Sod it, Turpin thought to himself savagely as he limped along the country lane he found himself on. Sod it, sod it, sod it! Swiftnick's going to laugh himself sick over this! It was bad enough that he had been bucked off the horse he had 'borrowed' while Bess was recovering from a pulled tendon. Swiftnick had argued against taking the raw-boned chestnut at the time, saying that he didn't like the look in his eye. Turpin had been in a cross-grained mood and as soon as the lad had said that, he had been determined to have that chestnut and no other. Unfortunately, this had been one of those times when Swiftnick had been right and the chestnut had turned out to be an evil-tempered and sullen creature. The only reason Turpin hadn't got rid of him the same day had been that he could also run like the wind. He certainly hadn't kept him out of some misguided attempt to prove Swiftnick wrong.

Oooh, look, a low-flying pig, Turpin thought morosely. Stupid, misbegotten beast should have been shot and sold to the French years ago!

A wry grin tugged at his lips and he shook his head. Swiftnick was going to worry his head off as soon as the Streak (and Dick could come up with a few alternative names to give him!) got back to the hideout - assuming that the animal would head in that direction and not go back to where Turpin had stolen… ah, acquired him. Once he'd got over the initial headless chicken impersonation, he'd be on Toby and coming to look for Turpin, probably rehearsing what he was going to tell his supposed master when he caught up with him. Swiftnick had been extremely unhappy about Dick going off to check out a potential ambush point on his own and having this happen would be the kind of ammunition the boy could only dream of.

Lost in ideas of what he could say to counter some of the more obvious sallies Swiftnick would make, Turpin's head suddenly came up when he heard noises which were alien to narrow country lanes overhung with trees and already shadowed with the coming of twilight. His eyes widened incredulously and he cocked his head to one side, but his initial instinct had been correct and he was hearing a woman's voice raised in melodious song. He glanced around himself wondering if he had hit his head a little harder than he had initially thought and he had wandered onto one of the main roads, but he was still surrounded by the trees and undergrowth of the lane.

Must be a farm maid taking a short cut back home he decided. As he didn't know if she was accompanied and preferred to pass through the area without running the risk of being spotted, he moved off the path and faded back into the shade thrown by a dense hazel tree. It wasn't long before the woman came into sight around the slight bend up ahead and Turpin felt his eyes threatening to start from their sockets as all thoughts of farm maids were tossed unceremoniously to one side. Not many milkmaids walked down country lanes wearing full Elizabethan court dress. Come to that, not many women of any kind tended to walk around in a style of clothing which had gone out of fashion nearly one hundred and fifty years previously!

And this woman was dressed in the kind of finery you saw in the portraits done of royalty, Dick mused as he peered through the gathering twilight to get a closer look. The predominant colours were red, silver and yellow. The dress was stiff with jewels of ruby, garnets and pearls, with embroidery in thick silver thread, the material looking like silk as it fell over the huge farthingale to fall in delicate folds which just brushed the ground as she walked along, seemingly without a care in the word as she sang her song in a sweet, slightly breathy voice. More gems flashed and gleamed from her fingers and throat and Turpin's initial astonishment turned to more practical considerations as he eyed them.

She was probably someone who was attending a masquerade of some kind and had managed to get herself lost. Maybe her coach lost a wheel somewhere on the main road and she had wandered off while it was being repaired. However it had happened, she was taking a colossal risk being out alone like this and she was damned lucky it was Turpin she had crossed paths with. He had every intention of taking her jewellery if it turned out to be genuine, but he would also make sure that she reached somewhere a little safer than this lane before he left her again.

He stepped out of the undergrowth and doffed his hat as he sketched her a mocking bow. He kept a wary eye open for any male companions which might have been delayed. He had his pistol handy, as well as his sword, but he hoped neither would be necessary. He certainly didn't hold with using weapons against a woman - well, not unless he had to. He saw that she had come to a halt as soon as she had seen him but she seemed extremely calm, studying him with a bright-eyed expression of interest. He decided that she was undoubtedly Quality and probably so sheltered that the idea that she could ever be in danger wouldn't occur to her. Such innocence was charming… and very, very dangerous for her. Luckily for her, she had fallen into the clutches of Dick Turpin.

Chuckling to himself at the way his thoughts were beginning to sound like a bad ballad, Turpin straightened up and gave the woman his most charming smile. "A fair evening for a country stroll, my lady," he commented.

She was still watching him, tilting her head from side to side so that she reminded him of a brightly feathered bird. Now that he was closer, he could see that she was exquisitely beautiful, with skin the colour of milk and dark hair piled up in an elaborate style through which had been threaded more gems. Her eyes were dark pools in her palely glowing face as she studied him. Her silence was a little unnerving, however.

"You shouldn't be out on your own like this you know," Turpin said conversationally as he came to stand beside her. The heavy scent of roses suddenly enveloped him and he sneezed.

"It is you!" she said, her voice bright and high like a young woman's, but with an odd note embedded inside it. "I didn't recognise you at first. Your dress is most peculiar, Uncle."

Uncle? Turpin wondered in bemusement. He was beginning to wonder if she might not be a little touched in the head. It would explain why she was wandering around like this without an escort. Still her irrationality might be of some use to him.

"That's right, m'dear, it's your uncle. It's not right for you to be wondering around like this wearing all that jewellery. It will attract all the wrong type of people. Why don't you give it all to me?" he finished hopefully.

He reached out to take the hand closest to him and gave a start when he found it as cold as ice. The evening was actually quite warm so he couldn't understand why she was so cold. He glanced down and gave the rings she wore an avaricious once-over. If they were genuine, he and Swiftnick weren't going to have to worry where their next few meals were coming from.

"I'm very hungry," she said plaintively. "I was looking for someone to feed me."

Typical Quality, Dick snorted. Can't do anything without a servant to do all the work! "I'm sure I can find you something to eat if you come with me," he said calmly.

"Really? You never did so before," she commented. She seemed a little surprised and possibly pleased.

She put up no resistance as Turpin carefully stripped her of her jewellery. She did nothing to help, though, and he felt oddly uncomfortable as he continued, trying to ignore the icy feel of her skin beneath his own touch. The fact that she thought he was a relative of hers made him feel treacherous. He told himself that he was growing a great deal too soft in his old age. If these gems were genuine, she had to be incredibly rich to wear them as part of a masquerade costume. After he had taken them to old Greenslade, he and Swiftnick would have a handy nestegg to tide them over the lean months of winter.

"I'm still hungry, Uncle," she said after a moment. "You must find me a servant or someone to feed me, as you said you would."

"I'll find you some food and shelter soon, m'dear," Turpin said soothingly, "but I want to make sure these jewels are safely out of sight, first. We wouldn't want someone to steal them, would we?" Well, not after I've stolen them, he added silently to himself.

She gave him an incredulous look. "Steal? From me? I pity the fool who tries to do that!"

Turpin paused as he suddenly saw another person look out at him from those dark sapphire eyes. The unfocused look had momentarily vanished and he was faced with an older and infinitely more dangerous woman. One who would, indeed, make any thief who transgressed against her very sorry that he had so dared. She was there for only an instant, this deadly she-wolf, and then those magnificent eyes clouded over once more and her gaze lengthened beyond Turpin to dwell on something only she could see, but Dick had seen that other self and he was no longer quite so relaxed. He'd encountered people who seemed to have two or even three souls within the same body before, and they could be both confusing and dangerous to stay close to, since you could never really be certain which of the minds you were dealing with at any one time. The quicker he restored this mad little bird to a safe nest and could fade away, the better he'd like it.

"Why are you dressed so strangely, Uncle?" she asked. "I scarcely recognised you when we first met. You look more like a peasant or vagabond that Sir Alan Tremont, Lord of Marescott."

Knight and Lord? Well, well, aren't I going up in the world? Turpin thought in amusement. "I'm dressed for the masquerade, m'dear. Do you like it?"

"A masque? Oh, how wonderful! There is always someone to feed me at such gatherings. I will go back to the Manor and change immediately, although I don't think I can match the outlandish nature of your own apparel, Uncle. I vow that you look like some strange thief from some benighted land."

Turpin cleared his throat. The 'strange thief' bit was a little too close to the mark for his liking. He frowned at the realisation that she thought she had to go back and change for a masquerade. Didn't she realise that she was dressed in an outfit better suited to her great great grandmother? She was turning out to be just the kind of enigma which he hated meeting on the road. He could only be thankful that Swiftnick wasn't with him. While she was older than the girls he was all too easily attracted to for Dick's peace of mind, she was extremely beautiful and loaded down with jewels. That was a combination guaranteed to gain the attention of Turpin's blond apprentice in nothing flat. Swiftnick might still lack some of the more practised skills of a highwayman, but he had the avariciousness down pat already. There were times when he made Dick feel like some moralising preacher!

He saw her head come up from watching him and turn to look across the lane. As he wondered what had attracted her attention, he heard the faint sound of whistling coming from the other side of the hedge. The look he gave her was one of grudging respect, since he had a reputation for sharp hearing but she had obviously heard the approaching man before he had. Judging from the time of day and the direction the man was coming from, Turpin was willing to hazard a guess that he was going to be a farm worker on his way back to the local inn for a drink of ale before turning in for the night. As he was coming from the opposite direction of the woman, Dick didn't think this was an errant escort turning up, but even if it was he was fairly sure he could explain his actions away as that of someone eager to get valuable jewellery out of sight before thieves caught sight of it.

The whistling was louder now, and Dick caught a quick flash of movement through the slender gaps of the trees along the lane. A larger gap afforded him a better view and he nodded in satisfaction as he saw that his guess was correct. One of the farm workers on his way home. Not someone worth robbing, but equally someone he didn't have to worry about interfering with his business. He jumped a little when the woman gave a small moaning sound and pressed forward.

"Food," she whimpered.

Exasperated, Turpin grabbed for her wrist to contain her as she attempted to surge past him and in the direction of the farm worker. "He's not some servant you can order to fetch you-"

He broke off and recoiled when she spun around and gave him a hiss of pure fury. Her dark eyes blazed with what seemed like the blue fire which sometimes played around ship's masts but it was her mouth which had him swearing a frantic oath. He'd seen a lot of things in his life, but a beautiful woman with a mouth full of fangs a wolf would have been proud to lay claim to was a definite first. She dismissed him almost immediately and swung her attention back on the worker, taking a long gliding step forward. Despite her voluminous skirts, she still gave the impression of deadly grace as she moved.

With a stab of horror, Turpin realised that she was stalking the oblivious farm worker. He remembered her complaints over how hungry she was and he knew there would be murder done unless he intervened. He might be no saint, but neither was he the kind of man who could stand by and watch an innocent man die. Reaching for his gun, he reached out with his other hand and seized her by the wrist again. She reacted to his touch with pure fury and Dick found himself praying that a musket ball would be enough to stop her as he braced himself to meet the attack he knew was coming.

"You always interfere!" she spat as she swung around to face him. "When will I be free of your spells and commands?"

Turpin took a wary step back as he sensed her gathering herself up, but the two of them were distracted by the sound of sudden hoofbeats. Wondering who was coming, Turpin looked down the lane in time to see a familiar horse taken the corner and come towards them at a brisk canter.

