Origin of the Vampyre

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

Mary Shelley

Albion House

Marlow

April 1817

Dearest Mary,

I offer you a reprieve from the horrors of your own wretch with some from my own occupation. As always it needs not be said that I value your thoughts on all matters and trust any advice you might dispense to me.

The foyer clock has recently struck one.

The elderly gentleman mentioned in my previous correspondence lies outstretched upon the table, the major arteries from both legs and arms hanging loose from where I sliced open the flesh. The sternum has been sawed and the ribs cracked. The heart lies flat within my left hand.

All are devoid of blood.

I was deep in consideration of this when my door flew open with a gusting breeze and the Bow Street Runner entered my basement, wet from rain.

“Excuse me, Doctor,” he said. “I inspected the alley as requested and spoke to those within the vicinity.”

I wiped my hands as Officer Hamilton opened his ledger and read his notes to me.

“Smith Court. One young lass—a three-penny upright—who, under questioning, admitted to accommodating the deceased just before his death.”

“Does she have all her teeth?” I asked.

“She does. All are poorly and loose, but all are her own as far as I could tell. A pretty thing she is. Well-fed and intelligent. And adamant she and the gentleman had an arrangement and she had nothing to do with what happened after.”

“Did she witness what happened? The animal that did this?” I waved toward the foot.

“Well, not exactly. They were embracing in goodbye when the gentleman screamed in apparent agony and twisted sideways, throwing her to the cobbles. Her view was occluded by his coattails, but her nostrils were filled with the unmistakable stench of charnel house decay as she glimpsed a low-crouching shadow in the darker reaches of the court. The gentleman yelled for her to run. And so she scuttled across the cobbles on hands and knees, overwhelmed by the hovering stink. She looked back in time to see the gentleman’s flailing as he fell against the wall. She has no doubt she heard his skull c***k, but she dared not stop until she reached the late-night crowds of Piccadilly Circus.”

“No utterance from that which attacked him? No animal shriek or howl?”

Officer Hamilton cleared his throat in apparent discomfort. “Yes, Doctor. Amongst the screaming of her client and the deep grumbling of his attacker, she avows she heard the latter grunt the name Fairbank.”

Officer Hamilton and I held each other’s gaze, neither of us able to speak.

So, my Mary, I am certain you have already guessed my dilemma. The gentleman was killed where he was found. His vessels were devoid of blood, yet the scene of the crime contained little more than a smear. And further, if the lass’s account is to be considered more than the imagination of a terrified soul, it is possible we are not looking for an animal, but a human. The worst of all creatures.

Best,

John

Postscript: I have made reservations at Rules for when you are in London next week—a booth in the main salon for Friday lunch. A private dining room upstairs for dinner that same day. We have much to discuss.