If Morning Never Comes - Episode Twenty-One
In Which: Charles Handles Invitations and Confrontations
Editor’s Note:
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The moor took on a shade of brown as the months passed. No other bodies were found, and even Herr Stryker seemed to relax. Mr. Raines’ courtship with Eleanor continued, but Charles did not see much of Ashwood these days.
Instead, he spent his time at Herr Stryker’s little cottage, training and studying. Every morning was early and many nights were late, but Charles was happy. It was hard work, the exercise was exhausting, and he did not have nearly the knack for science that Stryker did. But every morning he woke up, knowing exactly what was expected of him, and every night he got in bed weary from a day well-spent. He had never known better sleep.
He was getting stronger and faster. That pile of rocks was still no friend of his, but he could hardly contest its value now. Some days Herr Stryker just had him run or attempt some acrobatic stunt until he injured himself. He had become competent, if not proficient, with the saber. His marksmanship was much better. He was also learning to box – one of his more painful lessons. Stryker’s fists were no less rough for being old. Every now and then he managed to get in a quick jab, but the German always made up for it.
His mind was also taxed to its limit. He read books on chemistry and biology (including Hematophagy in the Lower Mammals), history and warfare, art, philosophy, even theology. He and Herr Stryker would talk for hours at a time before the fire after completing his assigned reading for the day. Stryker insisted that he fully comprehend what he had read and develop a respectable opinion. One of his favorite techniques was to ask Charles a deep question when he picked up one of the large stones and then expect him to have an answer when he returned. That gave him the span of the whole walk back and forth to think about it. Then Stryker would respond, and so on. Charles never knew that thinking was so much work.
Of course, he still worried about Mr. Raines, but he was so happy with his new life that he had little time to fret. He felt like he was finally living, like there was a reason to wake up. One day – soon, he hoped – he would be ready to face the vampire. Together, he and Stryker would put a stop to his schemes. He would rid the moorland of the scourge and save his family from certain death. And while he would never admit it to Herr Stryker, some nights when he was too tired to fall asleep, he thought about Amelia. His passion for her was hibernating, but not gone. He felt ashamed of it at times, but he could not erase her memory completely.
But that was not a concern now. He had managed to distance himself from his sniping family, he had found a woman he loved, and he finally had a true friend. Not a common drinking companion like Tom (who periodically tried to rejoin his master at John’s insistence), but a real comrade. When he thought back to how he had written off Herr Stryker so quickly the day he met him, he thanked God that Stryker had not done so to him.
They did everything together. They worked, they studied, they planned, they prayed and they laughed. Charles had never spent much time around other men, and the ones he had had never impressed him. But as he saw Georg Stryker live his life day by day, always up early, always active, never petty and never hypocritical, he knew that this was exactly what he wanted for his own life. And while sometimes he wondered how he could ever live up to the standard that was being set for him, for now it was enough simply to be near this crazy old man.
It was a bright, cold morning, frost still glistening on the scrub grass. The wind was quiet. The only sound was a rhythmic clack-clack that echoed around Stryker’s cottage. Charles and his teacher were moving around the flat ground behind the house in what must have looked like a strange dance from a distance. In each hand Charles held a short stick, a little shorter than the stakes he had carved. Stryker held a pair as well. Their arms moved in smooth loops, their weapons cracking against each other with each motion. The sticks knocked together at a pace just under three per second. Charles was moving backwards, parrying Stryker’s attacks. It was half game, half combat. Stryker claimed to have learned the technique from a Spanish hunter long ago. It was designed to teach coordination and increase reaction time. At first they had gone much slower and Charles took a few good raps to the head and knuckles, but he had improved and now he found the rhythm calming. It helped him focus.
As they swung, they discussed the hunt. New developments had come from Raines Manor that morning.
Stryker spoke in measured tones, “The ball will be next week. Why would they open their home again?”
Clack-clack, the sticks kept swinging.
Charles answered, “Perhaps at Eleanor’s insistence. Mother’s dying to show them off together.”
He pivoted as Stryker turned.
“Hmm. Perhaps.” Clack-clack. “But there are other ways to accomplish that.”
Charles blocked two overhead blows in a row. “Yes, but to have it at the manor would be just what she’d want.”
Stryker paused to consider, “Do you think Raines cares so much about what your family thinks?”
Charles barked a laugh as they continued, “I suppose not.”
Stryker held a blow then stepped back and beckoned Charles forward. Charles moved to the offensive and the mock-fight went on.
“I see three possibilities,” said Stryker. “One, he is trying to keep up appearances, perhaps involving your sister and family. Doesn’t want too much suspicious talk to be going around.”
Charles nodded.