"Swiftnick!" he said in consternation.

He'd almost forgotten how he'd been expecting Swiftnick to charge to his 'rescue' once he realised that Turpin had run into trouble. How the youngster had known to come here was something he could investigate at a later date. Right now, all he wanted to do was get away from this place as quickly as possible. He was still trying to cope with the fact that he was hanging on to a genuine vampire - precariously, since she was turning out to be much stronger than he had expected. She was also very obviously annoyed with him, judging from the snarling noises she was making.

The farm worker had passed on, oblivious to the little drama which had been enacted on the other side of the hedge to him, and to the narrow escape he had just had. Dick figured that he would be safe enough if Turpin was to let go of the woman now. Dick was pretty certain that vampires couldn't go out in daylight, and while the twilight of the evening had been darkened considerably by the trees overhanging the lane, he hoped she wouldn't want to risk the brighter light on the farm worker's side of the hedge, which was to the west and still had some pale sunlight smudging the far horizon.

Toby had arrived beside them by now and Swiftnick had reined him to a halt which the bay didn't seem to relish, judging from the way he kept trying to swing around away from the struggling pair. Dick had come to realise that he had taken on a fight he could very easily lose and he was torn between fending her off and continuing to grope for his gun when the woman suddenly stopped struggling, staring up at Swiftnick with an expression of almost ferocious surprise on her beautiful face.

"Oliver?" she cried out.

"Where?" Swiftnick said, automatically looking around to see if there was another player in this strange game he'd stumbled onto.

"For God's sake, Swiftnick!" Turpin snapped. "We need to get away from here!"

"We do? All right," Swiftnick agreed obediently.

He had long since learned to mind Dick when that particular note entered the older highwayman's voice. He leaned forward and extended his arm towards the woman, obviously assuming that she would be coming with them. He had barely registered anything beyond the fact that she was a woman before this point, but now he found himself gazing directly into her face. Turpin gave an inward curse when he saw the way Swiftnick's eyes widened, his gaze slipping a little lower as he took in the creamy bosom which still had a few strands of gem-laden gold draped across it, before lifting up again to look directly into the woman's eyes. Sky-blue eyes met dark cobalt and Turpin could practically feel the air around the two of them shimmer with heat.

"Not now, you idiot!" he yelped.

Drawing on some inner reservoir of strength, he dragged the woman away from Swiftnick and pivoted to hurl her in the direction of the ditch alongside the path. It was still muddy from recent rains and she lost her footing in the shallow mire and fell over. Hoping that her skirts would prove to be even more cumbersome than modern dress could be, Turpin didn't waste any time in leaping onto Toby's rump and putting his arms around Swiftnick.

"Have you gone mad?" Swiftnick was demanding in bewilderment. "We can't just leave her here like this!"

"I haven't got time to put a bullet in her," Turpin said grimly as he jammed his heels into Toby's sides.

With a heavy snort of mingled outrage and surprise, Toby leapt into a gallop from a standing start, very nearly unseating the both of them. Dick looked back as they went and was relieved to see that the vampire was just starting to claw her way back up onto her feet. Unless she could fly - and he winced as he remembered a couple of stories where such creatures could - they were safe. He belatedly realised that Swiftnick was yelling at him over his shoulder as he did his best to look like he was in control of Toby.

"-you hit your head or something when you came off that nag?" he was spluttering. "She had some jewels on her, Dick!"

Despite the narrow escape they had just had, Dick still managed to laugh at that and loosened his death grip on the lad enough to lift one hand and ruffle his hair. His apprentice was incorrigible! When he looked back again, they had left the woman far behind and Turpin was already beginning to wonder if he hadn't been imagining things when he'd thought she had fangs. Such tales were just that: tales to frighten children. Adults knew that there were no such thing as supernatural beasts who stalked the night and hunted the innocent. The Lord knew there was enough of such predators and they were all mortal and criminal. He shook his head and decided to say nothing. Swiftnick appallingly gullible when it came to stories like that and Dick didn't want to be kept up half the night trying to reassure the lad that a perfectly normal owl-hoot was not a demon trying to lure him to his doom. Turpin privately felt sorry for any demon who tried to get the better of his young companion; every time Dick tried it, he usually wound up with either a headache or on a one-way ticket to the gallows.

"Gerroff," Swiftnick muttered, pulling his head away.

He evidently decided that Turpin should be humoured, since he made no attempt to pull Toby up but allowed the sturdy bay to have his head as they cantered back to the current hideout. He hadn't forgotten the reason why he had come after Turpin in the first place, however, and when they eventually trotted into the yard of the dilapidated old farmhand's cottage, he jerked his head towards the lean-to they were using as a stables.

"That nag of yours came back a couple of hours ago," he said blandly.

Turpin growled to himself. There was no way Swiftnick would use that kind of language to describe Bess, so he had to be talking about the Streak. "Was he all right?" he asked without much enthusiasm.

"Bit lathered and his usual sweet-tempered self, but no cuts or bruises. Did he throw you?"

The question was asked in such tones of dulcet innocence that Dick very nearly gave a truthful answer and only stopped himself in the nick of time. He gave Swiftnick one of his best glares, which had much the same effect as it always did. The lad even grinned and Dick knew that he was never going to be able to run a successful story past him. A little to his surprise, his annoyance over the incident faded as he suddenly found himself seeing the funny side of the situation and he nodded, his smile widening when he saw the look of surprise the admission won from his apprentice.

"I was concentrating on where would be the best place for us to wait for a coach to come along when this damn pheasant explodes up from nowhere and the Streak starts bucking and twisting like the very Devil's tried to mount up behind me. Next thing I know, I'm on the ground and that damn horse has taken off like some racehorse seeing the finishing line. He came back here, did he? I was half-expecting him to go back to his old home."

Swiftnick snorted as he went to take Toby in to be unsaddled and rubbed down. "I bet they're thanking their stars that someone was crazy enough to steal the damn thing! Are you going to ride him when we go out for real?"

Turpin caught the imperfectly concealed worry in the younger man's voice and smiled reassuringly. "No. This little incident's convinced me of that. I think I'll take him with me when I go to London and I'll sell him there and buy another horse to come back on."

"You're going to London?" Swiftnick paused to give him a startled look.

"I'll tell you all about it when you've finished with Toby," Turpin assured him.

He grinned at the protest that provoked as he turned away to duck into the cottage. He went to put the kettle on, telling himself that it was the chill of the approaching evening he was trying to ward off with the mundane little routines. He certainly didn't want to think about the jolt of what had been pure terror which had shot through him when the woman had turned and snarled at him, revealing teeth no mortal woman could possess, no matter how badly her teeth had grown during her youth. Sharp canines had flashed in the gloom and he had had no difficulty in believing - during that seemingly endless moment of pure fear - that he was face to face with a vampire.

Now…. now he wanted to believe that he had let his imagination run away with him. He wanted to believe that the poor light and a half-mad young woman had provoked him into seeing something which any sane man had to declare was nothing more than a childish folk-tale told to scare the daylights out of the young and the credulous. He wanted to believe all that, very much, but at the same time he made up his mind to make sure that Swiftnick wouldn't take it into his head to go wandering around that part of the country while he was going to be away in London fencing the jewels he had taken from her. Maybe it was time for them to shift their territory back to Essex for a little while. He had brought them into Hertfordshire because Glutton and Spiker had started to become a little too assiduous in chasing after them, but there was no reason for them to remain in this area other than the fact that Dick had worked it a few years previously and knew the roads and byways.

"So why are you going to London?" Swiftnick demanded as he came inside. He blinked a little. "You made the tea?"

Turpin realised that he had miscalculated. From the very beginning he had insisted that Swiftnick make the tea, clean his boots and tack and make the breakfast; tasks designed to underline that the lad was an apprentice and not an equal partner. Since then the only time Turpin had made the tea had been when Swiftnick was ill or something was wrong. The fact that he had done it now without thinking had told the lad that Turpin was unsettled about something. Biting back the curse which threatened, Turpin decided to try and brazen it out.

"Since I've made the tea, perhaps you'll go easy on me about falling off the Streak."

The expression on Swiftnick's face warned him that the ploy wasn't going to work. "Who was she, then?"

It was on the tip of Dick's tongue to say 'who?' but he knew that Swiftnick wasn't the least bit stupid and would take that as the final confirmation that the woman was the reason behind Turpin's odd behaviour.

"A madwoman," he said calmly as he turned to pour out the tea.

"A madwoman?" Swiftnick echoed, accepting the cup Turpin gave him. "She didn't look all that mad to me."

"They don't all foam at the mouth, you know," Turpin said dryly.

"Well, I haven't met all that many," Swiftnick conceded.

"You haven't met any," Turpin said crushingly.

"I have so!" Swiftnick yelped.

"Name one."

Swiftnick was obviously taken aback at having his challenge so swiftly taken up and he floundered for a moment before recovering. "Well, there's Mad Jack Brannigan-"

Turpin gave him a look of withering scorn. "No even close, lad. He's no madder than anyone else who drinks a barrel of whiskey a day and has the temper of a rabid shrew," he sniffed.

"All right, what about Crazy Alice? She's always going on about the perils of drinking and of eating meat. She doesn't drink."

"No," Dick conceded, "but I'd shoot you before I let you sample her mushroom pies."

"You threaten to shoot me every time I try and sample anything," Swiftnick said sulkily. Then the words penetrated and his eyes widened. "You mean-"

"Uh-huh. She's probably have a thriving culinary business going if it wasn't for the inconvenient fact that half her clientele keeps dropping dead."

Swiftnick's eyes got even rounder, if that were possible, but he wasn't giving up without a fight. "Why is she called Crazy Alice, then, instead of Alice the Poisoner?"

Turpin sighed in exasperation. When this apprentice of his got his teeth into a subject…. "She got an offer of marriage from a lord when she was younger and she turned it down. That's when people started to call her Crazy Alice. Besides, 'Alice the Poisoner' doesn't exactly trip off the tongue."

"Someone wanted to marry Alice?" Swiftnick said in awe. "Damn, if I'd known him, then I'd be able to say he was crazy!"

Turpin grinned. It would be useless to try and explain to a sixteen year old like Swiftnick was old Alice had once been young, gay and beautiful enough to turn the head of an aristocrat. You could still see the faint shadow of that beauty if you looked deeply enough, but Swiftnick was young enough to prefer the sunshine to the shadows.

Sensing that he was starting to run out of a very limited list of suspects, Swiftnick cast about for someone else to name and brightened. "The Grey Hermit of St Albans!" he crowed in triumph. "Now he's crazy, isn't he?"

Turpin nodded. "He is, indeed, as nutty as a squirrel's winter-store," he agreed affably. He waited until Swiftnick has started to grin smugly before he reached out and grabbed his vest, dragging him forward until they were nose to nose.

"Yeep," Swiftnick said uneasily, recognising that glint in Turpin's eyes.

"And if you have met him," Dick growled, "I'm going to want to know what you were doing in the woods outside St Albans without my permission!"

"Um…" Swiftnick was obviously thinking furiously in an effort to extricate himself from the trap he had sprung on himself. "Hah! Yes, I do know someone who's crazy - Beau Graham! Now he's mad and you were the one who introduced him to me!"

