Lucy’s eyes were beginning to tear up. Jane went to her and hugged her close. “Oh, sweetie,” she said. “Don’t let him hurt you. He’s not worth it. Believe me.”
“But he said such nice things,” said Lucy. “He quoted poetry.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “Yes, he’s very good at that,” she told Lucy.
“What are we going to do?” Lucy asked, sniffling.
“I don’t know yet,” Jane answered. “But whatever it is, he’s going to wish he’d never been dead.”
Chapter 17
Seeing Jonathan talking to young Minerva Jones-Lipton, Constance felt herself inclined to rush to the girl and snatch her out of harm’s way. As the girl prattled on, Jonathan regarded her intently, his dark eyes sparkling. It called to mind a hawk watching an oblivious field mouse, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop down and snatch it up in its talons.
—Jane Austen, Constance, manuscript
“HOW OLD ARE YOU EXACTLY?” LUCY ASKED JANE.
“Old enough not to answer that question,” Jane said. She was making room in the hallway closet and was discovering that she had far too many coats and scarves.
“Okay,” said Lucy. “But are we talking old enough to have partied with the Beatles, or old enough to have partied with Mozart?”
“We can discuss that another time,” Jane said.
She still had not given Lucy the details about her identity, and hadn’t decided if she ever would. It was bad enough that she’d said anything at all. Despite Lucy’s surprising willingness to believe Jane’s story, Jane was regretting having said anything Whatever was I thinking? she asked herself as she removed three umbrellas from the closet.
She blamed Byron. If he hadn’t seduced her, she would have had a clear head. Worse, she had given in to him based on his lies. He’d already revealed himself to Lucy. In more ways than one, I’m sure, Jane thought. What a horrid man.
But what was done was done. Now the only thing to do about it was to try to undo Byron’s plans. And Jane had come up with something she thought just might do the trick.
“He should be here any minute,” she told Lucy. “Are you ready?”
Lucy nodded. “I think so,” she replied.
Jane breathed deeply. “Good,” she said. “You stay in here until it’s time to come out.”
“How will I know?” Lucy asked.
“Trust me,” said Jane. “You’ll know.”
The doorbell rang, and Jane put her finger to her lips. “Inside,” she whispered, pushing Lucy into the closet and arranging the coats as best she could to conceal the girl. “Oh, and don’t forget these.” She pressed something into Lucy’s hand.
Lucy nodded as Jane shut the door. Jane checked her appearance in the hallway mirror, then went to greet Byron. When she opened the door, he gave her his most charming smile.
“Good evening,” he said in a voice that came straight out of a Bela Lugosi movie.
“Stop it,” said Jane. “That joke hasn’t been funny for decades.”
Byron stepped inside. “Personally, I find it’s quite a hit with the ladies,” he said.
“Calling the women you associate with ladies is stretching the definition a bit, don’t you think?” said Jane.
Byron laughed. “You’re in a mood tonight,” he said. “What’s brought this on?”
“What do you think?” said Jane. “I’ve had a headache all day.”
“Ah,” Byron replied. “Yes. I’m sorry about that. Has it really been that long since you’ve been with one of our kind?”
“You were the last,” Jane told him. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Really?” said Byron. “How extraordinary. Have you really not associated with any of our people in all these years?”
“Not in that way,” Jane said. “And in general, no. I did for the first fifty years or so, but I’m afraid I find most of them rather tiring.”
“And humans aren’t?”
“We are human,” said Jane. “Or at least we were.”
“True,” Byron agreed. “But not anymore. I am not now that which I have been.”
“You really do think a great deal of your own work, don’t you?” said Jane.
“I think in this instance the critics would agree with me,” he replied. “As I recall, Childe Harold was a favorite of yours as well.”
Jane took a seat on the couch. “Yes,” she said. “Well, at any rate, now we’re very old humans. Please, sit down.”
Byron sat on the other end of the couch. He was regarding Jane warily. “Why did you ask me here?”
