Connects with: Gift of the Dark, Streets of London & Sepia and Silver
The Stream of Life © December 2020 E. C. Hibbs
London, England
February 1816
I could scarcely believe it when the letter arrived. I read it, astounded, then tossed it at Hobhouse. As he scanned the words, his cheeks turned ashen.
“Separation?” he gasped. “So the rumours are true?”
“What does it matter if they are? She doesn’t mean it,” I said with a flick of my wrist.
“She seems persistent,” Hobby grimaced. “And the tide shows no sign of turning in your favour, George. The things which are being said…”
I kept my eyes on him; did not even blink. I knew what he referred to: those toxic stories which had threaded themselves through Society’s superficial tapestry. Insidious words abounded whenever I stepped foot outside. The hisses of snakes hung about my ears, every newspaper bore disparaging cartoons and texts like badges of honour. The beautiful, famous Lord Byron, now turned among the ranks of Caligula and Nero. What a poetic fall from grace for a poet.
But still, a chill of bemused horror crept up the back of my neck. Annabella and I had been wed but a year, our daughter born less than a month since. Had I truly been so terrible as to solicit such a reaction? Was she then never happy with me? Had I not acknowledged all my faults and follies to her… save for that one damnable feature beyond the human mind?
I knew it was impossible – I concealed it too well – but a part of me fancied that perhaps she had heard of it, among the more asinine remarks which followed me. What would be worse? The allegations, or the truth? Both were just as terrible as the other.
Indeed, my dark condition was already reminding me of its needs. I felt ill, with shivers crawling across my flesh like the legs of a spider. I had ordered the servants to keep the drapes closed, to save my eyes. And as my oldest friend sat there, the sweet aroma of his blood filled my nose: a perfect cocktail which called and sang to me. But unlike Odysseus, I could not seal my ears with wax and endure the siren call. I must have it, consume it, allow it to sate whatever may be sated amid this tumult.
Then Hobby spoke again, wincing as the words passed his lips.
“Perhaps you should consider going abroad. For a while, at least. Matters may cool down eventually.”
“I doubt it.”
Leaving England. Though it was the first time it had been admitted outwardly, I had suspected such a proposal. I sensed it as the beast senses a coming storm: the hackles rise and a growl begins in the throat, as the harbinger of flight before disaster.
Hobby stayed awhile, to give me company, but by nightfall he had taken his leave. I stood sullenly at the window as his carriage rolled away.
A red haze swam across my vision. I caught sight of my reflection in the panes, and saw eyes the colour of rubies staring back at me. There was not a trace of my natural grey remaining, but I cared not. None would see now.
I poured myself wine, drank it, tossed the glass into the fireplace. It wasn’t enough. I needed more.
I threw on my cape, pulled the collar high, drew the shadows about myself until only the night creatures might pay me any notice. Whereupon, I opened the balcony doors, unfurled the bat wings from my shoulders, and took to the skies.
The crisp winter air stroked my skin as I rose higher. The sprawl of London and its true insignificance was laid bare: all the shallow fools with their wagging tongues. How many of these men had devoured my work? Had those same hands, now stained with the cheap canting ink of the Times, also turned the pages of The Giaour or Childe Harold? So readily, people crowded from afar, gawking with delight, to behold the salacious stories which had come forth about the celebrity in their midst. Even to jeer and hiss, they could not keep away from me.
All except Annabella. She, to whom I was bound by a sacred noose, wished to be further from my person than any other. I had thought our parting amicable, when she decided to return to her parents’ house with our daughter. True, our union had been a loveless one, but was it deserving of this? Separation papers? Annulment, upon our first anniversary?
My anger burned. I came to land upon the grass at Hyde Park Corner, retracted the wings until they were no longer visible, and walked into the darkness. I did not need to travel far before I noticed an urchin lurking in the shadows. I smelled him before I saw him: the stench of an unwashed body and the creeping ravages of consumption. But above all that: blood.
I stole behind him with the stealth of a tiger, clamped my hand across his mouth and wrenched his head back. Before he could scream, I sank my teeth into the front of his throat.
The delicious balm washed over my tongue: taste beyond taste. I caught a glimpse of the boy’s memories: an orphan who had absconded from his scullion service. Perhaps he had listened too closely to that old tale about Dick Whittington, and then discovered truth was hardly as kind as the fictions which inspired his flight. But these ponderings scarcely mattered; I ignored the stream of life as it appeared before me. I had seen it often, too often, all the same and all futile.
But tonight, despite how hard I drew, how intently I turned my focus to the drink of godless things, the relief was insipid. How could I take pleasure from this act when life’s bedrock had been so shaken beneath me?
The boy died without so much as a gasp. When I was done with him, heard his heart stop, I tossed him aside. He would be found in the morning. For a small snatch of time, it would give the impudent horde something aside from my affairs to concern themselves with. Their entertainment was so much like their lives: cheap and fleeting.
I drew a handkerchief and wiped my mouth. I was clean, as usual. My sister had taught me well.
A sudden dart of agony pierced my heart. Being parted from Annabella was a slight which shocked me, but nothing I could not have endured. To be spared her pious pity and humourless analytical brain, both so at odds with myself, might have even been welcomed. But if Hobby was correct, and I would have to seek out a new existence beyond these shores, would I ever see my dear Augusta again?
She had made me what I was. Three years ago, her teeth had pierced my neck, filling my veins with liquid as black as ink. I had heard her voice inside my head, instructing me, whispering words of compassion and support. I had allowed her to do it: I wished to be as she was in all aspects – my beautiful, sweet Augusta. With her, I learned the secrets of disappearing into the shadows, of flight, of the invigorating intoxication of blood. No wine could compare, no bodily touch equal the thrill of that first spray down the throat.
Only six months prior, I had completed the transformation. She had bitten me once again, upon the wrist, and given me the strength required to achieve my wings. Now I was finally her equal: a full vampire. And now, would I be forced from her, whether through Annabella’s separation demand, or the machinations of scandal?
I emerged back into the glow of the lamps at Hyde Park Corner. Though not particularly late, the streets were quiet. I lingered, still only a mere shadow to any who might pass me, and observed my surroundings with eyes tinted crimson.
I knew my way, but it looked exactly the same as any other spot: all pompous carved stone and neatly-lined cobbles, to bely the true shallowness beneath the surface. The buildings were framed by columns, in some thin attempt to capture Grecian glory and beauty. But what could this place know of such virtues? I had traversed the roads of Greece, beheld its splendour; all so much greater than anything to be found here. The song of the old country rang in my heart, like the tune of the clearest glass bell. Perhaps I might return there someday, if fortune allowed, and walk the path to the Acropolis, where none knew me.
Then, above the notes of blood lingering upon the air like perfume, I spotted a young man across the way. I had no further need to drink now – I would not require that sustenance for another month – but still, I drew close and took his shoulder.
As soon as he felt it, he halted, waiting for me to lift the shadow. The street was empty save for us now; no others saw me as I reappeared.
“My Lord,” he said in surprise.
“Polidori,” I replied. “Fancy seeing you here this late.”
“I thought I might take some air, Sir,” he said nervously.
I walked at his side, my collar still turned up to conceal my face. He looked into my eyes, and I did not attempt to disguise their hue. He knew what I was. It was the very reason I had seen fit to hire him, despite only being twenty years old and a practising doctor for one.
“You have tended to your needs tonight?” Polidori observed.
He phrased it as a question, but the statement behind it was evident. Thus, I saw no need to confirm, and changed the subject.
“I will require your services shortly. It might be in my best interest to leave this Godforsaken place for a while. I would have you accompany me.”
Polidori flustered. “Leave? May I ask whereabouts, My Lord?”
“I haven’t come to that decision myself. Today has been most taxing.”
I spat out the final word like a dart. At once, my mind filled with Annabella’s pippin face. She should have had a softer pillow to lie her head upon than my heart.
Suddenly, I caught a new odour. Beyond blood and tobacco and the chill of a coming frost… something sharper, acidic. Something I had only smelled upon myself and Augusta.
Then I looked up, and could not contain a gasp. Upon the roof of the tallest building was the clear silhouette of a gentleman. Even from where I stood, I noticed a head of strawberry blonde hair: so keen was my vampire sight. And his scent…
Without warning, the gentleman spread his arms wide, like Icarus attempting to take flight. But no such thing happened. Instead, he tipped forward, as graceful as a diver, and leapt. Within seconds, he collided with the road and lay still.
Polidori sprang to his side. I approached too, but kept my distance, looking around to ensure we were still alone.
My heart raced with shock. Another vampire? The characteristic smell was overwhelming now: so acrid, it burned the back of my throat as I inhaled. I had never sensed so much of it; never even considered that I might find one like Augusta and myself. She had told me there were others, of course, but none in London that she knew of…
“He’s alive!” Polidori exclaimed.
I could scarcely believe my ears. Alive?
I stood perplexed, bound to the spot. But yes, I heard his pulse and his breathing.
How was it possible? Vampires we might be, with sharper senses, greater strength and endurance than other men, but we were still mortal. Augusta and I aged as others did; would eventually die as others would.
I inspected the building again. It was easily seventy feet high. Such a fall would have ended me. And yet, the gentleman drew in a weak gasp and moaned.
My shock dissolved into acute curiosity. He was my age, or thereabouts, and dressed well, as lower middle-class. His skin was paler than alabaster, as though it had not known the touch of sunlight for many a year. A thin line of blood seeped from his temple, but nothing more. Not a single bone appeared broken. When he opened his mouth, my attention settled on his canines. They were a little longer than the normal, like my own.
“Pick him up,” I said to Polidori.
“My Lord?”
“Pick him up!”
Polidori made haste to my order, and gathered the gentleman in his arms. The doctor himself was small, and he strained to gain purchase, but manged it eventually.
“Come back with me,” I snapped.
I heard Polidori’s heart rate increase. It pounded in my ears like an incessant drum.
“Do you think this the wisest idea, My Lord?” he asked anxiously.
I shot him a mirthless smirk. “I would argue no idea I have ever entertained has been particularly wise.”
“Separation?” he gasped. “So the rumours are true?”
“What does it matter if they are? She doesn’t mean it,” I said with a flick of my wrist.
“She seems persistent,” Hobby grimaced. “And the tide shows no sign of turning in your favour, George. The things which are being said…”
I kept my eyes on him; did not even blink. I knew what he referred to: those toxic stories which had threaded themselves through Society’s superficial tapestry. Insidious words abounded whenever I stepped foot outside. The hisses of snakes hung about my ears, every newspaper bore disparaging cartoons and texts like badges of honour. The beautiful, famous Lord Byron, now turned among the ranks of Caligula and Nero. What a poetic fall from grace for a poet.
But still, a chill of bemused horror crept up the back of my neck. Annabella and I had been wed but a year, our daughter born less than a month since. Had I truly been so terrible as to solicit such a reaction? Was she then never happy with me? Had I not acknowledged all my faults and follies to her… save for that one damnable feature beyond the human mind?
I knew it was impossible – I concealed it too well – but a part of me fancied that perhaps she had heard of it, among the more asinine remarks which followed me. What would be worse? The allegations, or the truth? Both were just as terrible as the other.
Indeed, my dark condition was already reminding me of its needs. I felt ill, with shivers crawling across my flesh like the legs of a spider. I had ordered the servants to keep the drapes closed, to save my eyes. And as my oldest friend sat there, the sweet aroma of his blood filled my nose: a perfect cocktail which called and sang to me. But unlike Odysseus, I could not seal my ears with wax and endure the siren call. I must have it, consume it, allow it to sate whatever may be sated amid this tumult.
Then Hobby spoke again, wincing as the words passed his lips.
“Perhaps you should consider going abroad. For a while, at least. Matters may cool down eventually.”
“I doubt it.”
Leaving England. Though it was the first time it had been admitted outwardly, I had suspected such a proposal. I sensed it as the beast senses a coming storm: the hackles rise and a growl begins in the throat, as the harbinger of flight before disaster.
Hobby stayed awhile, to give me company, but by nightfall he had taken his leave. I stood sullenly at the window as his carriage rolled away.
A red haze swam across my vision. I caught sight of my reflection in the panes, and saw eyes the colour of rubies staring back at me. There was not a trace of my natural grey remaining, but I cared not. None would see now.
I poured myself wine, drank it, tossed the glass into the fireplace. It wasn’t enough. I needed more.
I threw on my cape, pulled the collar high, drew the shadows about myself until only the night creatures might pay me any notice. Whereupon, I opened the balcony doors, unfurled the bat wings from my shoulders, and took to the skies.
The crisp winter air stroked my skin as I rose higher. The sprawl of London and its true insignificance was laid bare: all the shallow fools with their wagging tongues. How many of these men had devoured my work? Had those same hands, now stained with the cheap canting ink of the Times, also turned the pages of The Giaour or Childe Harold? So readily, people crowded from afar, gawking with delight, to behold the salacious stories which had come forth about the celebrity in their midst. Even to jeer and hiss, they could not keep away from me.
All except Annabella. She, to whom I was bound by a sacred noose, wished to be further from my person than any other. I had thought our parting amicable, when she decided to return to her parents’ house with our daughter. True, our union had been a loveless one, but was it deserving of this? Separation papers? Annulment, upon our first anniversary?
My anger burned. I came to land upon the grass at Hyde Park Corner, retracted the wings until they were no longer visible, and walked into the darkness. I did not need to travel far before I noticed an urchin lurking in the shadows. I smelled him before I saw him: the stench of an unwashed body and the creeping ravages of consumption. But above all that: blood.
I stole behind him with the stealth of a tiger, clamped my hand across his mouth and wrenched his head back. Before he could scream, I sank my teeth into the front of his throat.
The delicious balm washed over my tongue: taste beyond taste. I caught a glimpse of the boy’s memories: an orphan who had absconded from his scullion service. Perhaps he had listened too closely to that old tale about Dick Whittington, and then discovered truth was hardly as kind as the fictions which inspired his flight. But these ponderings scarcely mattered; I ignored the stream of life as it appeared before me. I had seen it often, too often, all the same and all futile.
But tonight, despite how hard I drew, how intently I turned my focus to the drink of godless things, the relief was insipid. How could I take pleasure from this act when life’s bedrock had been so shaken beneath me?
The boy died without so much as a gasp. When I was done with him, heard his heart stop, I tossed him aside. He would be found in the morning. For a small snatch of time, it would give the impudent horde something aside from my affairs to concern themselves with. Their entertainment was so much like their lives: cheap and fleeting.
I drew a handkerchief and wiped my mouth. I was clean, as usual. My sister had taught me well.
A sudden dart of agony pierced my heart. Being parted from Annabella was a slight which shocked me, but nothing I could not have endured. To be spared her pious pity and humourless analytical brain, both so at odds with myself, might have even been welcomed. But if Hobby was correct, and I would have to seek out a new existence beyond these shores, would I ever see my dear Augusta again?
She had made me what I was. Three years ago, her teeth had pierced my neck, filling my veins with liquid as black as ink. I had heard her voice inside my head, instructing me, whispering words of compassion and support. I had allowed her to do it: I wished to be as she was in all aspects – my beautiful, sweet Augusta. With her, I learned the secrets of disappearing into the shadows, of flight, of the invigorating intoxication of blood. No wine could compare, no bodily touch equal the thrill of that first spray down the throat.
Only six months prior, I had completed the transformation. She had bitten me once again, upon the wrist, and given me the strength required to achieve my wings. Now I was finally her equal: a full vampire. And now, would I be forced from her, whether through Annabella’s separation demand, or the machinations of scandal?
