bowed and waited for her to offer me a seat, quite relieved to have arrived unscathed. Leaned back in her chair, she looked at me, remaining motionless and mute.
“Rough weather and beasties lurking!” I remarked. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, I had to work hard to make myself heard at the door. It was a near thing.”
She never opened her mouth and I glanced at her neck, wondering if, like the maid at Thrushcross, she had fallen victim to one of the vampires I thought I had seen in the snowing mist. She kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless manner. I saw no bite marks, but that was no guarantee; women in particular were good at hiding them when they wished to.
“Sit down,” said the young man gruffly. “He’ll be in soon.”
I obeyed, keeping one eye on Mrs. Heathcliff while calling the villain canine, Juno, the pointer bitch, who moved the extreme tip of her tail in token of owning my acquaintance. To my relief, the tiny terror was nowhere in sight.
“A beautiful animal,” I commenced. “Do you intend parting with the pups, madam?”
“They are not mine,” said the hostess, more unkindly than Heathcliff himself could have replied. “You should not have come. It is not safe.” She rose, reaching for the mantel for two of the painted canisters. “Vampires are thick on these moors on such sunless days.”
As if one needed reminding….
Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct view of her figure and countenance. She was slender and barely past girlhood, an admirable form and the most exquisite little face I have ever had the pleasure of beholding. With flaxen ringlets hanging loose on her delicate neck, she had small features that, had they been in agreeable expression, would have been irresistible. Fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only sentiment they evoked hovered somewhere between scorn and a kind of desperation.
The canisters were almost out of reach, and I made a motion to aid her.
“I can get them myself,” she snapped.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Were you asked to tea?” she demanded, tying an apron over her neat black frock and standing with a spoonful of leaf poised over the pot.
I detected the sharp scent of garlic, a common ingredient in English teas, as of late. It is said to ward off vampires; they detest it. Some, like my housekeeper, have even taken to wearing garlic on their persons—a foolish notion, I think. “I’ll be glad to have a cup,” I said. Perhaps two, if it will get me home with the eight imperial pints of blood I possessed when I left Thrushcross Grange today, I thought.
“Were you invited?” she repeated.
“No.” I half smiled. “You’re proper to ask, though. No telling what sort of strangers will try to make their way into your home these days. A cousin of mine told me that only last week a vampire pretending to be an old acquaintance tried to invite himself into my cousin’s household for tea.”
She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and returned to her chair in a pout, her under-lip pushed out, like a child’s ready to cry.
Meanwhile, the young man had slung on a decidedly shabby upper garment, stained with blood. I wondered if, like many young men in the country, he was training to fight the dark devils. I nearly asked him myself, but then he looked at me from the corner of his eyes as if there were some mortal feud unavenged between us, and I swallowed my question. His thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroaching bearishly over his cheeks, and his hands were embrowned like those of a common laborer. Yet I began to wonder if he was a servant or not. His dress and speech were entirely devoid of the superiority one could observe in Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff, but his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed no respect to the lady of the house.
In absence of clear proof of his place in the household, I deemed it best to abstain from noticing his curious behavior; five minutes later, the entrance of Heathcliff relieved me from my uncomfortable state.
“You see, sir, I’ve returned as promised,” I exclaimed. “But I fear I shall be weather-bound. I trust you can afford me shelter.” Then I cleared my throat, feeling it my duty to warn him. “Are you aware of the creatures that presently linger on your property?”
“Afford you shelter? For the night?” he said, seeming to ignore my reference to a possible vampire infestation, the more pressing issue of the conversation, I thought.
“I wonder you should select a snow-storm to ramble about in. Do you know that you run the risk of being murdered in the marshes? People far more familiar than you with these moors often miss the road on such a day and are never seen again.”
So he was aware…. “If staying here would be an imposition, perhaps I can get a guard from among your lads to escort me home, and he might stay at the Grange until morning. With weapons, perhaps? I fear I’m not so good with a sword.” I laid my hand on the tiny silver dagger I wore on my belt. Little protection should a swarm descend upon me. Perhaps I should reconsider the benefits of a garlic necklace. Who was I to question wiser heads who had known and feared vampires for generations?
“No, I could not.”
“Indeed?” I drew back, surprised by his reply. “You would turn me out to certain death?”
“Are you going to make the tea?” demanded he of the shabby coat.
“Is he going to have any?” she asked, appealing to Heathcliff. “I see no need to waste good tea if he’s to walk out into the moors and be drained of every drop of—”
“Get it ready!” Heathcliff uttered so savagely that I felt no longer inclined to call him a capital fellow. I wondered if I needed to consider the rumors again. Had I stepped from fang to fang?
When the tea preparations were finished, he invited me to join the others around the table. There was an austere silence while I watched Mrs. Heathcliff make a separate pot of tea from a second container for Mr. Heathcliff. I wanted to sniff it for garlic, fearing it contained naught, but I dared not. Instead, we all digested our meal: a dry wedge of cheese that bore teeth marks of mice, a crock of jellied eels, hardtack at least as old as Joseph, and a splendid length of blood sausage.
Afraid I had caused the cloud of grim silence, I thought I should make an effort to dispel it, and after a false start, I began. “It is strange,” I said between swallowing the last of one cup of tea and receiving another. Heathcliff, I noted, took food on his plate and added sugar to his tea, but he neither drank nor ate. “Odd,” I continued, “how custom can mold our tastes and ideas. Many could not imagine the existence of so isolated a society, surrounded by hostile hives of vampires, Mr. Heathcliff. Yet I venture to say, that surrounded by your family and your amiable lady—”
“My amiable lady!” he interrupted with an almost diabolical sneer.
For a moment, I feared he would bare fangs.
“Where is she, my amiable lady?”
“Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.”
“So you suggest her spirit has taken the post of ministering angel and guardian of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is drained of blood and gone? Is that it? She watches us from the grave?”
Perceiving my blunder, I attempted to correct it. I should have seen that there was too great a disparity of years between them. He was forty. She looked no more than seventeen. Then it flashed upon me. The clown in the bloody coat was her husband. Heathcliff, junior, of course.
“Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,” said Heathcliff, corroborating my surmise. He turned as he spoke, a look of hatred in his eyes as he gazed at her.
“Ah, certainly,” I stumbled on, turning to my neighbor. “I see now; you are the favored possessor of the beauteous lady.”
This was worse than before; the youth grew crimson and clenched his fist and I began to have second thoughts as to whose blood it was upon his