“Two,” said Stryker, “The female has recovered and they would like to reintroduce her to society. Come on, Charles, stay focused.”
Charles readjusted and struck again, “No, I don’t think that would be it.”
“Why not?”
“Well,” Clack-clack. “They haven’t given any indication that that’s what they’re doing. I should think such an occasion would merit announcement.”
“You may be right,” said Stryker. His eyes had a tendency to lose focus during this game. He reacted so naturally that Charles no longer bothered trying to catch him off guard.
“What’s your third option?” said Charles.
“There is a hidden motive that we do not understand.”
The clacking continued as they moved towards the infamous tree. Charles laughed again, trying not repeat patterns, as Stryker had taught him.
“Well, if that’s the case we’re at his mercy aren’t we?”
“Our hunt has always benefited from a defensive posture,” said Stryker. He called for Charles to stop and sat down under the tree. Stryker would squat with his feet flat on the ground, knees brought to his chest. It looked relaxing but Charles could never manage it for very long. He elected to lean against the boughs, which had lost most of their leaves at this point. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.
“So what do we do, Herr Stryker? Should we go?”
“I was not invited, Mr. Ashley. The question is whether or not you should go.”
“Should I?” asked Charles. “Alone?”
“There’s no reason to go alone,” said Stryker. “I’m sure Miss Tarrant would enjoy a nice evening out.”
Charles smiled. Herr Stryker had certainly taken an interest in his courtship with Jenny. “The lair of a vampire hardly seems romantic,” said Charles.
“On the contrary,” said Stryker, “If you can bring her into a place like that and then escort her safely out, you will have shown yourself to be quite the gallant hero.”
“That’s true,” joked Charles, “Although since she’s unaware of the situation, the gravity of my heroism might be lost on her.”
“Heh!” laughed Stryker. “Women have a way of knowing when something is wrong. Miss Tarrant is a very insightful young lady.”
“She is,” agreed Charles. He held his twin canes in one hand. “Alright, I’ll go.”
“Good,” Stryker nodded. “It’s about time something moved forward in this business. If we’re restless he’s got to be.”
While the months had been enjoyable for Charles, there was always the shadow of something about to happen. They had talked the subject to death, but the short answer was that they did not know why Mr. Raines had stopped killing. And not just people either – there had been no more dead sheep. Herr Stryker said many times that they needed more pieces to the puzzle. Something needed to happen.
Charles had a more aggressive solution to that problem of course, but Stryker had shot him down every time.
“It will be good to finally get inside that house,” said Charles.
Stryker eyed him with a sidelong glance. “You will reserve your attentions to the party and Miss Tarrant,” he ordered. “There is no need for you to storm the castle, as it were.”
Charles swallowed his arguments, he knew they were useless. “Alright, Herr Stryker. No heroics then. This time.”
“This time,” chuckled Stryker. “You’d have made a grand soldier, Charles.”
Since his training with Herr Stryker had little cause for finery, Charles was obliged to return to Ashwood to pick up his things for the ball. He had not been home for some time. Out of propriety he still sat with his family in church on Sundays, but that was the extent of their interaction. All in all, everyone seemed to be happy with the separation. At least it kept them from arguing.
He came in through a side door, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He pressed a finger to his lips and smiled at a few of the startled young ladies cleaning. He skipped up the stairs and went to his room. The door was locked. So much for going unnoticed. He had to find John. He decided to start in the kitchen, but ran into Tom on his way down the stairs again.
Tom jumped when he saw him and sputtered out nothing that resembled a coherent sentence. Charles looked him over. He was dressed in his black and white servant’s uniform, and looked – well, clean. His hair was cut and combed and there was not a breath of alcohol on him. Charles on the other hand was dressed as a worker might be, his trousers and boots dusty and rough. He laughed at the reversal.
“Hello, Tom!”
Tom finally managed, “Charles, you – What are you doing here?”
“I live here, Tom.”
“Hardly!”
“Yes, well I’d like to collect some of my things if you’d be so good as to fetch John to open my door.”
Tom pushed past Charles up the stairs, “We don’t need John, I’ve got your keys.”
Charles followed, laughing, “Keys? John’s trusting you with keys now, is he?”
Tom did not respond, he merely opened the door. Charles thanked him, “Fetch us a trunk, if you please. And there’s no need to inform Mrs. Ashley that I’m here, your excellency.”
Tom stalked off, his footsteps echoing in the hall. Charles laughed again, shaking his head. He turned into his room. He gathered his formal evening wear and shoes and a few other things, making a little pile on his bed. Everything in his room was perfect and properly ordered. The place looked alright without him. He turned around to wait for Tom, and saw his mother standing in the doorway.
