Séance for a Vampire by Fred Saberhagen (top ebook reader TXT) 📗

intricate designs in the stonework on some of the tombs, or the abandoned, two-thirds-ruined chapel that looked down upon the graves from a small rise of ground. She waved her little notebook, in which she had already written down some names and dates.

Then she introduced herself and Abraham.

Their names seemed to mean nothing to the tall red-haired man, nor was there any way to tell, just yet, whether he had accepted Sarah’s lame explanation for their presence. “You may call me Mr. Gregory,” he said, then paused, seemingly waiting for her to do so.

Sarah wondered, but was not about to inquire, whether Gregory was a last name or a first. She made a gesture somewhere between a bow and a curtsy. “Mr. Gregory, then,” she murmured. Meanwhile Abraham still stood silent, like one stunned–Sarah felt her own chill of fear when she realized how terrified her brother had become.

Gregory, in no hurry about anything, stood with hands behind his back, looking at the Kirkaldys quite directly now, surveying them like two servants of dubious character, like menials who were somehow necessary to him, and whom he therefore might be forced to engage against his better judgment. Then Sarah began to get the impression that whatever this man was thinking about so privately was steadily, inwardly, enraging him; and she found herself saying an inward prayer of thanksgiving that this rage did not seem to be directed against her and Abe.

At last the man who stood facing them announced: “You are the two who, a week past, conducted the sitting, the séance, in the house.” He gestured minimally, a slight movement of the head, toward the distant Altamont home, invisible from here behind its woods and orchards.

“We had that privilege, Mr. Gregory, yes.” Sarah needed a great effort to keep from adding “sir,” to keep from groveling. In her mind she repeated the private vow she had made to herself two years ago: She would not be a servant any more, never again. Would not!

Gregory seemed oblivious to whatever the two young people before him might be feeling. “I heard you speaking to your brother just now about the girl in white, who appeared at your last sitting. Oh, your visitant was indeed Miss Louisa Altamont, I assure you.” He stopped and waited, as if inviting comment.

Sarah had her mouth open, to comment or perhaps to argue; but she closed it again in silence.

The red-haired man went on: “but she did not come out of her grave because you called her–no.” That was a strange idea, even an amusing one, provoking a grin of sharp white teeth. “No, it was I who bade Miss Altamont walk that night, and I who sent her to you in the house.” Again the speaker paused, as if expecting a question or even a challenge. When none came, he resumed:

“She had not far to go, of course, from her new home”—he patted the marble wall beside him—”back to the house in which she lived her breathing life.” And the tall man once more pointed in the direction of the house half a mile away. Then he leaned with the same hand against the tomb beside him. “Now do you understand?” He studied the stunned faces of his audience, and appeared satisfied by what he saw. “Of course there is no need for you to understand.”

In the next moment Gregory had pulled a pair of gold sovereigns from his pocket, and tossed them arrogantly into the grass at the feet of his two auditors, as if he might be throwing tuppence to a crossing-sweeper. At the sight of gold Sarah involuntarily sucked in her breath; but neither she nor Abraham went scrambling to pick up the coin. Not yet.

Now the red-haired one demanded: “When do you sit with the Altamont woman again? Of course she must be clamoring to have another visit with her daughter. There is a plan?”

Abe and Sarah looked at each other.

“Come, come, surely she is eager to once more see her little girl?” There was a certain tolerant amusement in Gregory’s attitude now, coexisting with a great, strained arrogance–and under all, the sense of implacable, relentless anger. “Louisa tells me that her first visit made quite an impression on her dear mother. Dear mother’s great excitement kept her from successfully discussing business last time, but I suppose I ought to have expected that. Next time, however, Louisa is going to be quite insistent. There is the business of a certain stolen property which must be addressed–an old debt, with interest, to be collected. When do you sit with the old fool again?”

“Tonight.” The word seemed dragged unwillingly from Sarah’s lips. She was trying to resist being bullied, but against this man the struggle had already proved hopeless. Still, one more effort seemed essential. “But see here...”

“Yes?”

“Her young lass Louisa’s dead.”

Gregory stared at her, so long and steadily that Sarah began to fear that she would faint. At first the man glaring at her was grim; then for a few moments he had to struggle with an inner amusement so intense it threatened to keep him from coherent speech.

But when he spoke again at last, his voice was still mild. “You need not concern yourselves with the precise degree of death Miss Louisa has experienced. Understand?”

“Aye,” whispered Abraham.

“Aye,” murmured Sarah–though in truth she was far from understanding.

“You need not worry about where Miss Louisa dwells, in this world or the next–provided she comes to you when you call her. As she will come! You need not worry about where Miss Louisa sleeps, or what she wears, or how she comes and goes. Or what kind of nourishment she now requires.” The green eyes flared at them. “You are to pay heed only to what she demands from her family.

“Your task is to help Louisa persuade her dear parents to do a certain thing–you understand?”

“Aye.”

“Aye, sir.”

“You must convince Mr. and Mrs. Altamont that one thing is absolutely essential–that they must grant whatever wish their