I emerged back into the glow of the lamps at Hyde Park Corner. Though not particularly late, the streets were quiet. I lingered, still only a mere shadow to any who might pass me, and observed my surroundings with eyes tinted crimson.
I knew my way, but it looked exactly the same as any other spot: all pompous carved stone and neatly-lined cobbles, to bely the true shallowness beneath the surface. The buildings were framed by columns, in some thin attempt to capture Grecian glory and beauty. But what could this place know of such virtues? I had traversed the roads of Greece, beheld its splendour; all so much greater than anything to be found here. The song of the old country rang in my heart, like the tune of the clearest glass bell. Perhaps I might return there someday, if fortune allowed, and walk the path to the Acropolis, where none knew me.
Then, above the notes of blood lingering upon the air like perfume, I spotted a young man across the way. I had no further need to drink now – I would not require that sustenance for another month – but still, I drew close and took his shoulder.
As soon as he felt it, he halted, waiting for me to lift the shadow. The street was empty save for us now; no others saw me as I reappeared.
“My Lord,” he said in surprise.
“Polidori,” I replied. “Fancy seeing you here this late.”
“I thought I might take some air, Sir,” he said nervously.
I walked at his side, my collar still turned up to conceal my face. He looked into my eyes, and I did not attempt to disguise their hue. He knew what I was. It was the very reason I had seen fit to hire him, despite only being twenty years old and a practising doctor for one.
“You have tended to your needs tonight?” Polidori observed.
He phrased it as a question, but the statement behind it was evident. Thus, I saw no need to confirm, and changed the subject.
“I will require your services shortly. It might be in my best interest to leave this Godforsaken place for a while. I would have you accompany me.”
Polidori flustered. “Leave? May I ask whereabouts, My Lord?”
“I haven’t come to that decision myself. Today has been most taxing.”
I spat out the final word like a dart. At once, my mind filled with Annabella’s pippin face. She should have had a softer pillow to lie her head upon than my heart.
Suddenly, I caught a new odour. Beyond blood and tobacco and the chill of a coming frost… something sharper, acidic. Something I had only smelled upon myself and Augusta.
Then I looked up, and could not contain a gasp. Upon the roof of the tallest building was the clear silhouette of a gentleman. Even from where I stood, I noticed a head of strawberry blonde hair: so keen was my vampire sight. And his scent…
Without warning, the gentleman spread his arms wide, like Icarus attempting to take flight. But no such thing happened. Instead, he tipped forward, as graceful as a diver, and leapt. Within seconds, he collided with the road and lay still.
Polidori sprang to his side. I approached too, but kept my distance, looking around to ensure we were still alone.
My heart raced with shock. Another vampire? The characteristic smell was overwhelming now: so acrid, it burned the back of my throat as I inhaled. I had never sensed so much of it; never even considered that I might find one like Augusta and myself. She had told me there were others, of course, but none in London that she knew of…
“He’s alive!” Polidori exclaimed.
I could scarcely believe my ears. Alive?
I stood perplexed, bound to the spot. But yes, I heard his pulse and his breathing.
How was it possible? Vampires we might be, with sharper senses, greater strength and endurance than other men, but we were still mortal. Augusta and I aged as others did; would eventually die as others would.
I inspected the building again. It was easily seventy feet high. Such a fall would have ended me. And yet, the gentleman drew in a weak gasp and moaned.
My shock dissolved into acute curiosity. He was my age, or thereabouts, and dressed well, as lower middle-class. His skin was paler than alabaster, as though it had not known the touch of sunlight for many a year. A thin line of blood seeped from his temple, but nothing more. Not a single bone appeared broken. When he opened his mouth, my attention settled on his canines. They were a little longer than the normal, like my own.
“Pick him up,” I said to Polidori.
“My Lord?”
“Pick him up!”
Polidori made haste to my order, and gathered the gentleman in his arms. The doctor himself was small, and he strained to gain purchase, but manged it eventually.
“Come back with me,” I snapped.
I heard Polidori’s heart rate increase. It pounded in my ears like an incessant drum.
“Do you think this the wisest idea, My Lord?” he asked anxiously.
I shot him a mirthless smirk. “I would argue no idea I have ever entertained has been particularly wise.”
*
Our mysterious charge was set down in a spare chamber. I ordered the servants not to disturb us, nor to speak a word of it, then watched as Polidori began an examination. The gentleman, having since lapsed into unconsciousness, made no objections.
Polidori inspected his teeth, then unbuttoned his collar to expose the neck. Both of us expressed surprise that there was no scar over his jugular.
“What do you know of this?” I asked Polidori.
“I cannot be sure,” he replied. “I’ve never heard of one not bearing the mark of a turning.”
“But he is like myself,” I asserted. “I smell it. You can see it.”
Polidori rolled back one of the gentleman’s eyelids with his thumb, and I could barely contain my alarm. His irises were black as pitch, as though the entire pupil had expanded and removed all colour.
“It’s likely nothing,” said Polidori. “He may have consumed a stimulant of some kind. And it can happen after trauma. I briefly served as a medical examiner at Newgate before coming into your service, My Lord, ensuring death after hangings. Some of the prisoners showed a similar appearance, if they were involved in altercations.”
I remained silent. He spoke with the obnoxious assurance of any physician, which in itself might have been enough to irk me, though not on this occasion. His background was in somnambulism, but he was also no fool in matters of vampirism, and I acknowledged that.
Nevertheless, suspicion closed about my chest in an iron grip. This gentleman was like me. I had no reason to believe otherwise. And yet he had survived that fall. How could it be so?
I decided I would not have an answer until he awoke, so I ordered Polidori to fetch me in the event of any changes. I left the two of them, took to my own quarters, and placed curl papers into my hair.
As I prepared myself, I caught sight of Annabella’s letter again, lying upon the table where I had left it. I had a mind to read it once more, to convince myself I had not imagined its derisive contents. But I instead endeavoured to turn my focus elsewhere. This day had proven peculiar enough, and as I had maintained to Hobby, I was sure she was exaggerating. I had often borne witness to the theatricals of women, and Annabella was certainly not of sound mind after birthing our child. After all, in the letter prior to this one, had she not referred to me affectionately as her dearest duck; signed it as ever thy most loving?
I drank a glass of wine, threw myself upon the mattress and turned my face to the pillow. No, I could not think of her, not now. I had one thought only: for the stranger who I now concealed under my roof. One who was like me, and like my sister. We were not alone in this city, after all.
I did not realise I had fallen asleep, so deep and dreamless was it, until I opened my eyes, and found the faint promise of dawn peering over the tops of the drapes. I dressed hastily, without even calling for assistance, and took myself to the chamber where I had left our nameless guest.
Polidori was still there, sitting sentinel in a chair at the bedside. His face betrayed his fatigue, yet his gaze was as sharp and inquisitive as it had been when I took my leave. The stranger himself was prone, his head bandaged, eyes closed, though they fluttered incessantly. Some colour had returned to his pallid cheeks, and I alleged he would awaken soon.
“He appears improved,” I noted.
“Yes, My Lord,” said Polidori. “I’m afraid there is little I have been able to do except monitor him.”
He walked to the window and pulled the drapes wide. He did so slowly, aware of how the sudden light was uncomfortable for me, but our guest elicited an entirely different reaction. As the soft sun fell upon him, he flinched as though struck, covered his face with his hands, and cried out in pain.
“Shut them!” I snapped.
Polidori did not need to be told twice. Within seconds, the room was dark again.
Polidori and I inspected him in alarm. The sun was naturally unkind to the skin of a vampire, as I had swiftly learned: exposure to it, especially in summer, would lead to the rise of an unsightly rash. But that was not what I saw now. The areas where the light had fallen, upon the backs of the gentleman’s hands, were not simply irritated, but a vicious red and seeping blood, as though they had passed through the hottest flame.
The same creed, we might be, but this vampire was different to myself. And when I glanced at Polidori, I noticed the same realisation in his eyes.
“My old mentor did briefly mention that there may be varying types,” he said under his breath. “He himself was a vampire, My Lord, exactly the same as you and Mrs Leigh. But he also told me that much of the science had to be started from scratch. The original facility in Whitechapel was destroyed, you see. There is still much which is unknown; the topic itself is barely five decades old. And I only studied under him for a single semester. By all accounts, he should not have even shared the knowledge with me in the first place.”
“Then perhaps our guest can enlighten us further than your mentor did,” I said.
Contact with the sun certainly appeared to abolish any final slumber, and the gentleman opened his eyes. I waited as he found his focus, allowed my own irises to transform, and met his black gaze with red.
A wave of shock washed across his face.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered. I was unsure whether his reaction was from recognising our similarities, or the company in which he had found himself.
In any case, I asked, “Do you know who I am?”
He nodded, aghast.
“What is your name?”
“I… You may call me Newburgh,” the gentleman replied. “Jack Newburgh, My Lord.”
At once, I took note of his voice. It was tight, abrasive, as though some infection might be imminent. But it was nothing of that kind. My own words would take on the same rough colour whenever I became particularly desperate for blood. I knew, from experience, that such a drink assisted in healing matters. It was little wonder that he would be craving now.
“Do you feel you can control yourself, Mr Newburgh?” Polidori asked.
Newburgh swallowed, wincing as he did so. Once again, his gaze fleeted to me. He knew I was stronger than him in that moment. If he made a move towards my companion, I could easily restrain him.
He nodded. Polidori, assured of his safety, stepped forward and introduced himself. He struck a match and instructed Newburgh to follow the flame with his eyes. He did so, yet they remained as black as ever, with not the slightest constriction of the pupils. He retrieved a glass of water which had been left on the nightstand and drank the contents in three mouthfuls. I refilled it as Polidori took his pulse and checked the wound on his head.
“Do you feel any pain?”
“A little,” said Newburgh, “though not as much as I might have hoped for. Or, indeed, any at all.”
He spoke dejectedly, words crushed beneath an invisible mountain of anguish. Yes, there was pain, I realised, but it was not of the physical.
Newburgh stared at Polidori and licked his lips.
“You are human,” he gasped. “But you know?”
“Indeed, I do, sir,” said Polidori, with an air of pride.
“He is the only one in my service who is aware of my true nature,” I expanded. “He briefly studied with an expert on our condition, during a tour to the University of Edinburgh. Secrets are safe in his hands.”
At that, Newburgh relaxed, but still turned his face away to avoid smelling Polidori’s blood.
“Why did you jump from that building?” I asked.
“All things grow tired of life eventually, My Lord.”
“And yet you live. Such a fall would have spelled the end of anyone, but here you are, with hardly any injuries.”
“It appears my body has become so unlike a man’s that even death refuses to have me. The heart breaks, but broken lives on,” muttered Newburgh. “My Lord, please, forgive me… where am I? How did you come by me?”
“We saw you,” I replied. “You are at my residence, at Piccadilly Terrace. And I assure you, you’re safe here. But in exchange for my hospitality and protection, I wish for your audience. I have questions.”
Newburgh closed his eyes. “I will gladly try to help you, My Lord, but I fear I won’t be of much use to you at present.”
His voice cracked more with each word he uttered.
“Then I bid you to rest,” I said. “Stay here until you are recovered. I will ensure you won’t be disturbed. And you must drink.”
He understood my meaning at once, but a reservation came into his eyes.
“I’d rather not,” he said softly.
“I beg to differ,” I said. “You must partake, to assist in your healing.”
Even as I spoke, however, I questioned myself. It was morning now, and Newburgh’s extreme reaction to the sun told me I could hardly move him somewhere he might feed in peace. We were creatures of night, after all. Darkness was our greatest ally, allowing us to move as unseen and silent as the bat and the moth.
Then Polidori turned to me.
“I’m happy to provide a little of my own, on this occasion,” he said, though I caught the nerves at the edge of his tone.
I glanced between him and Newburgh, and gave a single nod.
“Very well.”
Polidori drew up his sleeve, tied a cord around his arm, produced a small blade and made an incision. He let the blood drip into the glass, filling it halfway, before binding the wound with a handkerchief. In the low light, the contents might have easily been mistaken for wine, but the scent of it was sweeter still. No human could comprehend how succulent they were to the likes of myself.
It was the same sentiment for Newburgh. Though reluctant, he offered Polidori a grateful smile as he took a sip.
No sooner had he swallowed, however, his face transformed again, back to shock. But this time, there was also horror, and a fury which alarmed me. What in Polidori’s memories had aggravated him so?
I hurriedly stepped between them. Polidori sprang back, but Newburgh remained on the bed, staring at him.
“Bernstein?” he whispered. “A Bernstein was your expert?”
Polidori blinked. “I… well, yes, Doktor Gustav Bernstein. That was two years ago.”
Newburgh covered his mouth. I thought I saw the shine of tears in his eyes.
“Those bastards…” he breathed. “Where is he now?”
“Returned to Berlin,” frowned Polidori.
Newburgh drove his fist into the mattress. A low, dangerous growl rolled in his throat.
“Go outside,” I said to Polidori. “Don’t come back in unless I tell you to.”
He hesitated. “Will you be able to manage, My Lord?”
At that, I shot him a glare colder than stone. He lowered his head in submission and took his leave.
I listened for his footsteps on the hall carpet, but they didn’t come. He was standing on the other side of the door with his ear pressed to the wood. I refused to allow myself to become irked. The important matter was that there was now a solid barrier between him and Newburgh, lest my strange guest lose control.
I seated myself in the chair.
“Drink it all,” I said firmly.
Newburgh hesitated, clearly not wishing to, but I stared at him until he complied. No matter the liquid’s macabre origin, he knew it was impolite to refuse refreshment when one was a guest – especially my guest.
After he had drained the last drop, he put the glass aside. He smiled at me, with a combination of gratitude and apology, but I still beheld the sheen of anger in his eyes, as though a flame had been lit behind them.
“Please forgive my outburst, My Lord,” he said.
“I do,” I said at once. “But tell me what caused it. You have a history with Polidori’s mentor?”
“Not with him,” Newburgh said acidly. “But I had long taken comfort in the idea that the Bernstein family was dead. I see now that they endure. To speak truth, it only makes me wish harder that I had ended my life last night. I appreciate your concern for me, but it is misplaced.”
His voice was already much improved. I sensed he would require more blood soon, but for now, it would certainly remove any concern that he might attack the servants.
I surveyed his eyes again. They were intensely black, like two swirling whirlpools in a face of ice. I could imagine many a person being so captivated by those eyes, they wouldn’t even notice they were falling, until it was too late.
As we looked at each other, Newburgh’s rage slowly receded. I saw my own intrigue reflected in his expression. Even his awe of my person was overtaken by the awe of my nature. Was I the first vampire he had seen, too?
“Why is your gaze red?” he asked. “I only know of redness when one is a juvenile, before the final transformation.”
I frowned. “Do you mean to say yours became black upon completion?”
“Yes.”
“And why is it you have no scar upon your neck?”
Newburgh pursed his lips. “I was made as I am by different means, My Lord.”
A new notion rose to my mind. I grasped his arm and pulled back the sleeve to expose his wrist. Finding nothing, I repeated the action upon his other side. There was no mark there, either.
“How is this possible?” I asked. “You are a full vampire, but you were not assisted in the end?”
“Assisted?” Newburgh repeated in disbelief.
“By the one who turned you?”
“In no such capacity. It’s not required.”
“But of course it is! Without being bitten a second time, when the wings appear, one will die.”
“Forgive me, My Lord, but you are mistaken. I am the proof of it.”
I shook my head. This couldn’t be. Augusta had told me…
Then, once again, an idea presented to me. Augusta had explicitly asked for my consent before she even came close enough to bite me. I put this question to Newburgh, and he reacted with such shock, I found myself at a loss for words.