Turpin opened his mouth to continue haranguing his apprentice, then closed it again when he realised that Swiftnick had just spoken the truth. "I didn't exactly introduce you," he hedged.

"Yes, you did," Swiftnick said stubbornly. "Right after you'd thrown the bucket of water over him, you turned to me and you said, 'Swiftnick, this is Beau Graham, and I don't want you doing anything he says because he's one of the craziest people I know'. That's what you said and-"

"All right, all right, you know one genuine crazy person," Turpin said hastily. He'd learned the hard way that his apprentice had an inconveniently retentive memory - when it suited him. "The fact remains that the woman you saw with me is nothing but trouble and I don't want you going anywhere near her."

"She was awfully pretty," Swiftnick said wistfully.

Turpin did his best not to grab the lad and shake him until his teeth rattled. If he had had a sovereign for every time Swiftnick had got into trouble over a pretty face, he wouldn't be on the High Toby. "Swiftnick, there's Beau Graham's kind of craziness and there's another; one that's dangerous and likes to hurt people. The woman you saw is one of those people. I don't want you to go looking for her, do you hear me?"

Swiftnick pouted. "But I don't know where she comes from!" he pointed out a little petulantly.

And thank Heaven for that small mercy, Turpin thought to himself as he struggled to saddle the Streak the following morning. The benighted nag obviously felt none the worse for the excitement the previous day, but the same couldn't be said for Turpin. He was feeling stiff and achy in several places and was consequently in a bad mood because of it, always hating every reminder of his own or other peoples' mortality.

Swiftnick was sulking in the house under the pretext of doing the washing up and when Dick went to check on Bess he was thoroughly ignored as she turned her hindquarters to him and snorted into her hay. She obviously hadn't forgiven him for riding another horse. Turpin sighed. You tried to be sensible and cautious and where did it lead you? Straight into the midden, that's where!

He briefly considered going in and letting Swiftnick know that he was off, but his own streak of stubbornness kicked in. Why should he be playing the peacekeeper when he had done nothing wrong? Swiftnick always sulked when Dick went off to London without him, convinced that the older man was off enjoying pleasures he denied his young apprentice. Well, maybe this time Turpin would do just that and let Swiftnick come out of his sulks through sheer boredom.

Swiftnick was startled and a little put out to discover that Turpin had left when he went out to see what was keeping the older man. He knew it was superstitious of him, but of late he hated parting with Turpin without saying goodbye. There had been too many close calls leaving him shaking with the knowledge of how close they had come to being parted permanently. Until he had hooked up with Dick, it hadn't occurred to Swiftnick to consider how fleeting life could be. Apart from his father and a couple of old people, he was lucky enough to have never really known death in his life unless you counted stories of other peoples' misfortunes.

Feeling fretful and a little angry, he went to check on the horses and after that dealt with the few chores he had outstanding. One advantage to the life he now led - although he would never admit it to Turpin - was the lack of real work he had to do. When he had been with his mother there had always been some job which needed doing. He could count the number of days he had spent lazing on the riverbank listening to someone like Dick spin outrageous stories on the fingers of both hands. He hadn't been able to do that before he'd been apprenticed to Turpin.

Sometimes he wished he understood what it was that drove him to constantly question Turpin's orders. It wasn't as if Dick was a bad master; by the standards of the day he was outrageously soft on his apprentice. Swiftnick had chatted with some of the other lads who had been apprenticed into other professions and they had told him stories which had left him both shaken and profoundly grateful that his mother had handed him over to Dick. That Turpin was also fairly unusual in the ranks of other highwaymen had also dawned on him fairly rapidly - especially when he had heard about the notorious Black Diamond, who had deliberately shot and wounded his own partner in order to buy time to get ahead of the Dragoons. Few other highwaymen would risk their own life to drag their idiot apprentice's head from out of the noose.

He knew he had plenty to be thankful for, but it was much easier to dwell on what he considered to be his justifiable grievances. Mary had treated him with an affectionate briskness which had somehow made it much easier to take orders from her. Besides, she was his mother and he had been obeying her for so long that it was almost impossible to overcome the reflex. Dick simply told him what to do and rarely, if ever, bothered to explain why he had given those particular orders. Terrified of letting him down, or looking a fool, Swiftnick sometimes needed to know just why he was doing something which seemed senseless, menial or just plain stupid. The resulting hot words and mule-headed sulks (on both sides) did little to smooth the path to mutual understanding.

Of course, the big sticking point was London. Ever since he had been handed over to Turpin, Swiftnick had been anticipating his first trip to London. He'd already known that Dick made regular visits to the place and Swiftnick had heard enough tales and seen the Quality who had occasionally called at the Swan, to be dazzled at the prospect of going there and seeing for himself. Only it hadn't turned out that way. Turpin had told him that he was mistaken and that London was an ugly place which no self-respecting person would stay in unless he had to. That was so patently ridiculous that Swiftnick hadn't even deigned to argue. No-one want to live in London? If that was so then everyone would be living in the countryside and that obviously wasn't the way of it! No, Dick was just being stubborn and maybe wanted to continue feeling that little bit superior by being the one who went to London and fenced all the goods.

He didn't intend to disobey Turpin in the slightest. Whenever he did that, disaster invariably pounced on him like an owl swooping down on a field-mouse. As the days passed, though, his imagination went into a flat-out gallop as it depicted (often hazily, since he had only the shakiest grasp of what they entailed), all the many and varied entertainments which Turpin was enjoying while his apprentice languished in undeserved boredom back in the countryside. It didn't help that he wasn't all that familiar with this part of the country and so was a little wary of just trotting off for the day to do some fishing or foraging. So while he intended to obey the letter of Turpin's demand, he didn't think he was breaking the spirit of it when he found himself trotting down the same track he had seen the madwoman on the other day. He had spent the day going to get some fresh provisions from the nearest village and he was looking forward to getting back to the hideout. Maybe Dick had finally returned from London.

It took a few minutes for him to recognise the lane, but when he did he felt a momentary stab of conscience which he ruthlessly quashed. Turpin hadn't said anything about avoiding the place where he had seen the woman; he had simply told him not to go after her. Spending some time in a place where he had briefly seen her couldn't possibly be considered to be doing that. He had no intention of tracking her to whatever den she had, but he thought it might be worth a look to see if she had dropped any more jewels when Dick had pushed her in the ditch. He couldn't spend all that much time on the task, since it was already late afternoon and the light would soon be too bad to find anything.

He dismounted from Toby, who immediately started to investigate the lush grass by the wayside with all the single-minded stubbornness of a horse convinced that he was constantly on the verge of starvation. Looping the reins over a convenient branch, Swiftnick gave him an affectionate slap on the neck and went to see what he could find. Fortunately it hadn't rained since the encounter and the ditch was dry and full of soft new vegetation rather than the rank growth which would come later. Swiftnick had been busily rooting his way through this for a while when he spotted a small gleam of light when he parted some grass. He reached down to pick up a length of chain from which hung some kind of clear gem, lifting it up and suddenly realising how dim the light had become.

In the soft silence of early evening, the sudden sound of Toby's bugle of challenge, followed by the sturdy horse rearing and plunging against his restraints came as a considerable shock. Swiftnick whirled around, half-expecting to see a troop of Dragoons, and he was initially relieved to see that the only person in sight was the madwoman as she glided up the lane towards him. It was extremely gloomy under the full canopy of the trees on either side but she seemed to almost glow as she approached, completely silent apart from the soft swish of her gown as it brushed the ground. If it hadn't been for that, he could almost have taken her for a ghost, since she was wearing another costume from a bygone era, this time in soft peach and pink. Ropes of pearls interspersed with flashing gems which might be diamonds glowed and flashed at throat, ears and hands and Swiftnick's first impulse to flee wavered.

She didn't look dangerous, he decided as he studied her warily. She was a little taller than him but she was also older and Swiftnick still thought he might have a few more inches to go before he stopped growing. She was also achingly beautiful, in the wistful, slightly dreamy manner of some of the portraits he had seen. She could almost be a fairy princess, temporarily lured away from Faeryland because she had seen a young mortal she desired. Realising the way his thoughts were starting to go, Swiftnick put a swift brake on them and turned towards Toby, blushing furiously. She might not be dangerous in the conventional manner, but she was deadly in another way and Swiftnick's survival instinct belatedly kicked in. Gold and gems were only useful if you were alive to enjoy them!

"Good evening, Oliver."

The voice was as soft and musical as a nightingale singing, but it's effect on Toby was little short of spectacular. With a sobbing neigh, he reared and twisted to one side, finally managing to snap free the branch which he had been tethered to and he turned and galloped up off the lane at full tilt, acting like there was a pack of wolves snapping at his heels. Swiftnick stared after him in utter amazement. He had never seen Toby act like that before, not even when they had been hunted by hounds! He was just beginning to realise that this was one of those times when he should have listened to Turpin and not tried to find a loophole when he felt a hand come down on his shoulder.

"Dearest Oliver, I've missed you," came the gentle, but ever-so-slightly out of kilter voice.

Swallowing, Swiftnick took a deep breath and turned around to face her. This close, she was even more beautiful than he had previously thought and when he met the intense dark sapphire of her eyes, he felt his senses start to swim. "I'm sorry," he said with an effort, "but I'm not Oliver. My name is… is Swiftnick." It was getting hard to think, for some reason, and he shook his head in an effort to clear it.

"Ah, my poor love, you are confused," she crooned, lifting her hand to lay it against his cheek in a soft caress. It felt like a blade of metal left out in the winter chill against his skin. "You are Oliver Granville, who blessed me with eternal life but who was forced to leave me through the hatred of the cattle we should have ruled." She smiled at him. "But now you have returned to me and not all the fury of the cattle or the magicks of my uncle will part us again."

His eyes locked on the fangs which had been revealed when she smiled, Swiftnick felt a scream bubble up soundlessly inside his head. When she leaned forward to plant a dainty kiss on the side of his throat, he was frozen to the spot from a mixture of terror and confusion as he attempted to cope with the reality of a legend reaching out to him. He felt the tip of her tongue run across the skin and heard her hum with pleasure, then darkness and silence claimed him as he fainted clean away.

Turpin did his best to hide the fact that he was impatient as he waited for his oldest and most reliable fence to acknowledge his existence. Jacob Greenslade was a Jew, but he was also one of the wisest and gentlest men Turpin had ever met. He'd initially wondered how on earth the man could survive in his chosen profession until he had realised that Jacob thrived because he clever enough to use his chancy customers' weaknesses against them and honest enough never to obviously cheat them. Jews led a precarious life in England, but if they were careful they could prosper. Greenslade was very careful and very, very good at what he did.

He was also addicted to books, a vice he had partially succeeded in introducing Turpin to. Not that Turpin allowed any book, no matter how fascinating, to get in the way of conducting business. Seeing the elderly, white-haired man turn over yet another page, Dick did his best to suppress a sigh. His eyes narrowed when he caught the quick flash of a mischievous eye flick in his direction.

"Jacob…." he rumbled threateningly.

"Ah, you young ones. It's always hurry, hurry, hurry," Greenslade complained. He gave a chuckle and closed the book, carefully depositing it to one side. "For you, though, Richard, I will make an exception. Are you here to make a deposit or withdrawal?" he asked brightly, clasping his hands together and resting them on the polished wooden desk he sat at.

