Chapter 8
William regarded the copy of The Argus on the counter, as a customer handed him some coins. On the cover was a grisly illustration of a murderous fiend in the process of pounding a large sharp item into the head of a helpless victim. The title explained it; "The Railroad Spike Murders." William shuddered, and handed the paper over with distaste. There was no accounting for tastes, he supposed. This particular issue had been flying off the display shelf this week, replacing last week's "Bride of the Werewolf." The odd thing was that while this customer was obviously working class, with his callused hand and North London accent, many who purchased such trash, were aristocrats like the Waverlys and their set. In fact, Wavy, himself, had mentioned the werewolf story at the picnic on Saturday last, and they had all laughed.
William was working at the counter today, because Uncle Charles and Arthur were in the stockroom with Reginald, discussing some disturbing irregularities in the accounts. He kept glancing at his pocket watch with impatience, for tonight was the dinner party in honor of Cecily's brother, Bernard. At least working behind the counter made the time pass a little more quickly.
Eventually, the hour arrived for him to close up the register and catch the underground for home. Once there, as he hurriedly changed into his new finery for the party, he read the letter from Amanda, which had arrived that day. He had arranged for a taxi, and when the horse drawn cab pulled up in front of his house, he hastily kissed Mother goodnight, and told her he would not be too late. Oddly enough, he hadn't heard a word from Cecily or the Waverlys all week, but he had received his invitation the morning after the picnic, so he knew the particulars. As the taxi pulled up in front of the Addams' home, he was still scribbling madly on his new writing pad. His old pad had never turned up. He had even called around to Fortnum and Mason, but they had not found anything unusual in the returned picnic hamper. So he had resigned himself to the idea that his poems were lost and he must begin anew.
Aside from the loss of his work, William was in an excellent mood. According to her letter, Amanda was looking forward to coming home soon for the summer vac. Her grades had indeed improved and he had presented her with the new frock at Easter, to her delight. Even Mother had seemed to perk up this spring. Perhaps William's new life had infected her with a new spirit. She had actually come out with him on several walks, and seemed to be sleeping and eating better, as a result.
In addition, as an upshot of today's crisis, Reginald, the obnoxious clerk at The Mighty Pen had resigned, and Uncle Charles had offered William a promotion. It would mean more dealing with customers, but William felt that perhaps he could handle that now. Moreover, with an increased salary, he would be better able to approach Cecily. If he could just get this one poem finished, perhaps he would give it to her tonight. Hopefully her brother would be as congenial as Wavy and Elizabeth were. With a heart full of hope, William knocked at the massive door.
Winthrop, the Addam's butler opened the door and ushered William inside. The house was full of people, and he could hear familiar laughter in the drawing room. He saw Elisabeth there with Felicity and went in to greet them. Beth stopped laughing when she saw him, and regarded him coolly.
"Hello William," said Felicity.
"Excuse me," said Elizabeth and walked out of the room.
William was nonplussed. What was wrong with Elizabeth? Had something happened? He looked to Felicity for an explanation, but she simply shrugged. William looked for Cecily, but didn't see her about. In the dining room, Wavy was conversing in an animated fashion with a tall dark haired man. This must be Bernard, Cecily's brother. William could see a resemblance in the dark eyes. William approached the men in hopes of an introduction. Wavy looked at him with an odd expression.
"Bernard, this is William…William, Bernard." Wavy made the perfunctory introduction.
Bernard regarded him as though he were an insect. "Oh, so you are William. Wavy's been telling me all about you." The way he said it made it sound not at all flattering.
"P-Pleased to meet you…how did you find Harvard?" stammered William.
"Overrun with commoners," he stated flatly, staring meaningfully at William. William looked to Wavy for support, but Wavy merely smirked and looked away. William was intensely disappointed to see that Bernard was not at all congenial. But he hoped that when Cecily appeared, she would put in a good word for him. He could not imagine what was wrong with the Waverlys this evening. Had he somehow offended them? He could not recall anything that he might have done. Confused and upset, he excused himself and retreated to a corner chair, where he sought to distract himself by completing his poem. As always, he was soon lost in communion with his muse. The problem was with the wording of the first two lines. He took out his pad and pen, and considered the offending word in question,
"Luminous," he said to himself, "Oh, no, no, no. Irradiant's better."
