The three musicians began playing a lively tune Jane recognized as “Jack’s Maggot.” She had danced it often as a young woman, and it was a favorite. It was not entirely appropriate for the kind of dancing they were now doing, but that did not diminish her joy at hearing it again.
“Here we go!” Katherine called out. “One, two, three, four, and swing!”
Jane locked left elbows with Byron and the two circled each other. “This brings back some memories,” Byron remarked.
“It does indeed,” said Jane.
“Now clap for eight!” Katherine reminded them.
Jane dutifully clapped for the count and then moved to her right to dance with a gentleman she did not know. He smiled but said nothing as they turned twice around.
Her next partner was Ben. On their first swing he said, “Have you decided what to do about Walter?”
“No,” Jane replied. “But I have fifteen bars to think about it.”
“Good luck,” said Ben as they finished their second swing and parted to stand facing each other and clapping.
“Well,” Jane said to Ned as she took his arm for the next measure. “How do you like being Beverly’s boy toy?”
“I’m Ted,” the young man replied. “Ned couldn’t take it anymore. Besides, he wanted to dance with Chloe.”
“Sneaky,” said Jane. “Let’s just hope Beverly doesn’t try to take a bite out of you.”
Ted paled as he let go of Jane, and as she stepped back she felt obligated to say, “I’m just teasing.”
This seemed to do little to make things better, as Ted appeared rattled and mistakenly clapped on the up beat. But there was no time to apologize again before Jane found herself with Sherman.
“Just the woman I wanted to see,” said Sherman. He pulled her close in to his body and whispered, “They found a note in the pocket of Jessica Abernathy’s jacket, asking her to meet at the fairgrounds.”
“Do they know who sent it?” asked Jane.
“Someone called Violet Grey,” said Sherman as he released Jane’s arm.
Jane stifled a gasp, almost forgetting to clap. Violet Grey? Did that mean Charlotte was in town? Had she killed Jessica—her sorority sister—to send a message to Jane?
“Isn’t Chloe’s costume fabulous?” her next partner asked as they began their swing.
“Don’t bother,” Jane said. “I know you’re Ned. You have some nerve, leaving your brother with that jackal.”
“I’m sorry,” Ned told her. “I just couldn’t stand it anymore. She keeps trying to hold my hand.”
“You’re lucky that’s all she’s trying to hold,” said Jane. “But you won’t have to do it for much longer, so don’t worry. We won’t let her savage you.”
During the two bars of clapping she looked to her right. Walter was dancing with a woman Jane didn’t know. But he kept stealing glances at Jane. Moments later they were arm in arm.
“I thought you’d never get here,” Walter told her.
“I’m sure your mother is thrilled about it,” said Jane.
“Can we not talk about her?” Walter said. “At least for the next count of four.”
When he let go of Jane it was reluctantly. As their arms parted his fingers grabbed hers. Just for a second he held them tightly. Then Jane stepped back and the connection was broken. She looked into Walter’s eyes as they clapped. I can’t keep doing this, Jane thought.
Her final partner was a stranger, a short, jolly man who swung her with such vigor that she was almost swept off her feet. She was relieved when their turn was over and she was once again dancing with Byron.
“Did anything interesting happen?” he asked as he and Jane did their final swing.
“Our Gloomy Friend may be in town,” Jane informed him. “I think that qualifies.”
There was no more time for discussion as they parted and clapped down the final bars. But the music kept playing as Katherine’s voice came over the speaker. “Gentlemen, stay in place and continue clapping,” she instructed them. “Ladies, your job is a little trickier. Remember your numbers?”
A chorus of laughter and yeses filled the room.
“I hope so,” said Katherine.
Jane wished she could sneak out of the circle. But it was too late. Not only was the circle of men keeping her inside, there was simply no way to do it without causing a commotion. Also, it would leave the circle with an odd number of couples, which would make the dance impossible.