Dick grinned. He had small caches of jewellery and coins stashed at various places around his territory, but the bulk of the money he had managed to acquire over the years was held by Greenslade, who had also managed to increase it by the legal expedient of investing it. Turpin was extremely hazy about the details, but the reality was that he had a third more money available than he had actually given Jacob. That seemed to give Jacob a proprietary interest in the money and trying to draw funds out of him was like trying to draw a mastiff's teeth.

"I'm here to make a deposit," he said gravely, handing over the pouch containing the gems he had filched from the vampire.

"Excellent," Jacob said affably, rubbing his hands together. "I always look forward to your visits, Richard. You have excellent tastes in larceny."

Turpin gave the older man a twisted grin. He'd been a highwayman for some time, now, and had long since come to terms with his own conscience, but he still felt an occasional twinge. He sometimes wondered if Jacob's barbed comments were designed to keep that flicker of honesty alive, but he usually dismissed it as a fancy. Greenslade might be an honest fence, but he was just as much a thief as Turpin was.

He hummed gently to himself as he upended the pouch Turpin had tossed to him, spilling out the contents onto the table where the light from the lamp was strongest. There was the soft blaze of gems and the glow of finely worked gold and silver. Dick never bothered to bring coin to Greenslade, but only the jewellery and knick-knacks he took from the rich travellers he held up. He and Swiftnick had had a fairly good couple of months, but he wouldn't have normally come here until he'd had a bit more to offer.

Jacob picked out a small snuff-box and made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. "The Duke of Avon's nephew!" he identified the previous owner. "I trust he was suitably mortified with the loss of this little bauble?"

With an effort, Turpin dug up a memory of the person he had taken the box from. A short, stout little man who had done a lot of yelling about the influential friends he had. He gave a small grin. "He was a hell of a lot more upset about the fact that I kissed the lady he was with and she didn't yell," he recalled.

"Richard, that romantic streak will be the death of you," Greenslade said in amused exasperation. "Kissing ladies, indeed! And I suppose you let her keep her jewels?"

Turpin gave him a horrified look. "Certainly not," he disclaimed. When Greenslade eyed him over the tops of his glasses, he gave a small cough. "Well, the kiss was the ransom for her mother's locket," he admitted.

"Hopeless," Greenslade said, shaking his head. "Absolutely hopeless."

He would have said more but he broke off and his hand shot out to lift up a necklace. Dick felt a flutter of apprehension curl in the pit of his stomach when he saw the expression on Jacob's face. It was the necklace he had taken from the vampire - no, madwoman, he corrected himself angrily.

"Where did you get this?" Greenslade demanded, holding the delicate lacework of metal and precious stones.

Turpin shrugged, doing his best to look casual. "Some woman."

Greenslade gave him a sharp look. "Describe her!"

Dick forced a laugh. "I can't remember every cove I rob!" he protested.

"I've yet to see you forget one," Greenslade retorted. "Sometimes it takes you an effort and time, but you haven't become so blasé that you forget some aspect of every person you rob. It is one of the things which sets you apart from the other thieves and rogues I deal with. You remember, but you don't want to, which makes me fear the worst."

Turpin's first thought was he knows!, to be closely followed by a harsh denial of that part of him which had been quivering with tension ever since he had seen those fangs flash in the tree-born twilight on the path. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said flatly.

Greenslade gave him a sombre look, then transferred his attention back to where the necklace hung from his hand, tiny sparks of ruby flames winking in and out of existence as he turned it this way and that. "She was young, perhaps ten years younger than you, and one of the most beautiful women you have ever seen. Her hair was black, but with faint hints of red in its depth. Her eyes were the blue of certain rare sapphires, almost purple in the right light, and they were large and bright and fine. Her lips were a perfect rosebud, ripe for kissing. In height she was a handspan shorter than you. Have I described her correctly?" He looked up to see the open-mouthed expression of shock on Turpin's face and sighed. "I see that I have."

"How… how did you know?" Dick croaked. A possible explanation occurred to him and he calmed down. "You recognise the necklace and you know the girl."

"I recognise the necklace," Greenslade agreed, "and I know of the girl," he continued after a pause. He suddenly looked tired and old. "I know this is a forlorn hope, but did you take this necklace off an apparent corpse?"

Genuinely revolted, Turpin glared at him. "I don't rob the dead!" he spat.

"In that case, you robbed one of the undead," Greenslade said calmly. "A creature of the dark called a vampire."

"There are no such thing as vampires," Turpin scoffed.

Greenslade smiled mirthlessly. "Yes, there are," he corrected, "and the name of the vampire you robbed is Rosalind Tremont. A woman of rare beauty and charm when she was alive, but with an arrogance which led her into temptation and her eventual transformation into a vampire at the hands of Oliver Granville."

Oliver. Something stirred in the back of Dick's mind, but he couldn't pin down why that name was familiar.

"And you think this Rosalind is the woman I robbed?" he said mockingly.

"Do you see this device on the necklace?" Greenslade asked, gesturing at Dick to come closer. When Turpin reluctantly complied, he leaned forward to look at the pendant which Jacob pointed out to him. Cunningly worked in several different kinds of metal, with tiny specks of gems to add emphasis, it was an intricate coat of arms. "This is the device of the Tremont family. I have also seen a copy of a painting done of Rosalind, in which she wore this necklace."

"Necklaces can be handed down from mother to daughter," Turpin growled, angry without really understanding why.

"True, but Rosalind never married, despite the best attempts of her family. She had been spoilt as a child and she grew wilder and wilder until in the end, her uncle was forced to stop her before she brought the family to ruin."

"Her uncle?" Turpin asked sharply, remembering the way she had taken him for her uncle and the way she had considered him to be someone willing to thwart her desires.

"Yes, Sir Alan Tremont," Greenslade said, watching him thoughtfully. "He was a learned scholar who also had the reputation for a being a man who knew magic. He took Rosalind from her home and established her in his own home of Marescott, where she was eventually said to have died of a wasting disease."

"Well, there you are, then," Turpin said. "Problem solved."

"Only if you are a credulous person who believes everything he is told, which I have yet to believe that you are," Greenslade said with a wry smile. "Rosalind was said to have died, but there was no body and a sealed coffin was buried with very little ceremony. Soon afterwards, Sir Alan ordered some extensive alterations made to his home. Alterations which sealed off a small portion of the original manor."

"Jacob, this is all nonsense and you know it," Turpin said, breaking free of the spell which Greenslade's words had been weaving. "I robbed a young madwoman who obviously thought she was this Rosalind and who'd got dressed up in Elizabethan dress and put on some family jewels. It wasn't even night, for God's sake!"

"Not night, but close to it?" The expression on Turpin's face must have given away how close a hit that had been because Greenslade nodded. "So she was wearing her old clothes, was she? She can't have been roused for long, then. I had wondered if I should say something when I heard that Marescott Manor had been sold, but I assumed that what is left of the family would be careful to make the new owners aware of the danger in their new home. Perhaps that was a mistake."

"Jacob…"

Greenslade blinked, seeming to remember Dick's presence with a start. "Don't play games with me, Richard. I have looked in your eyes and I have seen the fear. You might not want to acknowledge it, but you know what it was that you met and you should thank your God that you escaped with your life."

Turpin struggled with his own nature for a moment, then decided that arguing any further would just make him look stupid. "I'm not sure what she was," he said, "but I think she would have killed me if Swiftnick hadn't come along when he did. I was afoot and she was stronger than any woman I've ever met."

"Swiftnick? Your young apprentice?" Greenslade looked concerned. "You told him she was dangerous and not to be approached?"

Turpin grinned mirthlessly. "Oh, aye, I made sure of that, although I left out nonsense tales about vampires! I just told him that she was mad and dangerous. Just as well I did. He thought she was beautiful and she-" Light dawned dazzlingly as his errant memory clicked into place. "She called Swiftnick, Oliver," he finished slowly.

"She called him Oliver?" Greenslade repeated.

"Yes, and she thought she knew who he was. Dear God, I have to get back there. If she finds out where he is…"

"Wait!"" Greenslade commanded as Turpin turned to leave. "If Rosalind truly does believe that Swiftnick is Oliver, then she won't harm him-"

"Damn it, Jacob, she'll expect him to be another vampire and when she realises he isn't she'll rip his throat out!" Turpin flashed, terror battling with anger at being constrained.

"Maybe not, let me think. How old is Swiftnick?"

Turpin blinked, temporarily distracted. "Seventeen, nearly eighteen. Why?"

"My sources say that Oliver Granville had the appearance of someone in his mid-twenties. Swiftnick would be too young to be a perfect match for Rosalind's memory of Oliver. She'll be likely to wait until he's older before she makes him a vampire. One thing which was made clear over and over again was that Rosalind was stubborn woman who liked things to be just right. Besides, contrary to the stories told, it takes time to make a true vampire. If Rosalind wants her Oliver back by her side, she'll need three dark of the moons to achieve her desire."

"It's the dark of the moon tonight," Turpin whispered.

"And there is no way you can get back to Swiftnick by then," Greenslade pointed out ruthlessly. "Better to remain with me for two more days and learn what you need to know to keep Swiftnick safe."

"And if I'm too late and she's killed him?" Turpin demanded in anguish.

"Then I will teach you what you need to know to avenge him."

It was growing dark when he awoke and stirred beneath the heavy blankets on his bed. He could tell by the dancing shadows on the ceiling that Statton had ordered the fire in his room to be lit. He was glad, since the days were growing steadily cooler and the temperature always dropped when the sun went down. But Rosalind preferred the evening and night to the day, and what Rosalind wanted was law in Marescott Manor.

Restless, he threw off the covers and got out of bed, shivering a little as he stood on the cold floor before crossing over to the heavy rug in front of the fireplace, where the table stood which bore the ewer and jug holding the hot water for him to use. He shucked off the long night-gown he wore and quickly washed, knowing that one of Statton's people would have been listening at the door for sounds of movement. Sure enough, the door opened and the thin, sour-faced individual called Myers slipped in.

"Is my Lord Granville ready to dress?" Myers inquired.

Busily drying himself, Swiftnick nodded. It still felt odd to be addressed as Lord Granville by the servants, and Oliver by Rosalind and Statton, but he was told that was his name and while there was a strangeness to it, it was obviously what Rosalind wanted and that was good enough for Swiftnick. Oliver, he reminded himself. Sometimes it felt like most of his life was hidden behind some deep fog, and that this life he now led was something new and unwelcome, but whenever he was in Rosalind's presence, those fancies became absurd and he knew just where he wanted to be. By his lady's side, now and forever.

Myers was carefully laying out tonight's clothing and Oliver fingered some of the brocade as he considered the full effect. He never seemed to win an argument with Statton and he never wanted to disagree with anything Rosalind said, but occasionally he felt the urge to assert some measure of independence by refusing Myers' choice of raiment. He could find no fault tonight, though, so he nodded his acceptance and allowed the man to dress him. It took a little time to don the layers of silk, velvet and brocade but when he was finished he studied himself in the floor-length mirror with some satisfaction.

