Little Vampire Women (8 page)

“I don’t go at all. I am a governess myself.”

“Oh, indeed!” said Miss Kate, but she might as well have said, “Dear me, how dreadful!” for her tone implied it, and something in her face made Meg cringe, and wish Jo would attack Miss Kate rather than Fred.

Mr. Brooke, who had been wondering how to handle the situation, which, as the only authority figure present, was his responsibility, observed the change in Meg’s expression and said quickly, “Young ladies in America love independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and respected for supporting themselves.”

Realizing her unintentional slight might make her brother’s life forfeit, Kate rushed to make amends. “Oh, yes, of course it’s very nice and proper in them to do so. We have many most respectable and worthy young women who do the same and are employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen, they are both well bred and accomplished, you know.”

But her patronizing tone only made matters worse for it hurt Meg’s pride, and made her work seem not only more distasteful, but degrading.

An awkward pause followed in which everyone present, including innocent little Grace, expected Jo to bite Kate’s neck for this fresh insult to her sister or at the very least bleed the brother like a leech. But in fact Jo was not attending to the exchange, which seemed to her wholly incomprehensible at a time such as this, when she had very nearly allowed herself to be staked. The shame was almost unbearable and she occupied
her mortified mind by running through the five steps of the Grosengauer Gambit: leap, somersault, pike dive, cartwheel, round kick.
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She’d practiced it a dozen times in her attic garret and knew the moves as intimately as her own hand. And yet she’d stood there like a bubble waiting to be popped!

“Did the German song suit, Miss March?” inquired Mr. Brooke, breaking the uncomfortable moment with yet another new topic.

“Oh, yes! It was very sweet, and I’m much obliged to whoever translated it for me.” And Meg’s downcast face brightened as she spoke.

“Don’t you read German?” asked Miss Kate with a look of surprise.

“Not very well. My father, who taught me, is away, and I don’t get on very fast alone, for I’ve no one to correct my pronunciation.”

“Try a little now. Here is Schiller’s
Mary Stuart
and a tutor who loves to teach.” And Mr. Brooke retrieved his book from the blanket and handed it to her with an inviting smile.

“It’s so hard I’m afraid to try,” said Meg, grateful, but so bashful in the presence of the accomplished young lady beside her that she had completely forgotten Fred’s attempted murder of Jo.

Kate volunteered to read a bit to encourage Meg, and, hoping to provide a distraction so her unfortunate brother could make his escape, she read one of the most beautiful passages in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionless manner.

Mr. Brooke made no comment as she returned the book to Meg, who said innocently, “I thought it was poetry.”

“Some of it is. Try this passage.”

“Enough,” cried Frank, who couldn’t bear the tension any longer. “Either kill him or let him go, but let’s not have any more of this polite, vacuous chatter.”

“Amen,” said Laurie, who knew which of the two he’d rather do.

“Please,” Kate said, her manner full of expression now. “Please. He’s just a boy and he doesn’t always think before he acts. Forgive him. His dislike of vampires runs deep and strong, for his twin was made lame by one, you see, and even though the assailant was apprehended and punished for acts unbecoming an Englishman, the damage was done. My brother will never walk without the crutch. Fred only acted overzealously in his love for his brother. Must you punish him for that?”

Jo, who was by far the most abused, thought it only fair and square to let Fred off the hook. He was a scoundrel and a cheat, which were terrible things to be, but she was a coward, which was a dozen times worse. “Let him go, Laurie. It’s all right with me. I don’t want to play
croquet with him or Truth but I don’t think he needs to be run into town or strung up on a gibbet. The gentlemanly thing to do is to shake on it and think about it no more.” So saying, she held out her milky white hand.

It was galling for Fred to accept the offer, for in proposing they let bygones be bygones, the vampire had once again shown him up as an Englishman. But a look at Grace’s scared face had him acquiescing immediately.

