Séance for a Vampire, Fred Saberhagen [win 10 ebook reader txt] 📗

show above his collar. A police constable was at the service too, taking the place of Inspector Merivale, who was busy elsewhere that morning. The constable stood quietly in the rear with Mycroft Holmes, observing the mourners.

Also present were the two elder Altamonts–Rebecca, pleading weariness, had stayed home. There were only a few other people, mostly spiritualist enthusiasts who had known the Kirkaldys as mediums. These last and the officiating clergyman eyed one another uneasily.

Just as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, a soft rain began to fall. Sister Sarah, weeping for her brother for the last time, was supported by both of the elder Altamonts, who, in the freshness of their conversion to the spiritualist outlook, could not refrain from sometimes gazing at the young woman’s tears in gentle wonder, that she, so knowledgeable about commerce with the other world should grieve so at a temporary separation.

Prince Dracula, Sherlock Holmes, and Watson were elsewhere that morning, having delegated Mycroft, who was considered no great shakes as a man of action, to represent them at the cemetery and act as their observer. The hunters considered it barely possible that Count Kulakov, if he were truly as mad as his behavior seemed to suggest, might put in an appearance at his victim’s burial. but they thought that in the daylight, and surrounded by other people, Mycroft would probably be safe enough.

I, Dracula, at the time of Abraham’s interment, was wistfully imagining myself enjoying yet another daylight rest at the Saracen’s Head, my darkened room’s one door not only snugly locked, but barricaded, so that no maid might enter and run screaming to announce the discovery of a corpse. but alas for my comfortable imaginings, the game was afoot in earnest, as Cousin Sherlock used to say, and such lassitude on my part was not to be. At the moment when the first shovelful of earth fell upon the coffin of Abraham Kirkaldy, I, in company with Sherlock and the faithful Watson, not to mention Inspector Merivale and a small army of police in horsedrawn vehicles, was just arriving in sight of Smithbury Hall.

But let Watson tell the next part of our adventure...

Sherlock Holmes had also been thinking about secretly promoting another attempt at a séance, hoping thereby to make contact with both Louisa and her attacker. He discussed this possibility with his cousin and me while we were on our way to Smithbury Hall.

Today’s raid had been organized and was being launched at the instigation of Sherlock Holmes, acting with the advice of Mycroft. There now existed some hard evidence to tie the Russian count not only to a particularly vicious group of terrorists, but also to the Okhrana, the Russian Imperial Secret Police. Such ambiguity, even among the nobility, would hardly be unheard of in the intrigues of Muscovy. Although our british law and custom can and does tolerate political refugees of every stripe, engaging in violent conflict upon our soil is quite another matter.

This next spiritualist sitting had been arranged for Saturday. It would be conducted in Norberton House by Sarah, with Dracula overseeing matters, lurking alternately outside the house and inside, trying to set a trap for Kulakov.

To hold this new séance so soon was definitely against Mr. Prince’s advice. Sarah had been forced or argued into it somehow by the overanxious Altamonts. I hoped it would not produce disastrous results.

I raised another subject with Holmes as we rode in the carriage. I found myself deeply shocked to learn that Martin Armstrong, even after understanding what fearful alteration the girl’s nature had undergone, had apparently made no effort to break off his affair with her. Indeed, he was seriously, deliberately, considering what sort of future life they might be able to achieve together.

“We must do something, Holmes.”

“I share your feelings, Watson. but by what right would we interfere?”

“By what right? It is our duty to act, as we would act to prevent a suicide, to save a madman from self-destruction.”

“Is Martin Armstrong mad?”

“If he behaves in such a way. On the other hand...”

“Yes?”

“I was about to say, it would be unthinkable, Holmes, to return the girl to her parents in this... this...”

“Quite so.” Holmes, with a sigh, turned to his relative. “To the best of my knowledge, there can be no possibility of reversion to the breathing state once matters have progressed this far.”

“To cling to any such hope would be an utter waste of time.” Dracula’s face seemed carved in ice, as if he might have been insulted by the suggestion that such a change might be desirable. As for repealing Louisa’s vampire-conversion, the prince assured them that everyone had better accept that as impossible. Dracula himself had never seen it happen.

Today, as yesterday, our first glimpse of our enemy’s rented house came from a little distance away among the trees. Today again we had eschewed attention-drawing motorcars and were traveling in a small convoy of carriages.

Smithbury Hall was a relatively new building, constructed in Victoria’s early reign, of yellow stone with white stone columns, and in a mixture of architectural styles, most of them flat-roofed. It stood on a gentle, grassy hill amid fairly extensive grounds, some thirteen or fourteen miles from Norberton House and perhaps half a mile from the abandoned greenhouse.

Our discovery yesterday of Louisa’s “body” so close to the house would certainly have interested the police; but of course we had not told them of our find.

Naturally, we had preferred to launch our raid on Kulakov’s rented manor in daylight, when it was at least probable that the count might be caught sleeping within.

But he was not to be found. Perhaps, we thought, he had somehow got wind of our coming. With Holmes and Merivale leading the way, armed with search warrants, we stormed through the house. Of course Holmes and I, if not the police, were well aware that the vampire could not be caught in such a way–but the police were ready and eager to lay hands on a