The clothing still felt and looked a little strange, especially when he unexpectedly caught sight of himself in a mirror, but at the same time he couldn't help but enjoy the way Rosalind's face always lit up when she saw him. He knew that the clothes came courtesy of Statton, since it had been a few days before he had a choice of garments, but beyond a mild annoyance at the fact that he was beholden to a man he disliked, he tried to ignore the fact. The only thing that was truly important was that he pleased Rosalind.

She had already expressed a preference to seeing him in blues and purples and Statton had been quick to obey her whim. It was Oliver who had insisted on the touches of black and silver, enjoying his small victory when Rosalind had agreed to his wishes. Now he smoothed down the doublet of black velvet and checked that the sky blue hose had no crease or ladder in them before turning to choose from the plentiful supply of jewellery which was his to use as he wished. Every time he ran his hands through the chains and ropes of gold and silver, loaded down with precious stones of all kinds, something stirred in Oliver's heart and he kept looking around, as if expecting to find someone by his side who would also appreciate the glorious display of wealth.

But there was only Myers, and Oliver both disliked and mistrusted the man too much to do more than exchange commonplace comments with him. Feeling oddly restless, Oliver concentrated on choosing the jewels he would wear that night. Rosalind had told him that tonight would be a special one, so he wanted to make sure that he pleased her with his presence. By the time he had settled on the sapphire and gold chain that dropped over his head and rested on his chest, selected the rings for his fingers and fastened the single sapphire earring, Myers was at the door again, coughing discreetly and a glance out of the window informed Oliver that night had fallen completely. With a cool smile, Oliver buckled the dainty dress-sword to his side and swept past Myers and on to the main stairs. From there it was but a few steps to the doors leading to the main hall and Oliver swept inside with all the confidence of someone who knew he would be welcomed and forgiven any small degree of tardiness.

Nor was he disappointed. Rosalind was already there, divine in dull gold, cream and red. She spun around as he entered and came towards him, her hands outstretched and that fascinating smile curving her lips. Statton was also there, standing beside the great fireplace, clad in his usual black and scowling at him. Oliver smiled back sweetly before lifting his own hands to accept Rosalind's loving salute.

"I'm a little late," he admitted with mischievous penitence.

"Fashionably late," Rosalind demurred with an answering twinkle in her eternal eyes. "And it was worth the wait to see you looking so fine," she continued, with that purring note in her voice which always did strange things to his insides. "I love the way you always try and look your best for me."

Oliver bowed slightly and smiled up at her. "I try and do justice to your own beauty, but it's difficult to compete with perfection."

She glowed at his words and lifted one of his hands to kiss it lightly. "You gave me that perfection, Oliver, and in a little while I shall return it to you."

Oliver blinked, a little confused. She often said things which he knew she expected him to understand, but which generally baffled him. He had learned not to ask her for an elaboration, since it seemed to upset her and gave an uncertain edge to her mood. He fell back on his usual tactic of smiling and kissing her hand in return and was rewarded by the pleased look on her face. Even more rewarding, so far as he was concerned, was the black look he caught on Statton's face as they returned to his side by the main fireplace.

"This is to be a special night, Oliver," Rosalind told him excitedly. "The first step in your return to be by my side for eternity."

Oliver gave her a puzzled look. "Are we to be married?"

She gave a bright, glorious laugh. "Oh, much better than that, my darling. This union is far beyond any petty thing which the Church can devise! Soon I shall restore you to what you were when we first met and then we shall reach out to rule the fools that surround us, like the Lords and Ladies of Creation we were meant to be."

"And what of your promise to me?" Statton demanded with carefully leashed ferocity, his dislike for Oliver barely held in check as he glared at the younger man.

Rosalind gave him a mildly contemptuous smile. "I will not forget my promise to you. When Oliver is restored to me, I shall give you what you have asked of me, but not before."

"I gave you life again!" Statton spat out.

"And I spared yours and took only those poor fools who were with you," Rosalind shot back. "Be grateful, for I was so hungry I could easily have drained you dry before I understood your pleas for mercy."

Statton choked on his fury but a single look at her warned him that he had pushed Rosalind as far as was safe tonight. He trailed after them as they left the room, his rage controlled but not diminished. When he had discovered the possibility that Rosalind Marescott still survived, walled up in a long-forgotten part of the Manor, he had laid his plans carefully. It had been an easy matter to persuade the current heir to sell the Manor to him, since the family had fallen on hard times and the price Statton had offered had been more than generous. He smiled as he remembered the almost embarrassed look on young Tremont's face as he had warned him against carrying out work in the old West Wing. He'd gravely assured him that he wouldn't go into the unsafe part of the building and then he had gone away and made plans to do just that.

Even through his anger and impatience, he still remembered the awe he had felt when the workmen he had employed had finally broken through into that hidden room. Statton had eased his way in and lifted a branch of candelabra to see a scene of faded, unreal glory. A heavy layer of dust was on everything and vast sails of spiders' cobwebs hung all around, but right in the centre of the room had been the bed and on that had lain Rosalind Marescott, as perfect as the day she had been locked inside here through the enchantments of her uncle and the craftsmen of her family.

He had not expected her to seem so young. He had certainly not expected her to be every bit as lovely as the tales had said, since it had been his experience that the fairytale princess invariably turned out to be less than perfect on closer inspection. But Rosalind had been ever bit as irresistible as he had heard and for the first time something more than an insatiable lust for immortality had stirred in Statton's breast.

His inattention had almost cost him his life. With the breaking down of the walls which contained her, the spell which had held Rosalind in suspension had also started to decay. Statton had been standing at the foot of the bed, gazing at her in wordless appreciation, when her fathomless dark eyes had opened. One of his hired hands had been even closer, staring at her in wide-eyed awe and greedily pointing out the jewels she wore to his compatriot. He had barely had time to scream when she had grabbed him and dragged him down to her, her dagger teeth clamping down on his throat as she gulped down his life-blood. She drained him dry in a matter of seconds. By the time the other two workmen had realised what had happened and were fleeing in screaming terror, she had tossed aside the husk and risen to hunt.

Pure terror had held Statton in place and that had probably saved his life. Still dazed after her long sleep, Rosalind had been pure predator and the sight of fleeing prey kicked instincts into life. She flashed out after the workmen and Statton had eventually followed, trailing after the screams and shrieks of terror he could hear, moving like a man in a dream - or a nightmare. It hadn't taken him long to stumble over the corpse of the second workman, his throat torn open like the first one. He had skirted around it and continued, deaf to the commands of an inner voice which told him to seize the opportunity and get away while she was distracted.

He could hear the third workman screaming for mercy but by the time he reached the spot, the sounds had died away and he arrived in time to find another body. This one, however, simply carried bite marks, with none of the frantic tearing he had seen on the previous corpses. There had been no sign of the vampire, so he had carried on, hoping against hope that now she had drunk her fill, she would be willing to listen to him. He had been on the verge of wondering where she was when he had heard a woman scream and remembered the two servants he had brought with him.

By the time he got to the servants' quarters, Rosalind had cornered the cook and was playing with her. She had ripped the woman's bodice to expose her and had pinned her arms to her side while she bit idly at throat and breasts, slicing the flesh but not pausing to drink deeply. Myers had been standing to one side, an expression of horror on his face, and before Statton could say anything, he had raised the gun he held and fired it point blank at Rosalind. She had given a screech and staggered back, but it was obvious that the point-blank shot had merely inconvenienced her and she lunged across at Myers, knocking the gun out of his hand and grabbing him by the throat.

"Wait!" Statton called, realising that she could snap his servant's neck like a twig.

She turned her head to look at him without releasing Myers, who choked and flailed under her iron grip. "You do not command me!" she spat.

"I released you from your sleep," he pointed out.

Delicate eyebrows raised, she gave a scornful laugh. "Did you expect gratitude? You are a fool if you did."

She hadn't killed Myers yet. That had to count in Statton's favour. "I came to offer you a bargain."

"A bargain?" For a moment there was a flicker of curiosity on her face. "What kind of bargain?"

"You have slept for a long time, my lady, and the world is not as you remember it. There is a whole new world out there, and in your present state you have no way of moving in it. I, on the other hand, can move freely and have many resources which I would be happy to lay at your disposal. I can provide you with money, shelter and all the knowledge you need to become as powerful in this world as you were in the one you have left behind. More powerful, since no-one is aware of you and what you are."

"And what do you desire in return?" She dropped Myers and turned to eye him warily.

Statton bowed and tried not to let his desire show through too clearly. "I wish to become what you are," he said. "A vampire."

She stared at him and then laughed. "Most people would see that as a curse."

Statton smiled back at her. "Eternal life, superhuman strength and senses far above anything mere humans can comprehend. I think that more than makes up for not being able to go out in the sun."

"We can go out in the sun, but only when it is weak." She continued to study him for a long couple of minutes while Statton did his best not to sweat. "Very well, it seems to be an equitable bargain, but I will not make you one of my own kind until I am certain that you are worthy." She lifted her hand to finger her ruined dress, the skin where the bullet had struck already healed and unmarked. "I shall need new clothes and the effort of healing myself against that small cannon has left me hungry again."

Statton looked down to where the cook was huddled on the floor, staring up at them in terrified incomprehension. There was something unsettlingly erotic in her appearance and he shifted a little. "Take her," he said. "I can provide others for you later."

Both he and Myers had watched, unconsciously drawing together as Rosalind had then tormented and finally killed the cook. They had exchanged heavy-lidded looks, licking their lips and knowing they had taken an irreversible step down a new and potentially damning road. It was a road which had many compensations, though, as Statton discovered in the three months that followed. There were more than enough young women and even men who were willing to hire themselves, no questions asked, and once he had spirited them away, they were at Statton's mercy. There was no difficulty in finding two additional servants who had even fewer scruples than he had, either, and life at the Manor soon fell into a kind of pleasant domesticity. During the day, Statton, Myers and the others would take their pleasure of the victims and when night came, Statton and Myers watched while Rosalind killed and fed. Statton had been confident that once she had come to trust him, Rosalind would give him the immortality he craved.

Except that this… this Oliver Granville had to come along and ruin everything. It had come as a considerable shock when Statton had discovered that Rosalind had taken to wandering away from the Manor. Even though it had meant that she finally believed him when he told her that the outside world had changed, he feared that she would either be careless or kill someone who would be missed. The one thing he had never anticipated was that she would return one night, flushed and radiant, claiming that she had found her love and Statton had to prepare clothes and a room for him.

Thrown off balance, Statton had nevertheless obeyed, since Rosalind had taught him just how ferocious and lethal her temper tantrums could be. He'd done as she had ordered, but he'd been enraged when she had then brought back this young slip of a commoner and had announced that he was the reincarnation of the lover who had originally made her a vampire. Statton had very nearly overstepped the mark when he had laughed, but he had managed to recover and it was true that when the youth woke up, he was willing to accept that he was Oliver Granville, albeit a little dazedly.

