Many thanks to those who continue to read and leave reviews, they are always appreciated. So, what did Wyndam find in that room? Read on...
Chapter Seven:
Blood. The room is an ocean of blood.
Wyndam pauses beside Snow and his eyes take in the scene. For a brief second he gapes as he absorbs what has happened here.
The entire bed is soaked in blood and gore. It drips off the sheets and the bed linen and stains the rushes on the floor that are designed to keep the room sweetened.
"Wake him." Snow instructs and Wyndam turns his head and looks at him for a moment before his attention returns to the bed and to its occupants.
The girl lies on her back. She is naked, her limbs an untidy, used tumble. The early morning light paints her skin an interesting shade of bluish white considering she has been completely drained of any remaining blood. Slowly Wyndam approaches the bed. Hal lies beside her, on his stomach with his head facing away from them and his body is covered in blood, gore and flesh. It bespatters him and is everywhere. Wyndam turns his head and returns his attention to Hal's companion, to Mistress Mary.
Her eyes are bound with a scarf of richly embroidered material and he has to wonder at that but he hasn't enough time to wonder at what his protégé's predilections run to at this moment. He turns his head and looks at Snow again, to see him staring at the bed with pale narrow eyed rage. Wyndam slowly swallows and looks back to the girl.
Her clothing lies in an untidy pile on the floor by his feet. Her pale skin has been marked and abused by bites and other such injuries. Her throat is ripped open. She has been devoured and as he looks closer, he can see the pale ivory sheen of bone. From the angle of her head he guesses that her neck has been broken under the onslaught. He investigates further and realises that she has all but been beheaded. Wyndam turns his head back in Hal's direction. It is as the manservant claimed, as though he were properly dead. He hasn't moved, hasn't stirred at the intrusion. He looks to where the servants stand in the doorway with other witnesses. He nods.
"Rouse him." he instructs and watches how they pick their way across the room and to the opposite side of the bed. For all that they are vampires and they kill without another thought, what has occurred here has shocked even them.
"Do it and do not be gentle." he tells them in a harder voice and he takes a step back.
From the deep shadows of sleep Hal senses movement and it takes him a moment or two to surface sufficiently and when he does, slumber clings to his senses like thick cobwebs. His eyes are barely open when he feels himself being pulled upright and he gasps when he feels a hand grab his hair and pull his head back. His eyes spring open and immediately the room begins to spin and twirl. It makes his stomach twist in accompaniment. His limbs feel heavy and that adds to his sense of disorientation.
"Hal!" He struggles to focus on the voice that he can hear and he blinks slowly. He rears back when he feels a stinging slap across his face and he pulls forward and immediately struggles against the restraint that he feels. He looks over both shoulders and sees that he is being held fast. He frowns.
"What… what is… happening?" his words feel thick on his tongue.
"What have you done Hal?" that same voice demands and he turns towards it.
His vision begins to clear and he shakes his head slightly.
"Done? I have done… nothing sir. I was sleeping when I was… rudely dragged from my bed…"
"Then how do you explain this?" the voice retorts and Hal frowns.
"Explain what…" a hand grabs his chin and holds him steady and Hal is forced to look into ice cold blue eyes.
"The occupant of your bed Hal. I thought you said that she was your friend?" Hal stares at him, at Edgar Wyndam in slow confusion.
"My…" Wyndam turns his head towards the bed and Hal sees the devastation. His eyes widen and then widen further when he sees Snow standing opposite. His gaze drops down to the body.
"Oh…God." he whispers as he recognises the golden hair made red with blood. It is tossed mockingly over the pillow.
"Do you deny that you did this? After my specific instructions?" Snow demands. Hal stares at him and he begins to tremble.
"In truth sir…I do not remember." he whispers fearfully.
"You do not remember. Such a fitting excuse given your history don't you think?" Snow snaps.
"Take him down to the cellars. I have to think about what to do with him. Once that has been accomplished, you and I must converse Mr Wyndam. Don't keep me waiting." he casts another cold look at the bed and turns. The men watch him leave.
Wyndam releases his hold on Hal's chin and his head drops down. He then notices the blood that covers him; how it coats almost every single part of him. Shock sends him rigid.
"You heard Mr Snow…" Wyndam reminds Hal's guards as he turns away.
"But…" Hal exclaims and Wyndam swiftly turns to look back at him.
"Do you deny all knowledge of how Mistress Mary met her demise?" he demands. He watches Hal's expression change, how the fear filters through, how his eyes slide away but he doesn't look to her lying in his bed. Wyndam sighs and shakes his head.
"The cellars." he reminds them and Hal is dragged away.