“Ladies, turn and face inside the circle.”
Jane turned her back to Byron. Across the circle from her was Posey, moving back and forth as she kept time with her feet.
“When I say go, I want the odd-numbered ladies to walk forward and meet in the middle of the circle,” said Katherine. “You’ll join hands and circle to your right for a count of eight. If you do it right, you should end up back where you started. Walk backward to your starting position. Then we’ll repeat those steps with the even-numbered ladies. On the next bar, we’ll begin!” said Katherine. “And two, three, four, go!”
Jane watched as Beverly, Chloe, and the two unknown women walked forward and joined hands. As they circled she counted down the bars until she would have to move forward and take Miriam’s hand. She comforted herself with the knowledge that Lucy would be on her other side.
The women on either side of Jane returned to their places. At the beginning of the next bar Katherine called out, “Even-numbered ladies!” and Jane willed herself to move. When she reached the center she gladly reached for Lucy on her left. She hesitated a moment and then extended her hand to Miriam on her right.
Miriam’s hand was cool and dry. But seconds after Jane grasped it she felt a wave of emotion wash over her, a sickening wall of fear and rage. Instinctively she dropped the woman’s hand and stepped away as if she’d been stung. Miriam stared at her, her eyes blazing.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said, letting go of Lucy’s hand. “I have to go.”
Turning, she ran toward Byron, pushed him aside, and ran as quickly as she could toward the door.
“YOU COULD HAVE MENTIONED THAT JESSICA WAS DEAD,” BYRON said. He sounded hurt.
“I’m not apologizing for that,” said Jane. “I didn’t know Our Gloomy Friend might have had something to do with it, not until Sherman told me at the dance. And anyway, I only found out this morning. I was still basking in the joyous news.”
They were in Jane’s living room. Jane was stretched out on the couch, an afghan covering her, and Byron was seated in one of the armchairs. He still wore his dancing clothes, but Jane had swapped her dress for a pair of pajamas made from lightweight pink flannel printed with images of small gray mice. They each had a glass of merlot, and the almost empty bottle sat on the coffee table.
“Does Sherman know who Violet Grey is?” asked Byron.
“I doubt it,” Jane answered. “I think he was just pleased to have more information about Jessica’s murder.”
“Being in possession of that information is very dangerous for him,” said Byron. “If Our Gloomy Friend really is responsible, she’s going to go after anyone who knows anything about her.”
“Including us,” Jane said.
“Especially us,” said Byron. He sighed and glanced at his watch. “It’s almost two,” he said. “Do you want to go over the rules of softball so you’re ready for tomorrow’s game?”
Jane groaned. She’d forgotten all about the big Janeites versus Brontëites ballgame. Having never played softball, she had only a vague idea of what was involved. Byron had volunteered to help her figure it out, and Jane had brought home a book on the subject from the store. She handed it to Byron. “Read,” she said.
Byron opened the book. “ ‘Softball is commonly mistaken for an easier version of baseball,’ ” he read. “ ‘In fact, it is just as interesting and just as complex a game. The fundamental difference between the sports is the size of the ball used and the style of pitching, which in baseball is overhand and in softball is
underhand.’ ”
“I’m already bored,” said Jane. “Can you condense it all for me?”
Byron skimmed the page and turned to the next one. After flipping through perhaps a dozen or so he shut the book and sighed. “You stand on a plate, someone tosses a ball at you, and you try to hit it with a stick,” he said. “If you succeed in hitting it and no one catches it, you run. If you run far enough, you score a point for your team.”
“That sounds rather easy, really,” Jane said. “Surely there must be other rules?”
“Well, yes,” said Byron. “Quite a lot of them, actually. Do you really want to hear them all?”
“I don’t think I do,” Jane said. “I imagine if there’s anything I need to know they’ll explain it to me.”
“Pity they aren’t playing cricket,” said Byron. “That would be much easier. These American games make absolutely no sense.”