What really stuck in Statton's craw, however, was the news that Rosalind intended to make this stripling into a vampire first. He had raged at her then, forgetting the potential danger in doing so, but his fury had amused rather than infuriated her. She had flatly refused to change her mind, but when his fury had cooled, it had occurred to Statton that this might work to his advantage. For all his reading, he had very little knowledge of how a vampire was created, although he knew it wasn't from a single bite. If that were so, the Manor would be filled with vampires from cellars to attics from all of Rosalind's victims. Observing how she claimed this Oliver might be useful, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

He fumed to himself, now, as he watched the way Rosalind flirted with the youth. She was always at her best when Oliver was around, displaying none of the petulance and flashes of temper she did when he was elsewhere. She had never bothered to sit with them while they ate until Oliver came along, but now she always took her place at the head of the table and watched them eat with an air of faint superiority. She had never taken a victim while Oliver was in the room, but she had informed Statton that this would end tonight, since Oliver was going to take his first step down the path to becoming a vampire with her help. That had been enough to excite Statton into almost putting his antipathy towards this young upstart to one side.

The meal, as always, was a mixture of the mundane and the fantastic. The food was fairly basic, since none of them were gourmets and only needed what was essential to fill their stomachs. Everyone wore Elizabethan costume, however, since Rosalind still felt unsettled when her surroundings became too modern and Statton was always conscious of the fact that he was eating at the same table as a ruthless killer who was a creature of the undead. And one who was so beautiful that it was almost impossible to think of her that way.

The conversation had also changed since Oliver had come along, Statton thought savagely as he bit into the chicken leg he had taken from the platter. With Rosalind present, there was a strange parody of polite conversation, while she told Oliver of the life he had once led and which he would inherit again once she had purged his mortality from him. Statton had no idea what Rosalind had done to the youth, but he absorbed everything she told him with an eerie serenity which went with the slightly dislocated look in his eyes. Statton felt excitement stir inside him as he realised that he was witnessing the effect of the vampire's glamour, that strange spell which the species was supposed to cast on their victims.

With the meal over, the servants cleared the table and retired. If they ever wondered what happened to the hapless men and women they conveyed here and had their way with, they were far too practical to ruin things by asking questions. Normally they would retire to the main hall again and play at being normal Elizabethans passing the time until dawn. Tonight, though, things would be different.

How different they realised when they went upstairs to the long hall and found the night's victim bound and waiting for them. Statton blinked, not having given the order to bring the man up. He certainly hadn't ordered that he be stripped and washed before being bound by silken cords. He gave Rosalind a hard, suspicious look which she returned with some amusement.

"Did you order this?"

"Of course," she said calmly. "The men you have employed have simple minds. It was easy for me to overwhelm them and make them do what I wished. This is the night of the Black Moon and I need everything to be perfect." She turned away and gestured at Oliver. "Come here, my love. You must come and kneel here."

She led him over to where a complex triangular ritual space had been painted on the floor. Statton gazed at it in bewilderment, not recognising some of the symbols which made up the whole. He hadn't realised that there were symbols and summonings attached to making a person into a vampire. He said as much, without realising he had done so.

"They are not essential but our kind has its own customs and rituals," Rosalind said as she guided Oliver into the centre of the triangle. "Take off your doublet and shirt, Oliver."

For a moment there was a flicker of a question on Oliver's face, but it faded as he gazed up at Rosalind and he did as he had been commanded. Statton gazed at him and was willing to admit that he had a fine figure of a body, one which had youth and health to recommend it. He had spent too many years hunting down esoteric texts and being hunched over library tables for him to have the kind of lithe, trim body which Oliver had and he felt yet another pang of jealousy.

He turned his attention onto the night's victim. He was older than most of the other victims, the signs of privation on his body hinting at a hard life. He had been played with by the other servants during the day and was staring at them as they surrounded him, a mixture of fear and hopeless acceptance on his face as he obviously expected more of the same. He would probably live just long enough to realise just how wrong he was, Statton decided. The females tended to faint once they were being drained and thus put up less of a struggle. He felt his breathing accelerate as Rosalind turned away from Oliver and walked towards him. There was always something deeply arousing in watching her kill.

"What is your name?" Rosalind asked in a throaty voice as she settled down beside the man in a billow of silks.

The man said nothing, staring up at her in alarm.

"No name?" she said, tracing a delicate finger along the side of his face and then down the length of his throat. "What a shame to die nameless. You are strong, so you will give me a great deal of pleasure."

"Miss, I don't think… it ain't right," the man whispered uneasily, then whimpered and jerked as she stroked his stomach.

"Hush, such talk is foolish," she chided. "I need you to take the edge off my hunger before I begin the ritual with Oliver. You see, I mustn't kill or drain him, but only take a little of him, but I can't do that if I'm hungry. And I am very, very hungry."

She brought her other hand up to run it through her victim's shaggy red hair. Her grip tightened and she pulled his head back, exposing his throat. At the same time she slid her other arm around his waist and pulled him towards her. He caught a glimpse of her shining fangs just before she buried her face against the side of his neck and he started to scream and struggle. The struggles became even more frantic as he felt the teeth slice through his skin and into the veins of his throat. Statton leaned forward and was aware of Myers standing just behind him, just as tense from a mixture of fear and arousal. Sometimes when she was feeling playful, Rosalind demanded two victims and left them unbound, playing with them like some demonic cat before killing them. There was something about a completely helpless victim, though….

Despite his age, tonight's victim was strong and it was some time before his struggles ceased and Rosalind was left sucking dry a limp body. When she eventually let him drop away, there was the same expression of almost sexual satiation on her face as she rose to her feet and turned back towards Oliver. He was staring at the corpse with an expression of horrified fascination and he instinctively moved back when he registered that Rosalind was coming towards him. Unfortunately for him, however, he also looked up and met her eyes. He immediately came to a quivering halt.

"Don't be frightened, Oliver. I'm going to give you the same gift you gave me, all those years ago."

"No… no, this isn't right," Oliver stuttered, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

"Oh, my foolish love, what does that matter?" she asked as she sank down beside him and started to run her hand along the side of his face. Oliver tried to jerk his head away, but she was too quick for him and she seized him, a hand on either side of his face holding him steady as she gazed into his eyes. "Don't struggle, my darling. It won't do you any good and it will only make it hurt. This will be the first bite. After that there will be two more and then you will pass over and become all that you were before and we shall rule this stupid land as we planned to do then."

Oliver was still trying to pull away, but Statton knew that Rosalind was twice as strong as a full-grown man and perfectly capable of containing any attempt at flight. She crooned at him softly and leaned forward to delicately lick and kiss the smooth skin on the side of his throat. He whimpered and brought up his hands to grip her wrists, trying to pull her away, but it was all in vain. She nuzzled against his throat, giving a moan of pure pleasure before opening her mouth and slowly and delicately biting him.

He gave a small scream and started to struggle, but she ignored the attempt and shifted one hand to curl it around him and pull him closer. She was still moaning, the sheer pleasure in her voice making Statton pant a little in sheer empathic resonance. Oliver's struggles had become less convulsive and after a while Statton realised that he was no longer trying to break away but had curled his own arms around her, trying to pull her closer to him. Shifting position a little, Statton looked at his face and saw an expression of absolute ecstasy there. If he remembered that when he came back to himself, then there would be no difficulty in getting him to accept a second bite.

Once again, Statton found himself overwhelmed by a torrent of wild, hot jealousy and hatred.

Turpin finally reached the hideout on a golden afternoon which was hideously at odds with the emotions he was feeling. The two days he had spent with Jacob Greenslade had probably been the most unsettling he had ever lived. If it hadn't been for the fact that he had seen Rosalind with his own eyes, he would have laughed in the old Jew's face at his stories of an organisation dedicated to fighting the supernatural forces of evil which threatened the world. He would have scoffed at the idea that he would be joining such a bunch of idealistic idiots, but if that was the price of rescuing Swiftnick from the latest danger he'd got himself involved in, then he'd do it. He could always tell Greenslade to go to Hell at a later date. If the small smile on Jacob's face had been a little unsettling, he refused to acknowledge the fact.

Equally unsettling had been the way Greenslade spoke about vampires as something that was almost normal. A danger every bit as physical as the Dragoons or thief-catchers. Turpin has almost managed to shake off the feeling of total unreality as he had listened and learned, pushing aside his incredulity and focusing his attention as he had in his years as a soldier. He had survived the war because he had been quick to learn and flexible enough to accept advice and learn by example. That would stand him in good stead in the days to come.

What had really clinched the matter for him had been the two small paintings which Greenslade had showed him. His scalp had crawled when he had recognised Rosalind from her portrait, but his hair had practically stood on end when he had seen one of Oliver Granville. Even with the differences in style, it had been Swiftnick he had seen when he had looked at the picture of the Elizabethan man, albeit a Swiftnick with more arrogance and disdain than Dick had ever seen his Swiftnick portray. There hadn't been a painting of Alan Tremont, for which Dick was grateful. He didn't think he would have been able to cope with seeing his own face gazing at him from across a gulf of more than two hundred years.

Greenslade had given him an accelerated briefing on vampires, treating the whole matter so matter-of-factly that Turpin found himself accepting everything without question. It wasn't until he was back on the road home that he had realised how unreal it was. Vampires, reincarnated souls… those kinds of things belonged in tales - and stupid ones, at that. And yet he still rode the horse he had exchanged for the Streak as hard as he could and went over everything that Greenslade had told him, again and again, until the knowledge was second nature.

He realised he had still been hoping this was all some kind of horrible dream when he heard himself calling out Swiftnick's name as he clattered into the tiny yard of the deserted farmhouse they were currently making use of. The silence which greeted him had his heart sinking down to his boots and he hurried to the stables to check on the horses. The sight of the open stall door had him panicking for a moment before he remembered Bess' ability to get out of any stable she didn't want to stay in. Toby's absence alarmed him, especially when he saw that his tack was also missing, but when he went back outside, a whicker from the nearest field revealed that both horses were safely inside. Bess still ostentatiously ignored him once she was certain he had found her, but it was the sight of Toby which had Dick breaking into a run. The bay was standing in the middle of the field, still with his bridle and saddle on and he was wary enough that it took Turpin several minutes to catch him.

There was no sign of injury, which was a relief, but the reins were broken; snapped when Toby had stepped on them at some time. The saddle was also badly damaged where he had obviously rolled in an effort to get rid of it. Turpin hastily unsaddled him and checked him over more thoroughly, but apart from dried sweat and a tendency to flinch which was unusual for the generally phlegmatic gelding, he seemed to be okay.

The same could not be said for Turpin, who was very much afraid that Toby's condition was the confirmation of his darkest fears. If they had still been in their usual territory, Dick would have been willing to believe that Swiftnick had been captured by the authorities, but Turpin hadn't been in this area since he had hooked up with him, so it was virtually impossible that someone would have recognised the lad and connected him to Turpin. Much though it went against the grain, he knew that he had to accept that - somehow or other - Rosalind had managed to get her hands on him.

Swearing under his breath, Dick went back to where his horse was waiting patiently and pulled off the saddlebags that Greenslade had given him. First he'd make sure that Bess, Toby and this new nag were cared for and settled in the field, then he'd make his plans. If it meant his having to go up against a whole nest of vampires, he would be damned if he was going to let Swiftnick get killed by some arrogant bitch who should have been staked a couple of hundred years ago!

