them were my own. There were two stories I composed that night. In the first, a lover clasped his newly-wed bride - he kissed her - and felt her turn into the corpse of all the girls he had betrayed. And in the second . . .' Lord Byron paused. He smiled at Rebecca. ‘The second told the story of a family. Its founder, for his sins, was doomed to give the kiss of death to all his descendants' - Lord Byron paused - ‘
to all of his family who shared his blood
. Yes,' he nodded, seeing how Rebecca sat frozen in her chair, ‘I remember Claire enjoying that one as well. She began to clutch her belly, just as Bell had done. And then - well - the scent of her terror encouraged me. I told them my own story - disguised, of course - the story of two friends who travelled to Greece - and what happened to one of them there. There was silence when I finished. I noted with pleasure how strongly Shelley was affected. His eyes were wide and staring, drawn almost from the sockets by the convulsion of the muscles, so that it seemed as though his eyeballs had just been placed within a mask. His hair seemed to glow, and his face had a paleness that was almost like light.

‘“And that was . . . just a story?” he asked eventually.

‘I raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

‘“The way you told it” - his eyes widened even further - “it seemed - well - you spoke it as though it contained some terrible truth.”

‘I smiled faintly, but as I opened my mouth to answer, Polidori interrupted me. “My turn now!” he said, jumping to his feet. “Be warned though, ladies,” he added, bowing gallantly to Mary, “it may well turn your blood to ice.” He posed with a candle, cleared his throat, and began. The story was ludicrous, of course. A woman, for some unexplained reason, had a skull for a head. She went spying through keyholes. Something shocking happened to her, I can't remember what. Eventually, Polidori got stuck, and had her finished off in some tomb, again for no reason that I could see. The evening, which before had indeed seemed electric with fear, now declined into hilarity.

‘Then suddenly, at the height of our laughter, Mary screamed. The balcony doors swung open - the wind swept through the room - all the candles were blown out. Mary screamed again. “It's all right!” Shelley shouted, as he rushed to close the doors. “It's only the storm!”

‘“No,” said Mary. She pointed. “There's something on the balcony. I saw it there.” I frowned, and walked with Shelley out through the doors. The balcony was empty. We tried to peer into the dark, but rain was driving in across the lake, and blinded us. I could smell nothing.

‘“I saw a face,” insisted Mary, as we began to light the candles again. “Hideous, evil.”

‘“Was it pale?” I asked. “Did it have burning eyes?”

‘“Yes.” She shook her head. “No. His eyes . . .” - she looked at me - “his eyes, Byron, they were very like yours.”

‘Shelley glanced at me. His expression was strange. Suddenly, I laughed.

‘“What is it?” Shelley asked.

‘“Your theory seems proved,” I said. “Look at us. All in a state of nerves. Polidori, my congratulations.” Polidori smiled, and bowed. “Your story can't have been as laughable as I had thought it was. We all seem to be hallucinating.”

‘“I didn't imagine it,” said Mary. “There is some - thing - out there.”

‘Shelley crossed to her and took her hand. But all the time, he continued to stare at me. He was shaking.

‘“I want to go to bed,” said Claire in a low voice.

‘I looked at her. “Good.”

‘She rose to her feet and stared around the room, then ran out.

‘“Shelley?” I asked.

‘He frowned. His pale face was bathed in sweat. “Some power is here,” he said, “some awful shadow of unseen power.” Deeper and deeper, I knew he was sinking into the darkness of my eyes. I stared into his thoughts, and saw how in love he was with his ecstasy of fear. Like moonlight on a tempestuous sea, I cast the gleams of a remoter world upon his soul. He shuddered, welcoming his terror as it rose. He turned to Mary. He tried to still his fear. But he was not escaping so easily. Again my power rolled through his mind. When Shelley looked at Mary, he saw her naked, and her side seemed pale, and hideous, and deformed; her nipples were closed eyes; suddenly, they opened, and their gleam was like a vampire's, mocking him, calling to him. Shelley shrieked, then stared at me. The skin of his face was drawn into countless wrinkles - the lineaments of a terror that could not be contained. He put his head in his hands and ran out from the room. Polidori glanced at me, then hurried after him.