Stunned, all he said was, “Oh.”
“Oh?” echoed Mrs. Ashley. “You abandon your family for half the year and all you can say is, ‘Oh’?”
Charles suppressed a smile, “I haven’t abandoned you, Mother, I saw you only Sunday.”
“Sundays don’t count. You have to be there. It’s the rest of the time that matters.”
“Mother, you know where I’ve been. I’m less than a half hour’s ride away.”
“And you couldn’t take a half hour out of one day to come and visit? What have you been up to, Charles Ashley?”
Charles felt his temper stirring, “I haven’t been up to anything, Mother, I’ve been staying with Herr Stryker.”
“Herr Stryker indeed!” She spat his name out like a sour grape. “Herr Stryker. I must say, I don’t care much for the company you keep, Charles.”
“He’s a good man,” said Charles.
“I don’t care if he’s Saint Ignatius himself, he’s been keeping you away from me.”
“You knew where to find me!” snapped Charles.
“Don’t you try to blame me for this, Charles. This is not about me, it’s about you – it’s always about you!”
Charles had described his conversations with his mother as railroad tracks. It did not matter how much steam he built up, he always ended up saying the same things and arriving at the same destinations. Herr Stryker said it was up to him to change that. He had laughed at the time. But now it struck him that he had the ability to control his anger. He did not have to lash out the way she was at him. It was like carrying those rocks: it would not be enjoyable, but he could do it. In a moment he felt the fire rush out of his belly.
He sighed and walked over to his mother. She was much shorter than him and considerably rounder. He took her hands in his and kissed them.
“You’re right, Mother. I should not have stayed away so long. I am very sorry.”
For perhaps the first time in her life, Mrs. Ashley was speechless. Over her shoulder, Charles saw Tom and another servant bringing an empty trunk for him. He squeezed her hands and stepped to the side so they could come in. They began to pack his trunk.
Distracted now, Mrs. Ashley asked, “What are they doing?”
“Packing my evening things for the ball Mr. Raines is hosting.”
At the mention of the ball, Mrs. Ashley’s entire demeanor changed and she clasped her hands to the side of her plump face. “The ball! Mr. Raines! Oh, isn’t he wonderful? Eleanor of course is simply delighted, and Charity’s got a new dress. It’s all splendid, simply splendid! You’re going to come, then?”
“Of course, Mother. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“It’s going to be so lovely. Eleanor will be seen with Mr. Raines in front of everyone – they’re all going to know that he’s chosen us! Oh, I can hardly stand it. A marriage proposal cannot be far behind.”
The thought of Eleanor becoming the bride of Edgar Raines chilled Charles’ spine. He drifted away for a moment, but shook out of it when he heard his mother ask a question.
“So sorry, Mother, what did you say?”
“Well, balls are the best place to find a bride. Perhaps Mr. Raines could introduce you to some of his sister’s friends?”
Charles laughed at the absurdity of his own life. “No Mother. Thank you, but I’ll be attending with Miss Tarrant.”
Mrs. Ashley was silent just long enough for Charles to hear the snapping shut of his trunk. He thanked Tom and told him they could load it up in Herr Stryker’s carriage, waiting outside. As they walked out, his mother spoke again.
“Miss Tarrant?”
Charles sighed.
“Miss Tarrant?” she said again.
“Yes, Mother. That’s what I said.”
“I know that’s what you said, you stupid boy, I just can’t understand why you said it.”
Charles felt his cheeks begin to warm up again. “I will be escorting Miss Genevieve Tarrant to the ball next week.”
“You will do no such thing! That girl? That – that nobody?”
Charles went to his writing desk and took his hat.
“No connections, no money, no mother, father dying as we speak. You would disgrace this house with that scrounging little–”
“Mother!” Charles’ voice was raised. “That will be quite enough.”
“How dare you talk to me like that, you–“
“I will not allow you to speak ill of my friends in this way. It does not become you, and it does not become me to stand and listen to it.”
Mrs. Ashley’s face was red, a sheen of sweat shining on her neck. She wore a look that Charles had not seen before. Halfway between confusion and outrage, and yet she said nothing.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Charles continued. “But it’s not right for you to speak about them the way you do. The way you talk about any of us.”
He expected her to explode and shout him out of the house. He thought he would be left with a memory of her shrieking face hanging over the banister as he slammed the door, servants popping out of rooms to see what the fuss was about. Instead, a single tear dripped down her face. She sniffed, then narrowed her eyes and whispered with venom and all the malice she could muster,
“If only your father could see you now.”
Charles nodded and said, “Good afternoon, Mother.” He donned his hat and strode away.
