Hunting Prince Dracula (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 2) Page 5

  1 DECEMBER 1888

  I snapped my mouth shut, more out of shock at such an egregious welcome than compliance.

  What a dreadfully rude man. He inspected Thomas with an equally patronizing sneer plastered across his face. I tore my attention from him, afraid I’d turn to stone if I stared too hard. For all I knew he was descended from the mythical Gorgons. He was certainly as charming as Medusa—which, I realized, was exactly what the door knocker had reminded me of.

  We stepped through the doorway and waited quietly as the man walked over to a maid and began instructing her on something in Romanian. My friend shifted from one foot to the other but remained silent. It was both a small miracle and a blessing.

  I glanced around. We were standing in a semicircular receiving chamber, and several darkened corridors stretched to our right and left. Straight ahead, a rather plain staircase split in two, leading to both upper and lower levels. An enormous fireplace offset the stairs, but even the inviting ambience of crackling wood couldn’t stop gooseflesh from rising. The castle seemed to chill in our presence. I thought I’d felt a gust of arctic air blow in from the rafters. Darkness clung in areas the fire didn’t reach, heavy and thick as a nightmare one couldn’t wake from.

  I wondered where they kept the bodies we were to study.

  The man lifted his head and met my gaze, as if he’d heard my inner thoughts again and wished to mock me. I hoped trepidation didn’t show through the cracks of my tarnished armor. I swallowed hard, releasing a breath once he’d looked away.

  “I have the strangest feeling about him,” I whispered.

  Thomas allowed his focus to drift to the man and the maid, who was nodding along to whatever he was saying. “This room is equally charming. The sconces are all dragons. Look at those teeth spitting flames. Bet Vlad had them commissioned himself.”

  Torches were lit and spaced evenly throughout the receiving chamber. Dark wooden beams edged the ceiling and doors, reminding me of blackened gums. I couldn’t help feeling like this castle enjoyed devouring fresh blood as much as its previous occupant enjoyed spilling it. It was an abysmal setting for any school, let alone one that studied the dead.

  Lemon and antiseptic cut through the scents of damp stone and paraffin. Cleaning materials for two vastly different purposes. I noticed the floor in the receiving chamber was wet from—I assumed—other students arriving in the storm.

  Wings flapped from the cavernous ceilings, drawing my attention upward. An arched window was set high up on the wall, cobwebs noticeable from here. I didn’t notice any bats but pictured red eyes glaring down at me. I hoped to avoid seeing such creatures during my time here. I’d always been afraid of their leathery wings and sharp teeth.

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and scurried down the corridor on the far left.

  “We weren’t expecting a spouse. You may stay two floors up to the left.”

  The man dismissed me with a flick of his wrist. At first I had thought him old because of his hair. Now I could see his face was mostly unlined and much younger. He was likely around my father’s age, no more than forty.

  “Forensic students are in the east wing. Or should I say, students vying for a spot in our forensics program are this way. Come”—he motioned toward Thomas—“I’m heading there myself. I’ll show you to your chambers. You may visit your wife only after classes end.”

  Thomas got that obnoxious glint in his eyes, but this wasn’t his battle to fight. I took a small step in front of him and cleared my throat. “Actually, we’re both in the forensics program. And I’m not his wife. Sir.”

  The nasty man stopped abruptly. He slowly spun on his heel, a high-pitched screech issuing from the soles of his shoes. He narrowed his eyes as if he couldn’t possibly have heard me correctly. “Pardon?”

  “My name is Miss Audrey Rose Wadsworth. I believe the academy received a letter of recommendation from my uncle, Dr. Jonathan Wadsworth of London. I’ve been apprenticing under him for quite some time now. Both Mr. Cresswell and myself were present during the Ripper murders. We assisted my uncle and Scotland Yard in the forensics investigation. I’m quite sure the headmaster received the letter. He responded.”

  “Is that so.”

  The way he said it wasn’t a question, but I pretended not to notice. “It is.”

