Hannah Walker of Marion's of London peered up at the bracket clock on the mantelpiece for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. It had already been a long day. Dozens of customers had walked through the door, a parade of women seeking morning and evening dresses, as well as others who needed alterations. One of the most troublesome was Lady Margaret of Colchester, who needed her skirt taken out again. This was the third time in three months, and each time she insisted the material was shrinking rather than admitting her troublesome waistline was growing.
Still, Hannah reasoned, she could not complain. It was better to have a brisk business than no business at all. Her mother, who had previously managed the business, was now retired and being cared for by her daughter. The old woman had been slowly losing her mind, and Hannah had only just forced her out in time to stop them from losing the business as well.
It was her grandmother, Marion Walker, who had begun the business in Bishopsgate almost half a century earlier. It had taken her years to build it up. She had done excellent work for many years. Queen Charlotte had even eventually become a long-standing customer. However, receiving the elusive stamp of royal approval sometimes left much to be desired. The higher the rank in society, the more difficult it was to have bills paid. It was sad, but those with privileges all too often exploited them.
Like now, for example. Here she was waiting for a customer she'd never seen, simply because there had been a promise of a sizable purchase. The request had come via Royston Tanner, the husband of an old customer. If it had come from anyone else, Hannah would have gone home by now.
Although that was not strictly true. She could be sitting at home with her mother and daughter, or she could be earning money here.
Heaven knows a bird in the hand…
And she believed in hard work. Hannah Walker was a god-fearing woman. Every Sunday, regular as clockwork, she went to church. She even had a small crucifix over the mirror where customers could check their appearance. It didn't hurt anyone—royalty or otherwise—to keep in mind that the Lord gave and the Lord taketh away.
It was closing time, and evening had fallen. Glancing at the clock again, she was just about to shut the doors when a carriage drew up outside. It was an older-style vehicle, but in good condition. A coachman came around the side, opened the door, and three women stepped sedately onto the footpath.
My goodness, Hannah thought. They're harlots.
She did not often think such things, but then she did not often see women who displayed their illicit wares so easily. The breasts of one of them were practically falling out of her dress. Hannah watched in dismay as the trio sauntered to the front door, strolled in, and began gazing around with predatory interest. One of them aimed straight for the day dresses. Another went to the evening wear while the third began examining a range of hats and accessories.
Hannah was struck dumb. She rarely had women of this sort come into the shop, and never three at one time. They all wore luxurious clothing, but it was filthy as if they'd been lying about in the street.
Hannah swallowed. 'Good evening, ladies,' she said. 'May I be of service?'
The nearest one delivered a lascivious smile, and an unpleasant shiver coursed up Hannah's spine.
'We're here to buy some new clothing,' the woman said, turning to the others. 'Isn't that right, ladies?'
'Absolutely,' one said.
'The Count likes us to look pretty,' the third said. 'And what he says, we do.'
'He's got this way about him,' the first said. 'It's impossible to say no.'
Oh dear, Hannah thought. Surely these aren't the customers referred by Mister Tanner.
'I see,' she said, although she didn't see at all. 'Can you tell me when Count Dracula will arrive?'
'He already has,' the first woman said, motioning to the corner.
Hannah's jaw dropped. A man was standing in the corner, admiring himself in the mirror. She was sure he hadn't been there a moment ago.
How did he get in?
The newcomer was tall and slim, with long black hair pushed straight back. He was pale—unnaturally so—with a straight nose and deep-set eyes. His fingers were long and slender, and he was currently combing those same fingers through his hair, pushing it back as if to get it just right.
Count Dracula turned and smiled. 'Mrs Hannah Walker, I presume.'
Hannah hadn't been a Mrs since the death of her husband John in a carriage accident, but she did not correct him. She noticed that his voice was clear and measured with only a slight accent. European, most likely, judging by his name.
'And you must be Count Dracula,' Hannah said. 'A pleasure.'
'The pleasure's all mine. The business has passed to you, I see. Your mother is no longer with us.'
'Retired,' Hannah said. 'Catching up on her reading.'
'Reading,' Dracula said. 'A wonderful past time. Few things are eternal, but words live forever.'
Well, Hannah thought. He's cultured at least.