A waiter came by with a tray of canapés. He offered it to William.
"Care for an hors d'oeuvre, sir?"
William looked at the man. He recognized him from all of the Waverly and Addams parties.
"Oh quickly, I'm the very soul of vexation. What's another word for gleaming?
The waiter simply smiled at him with that condescension that only waiters can affect, and moved off into the crowd. 'Brilliant, William,' he thought to himself,' babbling to the help like an idiot!'
Just then, he saw Cecily coming down the stairs. She looked beautiful, as usual, but there was something undefinable in her eyes, though she smiled to her guests. She went into the drawing room.
"Cecily," he murmured. Looking at her, inspiration struck, and he quickly rewrote the first two lines. He recopied the entire poem neatly, and waving the still wet pages, went to speak to her.
In the drawing room, Elizabeth was now conversing with Cecily, Bernard, James and Wavy. The talk had turned to the recent disappearance of an elderly newspaper vender. Yesterday, he had simply not appeared at his stand. It had been a major topic of discussion at the shop this morning, despite William's distaste for the subject.
Elizabeth was saying, "I mean to point out that it's something of a mystery and the police should keep an open mind. "
James stopped him, with a look at Bernard and Wavy, "Ah, William! Favor us with your opinion. What do you make of this rash of disappearances sweeping through our town? Animals or thieves?"
William was puzzled. James knew perfectly well what he thought about such things. "I prefer not to think of such dark, ugly business at all." he said with all the dignity he could muster, " That's what the police are for." He caught Cecily's eye, and indicated his poem; "I prefer placing my energies into creating things of beauty."
Wavy glanced at James and snatched the poem from William's hand. "I see. Well, don't withhold, William." William looked at his precious poem in Wavy's hand.
Elizabeth smirked, "Rescue us from a dreary topic!"
William looked at Wavy pleadingly; this could not be happening, "Careful. The inks are still wet. Please, it's not finished."
Wavy held up the poem, and waved it around, attracting everybody's interest. He looked at William, "Don't be shy!" and began to read the words aloud, "My heart expands/'tis grown a bulge in it/inspired by your beauty, effulgent." He laughed incredulously, "Effulgent?" A chorus of laughter rang out.
William looked at Cecily desperately. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and turned and left the room. He looked from Wavy to Elizabeth, and in their eyes, saw nothing but contempt and hurt, respectively. With a sinking feeling he suddenly realized what had happened to his lost poems. Elizabeth must have purloined them whilst they were packing up the picnic. His secret was out, and it was apparently not a welcome one. Angrily, he snatched the poem from Wavy's hand and went after Cecily, hearing James' words behind him, "And that's actually one of his better compositions!"
Elizabeth replied, "Have you heard? They call him William the Bloody because of his bloody awful poetry!"
William froze with horror. That hideous nickname from school! How had she learnt it? He had never even heard her use such language before. James must have told them. They must have been discussing him, and mocking him and his poetry since the picnic.
Wavy quipped, "It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff!"
William found Cecily in the sunroom. She was sitting on a settee, staring sightlessly out the window. My God, did Cecily know about the poems also? But perhaps this was not all-together bad. He had meant to speak to her tonight, anyway.
"Cecily?"
She turned and saw him there, and turned away again. "Oh. Leave me alone."
Of course she was humiliated, as he was, by having his personal poem about her read aloud, and mocked, by people they had considered friends. He sought to comfort her, "Oh, they're vulgarians. They're not like you and I."
She looked at him with surprise, "You and I?" She took a deep breath and turned to him, "I'm going to ask you a very personal question and I demand an honest answer. Do you understand?"
William nodded.
Cecily continued, "Your poetry, it's... they're... not written about me, are they?"
His dark lady poems hadn't mentioned her by name, but the references to her ebon hair and eyes left no doubt about whom they were written. Still, perhaps she needed reassurance. But it was so very hard to say the words. He temporized, "They're about how I feel."