  I watched the blankness leave the man’s face. A vein in his neck jumped as if it might strangle the life from me. While it wasn’t unheard of for a woman to study medicine or forensics, he clearly wasn’t a progressive sort who enjoyed having this boys’ club invaded by lace-wearing girls. Girls who obviously didn’t know their proper place was in a home, not a medical laboratory. The very nerve of him, assuming I was there only because Thomas brought me. I hoped he wasn’t a teacher. Studying under him would be a certain kind of perverse torture I should like to avoid.

  I thrust my chin up, refusing to break away from his stare. He’d not intimidate me. Not after what I’d been through with Jack the Ripper this past autumn. He raised a brow in appraisal. I had the impression that few people—man or woman—ever stood up to him.

  “Ah. Well, then. I didn’t think you’d follow through. Welcome to the academy, Miss Wadsworth.” He attempted a smile but appeared as if he’d swallowed a bat.

  “You mentioned something about vying for a spot in the program?” I asked, ignoring his sour expression. “We were under the impression we’d been accepted.”

  “Yes. Well. What a shame for you. We have hundreds of students who wish to study here,” he said, lifting his own chin with arrogance. “Not all gain admittance. Each season we host an assessment course to determine who will actually become a student.”

  Thomas drew back. “Our places aren’t guaranteed?”

  “Not at all.” The man smiled fully. It was a truly terrible sight. “You have four weeks to prove yourselves. At the end of that trial period, we will decide who gains full-time entry.”

  My stomach clenched. “If all the students pass the assessment course, does everyone get accepted?”

  “There are nine of you this round. Only two will make it through. Now, then. You may follow me, Miss Wadsworth. Your quarters are on the third floor in the east-wing tower. Alone. Well, not entirely. We house surplus cadavers on that level. They shouldn’t bother you… much.”

  Despite our new circumstances, I managed a small smile. The dead were books both my uncle and I enjoyed reading. I was not afraid of spending time alone with corpses, perusing them for clues. Well… not until recently. My smile faded, but I kept my shudder locked inside. I hoped to control my emotions, and being so close to the bodies might very well cure me.

  “They’d be more pleasant than some.” Thomas made an obscene gesture behind the man’s back, and I nearly choked on surprised laughter as he spun around, glaring.

  “What was that, Mr. Cresswell?”

  “If you insist upon knowing, I said you’re—”

  I shook my head slightly, hoping I conveyed to Thomas the need for him to stop speaking. The last thing we needed was to make a greater enemy of this man. “I apologize, sir. I asked—”

  “Address me as Headmaster Moldoveanu, or you will be sent back to whichever highbred cesspool you’ve both arrived from. I doubt either one of you will make it through this course. We have pupils who study for months and still aren’t accepted. Tell me—if you’re so good at what you do, where is Jack the Ripper, hmm? Why aren’t you in London hunting him down? Could it be you’re afraid of him, or did you simply run off when it became too difficult?”

  The headmaster waited a beat, but I doubted he truly expected an answer from either of us. He shook his head, his expression even more pinched than before.

  “Your uncle is a wise man. I find it highly suspect that he hasn’t solved that crime. Has Dr. Jonathan Wadsworth given up?”

  A shard of panic tore through my insides, piercing each organ in its attempt to flee, as I met Thomas’s startled gaze. We had never told Uncle about the Ripper’s true ide
ntity, though I knew he’d suspected well enough.

  Thomas clenched his fists at his sides but kept his troublesome mouth shut. He caught on that I would be punished for either his or my insubordination. Under different circumstances, I might have been impressed. It was the first time I could recall him containing himself.

  “I didn’t think you’d have an answer. Now, then. Follow me. Your trunks will be waiting in your chambers. Supper has already been served. You’ll be on time for breakfast, promptly at sunrise, or you’ll miss that, too.” Headmaster Moldoveanu started walking toward the vast corridor of the east wing, then paused. Without turning he said, “Welcome to the Institutului Naţional de Criminalistică şi Medicină Legală. For now.”

  I stood immobile for a few seconds, heart hammering. It was preposterous that this loathsome man was our headmaster. His steps echoed in the cavernous room, gongs of doom sounding the hour of dread. Drawing in a deep breath, Thomas slid his gaze to mine. This was going to be a very long and torturous four weeks.