“Permission?” he said. “Why would anybody give permission, My Lord? You did not resist? You actively sought to be as we are?”
As we are. I pondered that choice of words. Yes, we were alike in many ways, and yet in others, it appeared, far from it.
Newburgh shook his head, horrified.
“You chose it,” he said. “I had knowledge that there were others. Ones who could walk in sunlight, age naturally, not be bound in the ways which constrain myself, or those I once knew. But I never entertained the idea that simple consent is what divided us. And now, I see it, in those memories your physician has given me. Harmless, the Bernsteins have called your kind, My Lord, and my own, demonic. Ah, yes, what an apt description! To know such doom and living damnation, all because one had no opportunity to agree to the change! I don’t know what I could have been, Sir, but feel I am not what I should be.”
As I listened to his outburst, my own words tangled and fell over each other. There was so much I wanted to ask, yet I could scarcely fathom where I might begin.
I forced myself to concentrate. I caught sight of his hands; recalled the shriek he had let out when Polidori opened the drapes.
“You cannot walk in sunlight?” I said eventually.
“I haven’t known the sun for years,” Newburgh sighed. He ran his fingers over the burned skin. “Nor can I die, it appears, unless I cast myself into it. Understand, My Lord, I’ve had enough. I have lived the equivalent of a natural human life by now, and I wish for it to be finished. But I decided to try jumping, in the hope of a swift end. The sun would be too painful to bear, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”
In illustration, he flexed his fingers, so I would have no choice but to glance once again at the flesh. In the soft light, they appeared to be as pure bone or the finest Chinese porcelain; so white was their colour.
I leaned closer.
“Why do you speak of a natural human life?” I asked. “How old are you?”
Newburgh scoffed to himself. “With all due respect, My Lord, I fear you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
I barely contained a laugh. “You speak to me of disbelief, of scandalous truths? I assure you, Mr Newburgh, there is little you could say which would horrify me.”
He faltered, then let out a sigh which seemed to empty his entire body.
“When I endured the final transformation, I was twenty-nine,” he said. “But in reality, My Lord, I am sixty-six.”
I was startled by this revelation, but endeavoured, on the strength of my previous assertion, to not show it.
I thought of my confidante, Lady Melbourne: Annabella’s aunt. She was in her sixties now. I tried to imagine Newburgh alongside her, with the crow’s feet having walked liberally around his eyes; his blonde hair crossed with silver. This gentleman, who in physicality was only a year my elder, was in truth old enough to be my own father?
I could not deny how deeply he fascinated me – and how deeply I, in turn, clung to the prospect of him. Was this how the zoologist reacted when he came across an interesting new specimen under his microscope?
And yet, I did not feel like a superior observing a subordinate, as I had so often in my life. Different we may be, but also so similar, so equal, in a way which not even Augusta had been able to educate me. I would learn from this opportunity, I decided. I would take him as a distraction from the looming chaos on the horizon.
“I told you it takes more than this to frighten me,” I said. “Mr Newburgh, you are my guest. I want you to remain here and regain your strength. Will you object to Doctor Polidori frequenting you?”
Newburgh stiffened, certainly thinking of whatever past he held with Polidori’s mentor. But then he gave a relenting nod.
“Thank you, My Lord. I don’t wish to burden you.”
“I know you don’t. You wish to be dead,” I replied candidly. “But you are not. You are alive, and it appears there is much we can do to sate the other’s intrigue. I will tell you my story if you tell me yours, but in order to do that, you must be in good health. Do we have an accord?”
He sighed again. “Very well, My Lord. Thank you.”
“Good man,” I said. “Now, rest. Not a word of this – of yourself or me – to any in this house, save for Polidori.”
Upon that note, I left him. I allowed my footsteps to ring louder than I otherwise would, to alert Polidori that I was coming. Subsequently, I heard him scarper away from the door.
“Check him whenever you see fit,” I instructed.
Polidori inclined his head, then I strode past him. As I descended the staircase, I could not help but mentally echo my final words to Newburgh, and an ironic smirk played upon my lips.
Good man.
Could I, in good conscience, refer to either of us as men? My sweet Augusta was a lady, true enough; she never killed when she drank. But I could hardly claim to be as scrupulous. I had tried, during the three years of my vampiric development, to exist at the same standards. However, upon my final transformation, when I no longer heard her voice inside my mind, my vices sprang up, only exacerbated by a sordid social tide turning against me. Besides all the wickedness which clung to me and the cruelties in which I had partaken, what more was the stain of blood upon my hands, when it already lay upon my teeth?
On the verge of disgrace, I might be, but none would suspect Lord Byron of murder.
Polidori inspected his teeth, then unbuttoned his collar to expose the neck. Both of us expressed surprise that there was no scar over his jugular.
“What do you know of this?” I asked Polidori.
“I cannot be sure,” he replied. “I’ve never heard of one not bearing the mark of a turning.”
“But he is like myself,” I asserted. “I smell it. You can see it.”
Polidori rolled back one of the gentleman’s eyelids with his thumb, and I could barely contain my alarm. His irises were black as pitch, as though the entire pupil had expanded and removed all colour.
“It’s likely nothing,” said Polidori. “He may have consumed a stimulant of some kind. And it can happen after trauma. I briefly served as a medical examiner at Newgate before coming into your service, My Lord, ensuring death after hangings. Some of the prisoners showed a similar appearance, if they were involved in altercations.”
I remained silent. He spoke with the obnoxious assurance of any physician, which in itself might have been enough to irk me, though not on this occasion. His background was in somnambulism, but he was also no fool in matters of vampirism, and I acknowledged that.
Nevertheless, suspicion closed about my chest in an iron grip. This gentleman was like me. I had no reason to believe otherwise. And yet he had survived that fall. How could it be so?
I decided I would not have an answer until he awoke, so I ordered Polidori to fetch me in the event of any changes. I left the two of them, took to my own quarters, and placed curl papers into my hair.
As I prepared myself, I caught sight of Annabella’s letter again, lying upon the table where I had left it. I had a mind to read it once more, to convince myself I had not imagined its derisive contents. But I instead endeavoured to turn my focus elsewhere. This day had proven peculiar enough, and as I had maintained to Hobby, I was sure she was exaggerating. I had often borne witness to the theatricals of women, and Annabella was certainly not of sound mind after birthing our child. After all, in the letter prior to this one, had she not referred to me affectionately as her dearest duck; signed it as ever thy most loving?
I drank a glass of wine, threw myself upon the mattress and turned my face to the pillow. No, I could not think of her, not now. I had one thought only: for the stranger who I now concealed under my roof. One who was like me, and like my sister. We were not alone in this city, after all.
I did not realise I had fallen asleep, so deep and dreamless was it, until I opened my eyes, and found the faint promise of dawn peering over the tops of the drapes. I dressed hastily, without even calling for assistance, and took myself to the chamber where I had left our nameless guest.
Polidori was still there, sitting sentinel in a chair at the bedside. His face betrayed his fatigue, yet his gaze was as sharp and inquisitive as it had been when I took my leave. The stranger himself was prone, his head bandaged, eyes closed, though they fluttered incessantly. Some colour had returned to his pallid cheeks, and I alleged he would awaken soon.
“He appears improved,” I noted.
“Yes, My Lord,” said Polidori. “I’m afraid there is little I have been able to do except monitor him.”
He walked to the window and pulled the drapes wide. He did so slowly, aware of how the sudden light was uncomfortable for me, but our guest elicited an entirely different reaction. As the soft sun fell upon him, he flinched as though struck, covered his face with his hands, and cried out in pain.
“Shut them!” I snapped.
Polidori did not need to be told twice. Within seconds, the room was dark again.
Polidori and I inspected him in alarm. The sun was naturally unkind to the skin of a vampire, as I had swiftly learned: exposure to it, especially in summer, would lead to the rise of an unsightly rash. But that was not what I saw now. The areas where the light had fallen, upon the backs of the gentleman’s hands, were not simply irritated, but a vicious red and seeping blood, as though they had passed through the hottest flame.
The same creed, we might be, but this vampire was different to myself. And when I glanced at Polidori, I noticed the same realisation in his eyes.
“My old mentor did briefly mention that there may be varying types,” he said under his breath. “He himself was a vampire, My Lord, exactly the same as you and Mrs Leigh. But he also told me that much of the science had to be started from scratch. The original facility in Whitechapel was destroyed, you see. There is still much which is unknown; the topic itself is barely five decades old. And I only studied under him for a single semester. By all accounts, he should not have even shared the knowledge with me in the first place.”
“Then perhaps our guest can enlighten us further than your mentor did,” I said.
Contact with the sun certainly appeared to abolish any final slumber, and the gentleman opened his eyes. I waited as he found his focus, allowed my own irises to transform, and met his black gaze with red.
A wave of shock washed across his face.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered. I was unsure whether his reaction was from recognising our similarities, or the company in which he had found himself.
In any case, I asked, “Do you know who I am?”
He nodded, aghast.
“What is your name?”
“I… You may call me Newburgh,” the gentleman replied. “Jack Newburgh, My Lord.”
At once, I took note of his voice. It was tight, abrasive, as though some infection might be imminent. But it was nothing of that kind. My own words would take on the same rough colour whenever I became particularly desperate for blood. I knew, from experience, that such a drink assisted in healing matters. It was little wonder that he would be craving now.
“Do you feel you can control yourself, Mr Newburgh?” Polidori asked.
Newburgh swallowed, wincing as he did so. Once again, his gaze fleeted to me. He knew I was stronger than him in that moment. If he made a move towards my companion, I could easily restrain him.
He nodded. Polidori, assured of his safety, stepped forward and introduced himself. He struck a match and instructed Newburgh to follow the flame with his eyes. He did so, yet they remained as black as ever, with not the slightest constriction of the pupils. He retrieved a glass of water which had been left on the nightstand and drank the contents in three mouthfuls. I refilled it as Polidori took his pulse and checked the wound on his head.
“Do you feel any pain?”
“A little,” said Newburgh, “though not as much as I might have hoped for. Or, indeed, any at all.”
He spoke dejectedly, words crushed beneath an invisible mountain of anguish. Yes, there was pain, I realised, but it was not of the physical.
Newburgh stared at Polidori and licked his lips.
“You are human,” he gasped. “But you know?”
“Indeed, I do, sir,” said Polidori, with an air of pride.
“He is the only one in my service who is aware of my true nature,” I expanded. “He briefly studied with an expert on our condition, during a tour to the University of Edinburgh. Secrets are safe in his hands.”
At that, Newburgh relaxed, but still turned his face away to avoid smelling Polidori’s blood.
“Why did you jump from that building?” I asked.
“All things grow tired of life eventually, My Lord.”
“And yet you live. Such a fall would have spelled the end of anyone, but here you are, with hardly any injuries.”
“It appears my body has become so unlike a man’s that even death refuses to have me. The heart breaks, but broken lives on,” muttered Newburgh. “My Lord, please, forgive me… where am I? How did you come by me?”
“We saw you,” I replied. “You are at my residence, at Piccadilly Terrace. And I assure you, you’re safe here. But in exchange for my hospitality and protection, I wish for your audience. I have questions.”
Newburgh closed his eyes. “I will gladly try to help you, My Lord, but I fear I won’t be of much use to you at present.”
His voice cracked more with each word he uttered.
“Then I bid you to rest,” I said. “Stay here until you are recovered. I will ensure you won’t be disturbed. And you must drink.”
He understood my meaning at once, but a reservation came into his eyes.
“I’d rather not,” he said softly.
“I beg to differ,” I said. “You must partake, to assist in your healing.”
Even as I spoke, however, I questioned myself. It was morning now, and Newburgh’s extreme reaction to the sun told me I could hardly move him somewhere he might feed in peace. We were creatures of night, after all. Darkness was our greatest ally, allowing us to move as unseen and silent as the bat and the moth.
Then Polidori turned to me.
“I’m happy to provide a little of my own, on this occasion,” he said, though I caught the nerves at the edge of his tone.
I glanced between him and Newburgh, and gave a single nod.
“Very well.”
Polidori drew up his sleeve, tied a cord around his arm, produced a small blade and made an incision. He let the blood drip into the glass, filling it halfway, before binding the wound with a handkerchief. In the low light, the contents might have easily been mistaken for wine, but the scent of it was sweeter still. No human could comprehend how succulent they were to the likes of myself.
It was the same sentiment for Newburgh. Though reluctant, he offered Polidori a grateful smile as he took a sip.
No sooner had he swallowed, however, his face transformed again, back to shock. But this time, there was also horror, and a fury which alarmed me. What in Polidori’s memories had aggravated him so?
I hurriedly stepped between them. Polidori sprang back, but Newburgh remained on the bed, staring at him.
“Bernstein?” he whispered. “A Bernstein was your expert?”
Polidori blinked. “I… well, yes, Doktor Gustav Bernstein. That was two years ago.”
Newburgh covered his mouth. I thought I saw the shine of tears in his eyes.
“Those bastards…” he breathed. “Where is he now?”
“Returned to Berlin,” frowned Polidori.
Newburgh drove his fist into the mattress. A low, dangerous growl rolled in his throat.
“Go outside,” I said to Polidori. “Don’t come back in unless I tell you to.”
He hesitated. “Will you be able to manage, My Lord?”
At that, I shot him a glare colder than stone. He lowered his head in submission and took his leave.
I listened for his footsteps on the hall carpet, but they didn’t come. He was standing on the other side of the door with his ear pressed to the wood. I refused to allow myself to become irked. The important matter was that there was now a solid barrier between him and Newburgh, lest my strange guest lose control.
I seated myself in the chair.
“Drink it all,” I said firmly.
Newburgh hesitated, clearly not wishing to, but I stared at him until he complied. No matter the liquid’s macabre origin, he knew it was impolite to refuse refreshment when one was a guest – especially my guest.
After he had drained the last drop, he put the glass aside. He smiled at me, with a combination of gratitude and apology, but I still beheld the sheen of anger in his eyes, as though a flame had been lit behind them.
“Please forgive my outburst, My Lord,” he said.
“I do,” I said at once. “But tell me what caused it. You have a history with Polidori’s mentor?”
“Not with him,” Newburgh said acidly. “But I had long taken comfort in the idea that the Bernstein family was dead. I see now that they endure. To speak truth, it only makes me wish harder that I had ended my life last night. I appreciate your concern for me, but it is misplaced.”
His voice was already much improved. I sensed he would require more blood soon, but for now, it would certainly remove any concern that he might attack the servants.
I surveyed his eyes again. They were intensely black, like two swirling whirlpools in a face of ice. I could imagine many a person being so captivated by those eyes, they wouldn’t even notice they were falling, until it was too late.
As we looked at each other, Newburgh’s rage slowly receded. I saw my own intrigue reflected in his expression. Even his awe of my person was overtaken by the awe of my nature. Was I the first vampire he had seen, too?
“Why is your gaze red?” he asked. “I only know of redness when one is a juvenile, before the final transformation.”
I frowned. “Do you mean to say yours became black upon completion?”
“Yes.”
“And why is it you have no scar upon your neck?”
Newburgh pursed his lips. “I was made as I am by different means, My Lord.”
A new notion rose to my mind. I grasped his arm and pulled back the sleeve to expose his wrist. Finding nothing, I repeated the action upon his other side. There was no mark there, either.
“How is this possible?” I asked. “You are a full vampire, but you were not assisted in the end?”
“Assisted?” Newburgh repeated in disbelief.
“By the one who turned you?”
“In no such capacity. It’s not required.”
“But of course it is! Without being bitten a second time, when the wings appear, one will die.”
“Forgive me, My Lord, but you are mistaken. I am the proof of it.”