There is something…rotten about all of this. That is the thought that uppermost occupies Wyndam's thoughts as he watches Hal being taken away. There is something so wrong about it. During their conversation of the previous day he thought that he was beginning to get the measure of the young man. Once the initial hostility had begun to ease and their agreement reached upon, he had begun to feel that almost forgotten sensation of…anticipation. And now Hal does this? It doesn't make sense, how could he have been so completely wrong about someone?
He is almost never wrong.
As he leaves the room, he sees the small gathering accumulated by the door. He catches the door handle on his way out and pulls it shut therefore blocking them of their view.
"There is nothing of interest here for you." he tells them in a level tone, his gaze touching on each and every one. It doesn't escape his notice that both James and Louis are part of this curious group. His gaze holds for a moment longer on James's face before he turns and heads down the corridor and towards Snow's rooms.
He pauses outside of the door to his chamber and he waits for a moment and thinks of what to say, to appease him. He raises a hand and taps and after a moment he hears Snow invite him inside.
Snow is alone but he is pacing in front of his desk. He pauses when he sees him but Wyndam sees the tension in him.
"Is he incarcerated?" he demands in a tight voice and Wyndam inclines his head.
"Good. He has overstepped his boundaries Edgar, far over-reached himself. Why would he do such a foolish, idiotic thing?" Wyndam watches as he begins to pace again, over and over.
"With respect sir, he is a vampire, one of alleged reputation and a reputation he seems to have lived up to." Wyndam answers and Snow pauses and looks at him.
"You jest with me sir?" he demands sharply and Wyndam regards him and shakes his head.
"You know me better than that Mr Snow. No I do not. I never jest. I'm just stating the facts. You told me yourself about him, about his future prospects and now he has shown us both a hint of those prospects and still you are here, furiously angry at him." Snow glares at him.
"And why do you seek to protect him after your initial reluctance to take him under your wing?" he demands.
"Because all of this…troubles me." Wyndam confesses.
"Troubles you? Let me remind you of something. When we first occupied this estate I made it clear to everyone that it was with the understanding that we respect our neighbouring town. That we not draw attention to what we are and what we do until we are ready to and it has been successful. No one has suspected a thing. We managed to co-exist. Until now. Her father will quickly realise his daughter is missing. He will also realise that she is here and when he realises that she is dead and who killed her well quite simply, there will be a war." Snow's normally calm control wears perilously thin for a brief moment before he reasserts himself. He pauses.
"And with a war there will be casualties and it's a pity because I rather like living here." He fixes his gaze upon Wyndam's face and his expression darkens once more.
"He was told not to harm her and certainly not to rip her to pieces as he has done so. I can only forgive so much of him. His carelessness will expose us to hysteria and we simply cannot risk the exposure or the knowing just yet, we'll all be burned at the stake or worse."
"Then let me take him away from here today and I will train him to resist those overpowering urges. He lacks finesse and last night was a mistake."
"As was his killing of Francesca and apparently another body attributed to him was disposed of earlier last evening." Wyndam frowns briefly.
"Are you having doubts about him now? Are you admitting that you were wrong about him, that perhaps you've met a vampire that you can't control?" Wyndam enquires slowly and carefully. Snow stares at him.
"Once in a while someone…like Hal will attract my attention. I remember the last time I came across such a vampire." His look is pointed and Wyndam knows that he is talking about him. He watches as he frowns.
"I should make an example of him. Some rules are not meant to be broken, under any circumstances."
"And under any other circumstances I would agree with you but this time I beg a favour of you." Wyndam interrupts. Snow goes very still as he waits.
"And what would this favour be?" he enquires in a chilly voice.
"It's entirely your prerogative what you wish to happen to Hal but I would ask that you delay your final decision a matter of days." Wyndam's brain is ticking over as he asks this.
"And why would I wish to do that? Why would I want to grant you your request?"
"You trust my judgement do you not?" Wyndam waits and watches him. He sees that he has piqued Snow's interest with his air of mystery.
"You know that I do Edgar, as much as I trust anyone. Go on…"
"There is something inherently…suspicious about all of this that I can't quite put my finger on. I need to look into this, ask questions and investigate. Quietly of course."
"Why?"
"Just call it instinct. It hasn't failed me yet." Wyndam waits as Snow seems to mull it over. Eventually he nods.
"You have three days Edgar. If your investigations come to naught then I shall decide what Hal's fate is to be. In the meantime he must stay in the cellar, under lock and key. No food, no blood, I sense a dose of starvation and humility will quickly bring him to heel." Wyndam regards him.
"Very well, three days. Thank you."
Wyndam's stride is long and rapid as he heads back towards his chambers. His mind is filled with questions. He lifts his head and sees Maria approaching him and he sees the concern in her eyes. He slows his pace somewhat as she falls into step beside him.
