Little Vampire Women (6 page)

“Watch and pray, dear, never get tired of trying, and never think it is impossible to conquer your fault,” said Mrs. March, drawing the blowzy head to her shoulder and kissing the wet cheek so tenderly that Jo cried even harder.

“You don’t know, you can’t guess how bad it is! It seems as if I could do anything when I’m in a passion. I get so savage, I could hurt anyone and enjoy it. I’m afraid I shall do something dreadful some day. Oh, Mother, help me, do help me!” she cried. Never before had she felt so keenly that she had a demon inside her.

“I will, my child, I will. Don’t cry so bitterly, but remember this day, and resolve with all your soul that you will never know another like it. Jo, dear, we all
have our temptations, some far greater than yours. Every day I wake up with an almost unbearable desire to feed on humans, to crush their soft, pulsing throat between my teeth, and to slake my hunger with their blood so that they would never look at me again with those poor, pathetic eyes so full of need, desperation, and fear. When I feel the hunger means to break out against my will, I just go away for a minute, and give myself a little shake for being so weak and wicked.”

“You, Mother? Why, you are never bloodthirsty!” And for the moment Jo forgot remorse in surprise.

“I’ve been trying to cure myself of it for almost a hundred and seventy-two years, and have only succeeded in controlling it. I am hungry nearly every day of my life, Jo, but I have learned not to show it, and I still hope to learn not to feel it, though it may take me another hundred and seventy-two years to do so.”

The patience and the humility of the face she loved so well was a better lesson to Jo than the wisest lecture, the sharpest reproof. She felt comforted at once by the sympathy and confidence given her. The knowledge that her mother had a fault, too, and tried to mend it, made her own easier to bear and strengthened her resolution to cure it.

“How did you learn to control your hunger?”

“Your father, Jo. He never loses patience, never doubts or complains, but always hopes, and works and waits so cheerfully that one is ashamed to do otherwise before him. He helped and comforted me, and showed
me that I must try to practice all the virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was their example. It was easier to try for your sakes than for my own.”

“Oh, Marmee. You are so wise. Help me be wise.”

“I will, child, for I will repeat this lesson and many others just like it over and over, for I exist only to instruct you.”

“Oh, Mother, if I’m ever half as good as you, I shall be satisfied,” cried Jo, much touched by her mother’s earnestness.

“I hope you will be a great deal better, dear, but you must keep watch over your ‘bosom enemy,’ as Father calls it, or it may sadden, if not spoil your life. You have had a warning. Remember it, and try with heart and soul to master this quick temper, before it brings you greater sorrow and regret than you have known today.”

Amy stirred and sighed in her sleep, and as if eager to begin at once to mend her fault, Jo looked up with an expression on her face which it had never worn before.

“I let the sun come up on my anger. I wouldn’t forgive her, and tonight, if it hadn’t been for Laurie, it might have been too late! How could I be so wicked?” said Jo, half aloud, as she leaned over her sister softly stroking the wet hair scattered on the pillow.

As if she heard, Amy opened her eyes, and held out her arms, with a smile that went straight to Jo’s heart. Neither said a word, but they hugged one another close, in spite of the blankets, and everything was forgiven and forgotten in one hearty kiss.

I
t was so nice of Annie Moffat not to forget her promise. A whole fortnight of fun will be regularly splendid,” said Jo, looking like a windmill as she folded skirts with her long arms to prepare Meg for her time away.

“And such lovely weather, I’m so glad of that,” added Beth, tidily sorting neck and hair ribbons in her best box, lent for the great occasion.

“I wish I was going to have a fine time and wear all these nice things,” said Amy with her mouth full of pins, as she artistically replenished her sister’s cushion.

“I wish you were all going, but as you can’t, I shall keep my adventures to tell you when I come back. I’m sure it’s the least I can do when you have been so kind, lending me things and helping me get ready,” said Meg, glancing round the room at the very simple outfit,
which seemed nearly perfect in their eyes.