I shook my head. This couldn’t be. Augusta had told me…
Then, once again, an idea presented to me. Augusta had explicitly asked for my consent before she even came close enough to bite me. I put this question to Newburgh, and he reacted with such shock, I found myself at a loss for words.
“Permission?” he said. “Why would anybody give permission, My Lord? You did not resist? You actively sought to be as we are?”
As we are. I pondered that choice of words. Yes, we were alike in many ways, and yet in others, it appeared, far from it.
Newburgh shook his head, horrified.
“You chose it,” he said. “I had knowledge that there were others. Ones who could walk in sunlight, age naturally, not be bound in the ways which constrain myself, or those I once knew. But I never entertained the idea that simple consent is what divided us. And now, I see it, in those memories your physician has given me. Harmless, the Bernsteins have called your kind, My Lord, and my own, demonic. Ah, yes, what an apt description! To know such doom and living damnation, all because one had no opportunity to agree to the change! I don’t know what I could have been, Sir, but feel I am not what I should be.”
As I listened to his outburst, my own words tangled and fell over each other. There was so much I wanted to ask, yet I could scarcely fathom where I might begin.
I forced myself to concentrate. I caught sight of his hands; recalled the shriek he had let out when Polidori opened the drapes.
“You cannot walk in sunlight?” I said eventually.
“I haven’t known the sun for years,” Newburgh sighed. He ran his fingers over the burned skin. “Nor can I die, it appears, unless I cast myself into it. Understand, My Lord, I’ve had enough. I have lived the equivalent of a natural human life by now, and I wish for it to be finished. But I decided to try jumping, in the hope of a swift end. The sun would be too painful to bear, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”
In illustration, he flexed his fingers, so I would have no choice but to glance once again at the flesh. In the soft light, they appeared to be as pure bone or the finest Chinese porcelain; so white was their colour.
I leaned closer.
“Why do you speak of a natural human life?” I asked. “How old are you?”
Newburgh scoffed to himself. “With all due respect, My Lord, I fear you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
I barely contained a laugh. “You speak to me of disbelief, of scandalous truths? I assure you, Mr Newburgh, there is little you could say which would horrify me.”
He faltered, then let out a sigh which seemed to empty his entire body.
“When I endured the final transformation, I was twenty-nine,” he said. “But in reality, My Lord, I am sixty-six.”
I was startled by this revelation, but endeavoured, on the strength of my previous assertion, to not show it.
I thought of my confidante, Lady Melbourne: Annabella’s aunt. She was in her sixties now. I tried to imagine Newburgh alongside her, with the crow’s feet having walked liberally around his eyes; his blonde hair crossed with silver. This gentleman, who in physicality was only a year my elder, was in truth old enough to be my own father?
I could not deny how deeply he fascinated me – and how deeply I, in turn, clung to the prospect of him. Was this how the zoologist reacted when he came across an interesting new specimen under his microscope?
And yet, I did not feel like a superior observing a subordinate, as I had so often in my life. Different we may be, but also so similar, so equal, in a way which not even Augusta had been able to educate me. I would learn from this opportunity, I decided. I would take him as a distraction from the looming chaos on the horizon.
“I told you it takes more than this to frighten me,” I said. “Mr Newburgh, you are my guest. I want you to remain here and regain your strength. Will you object to Doctor Polidori frequenting you?”
Newburgh stiffened, certainly thinking of whatever past he held with Polidori’s mentor. But then he gave a relenting nod.
“Thank you, My Lord. I don’t wish to burden you.”
“I know you don’t. You wish to be dead,” I replied candidly. “But you are not. You are alive, and it appears there is much we can do to sate the other’s intrigue. I will tell you my story if you tell me yours, but in order to do that, you must be in good health. Do we have an accord?”
He sighed again. “Very well, My Lord. Thank you.”
“Good man,” I said. “Now, rest. Not a word of this – of yourself or me – to any in this house, save for Polidori.”
Upon that note, I left him. I allowed my footsteps to ring louder than I otherwise would, to alert Polidori that I was coming. Subsequently, I heard him scarper away from the door.
“Check him whenever you see fit,” I instructed.
Polidori inclined his head, then I strode past him. As I descended the staircase, I could not help but mentally echo my final words to Newburgh, and an ironic smirk played upon my lips.
Good man.
Could I, in good conscience, refer to either of us as men? My sweet Augusta was a lady, true enough; she never killed when she drank. But I could hardly claim to be as scrupulous. I had tried, during the three years of my vampiric development, to exist at the same standards. However, upon my final transformation, when I no longer heard her voice inside my mind, my vices sprang up, only exacerbated by a sordid social tide turning against me. Besides all the wickedness which clung to me and the cruelties in which I had partaken, what more was the stain of blood upon my hands, when it already lay upon my teeth?
On the verge of disgrace, I might be, but none would suspect Lord Byron of murder.
*
A week passed. I kept word about Newburgh quiet, though I frequented him several times a day, around penning letters to Annabella’s lawyers. Each word I wrote fed the fire of bewilderment which had kindled in my breast. I had believed us to have parted in harmony. She may have seen me gloomy, and at times, violent, but she knew the causes too well to attribute them to herself.
Upon sealing the envelope, I took more paper and addressed it directly to her.
I am really ignorant to what part of Sir Ralph’s letter alludes – will you explain? – To conclude – I shall eventually abide by your decision, but I request you most earnestly to weight well the probable consequences – & to pause before you pronounce.
Hobby came to visit again. We took tea and meals in the house, to avoid me stepping outside unnecessarily. To do so would only bring hisses from the crowds. He even confided that he was apprehensive of violence towards me, should I be seen.
I rolled my eyes. “They should get out more. Do they have nothing better to do?”
“The rumours precede you, old man,” said Hobby.
“What are they saying?”
“Oh… nothing you haven’t heard before.”
“But it grows in intensity?”
“Terribly. And Annabella is still pressing you for a separation?”
I took a larger sip of wine than was perhaps necessary.
“I have begged her for an explanation,” I said. “Whether she will grant it awaits to be seen.”
The absurdity of the whole affair was not lost on me. Once – not too long ago, all things considered – I had woken up and found myself famous, the jewel of London; men and women alike throwing themselves at my feet. Now, the halls and salons which had once welcomed me were as cold and silent as the tomb. Now, I had become my own Childe Harold, and none wished to partake in my company.
“In any case,” continued Hobby, “I still think it wise for you to leave. You really don’t have a choice. Have you thought about where you might go?”
I shrugged. “Well, I suppose the easiest route would be to sail out of Dover. From there, who can say? Where is an amicable place in Europe to pass a summer?”
Hobby finished his meal and laid the cutlery down. “You might return to Greece?”
“I’ll likely make my way there, at some point. We’ll see what happens.”
Once again, it was dark when he left. Though I knew snowdrops would be hanging their little white bells about the verges, spring still felt aeons away, and the nights drew in early. Promptly, I walked to Newburgh’s chamber with a candelabrum in hand.
I found him sitting at the desk, thumbing through one of the volumes I had left him to entertain himself with. Curiosity overcome me and I stole a glance at the spine in his hands. Milton: Paradise Lost.
“It has something of a sentimental meaning,” Newburgh said when he noticed me. “Thank you for everything you are doing for me, My Lord. None have ever shown me such hospitality, such kindness.”
I locked his eyes with mine.
“You might not think me so kind if you spent an extended period in my company. Those who sense something about me will either take their leave, or remain close enough that its sting finds them in the end. I have never heard a single expression of true fondness fall from the lips of any who know me well.”
Newburgh blinked in surprise. “Not even your friends? Your wife?”
At mention of Annabella, I gripped the back of the chair.
“All spoken with an element of astute knowledge, you understand,” I replied tightly. “Now, come. I believe it’s time you drank directly, and I dare say it would do both of us good to be in the fresh air. You seem much improved. Do you feel able to fly? To shadow?”
He nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”
“Then put on a coat.”
I stood back, watching him in silence. Several days abed had done the work I knew they would, and Polidori had supervised him wonderfully. Newburgh himself, though his pallor remained deathlike, moved with a grace which pleased me, and a healthy shine had returned to his hair and eyes. I had borrowed him a set of my own clothes – we were of a similar height and build – and they suited him very well.
I led him to a room at the rear of the house, then stood on the balcony and pushed out my wings. He did the same. I smiled when I saw them: like mine, each one almost six feet from tip to shoulder; skeletal and leathery, as though a giant bat had fused itself to the scapulae.
I allowed him to take flight first, so that I might close the doors behind us. But I stepped back in alarm when they pulled shut of their own accord, as though drawn by an invisible hand.
I turned to Newburgh. “Was that you?”
“Yes, My Lord,” he replied. “You do not have the powers of the mind?”
“What powers?” I asked, stunned.
Newburgh nodded to himself. “I wondered as such. Polidori’s memories informed me of the things his… mentor spoke of. It is another difference between us, so it seems.”
I would have him tell me more, but now was not the time nor the place. So instead, I took to the air. We both pulled the darkness upon ourselves to disguise our forms from curious eyes, and I turned north-east.
My targeting of the boy in Hyde Park had been a mere dalliance, but those in the poorer areas of the city most often slaked me. There were many pickings, none of whom would ever be missed or serve any greater purpose. And fewer people knew me there. Even if they did, fewer still cared. A shine of silver bought their silence quickly enough, should they spot me.
We approached Hackney. Even from the air, I smelled the filth of the place; saw into every seedy backstreet, and observed the whores as they wandered about. How many of them had I come across in the past? I was rake enough to not care.
We arrived in a particularly dark area which I had frequented, for one lewd reason or another, in the months since becoming a full vampire. I glanced at Newburgh to gauge his reaction, and was pleasantly surprised to find him rather comfortable. There was certainly more to him than met the eye, of that I was certain. And I would have it out of him.
“Do you have a preference?” I asked as I folded my wings into my back.
“Not particularly.”
“Ah. Well, I don’t care much for the quality of these parts myself, but I try to pay no mind to the origin. Ignore the memories, focus on the taste. That’s the true ambrosia.”
I fell silent then; allowed my irises to transform red, and take on my keener senses. I smelled every note about me: cheap alcohol, open gutters, mildew, sweat and damp and all the unpleasant things of the urban underbelly. But above it, that sweet golden aroma. Godless, and yet fit only for gods.
My attention latched onto a whore on the nearest pavement, alone, her back to me.
Without allowing time to think, I hurried to her, pressed her neck until she lost consciousness and fell limp. I swept her up and carried her into the shadows, to my waiting guest.
“Would you care to do the honours?” I asked civilly, as I laid her on the cobbles.
Newburgh ran a finger across her neck. His eyes shone with anticipation. In the back of his throat, I heard the softest edge of a hiss. Then he sighed, and lowered himself over her.
I heard the tearing of flesh; the pop of a rupturing trachea, followed by long hard gulps. When he was sated, I took several mouthfuls of my own. Never mind that I had drank a week prior. A little more wouldn’t hurt, now the opportunity presented itself.
For as much as I sought to disregard the memories, I still saw them as I swallowed. This girl had been born a bastard, to a mother walking the same path as her. She married a brute, ran away, then turned to whoring and gin. Five years ago, shortly after Hobby and I returned from our travels in the East, I had met her by chance. A small world, indeed.
I heard her heart stop. I drew back and wiped my mouth on a handkerchief. As usual, it was spotless.
Newburgh was watching me.
“You show no remorse, My Lord,” he observed. “Have you truly done this for so long?”
“Not as long as you may think,” I said. “I have simply become adept at organising my priorities.”
Newburgh shook his head in disbelief. He looked between my face, and that of the pale girl at our feet.
“I have killed,” he admitted, “but I have also tried, wherever possible, to show mercy.”
“Why?” I asked. It was not said with cruelty, but with curiosity.
Newburgh sighed. “Because I was not unlike them, once. My own life was taken from me before I even had a moment to understand what was happening. I pity them.”
“You would find yourself better inclined to not extend such compassion. Why do they deserve it? What life can they hope to lead? But, come, let’s not talk on such things here, down in the dirt. Follow me.”
I spread my wings again, allowed them to bear me into the air, above the squalor. I heard the steady beats of Newburgh's own appendages behind me. I led him to the roof of a nearby church, landed carefully upon the slates, and leaned against the steeple, to take the weight off my foot.
I lifted the shadow. There was no worry about being seen this high above the streets. We only had to be mindful about keeping away from the edge.
“Is that another reason why you decided to try jumping?” I asked. “Has your heart become so heavy with compassion that it pulled you to the ground, Mr Newburgh?”
He regarded me sullenly. “Yours will, too, in the end. If I may ask, how long have you been as you are?”
“In the fullest capacity, a little over six months,” I answered. “But my turning occurred three years ago.”
“And already, you are so wanton?”
“That precedes any touch of vampirism, my friend. You recognised me when you opened your eyes. I know you’re not blind to my reputation.”
The flash of unease across his face provided all the answers I needed.
“And yet you had what I did not,” Newburgh muttered. “A companion. A mentor, who stood by you.”
“Indeed,” I said. “I gave consent to be turned. After that, she instructed me. We shared an intimate mental connection, so we might never be apart from each other. And when the end came, I would surely have perished, had she not bitten me once more.”
I drew back my sleeve to illustrate the scar on my wrist. It was still pink, fresher than the one at my neck.
“One final injection of power,” I continued. “And thus, I am as I am.”
“Who was she?”
“Mrs Augusta Leigh.”
“Your sister?”
“Half-sister, if one wishes to bother with technicalities,” I said.
Newburgh hesitated. “Is that… the truth behind the rumours, My Lord? Why you have seen her so often?”
I did not blink, nor move a muscle. “Any man may see his family often.”
Newburgh worked his mouth like a nervous child. He knew we had moved onto dangerous ground. Even now, in a silent parade, I saw and heard all the complaints brought against me. Most recently, and cutting to the quick, another letter from Annabella, speaking of relations I had undertaken with Augusta.
As I had maintained, the allegations and the truth were just as terrible as the other.
Newburgh turned away from me.
“I cannot be one to judge, My Lord. I have tried to make good. I endeavoured to help people over the past thirty years. In the end, it doesn't matter. There’s such hypocrisy in a creature like me, who preys upon life, trying to better it.”
Once again, my intrigue blossomed. I invited him to be seated on the slates. Then I settled at his side, and for a long moment, we gazed across the London skyline. We faced south-east, and I fancied myself flying over the darkened lands towards the Channel; thought of all the places which lay beyond. Upon which shore might I find myself, and how soon? Would I ever return to England after I quitted it?
“Hypocrisy, perhaps,” I said. “Irony, for certain. But both are intriguing. Please, tell me your story.”
Newburgh glanced at his hands. The burns had calmed, but despite the balms applied by Polidori, they would take time to completely heal.
“Our differences are apparent to me, My Lord,” he said. “You age. You can walk in the sunlight. You are physically strong. I saw that by how effortlessly you lifted that girl. I have my own strengths, too. I am swift. I can move and restrain things by looking at them. No weapon or trauma can inflict long-term damage – as we have both unfortunately observed. But there are prices, too. You’ve seen what the sun does to me. And I cannot leave this island. I am confined to Britain, as though walls stand all around it.”
I blinked in surprise. “What would happen if you sailed elsewhere?”
“It would kill me. I tried to leave, several years ago. The pain was so great that I had to turn back. Once again, another certain way to die, but too agonising to bear. Such is the curse. No conventional methods grant ease of exit from life.”
“It’s extraordinary, Mr Newburgh,” I admitted.
A tiny smirk curled the corner of his mouth.
“That is another aspect which sets you apart from me, My Lord. My name is not Newburgh.”
