Jane had never felt so tired in her life. She had grown up in a household mostly full of boys, most of them older than herself, yet their horseplay bore no resemblance to what she and the others had endured.
She fell back in her seat. They were in the bar of an inn called The Four Arms. A glass of ale was in one hand and a piece of meat in the other. They had driven half the night, leaving the vampires far behind. Jane knew she would have nightmares, but they were for later. Now was the time for rest and recovery.
They all had a multitude of scratches and bruises, but mercifully, no bites. Eddy had a big lump on his head. Max had scratches on his neck. The doctor had wrenched one arm while fighting off one of the beasts.
Jane just felt like she hurt everywhere. 'Well, doctor,' she said, taking a long draw of her ale. 'What do we do now?'
Doctor Porter had already finished one glass and was halfway through her second. 'I'm not sure. I think we left our run too late tonight. Dracula and his followers had probably already awoken when we arrived and hid while we searched.'
'But how will we track them down?'
'I'm not sure.'
'What about those other properties?' Max asked. 'Dracula seems to have been interested in several of them.'
'He clearly wants to make his base in England,' the doctor agreed.
'But what are his plans?' Eddy said, puffing his pipe. 'It doesn't just seem to be all about the drinking of maiden's blood.' He saw the expression on Jane's face. 'Apologies.'
Jane nodded.
'What was that comment he made about power?' Max asked.
'I remember,' Doctor Porter said. 'It's about absolute control. Control of a world. Control of a country. Control of a woman.'
'Sounds like another one of those petty, bloodthirsty tyrants,' Eddy said. 'They all sound the same. It's all about buggering anyone below them.'
'All tyrants eventually fail,' Porter said.
'Until then,' Jane said, 'they cause misery and horror.'
She yawned. She was tired and needed to wash. Doctor Porter had asked the innkeeper to make a bath for her, and he had agreed. It meant the man's wife had been required to heave buckets of boiled water up the stairs, but she had seemed happy to do it. Jane said good evening to the group and headed up the stairs. She was halfway up when Porter called to her from below.
'Jane,' she said. 'I did not get a chance to speak to you earlier.'
'What about?'
'You acquitted yourself well. You have fire in your heart.'
'Thank you,' Jane said, grateful for the doctor's praise. 'I'll not stop until Dracula is beaten.'
'There's something else.' The doctor led her up the stairs to the prepared room. Pushing open the door, Jane peered in to see a sparse chamber with a bed, a bath, and a small night table.
'This is fine,' Jane said. She didn't want the doctor worrying about her comfort. Any bed would have been fine after everything they'd been through. 'You needn't have worried.'
'I'm glad this is suitable. I thought you might be worried about sharing a bed with a man you barely know.'
'Eh?'
'There are no other rooms available,' Porter explained. 'Eddy and I have to share with others as well. I'm in a bed with an Irish cook named Gladys, and Eddy's jammed in with a pair of crusty Russian sailors.' The doctor turned to leave. 'Mind you, Jane, it has been a difficult day. You recall my earlier advice?'
Jane bristled. 'To which advice are you referring?'
'A well-oiled sausage can work wonders after a long day.'
'With counsel like that, I wonder how any of your patients survive!'
Doctor Porter sighed. 'How many brothers and sisters do you have, Jane?'
'Seven.'
'Then it seems your parents have played grab the sausage as well,' Porter said, smiling gently. 'Sounds like they're rather good at it.'
The doctor headed back down the stairs, leaving Jane to stare into the room.
No, she thought. This is not possible.
Easing the door behind her, she surveyed the room with silent horror. The Reverend George Austen would have been horrified at the thought of her sharing a room with a man. So would her mother. But the thought of sharing a bed with a man…
Jane shuddered. She crossed to the bath and touched the water. Steam was rising from it.
'Oh, dear,' she said.
It was simply too good to refuse.
Jane barricaded the door with the chair and stripped off her clothes. Then she laid them out so she could throw them on in an instant if Max should come barging in the door.
She tested the hot water with a toe.
My goodness, she thought. That's heavenly.
No wonder Satan bathed in lakes of fire.
Jane gently lowered herself into the water. It was like surrendering to a languid summer's day. The water enveloped her. She wanted to stay submerged forever, or for at least an hour, but that would not do. Instead, she forced herself to scrub her skin clean and run water through her hair. She gave herself another minute to dwell in the bath, deliberately counting to sixty before she got out.