“What did Mother give you out of the treasure box?” asked Amy, who had not been present at the opening of a certain cedar chest in which Mrs. March kept a few relics
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of past splendor, as gifts for her girls when the proper time came.

“A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely blue sash. I wanted the violet silk, but it has three stubborn little blood droplets on the bodice, so I must be contented with my old tarlatan.”

“It will look nice over my new muslin skirt, and the sash will set it off beautifully. I wish I hadn’t smashed my coral bracelet, for you might have had it,” said Jo, “who loved to give and lend, but whose possessions were usually too dilapidated to be of much use. In her enthusiasm, Jo tended to forget her super strength and often abused her belongings by grasping them too tightly or tossing them too roughly.

“There is a lovely old-fashioned pearl fang-enhancement set in the treasure chest, but Mother said a row of gleaming white teeth were the prettiest ornament for a young vampire,” replied Meg. “Now, let me see, there’s my new gray walking suit, just curl up the
feather in my hat, Beth, then my poplin for Sunday and the small party, it looks heavy for spring, doesn’t it? The violet silk would be so nice. Oh, dear!”

The next night was fine, and Meg departed in style for a fortnight of novelty and pleasure. Mrs. March had consented to the visit rather reluctantly, fearing that Margaret would come back more discontented than she went. But she begged so hard, and Annie had promised to take good care of her, and a little pleasure seemed so delightful after a winter of irksome work that the mother yielded, and the daughter went to take her first taste of fashionable vampire life.

The Moffats were very fashionable, and simple Meg was rather daunted, at first, by the splendor of the house and the elegance of its occupants. The luxury of Annie’s coffin, an ornate affair of solid mahogany polished to an impossibly bright high-gloss sheen and lined with velvet the color of fresh blood, nearly robbed her of speech and she managed only a “very nice,” as she pictured the plain pine boxes she and her sisters slept in. But they were kindly people, in spite of the frivolous life they led, and soon put their guest at her ease. Perhaps Meg felt, without understanding why, that they were not particularly cultivated or intelligent vampires, and that all their gilding could not quite conceal the ordinary material of which they were made. It certainly was agreeable to fare sumptuously on fresh blood, drive in a fine carriage, wear her best frock every
night, and do nothing but enjoy herself. It suited her exactly, and soon she began to imitate the manners and conversation of those about her, use French phrases, show off her fangs, decorate her dresses with blood splatters, and play parlor games
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upon vampirists, humans who enjoyed the light-headed thrill of having their blood sucked. Annie taught her a delightful diversion called tic-tac-toe, in which each participant stuck a tack into the human’s toe and took bites of all the body parts that twitched in response. The player who made the most puncture marks won. It sounded easy enough to accomplish, but Meg fared dreadfully at first because she lacked the skill of her opponents, who had been sticking pins into humans for years. But once she realized the trick to causing tics was applying appropriate pressure, she became virtually unbeatable.

In comparison to the luxury of the Moffats’, her home now looked bare and dismal, but Meg did not have time to repine, for Annie and her sister Belle kept her busily employed in “having a good time.”

The evening for the ball came, and Belle insisted Meg wear a “sweet blue silk” dress that, she claimed, she had long since outgrown. Meg knew that was not true because vampires never outgrew anything, but the
dress was so dear and her morals so easily overcome she readily agreed.

“Now do let me please myself by dressing you up in style,” Belle begged. “I admire to do it, and you’d be a regular little beauty with a touch here and there.”