I leaned forward. “Then what is it?”
“Forgive me, but I cannot say,” he replied. “My first name is Jack, as I told you, but the surname is an alias. Speaking my true name aloud, in its entirety, would cause me indescribable pain. I allow nobody that knowledge.”
“Your existence has certainly been one marred by pain, so it seems,” I remarked. “And all this, for the sake of not asking permission? It astounds me.”
“I have no reason to believe any of us would choose this,” said Newburgh. “All the others I knew bore the same experience as me.”
“And what was this experience?”
“I fear to tell you, My Lord. If the revelation of my age did not alarm you, my past surely will.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to look into my eyes. I had no need for words to remind him, once again, that I was not as faint-hearted as many upon the face of this wicked world. And so, after a moment of collecting himself, he spoke.
“When I was nineteen, I was taken from these very streets, to a hidden place under the ground. A group of German bastards turned me. They put a needle into my neck and injected me with a vampire’s venom – that is why I bear no scar. They called themselves doctors, but they were monsters. They left me in a sunless cell and never spoke to me; gave me only bread, water and blood. There were others too, who they had taken: orphans, whores, urchins. They watched us, made notes, to observe how we completed the transformation. After ten years, two months, and twenty days, it was my turn. I became as I am. And I managed to save enough strength to kill all those beasts, for what they did to me; to every single one of us.”
Despite my composure, my stomach tied itself into a knot of horror. Newburgh himself was shaking passionately. His long fingers clutched the coat with such fervour, I was surprised it didn’t tear.
“Afterwards, I was a shell of myself,” he continued. “A decade without light or human contact… I had forgotten how to speak, how to behave. I crept out into the night, and I learned the irreversible extent of what I had become. I killed, of course, but wherever possible, I tried to only take the minimum I needed to survive. Over the next several years, I relearned what I could. I observed the humans around me, so I could mimic their movements and speech. I came by newspapers and a copy of Paradise Lost, and they became my teachers.”
I broke through the alarm of his revelation with a small, yet mirthless, smile.
“I dare say that one of those texts is a more reliable source of truth than the other.”
Newburgh didn’t respond. Tears blazed in his eyes, dark as polished jet, and I beheld the same fire which I had noticed after he consumed Polidori’s blood.
Then I remembered the doctor’s comment of how the science of vampirism was young yet. He had said the original facility had been destroyed. Now, with Newburgh at my side, I understood how that had come about.
“Those Germans were of the same stock as Polidori’s mentor,” I realised. “The Bernstein family.”
At mention of the name, Newburgh flashed his teeth in hatred.
“The leader was,” he said tightly. “The one who oversaw the entire endeavour. I took vengeance upon him, but I noticed, afterwards, I couldn’t find trace of his son. I believed him long dead, until those memories were presented to me. The little bastard must have escaped, and fathered the same man who Doctor Polidori knew. My Lord, mark me, that family is a plague. They torture and destroy everything they touch, under the claims of seeking knowledge. And now, they continue to do so in Prussia, where I cannot follow and finish what I started!”
His speech drew to a close, and thereupon, he buried his face in his hands. I watched him keenly, waiting until he had himself under control.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I cannot imagine what such an existence does to a man.”
“I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, My Lord,” said Newburgh. “Except, perhaps, the Bernsteins. They deserve all the pain in the world.”
“But they are out of your reach now,” I insisted. “You will not see them again, not unless they return here, and would you truly spend an eternity waiting for that moment?”
“What else do I have to live for? I am weary of this existence. I am so terribly… bored.”
I shook my head. “I would argue the same sentiment, young as I am. But the great art of life is sensation. To feel that we exist, even in pain.”
“Not to do better than you yourself have been done by? You’re like me, My Lord? You don’t believe in Hell?”
I smiled, and swept my arm across the carpet of buildings and lights.
“I am already in Hell. So are you. Hell is before you now, Heaven is before you now. Which will you see, Jack? Which one do you choose?”
He appeared taken aback that I had addressed him so informally, but did not protest, and a pensive shine passed across his eyes. Once more, I tried to imagine him with the same aged appearance as Lady Melbourne, but the image faded, as though I were trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.
“Choice is beyond me, My Lord,” he whispered. “I thought that was evident.”
“I disagree,” I said at once. “I had the choice you did not, but ultimately, it means nothing. I gave consent for many things which have since turned sour. If I have learned anything, it is that good and evil are merely constructs. I am such a strange mélange of good and evil that it would be difficult to describe me. You may call yourself a demon, and myself a harmless, but I would argue that I am probably the most demonic of the two of us. No matter how benevolent or malevolent you make your deeds, there will always be those who view it as the opposite. That is their choice. Your choice rests upon how you endure such shallowness.”
Newburgh licked his lips nervously. “Your confidence is inspiring, My Lord.”
“I only wish to inspire you to live in the moment,” I said. “Forget eternity. It will only arrive one minute at a time. I’m not one to readily give compliments, but you transfix me, Jack Newburgh. Our natures are unique to the other, and I feel a rare connection to you. I would even invite you to accompany me on travels abroad, if I didn’t know what I do now. But I suppose I must content myself with Polidori’s company alone.”
He looked at me. “You will leave?”
“Yes, as soon as I have finalised certain matters. I have my own shadows which I must cast off. Will you do the same with yours? The Bernsteins are not your problem anymore. Don’t waste another moment of breath on them.”
Newburgh opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and let out a long exhale. I was taken by the idea that he had been holding it within himself for his entire life.
Upon sealing the envelope, I took more paper and addressed it directly to her.
I am really ignorant to what part of Sir Ralph’s letter alludes – will you explain? – To conclude – I shall eventually abide by your decision, but I request you most earnestly to weight well the probable consequences – & to pause before you pronounce.
Hobby came to visit again. We took tea and meals in the house, to avoid me stepping outside unnecessarily. To do so would only bring hisses from the crowds. He even confided that he was apprehensive of violence towards me, should I be seen.
I rolled my eyes. “They should get out more. Do they have nothing better to do?”
“The rumours precede you, old man,” said Hobby.
“What are they saying?”
“Oh… nothing you haven’t heard before.”
“But it grows in intensity?”
“Terribly. And Annabella is still pressing you for a separation?”
I took a larger sip of wine than was perhaps necessary.
“I have begged her for an explanation,” I said. “Whether she will grant it awaits to be seen.”
The absurdity of the whole affair was not lost on me. Once – not too long ago, all things considered – I had woken up and found myself famous, the jewel of London; men and women alike throwing themselves at my feet. Now, the halls and salons which had once welcomed me were as cold and silent as the tomb. Now, I had become my own Childe Harold, and none wished to partake in my company.
“In any case,” continued Hobby, “I still think it wise for you to leave. You really don’t have a choice. Have you thought about where you might go?”
I shrugged. “Well, I suppose the easiest route would be to sail out of Dover. From there, who can say? Where is an amicable place in Europe to pass a summer?”
Hobby finished his meal and laid the cutlery down. “You might return to Greece?”
“I’ll likely make my way there, at some point. We’ll see what happens.”
Once again, it was dark when he left. Though I knew snowdrops would be hanging their little white bells about the verges, spring still felt aeons away, and the nights drew in early. Promptly, I walked to Newburgh’s chamber with a candelabrum in hand.
I found him sitting at the desk, thumbing through one of the volumes I had left him to entertain himself with. Curiosity overcome me and I stole a glance at the spine in his hands. Milton: Paradise Lost.
“It has something of a sentimental meaning,” Newburgh said when he noticed me. “Thank you for everything you are doing for me, My Lord. None have ever shown me such hospitality, such kindness.”
I locked his eyes with mine.
“You might not think me so kind if you spent an extended period in my company. Those who sense something about me will either take their leave, or remain close enough that its sting finds them in the end. I have never heard a single expression of true fondness fall from the lips of any who know me well.”
Newburgh blinked in surprise. “Not even your friends? Your wife?”
At mention of Annabella, I gripped the back of the chair.
“All spoken with an element of astute knowledge, you understand,” I replied tightly. “Now, come. I believe it’s time you drank directly, and I dare say it would do both of us good to be in the fresh air. You seem much improved. Do you feel able to fly? To shadow?”
He nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”
“Then put on a coat.”
I stood back, watching him in silence. Several days abed had done the work I knew they would, and Polidori had supervised him wonderfully. Newburgh himself, though his pallor remained deathlike, moved with a grace which pleased me, and a healthy shine had returned to his hair and eyes. I had borrowed him a set of my own clothes – we were of a similar height and build – and they suited him very well.
I led him to a room at the rear of the house, then stood on the balcony and pushed out my wings. He did the same. I smiled when I saw them: like mine, each one almost six feet from tip to shoulder; skeletal and leathery, as though a giant bat had fused itself to the scapulae.
I allowed him to take flight first, so that I might close the doors behind us. But I stepped back in alarm when they pulled shut of their own accord, as though drawn by an invisible hand.
I turned to Newburgh. “Was that you?”
“Yes, My Lord,” he replied. “You do not have the powers of the mind?”
“What powers?” I asked, stunned.
Newburgh nodded to himself. “I wondered as such. Polidori’s memories informed me of the things his… mentor spoke of. It is another difference between us, so it seems.”
I would have him tell me more, but now was not the time nor the place. So instead, I took to the air. We both pulled the darkness upon ourselves to disguise our forms from curious eyes, and I turned north-east.
My targeting of the boy in Hyde Park had been a mere dalliance, but those in the poorer areas of the city most often slaked me. There were many pickings, none of whom would ever be missed or serve any greater purpose. And fewer people knew me there. Even if they did, fewer still cared. A shine of silver bought their silence quickly enough, should they spot me.
We approached Hackney. Even from the air, I smelled the filth of the place; saw into every seedy backstreet, and observed the whores as they wandered about. How many of them had I come across in the past? I was rake enough to not care.
We arrived in a particularly dark area which I had frequented, for one lewd reason or another, in the months since becoming a full vampire. I glanced at Newburgh to gauge his reaction, and was pleasantly surprised to find him rather comfortable. There was certainly more to him than met the eye, of that I was certain. And I would have it out of him.
“Do you have a preference?” I asked as I folded my wings into my back.
“Not particularly.”
“Ah. Well, I don’t care much for the quality of these parts myself, but I try to pay no mind to the origin. Ignore the memories, focus on the taste. That’s the true ambrosia.”
I fell silent then; allowed my irises to transform red, and take on my keener senses. I smelled every note about me: cheap alcohol, open gutters, mildew, sweat and damp and all the unpleasant things of the urban underbelly. But above it, that sweet golden aroma. Godless, and yet fit only for gods.
My attention latched onto a whore on the nearest pavement, alone, her back to me.
Without allowing time to think, I hurried to her, pressed her neck until she lost consciousness and fell limp. I swept her up and carried her into the shadows, to my waiting guest.
“Would you care to do the honours?” I asked civilly, as I laid her on the cobbles.
Newburgh ran a finger across her neck. His eyes shone with anticipation. In the back of his throat, I heard the softest edge of a hiss. Then he sighed, and lowered himself over her.
I heard the tearing of flesh; the pop of a rupturing trachea, followed by long hard gulps. When he was sated, I took several mouthfuls of my own. Never mind that I had drank a week prior. A little more wouldn’t hurt, now the opportunity presented itself.
For as much as I sought to disregard the memories, I still saw them as I swallowed. This girl had been born a bastard, to a mother walking the same path as her. She married a brute, ran away, then turned to whoring and gin. Five years ago, shortly after Hobby and I returned from our travels in the East, I had met her by chance. A small world, indeed.
I heard her heart stop. I drew back and wiped my mouth on a handkerchief. As usual, it was spotless.
Newburgh was watching me.
“You show no remorse, My Lord,” he observed. “Have you truly done this for so long?”
“Not as long as you may think,” I said. “I have simply become adept at organising my priorities.”
Newburgh shook his head in disbelief. He looked between my face, and that of the pale girl at our feet.
“I have killed,” he admitted, “but I have also tried, wherever possible, to show mercy.”
“Why?” I asked. It was not said with cruelty, but with curiosity.
Newburgh sighed. “Because I was not unlike them, once. My own life was taken from me before I even had a moment to understand what was happening. I pity them.”
“You would find yourself better inclined to not extend such compassion. Why do they deserve it? What life can they hope to lead? But, come, let’s not talk on such things here, down in the dirt. Follow me.”
I spread my wings again, allowed them to bear me into the air, above the squalor. I heard the steady beats of Newburgh's own appendages behind me. I led him to the roof of a nearby church, landed carefully upon the slates, and leaned against the steeple, to take the weight off my foot.
I lifted the shadow. There was no worry about being seen this high above the streets. We only had to be mindful about keeping away from the edge.
“Is that another reason why you decided to try jumping?” I asked. “Has your heart become so heavy with compassion that it pulled you to the ground, Mr Newburgh?”
He regarded me sullenly. “Yours will, too, in the end. If I may ask, how long have you been as you are?”
“In the fullest capacity, a little over six months,” I answered. “But my turning occurred three years ago.”
“And already, you are so wanton?”
“That precedes any touch of vampirism, my friend. You recognised me when you opened your eyes. I know you’re not blind to my reputation.”
The flash of unease across his face provided all the answers I needed.
“And yet you had what I did not,” Newburgh muttered. “A companion. A mentor, who stood by you.”
“Indeed,” I said. “I gave consent to be turned. After that, she instructed me. We shared an intimate mental connection, so we might never be apart from each other. And when the end came, I would surely have perished, had she not bitten me once more.”
I drew back my sleeve to illustrate the scar on my wrist. It was still pink, fresher than the one at my neck.
“One final injection of power,” I continued. “And thus, I am as I am.”
“Who was she?”
“Mrs Augusta Leigh.”
“Your sister?”
“Half-sister, if one wishes to bother with technicalities,” I said.
Newburgh hesitated. “Is that… the truth behind the rumours, My Lord? Why you have seen her so often?”
I did not blink, nor move a muscle. “Any man may see his family often.”
Newburgh worked his mouth like a nervous child. He knew we had moved onto dangerous ground. Even now, in a silent parade, I saw and heard all the complaints brought against me. Most recently, and cutting to the quick, another letter from Annabella, speaking of relations I had undertaken with Augusta.
As I had maintained, the allegations and the truth were just as terrible as the other.
Newburgh turned away from me.
“I cannot be one to judge, My Lord. I have tried to make good. I endeavoured to help people over the past thirty years. In the end, it doesn't matter. There’s such hypocrisy in a creature like me, who preys upon life, trying to better it.”
Once again, my intrigue blossomed. I invited him to be seated on the slates. Then I settled at his side, and for a long moment, we gazed across the London skyline. We faced south-east, and I fancied myself flying over the darkened lands towards the Channel; thought of all the places which lay beyond. Upon which shore might I find myself, and how soon? Would I ever return to England after I quitted it?
“Hypocrisy, perhaps,” I said. “Irony, for certain. But both are intriguing. Please, tell me your story.”
Newburgh glanced at his hands. The burns had calmed, but despite the balms applied by Polidori, they would take time to completely heal.
“Our differences are apparent to me, My Lord,” he said. “You age. You can walk in the sunlight. You are physically strong. I saw that by how effortlessly you lifted that girl. I have my own strengths, too. I am swift. I can move and restrain things by looking at them. No weapon or trauma can inflict long-term damage – as we have both unfortunately observed. But there are prices, too. You’ve seen what the sun does to me. And I cannot leave this island. I am confined to Britain, as though walls stand all around it.”
I blinked in surprise. “What would happen if you sailed elsewhere?”
