A Field Guide to Vampires by Craig Batty Alyxandra Harvey Page A
Authors: Craig Batty Alyxandra Harvey
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romantic,
spine-chilling ghost story
CHAPTER 1
1872
A
lady does not dance more than two dances with the same gentleman.
The daughter of an earl precedes the wife of the youngest son of a marquis but not the wife of the youngest son of a duke.
And I was the daughter of a Spiritualist medium lately from Cheapside.
I was used to simple rules:
don’t get caught.
I went back to memorizing the many intricate and involved rules of the British aristocracy, because as convoluted and boring as they were, it was still preferable to talking to my mother.
A lady eats what she is served at dinner without comment.
I was usually hungry enough to eat what I was given without comment, but if the earl served boiled tongue or calves’ foot jelly, I fully intended to wrap it in my napkin and hide it in the nearest umbrella stand.
A well-bred lady always removes her gloves at dinner but never at a ball. She should also travel with two sets of silk gloves and one of kid.
Never mind that I had only two pairs of gloves to my name to begin with, I wasn’t a well-bred lady. I might look the part in my secondhand dresses with the added silk ruchings and delicate embroidery, but I’d done all that work myself, sewing until my fingers bled, to have them ready for this journey.
It was all a pretense.
And it might work well enough in our London parlor for an hour or two, but this trip was a different matter altogether. I’d never dined with earls or dowager countesses or even wealthy tradesmen. Frankly, I’d rather walk alone on the outskirts of Whitechapel. At least I knew what I was about there; I knew what the dangers were and how to avoid them.
An earl’s country estate might as well be deepest India.
When the train reached the next station, I slipped onto the platform before my mother could start another lecture on regal bearing under the cover of the noise of the crowds and the steam engine.
I knew I shouldn’t venture out into the crowd unaccompanied, but I needed a few moments away from my mother and the starched and proper aristocrats with whom we shared the car. They knew we didn’t belong there.
I
knew we didn’t belong there. Only my mother seemed determined to ignore that fact with sniffs of disdain and complaints about the violent rocking of the train and what it was doing to her delicate sensibilities.
Mother was delicate the way badgers were delicate.
Since this was likely to be my last moment to myself until later in the evening when we reached Lord Jasper’s estate inHampshire, I rushed out, accidentally bumping into a countess with a tiered bustle that took up the space of three people. I didn’t even stop to apologize properly.
Because if I had to be shut up in that box for another minute, I’d run mad.
Mother would say it was frightfully ungrateful of me, but it was true nonetheless. She’d been hours without her glass of medicinal sherry and that alone was enough to make her cross, never mind the fine ladies looking down their noses at us.
We were situated in the first-class car, which was far and above the most luxurious place I’d ever seen. It was set with chandeliers hanging from the decorated ceiling, carved mahogany tables, and blue silk cushions and was better appointed than the parlor in our house. The movement might have rattled my teeth alarmingly, but I didn’t care. I did, however, feel rather bad for Colin and Marjorie stuck in the last car, with no walls to shield them from the elements or the dust and no seats to speak of. At least it wasn’t raining.
I’d never been on a train before, with the great roar of sound, the billows of steam like a dragon’s breath, and the rapid blur of London tenement houses followed by fields of sheep and oak groves. I rather liked it; it made me feel as if I were leaving my old life behind me.
If only that were true.
I attached myself to a tired-looking woman and her five daughters, all dressed in browns, like plump, happy sparrows. I trailed behind
spine-chilling ghost story
CHAPTER 1
1872
A
lady does not dance more than two dances with the same gentleman.
The daughter of an earl precedes the wife of the youngest son of a marquis but not the wife of the youngest son of a duke.
And I was the daughter of a Spiritualist medium lately from Cheapside.
I was used to simple rules:
don’t get caught.
I went back to memorizing the many intricate and involved rules of the British aristocracy, because as convoluted and boring as they were, it was still preferable to talking to my mother.
A lady eats what she is served at dinner without comment.
I was usually hungry enough to eat what I was given without comment, but if the earl served boiled tongue or calves’ foot jelly, I fully intended to wrap it in my napkin and hide it in the nearest umbrella stand.
A well-bred lady always removes her gloves at dinner but never at a ball. She should also travel with two sets of silk gloves and one of kid.
Never mind that I had only two pairs of gloves to my name to begin with, I wasn’t a well-bred lady. I might look the part in my secondhand dresses with the added silk ruchings and delicate embroidery, but I’d done all that work myself, sewing until my fingers bled, to have them ready for this journey.
It was all a pretense.
And it might work well enough in our London parlor for an hour or two, but this trip was a different matter altogether. I’d never dined with earls or dowager countesses or even wealthy tradesmen. Frankly, I’d rather walk alone on the outskirts of Whitechapel. At least I knew what I was about there; I knew what the dangers were and how to avoid them.
An earl’s country estate might as well be deepest India.
When the train reached the next station, I slipped onto the platform before my mother could start another lecture on regal bearing under the cover of the noise of the crowds and the steam engine.
I knew I shouldn’t venture out into the crowd unaccompanied, but I needed a few moments away from my mother and the starched and proper aristocrats with whom we shared the car. They knew we didn’t belong there.
I
knew we didn’t belong there. Only my mother seemed determined to ignore that fact with sniffs of disdain and complaints about the violent rocking of the train and what it was doing to her delicate sensibilities.
Mother was delicate the way badgers were delicate.
Since this was likely to be my last moment to myself until later in the evening when we reached Lord Jasper’s estate inHampshire, I rushed out, accidentally bumping into a countess with a tiered bustle that took up the space of three people. I didn’t even stop to apologize properly.
Because if I had to be shut up in that box for another minute, I’d run mad.
Mother would say it was frightfully ungrateful of me, but it was true nonetheless. She’d been hours without her glass of medicinal sherry and that alone was enough to make her cross, never mind the fine ladies looking down their noses at us.
We were situated in the first-class car, which was far and above the most luxurious place I’d ever seen. It was set with chandeliers hanging from the decorated ceiling, carved mahogany tables, and blue silk cushions and was better appointed than the parlor in our house. The movement might have rattled my teeth alarmingly, but I didn’t care. I did, however, feel rather bad for Colin and Marjorie stuck in the last car, with no walls to shield them from the elements or the dust and no seats to speak of. At least it wasn’t raining.
I’d never been on a train before, with the great roar of sound, the billows of steam like a dragon’s breath, and the rapid blur of London tenement houses followed by fields of sheep and oak groves. I rather liked it; it made me feel as if I were leaving my old life behind me.
If only that were true.
I attached myself to a tired-looking woman and her five daughters, all dressed in browns, like plump, happy sparrows. I trailed behind
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