The Vampyre Read Free Page A

in the first place?’
    Rebecca shrugged. ‘I think the bookseller had received them from a private collector. Beyond that, he didn’t know. I didn’t press.’
    â€˜Weren’t you interested?’
    â€˜They must have been stolen, I suppose.’
    â€˜What? After your mother - disappeared?’
    Rebecca glanced up at him. Her eyes glittered. ‘Possibly,’ she said.
    â€˜Yes.’ Melrose paused. ‘Possibly.’ He studied the letters again. ‘They are genuine?’ he asked, looking back down at them.
    â€˜I think so.’
    â€˜But you can’t be sure?’
    Rebecca shrugged. ‘I’m not qualified to say.’
    â€˜Oh, I’m sorry, I’d assumed . . .’
    â€˜I am an Orientalist, Mr Melrose - it was my mother who was the Byron scholar. I’ve always read Byron, out of respect for her memory, but I have no claims to be an expert.’
    â€˜I see. My mistake.’ Melrose stared at the letters again. ‘And so I suppose - this respect for your mother’s memory - is that why you’re so eager to track down the memoirs?’
    Rebecca smiled faintly. ‘It would be fitting, don’t you think? I never knew my mother, you see, Mr Melrose. But I feel - what I’m doing - she would approve of it, yes.’
    â€˜Even though the search may well have killed her?’
    Rebecca’s brow darkened. ‘Do you really think that, Mr Melrose?’
    He nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’
    Rebecca looked away. She stared into the darkness of the night beyond the windows. ‘Then at least I would know what had happened to her,’ she said, almost to herself.
    Melrose made no answer. Instead, he dropped the letters back into Rebecca’s lap. Still, though, he didn’t give her the keys.
    Rebecca held out her hand. Melrose stared at it thoughtfully. ‘And so all along,’ he said softly, ‘you were a Ruthven. All along.’
    Rebecca shrugged. ‘I can’t help my blood.’
    â€˜No.’ Melrose laughed. ‘Of course you can’t.’ He paused. ‘Isn’t there a Ruthven Curse?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yes.’ Rebecca narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. ‘There’s supposed to be.’
    â€˜How does it work?’
    â€˜I don’t know. The usual way, I guess.’
    â€˜What? Ruthven after Ruthven - generation after generation - all felled by some mysterious power? Isn’t that the legend?’
    Rebecca ignored the question. She shrugged again. ‘Lots of aristocratic families can lay claim to a curse. It’s nothing. A sign of breeding, if you like.’
    â€˜Exactly.’
    Rebecca frowned again. ‘What do you mean?’
    Melrose laughed again. ‘Why, that it’s all in the blood, of course. All in the blood!’ He spluttered and choked, then continued to laugh.
    â€˜You’re right,’ said Rebecca, rising to her feet, ‘for a lawyer, you are too imaginative.’ She held out her hand. ‘Mr Melrose - give me the keys.’
    Melrose stopped laughing. He clutched the keys in his palm. ‘You are quite sure?’ he asked.
    â€˜Quite sure.’
    Melrose gazed deep into her eyes, then his shoulders slumped, and he leaned against the desk. He held out the keys.
    Rebecca took them. She slipped them into her pocket.
    â€˜When will you go?’ Melrose asked.
    â€˜I don’t know. Sometime soon, I expect.’
    Melrose nodded slowly, as though to himself. He returned to his chair. He watched as Rebecca crossed the office to the doors.
    â€˜Miss Carville!’
    Rebecca turned.
    â€˜Don’t go.’
    Rebecca stared at the lawyer. ‘I must,’ she said at last.
    â€˜For your mother’s sake? But it is for your mother’s sake that I’m asking you not to go!’
    Rebecca made no answer. She looked away. The doors slid open. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Melrose,’ she said,