Cold-Blŭdded

Justice Eldridge coughed into a stained handkerchief, dabbing his wrinkled mouth before mumbling his instruction. “Lord Prosecutor, your next witness.”

“Thank you, Your Just.”

Jasper Hawthorne rose with deliberate care. The air was thick with the sour sweat of too many bodies crammed together, stale as an old workhouse. They could have charged admission; not a soul in town would dare miss a second.

Hawthorne sipped at his water as though he dare not spill a single drop, then took a deep breath to compose himself. If this went well, victory was assured. That monster Leclair would be condemned to the fiery inferno below; the only place fit for his kind. Hawthorne had faith in his own abilities. He could only pray his witness would not falter.

“I call forth… Lady Felicity Something-Or-Other.”

Lady Felicity was dressed for a funeral; all in black, with a veil covering most of her face. She was greeted with wide eyes and hushed voices as she made the long walk from the back of the courtroom to take her place on the stand. Doubtless most people had heard rumours of what had happened to her that night, but Hawthorne had a feeling that nothing they had heard could prepare them for the truth of her ordeal.

As she took her seat, Hawthorne shot a sideward glance at the smirking defendant. He whispered something to his counsel, Mr Blackwood, and received a stern look and an elbow to the ribs for what was likely a distasteful joke. Hawthorne scowled; how Leclair had ever been permitted bail after what he had (allegedly) done, he would never know. This whole trial had been a farce, and Leclair had lapped up every moment of it. He wouldn’t be smiling by the end though.

Lady Felicity placed her right hand on the brass globe fixed to the stand, dulled by countless hands before hers, and raised her left hand as the Court Officer spoke. “Do you promise to be honest and truthful in your testimony, or may you suffer the fate of a thousand sinners?”

“I will surely try.”

Justice Eldridge nodded his approval. “Very good, my lady. Lord Prosecutor, you may begin.”

Hawthorne stepped forward and cleared his throat. “My lady, do you know the defendant, Lucian Leclair?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Would you mind telling the court how you met his acquaintance?”

“My friend, Mary Davenport… God rest her soul.” The girl’s words were understandably slurred. Hawthorne was used to it by now, but the judge and jury would not be. “She introduced me to him at the opera, around seven months ago.”

“But you were familiar with him prior to that evening, yes?”

“Yes, I’d heard of him. He had something of a reputation.”

“A reputation for what?”

“For hosting lavish parties at his manor. He invited me to one that night, and I accepted. I… wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

A good start. The girl had remained composed, answering just how they had rehearsed. And, most importantly, she had kept her eyes to the front, away from Leclair and his devilish stare. “How many of Mr Leclair’s parties did you attend, my lady?”

“Perhaps four or five.”

“And you attended one such party on the night of the thirteenth of January this year, is that correct?”

“Y…yes.”

“My lady, in your own words, would you kindly tell the court what happened that night?”

The courtroom held its breath in anticipation of her account, as did Hawthorne. It was as though the whole bloody trial had been building towards this; the testimony of the only survivor.

Lady Felicity’s veil shadowed her quivering lip, as dark as the tale to come from them. “It began like his other parties — music, dancing, delicious food and wine. Normally, I would not stay so late, but my friends were all still there, and I was enjoying myself, so I never realised the time. I suppose I became tired, because I fell asleep on a chair in the sitting room. A while later, I was awakened by laughter… and screaming.”

The girl broke down, sobbing with her face in her hands, and Hawthorne had to stop himself from smiling. Everyone — including judge and jury — was on the edge of their seats, leaning towards her, hanging on her every word, and her tears only fuelled their fixation. This was going very well indeed.

Hawthorne handed her a tissue from his pocket. “It is alright, my lady. I understand this must be difficult for you, so take as long as you need.”

Lady Felicity sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, then sat up straight, shoulders back, seeming determined to finish her testimony. “My friends, they were—”

“Forgive me, my lady.” said Hawthorne. “If you could specify the names of your friends who were there…”

“Of course.” Lady Felicity’s voice faltered, slurred and stuttering like she might start to sob again, but she held her nerve. “Mary Davenport, Edward Wetherby, Fiona Sinclair and my cousin, Lady Edwina Carrington. They were all dead.”

A faint murmur spread through the courtroom, but the crowd quickly settled, eager to hear the rest. “They were all lying on the floor, stripped naked… there was so much blood, I was so afraid.”

Hawthorne gave a solemn nod. “I can only imagine, my lady. What did you do after discovering the bodies of your friends?”

“I… I ran, but I only made it as far as the door, then he stopped me.”

“And by ‘he’, you are referring to—”

“Him!” she pointed at Leclair, taking care to avoid looking directly at him. “Mr Leclair. He stopped me from leaving. He… shoved me back into the room, I landed on poor Edwina, and he just laughed and said, ‘The party is not over yet.’”

Lady Felicity’s slur worsened as her anger grew. Her whole body trembled, but she kept going. “Then he jumped on me. I tried to fight back, but he was too strong. He… he bit me!”