Jane placed her hands in her lap. “I’ve been thinking,” she said carefully. “About your … offer.”
Byron lifted an eyebrow. “And?”
“And I think I’ve come up with a solution,” she said.
Byron said nothing for a minute. He kept his eyes on Jane. She forced herself to meet his gaze, not blinking. “Have you?” Byron said finally
“As you know, I’ve told Walter about myself.”
Byron nodded. “So it appears,” he said.
Jane hesitated. Much of her plan hinged on whether or not Byron believed the lie she was about to tell. “He’s agreed to share me with you,” she said.
“Has he?” Byron said, sounding genuinely surprised. “And why would he agree to such a thing?”
“Because he loves me,” said Jane. “He would rather share me than lose me completely.”
Byron shifted in his seat. He’s buying it, Jane thought. A fire of hope sparked in her.
“I must say I’m slightly disappointed,” said Byron. “I’d expected a bit more of a fight from him. Trying to put a stake through my heart or whatnot. This is … unexpected.”
“I was surprised as well,” said Jane. “But it was his idea, not mine.”
Byron’s nose twitched. “And just how would this arrangement work?” he asked.
“I suppose there are several options,” said Jane. “Alternate nights. Every other weekend. Or the three of us could share a bed.”
Byron looked shocked. “Share a bed?” he said.
“Yes,” said Jane. “Walter appears willing, and after all, you’ve been known to take a man or two into yours.”
Byron looked away. “I knew I should have burned those letters,” he said.
“It’s too late now,” Jane said gently. “They even mention them in your Wikipedia entry. Besides, no one cares about that anymore.”
“I don’t know,” Byron said, sounding like a petulant child. “I don’t think I want to share. I want you all to myself.” Then, surprisingly, he smiled. “You looked me up on Wikipedia?” he asked.
Jane ignored him. “Then I’m afraid we have a problem,” she said. “I won’t leave Walter.”
“I’ll kill him!” Byron declared.
“Then you’ll never have me,” Jane said firmly. “Besides, I can always turn him if it comes to that.”
Byron’s eyes darted from side to side. Jane could see he was desperate. He hated to lose. She prayed he would play the card she expected him to.
“The girl!” he said, as if he’d just now remembered her. “I’ll kill her. Her blood will be on your hands.”
“You still wouldn’t have me,” said Jane.
Byron’s face grew angry. He jumped to his feet, his hands clenched.
“Then I’ll turn her!” he shouted. “I’ll make her one of us!”
Jane said nothing. She was counting on her silence to infuriate Byron further. Predictably, it did. He rushed to her, dropping beside her on the couch and grasping her shoulders.
“I’ll do it, Jane!” he said. “You know I will. Unless you agree to be mine and mine only.”
“Please,” Jane said. “Don’t do that. She’s done nothing to deserve it.” She forced a tear from her eye.
“She reminds you of your sister,” said Byron. “I can see that.” His voice was gleeful. He thought he’d found her tender spot.
“She deserves a normal life,”
Jane said. “Not this.” She hoped Byron wouldn’t reveal that Lucy had already agreed to become a vampire if he wished her to. What happened next depended upon it.
Byron sat up. “Then make your choice,” he demanded. “Come with me or I turn the girl.”
At that moment the closet door flew open and Lucy emerged. “You’re too late!” she cried.
Byron stared at her, his mouth open. Then he looked at Jane. His face was a mask of confusion.
“I already turned her,” Jane told him.
“No,” said Byron. “You wouldn’t.”
“You were right,” Jane told him. “She does remind me of my sister. So much so that I decided I can’t live without her. This way we can be together forever.”
Lucy approached the couch. “You said you loved me,” she hissed at Byron. “But you were only using me to get to Jane.”
She knelt on the floor at Jane’s feet. Jane placed her hand protectively on Lucy’s head, stroking her hair. In response, Lucy opened her mouth, revealing two shiny white fangs.
