An Evening Visit (Epilogue)

[Valentina Audley]

Good grief. Such melodrama! Useful enough in its way of course, but probably a habit of his to be curbed when he was a little further on in his training. Otherwise she's going to have to turn down a marriage proposal at this rate.... For now though he seems to be slipping towards the desired point, but may need more encouragement. Hrm... Ah yes, fainting. Every delicate young ladies best tactic for putting gallant young men in closer proximity.

She smiles gently down at him and resists the urge to pat him on the head. "Dear Jacob, you are too kind to me. How lucky I am to have found you!"

She returns the squeeze of hands and then gently disengages hers from him. "Moral quandaries aside, we have a business to run. Perhaps we should continue this discussion in the work room?" She stands slowly, carefully,accidentally on purpose letting him see how she pushed through the feigned exhaustion to do so.

[Jacob Swainswick]

Jacob stood as Valentina did, taking a step back so as not to crowd her. Having uttered his promise, he was at a loss as to how such an undertaking might be suitably satisfied.

He bowed his head in acquiescence, schooling himself against such demonstrative behaviour in the future: for although he had spoken from the heart, the delicate lady was clearly drained by the events of the evening, and the boisterous protestations of an enamoured (a devoted, he corrected himself) young tailor were not what she required.

Half-formed thoughts raced through his keen brain: of a series of pallid shopgirls (but to abuse an employee so would be utterly despicable); of that earnest young Doctor that Smith had introduced him to (but to sample the vital fluids of invalids seemed cruel - and might it not have a deleterious effect upon Miss Audley?); of society balls or dances (promising, but a young lady could not leave alone with a gentleman escort, and any direct attempt amidst society seemed to invite discovery); of the rigorous types who lived South of the river, and who worked upon the railway lines (and this idea had merit indeed - for were the papers not constantly full of tales of disappearance and ruffianism amongst those sorts?). None of these ideas seemed ideal to him. Nor had he any notion what an appropriate sum - pence, or shillings - would be to offer in exchange for a cup of blood from such a one.

He half-turned to lead the way to the workroom.

[Valentina Audley]

Well this seemed a promising opportunity.

She took a step to follow him, gave an artful little cry and let herself tumble towards him as though in a faint from exhaustion.

[Jacob Swainswick]

The first time a young lady had been overcome in Jacob's presence was not an event he liked to recall: the indecorous thump as Emma had fallen quite through his arms at her debut last Summer had turned every head in the parlor, and kept the tongues of Gloucester wagging for weeks.

The second occasion had been earlier that night; and although he had promised himself after that first occasion to prove more able in the future, a simple accident of personal geography: to wit, Miss Audley being interposed between himself and the insensible Miss Ash - had stymied his resolve.

Be it fate, then, or simply practice, the third time proved to be the charm. The young man only uttered an "oh!" of alarm, before slightly bending his knees, lest he jar her delicate neck, as he deftly scooped Miss Audley's tumbling form into his arms. T'was purest accident that her pale arm draped itself upon his shoulder, her head falling back against the crook of his arm to expose the milky softness of her throat. "Miss Audley!" he whispered; but from the recumbent creature there came no response.

As luck would have it, Miss Audley had been idly plumping the cushions against which Miss Ash had been so recently propped; her form nestled softly against them as he gently bent to place her upon the couch. Her eyelids were still closed; just as well, perhaps, for the act of laying her form upon the sofa required a degree of intimacy and closeness that we shall not dwell upon, save to note that the accidental brush of her lips against his cheek as her face turned scalded him in a manner that quite belied the coolness of her skin.

"Miss Audley?" the young man spoke her name again; but she was silent; silent, and oh, so still! No flicker of life at her throat; no gentle rise and fall of her breast.

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina idly compared Jacob to a puppy. He was warm, willing, eager to please and had the same level of untrained enthusiasm to all things. Still, a puppy was unlikely to be this much fun to play with. He'd been alarmed when she fell, but the positioning it had been an easy catch. Easy enough to drape an arm over him as well, listening to his heart beat, fast, as he held her close to him.

Valentina is never sure if she likes being held or not. On the one hand it's a restraint, puts her very close to some dangerous people and could be a huge risk. On the other hand... Well, it appeals to her sense of mischief and people really do tend to underestimate you when they think they have a hold on you. Being underestimated the most valuable cover and worth cultivating. The stupid rumours about shabbily dressed toreador helped with that. Admit what you've done, give reasons, appear vulnerable and there you go, a nice lot of courteous gentlemen (who were not at all courteous under their polished veneers if Valentina was any judge) ready and willing to defend her. Not that she needs defending, exactly. But, why go all out on your own when others are there and happy to do so for you?

