The Pemberley Vampire Hunters Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  I - The Graveyard

  II - The Mysterious Doctor Adler

  III - Mr Wickham in the Woods

  IV - Farewell to Pemberley

  V - Miss Bingley Bereaved

  VI - Miss Bingley Perplexed

  VII - Miss Bingley Attacked

  VIII - The Understanding of Mr Darcy

  IX - Mr Wickham Between Two Worlds

  X - Miss Darcy Abducted

  XI - The Bull Inn at Dartford

  XII - To Hertfordshire, Therefore

  Further Information

  Copyright and Ebook License

  The Pemberley Vampire Hunters: Book I

  A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Huw Thomas

  Copyright ©2016 Huw Lyan Thomas

  Distributed by Smashwords

  Dedication

  For Holly

  I

  Charles Bingley had lost track of how long he and Louisa had been guarding the tomb’s entrance, waiting — hoping — for the others to re-emerge. In his right hand he clutched a stake, carved to needle-sharpness from the wood of an ancient holly tree. With his other hand he held aloft a lantern whose feeble glow was barely able to pierce the night mist, let alone the inky blackness of the crypt. Stare as he might, Bingley could discern nothing of what was happening within. His ears brought him no useful information, either.

  The little church and its leaf-strewn graveyard were silent except for Louisa’s rapid breathing and the steady beating of Bingley’s own heart. He turned to his sister, trying to think of some words of comfort that would not sound ridiculous, but she placed two fingers against his lips to hush him.

  “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

  Sure enough, footsteps sounded from within the crypt. Not regular, confident footsteps, but rather the sounds of several shuffling, stumbling gaits. To Bingley they seemed barely human, and fear gripped him. “God grant that it is Darcy and Captain Fitzwilliam, bringing out the others,” he murmured. “You must run for your very life, Louisa, and spread word of what has happened here, the instant you see that it is not.”

  Then Bingley sagged with relief as Darcy emerged, together with Miss de Bourgh whom he carried into the puddle of light. The young lady’s gown was splashed with blood and she seemed to have swooned. Darcy himself had apparently suffered no more hurt than the scratched shoulder revealed by his ripped and bloodstained shirt.

  At the sight of his injured friends, Bingley could not keep himself from crying out, “What happened? Are the others close behind? Shall I go down to assist them?”

  “You must not enter the tomb, Bingley. What is there is not fit to be seen by anyone.”

  “What of Captain Fitzwilliam? What of your father and his steward; is everyone safe?”

  Darcy’s voice was heavy with grief as he replied, “Not all are safe.”

  Captain Fitzwilliam appeared at the entrance, his reddened cavalry sabre clutched in his left hand. With his right arm he supported the weight of the steward of Pemberley. Old Mr Wickham was pretty far gone; his head lolled to the side, and he was barely able to shuffle one foot in front of the other as they emerged from the crypt.

  Bingley set the lantern down and darted forward to assist. They were not more than two paces from the tomb entrance, and a chilling waft of air came up from below, redolent of corruption mingled with the stench of blood.

  He eased the ageing steward closer to the light and laid him down, trusting that the autumn leaves would serve as a blanket against the mist-damp ground. Captain Fitzwilliam crouched and took the old gentleman’s hand. Mr Wickham’s neck had been pierced in two places that bled freely; his breathing was laboured and shallow.

  Bingley pressed with his palm to try to staunch the wounds, though it seemed inconceivable to him that so grave an injury could be survived. His mind recoiled as it tried to picture what could have caused those punctures, half-glad that Darcy had bidden him remain with Louisa and half-regretful that he had not been able to join the rescue party — for one more man might have tipped the balance of the fight, and perhaps saved Pemberley’s steward from this terrible hurt.

  With that thought, he looked around to see who else might have followed Captain Fitzwilliam out of the tomb. He saw only Louisa and Darcy, tending to Miss de Bourgh. That young lady was now conscious, at least, but she still seemed very weak.