“Why do you think Miriam hasn’t made her move yet?” Jane asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” said Byron. “And Lilith hasn’t brought us any additional information. I’m beginning to think the little bitch is a liar.”
“Ned hasn’t been any more useful,” Jane said. “According to him, all Beverly talks about is how wonderful you are.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Byron. “Just between us, I think she had rather a crush on me.”
“She’s planning on murdering you,” Jane reminded him.
Byron waved a hand, dismissing the idea. “The two are hardly mutually exclusive,” he said. “There have been plenty of lovers I would gladly have murdered.”
“I’m sure there are one or two you actually have,” said Jane. She hesitated before asking her next question. “You’ve never told me: Why did you turn Char—Our Gloomy Friend?”
Byron sighed deeply. “I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to ask,” he said.
Jane poured more wine into his glass. “It surprises me as well, and I really don’t know why I haven’t asked before. I suppose I didn’t really like to think of you with her.”
“Your jealousy is flattering,” said Byron, lifting his glass to her. “If I didn’t know you were in love with someone else, I might just try to seduce you again.”
Jane laughed. “And give up on Ted?” she asked.
“I fear that’s a lost cause,” Byron said. “Anyway, about Our Gloomy Friend. What do you know about her death?”
“Very little,” said Jane. “If I recall correctly, she died of typhus.”
Byron nodded. “That’s correct,” he said. “She contracted it from one of the family’s servants, an old woman called Tabitha Ackroyd. Did you also know that Our Gloomy Friend was pregnant at the time of her death?”
“No,” Jane said. “How awful.”
“It was,” said Byron. “But if it weren’t for the child, I might never have turned her.”
Jane sipped her wine. “How do you mean?”
“It was mine,” said Byron.
Jane gasped audibly. “It wasn’t!” she said.
“It was,” Byron said. “I wouldn’t marry her, and so she married her father’s curate. Arthur, his name was. A peculiar-looking fellow. He rather resembled Stephen King.” He paused for a moment. “Now that I think of it, I wonder … No, it couldn’t be. Could it?”
“Our Gloomy Friend,” Jane reminded him.
“Our Gloomy Friend,” said Byron. “Yes. Well, as I said, she was pregnant with my child.”
“And you refused to marry her,” Jane said. “Which was very gentlemanly of you, I must say.”
“I was young,” said Byron.
“You were sixty-seven,” Jane countered. “Did she know who you really were?”
“Not until later,” said Byron. “Anyway, she contracted typhus and was near death. Although I wouldn’t marry her, I did want the child. I had very little to do with my other children, you know.”
“Yes,” said Jane. “You weren’t exactly father of the year.”
“I wanted to try,” Byron said. “To be honest, I didn’t love Our Gloomy Friend. I never had. But the child was different.”
“So to save the baby you killed the mother,” Jane said. “Does it work that way?”
“As far as I knew, no one had ever tried it,” Byron answered. “She was going to die anyway, and the child with her, so there was nothing to lose.”
“For you,” said Jane. “Did you give her any say in the matter?”
Byron shook his head. “She was delirious with fever when I turned her. She thought it was all a nightmare.”
“And the child?”
“Stillborn,” said Byron. “I don’t know if the typhus killed it or if I did, but as I said, it hardly matters.”
Jane set her wineglass down. “Despite everything, I can’t help but feel sorry for Charlotte,” she said, momentarily forgetting her own rule against using her enemy’s real name. “First you get her pregnant and refuse to marry her, then you turn her into a vampire. And after all of that you don’t stay with her.”
“I couldn’t,” Byron said defensively. “She was half mad. All she did was scream at me and demand that I bring her victims to feed from. She wouldn’t hunt for herself. I endured it for half a year and then I left before I lost what was left of my humanity.”
“But you saw her again,” said Jane. “In New Orleans.”