Brooke suggested another game of croquet, which everyone save Jo complied with after the stake was reinserted into the ground, but the joy had gone out of the night. Fred sulked something awful and Kate brooded over the fact that she was playing croquet with a governess. The game ended with a listless victory for Laurie’s team, and everyone agreed it was time to go.

On the lawn where it had gathered, the little party separated with cordial good nights and good-byes, for the Vaughns were going to Canada. As the four sisters went home through the garden, they marveled again at Beth’s remarkable midair catch. Amy couldn’t wait to relay the events to Marmee and ran ahead. Beth trailed after her, anxious to downplay her part in the affair, lest she receive credit of which she wasn’t worthy.

Meg linked her arm through Jo’s and shook her head. “I always said she was a little saint,” claimed Meg, as if there could be no further doubt of it.

J
o was very busy in the garret, for the October evenings were long and comfortable. For two or three hours the moon shone brightly through the high window, showing Jo seated on the old sofa, writing busily, with her papers spread out upon a trunk before her, while Scrabble XXI, the latest pet rat in a long succession, promenaded the beams overhead, accompanied by his oldest son, a fine young fellow, who was evidently very proud of his whiskers. Quite absorbed in her work, Jo scribbled away till the last page was filled, when she signed her name with a flourish and threw down her pen, exclaiming…

“There, I’ve done my best! If this won’t suit I shall have to wait till I can do better.”

Lying back on the sofa, she read the application
carefully through, making dashes here and there, and putting in many exclamation points, which looked like little balloons. Then she tied it up with a smart red ribbon, and sat a minute looking at it with a sober, wistful expression, which plainly showed how earnest her work had been. Jo’s desk up here was an old tin kitchen
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which hung against the wall. In it she kept her papers and a few books, safely shut away from Scrabble, who, being likewise of a literary turn, as were many of his ancestors, was fond of making a circulating library of such books as were left in his way by eating the leaves.

She put on her hat and jacket as noiselessly as possible, and going to the back entry window, got out upon the roof of a low porch, swung herself down to the grassy bank, and took a roundabout way to the road. Once there, she composed herself, hailed a passing omnibus, and rolled away to town, looking very merry and mysterious.

If anyone had been watching her, he would have thought her movements decidedly peculiar, for on alighting, she went off at a great pace till she reached a certain number in a certain busy street. Having found the place with some difficulty, she went into the
doorway, looked up the dirty stairs, and after standing stock-still a minute, suddenly dived into the street and walked away as rapidly as she came. This maneuver she repeated several times, to the great amusement of a black-eyed young gentleman lounging in the window of a building opposite. On returning for the third time, Jo gave herself a shake, pulled her hat over her eyes, and walked up the stairs, looking as if she were going to have all her teeth out.

There was a dentist’s sign, among others, which adorned the entrance, and after staring a moment at the pair of artificial jaws which slowly opened and shut to draw attention to a fine set of teeth, the young gentleman put on his coat, took his hat, and went down to post himself in the opposite doorway, saying with a smile and a shiver, “It’s like her to come alone, but if she has a bad time she’ll need someone to help her home.”

In ten minutes Jo came running downstairs with the general appearance of a person who had just passed through a trying ordeal of some sort. When she saw the young gentleman she looked anything but pleased, and passed him with a nod. But he followed, asking with an air of sympathy, “Did you have a bad time?”

“Not very.”

“You got through quickly.”

“Yes, thank goodness!”

“Why did you go alone?”

“Didn’t want anyone to know.”

“You’re the oddest fellow I ever saw. How many did you have out?”

Jo looked at her friend as if she did not understand him, then began to laugh as if mightily amused at something. The dear boy thought she’d had teeth removed. How delightfully absurd to believe a vampire needed a dentist!

“What are you laughing at? You are up to some mischief, Jo,” said Laurie, looking mystified.

Jo didn’t respond but shrugged rather carelessly, as if hoping to throw him off the scent but knowing she only stoked the fire of his curiosity.