“It would kill me. I tried to leave, several years ago. The pain was so great that I had to turn back. Once again, another certain way to die, but too agonising to bear. Such is the curse. No conventional methods grant ease of exit from life.”
“It’s extraordinary, Mr Newburgh,” I admitted.
A tiny smirk curled the corner of his mouth.
“That is another aspect which sets you apart from me, My Lord. My name is not Newburgh.”
I leaned forward. “Then what is it?”
“Forgive me, but I cannot say,” he replied. “My first name is Jack, as I told you, but the surname is an alias. Speaking my true name aloud, in its entirety, would cause me indescribable pain. I allow nobody that knowledge.”
“Your existence has certainly been one marred by pain, so it seems,” I remarked. “And all this, for the sake of not asking permission? It astounds me.”
“I have no reason to believe any of us would choose this,” said Newburgh. “All the others I knew bore the same experience as me.”
“And what was this experience?”
“I fear to tell you, My Lord. If the revelation of my age did not alarm you, my past surely will.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to look into my eyes. I had no need for words to remind him, once again, that I was not as faint-hearted as many upon the face of this wicked world. And so, after a moment of collecting himself, he spoke.
“When I was nineteen, I was taken from these very streets, to a hidden place under the ground. A group of German bastards turned me. They put a needle into my neck and injected me with a vampire’s venom – that is why I bear no scar. They called themselves doctors, but they were monsters. They left me in a sunless cell and never spoke to me; gave me only bread, water and blood. There were others too, who they had taken: orphans, whores, urchins. They watched us, made notes, to observe how we completed the transformation. After ten years, two months, and twenty days, it was my turn. I became as I am. And I managed to save enough strength to kill all those beasts, for what they did to me; to every single one of us.”
Despite my composure, my stomach tied itself into a knot of horror. Newburgh himself was shaking passionately. His long fingers clutched the coat with such fervour, I was surprised it didn’t tear.
“Afterwards, I was a shell of myself,” he continued. “A decade without light or human contact… I had forgotten how to speak, how to behave. I crept out into the night, and I learned the irreversible extent of what I had become. I killed, of course, but wherever possible, I tried to only take the minimum I needed to survive. Over the next several years, I relearned what I could. I observed the humans around me, so I could mimic their movements and speech. I came by newspapers and a copy of Paradise Lost, and they became my teachers.”
I broke through the alarm of his revelation with a small, yet mirthless, smile.
“I dare say that one of those texts is a more reliable source of truth than the other.”
Newburgh didn’t respond. Tears blazed in his eyes, dark as polished jet, and I beheld the same fire which I had noticed after he consumed Polidori’s blood.
Then I remembered the doctor’s comment of how the science of vampirism was young yet. He had said the original facility had been destroyed. Now, with Newburgh at my side, I understood how that had come about.
“Those Germans were of the same stock as Polidori’s mentor,” I realised. “The Bernstein family.”
At mention of the name, Newburgh flashed his teeth in hatred.
“The leader was,” he said tightly. “The one who oversaw the entire endeavour. I took vengeance upon him, but I noticed, afterwards, I couldn’t find trace of his son. I believed him long dead, until those memories were presented to me. The little bastard must have escaped, and fathered the same man who Doctor Polidori knew. My Lord, mark me, that family is a plague. They torture and destroy everything they touch, under the claims of seeking knowledge. And now, they continue to do so in Prussia, where I cannot follow and finish what I started!”
His speech drew to a close, and thereupon, he buried his face in his hands. I watched him keenly, waiting until he had himself under control.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I cannot imagine what such an existence does to a man.”
“I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, My Lord,” said Newburgh. “Except, perhaps, the Bernsteins. They deserve all the pain in the world.”
“But they are out of your reach now,” I insisted. “You will not see them again, not unless they return here, and would you truly spend an eternity waiting for that moment?”
“What else do I have to live for? I am weary of this existence. I am so terribly… bored.”
I shook my head. “I would argue the same sentiment, young as I am. But the great art of life is sensation. To feel that we exist, even in pain.”
“Not to do better than you yourself have been done by? You’re like me, My Lord? You don’t believe in Hell?”
I smiled, and swept my arm across the carpet of buildings and lights.
“I am already in Hell. So are you. Hell is before you now, Heaven is before you now. Which will you see, Jack? Which one do you choose?”
He appeared taken aback that I had addressed him so informally, but did not protest, and a pensive shine passed across his eyes. Once more, I tried to imagine him with the same aged appearance as Lady Melbourne, but the image faded, as though I were trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.
“Choice is beyond me, My Lord,” he whispered. “I thought that was evident.”
“I disagree,” I said at once. “I had the choice you did not, but ultimately, it means nothing. I gave consent for many things which have since turned sour. If I have learned anything, it is that good and evil are merely constructs. I am such a strange mélange of good and evil that it would be difficult to describe me. You may call yourself a demon, and myself a harmless, but I would argue that I am probably the most demonic of the two of us. No matter how benevolent or malevolent you make your deeds, there will always be those who view it as the opposite. That is their choice. Your choice rests upon how you endure such shallowness.”
Newburgh licked his lips nervously. “Your confidence is inspiring, My Lord.”
“I only wish to inspire you to live in the moment,” I said. “Forget eternity. It will only arrive one minute at a time. I’m not one to readily give compliments, but you transfix me, Jack Newburgh. Our natures are unique to the other, and I feel a rare connection to you. I would even invite you to accompany me on travels abroad, if I didn’t know what I do now. But I suppose I must content myself with Polidori’s company alone.”
He looked at me. “You will leave?”
“Yes, as soon as I have finalised certain matters. I have my own shadows which I must cast off. Will you do the same with yours? The Bernsteins are not your problem anymore. Don’t waste another moment of breath on them.”
Newburgh opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and let out a long exhale. I was taken by the idea that he had been holding it within himself for his entire life.
*
Spring came to London. Upon his full recovery, Newburgh removed himself from Piccadilly, though we agreed that we would continue to liaise for as long as possible. He gave me an address, and my spirits lifted whenever I recognised his hand appearing beside those of lawyers. I would pluck the envelope from the letter rack, read it several times, then toss it into the fire. I would protect his nature, even from afar.
I knew he had taken heed of my advice. When I saw him next, there was a cold gleam to his eyes which satisfied me. Nothing in life was worth shackling oneself over, least of all when one, like him, might exist in perpetuity.
I myself took fleeting comfort in the form of those few places which had not turned a cold shoulder to me. I became acquainted with Mr Shelley, whose work had hitherto impressed me. By extension, I was introduced to the two young women sharing his residence: one, a firm-minded sprite by the name of Mary; the other, her stepsister Claire, who hounded me so incessantly that I could hardly remain stoic. Having been once seen you are not to be forgotten, she wrote me. I did not love, nor pretend to love her, but when she came prancing at all hours, there was but one way.
I would be quit of her before long, as I was with all others who fancied themselves holding my heart, for the world was now loud in its tirade against me. One evening, Hobby expressed his concern that I might even be assassinated.
This, I dismissed as exaggeration, but the similar sentiment, which I had so liberally applied to Annabella’s correspondence, could not be curtailed. She did indeed mean to leave me, and keep me from our daughter. I was certain it had, in part, been engineered by her family, but the finer mechanisms hardly mattered. The word was out, on everybody’s lips, and I signed the preliminary separation papers.
When it was done, I seized the fire iron and brought it down upon every object about me. My anger soon spent, I fell into a chair with a bottle of wine in hand; surveyed my broken kingdom of shattered glass and splintered wood. I might have found some lyrical repose in the chaos, where it not my own, unable to be cleaved from myself.
It was in such a state that Hobby found me.
“Good God!” he muttered. “What happened?”
I glared at him. “Are you here to insist I get out of the country again? You don’t have to. Aside from the bloody gossip, it’s all I’ve heard.”
“George, you must take this seriously,” he asserted. “You must prepare. All those people will tear you down. They’ll delight in it. And your sister appears in conversation more and more with each day.”
“This has nothing to do with her.”
“It’s too much, and you know it. Look.”
He brandished a newspaper. I was so incensed, it took all my self-control to keep my eyes from turning red.
“God, John, you know I don’t read that tripe!” I snapped, wrenching it from his hand and hurling it across the room. The pages came apart and drifted over the debris.
Hobby cleared his throat. “I don’t know what more I can say to you. You’ll destroy yourself.”
“I’m well aware of that,” I snarled. “Has the soon-to-be former Lady Byron not solicited it enough? Please, just… leave me be, before I say or do something I’ll regret.”
Hobby sighed, and shook his head. “I’ll always be your friend, but I do wish you would help yourself sometimes.”
I watched him go; listened to the rattle of wheels as his carriage pulled away. I tried to focus on the other sounds around me: the shuffling of the servants in the kitchen, the footsteps of walking couples on the pavement, the laboured gasps of a boy chimney sweep in the neighbouring house. Even the smallest noise was so acute to me now, I wondered how I could possibly have been deaf to them as a human.
It would take a whole day to clean this mess I had made. If only cleaning the larger one could be done with such ease.
Restless, I drank the remainder of the wine and tossed the bottle among the wreckage. Then I snatched the closest piece of newspaper, intending to tear it to shreds. But then my eyes passed over the words, and I paused.
I knew he had taken heed of my advice. When I saw him next, there was a cold gleam to his eyes which satisfied me. Nothing in life was worth shackling oneself over, least of all when one, like him, might exist in perpetuity.
I myself took fleeting comfort in the form of those few places which had not turned a cold shoulder to me. I became acquainted with Mr Shelley, whose work had hitherto impressed me. By extension, I was introduced to the two young women sharing his residence: one, a firm-minded sprite by the name of Mary; the other, her stepsister Claire, who hounded me so incessantly that I could hardly remain stoic. Having been once seen you are not to be forgotten, she wrote me. I did not love, nor pretend to love her, but when she came prancing at all hours, there was but one way.
I would be quit of her before long, as I was with all others who fancied themselves holding my heart, for the world was now loud in its tirade against me. One evening, Hobby expressed his concern that I might even be assassinated.
This, I dismissed as exaggeration, but the similar sentiment, which I had so liberally applied to Annabella’s correspondence, could not be curtailed. She did indeed mean to leave me, and keep me from our daughter. I was certain it had, in part, been engineered by her family, but the finer mechanisms hardly mattered. The word was out, on everybody’s lips, and I signed the preliminary separation papers.
When it was done, I seized the fire iron and brought it down upon every object about me. My anger soon spent, I fell into a chair with a bottle of wine in hand; surveyed my broken kingdom of shattered glass and splintered wood. I might have found some lyrical repose in the chaos, where it not my own, unable to be cleaved from myself.
It was in such a state that Hobby found me.
“Good God!” he muttered. “What happened?”
I glared at him. “Are you here to insist I get out of the country again? You don’t have to. Aside from the bloody gossip, it’s all I’ve heard.”
“George, you must take this seriously,” he asserted. “You must prepare. All those people will tear you down. They’ll delight in it. And your sister appears in conversation more and more with each day.”
“This has nothing to do with her.”
“It’s too much, and you know it. Look.”
He brandished a newspaper. I was so incensed, it took all my self-control to keep my eyes from turning red.
“God, John, you know I don’t read that tripe!” I snapped, wrenching it from his hand and hurling it across the room. The pages came apart and drifted over the debris.
Hobby cleared his throat. “I don’t know what more I can say to you. You’ll destroy yourself.”
“I’m well aware of that,” I snarled. “Has the soon-to-be former Lady Byron not solicited it enough? Please, just… leave me be, before I say or do something I’ll regret.”
Hobby sighed, and shook his head. “I’ll always be your friend, but I do wish you would help yourself sometimes.”
I watched him go; listened to the rattle of wheels as his carriage pulled away. I tried to focus on the other sounds around me: the shuffling of the servants in the kitchen, the footsteps of walking couples on the pavement, the laboured gasps of a boy chimney sweep in the neighbouring house. Even the smallest noise was so acute to me now, I wondered how I could possibly have been deaf to them as a human.
It would take a whole day to clean this mess I had made. If only cleaning the larger one could be done with such ease.
Restless, I drank the remainder of the wine and tossed the bottle among the wreckage. Then I snatched the closest piece of newspaper, intending to tear it to shreds. But then my eyes passed over the words, and I paused.
MAN ARRESTED IN CONNECTION TO STRING OF MURDERS
My heart stilled with fright. Was this what Hobby had been attempting to show me? Had they managed to somehow implicate me in the killings I had committed, on top of the other scandals?
As I read further, I realised that no, this was simply from a different article than the one concerning me. My relief, however, was short-lived.
I leapt to my feet and staggered through the door and onto the landing.
“Polidori!” I shouted. “Polidori! Where the devil are you?”
After a few minutes, he came running up the stairs. I ushered him into my room, listened to ensure none of the servants were close enough to eavesdrop, and tossed the paper at him.
As he read it, his eyes grew so wide that I saw all the whites around his irises.
“Mr Newburgh!” he gasped. “They caught him?”
“Red-handed.”
I hardly recognised my own voice; it held none of its usual cadence. Shock struck me dumb. My peculiar friend had been making his movements and avoiding the Law for decades.
“Have you read the entire article, My Lord?” asked Polidori.
“Yes. They intend to hang him at Newgate.”
“Surely not… There will be a trial.”
“Of course, but it will be a token thing, over as soon as it begins. His fate will already be decided. They have attached him to over six murders.”
I heard Polidori’s heartbeat hasten.
“And all are yours, My Lord?”
I set my eyes on him. “Do you honestly need me to answer that?”
Polidori hesitated before he spoke again.
“What can be done?”
I paced the room. Had this happened a year ago, I might have still held sway enough to influence the proceedings. I considered speaking to Hobby about it, but dashed that notion the moment it came. He was politically active, but had no notion of Newburgh’s relationship to me. I hadn’t even disclosed that my strange friend was sleeping under my roof while Hobby and I ate together.
Guilt dug its sharp claws into my heart. I might have fallen like Lucifer, and Newburgh himself was far from an innocent, but this was my doing. I could forget whoever he had killed in the past, including this new whore whose blood painted his hands. But the others, those I had left in my wake, now strapped across his shoulders? And had I not encouraged him to be like myself, callous and removed from the ethics of our beings?
Then, like a lightning bolt, an idea struck.
“You told me you were resident at Newgate for a spell before coming into my service, didn’t you?”
Polidori blinked in surprise. “Yes, Sir.”
I nodded to myself. “Do you still hold sway there? You could return, under the right circumstances?”
“I see no reason why not. Why do you ask?”
“You saw Newburgh’s suicide attempt as well as I did. A fall of seven storeys failed to kill him. The gallows will be nothing, even with a rope around his neck. And he informed me himself that conventional methods are useless. This won’t be fatal to him.”
Understanding settled over Polidori’s face.
“You wish to intervene?”
“Yes,” I said. “Give me some time, but be ready when I summon you. Do you understand?”
“Absolutely, My Lord,” he replied.
I gazed out of the window, deep in thought. We would need to move with care, but I saw no reason why it could not be done. And if I was to be turned from England’s green and pleasant land, this could stand as my final deed of decency, however secret to history it must remain.
As I read further, I realised that no, this was simply from a different article than the one concerning me. My relief, however, was short-lived.
I leapt to my feet and staggered through the door and onto the landing.
“Polidori!” I shouted. “Polidori! Where the devil are you?”
After a few minutes, he came running up the stairs. I ushered him into my room, listened to ensure none of the servants were close enough to eavesdrop, and tossed the paper at him.
As he read it, his eyes grew so wide that I saw all the whites around his irises.
“Mr Newburgh!” he gasped. “They caught him?”