Murmurs rippled through the courtroom once more, ceasing as quickly as they began.

“I must have blacked out from the pain. When I came round, he was lounging in the same chair I had fallen asleep in. I ran for the door, and he just laughed and let me leave. I was not aware of what he had done to me until I made it home and looked in the mirror.”

“My lady,” said Hawthorne, bracing himself. “Are you prepared to show the court the injuries inflicted upon you by Lucian Leclair?”

Lady Felicity nodded, then slowly removed her veil.

Gasps filled the courtroom. And cries. And shouts and screams. And wretches and heaves. People shielded their eyes, turned away, hugged one another. Some even rushed for the exit.

A ghostly-pale Justice Eldridge brought his gavel down with such force, he nearly missed the block entirely. “Order… order!”

Hawthorne shuddered as the crowd fell silent. The sight never failed to disturb him, but Leclair’s reaction was even more horrifying. As everyone else struggled to look at poor Lady Felicity’s face, that monster leaned back in his chair, yawning and stretching like a domesticated cat on a Sunday afternoon. What kind of animal could be so devoid of remorse?

“I know it is difficult to look upon,” Hawthorne said, facing the jury. “so I will not ask that you do. Instead, I ask you to imagine a beautiful young woman, perhaps a family member, or someone you know. She has her whole life ahead of her — courtship, marriage, children — and then this happens. I ask you now, what sort of future does she have?”

The jurors fought to keep their focus on Hawthorne, but most could not resist a fleeting glance at Lady Felicity, their shocked faces betraying their immediate regret at having done so. “When Lucian Leclair savagely attacked Lady Felicity that night, he did not just take her beauty from her. He took everything.”

Hawthorne turned his gaze back to his witness. The poor girl sunk into her chair as she put her veil back on, seeming smaller than she had just a moment ago. “Thank you, my lady. No further questions, Your Just.”

As he walked back to his seat, Hawthorne passed the defence counsel, who appeared eager to commence his cross examination. Hawthorne had thought he knew every lawyer of strong repute from here to the northern border, but he had no prior recollection of Mr Blackwood. The man was entirely forgettable though; short stature, a lop-sided moustache, an ill-fitting suit. And yet, grudgingly, he was impressed by him. Blackwood had conducted himself shrewdly this whole trial, with a calm yet aggressive demeanour that was more than a match for Hawthorne. Leclair was wealthy, and the wealthy only employ the best.

Blackwood adjusted his oversized cuffs before beginning. “You mentioned there was wine at Mr Leclair’s party.”

Hawthorne rolled his eyes. He had expected Blackwood to mention the drinking, and if that was the best he could come up with to discredit Lady Felicity, then Hawthorne could start celebrating his victory now.

“How much wine did you drink that night, my lady?”

Lady Felicity gave a meek shrug. “A few cups.”

Blackwood raised an eyebrow. “A few?”

“Three cups. Perhaps four.”

“I see.” Blackwood strolled in a little circle as he so often did, hands clasped behind his back, excessively polished shoes shuffling along the floor, squeaking every now and then, much to Justice Eldridge’s annoyance. He was working up to something, and Hawthorne could only wish to know what it was. “I myself have been fortunate enough to visit Leclair Manor on more than one occasion. My favourite part has to be south terrace; pristine lawn, exquisitely-trimmed shrubs, nestled at the edge of Evergreen Forest. Just beautiful. Have you seen the south terrace, my lady?”

“Yes. As you say, very beautiful.”

“Did you spend any time in the south terrace on the night in question?”

“No.”

“Really? Surely there must have been other guests outside; I know that Mr Leclair would never miss an opportunity to show off the splendid work of his gardener.”

Leclair grinned, nodding his approval at Blackwood’s statement.

“Was there a reason you elected to stay inside?”

“Mr Leclair warned all of us not to venture outside.”

“And why was that?”

“Because of the cold.”

Blackwood paused, his eyebrow flickering again. “Was that the only reason?”

“No… there was also the wolves.”

Hawthorne sighed. Now he saw where Blackwood was going with this. Why had the girl not mentioned the wolves to him before?

“Ah, yes. The wolves.” Blackwood continued pacing, slow and deliberate, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. “the forest is full of them, and they are known to be rather territorial during mating season. Best we keep our distance. Now, let us discuss your injuries. Would you be so kind as to remove your veil again, please?”

Lady Felicity did as Blackwood asked, lowering her head and sinking further into her chair as a wave of discomfort passed through the courtroom.

“Could you lift your head, please, my lady?”

The girl obeyed, face trembling as her eyes glistened with fresh tears. Hawthorne clenched his jaw. This was all part of Blackwood’s game, of that he had no doubt. Every second Lady Felicity spent on the stand without her veil would feel like an hour for her. She was already clinging to her composure, and a few probing questions from Blackwood might be enough to break her.

“You said that Mr Leclair bit you, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Blackwood made a vague gesture to her face. “Forgive me, my lady, but do you really expect the court to believe that your injuries were inflicted by a human?”