  After leaving Thomas at his floor, I climbed the bare stairwell located at the end of a long, wide corridor the headmaster pointed out. The steps were made of dark wood and the walls a dismal white, lacking any of the crimson tapestries we’d walked past in the lower corridors. Shadows stretched wide between ill-placed sconces and pulsed along with my movements. It reminded me of walking through the desolate corridors of Bedlam.

  I ignored the flutter of fear in my chest, recalling the occupants of that asylum and the calculated manner in which some of them prowled behind rusted bars. Like this castle, that building reminded me of a living organism. One that had consciousness yet lacked a sense of right versus wrong. I wondered if I was simply in need of a warm bath and a good night’s sleep.

  Stones and wood did not equal bones and flesh.

  Moldoveanu had said my quarters were the first door on the right before he’d marched off to Lord only knew where. Perhaps to go sleep upside down in the rafters with the rest of his kin. I might have muttered as much, and he’d spun around, glaring. Things were off to a smashing start.

  I came to the small landing that contained my chambers and a second door a few feet down before the stairwell continued up. No torches were lit at that end of the hallway, and the darkness was oppressive. I stood there, frozen, convinced the shadows were watching me as intently as I stared at them.

  My breath came out in rapid wisps of white. I assumed the coldness was partly due to the castle being so high in the mountains, and partly because of the bodies that were being stored up there.

  Maybe that was what beckoned to me in the darkness. I briefly closed my eyes, and images of corpses rising off the examination tables, bodies half rotten with decay, assaulted my senses. Regardless of my sex, if any of my classmates suspected I was afraid of the cadavers, I’d be laughed out of the academy.

  Without worrying on that more, I pushed the door open and swept my gaze around the space. First glance suggested the room acted as a sitting room or parlor. As was the case with the rest of the castle, the walls were white and edged with deep brown-black wood. I was amazed by how dark it felt even with the pale walls and a blaze crackling in the fireplace.

  Bookcases took up the smallest wall, and on the left was an entrance to what I assumed was my sleeping chamber. I quickly crossed the sitting room—appointed with a brocade settee—and inspected what were indeed my sleeping quarters. They were cozy and made for a studious scholar. I had a small secretary with a matching chair, miniature armoire, single bed, nightstand, and trunk—all made of deep oak that had probably been gathered in the surrounding forest.

  An image of bodies being pierced with black stakes dashed across my thoughts before I could banish it. I hoped none of those pieces of wood had been reused in the castle. I wondered if the person who’d impaled that man in town had taken branches from here as well.

  I forced my thoughts away from the victim on the train and the one from the paper. There wasn’t anything I could do to help. No matter how much I longed to.

  After a cursory glance at the second door—the water closet Headmaster Moldoveanu had said came attached to my chambers, no doubt—I shifted my attention back to the sitting room. I spied a small window perched near the exposed beams, staring out at the vast Carpathian range. From here the mountains were all white and jagged, like broken teeth. Part of me wished to crawl up to the window and gaze upon the winter world that lay beyond, ignorant of my troubled disposition.

  I couldn’t wait to call for warm water for the washbasin and rinse the grit of travel away. But first I needed to find a way to speak with Thomas. I still hadn’t had an opportunity to show him the dragon illustration that I’d found and was going to go mad if I didn’t discuss it soon. Not to mention, I was especially curious about his strange reaction to Dăneşti’s name and wanted to inquire about it.

  I touched the parchment in my pocket, assuring myself it was indeed real and not a figment of my imagination. It terrified me that it might be connected to the murder on the train. I dared not consider what message it was meant to convey by being left in my compartment. Or who might have been skulking about without my knowledge.

  I stood before the fireplace, allowing its warmth to wrap itself around my bones as I considered a plan. Once we had entered the castle, Moldoveanu never stated that we had a curfew. Or that I was not permitted to wander the halls. It would be quite the scandal if discovered, but I could sneak down to Thomas’s chambers in a—

  Creaking floorboards somewhere inside my quarters had my heart bashing against my chest. Images of murderers creeping through train cars and leaving cryptic notes with dragons on them assaulted me. He was here. He’d followed us to this castle and now he’d impale me, too. I’d been a fool not to confide in Thomas while Mrs. Harvey was napping. Breathe, I commanded myself. I needed a weapon. There was a candelabra across the room, but it was too far to snatch without being seen by whoever might be lurking in the bedchamber or water closet.