“Red-handed.”
I hardly recognised my own voice; it held none of its usual cadence. Shock struck me dumb. My peculiar friend had been making his movements and avoiding the Law for decades.
“Have you read the entire article, My Lord?” asked Polidori.
“Yes. They intend to hang him at Newgate.”
“Surely not… There will be a trial.”
“Of course, but it will be a token thing, over as soon as it begins. His fate will already be decided. They have attached him to over six murders.”
I heard Polidori’s heartbeat hasten.
“And all are yours, My Lord?”
I set my eyes on him. “Do you honestly need me to answer that?”
Polidori hesitated before he spoke again.
“What can be done?”
I paced the room. Had this happened a year ago, I might have still held sway enough to influence the proceedings. I considered speaking to Hobby about it, but dashed that notion the moment it came. He was politically active, but had no notion of Newburgh’s relationship to me. I hadn’t even disclosed that my strange friend was sleeping under my roof while Hobby and I ate together.
Guilt dug its sharp claws into my heart. I might have fallen like Lucifer, and Newburgh himself was far from an innocent, but this was my doing. I could forget whoever he had killed in the past, including this new whore whose blood painted his hands. But the others, those I had left in my wake, now strapped across his shoulders? And had I not encouraged him to be like myself, callous and removed from the ethics of our beings?
Then, like a lightning bolt, an idea struck.
“You told me you were resident at Newgate for a spell before coming into my service, didn’t you?”
Polidori blinked in surprise. “Yes, Sir.”
I nodded to myself. “Do you still hold sway there? You could return, under the right circumstances?”
“I see no reason why not. Why do you ask?”
“You saw Newburgh’s suicide attempt as well as I did. A fall of seven storeys failed to kill him. The gallows will be nothing, even with a rope around his neck. And he informed me himself that conventional methods are useless. This won’t be fatal to him.”
Understanding settled over Polidori’s face.
“You wish to intervene?”
“Yes,” I said. “Give me some time, but be ready when I summon you. Do you understand?”
“Absolutely, My Lord,” he replied.
I gazed out of the window, deep in thought. We would need to move with care, but I saw no reason why it could not be done. And if I was to be turned from England’s green and pleasant land, this could stand as my final deed of decency, however secret to history it must remain.
*
I followed the trial and gossip as closely as I could without drawing attention. In any case, as Newburgh himself had been earlier in the year, it provided a welcome distraction from the disarray around me.
Aware now that my own fate was sealed, details were drawn up for my departure. Hobby promised to accompany me as far as Dover. Aside from a few volumes I selected, the entirety of my precious library went to auction. Upon an unsolicited visit from Claire, I wrote and admonished her, in no uncertain terms, that our time together must come to an end. She expressed disappointment, as many had before, but I brushed her off with the information that I was bound for Switzerland. She was a petulant girl of eighteen and would find new entertainment quickly enough.
The sentence against Newburgh passed much as I thought it would. He didn’t even try to fight. I wondered if some desperate part of him – that which had driven him to attempt his dive onto the cobbles – had whispered vain hope that a smaller, sharper drop would have success.
I sent Polidori on his way to infiltrate the prison, and on the fateful day, stepped into my carriage. But I did not direct it to Newgate, not yet. There was still time. And before I went to help my strange friend, there was another I needed to see. One so dear, the thought of what lay ahead tore my heart with every beat.
I smelled the vampiric mark within Augusta’s blood before she even opened the door to her apartments. Her belly bulging with an imminent child, she put her arms around me. I kept my eyes open, so I could not waste a moment of looking upon her face.
The shadows of doom lingered at the edges of her smile. In that moment, how I envied Newburgh! What I wouldn’t have given – or not given, such as the case may be – to live eternally as he would! Why could my turner and I not have been like him, ever-young, able to ride out this storm and reunite when the world had forgotten us?
Augusta's grey irises transformed red as she regarded me, and I gazed into their ruby depths: the very image of my own. Tears fell upon her cheeks. I took her hands, seized by desperation.
“Come with me,” I begged.
“I can’t, George.”
“Please!”
“I would if I could. I would follow you to the ends of the Earth, darling. But you know I can’t!”
She wept into my shoulder. I was so overcome by her emotion and my own, I bit my lip, and scarcely managed to control myself before my teeth sliced through the flesh. They were so sharp… Could I claim that she herself had given me such sharpness? I had always been the half with the potential to be so stony in heart, while her gentleness was the one unshattered tie of my existence.
“We shall not meet again for some time, at all events – if ever,” I said softly.
“But you’ll write,” Augusta insisted, resting her fingers on my neck. I felt them through the fabric of my collar, directly over the scar she had inflicted.
I clung to her, remembering the flights we had taken across a land painted by night; the blood we had shared together. All those precious moments when she had taught me, and tried to bring out the best in me. Had the whole world not kept its eyes turned on the famous poetic Lord, perhaps she might have succeeded, but I could not fault her for trying. In fact, I respected her for it, more than I had any other woman in my life.
“You are my solitary star in the midnight of the mind,” I whispered. “No matter where I find myself, I will be guided by you.”
Augusta kissed me again, then slid something into my pocket. I glanced down and found a small Bible. I smirked, but nevertheless kept it. I would have something of hers when the tide tossed me upon a new and uncertain shore.
Dusk drew near. I kept my eyes upon her window as my carriage moved off. I could see her standing there, palm pressed to the glass, and when I lost sight of her, I turned back my sleeve to inspect the scar upon my wrist.
Yes, my turner would always be with me, amid the eternal strife of heart.
I returned to Piccadilly, to throw off anyone who might be watching me. Then I strode straight through the house without taking off my coat or hat, and emerged back into the open air. I would depart for the prison from my own garden, out of sight, invisible as a ghost.
I wiped the last tears from my eyes, spread my wings, and soared across Covent Garden towards Newgate.
After several minutes of hard flight, I beheld it: a great grey rectangle of a building with barely a window in sight. In some respect, that allowed me a shred of relief. At least Newburgh would not have been exposed to the sunlight during his stay.
A crowd waited outside, facing the gallows. Several bodies were already hanging from two beams. It would have been an entire day for it: a list of inmates to have their lives snuffed out before the sea of eager onlookers. I regarded them, cheering with the same vigour that the aristocracy might applaud the players of a Shakespearean tragedy. I had known such spectacles were frequent, of course, but now Newburgh would shortly be standing upon that platform, it kindled ire within my breast.
As the clocks rang six, I landed in the high-walled exercise yard, and Polidori let me inside at the entrance we had agreed upon. I kept a shadow upon myself, so none would see me. Indeed, Polidori only knew I was in his company by the fleeting touch I left upon his arm. Then, with practised nonchalance, he walked along the squalid corridors. I followed, breathing through my mouth so I could avoid the plethora of unpleasant odours which assaulted my senses. I dared even believe it worse than Hackney.
Eventually Polidori gave a flick of the wrist as we passed a cell. While he continued on his way, I pressed myself against the bricks, and peered through the bars.
Sitting inside, clad in rags and irons, was my peculiar demonic friend. A platter of mould-ridden bread sat near him. His hair was wan and flat; dirt lined every whorl in his fingers and hands. It was such a sorry sight that I shook with anger. I could assign no notion of dignity to this place. It was as much a byword for despair as Bedlam was for insanity.
How close must this have been to the horror he had once known, under the Earth?
“Newburgh,” I whispered, so quietly that only a vampire would hear me.
He looked up, eyes wide with alarm.
“My Lord?”
“Don’t speak, just listen. Nod that you understand.”
He did so.
“We don’t have much time. They will come for you shortly. After you drop, feign death, and Polidori will declare you deceased. Then I shall spirit you away.”
Newburgh looked at the spot where I was standing. He couldn't see me; I did not dare lift the shadow, but I knew he felt my gaze upon him.
“Do you consent to this?” I asked.
He blinked in surprise, then nodded again.
I kept silent and waited. Before long, the Ordinary approached, unlocked the cell, and marched Newburgh into a line of five other condemned criminals. I stole after them with the stealth of a panther. They were led to the press yard, where all their leg chains were removed, only for their hands and arms to be tightly bound. Finally, they climbed a stair, and emerged before the gallows.
A hearty wall of cheers rose from the spectators: so terribly at odds with the horror they were about to watch unfold. Still shadowed, I slipped through the door before it closed.
Over the platform hung a line of empty nooses. A group of men waited to bear witness: police officers, a priest, executioner, the Ordinary and Under Sheriff, and Polidori himself. He stood with his hands clasped, lips pressed so tightly together, there was not a shred of colour remaining in them. He would have endured every single hanging, checked each one for signs of life, throughout the entire day, and the strain of it showed upon his face. But both of us knew it would be worthwhile. If he had successfully declared the deaths of so many men, there would be no eyebrows raised toward him now.
I crept to Polidori’s side and touched his wrist. He gave the smallest of nods.
The priest led prayers, then the condemned were forced onto the platform, white nightcaps pulled over their heads. The executioner looped each noose about their necks. Newburgh was placed at the far end, and as I had with Polidori, I tapped his hand to let him know I was there.
Suddenly, I heard him speak. It was muffled by the cap, but still distinguishable.
“But I have lived, and have not lived in vain.”
Despite everything, I smiled. Those were my words, from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. Oh, yes, he understood what we intended.
The executioner moved the lever. The drawbar shot back, and the platform disappeared from beneath the men’s feet.
They only dropped several inches, hardly enough to break their necks. They struggled and wriggled like worms, their frantic gasps drowned out by a deafening shriek of satisfaction from the crowd.
After a few terribly long minutes, all of them ceased twitching, and hung motionless, even Newburgh. But I had no reason to worry. I could still hear his heart beating.
The condemned were left a little while, to ensure they were dead, and so the crowd could enjoy their final macabre sight for the evening. Then they were lowered and taken away. Once again, I followed, into a side chamber which reeked of blood and death. More bodies – those from the previous twelve hours – lined the walls in various stages of discolouration. I could not even begin to imagine how many corpses had lain inside here, through all the centuries this medieval prototype of Hell had opened its doors.
Polidori appeared. When the caps were removed, he passed between the bodies, checking for a pulse. Soon, he came to Newburgh, and pressed two fingers to his wrist.
I watched carefully. Just as I had instructed, Newburgh did not move. He even held his breath to further feign his own demise. However, I still flinched when I saw his neck. The noose had cut deeply and drawn blood in a tight ring. It would scar, I was sure of that.
Polidori nodded, and announced, “All deceased.”
The Ordinary and Under Sheriff appeared pleased with the declaration. I stood aside as they walked through the chamber, focused on keeping the shadow drawn upon myself. Soon enough, every man took his leave, with Polidori bringing up the rear.
“Make haste, My Lord,” he breathed, so only I would hear.
As soon as the door closed, I sprang to Newburgh’s side. He opened his eyes and drew in a great lungful of air.
“My Lord…” he gasped.
“Keep quiet,” I hissed. “We must move swiftly. Can you fly? Shadow?”
“I think so.”
“Then come with me.”
He staggered to his feet. I ensured he was steady, then stole to the exit. Polidori had deliberately left it unlocked for us. Outside, the gallows were silent, the crowd long gone. We were alone.
I unfurled my wings, and waited for Newburgh to do the same. Without a word, we took to the sky, and I led the way westward.
Movement was slower than normal, hampered by his weakness, but we soon arrived at Hyde Park: a large square of sheer blackness in the centre of an ocean of light. As I knew would be the case, the place was deserted. It was a cold night: too cold for any reasonable person to be strolling about.
After descending close to the Serpentine, I sat Newburgh upon a bench, then briefly left him to retrieve a bundle which I had concealed beneath the bridge earlier that day. Upon opening it, he found a change of clothes, several banknotes, and a wine bottle filled with blood.
“Courtesy of Doctor Polidori,” I said. “It was as much as he could spare without impeding his ability to perform his duties. And he bids me to apologise to you in advance for the memories.”
Newburgh stared between me and the bottle. Then he uncorked it and swallowed the contents like a famished man.
“How do you feel?” I asked. “Can you speak?”
“Yes, My Lord,” replied Newburgh. He held a hand to his throat. His words were quiet and broken with trauma, but still surprisingly legible. “Thank you, Sir… Thank you…”
“Rest your voice if it pains you,” I said. “Now, change out of those rags, quickly.”
He took the bundle and retreated behind a tree for modesty. I stood by the banks of the lake as I waited, running my hand over Augusta’s Bible, gazing across the rippling surface at the pale face of a half moon. It dimly occurred to me that the next time I saw it waxed to full, I would no longer be upon English soil.
I struggled not to cry, to let my weakness show, but it still squeezed my chest like a viper’s coils. Irony was certainly heavy upon me tonight. In the space of only a few hours, I was bidding farewell to the only two vampires I had ever known. And I was certain, in my heart, that I would not lay eyes upon either of them again.
There was not a joy the world could give like that which it took away.
I heard footsteps behind me, and turned around. Newburgh's face was still drawn, but now clothed in garments more akin to those which I knew, I saw a little of the shine returned to his eyes. The wide collar hid his neck injury well, and he had combed his hair with his fingers, in an attempt to appear more presentable.
I took the rags, tied them around the empty bottle and a rock, and tossed the collection into the lake, where it promptly sank.
“Thank you so much, My Lord,” Newburgh whispered. “However can I repay you?”
“You need not speak.”
“But I wish to.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You also wished to be quit of life, and now Polidori and I have been the ones to impede you not once, but twice.”
Newburgh shook his head. “But you knew it would not be fatal to me. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”
“I came because I wish to leave at least one positive action in my wake,” I replied.
“I don’t understand, My Lord.”
“You have taken the fall for my own misdeeds tonight. If you were any other, a stranger, I wouldn't have batted an eye over it. But not you.”
I stepped so close, I could have reached out and embraced him.
“I told you, a few months ago, to live in the moment, and you told me that your surname is not your true one. So I set you a charge, here and now. Continue to endure, relearn how to live, as you relearned the use of language. Whenever you feel overwhelmed by the hypocrisies and shadows which surround us, cast them aside, and take a new alias for yourself. The Greeks speak of a creature which undergoes such a transformation: the phoenix. To survive, it must burst into flame and rise from the ashes of its own body. Do the same. Tonight, you have died, Jack Newburgh. Allow yourself to regenerate and make of life what you want. That is my parting wish for you.”
Newburgh’s hands shook. His eyes turned glassy with tears.
“Thank you,” he breathed. “How I wish I could come with you.”
“You do not still yearn so terribly for death that you would attempt following me?”
“To do so after all you have done would be a disservice.”
“Good man.”
“I won’t see you again, will I?” he asked. “Do you plan to return here someday?”
“I never plan anything, save for the exception of our dealings tonight,” I said. “I’m set to leave in a week. I dare say this evening is the final semblance of quietness I will know within the land of my birth. Perhaps I’ll rediscover it in further places, with warmer climes.”
“Your own metaphorical death, My Lord,” muttered Newburgh.
I gave him a humourless smile. “Horrors need not be horrific, after all. We are opposite sides of the same coin, you and I. Harmless and demonic, both and yet neither, the two of us. We, in various forms, may yet be broken before something unbreakable. But until that day comes, what cannot be broken must be set free.”
“Well, come what may, I have been blessed,” Newburgh said. “I shall never forget your charity, My Lord, nor your company and your lessons. I will carry them forward for as long as I may live.”
“And may that outlive the best of us,” I replied. Then I withdrew a square of paper from my pocket and pressed it into his icy palm. “Wait some time, until we are both settled in our new lives, then write to me. The Villa Diodati, Geneva.”