  “Where is your father, Darcy?” Bingley asked.

  Darcy bowed his head. “He rests with your own father now. We were too late to be of any help, beyond dispatching the last of the fiends that took his life as he sought to take theirs. But our elders were in time to save Miss de Bourgh at least, and we in turn were in time to save Mr Wickham.”

  “We were not in time,” Captain Fitzwilliam said. “The old gentleman is gone. I sorrow for him, and also for his orphaned daughter and son.”

  Bingley looked down to see that the steward of Pemberley was now perfectly still, and that his face had relaxed into a kind of peace. “Come, Darcy, we must bring your father out as well. Let us steel ourselves to the task.”

  Captain Fitzwilliam took charge with his customary military precision. “I shall assist you, Darcy. You and I together are quite able to manage what must be done.” He had cleaned the gore from his blade; now he returned it to its scabbard. “My cousin and I shall bring Mr Darcy up, and then cleanse what remains with fire. Bingley, you and your sister will assist Miss de Bourgh back to the house, if you please.”

  Bingley glanced at the tomb. He had still hoped to be able to go inside.

  “Please do as Captain Fitzwilliam says, Bingley,” Darcy told him. “Then send for Doctor Harrison; Miss de Bourgh has need of his assistance and I too have received some small injury. Miss Bingley, please do what you can to see to Miss de Bourgh’s comfort until the doctor arrives. You will be perfectly safe now; those evil things are all dead.”

  II

  Stoker, the footman whom Bingley sent to fetch Doctor Harrison, returned with the news that the doctor was nowhere to be found. Happily, the young man had overcome this setback: he had not only discovered that a Doctor Adler happened to be staying at the inn in Lambton, but also persuaded this physician to attend most urgently.

  Bingley felt a pang of jealousy toward the master of Pemberley as he wondered if any of his own servants would have shown such initiative. He was also gripped by the fear that Doctor Harrison might have suffered the same grisly fate that had befallen (among others) his own father and Darcy’s, but Doctor Adler, when he arrived, was full of assurances that nothing untoward had happened; his timid colleague had merely decided to join the household of his son for a while, and was also refusing to go out of doors after dark.

  “Harrison took refuge there two days ago,” he said. “I did my best to reassure him that it was just as safe to be at home, but he seems a nervous sort and kept going on about how isolated his house is. I little doubt that he’s a very fine physician, mind you, but perhaps not the right man for times like these. It is fortunate that I was here.”

  Considering the serious nature of Miss de Bourgh’s condition, Bingley could not have agreed more.

  Doctor Adler requested that instead of summoning servants, the gentlemen there present should be the ones to re-arrange a drawing room so that it might serve as an examination chamber.

  Bingley observed all this with great interest and threw himself into the unaccustomed task of moving furniture, as did the uninjured Captain Fitzwilliam. Together they fetched down a covered screen and set it up for privacy.

  Miss de Bourgh reclined on a chaise behind this barrier, and Doctor Adler examined her while
discoursing from time to time from the other side of the screen.

  “The wound was deep, I am afraid, Miss de Bourgh,” Bingley heard him say, “and I cannot predict how soon you will be free of it, but at least the immediate danger is past. Such injuries do heal with unnatural swiftness. This tendency is, of course, in the interest of the predator—”

  “Predator?” Darcy demanded.

  Doctor Adler stepped out from behind the screen. “You pretend to doubt it, sir, yet it is plain that you fought the creature yourself. Or will you have me believe that Miss de Bourgh’s injury results from an accident with a sewing chatelaine, and her mental lassitude is due to the lateness of the hour? I think not.”

  “You appear to have some particular knowledge of this sort of thing, sir,” Darcy said.

  “This sort of thing, as you put it, is the very business that brought me out of London idleness and into Derbyshire. Every serious doctor should have a speciality, and mine requires that I keep my trunk packed and my eyes open, since I never know where I will be needed. As soon as I saw the report in The Times of these unexplained deaths in the Lambton area, I came down directly. Was anyone else hurt tonight?”