It took the rest of the day to get everything sorted out and prepared. Turpin stared out of the window at the darkening sky and tried to persuade himself that he could afford to wait another night before going to see if Swiftnick was at Marescott Manor, but he knew better. Going after a vampire might be more sensible in the cold light of day, but his imagination was painting all kinds of horrific pictures as to the suffering Swiftnick might be undergoing. He went out and saddled up the horse he had brought from London, slinging on the saddlebags he had brought with him before mounting up. With one last look around, he touched his heels to the horse's side and started out for the Manor. He would find a farm reasonably close by and leave the horse there. A few coins pressed into the hand of a hard-pressed farmer would make sure the animal was taken care of until he could return for it.

If he returned for it.

Oliver woke sluggishly and lay where he was for a while after Myers had called him. Ever since the 'ceremony' he had felt increasingly strange whenever he was with Rosalind. Part of him was still totally besotted with her, willing to do whatever she desired if it pleased her. Another, deeper part of him remembered how afraid he had been when he had seen that other man killed. Afraid and revolted. Rosalind told him that he was supposed to be enjoy that kind of thing, but the very thought of hurting and then murdering a helpless person and enjoying it…. he couldn't understand how anyone could do that kind of thing.

And yet Rosalind did it, and Rosalind was perfect.

The conflict sometimes made his head hurt and he had learned to stop thinking whenever he felt the telltale throb start up behind his eyes. When he was in Rosalind's company, all his fears and doubts melted away. Since she had told him that they would soon be together for eternity, he knew that the headaches would cease and he would be at peace. The fact that he would also be a merciless killer was a thought which threatened to trigger the pain inside his head again, so he hastily switched his attention to the matter of choosing what he was going to wear tonight.

Myers hovered behind him, obviously wanting to hurry him along. Oliver threw him a look of dislike and had the satisfaction of seeing the man pale and back up a couple of steps. Ever since he had been given his first bite, he had noticed a marked change in the servant's demeanour. There was a hint of servility in the way he spoke to him now, and there was also a marked increase in the amount of bowing. It didn't make Oliver like him any more but he had to admit that there was something very satisfying in seeing Myers cower whenever Oliver showed his displeasure. Maybe Myers was afraid that Oliver would rip out his throat if he annoyed him too much!

The thought should have been amusing but there was a warning thump of pain behind his eyes and Swiftnick hastily focused again on choosing his wardrobe. Tonight he decided on a palette of purple and silver with the occasional touch of black. By the time he had fastened the amethyst and pearl earring and adjusted the heavy silver and amethyst chain which held his velvet short-cape in place, Myers was twitching with ill-concealed unease. Loftily ignoring him, Oliver swept past him and made his way to where he knew Rosalind was. He had begun to find that he could always tell where she was in the house without anyone having to tell him.

He was a little uneasy when his steps led him towards the Long Gallery again, but to his relief there was no sign of a sacrifice or ritual symbol on the floor when he arrived. Instead there was only Rosalind, magnificent in cream and old gold as she turned and swept towards him, her smiling face filling his world and banishing all his doubts again. He moved into her embrace and shivered, half in pleasure and half in dread, as she nuzzled against his throat and ran her tongue over the still-sore spot where her teeth had dug into him. His desire rose up inside him like a hot flood and he pulled her towards him, wishing with all his heart that he could possess her utterly there and then. He felt her laugh softly, deep in her throat, as she pulled away.

"Soon, my wonderful Oliver, soon," she crooned to him as she moved away. "Come, I told the others to eat earlier and now you shall break your fast."

She led him over to where a small table had been set with a decent meal. Since he always seemed to be ravenous these days, Oliver set to with a will and had soon polished off the food and ale presented to him. Rosalind had drifted away while he was eating, swirling and curtseying to herself as the moonlight poured through the huge windows and silvered her. She was an ethereal spirit of the night on one side, and on the other, where the light of the candles touched her, she was a delicately hued rose maiden. Either aspect was a delight to the besotted Oliver. When she realised he had finished eating, she gestured to the silent servant to take away the debris and just as imperiously ordered Statton to go over to the harpsichord. The older man had been standing to one side and the black look he gave Oliver as he passed him warned Oliver that he still hadn't got over the rage which seemed to have been consuming him ever since the ritual.

"We will dance," Rosalind told him imperiously, opening her arms in invitation.

Dance? For a moment, Oliver was bewildered, then he realised what she meant and he coloured. "I… I don't think I know your dances," he admitted.

For a moment she seemed disconcerted and her face was momentarily cold and empty, lacking the vivaciousness which lent her much of her beauty. Statton started to smile, but the moment passed and Rosalind laughed again. "Then I shall teach you, my fair Oliver, the way you taught me. It seems you were right when you told me that life was nothing but cycles happening again and again. Where you once led, now you follow, but soon we shall walk side by side. Come to me!"

It had the snap of an order and Oliver obeyed without thinking, moving into her embrace. She gave Statton an imperious nod and with a dark scowl he started to play a strange tune on the harpsichord. Oliver became absorbed in the task of moving as Rosalind instructed him, and as he grew more confident, so the music seemed to become familiar, so that he anticipated some of the moves before she showed them to him. Her delight and approval was like meat and drink and he smiled back at her, startled to see an expression which was part wonder and part sorrow touch her expressive eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

She blinked and then shook her head, laughing a little and showing the tips of her fangs. "Nothing that should concern you, my love. I was just mourning the passing of our first time together. This current age lacks any real finesse and courtesies. Still, we can change all that when you come into your inheritance and we are together again. Then this world will learn to bow down to us again."

There was a harsh discord as Statton hit the wrong keys and Rosalind sent him a look which made him go pale, but then she laughed and looked away again, swirling across the floor with Oliver. He tentatively took the lead and felt a thrill of delight and something deeper and darker when he felt her obey him submissively. To have someone as beautiful, wise and powerful bow to his will was a heady mixture. It was easy to ignore the slowly growing ache at the back of his head and answer her secret smile with one of his own.

Dick had had little difficulty in finding a way into the Manor once he had tracked it down. There was always something sad about a house which had been allowed to sink into ruin, even though he and Swiftnick had taken advantage of such a state of affairs more than once while looking for somewhere to lie low. Turpin had learned the art of making a house fit to live in while still leaving it looking dilapidated and deserted. Marescot Manor, however, was somewhere which had been left to decay and sadness seemed to beat out from the bricks and mortar.

Shaking himself free of the curious fancy which had gripped him, Turpin decided to do a quick sortie before he changed into the costume which Greenslade had provided for him. No need to make a fool of himself when all he might need to do is hit a couple of people over the head and grab Swiftnick. His optimism lasted right up until the moment he had heard the music and followed it to the Long Gallery. The sight which had met his eyes might have been something straight out of the plays acted out on the stage. His bemusement became alarm when he spotted Swiftnick, seemingly dancing with Rosalind willingly and without any sign of being coerced. The expression of adoration on his face as he gazed at Rosalind had Turpin's hand itching to smack some sense into the young idiot's head.

The sheer bizarre quality to the scene stopped him from charging in and demanding that Swiftnick return with him. He could only see two other people in the room; a sour-faced man playing the harpsichord and another who had the look of a trusted servant, judging from the way he and the player exchanged expressions which nicely blended frustration and unease. Realising that he had no idea what was going on, Dick reluctantly decided that he had to fall in with Jacob's original plan and enter into Rosalind's fantasy. He could only hope that her belief that he was her uncle would keep him alive long enough for him to plan an escape with Swiftnick.

It took only a few minutes for him to slip away to a room which was thick enough with dust to appear safely untenanted. He opened up the well-stuffed saddlebags Greenslade had given him and studied the clothes which spilled out with grudging appreciation. They might be hopelessly outmoded by today's standards, but they were of excellent quality and he had little doubt that the jewels which accompanied each of the five outfits would all be genuine. He only hoped he and Swiftnick would be alive at the end of this nightmare for him to feel a pang about giving them back.

He dressed carefully, since Jacob had only been able to give him a hasty tutorial. He needed to sell Rosalind on the idea that he was Sir Alan Tremont, a Knight of the Realm and one of the secret powers behind the throne of Elizabeth I. He smiled wryly to himself as he dropped a heavy ruby-studded gold necklace around his neck and grabbed a matching earring. He'd donned some disguises in his time, but this one topped them all! If the stakes weren't so high, he might even be enjoying himself. He paused to give himself a swift appraisal in the clouded mirror hanging on the wall. Black on black, only relieved by the glow of gold and ruby. He could pass for an Elizabethan man apart from the lack of a beard. The entire plan rested on how quickly Swiftnick caught on to what he was doing, however, and Turpin offered up a quick prayer that the lad would be as quick on the uptake as he had been on previous occasions.

He retraced his steps back towards the Long Gallery. The music was still playing, guiding him, and with one last deep breath, he strode inside with all the confidence of a man who was in his own house and about to greet visitors. "Fair greeting to you, Rosalind! I apologise for not having been here to greet you, but Court matters wait on no man's wishes. I see you've brought a few friends to stay with you."

The music stopped with a harsh jangle as the sour-faced man at the harpsichord lunged to his feet. "Who the devil are you?" he demanded.

Dick raised an eyebrow and did his best to look as haughty as any of the bloods he held up every day. "Give me leave to tell you that you are offensive, sir," he said coldly. "I am Sir Alan Tremont, Lord and master of Marescott - amongst other properties." He gave the man a scathing once-over. "And who might you be?"

To be honest, he wasn't really interested in who the man was, since he considered Rosalind to be the real danger. If he couldn't sell her on his being her uncle, the entire plan was doomed to fail. He was betting that Tremont wouldn't have accepted insolence from anyone, however, which meant he had to react in a way Rosalind would be expecting him to. He sent a deliberately casual look in Swiftnick's direction and felt his stomach go plummeting down to his boots when he saw from his expression that the lad had no idea who he was. Turpin knew him too well to be fooled by Swiftnick's acting abilities. There was a genuine blankness to the eyes that were gazing at him.

"Uncle?"

Rosalind looked and sounded doubtful as she glided towards him, but at least she hadn't gone for his throat the moment he had stepped into the room. Jacob had seemed to think that she would want to keep her surroundings as familiar as possible while she accustomed herself to the new age she had awoken to. Something about sleep enchantments having a cumulative effect on the subconscious mind. Worried that he was going to find out that the story of the Sleeping Beauty was actually genuine history, Turpin had hastily changed the subject. With any luck, she would accept his assertion that he was her uncle and adopt the same attitude to Dick that she had to Tremont. To his relief, he saw the faint frown fade and her eyes become unfocused once again. She smiled and swept him a graceful curtsey.

"I'm glad that you were able to come back. Was Court very boring?"

Dick waved a hand. "Much the same as always, but it always pays to keep an eye on what's afoot. Who are your guests, cousin?"

She rose up again gracefully and turn to point to the sour-faced man in black. "This is Sir Edward Statton. He is a scholar who is interested in me and wants to learn from me. The other man is Myers, a servant," she finished indifferently.

A scholar? Turpin gave Statton a hard suspicious look. He didn't know the name but he knew the man's type. Ruthless and self-centred. If he knew Rosalind was a vampire - and something in the way Rosalind had laughed when she had mentioned his wanting to learn from her warned Dick that he did - then he was probably one of those lunatics who wanted to become a vampire. Myers he dismissed after one look. A servant by both nature and station and someone who would always be a follower.