'Absolutely,' Hannah said. 'I read all the time.'
'Your favourite book?'
'The good book,' Hannah said without hesitation.
'Ah,' Dracula's vulpine smile curved up even further. 'The Galilean. The Holy Land is such a beautiful part of the world.'
'You've been there?'
'A long time ago. It was a very different time. Pontius Pilate. The Romans. There was someone I was close to, but nothing lasts forever. Well,' he ran a hand through his hair, 'almost nothing.'
Hannah nodded.
'Now,' Dracula continued. 'I don't wish to take up too much of your time. I wish to make several purchases.'
'Of course.'
The next hour passed quickly, and Hannah found the count to be one of the easiest customers that she'd ever served. He was pleasant and allowed the women to pick out anything they wanted. By the time the bill was tallied, most of the clothing lay on the counter, and Hannah knew it would be her biggest purchase ever.
I'll have to restock immediately, she thought. We can really celebrate Christmas this year.
'Altogether,' Hannah said. 'That's forty-eight pounds, one shilling and threepence.'
Dracula's eyes fixed on her. 'Forty-eight pounds?'
Hannah was worried the count was offended by the price. She was about to suggest a discount when his face curled into another smile.
'Why don't we make it an even fifty?' he suggested.
'That's most generous of you,' Hannah said, delighted.
'Ladies,' Count Dracula said to the women. 'Please take everything to the carriage.'
The women dutifully started gathering up the heaped clothing.
'Would you like them wrapped?' Hannah asked. It was usually part of the service.
'Not necessary. We've already taken up enough of your time.'
The women ferried the items out to the carriage. Now the count looked about. He noticed the curtain at the window was still open. Pulling it shut, he peered up at one of the high shelves.
'Is that a hook up there?' he asked.
Hannah glanced up. It hung from the ceiling near one of the high shelves. 'It is. We always hang a bough of mistletoe on Christmas Eve.'
'Christmas,' Dracula sighed. 'I have seen so many of them.'
Hannah nodded. No one was getting any younger.
'Do you ever place wagers?' the count asked.
What a strange question, Hannah thought.
'I'm afraid not,' she admitted.
'Doesn't sit right with your faith?'
'Not really.'
The count's eyes bored into Hannah's. 'I imagine that hook is quite strong.'
'It is.'
'Why don't we have a little wager?'
Having a wager, which a moment ago would have been an abomination to Hannah, now seemed like a perfectly fine idea.
'What did you have in mind?' she asked.
'I'm betting that hook can't take the weight of a grown woman.'
Hannah's eyes darted to it, and she gave a girlish titter. 'I bet it can,' she said. 'It's a strong hook.'
'Why don't we bet the bill on it?'
'Why not?'
Hannah felt ecstatic. She wasn't sure why, but this had unexpectedly become the greatest day of her life. It was better than the day she'd married her darling John, better than the birth of her daughter, and even better than the day the business had been handed to her. She had met Count Dracula, and now she had a wager she could not lose!
It was a very easy bet to win. Hannah brought a ladder out from the back and braced it against the wall. Following the count's advice, she selected a crimson woollen scarf from the display and climbed the ladder. She wrapped one end of the scarf around the hook and the other around her neck.
By this stage, the women had finished loading up the carriage. The count and his ladies stood expectantly at the base of the ladder.
'You've got to test this properly,' the count said. 'No cheating.'
'I'm a woman of my word.'
'I'm sure you are.'
Now to win that wager, Hannah thought.
Kicking the ladder away, she plunged several feet until her neck snapped, and she was left convulsing in mid-space. Eventually, her thrashing stopped, and she hung limp and motionless in the middle of the shop.
Dracula took out his money and placed it on the counter. He even included an additional tip for excellent service. 'You were right,' he told Hannah. 'That hook does bear the weight of a grown woman.'
He went out to the coach and told the three women to ride on the roof. Climbing inside, he regarded the young woman perched in the corner.
'Cassandra,' he said. 'So nice of you to wait.'
'I was happy to wait.'
Dracula nodded. He'd long since become accustomed to his followers carrying out his every command. He gently stroked the girl's vacant face. She was a pretty, young thing with dark curly hair.
'Fortunately,' the count said, 'time is something we have in abundance.'