Drying herself, she threw on her undergarments, pulled the chair away from the door, and climbed into the bed. It was only a few minutes before there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The door cracked open an inch.
'Miss Austen?'
'Yes?' she said, her voice high as she huddled under the blanket.
'Thank goodness,' Max said, quickly easing himself into the room. 'I wasn't sure which room was ours. There's a Russian the size of a bear staying in one of the rooms. I didn't want him snoring in my ear all night.'
Jane closed her eyes as Max crossed the room. She heard him disrobe and settle into the water.
'Miss Austen,' he said. 'I know this must be uncomfortable for you.'
'I'm perfectly fine, Mister Filador.'
'You're lying. I just want to say that I have absolute respect for you. I hold you in the highest esteem.'
'Thank you.'
Jane lay in the bed and thought of all the nights she had shared a room with Cassandra. They had seen each other naked many times. She had also caught glimpses of her brothers' naked bodies. It was unavoidable in a house shared by many people. Sometimes, muffled sounds had come from her parents' bedroom. Jane was under no illusion as to what was taking place, but she had little knowledge of the specifics of it. She even imagined she would one day engage in such activities herself.
Of course, that had to be done under the legal state of marriage when the papers had been signed, and money exchanged. Her mind wandered back to the doctor's words.
Grab the sausage, indeed!
From under the blanket, she realised there was a treacherous, tiny hole through which she could see beyond. Max had just finished washing and was climbing from the bath. I will not look. But then she could not help but look. It was impossible to draw her eyes away as she saw his body.
Having never seen the body of another naked man to assess him against, she was unsure how he compared. Still, he appeared slim and muscular. His forearms and thighs were defined, as was his chest. So were his biceps and shoulders.
But it was not these that drew her eyes. If God himself had told her to look away, she could not. It would have been easier to walk on glass than not peer at his swaying anatomy.
A startling tingle erupted between her thighs.
Dear God, she thought. Do not let me do anything I will regret.
She tried to pray, but the words would not come. Instead, other words returned to her. They had not been spoken frivolously by the doctor, as was often her way. She had said them with sincerity, possibly even with the knowledge of what life gave and what it took away.
Don't grow old while you're still young.
Jane squeezed her eyes shut. What was defined as love was simply a contract where a woman exchanged her independence for a secure future. A man got a wife and a belly that produced babies, and a wife received a warm house and a comfortable bed. To think anything else was utter foolishness.
Max turned out the lamp, and the bed creaked slightly as he settled in beside her.
'You were incredible today, Miss Austen,' Max said. 'I always thought that women of your breed were all about needlework and harp playing.'
'My preferred instrument is the pianoforte,' Jane said, finally allowing her face back up over the edge of the blanket. The darkened room was illuminated by silver moonlight spilling through the window. It cast long, otherworldly shadows across the bed. Beyond the room, the inn was noisy. She hadn't noticed the sound of the bar downstairs, or the crash of feet on stairs, but now their sounds seemed magnified. 'Tell me about yourself, Mister Filador. Your parents? Brothers and sisters?'
Max hesitated. 'My mother, brother, and two sisters died on the ill-fated Lewis when it sank,' he said. 'My father had already retired from the Navy. When he died, I inherited his small estate. I have been spending my inheritance on inventions that are mostly useless and a career on the stage that will undoubtedly leave me bankrupt and in a workhouse.'
'It's a pleasure to hear that you have such high aspirations, Mister Filador.'
'Thank you, Miss Austen,' Max said. 'And what about you? I imagine there are a great many men who are seeking vampire-slaying wives.'
'They regularly advertise in The Times,' Jane replied. 'The advertisements are usually worded as thus: Suitable single woman required for marriage. Should be skilled in needlework, pianoforte, and the fine art of slaughtering the undead. References preferred.'
'Your writing should make you particularly appealing.'
'Unfortunately, not. Such men require their women to be capable of producing vacuous conversations while churning out children as effectively as an ironworks creates iron.'
'Not all men are like that,' Max said quietly. 'It gladdens me that there are women such as you. The world needs adventurers.'
'I'm not an adventurer.'
'You are an adventurer. You have things to say and—through your writing—a way to say them. Such people forge trails that others may follow.'
Jane thought it was one of the most beautiful things anyone had ever told her.
'Thank you,' Jane said.
'What for?'
'I'm just glad you're you.'
'Thank you. Goodnight, Miss Austen.'
'Goodnight, Mister Filador.'