"Sir," he said, giving a small, stiff bow. "I extend the courtesy which my niece has already bestowed upon you, but I demand the respect which is due to me."

"Respect!" Statton ground out. "Why, you-"

"You will keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to my uncle," Rosalind said, her voice abruptly as cold as the death she represented. She switched her attention back to Turpin and smiled a small, disturbing smile. "He has… power." She half-turned in Swiftnick's direction. "Oliver! My uncle has returned to us." She smiled at Turpin. "You remember Oliver Granville, of course, Uncle."

Swiftnick came forward and gave Turpin the kind of wary smile he always gave people he didn't know. Locking eyes with him, Dick had his worst fears confirmed. He didn't know what Rosalind had done to his young apprentice, but Swiftnick obviously thought that he was Oliver Granville. This was going to complicate things, he realised with disgust.

"Your servant, sir," Swiftnick said, making a very presentable bow.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Oliver," Turpin replied, matching the bow with one a little more polished. "I regret that I interrupted you in your dancing when I arrived."

"I was teaching Oliver how to dance, Uncle," Rosalind said brightly. "He has forgotten."

"Why don't you dance with your uncle, my lady," Statton smoothly, "and then you can show Oliver how it is done."

Rosalind brightened. "An excellent idea, Statton! Come, Uncle, you can dance with me and we can show him how it is done."

She opened her arms in invitation and Turpin saw the trap Statton was weaving opening up before him. The other man had probably guessed that Dick was unlikely to know the fashionable dances of Elizabethan times and Dick's being unable to dance with her was likely to break through Rosalind's mind-daze and then she would turn on him. It was an ingenious trap, but fortunately Dick was too old a fox to be caught in something that obvious.

"Fie, niece, and myself still weary from the journey from London and without having had a bite to eat or drink?" he said in mock outrage. "Why not keep your lesson going while I break my fast and catch my breath. You!" he snapped out at Myers. "Fetch me something to eat and some ale or wine to wash it down."

Taken by surprise, Myers automatically responded to the snap of command in Turpin's voice and went to do as he'd been told. Rosalind accepted Dick's excuses and turned back to Swiftnick, ordering Statton to start playing again. The man's teeth audibly ground together in thwarted fury, but he sat back down and started the music. By the time Myers had brought back a platter of cold meat, cheese and bread and a bottle of wine, Dick had already picked up the basics of the dances Rosalind favoured and to his relief they weren't all that different from the ones he was more familiar with.

He spent as long as possible eating, since he guessed that Statton wouldn't have given up on his attempt to unmask him, but eventually he had to admit that he had finished. By that time, Rosalind had decided to stop dancing for the moment and was flirting gently with Swiftnick. Turpin felt his stomach twist at the sight of his innocent apprentice being pawed over by the beautiful creature. The fact that he knew she intended to kill Swiftnick and make him over into a vampire made things even worse, if that were possible, and Dick's decision to just get himself and Swiftnick out of there and to hell with Jacob's insistence that Rosalind be destroyed wavered. A monster like this would simply go out and kill some other innocent and Turpin wasn't so hardened that he could happily live with that on his conscience.

"I trust you are rested now, Sir Alan?"

Statton's urbane words warned Dick that round two of hostilities was about to commence. He turned and eyed the man with a hauteur which was natural rather than feigned. "I feel more at ease now that I am home and fed," he agreed coolly.

"Excellent, then you can take up where Rosalind left off. I think Oliver already knows the dances she taught him, so why don't you dance a different one with her, so he can add another to his repertoire?"

Turpin returned the savagely polite smile with interest. The man was cleverer than Dick had originally thought, but that didn't mean the fox was fully in the trap. "Why not?" he said before turning to face Rosalind. "Are you up for some more dancing, m'dear?"

She was frowning slightly in Statton's direction, obviously unhappy with the man's insistence on his own plans for the evening being implemented. After a while, she shrugged. "I suppose so, but I've already taught Oliver my favourite dances."

Turpin pounced on the opportunity. "Then why don't I teach you a new dance; one you won't know?" he suggested. "This one was being danced by the ladies at Court, so I think you should know it just in case one of them asks you and you have to admit that you don't know it. That would never do, would it?"

He was counting on her vanity and the female trait of hating to be considered provincial. When she immediately agreed and demanded to know all about this new dance, he knew that the crisis was passed. Statton obviously knew it, as well, and he complied with scant grace and even worse manners to Rosalind's demand that he listen to the music Turpin played on the harpsichord and then played it for them while Turpin taught her one of the fashionable dances which were currently the rage in London.

By the time she was satisfied that she was fully conversant with the steps, there was a faint haze of silver-gray to the east. She seemed to be aware that dawn was coming, since her movements had started to become a little more sluggish, lacking the quicksilver grace she had shown before. Swiftnick certainly seemed to expect them to stop, since he got up and marched towards when Rosalind and Turpin was standing, his eyes fixed on Rosalind with such a besotted expression that Turpin felt like throttling him.

"It will be morning soon," he told her.

She yawned, showing a brief flash of razor-sharp fangs before placing a dainty hand over her mouth. Nodding sleepily, she smiled at him with complacent possessiveness. "Indeed it will. I must go to my bed and you to yours, my lovely Oliver." She reached out and he moved into her embrace. "Soon the time will come when we shall lie together, but not yet. For now we still move in different worlds and must abide by the laws which separate the two."

Swiftnick lifted his head as if to kiss her and Turpin's heart leapt into his throat when he saw the small inflamed wound that was on his neck. Rosalind bent down and ran her tongue against the wound. Dick saw the shudder which ran through Swiftnick's body and the expression of almost drugged pleasure which claimed his face. It was all he could do to stop himself from reaching out to drag Rosalind away from the lad, but he guessed that doing so would simply trigger one of her rages. Besides, he couldn't be certain that Swiftnick would thank him for trying to save him. The bitch seemed to have him thoroughly in thrall.

He cleared his throat when it started to look as if Rosalind had forgotten there were other people present. There was something both disconcerting and arousing about the small little moans she made as she nuzzled Swiftnick's throat, almost but not quite biting him. Swiftnick was panting hard and he gave tiny whimpers as he felt her teeth worry away delicately at his skin. A glance at Statton and Myers told Dick a lot more about the mens' characters than he wanted to know; the expressions of jealousy and lust on Statton's face warning Dick - if he had needed such a thing - that he had to be very careful not to let him get the upper hand. If he ever succeeded to becoming a vampire, Statton would probably be the kind of foul monster who inspired the more lurid stories Turpin had heard.

Eventually, however, Rosalind lifted her head away and glided out of the room. For a moment it looked as if Swiftnick was going to follow after her, but Statton moved to block him. The older man sneered down as Swiftnick bridled, obviously dismissing him as no threat. Turpin snorted to himself. If he could somehow break whatever hold Rosalind had over Swiftnick, Statton would soon learn what an extraordinarily stupid assumption that was.

Swiftnick turned back to Turpin, obviously considering him a better companion than Statton, who stalked out of the room after sending a look heavy with threat in Turpin's direction. Dismissing him as soon as he was out of sight, Dick turned his attention back to his young friend. "My niece shows poor taste in guests," he began carefully, still hoping that this bland demeanour was actually some cunning plan of Swiftnick's.

The blond gave a shrug and lifted a hand to play with the single earring he had in his ear. "Statton wants to learn something from her. She tolerates him because she is too sweet-natured to send him on his way." Something of Dick's consternation over hearing Rosalind being described as 'sweet-natured' must have slipped through, because he raised his chin and gave Turpin a defiant look, resting his other hand on the hilt of his sword. "Soon, I will have leave to protect her from those who would try and take advantage of her. When that happens, Sir Statton and his ilk will be shown the door!"

Under different circumstances, Turpin would have considered such belligerent chivalry both amusing and touching. As it was he felt like going off and shooting something. Preferably a certain female vampire. It was obvious now, beyond all hope of convincing himself otherwise, that Swiftnick had no idea who Dick was and was thoroughly convinced that he was this Oliver Granville. Naturally. Anything else would have made my task too simple, Turpin thought to himself sourly.

"I suppose we had better retire to our own beds," he suggested.

Swiftnick nodded, shooting a small, wistful look out of the windows to where there was the faintest rosy blush to the east. "Rosalind does not like the light," he said.

His eyes turned back to meet Turpin's for a moment before he blushed furiously and left the room. Dick gazed after him, momentarily at a loss. For the briefest of instants, he had seen Swiftnick in those lost, terrified eyes. A Swiftnick who couldn't remember who he was, or who Turpin was, but who knew that his death was fast approaching and there was nothing he could do to escape it. He stared grimly out at the windows to where the sun was rising and vowed that he would not permit Rosalind to turn Swiftnick into the same kind of monster as herself, no matter what the cost.

Statton was furious, but he was also beginning to feel the first stirrings of fear. Up until this point, he had always been in control of the situations he got himself into. Now, for the first time, he was beginning to believe what he had previously dismissed as the excuses of lesser creatures than himself; that fate could conspire to defeat you, no matter how carefully you planned.

Up until now, he had been confident that he was in control of the situation. Rosalind had given him a bad fright at the beginning, but he had factored in a degree of risk from the very beginning and the fact that he had been able to contain her and have her fall in with his long-term plans had given his confidence a boost. Yes, she was still dangerous and might turn on him at any moment, but he had the measure of her now and knew what to say and do to keep her under control. Her arrogance was a match for his own, which rankled a great since he had been used to getting his own way for his entire adult life.

It had been an unpleasant shock when Rosalind had brought back this young commoner she had decided was her long-lost love, Oliver Granville. Statton didn't believe it for a moment. From what he had been able to find out, Granville had been a powerful vampire who had been a major player in the shadowy world of Elizabethan politics. No-one was quite sure what had happened to him, but the most likely theory was that he had angered one person too many and had paid the price. Vampires were extremely powerful creatures, but they were mortal.

Still, 'Oliver' didn't look all that formidable and Statton had decided that he too could be manipulated. He certainly seemed securely under Rosalind's sway, so Statton reasoned that control of the woman would ensure control of the stripling. So long as he didn't get in the way of Statton's goal of becoming a vampire, Rosalind would be allowed to keep her toy.

It was the arrival of the 'Alan Tremont' which was so utterly annoying. And potentially dangerous. Statton had seen the way Tremont had looked at Rosalind. There hadn't been the slightest hint of either respect or desire in the man's eyes, only a kind of implacable coolness. That Rosalind had accepted him so easily as her uncle was both baffling and inconvenient, since there had been a playful deference in the way she had curtsied to him which had seem partially genuine, at least. If this Tremont had even the smallest amount of influence on her, then he could represent a serious obstacle to Statton's plans.

An obstacle which had to be removed….

Deciding that the quicker he acted, the less likely Tremont would have had time to interfere with his plans, Statton went in search of his two bully-boys. They had come highly recommended and it was about time they earned some of the exorbitant wages they had been claiming. Statton didn't consider the holding of their captives as being all that strenuous, especially since the thugs got to have some amusement with the captives after Statton and Myers and before Rosalind drained the wretches dry. Now was the first time they had do something which might be considered worth their salt.

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PART TWO

TURPIN'S  LEGACY