  Darcy nodded, but at that moment appeared unable to bring himself to speak, and Bingley felt sympathetic tears well up as he realised that he understood precisely how his friend felt, for they shared the same tragedy.

  It soon became clear that Doctor Adler understood, too. “I surmise that you have lost someone close to you,” he said. “If so, you have my deepest condolences.”

  “Two lost their lives tonight: my father and his steward, Mr Wickham,” Darcy said, after a moment. “We also grieve for the father of Mr and Miss Bingley, who was taken two nights past, and for three of our servants before that. The two gentlemen who gave their lives in the crypt did so to save Miss de Bourgh. My cousin and I attempted to rescue the rescuers, but we were too late.”

  “I trust that you will not fall into the error of blaming yourself, Mr Darcy, for morbid introspection can do nothing except to make matters worse. But enough of that for now. We will speak more later, after I have looked at that wound of yours.”

  Bingley wondered unhappily if nothing more could be done for Miss de Bourgh; was there not some medicine or tonic that the doctor could offer before turning his attention to Darcy?

  Doctor Adler answered this question before it could be asked: “You must be put to bed, Miss de Bourgh, since rest is the only remedy for you now — and plenty of rich beef broth, as soon as you are strong enough to take it. Miss Bingley, if you would assist her, and perhaps sit with her for a while?”

  Both young ladies granted this request without demurral, since Miss de Bourgh was certainly fit only for her bed, and the grieving Miss Bingley wished for nothing more than to sit with her friend.

  The gentlemen all rose as the two females departed, and then Doctor Adler said, “Now Mr Darcy, I will attend to you next, if you please … and then I should be grateful for a more private audience with you gentlemen alone. Perhaps you have a room where lingering tobacco smoke would not offend the ladies on the morrow?”

  Once Darcy’s wounds had been dressed, he ushered his guests into the library and saw them settled comfortably near the crackling fire, and cheered by a decanter of brandy placed on a side table close at hand.

  Bingley looked around with great interest, for he had been presented with no occasion to enter Pemberley’s library before. It was a very spacious room whose walls were arrayed with cabinets and crammed with books from one end to the other. Only a few candles had been lit, so that much of the light came from the fire. A very large desk stood near the centre of the room, and on this was spread open an oversized atlas which put Bingley in mind of the gift (also an atlas) that his father had purchased to take home to his youngest child. The father would not be returning to his daughter now, and Bingley made a mental note to make sure that Caroline received this final token, for she would surely treasure it even though receiving it would quicken her grief.

  He realised that his attention had been wandering and returned himself to the business at hand. The doctor had accepted a glass of brandy and a pinch from the tobacco jar for his clay pipe, which he lit with evident enjoyment before holding forth: “I am pleased to say that you are not in any immediate danger, Mr Darcy. I believe you stand to make a full recovery, and indeed should experience nothing but positive effects from your ordeal.”

  “What of Miss de Bourgh?”

  The doctor hesitated. “How is her usual health, and her mental condition?”

  “Both are excellent,” Darcy said. “She has a most lively and curious mind. As for her health, I have known her since childhood and have seldom seen her ill. On the contrary, she has always seemed remarkably strong and resilient for one of her sex.”

  Doctor Adler shook his head. “I fear that may now change. It will be some time, if ever, before she regains her former vitality.”

  Bingley had deemed it more polite, up to now, to let his elders speak, but at this bleak assessment he could no longer remain silent. “But her wound was already healing, Doctor Adler,” he said; “you mentioned it yourself.”

  “The physical injury is one thing,” Doctor Adler told him. “But we are also speaking of an injury of the spirit, and in the case of Miss de Bourgh it was a grievous one, for I have no doubt that her attackers meant to make her like themselves.”

  “Then it is true, and that is how they increase their numbers.”

