Page 58 of The Affair of the Mysterious Letter
She did not say “dashed.” I did, however, eat the cake. In truth, I found it rather rich for my tastes and its layers of apricot jam sat especially poorly with my day spent eating nothing but dried fruit on theClouded Skipper. Nevertheless, the experience taken as a whole was so singular and strangely pleasant, despite the unfortunate circumstances of our visit, that I have been left ever since with a peculiar fondness for that variety of torte, and will seek it out in patisseries on special occasions.
We finished our meal at a pace I considered rather too leisurely given the urgency of our endeavour and departed shortly before sunset for the train station.
The Austral Express was a majestic blue-and-gold locomotive, every detail of whose design stood as testament to its unique marriage of technology and luxury. Passengers were already returning from their sojourn in Vedunia, some still milling about the platform making the most of the view over the hillside and others boarding the train with the unhurried ease of pleasure travellers. We made enquiries of the guard and were informed that Miss Viola and Miss Beck had not yet returned.
Taking up a position close to their cabin, it was not long before we espied the two ladies approaching, arm in arm. They both seemed relaxed and contented—even Miss Viola, despite the unrelaxing and discontenting circumstances that had led to their present holiday. That she showed no outward sign of the uncertainty she must have been feeling was testimony to either her deep affection for Miss Beck or her tremendous skill as a dissembler.
As they drew closer I realised that Miss Viola could on no account have failed to notice us, Ms. Haas being a recognisable figure even when she did not have a live jackdaw in her hair, and concluded therefore that her resolute failure to acknowledge our presence was a deliberate stratagem.
“Eirene,” bellowed Ms. Haas. “We’ve got some very important news for you.”
Miss Viola’s smile faltered momentarily, and she bent down to whisper something to her fiancée before swiftly crossing the platform towards us. “This better not be one of your games, Shaharazad.”
“Oh, it’s a game, darling. But not mine.”
“You have ten seconds,” Miss Viola snapped, “to stop being gnomic. Or I put a pin in your eye and this time it’s tipped with hagsbane.”
Ms. Haas sighed. “Very well. Your former lover, and I appreciate that doesn’t narrow it down, so your former lover the vampire, and in casethatdoesn’t narrow it down either, your former lover the vampireContessa Ilona of Mircalla, is coming here right now to murder your girlfriend.”
“Fiancée,” I interjected.
“Because”—my companion rolled her eyes—“that little detail is so much more important than the erotically frenzied vampire who will be upon us any minute.”
Miss Viola put her gloved fingers momentarily to Ms. Haas’s lips, which had the somewhat unexpected effect of silencing her. “So, she’s the one who wrote the letters?”
“Come now, Eirene, when was life ever that simple?”
“Are you really telling me that two completely different people are independently trying to ruin my life?”
“The question of whether the removal of Miss Beck would detract from your life or enhance it is still very much open to debate.”
“Not to me,” retorted Miss Viola.
Any continued defence she might have intended to make of her intended was interrupted by the sudden appearance at her elbow of the lady in question. “Eirene, what’s going on?”
“This is Mr. Wyndham, who you know, and a friend of his from Khelathra-Ven. They were just leaving.”
“I know it runs contrary to your nature,” sneered Ms. Haas, “but this is one of those few situations in which telling the truth is actually safer than lying.”
Miss Beck’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure who you are, but I don’t think I appreciate the tone you’re taking with my fiancée.”
“I am the sorceress Shaharazad Haas. And I am here to save your life.”
“Much obliged, I’m sure.” Miss Beck did not look at all obliged.
“I’m afraid,” admitted Miss Viola, staring abashedly at the ground, “it’s true... You know I haven’t always lived the best kind of life.”
Ms. Haas snorted. “You’re too modest, Eirene. I’d argue that you’ve led theverybest kind of life.”
It was at this point that Miss Viola made certain remarks to the effect that Ms. Haas should keep her own counsel, but I shall not reproduce her exact phrasing for the sake of the lady’s modesty.
“You know I don’t care about any of that.” Miss Beck slid a protective arm about Miss Viola’s waist.
“There’s a vampire coming to kill you,” remarked Ms. Haas, wilfully ignoring, as ever, any suggestion that she refrain from comment. “You might start caring quite a lot, quite quickly.”
“What? Why?” In context, I felt Miss Beck’s reaction displayed commendable stoicism.
Ms. Haas opened her mouth to reply, but Miss Viola got in first. “We were lovers, Cora. Many years ago.”
