Anno Dracula - Kim Newman [114]
‘Careless fellow,’ he observed.
‘Not at all. He’s just driven, obsessive. I’m glad he’s found a distraction. He’s been courting nervous collapse for years. He had a bad time of it when Vlad Tepes first came, I believe. It’s not something he cares to talk about much. Especially not to me. But I have heard stories about him.’
Beauregard had heard a few rumours, too. From Lord Godalming, oddly enough, and from the Diogenes Club. His name had been linked with Abraham Van Helsing.
Down the street stood a four-wheeler, the horse funnelling steam from its nostrils. Beauregard recognised the driver. Above his scarf and below his cap were almond eyes.
‘What is it?’ Geneviève asked, noticing his sudden tension. She was still expecting the Chinese elder to pounce and rend her windpipe.
‘Recent acquaintances,’ he said.
The door drifted open, creating a swirl in the fog. Beauregard knew they were surrounded. The tramp huddled in the alleyway across the road, the idler hugging himself against the cold, the one he couldn’t see in the shadows under the tobacconist’s shop. Perhaps even the haughty vampire in clothes too good for her, parading past as if en route to an assignation. He thumbed the catch of his cane, but did not think he could take them all on. Geneviève could take care of herself, but it was unfair to involve her further.
He assumed he was about to be called on to give an explanation for the lack of progress. From the point of view of the Limehouse Ring, the situation deteriorated with every police raid and listing of ‘emergency regulations’.
Someone leaned out of the carriage and beckoned them. Beauregard, with casual care, walked over.
41
LUCY PAYS A CALL
She walked with tiny steps to keep her skirts off the ground, as meticulous in her habits as any lady. Her new clothes, bought with John’s money, still had a little shop-scratch about them. Few, observing her evening promenade, would recognise the Mary Jane Kelly with whom they were familiar. She felt as she had in Paris, a new-made girl free of her sad history.
In Commercial Street a fine gentleman was helping a pretty vampire into a coach. Mary Jane paused to admire the couple. The gentleman was courtly without effort, his every gesture precise and perfect; and the girl was a beauty even in the mannish dress so many affected these nights, her skin a radiant white, her hair honeyed silk. The coachman lightly whipped his horse and the carriage moved off. Soon, she too would only travel in coaches. Drivers would touch their hats to her. Fine gentlemen would assist her through doors.
She walked up to the doors of Toynbee Hall. The last time she had been here, her face was burned black after an accidental touch of the sun. Dr Seward, not yet her John, had examined her closely but with no interest, as if looking over a likely racehorse. He had prescribed veils and a spell indoors. Now she came not as a supplicant, but to pay a call.
She tired of waiting for someone to open the doors for her and daintily pushed them inwards. She stepped into the foyer and looked about. A matron bustled through, a roll of bedding hugged to her chest. Mary Jane hemmed to attract attention. Her cough, intended as a ladylike little sound, emerged as a deep, somewhat vulgar, throat-clearing. She was embarrassed. The matron looked her in the face, lips pursed as if instantly aware of every filthy detail of Mary Jane Kelly’s past.
‘I have come to call on Dr Seward,’ Mary Jane said, trying hard with every word, every syllable.
The matron smiled unpleasantly. ‘And who shall I say is calling?’
Mary Jane paused, then said ‘Miss Lucy.’
‘Just Lucy?’
Mary Jane shrugged as if her name did not matter one whit. She did not care for the matron’s attitude and thought it meet she be put in her place. She was, all considered, only a kind of servant.
‘Miss Lucy, if you would care to follow me...’
The matron shoved through an inner door, and held it open with her cushion-like rump. Mary Jane passed