"Yes, but are they about me?"
William swallowed. Courage, he told himself. "Every syllable."
"Oh, God!" she said.
William continued on, gaining courage as he spoke, "Oh, I know... it's sudden and... Please, if they're no good, they're only words but... the feeling behind them... I love you, Cecily." There, he had said it!
"Please stop!" Cecily hid her face.
"I know I'm a bad poet," he said gently, "but I'm a good man and all I ask is that... that you try to see me…"
"I do see you, " she interrupted, "That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William." She stood up; "You're beneath me." With that, she swept out of the room, leaving William sitting there alone on the settee. He looked down at the poem in his hand.
He looked around. There was no way out of this torture chamber without passing through the drawing room, and the mockery of those he had thought to be his friends. But as much as he would have liked to, he could not remain in the Addams sunroom for the rest of his life. He arose from the settee, clutching the piece of paper in trembling hands. As he emerged, he saw John Waverly waiting for him. He looked up at John for some note of compassion and saw only scorn, a look he remembered all too well from school.
John laughed, "Did you really think that we would have tolerated you had it not been for Elizabeth? From the start, she alone championed your cause, and then you threw her kindness back into her face with this!" He gestured at the paper in William's hand. "Now get out!"
William ran out of the house, ripping his ridiculous poem into pieces. How could he have ever thought that aristocrats such as the Waverlys and their snobbish friends could ever accept him, except as some kind of Pygmalion project, out of pity? He was, he suddenly realized with horror, an ordinary man; no brightly burning genius for whom exceptions of class could be made. What future lay before him now, but the ownership of an ordinary bookshop, with some dreary ordinary wife and a house full of noisy children?
He brushed against a tall lout, walking with two women, and dropped his scraps of paper. He bent to pick them up, though he could have left them there in the street, "Watch where you're going!" he snarled at the trio, too consumed with grief to notice that the tall man looked familiar.
He knew not where he was headed, as the neighborhood was unfamiliar, but that didn't matter. He merely had to get away from that house, to where he could think, and consider his life. There was a stable at the end of the street, near the taxi stand. It was empty, as all of the horses were out, but the door was open and William could see a bale of hay inside. He went in and sat down, completing his task of ripping his poem into shreds, tears falling unheeded from his eyes. There was a stirring, and William looked up to see a woman standing in the stable doorway. She was tall with dark hair, prominent eyes and a long neck. In a way she reminded him of Cecily, only more ethereal, somehow, as though she were a creature out of a dream. She appeared elegant in a black lace dress and cape, but when she spoke, her accent belied her genteel appearance.
"And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?"
Was she speaking to him? What manner of woman was this? What did she want with him?
"Nothing," he told her, "I wish to be alone."
She looked at him curiously, drawing closer. William stood up. "Oh, I see you," she said, her voice a curious singsong, " A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory." She moved her hand in a wide circle as though rubbing her stomach, "That and burning baby fish swimming all around your head."
She moved closer and William moved back nervously. "That's quite close enough. I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you."
She moved closer yet, and William found himself backed against the wall of the stable. She looked into his eyes, and William found himself drawn to her somehow, against his will.
The woman smiled at him, "Don't need a purse."
She reached her hand out to touch him his head, "Your wealth lies here," and then his heart, " and here. In the spirit and, " her hand moved yet lower towards his crotch, "imagination. You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine."
William was stunned. Nobody had ever touched him this intimately or known him this intimately. It was as though she could delve into his mind. Was she mesmerizing him?
"Oh, yes! I mean, no. I mean... mother's expecting me."
Drusilla smiled and with cool fingers she opened the collar of his shirt, "I see what you want. Something glowing and glistening. Something... effulgent!"
"Effulgent," he whispered. This strange woman actually saw him! Saw what lay beneath his humble exterior.
"Do you want it?" She invited him.
William had never wanted anything more at this moment than what she was offering him, "Oh, yes!" he whispered, reaching out his had to touch her breast, "God, yes."