Belle shut herself up with her maid, and between them they turned Meg into a fine vampire lady. They crimped and curled her hair, they polished her neck and arms with some fragrant powder, touched her lips with coralline salve to make them redder, and Hortense would have added “a soupçon of rouge,” if Meg had not rebelled. They laced her into a sky-blue dress, which was mortifyingly low in the neck to modest Meg. Gold filigree was added to her fangs, bracelets, necklace, brooch, and even earrings, for Hortense tied them on with a bit of pink silk which did not show. A cluster of tea-rose buds at the bosom, and a ruche, reconciled Meg to the display of her pretty, white shoulders, and a pair of high-heeled silk boots satisfied the last wish of her heart. A lace handkerchief, a plumy fan, and a bouquet in a shoulder holder finished her off, and Miss Belle surveyed her with the satisfaction of a little girl with a newly dressed doll.

“Mademoiselle is
charmante, très jolie
, is she not?” cried Hortense, clasping her hands in an affected rapture.

“Come and show yourself,” said Miss Belle, leading the way to the room where the others were waiting.

As Meg went rustling after, with her long skirts
trailing, her earrings tinkling and her curls waving, she felt as if her fun had really begun at last, for though she couldn’t confirm the notion with a mirror, as she had no reflection, she suspected that she was indeed “a little beauty.” Her friends repeated the pleasing phrase enthusiastically, and for several minutes she stood, like a jackdaw in the fable,
¹⁸
enjoying her borrowed plumes, while the rest chattered like a party of magpies.

Careful of the unfamiliar heels, Margaret got safely down stairs and sailed into the drawing rooms where the Moffats and a few early guests were assembled, most of whom were vampires but some mortals as well. She very soon discovered that there is a charm about fine clothes which attracts a certain class of people and secures their respect. Several young ladies, who had taken no notice of her before, were very affectionate all of a sudden. Several young gentlemen, who had only stared at her at the other party, now not only stared, but asked to be introduced, and said all manner of foolish but agreeable things to her, and several old ladies, who sat on the sofas, and criticized the rest of the party, inquired who she was with an air of interest. She heard Mrs. Moffat reply to one of them…

“Daisy March”—for the Moffats called her Daisy for
reasons known only to themselves; perhaps because she reminded them of the fresh, spring flower, perhaps because they found her given name repugnant—“father a colonel in the army, one of our first families, but reverses of fortune, you know, and full of unusual ideas about the treatment of humans. That will change soon enough, I don’t doubt, as Mrs. M. has made her plans and will play her cards well. The Laurence fortune will be hers as soon as dear Daisy alters the boy. Her younger sister has already gotten her fangs into the grandfather, who seems a little mature for a vampire of only three-and-forty, but the child was always queer.”

“Dear me!” said the old lady, putting up her glass for another observation of Meg, who tried to look as if she had not heard and been much disturbed by Mrs. Moffat’s shocking lies. Agitated, she tried to forget what she’d heard but could not and kept repeating to herself, “Mrs. M. has made her plans,” till she was ready to rush home to tell her troubles and ask for advice. As that was impossible, she did her best to imagine herself acting the new part of fine vampire lady and so got on pretty well, though the dress was too low, the train kept getting under her feet, and she was in constant fear lest her earrings should fly off and get lost or broken. She was flirting her fan and laughing over a game of tic-tac-toe with a young gentleman, when she suddenly stopped laughing and looked confused, for just opposite, she saw Laurie. He was staring at her with undisguised
surprise, and disapproval also, she thought, for though he bowed and smiled, yet something in his honest eyes made her wish she didn’t have her fangs in the leg of a human girl, even if she was about to win the game.

Determined not to care, she rustled across the room to shake hands with her friend, who looked unusually boyish and shy. “I’m glad you came,” she said, with her most grown-up air.

“Jo wanted me to come, and tell her how you looked, so I did,” answered Laurie, without turning his eyes upon her, though he half smiled at her maternal tone.

“What shall you tell her?” asked Meg, full of curiosity to know his opinion of her, yet feeling ill at ease with him for the first time.

“I shall say I didn’t know you, for you are behaving so unlike yourself, I’m quite afraid of you,” he said, fumbling at his glove button.