  “It is true. In this case the process was fortunately interrupted in time to save the young lady’s life, but it has nevertheless left her in a most weak and vulnerable state. I cannot say with any certainty what effects there may be in the months and years to come. Even you, Mr Darcy, who suffered a mere scratch by comparison, may not escape unchanged. Still, you fought and won.”

  “We did,” Darcy said. “What sort of thing should Miss de Bourgh and myself expect?”

  Doctor Adler regarded him with interest. “What sort of thing do you fear?”

  “That in time, my cousin — that is to say, Miss de Bourgh — and I might find that we are no longer … ourselves.”

  “Pray do not be concerned in that regard. The transformation was not completed — for that would require the victim’s death, swiftly followed by revivification through the monsters’ blood. A human who is injured or otherwise vulnerable can still fall under the influence of his attacker, but since you are certain that you have slain them…”

  “I am quite certain,” Darcy said. “Fitzwilliam and I burned their remains to ashes.”

  “You had first made sure that their hearts were pierced with wooden stakes?” Doctor Adler asked.

  “My father and his steward undertook that task and came near to completing it.” Darcy’s expression now became grimmer than Bingley would have imagined possible. “There was but one left when we arrived. The others lay around the tomb itself, upon which stood a crystal goblet that appeared to be filled with blood. As we entered the crypt, the surviving creature turned and cursed us for the loss of his minions.”

  Doctor Adler leaned forward with an attitude of great interest. “The goblet with the blood remains in the tomb?”

  “We left it there,” Captain Fitzwilliam said.

  “Then I shall recover it before I leave, for it is certainly the blood of the monsters. The substance that would have revivified Miss de Bourgh in the ritual they planned, might also be as medicine to her now.”

  Bingley found he could not conceal his astonishment. “You are saying that they bled themselves into this goblet?”

  “That is precisely what I am saying — and the timing of the rescue could not therefore have been bettered, for our enemies will surely have been weakened by this sanguinary sacrifice. Pray, which of you dispatched the leader?”

  “The fiend lunged at me first and gave me this.” Darcy indicated his bandaged shoulder. “Fitzwilliam slashed it with his sword, and as it turned to face him I dealt the
fatal blow. But whatever success I had was no more than luck … all those who were present played their part. The important thing is that the monsters are dead.”

  “In truth they are precisely as dead as they ever were.” Doctor Adler paused to puff at his pipe, glancing keenly around the gathered company as he did so. Then he continued, “They are simply less undead.”

  Undead. Bingley considered this new term, with all the horrors it implied. He thought of corpses that rose from their graves and walked abroad. He thought of the dead preying on the living. Even the act of imagining such things seemed ungodly to him, and he shivered and forced himself back into the present moment.

  Doctor Adler was still speaking. “The fact that you dispatched the leader and then burned him, Mr Darcy, stands greatly in your favour.” His cheeks narrowed as he drew another mouthful of smoke. “Still, there can be little doubt that both you and your fair cousin will experience changes.”

  “I expected no less,” Darcy replied. “Our knowledge of these matters comes from a certain old manuscript, which told how a portion of the monster’s demonic nature is reputed to enter each victim by means of the poison carried in—”

  Doctor Adler held up his pipe and Darcy fell silent. “You have been perusing papers that were better left unstudied, Mr Darcy. But as a specialist in this field of knowledge, I find myself keenly interested in this manuscript of yours … how did you come by it?”

  “Miss Ada Wickham discovered it in this very library.”

  Doctor Adler considered this for a moment. “That young lady, I suppose, is your late steward’s daughter?”

  Darcy nodded.

  “She is allowed unfettered access to your books?”

  “My father is … was always very ready to offer patronage to those whom he considered worthy of assistance, and Miss Wickham is blessed with many natural gifts of character and mind, as also with the diligence to improve them. So, for several years she has been welcome in our library and music room, as often as she pleases. I might mention that I was in full agreement with my father in this matter.” Darcy paused, then continued in a low voice, “And now the poor girl is orphaned. She has yet to be informed of her loss, of course. It must be done, though it grieves me to do it.”