“You see?” Jane said to Byron. “You have nothing left to threaten me with.”
“I could still kill them,” said Byron.
Jane laughed. “And risk being branded a traitor?” she said. “You know the rules as well as I do. You’d be hunted to the ends of the earth.”
She actually didn’t know if this was true, but she had heard as much, and hoped Byron had as well. She waited for him to respond, and was surprised when all he did was stand up and go to the door. He didn’t look back as he left the house.
“What was that?” Lucy asked after a minute had gone by with no sign of his return.
Jane shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think it means he believed it.”
Lucy reached up and removed the set of plastic vampire teeth she’d been wearing. “Thank God they still had some of these at the drugstore,” she said, rubbing her gums. “I thought with Halloween over they’d be out.”
“You played the part very well,” said Jane. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Lucy said. “You did all the work. Frankly, I can’t believe he fell for it.”
“We took away his options,” Jane said. “Without you or Walter he had nothing to threaten me with.”
“Except that Walter doesn’t know about you and I’m not a vampire,” Lucy reminded her.
“But Brian doesn’t know that,” Jane reminded her. “And there’s really no way for him to find out.”
“He must have been a real jerk when he was alive,” Lucy commented.
Jane considered telling her that she’d just escaped being made a vampire by one of the most famous romantic figures of all time. Lucy would probably love that. But the less the girl knew about Byron, the less she would know about Jane. Jane still wasn’t ready to tell her everything.
“Do I really remind you of your sister?” Lucy asked.
Jane nodded. “Yes,” she said. “You do.”
“What was her name?”
Jane hesitated. Should she invent a sister to keep her life a mystery? Lucy would believe whatever she was told. She deserves a bit of truth, Jane told herself.
“Cassandra,” she said. “Cassie.”
“Cassie,” Lucy repeated. “It’s a pretty name.”
“She would have liked you,” said Jane.
They sat together, looking into the fire. Jane thought about Cassie. Lucy really was quite like her. Both had a fine sense of humor. Both took life as it came to them. Both made her feel as though she had someone in the world whom she could trust.
“What do we do now?” Lucy said.
“We wait and see,” said Jane. “Mr. George is going to do whatever it is he’s going to do. We’ll deal with it when it happens.”
“I can’t believe I thought he liked me,” said Lucy. “What an idiot.”
“No more than I was once,” Jane told her. “I believed him as well.”
“But he does love you,” said Lucy.
Jane shook her head. “He doesn’t,” she said. “He just wants to believe he does. He’s starting to realize how lonely it is spending eternity alone.”
“Eternity,” said Lucy. “That’s a long time.” She laughed at her own joke. Jane, despite the silliness of it, did too. Then Lucy grew serious. “Will you really live forever?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Jane answered. “Legends certainly say so, but I’ve found that legends are often just that. Still, it’s already been quite a while.”
“The Great Depression quite a while or the fall of Rome quite a while?” Lucy asked.
Jane rapped her on top of her head. “Enough questions,” she said. “All in good time.”
Lucy groaned. “You’ve got to tell me something,” she protested. “After all, I almost gave up my soul for you.”
“Another legend,” Jane said. “The devil has nothing to do with it. My soul is still intact, thank you very much. But you’re right; I do owe you something. So here’s a clue—I once sat around a table while Madame Blavatsky attempted to summon my ghost for a group of curiosity seekers. She had no idea I was sitting across from her, and you can imagine my surprise when my spirit began to speak to the assembled guests. What a fraud she was, that one.”
“Gee, that narrows it down,” Lucy said. “Thanks.”
“I’m afraid it’s all you’re getting for tonight,” said Jane. “Now it’s up to the guest room with you. I think it’s best if you stay here tonight. It’s difficult to say what Byron—Brian—will do.”
Lucy looked at her and started to say something. Then she turned and walked to the stairs. “Good night,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night,” Jane called back. “I’ll be up in a bit myself. I just want to lock up down here.”
