Chapter 10: Departures

York, England 1925

It was a bitterly cold, grey, January day. D stood like a statue, his wide-brimmed hat held respectfully in his hands. Across the gaping, freshly-dug grave stood the 17-year-old Samantha, sorrowfully elegant in a fashionable black dress, purchased, like every other material thing in her life, with D's money. Samantha studied the somber expression of the tall, pale-skinned man. For ten years she had thought of him as a sort of mysterious uncle… he would appear at Christmastime or perhaps for a week in the summer, and then he would leave again, off to manage an unspecified yet obviously lucrative business in London. He had been the only one that Mrs. Belus had allowed at in the room during the final moments of her life, but with her ear pressed fervently against the door Samantha had heard their conversation.

"It's the end now, dearest," Mrs. Belus had gasped.

"I know." D's gentle reply was almost inaudible.

"I'll go on to Tasia in a bit. We… we never visited her monument," Mrs. Belus wheezed. "the one the …king… built for her…"

King? Samantha thought, frowning worriedly. What king? Was her grandmother delusional? There had been no previous sign that her illness had affected her sensibility.

Old Mrs. Belus went on: "promise me you'll visit it… surely you can find the time… one of these centuries, eh?"

Samantha almost smiled, despite the sad weight growing in her heart. Even at the brink of death, her cheerful, kind-hearted grandmother could make a joke.

D was quiet for a long minute. "So you know. I should have told you everything long ago. Forgive me." It was a sincere, heartbroken plea.

An expression of confusion passed over Samantha's face. What was D talking about? Desperately curious, she held her breath, and slowly crouched down so she could peep through the keyhole. D was standing beside the bed, gazing quietly down at the dying woman. Samantha watched as he hesitantly reached for her grandmother's withered, spotted hand. She strained to hear his words.

"It was my father who killed her," he said softly. "I watched as she slipped away, and I couldn't save her."

Old Mrs. Belus moaned quietly. Samantha bit her lip, near to tears now at the sound of her grandmother's suffering.

"I forgive you," the old woman rasped. "As does Tasia, be sure of it…"

Through her own tears, Samantha saw D's broad shoulders quiver, and he lowered his head, grieving. "Now, now… child… don't cry now… all is well... God bless you, D…"

Another moment passed, and the sound of her grandmother's strained breathing grew faint. D stood immobile at her side, and then, slowly, he went down on his knees. Still holding the old woman's hand, he pressed his forehead against the bed, his slumped posture one of defeat and desolation. Samantha gasped- suddenly she knew that her grandmother had died.

Now they were lowering the coffin into the earth. Samantha didn't even glance at it- she was utterly preoccupied by staring at D, wondering once again about the circumstances of her parents' deaths. She vaguely remembered being introduced to D at the train station, remembered her mother saying something about him coming back from the dead. At times, she had wanted to blame D for what had happened to her parents, but her grandmother always admonished her for such thoughts, and assured her that D had nothing to do with it. But D had been their benefactor ever since, and Samantha felt certain that there was more to the story.

Samantha studied D from across the grave, which was now slowly being filled with earth. It occurred to her that the mystery surrounding D was somewhat like an empty pit, a great hole in the story of her life. Why was this tall, solemn young man involved with their family? She caught herself and frowned slightly. Young man? Shouldn't he be… nearly 40 now, if he'd been a childhood playmate of her mother's? She let her gaze drift back to his smooth, handsome face. He looked the same as he always had, only for once he wasn't wearing his hat… and suddenly Samantha realized that he looked only as old as she did!

D felt the girl watching him with questions brimming in her brandy-brown eyes. He knew she had been eavesdropping on his final conversation with her grandmother, and he wondered if he should ever appease her curiosity. It seemed to D that Samantha and Geoffrey had grown up in barely two blinks… wasn't it better for them to live their short lives unaware of certain painful, horrible truths? D raised his eyes and met the girl's stare. He expected her to look away, but instead she went on staring, as if determined to see to the bottom of his soul. Surprised, D found that he couldn't look away either. The girl looked exactly like her mother, the only difference being that her hair was a shade darker, more chestnut than gold. It curled loosely over her shoulders, partially drawn back and tied with a black ribbon.

Another sudden realization made Samantha's stomach flutter oddly, and she averted her eyes, blushing faintly. It was definitely inappropriate for her to have such thoughts about a man she thought of as an uncle, and a man who had to be at least twice her age despite his appearance… but she couldn't deny that D had the most beautiful face she had ever seen, and with his broad shoulders and long black coat, he cut a most impressive figure against the dull grey sky beyond the graveyard.

Late the following night, a beleaguered D arrived at his residence in London. Mrs. Belus had been like a mother to him, and her death weighed heavily in his heart. D hung up his hat and coat by the door, and sat on the only chair in his tiny one-room flat. Wearily he took his boots off, and without bothering to undress further, he climbed into bed. His mind was full of concern for Samantha and Geoffrey, who had been orphaned afresh. Geoffrey would be off to school in another week or so- D had already taken care of the tuition- but Samantha had finished school and would now remain at home. D felt vaguely uncomfortable thinking about her, but she dominated his thoughts. She had grown up so fast. D still wanted to see her as a little child, yet there she was, tall and slender, graceful and beautiful, and so much like Tasia. She was a seedling that had blossomed into a lily overnight.
She had assaulted him with questions after the funeral.

