Trudging back to Aunt Ivy’s with my suitcase is not how I pictured my second day of employment going, but I can’t stay here. I can’tadaptto this odd situation.
‘Shall we have supper first and then discuss it?’ Dr Dryden lifts the lid on the nearest cloche, and a delicious smell of roast beef hits my nose. Underneath the other cloches are steaming roast potatoes and fresh, hot green peas. My stomach folds in on itself, and I almost groan out loud.
‘You like your roast beef well done, I think I remember you saying?’
Losing impetus after my outburst, the sight and smell of food are my undoing. I nod weakly, saliva gathering in my mouth.
Dr Dryden begins to heap meat and vegetables onto my plate and I start eating, albeit suspiciously, watching the pair of them.
‘Gravy?’ Charlie holds a small white jug aloft, his dark eyes glinting.
I nod and he pours a thin stream of brown liquid over my roast beef. It’s perfectly cooked, though a little more rare than well done for my liking.
The men take some slices of roast beef, the pinkest ones, and leave the vegetables.
‘You are quite right to be upset, Miss Hughes,’ says Dr Dryden, helping himself to the gravy. ‘I apologise for not mentioning my son’s age at our interview.’ He smiles placatingly. ‘Charlie has been ill for many years, so he has missed out on a proper education. There is much he doesn’t know.’
I swallow my mouthful. ‘But what am I supposed to teach him? Not algebra, surely?’
Charlie snorts. ‘I like her, Papa. She’s funny.’
Dr Dryden shoots him a look. ‘As I said, there is much he doesn’t know. I am sure there are many subjects in which you could tutor him.’
‘And vice versa.’ Charlie smirks at me, and my blood runs cold. There’s something abnormal about him that I can’t put my finger on. And apart from being extremely pale, he doesn’t appear to be that ill or weakly.
‘Well, that was the appetizer,’ mutters Charlie when he’s cleared his plate. He dabs at his mouth with his napkin. He studies me as I continue to eat, and I feel like I’m being sized up. For what, I don’t know.
‘Nice dress you’re wearing,’ he remarks. ‘It looks like Miss Pinkerton’s. Or was it Miss Murphy’s, Papa?’
‘I can’t recall,’ replies Dr Dryden gruffly.
‘Who were they?’ I pop the last piece of succulent gravy-smeared beef in my mouth and chew contentedly. It’s a pityI’m leaving as wherever this food came from, I could get used to it. I can’t remember the last time I had such a good meal. Actually, I don’t think I ever have.
‘My last governesses,’ says Charlie, dragging my attention back to him.
‘Oh. What happened to them?’
He shrugs, and his lips turn up at the corners; they’re curiously bloodless like the rest of him.
There’s a moment of terse silence, as if he’s waiting for something. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and time seems to stand still. Something is very wrong.
I start to get up from the table, but before I can, Charlie grabs hold of my arm. ‘Not so fast. There’s still another course.’
How dare he! I attempt to snatch my arm away, but his grip is like iron. ‘Let me go please. I don’t want any pudding.’ But he doesn’t remove his hand.
I look to Dr Dryden for support, but he’s sitting there impassively. ‘Please tell your son to take his paws off me.’
‘It will be easier for you if you don’t resist, Miss Hughes,’ he says, sounding resigned.
Before I can ask him what he means, Charlie none too gently pushes up the sleeve of my dress, and I stare at him. His eyes are black, obsidian discs; he licks his lips and opens his mouth, baring ivory-white fangs, curved and drippingwith some kind of clear liquid. I try to make sense of what I’m seeing, but I can’t. But with those teeth, whatever’s about to happen to me isn’t going to be good.
Panic intensifying, I try to yank my arm away more forcefully. ‘Charlie, no! What are you doing? Sir, please, help me! Sir!’
But there’s no reply from my employer; he simply sits there, watching me struggle. To my horror, Charlie leans forward and skewers my forearm with his razor-sharp fangs. White-hot pain roars through me, and I scream and thrash against him with all my might. But it’s in vain—he’s too strong. Charlie licks at the blood pouring from the wound, then begins sucking with long greedy pulls, making horrible grunting noises.
I scream loudly, an animalistic wail, and Charlie growls in annoyance. His free hand whacks at my face with a sickening blow, and my head slams against the table. Then I know nothing more.
Chapter 12