“I have some very interesting news,” he said. “It’s a secret, and if I tell you, you must tell me yours.”

“I haven’t got any,” began Jo, but stopped suddenly, remembering that she had.

“You know you have—you can’t hide anything, so up and ’fess, or I won’t tell,” cried Laurie.

“Is your secret a nice one?”

“Oh, isn’t it! All about people you know, and such fun! You ought to hear it, and I’ve been aching to tell it this long time. Come, you begin.”

“You’ll not say anything about it at home, will you?”

“Not a word.”

“And you won’t tease me in private?”

“I never tease.”

“Yes, you do. You get everything you want out of
people. I don’t know how you do it, but you are a born wheedler.”

“Thank you. Fire away.”

“Well, I’ve applied for entrance to Gentleman Jackson’s Preparatory Salon for the Training of Vampire Defenders, and he’s to give his answer next week,” whispered Jo, in her confidant’s ear.

“Hurrah for Miss March, the celebrated American defender!” cried Laurie, throwing up his hat and catching it again, to the great delight of two ducks, four cats, five hens, and half a dozen Irish children, for they were out of the city now.

“Hush! It won’t come to anything, I dare say, since he’s never accepted a female before, but I couldn’t rest till I had tried, and I said nothing about it because I didn’t want anyone else to be disappointed.”

“It won’t fail. Why, Jo, you are a born defender compared with half the rabble Gentleman Jackson trains daily. Won’t it be fun to see you in the graduating class, and shan’t we feel proud?”

Jo’s eyes sparkled, for it is always pleasant to be believed in, and a friend’s praise is always sweeter than a dozen acceptances.

“Where’s your secret? Play fair, Teddy, or I’ll never believe you again,” she said, trying to extinguish the brilliant hopes that blazed up at a word of encouragement.

“I may get into a scrape for telling, but I didn’t promise not to, so I will, for I never feel easy in my
mind till I’ve told you any plummy bit of news I get. I know where Meg’s glove is.”

“Is that all?” said Jo, looking disappointed, as Laurie nodded and twinkled with a face full of mysterious intelligence.

“It’s quite enough for the present, as you’ll agree when I tell you where it is.”

“Tell, then.”

Laurie bent, and whispered three words in Jo’s ear, which produced a comical change. She stood and stared at him for a minute, looking both surprised and displeased, then walked on, saying sharply, “How do you know?”

“Saw it.”

“Where?”

“Pocket.”

“All this time?”

“Yes, isn’t that romantic?”

“No, it’s horrid.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I don’t. It’s ridiculous, it won’t be allowed. My patience! What would Meg say?”

“You are not to tell anyone. Mind that.”

“I didn’t promise.”

“That was understood, and I trusted you.”

“Well, I won’t for the present, anyway, but I’m disgusted, and wish you hadn’t told me.”

“I thought you’d be pleased.”

“At the idea of a human coming to take Meg away? No, thank you.”

“You’ll feel better about it when a human comes to take you away.”

“I’d like to see a human try it,” cried Jo fiercely.

“So should I!” and Laurie chuckled at the idea.

“I don’t think secrets agree with me, I feel rumpled up in my mind since you told me that,” said Jo rather ungratefully.

Something about Brooke’s interest in Meg didn’t sit comfortably with her, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. In word and deed, he was unfailingly polite and courteous, but he had a steady, careful gaze that seemed to take in everything. Sometimes she felt as if he looked at them all like they were strange, foreign creatures.

He had the eyes of a slayer, she realized. That was it exactly. And wouldn’t his being a slayer explain the stolen glove as well? Laurie thought his tutor treasured it as a love token, but Jo wasn’t so naïve. No, she’d walked the earth decades longer than he, read
Seven Signs of a Slayer
at least seven times, and survived a staking (though, she readily admitted, through no fault of her own). Mr. John Brooke had evil designs on her sister and perhaps her whole family. She knew it to be true with every fiber of her being. She didn’t have the scientific proof yet but her instincts told her Brooke was a dangerous threat.