“Our paths crossed from time to time,” Byron said. “She seemed to have accepted her new life. In fact, she seemed quite happy with how things turned out.”
“Except that she had her mummified siblings in her house and had dinner with them every night,” Jane reminded him.
“There is that,” Byron agreed.
“Have you given up trying to convince Ted to let you turn him?” Jane asked.
Byron was quiet for a long moment. “It has to be his idea,” he said. “It was a terrible mistake turning Ned. Even if I did think he was his brother, that doesn’t excuse what I did. And trying to get Ted to become like us won’t change any of that. I don’t think even Ned is trying to sway him.”
Jane thought about Ted growing old as his twin stayed young. She had gone through that with Cassie, although Cassie had never known that Jane still lived. Jane had watched her from afar.
“Why didn’t you ever give her the choice?” Byron asked.
“How did you do that?” asked Jane. “Can you read my thoughts?”
“Thankfully, no,” Byron said. “But I know how you felt about your sister, and given the similarity in circumstances, I thought it likely you might be thinking of her.”
“I am,” said Jane. “I don’t know if Ned and Ted are as close as Cassie and I were, but I have to imagine they are. If that’s the case, then I know why Ned isn’t asking Ted if he’ll consider being turned.”
“And why is that?” Byron inquired.
“Because,” said Jane, “he’s afraid Ted will say yes.”
Byron looked at the floor. When he looked up his eyes were filled with sadness. “Is it really so bad?” he asked quietly.
“It’s not about whether it’s good or bad,” said Jane. “It’s about knowing the other person will choose eternal life because she wants to be with you, not because she wants it for herself.”
“I never gave Our Gloomy Friend a choice,” said Byron. “I never gave you a choice, or Ted.”
“Ned,” Jane said. “It was Ned.”
“The point is I never asked any of you what you wanted. I turned you because I wanted to.”
Jane patted the seat beside her on the couch. “Come here,” she told Byron.
He did as she said, and when he was next to her Jane spread the afghan over both of them. “You’re very good at turning people’s lives upside down, aren’t you?” she said.
“It seems that way,” Byron said.
“It’s not an attractive trait,” Jane informed him. “And it hasn’t served you well.”
“It hasn’t, has it?” said Byron.
“And now we’
re both sitting here wondering when we might be killed by either your ex-lover or a vampire hunter,” Jane continued. “Some people might say that’s all your fault.”
Byron groaned and leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m sure this isn’t going to help my situation,” he said. “But I feel the need to point out that you’re the one who tried to kill Our Gloomy Friend.”
“I wish people would stop bringing that up,” Jane said. “It hardly compares.”
“I really do think she hates you more,” said Byron. “Do you suppose it’s because she’s jealous of your success, or is it because I favor you over her?”
“You’ve learned a great deal from our conversation, haven’t you?” Jane said.
Byron took her hand and held it. “I’m merely trying to put off considering what it all means,” he told her. “I thought it might help if I put some of the blame on you.”
“Well tried,” Jane said. “But not this time. This could be the last evening we spend together. Do you really want me to remember you like this?”
“Me?” said Byron. “Why do you assume that I’m the one they’ll be successful in killing? I might remind you that your skills are far less developed than mine.”
“Through no fault of my own,” Jane argued. “You never told me I could do any of these things.”
“Because you ran away,” said Byron. “Had you stayed around, I might have. I mean I would have. At least I would have considered it.”
“Mmm,” Jane said, drinking more wine. “Your dedication is awe-inspiring. You can see why I was so anxious to remain by your side.”
Byron tried very hard not to laugh but was unable to maintain his composure. “I really am a shit, aren’t I?” he said when he could speak again.
“You are,” Jane said. “But I do love you.”
Byron looked at her. “I love you too,” he said.
He continued to look at her, so Jane added, “This doesn’t mean we’re going to kiss.”
“I know,” said Byron. “I wasn’t thinking that. I was just thinking how lucky Walter is to have you.”