"What is this that I'm hearing about Hal?" she keeps her voice low but her tone is concerned.
"It depends upon what it is that you have heard." he answers. He pauses by his door and looks at her.
"He was discovered in his bed this morning with the corpse of Mistress Mary…that she was all but beheaded?" Wyndam stares hard at her before he reaches behind and opens the door. He slides inside and beckons her to follow. He closes the door behind her and draws her into the centre of the room.
"He was. Snow is apoplectic that he has put us all at risk of exposure and wants him suitably punished."
"His tune has quickly changed. Only yesterday he couldn't sing his praises high enough." Maria mutters.
"He is fickle; his moods can change upon a whim. I've managed to persuade him to delay his final decision a little while."
"What do you intend to do? You know that once Snow has made up his mind then nothing can change it." Her words halt as he holds both of her arms by the elbow.
"You know Hal better than I do. Would he do such a thing? Would he massacre someone whom he considered a friend and leave her corpse beside him to be discovered so publicly?" he keeps his voice low. Maria's eyes widen as she realises what it is that he is implying.
"You think…"
"Answer my question." he instructs and she blinks at his change of tone.
"No…he's young and yes he is arrogant but he would never have harmed Mary. I couldn't believe my ears when James informed me what had happened."
"James told you?"
"It's everywhere Edgar, it's all people are talking about." she answers curiously as Wyndam releases his hold on her and turns away.
"You think that someone else did this and is blaming Hal?" Edgar swings around.
"He killed her Maria; there is no doubt about that. If you saw the condition of his room as I did then you'd agree. It's the manner of it that sits uneasily with me. I think I need to talk to some people and get to the bottom of this."
"What is your suspicion?" Maria's voice lowers.
"I believe someone has set the entire scene to enable Hal's fall. When I approached his bed this morning he was all but unconscious, he was insensible. He took a while to rouse, to make any kind of sense and I saw the expression on his face when he saw her corpse. He truly didn't know what he had done."
"But he has times in the night when he screams and runs and has no memory of that, we all saw him the other evening Edgar, we witnessed it for ourselves. Perhaps this is what happened here?"
"Yes, then he screamed and he cried out but he did not this time."
"You think that he was drugged?" Wyndam just nods and Maria's eyes widen.
"By who?"
"There is but one who would do such a thing to him. Someone who resents his sudden promotion and success, someone who approached me on the night of my arrival and asked that I take him instead." his voice is low. Maria shakes her head in puzzlement.
"He told you himself about Hal's demise, I can imagine that he couldn't help himself, glorying in his public humiliation." he continues and watches as her eyes widen.
"James?" she whispers and Wyndam just nods.
"I just need to prove it." Maria looks at him.
"And you have your ways of making that happen." she murmurs.
The door slams shut with a final heavy hollow clang. Hal slowly lifts his head as he hears the scratch of a key being turned in a lock and the scrape of a bar being pushed across the door itself. It sounds so final, so absolute.
The room is so dark and the ground beneath his body is cold soft dirt. He looks around but can see nothing, he doesn't even know if he is alone or not.
His head still feels thick and over stuffed and his stomach roils and churns with every breath. He slowly lies back down and he can smell the dampness of the earth beneath his cheek. He slowly rolls onto his back and stares upward. He can hear the drip of water and the air feels icy cold against his bare skin. All that he wears is a pair of breeches, hastily grabbed and thrown at him as he was tossed into the cellar. He barely had enough strength to pull them on.
He's so confused. He doesn't remember any of it. The last day has faded into shadows and light. He remembers his audience with Wyndam and encountering James after that but further on and it all becomes muddled up and foggy.
Slowly he sits up and feels his head swim and his stomach churn in tandem. He rubs his face and shivers. He laboriously turns and rises up onto his knees.
He has been condemned to the cellars, Snow is furiously angry with him and those who are banished here very rarely get a reprieve. He's broken the golden rule, never to expose the outside world to the existence of vampires. Once Mary's father realises that she is missing then he will come here and he will realise what has happened. The people here are superstitious as well as suspicious. He's witnessed that hysteria for himself, the burning at the stake of supposed witches and heretics. Their sins being that their belief systems are different to what is seen as convention, as acceptable. What would the outside world truly think about the existence of vampires?
His head hurts and he frowns against it. He slowly, arduously gets to his feet and his head spins and it makes him sway drunkenly.
He suddenly bends over as he vomits and it feels as though it will never stop. He hears it splatter on the soft ground, smells its acrid bitterness. It leaves him weak and he drops to his knees again. His arms curl around his middle as he collapses onto his side and pants hollowly, staring unseeing at the black damp walls in front of him.
Tears leak ignored from the corners of his eyes.
