Page 36 of Kept
“My dear Mrs Hallifax,” I drawled, “Lord Montague here. I do hope I have not disturbed you?”
“It is an honour, my Lord, to be called, think nothing of it,” she gushed, her words slightly lisped.
“I’m calling at such an uncivilised hour,” I continued apologetically, “because my landscape designer posted something for me but did not give me a postal tracking number, and it was something of great value. I wonder if you recall at all, the parcel? It would have been in the last day or two, posted by Lucy Bernshire.”
“Oh yes,” the old woman said, her words clearer now that, I imagine, she had put her false teeth in, “she did post a heavy parcel just two days ago. I commented that the postage was likely going to cost an arm and a leg.”
I almost laughed out loud, but controlled myself, because it had cost her both arms and both legs and a whole lot in between. But I didn’t think the postmistress would appreciate the humour.
“I wonder then,” I smiled wider across the line, “if you can recall the address?”
“Oh, dear me, no, it was a busy day. But I do recall it was an educational institution of some type, Boston, Massachusetts I believe. Yes, yes, that was it, all the way to the United States.”
“Thank you, very much, Maybelle,” I sighed, “you have been most helpful. And if you should recall any more details, please phone the manor and let my butler know.”
“I will, Sir, I will. You have a nice night now.”
“Oh, I will, goodnight.”
I grimaced as I hang up the phone, Boston was a large city with many educational institutions, from schools to specialist colleges and universities; but not too large that I won’t find what I am seeking.
In the meantime, I hunger. Time for that redhead.
New Entry
Ereston is behind me once more.
Usually, my heart is light leaving the place, but I have unfinished business there, and it shits me that I will have to return once I have exterminated this hunting team and retrieved my belongings.
At least I have hired a new gamekeeper, so all is not lost. But still, I am determined to reinstate the gardens, and that will take time. And of course, I will have to come back and hunt Lucy’s bloodline – somewhere along the way I have missed one or two, and they have bred like fucking rabbits – deadly rabbits.
Gerald and I begin our search in Boston tonight.
The Country Club is the obvious place to start, money socialises with money, aristocrats socialise with aristocrats and although the lines are blurred quite terribly in America; they are still true enough in general.
If little luckless Lucy, a lesser aristocrat, has hunter friends in the new world they will be on a social scale similar to hers. I simply have to ask around, and sooner or later, I will find her associates and destroy them.
But the postmistress did say an educational institution, so we shall also infiltrate as many as we can and give the staff a good sniff. I know what I am looking for and I should be able to smell a hunter if one is close by, their blood will not hide from me now. Milk, perfume, nothing will stand in my way.
As for Gerald, he is slightly distracted by his new Kept, or potential new Kept, who just happens to hail also from Boston and who, according to him, has a sense of humour to match his own – God help us.
I have given him warning not to get attached to this one, and to get rid of her within two years – he promises he will, but I know him too well, and I will have to keep him honest about this.
So, for now, we continue our search for my journal and the team - before they can find us.
Until we find them I will have to satisfy myself by snacking on a few long-legged American blondes who will no doubt smell of tanning lotion and taste of botox.
I close the book. That was the last entry, but there were many more blank pages to go, so, I figure the author lost the manuscript after this.
Perhaps he had been writing it in the park? Perhaps he was mugged? Who knew.
The point was, I had not actively sought the owner. I had asked a few questions here and there, sure, I’d mentioned it in passing. But I hadn’t advertised it; I hadn’t even put a note up in my local bookstore. So really, I had kept it when some poor writer was probably ripping his hair out over his lost manuscript.
I decide I will advertise it the moment Margarita and I get home; it had been remiss of me not to. And as to James assertion that this was a real journal and there were real vampires, I can only distance myself from him as much as possible and hope he turnshis attentions to someone more gullible.
‘Maybe he did sleep with students. Maybe they were naive enough to listen to his craziness.’
Feeling angry with him once more, I retrieve my phone and put a block on his number, preventing him from calling me again, before climbing back into bed and falling fast asleep. But my dreams are plagued with nightmares, of women having their cheeks cracked, of James laughing as he wrote in a journal, and of a vampire on the warpath because I had something of his, something I never should have kept.