“Geneva,” Newburgh repeated dreamily. “I’ve heard of that place. Switzerland.”
“Indeed,” I said. “Well, I speak both for myself and Polidori: it has been a pleasure and honour to have made your acquaintance. And, solely in regards to myself, I thank you for opening my eyes so tremendously, Jack.”
“Likewise, My Lord,” said Newburgh. “Likewise, thank you… George.”
I extended my hand. He grasped it, and we shook, as though we had known one another for two decades rather than two months.
When I looked into his eyes, I saw a likeness of my own reflected back – though not with any of Augusta’s softness, nor the gaze which, by mere appearance, betrayed our familial affinity. Instead, in Jack Newburgh, I perceived the darkness which had for so long laced my outlook: the newfound ability to take what was wanted, and cast off the shadows which would follow. His time with me had hardened his heart, and in that skill, he would be safe.
We shared a smile of mutual respect, then turned around, and walked away from each other. The final sound I heard, before the night shrouded me, was the rhythmic beat of vampire wings.
Aware now that my own fate was sealed, details were drawn up for my departure. Hobby promised to accompany me as far as Dover. Aside from a few volumes I selected, the entirety of my precious library went to auction. Upon an unsolicited visit from Claire, I wrote and admonished her, in no uncertain terms, that our time together must come to an end. She expressed disappointment, as many had before, but I brushed her off with the information that I was bound for Switzerland. She was a petulant girl of eighteen and would find new entertainment quickly enough.
The sentence against Newburgh passed much as I thought it would. He didn’t even try to fight. I wondered if some desperate part of him – that which had driven him to attempt his dive onto the cobbles – had whispered vain hope that a smaller, sharper drop would have success.
I sent Polidori on his way to infiltrate the prison, and on the fateful day, stepped into my carriage. But I did not direct it to Newgate, not yet. There was still time. And before I went to help my strange friend, there was another I needed to see. One so dear, the thought of what lay ahead tore my heart with every beat.
I smelled the vampiric mark within Augusta’s blood before she even opened the door to her apartments. Her belly bulging with an imminent child, she put her arms around me. I kept my eyes open, so I could not waste a moment of looking upon her face.
The shadows of doom lingered at the edges of her smile. In that moment, how I envied Newburgh! What I wouldn’t have given – or not given, such as the case may be – to live eternally as he would! Why could my turner and I not have been like him, ever-young, able to ride out this storm and reunite when the world had forgotten us?
Augusta's grey irises transformed red as she regarded me, and I gazed into their ruby depths: the very image of my own. Tears fell upon her cheeks. I took her hands, seized by desperation.
“Come with me,” I begged.
“I can’t, George.”
“Please!”
“I would if I could. I would follow you to the ends of the Earth, darling. But you know I can’t!”
She wept into my shoulder. I was so overcome by her emotion and my own, I bit my lip, and scarcely managed to control myself before my teeth sliced through the flesh. They were so sharp… Could I claim that she herself had given me such sharpness? I had always been the half with the potential to be so stony in heart, while her gentleness was the one unshattered tie of my existence.
“We shall not meet again for some time, at all events – if ever,” I said softly.
“But you’ll write,” Augusta insisted, resting her fingers on my neck. I felt them through the fabric of my collar, directly over the scar she had inflicted.
I clung to her, remembering the flights we had taken across a land painted by night; the blood we had shared together. All those precious moments when she had taught me, and tried to bring out the best in me. Had the whole world not kept its eyes turned on the famous poetic Lord, perhaps she might have succeeded, but I could not fault her for trying. In fact, I respected her for it, more than I had any other woman in my life.
“You are my solitary star in the midnight of the mind,” I whispered. “No matter where I find myself, I will be guided by you.”
Augusta kissed me again, then slid something into my pocket. I glanced down and found a small Bible. I smirked, but nevertheless kept it. I would have something of hers when the tide tossed me upon a new and uncertain shore.
Dusk drew near. I kept my eyes upon her window as my carriage moved off. I could see her standing there, palm pressed to the glass, and when I lost sight of her, I turned back my sleeve to inspect the scar upon my wrist.
Yes, my turner would always be with me, amid the eternal strife of heart.
I returned to Piccadilly, to throw off anyone who might be watching me. Then I strode straight through the house without taking off my coat or hat, and emerged back into the open air. I would depart for the prison from my own garden, out of sight, invisible as a ghost.
I wiped the last tears from my eyes, spread my wings, and soared across Covent Garden towards Newgate.
After several minutes of hard flight, I beheld it: a great grey rectangle of a building with barely a window in sight. In some respect, that allowed me a shred of relief. At least Newburgh would not have been exposed to the sunlight during his stay.
A crowd waited outside, facing the gallows. Several bodies were already hanging from two beams. It would have been an entire day for it: a list of inmates to have their lives snuffed out before the sea of eager onlookers. I regarded them, cheering with the same vigour that the aristocracy might applaud the players of a Shakespearean tragedy. I had known such spectacles were frequent, of course, but now Newburgh would shortly be standing upon that platform, it kindled ire within my breast.
As the clocks rang six, I landed in the high-walled exercise yard, and Polidori let me inside at the entrance we had agreed upon. I kept a shadow upon myself, so none would see me. Indeed, Polidori only knew I was in his company by the fleeting touch I left upon his arm. Then, with practised nonchalance, he walked along the squalid corridors. I followed, breathing through my mouth so I could avoid the plethora of unpleasant odours which assaulted my senses. I dared even believe it worse than Hackney.
Eventually Polidori gave a flick of the wrist as we passed a cell. While he continued on his way, I pressed myself against the bricks, and peered through the bars.
Sitting inside, clad in rags and irons, was my peculiar demonic friend. A platter of mould-ridden bread sat near him. His hair was wan and flat; dirt lined every whorl in his fingers and hands. It was such a sorry sight that I shook with anger. I could assign no notion of dignity to this place. It was as much a byword for despair as Bedlam was for insanity.
How close must this have been to the horror he had once known, under the Earth?
“Newburgh,” I whispered, so quietly that only a vampire would hear me.
He looked up, eyes wide with alarm.
“My Lord?”
“Don’t speak, just listen. Nod that you understand.”
He did so.
“We don’t have much time. They will come for you shortly. After you drop, feign death, and Polidori will declare you deceased. Then I shall spirit you away.”
Newburgh looked at the spot where I was standing. He couldn't see me; I did not dare lift the shadow, but I knew he felt my gaze upon him.
“Do you consent to this?” I asked.
He blinked in surprise, then nodded again.
I kept silent and waited. Before long, the Ordinary approached, unlocked the cell, and marched Newburgh into a line of five other condemned criminals. I stole after them with the stealth of a panther. They were led to the press yard, where all their leg chains were removed, only for their hands and arms to be tightly bound. Finally, they climbed a stair, and emerged before the gallows.
A hearty wall of cheers rose from the spectators: so terribly at odds with the horror they were about to watch unfold. Still shadowed, I slipped through the door before it closed.
Over the platform hung a line of empty nooses. A group of men waited to bear witness: police officers, a priest, executioner, the Ordinary and Under Sheriff, and Polidori himself. He stood with his hands clasped, lips pressed so tightly together, there was not a shred of colour remaining in them. He would have endured every single hanging, checked each one for signs of life, throughout the entire day, and the strain of it showed upon his face. But both of us knew it would be worthwhile. If he had successfully declared the deaths of so many men, there would be no eyebrows raised toward him now.
I crept to Polidori’s side and touched his wrist. He gave the smallest of nods.
The priest led prayers, then the condemned were forced onto the platform, white nightcaps pulled over their heads. The executioner looped each noose about their necks. Newburgh was placed at the far end, and as I had with Polidori, I tapped his hand to let him know I was there.
Suddenly, I heard him speak. It was muffled by the cap, but still distinguishable.
“But I have lived, and have not lived in vain.”
Despite everything, I smiled. Those were my words, from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. Oh, yes, he understood what we intended.
The executioner moved the lever. The drawbar shot back, and the platform disappeared from beneath the men’s feet.
They only dropped several inches, hardly enough to break their necks. They struggled and wriggled like worms, their frantic gasps drowned out by a deafening shriek of satisfaction from the crowd.
After a few terribly long minutes, all of them ceased twitching, and hung motionless, even Newburgh. But I had no reason to worry. I could still hear his heart beating.
The condemned were left a little while, to ensure they were dead, and so the crowd could enjoy their final macabre sight for the evening. Then they were lowered and taken away. Once again, I followed, into a side chamber which reeked of blood and death. More bodies – those from the previous twelve hours – lined the walls in various stages of discolouration. I could not even begin to imagine how many corpses had lain inside here, through all the centuries this medieval prototype of Hell had opened its doors.
Polidori appeared. When the caps were removed, he passed between the bodies, checking for a pulse. Soon, he came to Newburgh, and pressed two fingers to his wrist.
I watched carefully. Just as I had instructed, Newburgh did not move. He even held his breath to further feign his own demise. However, I still flinched when I saw his neck. The noose had cut deeply and drawn blood in a tight ring. It would scar, I was sure of that.
Polidori nodded, and announced, “All deceased.”
The Ordinary and Under Sheriff appeared pleased with the declaration. I stood aside as they walked through the chamber, focused on keeping the shadow drawn upon myself. Soon enough, every man took his leave, with Polidori bringing up the rear.
“Make haste, My Lord,” he breathed, so only I would hear.
As soon as the door closed, I sprang to Newburgh’s side. He opened his eyes and drew in a great lungful of air.
“My Lord…” he gasped.
“Keep quiet,” I hissed. “We must move swiftly. Can you fly? Shadow?”
“I think so.”
“Then come with me.”
He staggered to his feet. I ensured he was steady, then stole to the exit. Polidori had deliberately left it unlocked for us. Outside, the gallows were silent, the crowd long gone. We were alone.
I unfurled my wings, and waited for Newburgh to do the same. Without a word, we took to the sky, and I led the way westward.
Movement was slower than normal, hampered by his weakness, but we soon arrived at Hyde Park: a large square of sheer blackness in the centre of an ocean of light. As I knew would be the case, the place was deserted. It was a cold night: too cold for any reasonable person to be strolling about.
After descending close to the Serpentine, I sat Newburgh upon a bench, then briefly left him to retrieve a bundle which I had concealed beneath the bridge earlier that day. Upon opening it, he found a change of clothes, several banknotes, and a wine bottle filled with blood.
“Courtesy of Doctor Polidori,” I said. “It was as much as he could spare without impeding his ability to perform his duties. And he bids me to apologise to you in advance for the memories.”
Newburgh stared between me and the bottle. Then he uncorked it and swallowed the contents like a famished man.
“How do you feel?” I asked. “Can you speak?”
“Yes, My Lord,” replied Newburgh. He held a hand to his throat. His words were quiet and broken with trauma, but still surprisingly legible. “Thank you, Sir… Thank you…”
“Rest your voice if it pains you,” I said. “Now, change out of those rags, quickly.”
He took the bundle and retreated behind a tree for modesty. I stood by the banks of the lake as I waited, running my hand over Augusta’s Bible, gazing across the rippling surface at the pale face of a half moon. It dimly occurred to me that the next time I saw it waxed to full, I would no longer be upon English soil.
I struggled not to cry, to let my weakness show, but it still squeezed my chest like a viper’s coils. Irony was certainly heavy upon me tonight. In the space of only a few hours, I was bidding farewell to the only two vampires I had ever known. And I was certain, in my heart, that I would not lay eyes upon either of them again.
There was not a joy the world could give like that which it took away.
I heard footsteps behind me, and turned around. Newburgh's face was still drawn, but now clothed in garments more akin to those which I knew, I saw a little of the shine returned to his eyes. The wide collar hid his neck injury well, and he had combed his hair with his fingers, in an attempt to appear more presentable.
I took the rags, tied them around the empty bottle and a rock, and tossed the collection into the lake, where it promptly sank.
“Thank you so much, My Lord,” Newburgh whispered. “However can I repay you?”
“You need not speak.”
“But I wish to.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You also wished to be quit of life, and now Polidori and I have been the ones to impede you not once, but twice.”
Newburgh shook his head. “But you knew it would not be fatal to me. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”
“I came because I wish to leave at least one positive action in my wake,” I replied.
“I don’t understand, My Lord.”
“You have taken the fall for my own misdeeds tonight. If you were any other, a stranger, I wouldn't have batted an eye over it. But not you.”
I stepped so close, I could have reached out and embraced him.
“I told you, a few months ago, to live in the moment, and you told me that your surname is not your true one. So I set you a charge, here and now. Continue to endure, relearn how to live, as you relearned the use of language. Whenever you feel overwhelmed by the hypocrisies and shadows which surround us, cast them aside, and take a new alias for yourself. The Greeks speak of a creature which undergoes such a transformation: the phoenix. To survive, it must burst into flame and rise from the ashes of its own body. Do the same. Tonight, you have died, Jack Newburgh. Allow yourself to regenerate and make of life what you want. That is my parting wish for you.”
Newburgh’s hands shook. His eyes turned glassy with tears.
“Thank you,” he breathed. “How I wish I could come with you.”
“You do not still yearn so terribly for death that you would attempt following me?”
“To do so after all you have done would be a disservice.”
“Good man.”
“I won’t see you again, will I?” he asked. “Do you plan to return here someday?”
“I never plan anything, save for the exception of our dealings tonight,” I said. “I’m set to leave in a week. I dare say this evening is the final semblance of quietness I will know within the land of my birth. Perhaps I’ll rediscover it in further places, with warmer climes.”
“Your own metaphorical death, My Lord,” muttered Newburgh.
I gave him a humourless smile. “Horrors need not be horrific, after all. We are opposite sides of the same coin, you and I. Harmless and demonic, both and yet neither, the two of us. We, in various forms, may yet be broken before something unbreakable. But until that day comes, what cannot be broken must be set free.”
“Well, come what may, I have been blessed,” Newburgh said. “I shall never forget your charity, My Lord, nor your company and your lessons. I will carry them forward for as long as I may live.”
“And may that outlive the best of us,” I replied. Then I withdrew a square of paper from my pocket and pressed it into his icy palm. “Wait some time, until we are both settled in our new lives, then write to me. The Villa Diodati, Geneva.”
“Geneva,” Newburgh repeated dreamily. “I’ve heard of that place. Switzerland.”
“Indeed,” I said. “Well, I speak both for myself and Polidori: it has been a pleasure and honour to have made your acquaintance. And, solely in regards to myself, I thank you for opening my eyes so tremendously, Jack.”
“Likewise, My Lord,” said Newburgh. “Likewise, thank you… George.”
I extended my hand. He grasped it, and we shook, as though we had known one another for two decades rather than two months.
When I looked into his eyes, I saw a likeness of my own reflected back – though not with any of Augusta’s softness, nor the gaze which, by mere appearance, betrayed our familial affinity. Instead, in Jack Newburgh, I perceived the darkness which had for so long laced my outlook: the newfound ability to take what was wanted, and cast off the shadows which would follow. His time with me had hardened his heart, and in that skill, he would be safe.
We shared a smile of mutual respect, then turned around, and walked away from each other. The final sound I heard, before the night shrouded me, was the rhythmic beat of vampire wings.
From my youth upwards
My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men,
Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes;
The thirst of their ambition was not mine,
The aim of their existence was not mine;
My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers
Made me a stranger.
My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men,
Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes;
The thirst of their ambition was not mine,
The aim of their existence was not mine;
My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers
Made me a stranger.
With respect to the memories of Lord George Gordon Byron (1788-1824), Sir John Cam Hobhouse (1786-1869), Augusta Leigh (1783-1851) and Dr John William Polidori (1795-1821).