“But they were.” Lady Felicity’s voice strained ever so slightly. “He… he bit me.”

“I have no doubt that you were bitten my lady, but there is simply no way that a pair of human teeth could have done this to you.”

“But he did! I remember—”

“But how can you remember? You said yourself, you had three or four drinks. Now, by my reckoning, you weigh approximately one hundred pounds fully-clothed. With that amount of alcohol in your blood, how can you hope to recall what happened that night?”

Take your time. thought Hawthorne. Answer as we rehearsed, don’t let him rattle you.

Lady Felicity’s slur was worse than ever. She trembled as she spoke, and Hawthorne could have swore he saw a hint of a smile from Blackwood. “What happened to me, it is not something one forgets easily. I remember every bite, every tear, every—”

“Is it possible that a wild animal, perhaps a wolf, did this to you?”

Hawthorne rose to his feet, chair scraping along the floor. “Objection, Your Just! This is pure speculation from Mr Blackwood. He is clutching at straws, and has not a shred of evidence to support this absurd theory.”

Blackwood was quick to respond. “Your Just, I am merely suggesting that Lady Felicity’s injuries could have been caused by something other than teeth meant for cheese and bread.”

Justice Eldridge pursed his lips. “I shall allow it.”

“Thank you, Your Just.” Blackwood turned back to Lady Felicity, continuing his probing without missing a step. “My lady, allow me to say what I believe may have happened. After having a few cups of wine, you felt a little light in the head, perhaps even too warm, so you went outside for some fresh air. You came back inside, but forgot to close the door…”

Lady Felicity shook her head. “No.”

“Then a wolf came in, perhaps more than one, and attacked you and your friends.”

Lady Felicity screamed at him, face turning beetroot. “That is not what happened!”

Blackwood’s face tightened, raising his voice to match hers. “I put it to you that your own carelessness is the reason for your injuries and for the death of your friends.”

“No! It was him!”

“Impossible, my lady.”

“He did it!”

“How could he have?”

“Because…”

Hawthorne bit his lip. Don’t say it.

Lady Felicity stood and pointed at Leclair. “Because he is a vampyre!”

The courtroom erupted into laughter and hysterics, the tension from moments ago utterly obliterated. Hawthorne’s heart sank; she had played right into Blackwood’s hands, and in doing so, had just thrown away the case.

Justice Eldridge banged his gavel again. “Order! Sit down, my lady!”

Like a scolded child, Lady Felicity took her seat. She met Hawthorne with a defeated look. “I am sorry.” she mouthed.

The courtroom settled and Blackwood faced the jury, looking very pleased with himself. “Members of the jury, my client, Mr Lucian Leclair, is a wealthy man. He has a name foreign to these shores, and an accent to match it. His home is both grand and old. However, despite what Lady Felicity would have you believe, that is where the similarities between Mr Leclair and Count Dracula end.”

The courtroom chuckled again, some in the gallery even giving a light applause.

“No further questions, Your Just.” Mr Blackwood, with his little smug smile beneath that appalling moustache, returned to sit beside his client. Leclair gave his counsel a grateful pat on the shoulder, then looked over at Hawthorne, and winked. The trial was over.

***************

Hawthorne lit his pipe and took a long, slow draw — longer and slower than he had intended, coughing most of the smoke into the crisp evening air as the fumes burned the back of his throat and busy people brushed past him, rushing down the front stairs of the courthouse to make it home for the evening.

He cursed, his cheeks and ears burning hotter than his pipe. He did not like to lose, especially to jumped up aristocrats who believe they are above the law. He had seen that lot do it all; countless assaults, rapes, even a few murders. This one had been different though. Thanks to his failure, a man who likes to eat his house guests would be free to do it again as he pleased.

“Lord Prosecutor,” said a velvety voice from behind him. He knew who it was before he turned around.

Lucian Leclair stood mere inches from him. He held out his hand, smiling graciously as though he had just beaten him in a friendly game of croquet. “No hard feelings, I hope.”

Hawthorne scowled, ignoring his hand. “I am sure you do.” he said, taking a short puff of his pipe.

A carriage pulled up at the foot of the stairs. Hawthorne squinted at the coachman. “Your lawyer is also your chauffer?”

“Mr Blackwood is whatever I need him to be.” Leclair raised a finger to Mr Blackwood and the lawyer-turned-chauffer nodded. “Mr Hawthorne, what happened at my house that evening was… deeply regrettable. However, I swear I am not the monster that you and Lady Felicity think I am.”

Hawthorne extinguished his pipe and put it in his coat pocket. “Tell that to the families of your victims.”

He stepped towards the stairs, but Leclair placed a hand on his chest. “Let me prove it to you. Join me for dinner this evening.”

Hawthorne scoffed. “I am not hungry.”

“No… but I am.”

A chill wrapped around Hawthorne, creeping into his chest like frozen vines. His breath hitched as he realised he was doing the very thing he had warned Lady Felicity against — looking into Lucian Leclair’s eyes.

Leclair held out his hand again, and Hawthorne took it willingly.