The Woman looked down briefly and when she looked up again, her visage had changed into something horrifying and unworldly, her eyes glowing yellow (where had he seen that before?) and her teeth growing amazingly long and sharp. Could she be…was it possible? He could have still run for it then, but instead he stood there as she leaned in towards his neck. As her fangs bit into his neck, William cried out in fear and confusion, but the pain quickly turned to a pleasure that William had never known. He knew then, knew it all, what she was…what he was to become…that the life of William Atherton was at an end, and a new existence. as he knew not what, was about to begin.
Epilogue
London 1947
It was so good to see people in the streets again. Rebuilding was proceeding rapidly, and the whole spirit of the land was full of hope and promise. Pity she was too old to enjoy it, except vicariously. Elizabeth sat down on a bench near the tube station, too weary to continue for the moment. She should go on, it was almost dark, and she was never out after dark, but her eighty six-year-old legs refused to carry her any further unless she rested. So be it. She watched the crowds of people; soldiers, old folks, young couples reunited, workers, mostly women, coming from factories. She had lived through two world wars now, and this one had nearly devastated her beloved country, but they had all survived. She, herself, had survived two husbands. The first had been lost in what they used to call The Great War, before this one came along. Her second husband had died of cancer the year before. She smiled to herself; two husbands, just as Mad Daphne had predicted all those years before. And a long and happy life? Well…it had been long. She would give that much to Daphne and looking back it had been mostly happy. At least, it had been after that hideous spring of 1880.
The disappearances had been worrisome, but except for, what was her name…Ethel?..they had not affected her and her crowd. Nothing stopped the fun and the parties. Then poor sweet hapless William had been found dead in a stable, not far from Cecily's house, and the horror had begun. Even after all these years she could recall the grief, and not a little guilt that accompanied his death. His poor mother had died shortly thereafter, of grief. She had never been very strong. The sister, Amanda had gone away. Elizabeth had run into Amanda twenty years ago or so. She had been a nurse then, though probably retired now. They had spoken of William, and Amanda said that she often dreamt that he visited her in her sleep, just to make sure that she was all right. It was a charming fancy.
But William had been just the beginning. Shortly after his funeral, dear Cecily had been found murdered, right in her own bed! The image of her in her coffin, looking so like her ghostly costume for the Twelfth Night ball would remain with Elizabeth always. And then her beloved brother John was found in an alleyway, a railroad spike driven through his head, just like in that ghastly story they had all laughed about. And in rapid succession Barnard, and James. The police had been useless. Obviously some foul fiend was targeting her entire set. She had fled for her life. Gone to France and later to Italy. She had even spent some years in the United States. Eventually the fear had died down, and she had begun to live normally again. Sometimes she even forgot. Yes, all in all she had had a long and happy life. So why did she always feel like she was waiting for something? Or someone?
She got up. Her warm house was just a few blocks away. She would feed her cats and listen to the radio. She started to walk. It was good to see young people about again. Look at that couple, coming out of the tube station, so young and so in love. Had she and Fred been like that? Or she and George, when they first met? It was hard to remember. The young man left the girl over by the station, and approached her. What could he possibly want with her? He was certainly a good-looking one, with that curly hair and film star cheekbones. He wasn't in uniform, but then again, most of the lads were glad to get out of them as soon as possible. She watched him approach, nervously.
"Excuse me," he said, "Have you got the time?"
She smiled, relieved. Of course. She took out the pocket watch that had once belonged to her brother John.
"Half seven. It will be full dark soon."
"It's dark enough for me, Elizabeth," he said.
She looked at his face. Except for the shorter hair and lack of glasses he hadn't changed a bit since 1880. A miracle, really, though probably not the kind engendered by God. Well he had waited long enough. Though she admitted she hadn't been easy to find and these had been turbulent years.
She smiled sadly, "Good evening, William. I've been expecting you."
He signaled the girl to keep watch and he led Elizabeth gently into the alley. He smiled at her, the same sweet gentle smile she remembered from all those years ago.
"They call me Spike now, love."
The End