"Mr. D…" she had said, gathering her courage. D put down his fork and gazed passively at her across the dinner table. She met his eyes and D was struck by how vibrant and full of life she seemed, her eyes shining as if with their own warm, pure light. "Perhaps this is silly of me, but I've been wondering… you've provided for us ever since our parents died, and, well, we don't even know your full name."

"It's just D," D replied.

"But how can that be? Haven't you got a last name, or, if that's your last name, what is your first name? We've called you 'Mr. D' all our lives, but…"

"Your grandmother instructed you to call me that," D said kindly. "But now that you're both grown up, you can just call me D if you like."

Samantha blinked a few times, and then tried again, with fresh determination.

"Very well… but you must admit that it's quite mysterious to have only one letter for a name. I've also been wondering where exactly we lived before our parents died."

Geoffrey looked up from his plate, equally curious. D looked back and forth between them. "Your grandmother never told you?" he asked.

Samantha shook her head. "Never a word. She never spoke about mother and father, or our life before we came to England, except to reassure us that our parents loved us and were smiling down from heaven."

"I can't hardly remember our parents at all," Geoffrey spoke up. "But I do wonder about them from time to time. I remember the church and the train station, and that Father smashed the windows of the house with a shovel. But I can't even remember his face."

It struck D how sad it was for glass shattered in crazed anguish to be the boy's only memory of the father who had loved him.

"Please, D… won't you at least tell us where we lived back then?" Samantha entreated.

D sat for another moment in silence as Samantha and Geoffrey stared at him hopefully.

"Transylvania," D replied at last, with a slight sense of misgiving. Both pairs of warm brown eyes widened, enthralled with this completely unexpected bit of information. Such a strange-sounding, medieval, foreign land! They weren't even entirely sure of where they might find it on a map.

Quickly the girl regained her composure. "Transylvania," she breathed. "Isn't that Romania now? And are you… well, I'm sure this will sound like a silly question, but- could it be that you have some connections with royalty there?"

D felt instantly chilled. He knew it was an innocent question- his great wealth was no secret to them, although its origin had never been explained. D didn't want to answer more questions. He stood abruptly, bumping the table as he did so in a rare departure from his usual gracefulness.

"Oh, please don't take offense," Samantha implored anxiously. "I'm sorry if my question bothered you. But can't you understand our curiosity? We don't know anything at all about you, or about our parents' deaths!"

D gazed at her coldly. "You know who killed your mother," he said quietly. Samantha stared at D, betrayed. How did he know she had been listening at the door?

Geoffrey's hands clenched into fists almost unconsciously, and fear overcame his young face. "Was it you?" the boy asked, almost too willing to believe that D had been the murderer.

"Tell him what you overheard," D said. Samantha looked over at her brother, and drew a ragged breath.

"Geoffrey, as Grandmother lay dying I… overheard her and D talking… and D revealed to her that it was… his father… who killed our mother."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Geoffrey asked his sister, aghast.

"I was hoping D would tell us the whole story," Samantha admitted, looking back at D's downcast eyes.

"No," D said, lowering himself back into his seat. He tried to eat the rest of his dinner. He could feel Samantha's emotions rising. At last the anger overflowed.

"Why won't you tell us?" she demanded furiously. "Who is your father? Has he gone unpunished all this time? And why are you involved, anyway? What are you keeping secret? Was our mother in love with you?"

D had expected this outburst, and he made no reply. With angry tears flooding her eyes, Samantha excused herself to her room.

"I'm sorry that she--" Geoffrey began awkwardly, but D cut him off.

"It's alright," he said calmly. "It's only natural, and I'm sorry I can't tell her the truth. But it is better for you not to know."

Geoffrey had nodded solemnly.

The boy was the rational, introspective sort, thought D, lying on his bed in London. But Samantha, she had always been imaginative, restless, and high-strung. What would she do now, sitting alone in that large house, with no one but the few servants to talk to? Human lives were so short, and all too often, sad. D covered his eyes with his left hand, wishing the demon that lived there was able to suck worries out of his brain the way it had sucked poison out of the air. Feeling regretful and cold, D sank slowly into sleep.

Months passed without word from Samantha. Geoffrey wrote occasionally, and D was pleased to see that he was earning good marks at school. But there was never any mention of Samantha. D sent money and books and various packages on a regular basis as he always had. Before long it was summer again, and then fall. And then one day a letter came from Geoffrey.

D-

The police have been of no help. Samantha has disappeared.

I suspect she has left the country, for she has been saving

money diligently these past few months, even selling things

from the house. Now she is gone, without a trace, and so it is in desperation that I write.

I have never doubted your devotion towards my family, even

though I have never known the reason behind it. I trust that

you will know what to do.

I am powerless and I fear for her. Please help.

Sincerely,

Geoffrey Rowntree

Immediately D scribbled his reply:

I will find her.

And then, stuffing some money and spare clothing into a bag, he hurried out, not even bothering to close his door behind him.

A/N: Ack! Chapter 10 was pretty weak, wasn't it? I just realized that it ended just like chap. 9… D gets a letter and rushes off to save the day. Sigh. This is how I know I'm not a good writer after all… I don't even realize this kind of huge blunder until months after I write it… groan.