Anno Dracula Read Online Free PDF

had an idea of the skills he had developed in the service of the Crown, Beauregard supposed the vampire would be surprised. Since India, he had been in Shanghai, at the International Settlement, and in Egypt, working under Lord Cromer. The new-born laid a hand upon his arm, and gripped almost fiercely. He could hardly feel his own fingers.
    ‘There will never be slaves in Britain,’ Godalming continued, ‘but those who stay warm will naturally serve us, as the excellent Bessie has just served me. Have a care, lest you wind up the equivalent of some damned regimental water-bearer.’
    ‘In India, I knew a water-bearer who was a better man than most.’
    Florence came to his rescue, and guided them back into the mainstream. Whistler was recounting the latest instalment of his continuing feud with John Ruskin, savagely lampooning the critic. Grateful to be eclipsed, Beauregard stood near a wall and watched the painter perform. Whistler, accustomed to being the ‘star’ of Florence’s after-darks, was obviously happy the distraction of Beauregard’s announcement had passed. Penelope was lost somewhere in the crowd.
    He had cause to wonder again whether he had selected a proper path, or even if the decision had been his own to take. He was the victim of a conspiracy to entrap him in the webs of femininity, orchestrated between China tea and lace doilies. The London to which he had returned in May differed vastly from that he hadleft three years ago. A patriotic painting hung above the mantel: Victoria, plump and young again, and her fiercely moustachioed, red-eyed consort. The unknown artist posed no threat to Whistler’s pre-eminence. Charles Beauregard served his Queen; he supposed he must also serve her husband.
    The doorbell rang just as Whistler made an amusing speculation, perhaps unsuited to predominantly feminine company, regarding the long-ago annulment of his hated enemy’s marriage. Irritated at the interruption, the painter resumed his flow as Florence, herself irritated because Bessie was unavailable for the menial task, hurried off to answer her door.
    Beauregard noticed Penelope sitting near the front, laughing prettily as she pretended to understand Whistler’s insinuations. Godalming stood behind her chair, wrists crossed under his evening coat in the small of his back, the sharp points of his fingers dimpling out the cloth. Arthur Holmwood was no longer the man Beauregard had known when he left England. There had been a scandal, shortly before his turning. Like Bram Stoker, Godalming had sided with the wrong lot when the Prince Consort first came to London. Now he had to prove his loyalty to the new regime.
    ‘Charles,’ Florence said, quietly enough not to interrupt Whistler further. ‘There is a man for you. From your club.’
    She gave him a calling card. It bore the name of no individual, just the simple words. THE DIOGENES CLUB.
    ‘This is in the nature of a summons,’ he explained. ‘Make my apologies to Penelope.’
    ‘Charles...?’
    He was in the hallway, Florence following close behind. He took his own cloak, hat and cane. Bessie would not be up to her dutiesfor a while yet. He hoped, for the sake of Florence’s dignity, the maid would be available to see to the guests when the time came for their departure.
    ‘I’m sure Art will see Penelope home,’ he said, instantly regretting the suggestion. ‘Or Miss Reed.’
    ‘Is this serious? I’m sure you don’t have to leave so soon...’
    The messenger, a close-mouthed fellow, waited out in the street, a carriage at the kerb beside him.
    ‘My time is not always my own, Florence.’ He kissed her hand. ‘I thank you for your courtesy and kindness.’
    He left the Stoker house, stepped across the pavement, and climbed up into the carriage. The messenger, who had been holding the nearside door open, joined him. The driver knew their intended destination, and immediately set off. Beauregard saw Florence closing her door against the