Lucy continued upstairs while Jane busied herself locking the door. She wondered if Lucy had heard her slip of the tongue and, if so, had understood what it meant. Probably she’ll grill me about it in the morning, she thought.
She checked the kitchen door and the windows, although it was rather pointless. Byron would be able to get into the house if he really wanted to. But it made her feel better to do it. Afterward she sat down in a chair by the fire. Although she enjoyed it, she didn’t have to sleep, and she thought she might as well stay up and make sure Lucy was safe. A moment later Tom jumped into her lap and curled up.
Jane opened up a book and started to read, but her thoughts kept returning to Byron. Would he really leave them alone? As much as she wanted to believe that the ruse had convinced him that he had no options left for blackmailing her, she wasn’t satisfied that this was the case. Lucy couldn’t play at being a vampire forever, and eventually he would see through her disguise. As for Walter, it would take only one pointed conversation with him for Byron to see that he had no idea what was going on.
Jane was relying on Byron’s pride to be his undoing. He hated losing, particularly in matters of the heart, and she hoped that what he believed to be his defeat in that arena would force him to leave. If he didn’t, she was going to have to tell Walter, and despite what she’d said to Byron, she wasn’t at all sure that Walter would be as understanding as she’d made him out to be.
“Did I make a mistake?” she asked Tom. He looked at her for a moment, yawned, and went back to sleep.
“I thought you’d say that,” said Jane.
She returned to the book. The beginning was slow, and she hoped it would get better. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 18
She longed to show the poems to Charles. She wanted to hear him read them aloud, and ached to know his opinion of them. Yet the thought of disclosing her passion to him and risking the possibility that he might laugh at her was worse even than having him turn away in disgust at learning of her involvement with Jonathan Brut.
—Jane Austen, Constance, manuscript
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE’S GONE?”
Jane and Lucy exchanged
a glance as they waited for Walter to answer Jane’s question.
“He’s gone,” Walter repeated. “He left last night. Apparently there was some kind of family emergency back home. I went over this morning to do some final touch-up work on the veranda railing, and I found this taped to the door.” He waved a crumpled piece of paper at them.
Jane stifled a smile. “It was a bit rude to just leave you a note,” she said.
Walter sniffed. “Writers,” he said. He looked at Jane. “Sorry.”
Lucy, busy unpacking a box of books, said, “That’s too bad. He seemed like an interesting man.”
“That’s not the word I’d use,” said Walter. “I mean, I understand if there’s an emergency, but to just take off like that?”
Jane was having difficulty containing her excitement. If Byron really had gone (and she wasn’t completely convinced that he had), then her plan had worked more beautifully than she’d hoped. But she couldn’t appear too pleased in front of Walter, who had no idea what Byron had wanted to do to him.
“I have to get back to work,” Walter said testily. “I just had to tell somebody.”
Jane affected a look of pity. “It’s all right, Walter,” she said. “These things happen.”
Walter mumbled something unintelligible in reply. “I’ll see you later,” he said.
When he was gone, Lucy turned to Jane. “We did it!” she squealed, jumping up and giving Jane a big hug.
“Possibly,” Jane agreed. “We still need to keep our eyes open. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“Too bad we didn’t have him autograph a few of these before he left,” Lucy said. She dropped a copy of The Complete Poems of Lord Byron on the counter. Jane looked at it for a moment.
“So you did hear me,” she said. “I wondered.”
“You know, I thought he seemed a little familiar,” said Lucy. “But I figured he just looked like some actor I’d seen or some guy who’d come into the store before. Then when you called him Byron it occurred to me where I’d seen him before. On this book jacket.”
Jane studied the portrait on the cover. “He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” she said.
“Mmm,” said Lucy. “He’s a hottie all right. A lying, cheating, blood-sucking hottie.” She leaned against the counter. “So, who does that make you?”