“How absurd of you! It’s all in good fun. Nobody is getting hurt,” she insisted, for the girl serving as the game board had enjoyed herself immensely. Even so, Meg knew her parents would not approve of the activity. The Marches did not count vampirists among their acquaintance, as they found their behavior sordid. Thinking it best to change the subject, Meg indicated with a gesture to the opulence of her dress. “Wouldn’t Jo stare if she saw me?”

“Yes, I think she would,” returned Laurie gravely.

“Don’t you like me so?” asked Meg.

“No, I don’t,” was the blunt reply.

“Why not?” in an anxious tone.

He glanced at the blood dribbling down her chin with an expression that abashed her more than his answer, which had not a particle of his usual politeness in it.

“I don’t like cruelty.”

That was altogether too much from a lad younger than herself who knew nothing of what it was like to be a vampire out among society folk, being a human and all, and a young one at that. Meg walked away, saying petulantly, “You are the rudest boy I ever saw.”

Feeling very much ruffled, she went and stood at a quiet window to reflect, for the room was so noisy, and although she knew it wasn’t quite the thing, removed the stream of blood from her chin. She did it discreetly, as if she had something to be ashamed of, which of course only made her feel more ashamed. She leaned her forehead on the cool pane, and stood half hidden by the curtains, never minding that her favorite waltz had begun, till someone touched her, and turning, she saw Laurie, looking penitent, as he said, with his very best bow and his hand out…

“Please forgive my rudeness, and come and dance with me.”

“I’m afraid it will be too disagreeable to you,” said Meg, trying to look offended and failing entirely.

“Not a bit of it, I’m dying to do it. Come, I’ll be good. I don’t like your behavior, but I do think you look just
splendid.” And he waved his hands, as if words failed to express his admiration.

Meg smiled and relented, and whispered as they stood waiting to catch the time, “Take care my skirt doesn’t trip you up. It’s the plague of my life and I was a goose to wear it.”

“Pin it round your neck, and then it will be useful,” said Laurie, looking down at the little blue boots, which he evidently approved of.

Away they went fleetly and gracefully, for having practiced at home, they were well matched, and the blithe young couple were a pleasant sight to see, as they twirled merrily round and round, feeling more friendly than ever after their small tiff.

“Laurie, I want you to do me a favor, will you?” said Meg.

“Won’t I!” said Laurie, with alacrity.

“Please don’t tell them at home about the game I was playing. They won’t understand the joke, and it will worry Mother.”

“Then why did you do it?” said Laurie’s eyes, so plainly that Meg hastily added…

“I shall tell them myself all about it, and ‘fess’ to Mother how silly I’ve been. But I’d rather do it myself. So you’ll not tell, will you?”

“I give you my word I won’t, only what shall I say when they ask me?”

“Just say I looked pretty and was having a good time.”

“I’ll say the first with all my heart, but how about the other? You don’t look as if you were having a good time. Are you?” And Laurie looked at her with an expression which made her answer in a whisper…

“No, not just now. Don’t think I’m horrid. I only wanted a little fun, but this sort doesn’t pay, I find, and I’m getting tired of it.”

“Here comes Ned Moffat. What does he want?” said Laurie, knitting his black brows as if he did not regard his young host in the light of a pleasant addition to the party.

“He put his name down for three dances, and I suppose he’s coming for them. What a bore!” said Meg, assuming a languid air which amused Laurie immensely.

He did not speak to her again till suppertime, when he saw her drinking a champagne glass filled with warm human blood with Ned and his friend Fisher, who were behaving “like a pair of fools,” as Laurie said to himself, for he felt a brotherly sort of right to watch over the Marches and fight their battles whenever a defender was needed. He himself was dining on the lovely standing rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding provided for the Moffats’ human guests.

“I wouldn’t drink much more of that, Meg, your mother doesn’t like it, you know,” he whispered, leaning over her chair, as Ned turned to refill her glass and Fisher stooped to pick up her fan.