  Instead of drawing too close to those rooms without a weapon, I plucked a large book from the shelves, ready to swing it at someone’s head. Knocking them out or stunning them was the best I could do. My focus drifted around the sitting room. It was empty. Completely and utterly void of any living thing, as I’d already determined. A quick scan of the bedchamber showed me the same result. I didn’t bother with the water closet; it was likely too small to contain any real threat. The creaking noise was likely the castle settling. I sighed and placed the book back on its shelf. It was truly going to be a dreadful winter.

  I was grateful for the fireplace. It thawed my nerves. Even in the cramped space, the heat made me feel as if I were on an island in the tropics as opposed to a lonely tower in an icy castle, hearing things that weren’t as terrifying as my own imagination.

  I rubbed small circles around the center of my brow ridge. Memories of Jack the Ripper’s final moments in that godforsaken laboratory as he flipped the switch… I stopped myself right there. Grief needed to release me from its stubborn embrace. I could not keep doing this to myself night after night. Jack the Ripper was never coming back. His experiments were over. Just like his life.

  The same held true for this castle. Dracula lived no more.

  “Everything’s so bloody difficult,” I swore to myself as I plopped onto the settee. At least I thought I was alone, until someone choked back laughter from behind a closed door. My cheeks flushed as I grabbed the large candelabra and rushed to the barely lit water closet. “Hello? Who’s there? I demand you show yourself at once.”

  “Imi pare rău, domnişoară.” A young maid stood abruptly from her place near the tub, apologizing as her cleaning rag plunked into a bucket. Gray eyes stared back at me. She wore an off-white peasant blouse tucked into a patchwork skirt with an embroidered apron. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. My name is Ileana.”

  Her accent was soft and inviting—a hint of summer whispering through a desolate winter night. Black hair was braide
d and coiled under her maid’s cap, and her apron was smudged with ashes, presumably from the blazing fireplace she’d stoked before I’d entered the room. I released a breath.

  “Please don’t bother calling me ‘miss.’ ‘Audrey Rose’ or just plain ‘Audrey’ is perfectly fine.” I glanced around at the newly cleaned washroom. Liquid flames reflected off each dark surface, reminding me of spilled blood catching the moonlight. Like the bodily fluids leaking from Jack the Ripper’s double-event victims. I swallowed the image away. The castle was wreaking havoc on my already morbid memory. “Are you assigned to this tower?”

  Color blossomed across her skin as she nodded, noticeable even under layers of ash and grime. “Yes, domnişoară… Audrey Rose.”

  “Your English accent is excellent,” I said, impressed. “I’m hoping to improve my Romanian while here. Where did you learn the language?”

  I snapped my mouth shut after asking. It was a dreadfully rude thing to comment on. Ileana simply smiled. “My mother’s family passed it along to each of their children.”

  It was an odd thing for a poor family from the village of Braşov, but I let it pass. I did not wish to insult a potential new friend any further. I caught myself fiddling with the buttons on the side of my gloves and stopped.

  Ileana hoisted a bucket on her ample hip and nodded toward the door. “If I don’t finish lighting fires in the boys’ rooms, I’ll be in a world of trouble, dom—Audrey Rose.”

  “Of course,” I said, wringing my hands. I hadn’t realized how lonely I was without Liza, and how much I wanted a girl friend. “Thank you for cleaning. If you leave some supplies, I can help.”

  “Oh, no. Headmaster Moldoveanu wouldn’t approve. I’m to tend to the rooms when they’re unoccupied. I wasn’t expecting you for a few more moments.” My face must have displayed my disappointment. Her expression softened. “If you’d like, I can bring breakfast up to your rooms. I do it for the other girl here.”

  “There’s another girl staying this winter?”