Vampyre Bride ✔️

XLI⎮Hobkirk Priory

The wheels rattled quietly along the vaulted avenue of yews, the dour glow of the lamps doing little to chase the shadows from the road. In the branches overhead, the rooks took up their elegiac threnodies, calling to the dilatory dawn light. Emma turned to catch a last glance of the shrinking castle through the rear window of Winterly's carriage.

Mrs. Skinner's retreating silhouette was nigh indiscernible through the mournful fog. The old spider had dutifully conveyed the name and address of Winterly's solicitor, but London was not whither Emma was presently bound. Albeit, not yet. She had, that morning, finally received a letter from Mary, in which her cousin assured her Milli was "getting on quite well" but for the odd bout of blue devils which was only natural in the upheaval of changed circumstances; yet she also made mention of Milli's late night maundering at the window when everyone else was dead asleep. The last, Mary could not account for and begged Emma's council, for she feared Milli was not sleeping. But Emma knew why, and it was thence, to Hobkirk Priory, that she was now repairing. It was clear that Milli needed her as much she needed Milli.

A seat on the stagecoach had been arranged for her in York, seeing as Winterly's ghoulish coachman was indisposed to daylight, and unless she could conjure him a thick fog at will, she was resigned to public transport. After Durham she was to go by mail coach, however, she had never travelled the Great North Road alone. All too soon she was being handed, by her vampiric coachman, into the stagecoach with a brusque adieu. Her small portmanteau was transferred from the carriage to the coach shortly thereafter—the rest of her traps were to be sent to London—and a moment later the coach was underway.

It was at the Coaching Inn in Durham that Emma began to feel uneasy, having by degrees become aware of an uncanny sensation; specifically an intrusive suspicion that she was being closely observed. The Red Dragon Inn—a name that had quite rendered her dumb when first she'd disembarked—was seething with patrons, so there was little chance of Emma making out whose impertinent gaze she'd perceived. At length she gave the effort up and resumed her supper, brooding over a tapestry of a long red dragon hanging over the broad mantelshelf. At last, it was time to repair to the mail coach where Emma hoped she could find relief from her dogged spy.

As the smaller conveyance and its fresh team of horses set off with a jolt—whereupon she was thrown against the little gentleman beside her—she soon found herself unable to keep her lids open. Though her tears had all but dried up, her heart had sustained too hard blow, and it was not but a half hour north of Durham that she finally nodded over her book, insensible to the pain in her neck.

She was disturbed from her sleep an hour later, not by the deep ruts in the road or perilous jostling of the coach, but by that same impression of being watched. Dusk had fallen and the lamps were shedding some little light, but not enough to see beneath the hats and bonnets of her fellow passengers. Though, if her intuition was to be trusted, she was certain the feeling stemmed from the tall gentleman across from her. On further scrutiny, she found that it must indeed be him, for the rest of the passengers were all fast asleep. That observation made, she concentrated her glare in his direction, specifically at the chiseled jaw that smirked below the shadow of his brim.

Mindful of her sleeping companions, she leaned forward to deliver an angry whisper. "You, sir, had better tell me your name if you mean to continue staring at me all night."

"You wound me, Miss Lucas. I should hate to think I made no lasting impression on your memory."

Startled by his knowing her name, she sat back and tried to recall the voice. It was only a little familiar. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"Forgive my impertinence, the hour is dark and our association too brief to warrant teasing." He lifted his hat from his head with a respectful nod. "Nicholas Hawksmoor."