Jacob breathes in deeply, then lowers her down to the sofa in a smooth movement. His heart is hammering in agitation, it's so loud and clear she can almost see the anxious expression on his face despite her closed eyes. Her sense of mischief wakes as she brushes her lips against his cheek, he's clearly shaved recently, the skin soft and warm. He probably hadn't even registered the gasp he gave as she did so and only long practise at the role of the damsel allowed her not to smile in satisfaction. Every night, surely as the sun set he was a little more hers naturally, but this way, he'd not want to untangle himself even if he were offered the chance.

She stays still on the sofa, eyes shut, allowing her hands to slip into her lap, leaving herself looking innocent and vulnerable. A few more moments and she'd respond, but at this point it occurred to her to see what he would do next - more valuable information about his personality to acquire there.

[Jacob Swainswick]

"Miss Audley?"

Valentina could hear his head turn against his collar, feel the shift of his body against the length of the sofa. "Where is that -" a muttered whisper.

Jacob stood briskly, eyes scanning the room. That dratted vinaigrette was nowhere to be seen: not on the mantelpiece, not (he stooped smoothly to check) underneath the sofa. It occurred to him that salts might not even have the desired effect upon one who seemed not presently disposed to inhale. Hesitant, he tapped his thumbnail against his teeth: a nervous habit that he'd never dream of displaying in public.

From behind closed eyes, the vampire could practically feel the idea spring into his mind.

"Don't be alarmed, Miss Audley. I'll be right back," he said, softly, and strode out of the room.

She could trace his rapid step into the kitchen, from whence an urgent clink of china issued; and then his hasty return.

Swainswick knelt again by the sofa, carefully placing the empty teacup in its saucer a hand's-breadth in front of him. He plucked the needle from the saucer; his worried look again returning to his employer, who still appeared for all intents and purposes to be -

No; he refused to even think the word.

[Valentina Audley]

She'd wondered briefly when he'd entered the kitchen, if he thought a cup of tea was going to be the answer, but the kettle made no sound and he wasn't gone nearly long enough. But when she heard the peculiar rasp of a pin being slid up the side of a cup into his fingers then she thought she understood his plan.

Valentina wondered idly if it was the best china and if he realised it would take more than a pin prick to produce enough blood for a teacup. Still, at least he'd had the sense not to go for the fabric scissors. Skin would blunt them horribly and she'd only just had them sharpened...

She stayed motionless on the sofa, listening and waiting.

[Jacob Swainswick]

Swainswick paused, hand held over the teacup. Not from fear of pain; any young man who has completed a tailor's apprenticeship is no stranger to the stab of a needle. Rather, his delay was due to cautious forethought: one of the many qualities that had recommended him to his employer.

With a tsk he shifted the needle to the other hand; a minor injury to the middle finger of his left hand, he reasoned, would prove far less of an impediment to his professional capabilities than one to his right. For Her, then. Unswerving, he jabbed the needle deep into the tip of his finger.

With a wince, he held the finger over the teacup, squeezing it. A rich droplet of red welled there; but this was no way to fill a thimble, let alone anything larger. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he looked once again at the supine figure beside him.

"Right," said he.

"Well then," he said.

Delicately, he repositioned himself on the edge of the sofa. "Miss Audley..." he essayed, one last time. It's really just like wetting the lips with brandy, he assured himself; and so assured, with much tenderness he leant forward and brushed the tip of his finger against his mistress' silghtly-parted lips.

[Valentina Audley]

He'd worked out the teacup with a pin wasn't a plan then. She was impressed, this was far more forward than she'd given him credit for being capable of. The finger against her lip was ever so slightly trembling and the merest hint of blood. That was enough though. She let her mouth fall open, just enough to show off her fangs, then opened her eyes.

She stares up at Jacob, letting confusion, hunger and then embarrassment flicker across her face before she reaches up and takes his hand cradling it gently in hers.

Time, perhaps, for some more maidenly protestations.

"Darling... I... I do not think I can ask such a thing of you..." She looks down, clearly torn between wanting and yet not wanting to hurt him. The fangs cause the slightest lisp as she speaks. Normally that annoys Valentina intensely, tonight she's hoping it adds to the air of girlish charm.

[Jacob Swainswick]

Jacob drew himself up.

"Miss Audley," he said, firmly, "you do not have to - nor should you have to - ask it. It pains me to see you in this weakened state. Had I realised what a drain upon you that encounter with Miss Ash would prove, I would have done more to deter her.

"I have strength enough," he concluded, "and if it is, as you say, no more than a pin-prick - why, I have borne as much already, and would gladly do so again, could that small sacrifice restore you."