A Darker Prometheus I: Ariel

A Darker Prometheus I: Ariel by Ligeia.

Disclaimer: Joss owns all.
Feedback welcome on ligeia@telstra.com
Summary: Darla wanders 18th century Ireland looking to make a new de wde when she discovers a young couple in love.

Part One: Darla.

County Galway, Ireland, 1752.

Darla was bored … again. When Darla was bored she became dangerous. Right now she was very very bored.

*****

It was early evening just three days before Christmas and Kelly’s Fine Millinery was filled with customers making their final selections before the formal balls and succession of visits obligatory to the season. Salesgirls and seamstresses bustled among the omeromers, ladies and girls eager to choose from the selection of hats and bonnets recently arrived from London and Paris or to pick up one of Vera Kelly’s own splendid creations. Mrs Kelly, the owner, attended personally to a few favoured customers.

‘Mrs McLoughlin,’ she said, smiling at the impeccably dressed elderly lady seated in front of one of the mirrored vanities, ‘that bonnet with the blue velvet trim looks a picture on you.’ Mrs Kelly stood behind the older lady’s chair, adjusting slightly the tilt of the hat, dropping the ribbons forward over Mrs McLoughlin’s shoulders, ready to be tied under her chin. Molly McLoughlin appraised the results, smoothing a few greying curls back up under the brim.

‘It is a fine bonnet, Vera. Quite lovely. It will match my new outfit perfectly.’ Vera Kelly had made hats for Molly McLoughlin for over thirty years and the two women were on familiar terms.

‘Will you be wearing it Christmas Eve?’ inquired Vera, opening up a large round hatbox ready to pack the bonnet in tissue paper for Mrs McLoughlin to take with her.

‘Yes. It is not too extravagant for Mass, do you think?’ Molly asked.

‘Not at all,’ replied Vera, ‘it is quite suitable for church I think. Will your daughter Moira and her husband be coming over from London for the holidays?’

Molly untied and removed the blue bonnet, placing it in the hatbox. Vera placed the lid on top and began tying it up with white twine, quartering the strings to make carrying the bulky package easier.

‘Unfortunately, no. They are still in Italy and have decided to remain there now until after her baby is born. I am afraid I will be alone over Christmas again this year.’ Molly’s son-in-law was a secretary to the British ambassador posted in Rome. He and Molly’s only daughter had spent the past two years there and Moira had inconveniently fallen pregnant just months before their intended return home. It was now considered that she was too far along in her pregnancy to travel so they had decided to remain in Rome until a few weeks following the birth.

‘What a shame,’ sympathised Vera. ‘Still, it will be lovely for you to be able to visit them in the Spring!’

‘To add to my troubles, I’ve had to dismiss my maid for…’ Mrs McLoughlin leaned closer to Vera so as not to be overheard, ‘for “dallying” with the lads.’ She made a moue of disapproval. ‘I also suspected her of fiddling the household accounts so decided it best to let her go immediately, all things considered. I will not be able to engage a new housemaid now until after Christmas, so the house will be completely empty.’

‘Oh, how inconvenient!’ Vera tutted. ‘Still, better to be rid of her if that is the case.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ agreed Molly.

Darla stood close by, seemingly engrossed in trying on a pretty yellow woven raffia bonnet trimmed with artificial daisies and bluebells, but actually listening to the exchange with interest. Mrs McLoughlin was combing and re-pinning her wavy grey hair back in place, ready to put on her own small black bonnet which lay on the table-top, several fancy hatpins spread out around it. Putting down the raffia hat, Darla walked casually past the vanity where Molly sat. As Mrs McLoughlin turned briefly to watch Vera walk away towards the shop counter to write up a receipt for her purchase Darla coolly placed a hand over one of the hatpins, sliding it off the tabletop and quickly popping it into the small velvet purse hanging from her wrist. She walked out of the milliner’s shop into the street, merging with the now-thinning crowd of Christmas shoppers navigating the icy footpaths.

Back in the shop Mrs McLoughlin discovered her favourite diamond-studded hatpin missing and was becoming quite distraught. Vera Kelly tried to soothe her as two of the shopgirls rummaged around on the floor under and around the vanity, looking for the lost pin.

‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!’ Molly sighed. ‘That diamond pin was a wedding gift from my mother! It is very precious to me! You must find it!’

‘I am sure it will turn up,’ Vera said, wringing her hands. ‘We shall have a thorough search for it once the shop is closed. It may have rolled off the vanity and been kicked into a corner.’ She paused, placing a calming hand on Molly’s arm. ‘Or perhaps someone has picked it up by accident and will return it as soon as they realise their mistake.’ Mrs McLoughlin was unconvinced, but not wanting to make a scene, thanked Vera, picked up her other purchases and left.

*****

A couple of nights later Mrs McLoughlin was roused from her fireside sewing by the sound of the doorbell being rung. Putting down the blackwork sampler she was stitching for Moira’s baby, she walked down the long hallway to the oak door. Before lifting the lock she parted the brocade curtain at the window by the door. Molly was an old lady living alone and was scrupulous about taking precautions especially now that her only servant, the dismissed housemaid, had already left the house.

Standing on the stoop was a pretty blonde girl of about twenty or so, well dressed and apparently alone. Molly opened the door sufficiently to speak with the unexpected visitor.

‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘May I help you, young lady?’

‘Actually,’ replied the girl, ‘I think I may be able to help you.’

Mrs McLoughlin looked puzzled. ‘And how would that be, child?’ she inquired.

Opening up a velvet drawstring purse the young woman removed a small object which she held out on a dainty gloved hand for Mrs McLoughlin to inspect. It was a large silver hatpin with a diamond-studded fox-head at one end.

‘My pin!’ exclaimed Molly. ‘I was sure I had lost it forever!’ She looked up at the girl’s gently smiling face. ‘How ever did you find it?’

‘It was in the box with a hat I bought at Kelly’s the milliners two days ago,’ she replied. ‘When I took it back to the shop they said you had lost it so I offered to return it to you myself. I live not far from here.’

‘How very kind!’ Molly smiled. ‘What is your name, child?’

‘Darla,’ replied the girl.

‘Please come in won’t you? It is far too cold for you to be standing outside on a night like this. I will make tea and thank you properly.’

Mrs McLoughlin opened the door wider and Darla stepped over the threshold into the hallway. When the old woman turned around to shut the door again and replace the heavy latch Darla picked up a cut-crystal vase from hall table. As Mrs McLoughlin turned back to face Darla the vampire stepped forward, bringing the sharp edge of the ’s b’s base down hard on the other woman’s temple, knocking her face-down onto the floor where she lay groaning. Blood immediately began flow from the laceration, forming a widening pool on the polished wooden floorboards.

Molly, dazed, raised herself up a little and tried to crawl past her attacker. Darla grasped the back of the old woman’s dress, easily lifting most of her torso up off the floor and started dragging her across the parquetry, leaving a smear of blood in her wake. Molly grasped Darla’s wrists in her own thin hands and tried to get her feet back under her but became entangled in her many layers of under-skirts, her legs moving mechanically but uselessly like the clockwork toys Darla had seen in Dresden during her last stay in Germany.

Once in the sitting room, Darla took a few moments to take in the layout of the adjoining rooms. Picking up the old woman easily, she carried her upstairs to the bedroom, laying the frail body on the patchwork comforter of the canopied bed. Lowering her pale lips to the woman’s throat, Darla began to drink.

*****

The old lady looked feeble but was holding on to life, obviously deep in shock but still twitching and whimpering. Well, Darla thought, she might just be good for another feeding.

Darla adjusted her dress and hair before going bout out into the chill night to look around her new surroundings.

*****

Darla had wandered alone for several years past, a situation that did not especially please her. She had had servants before and sometimes travelled with other vampires, had even created a Childe or two but human servants were unreliable and short-lived. Darla’s ill temper meant their tenure was usually terminated swiftly and bloodily; Darla did not handle displeasure well. As for her vampire offspring – young ones were often impetuous and difficult to control and brought unwanted attention. Vampires do not become old by bringing attention to themselves, Darla knew. Most newly created vampires lasted only a few months, less if they were abandoned by their Sire after ‘Becoming’, their bloodlust overcoming any sense of fear, lending an illusion of power and invincibility, which frankly, they did not have. Some had become a liability and those she had killed herself.

Darla walthe the streets unsure of what to do next. She never really enjoyed life above, preferring the quiet security of the underworld of caves, mines and, occasionally, sewers which she sometimes shared with her own Sire, The Master. Every vampire is forever drawn to the One who ‘Sires’ them, their ‘Becoming’ re-birthing them into the Unlife, but Darla often wandered off for years at a time seeking the temporary diversions of the human world, sampling the flavours and sights of each new era but always returning eventually to the sheltered intransigence of her life below. Right now what she needed was entertainment, some new game to distract her for a while.

On this Christmas Eve the streets were filled with couples and families out visiting, shopping or attending church together. Darla spoke briefly to a young mother with two small children in tow, all happily bundled against the cold. She held out her hand, gloved in soft white kid, touching the face of the little girl, wondering what it would have been like to create a child in the normal way.

A burst of cheerful conversation and laughter drew Darla’s attention. The congregation of worshippers from the small Catholic church across the street spilled out onto the footpath, icy breath and rosy cheeks testifying to the bracing frostiness of the evening. blacblack-clad priest stood just outside the arched doorway as his parishioners filed past, grasping hands with this one or that, smiling warmly at others. Forming little clusters, people chatted briefly as took leave of each other, hurrying to waiting carriages if they were well-off, walking briskly if not.

Darla’s gaze settled on a young couple, obviously together, the tall young man holding his pretty little companion, an auburn-haired beauty of about eighteen years, possessively around her tiny waist as he guided her to an elegant but unpretentious black carriage. Holding her hand as she stepped up into the brocade-upholstered interior, he closed and latched the door once she was comfortably seated inside. Her delicate face momentarily appeared again at the carriage window as she leaned out to place a furtive kiss on the lips of her young man. He chastely kissed her gloved hand then looked up to speak to the driver who whipped up the matched pair of black geldings.

As the coach circled around him, the young man turned towards Darla, watching as the vehicle moved away. There was something in his expression, an intensity, at once rare and familiar, which fascinated Darla. He continued to stare after the coach until it was out of sight then, smiling to himself, began walking in the opte dte direction. On an impulse, Darla followed.

*****