Covenant With the Vampire by Jeanne Kalogridis Page A

Jeffries. Arkady was so
cheered by having a visitor - and I must admit, despite my misery, I too enjoyed
his company, and found it a pleasant distraction from my worries - that I could
not consider spoiling his good mood. We had an early dinner with our guest.
As I expected, Zsuzsanna did not come down for it and sent a message via Dunya
that she was still indisposed.
    Mister Jeffries, it seems, is a journalist who recently returned to the Continent
after a news-gathering trip to America. Over dinner he spoke animatedly of the
situation in that country; they have elected a new president, James Polk, and
may soon annex a new state with the exotic name of Texas. Slavery is permitted
in Texas, which has generated a good deal of controversy over there. Not only
are the northern abolitionists and southern plantation owners arguing over this,
but a neighbouring country disputes ownership of the territory altogether; according
to Mister Jeffries, war between the United States and Mexico is imminent. The
Americans are also involved in a disagreement with England as to where the northwestern
Canadian border lies. All in all, they seem a very quarrelsome, bullying lot,
and I was glad to be in peaceful Transylvania. Mr. Jeffries made us laugh with
his nasal imitation of an American accent; after all the stress Arkady has been
under, I know it did him good.
    After dinner. Mister Jeffries reminded Arkady of his promise to take him on
a tour of the chapel, and i said I wanted to go, too, for I had never seen it
myself. The two men looked at me with concern, and Arkady mumbled something
about it being late (it was no more than eight o’clock) and my needing rest
in my condition. i abruptly dismissed this as nonsense, and asked only for a
moment to go get my shawl; at which Mister Jeffries smiled and said slyly that
i would have no trouble holding my own with Americans, and again we laughed.
    In truth, I did not want to be left alone to worry over what I would say to
Arkady when our guest departed; nor did i want to sit alone in the bedroom,
peering through the window worrying over Zsuzsanna.
    The chapel was unlike any I had ever seen in England, and more than anything
else I have seen in this country revealed the Turkish influence; its interior
walls were covered with paintings and mosaics of saints - literally thousands
of them - in the Byzantine manner. Near the altar was a high cupola, from which
hung a heavy candelabra, and at the back of the large sanctuary, against the
wall, were great crypts with names engraved on gold plates.
    Although the beautiful tiled walls stole my breath, Mister Jeffries seemed
most taken with the crypts, which were actually compartments built into the
wall like a honeycomb, then mortared off and sealed with stone, and adorned
with the plaques. As we stood reading the names of Arkady's ancestors, awed
to silence by the sanctuary's beauty and reverent atmosphere, Mister Jeffries
took a small notebook from his waistcoat and began writing.
    After a moment he turned to Arkady and said, in a hushed voice that echoed
faintly off the high ceiling, “I forgot to ask… When we stood in front of the
portrait of Vlad Dracula - ”
    Here I frowned, curious, at him, for I had heard a similar word, Dracul, before - on
the servants’ lips, and those of the old coachman in Bistritz. Mister Jeffries
broke off and instantly corrected himself with an apologetic glance at my husband.
“Forgive me, I meant to say, Vlad Tsepesh… Does the name Tsepesh have any meaning?”
    Arkady stood gazing steadily at the crypts with his back to us, and I could
tell from his distant tone that he was brooding over whatever has been troubling
him the past few days - something I suspect is connected with the castle and his
father's death. “Impaler,” he said quietly, and I knew at once that he had quite
forgotten my presence; in many ways he is like his sister,