“Race down this hill with me, and you’ll be all right,” suggested Laurie.

No one was in sight, the smooth road sloped invitingly before her, and finding the temptation irresistible, Jo darted away, soon leaving hat and comb behind her and scattering hairpins as she ran. She reached the goal a good two minutes before Laurie, who was quite satisfied with the success of his treatment, for as he approached he saw no signs of unhappiness in Jo’s face. He was, however, perversely unsatisfied with his own performance, even though he knew his own deplorably human legs could in no way compete with Jo’s swift vampire limbs.

“That was capital,” said Jo, exuberant from the exercise. She adored being able to run miles in the splendid air, and not lose her breath, rather like a horse. Poor humans with their huffing and puffing. “But see what a guy it’s made me. Go, pick up my things, like a cherub, as you are.” She dropped down under a maple tree, which was carpeting the bank with crimson leaves.

Laurie leisurely departed to recover the lost property, and Jo bundled up her braids, hoping no one would pass by till she was tidy again. But someone did pass, and who should it be but Meg, looking particularly ladylike in her state and festival suit, for she had been making calls.

“What in the world are you doing here?” she asked, regarding her disheveled sister with well-bred surprise.

“Getting leaves,” meekly answered Jo, sorting the rosy handful she had just swept up.

“And hairpins,” added Laurie, throwing half a dozen into Jo’s lap. “They grow on this road, Meg, so do combs and brown straw hats.”

“You have been running, Jo. How could you? When will you stop such romping ways?” said Meg reprovingly, as she settled her cuffs and smoothed her hair, with which the wind had taken liberties.

“Never. Don’t try to make me grow up before my time, Meg. It’s hard enough to have you change all of a sudden. Let me be a little girl as long as I can.”

As she spoke, Jo bent over the leaves to hide the trembling of her lips, for lately she had felt that Margaret was fast getting to be a woman, and Laurie’s secret made her dread the separation which, even if Brooke proved to be the villain she supposed, must surely come sometime and now seemed very near. Laurie saw the trouble in Jo’s face and drew Meg’s attention from it by asking quickly, “Where have you been calling, all so fine?”

“At the Gardiners’, and Sallie has been telling me all about Belle Moffat’s wedding. It was very splendid, and they have gone to spend the winter in Paris. Just think how delightful that must be!”

“Do you envy her, Meg?” said Laurie.

“I’m afraid I do.”

“I’m glad of it!” muttered Jo, tying on her hat with a jerk.

“Why?” asked Meg, looking surprised.

“Because if you care much about riches, you will never go and sire a poor man,” said Jo, frowning at Laurie, who was mutely warning her to mind what she said.

“I shall never ‘go and sire’ anyone,” observed Meg, walking on with great dignity while the others followed, laughing, whispering, skipping stones, and “behaving like children,” as Meg said to herself, though she might have been tempted to join them if she had not had her best dress on.

For a week or two, Jo behaved so queerly that her sisters were quite bewildered. As soon as she woke at dusk, she ran to the door to check the post, was rude to Mr. Brooke whenever they met, would sit looking at Meg with a woebegone face, occasionally jumping up to shake and then kiss her in a very mysterious manner. Laurie and she were always making signs to one another, till the girls declared they had both lost their wits. On the second Saturday after Jo got out of the window, Meg, as she sat sewing at her window, was scandalized by the sight of Laurie chasing Jo all over the garden and finally capturing her in Amy’s bower.
²¹
What went on there, Meg could not see, but shrieks of
laughter were heard, followed by the murmur of voices and a great flapping of papers.

“What shall we do with that girl? She never will behave like a young vampire lady,” sighed Meg, as she watched the race with a disapproving face.

“I hope she won’t. She is so funny and dear as she is,” said Beth, who had never betrayed that she was a little hurt at Jo’s having secrets with anyone but her.

In a few minutes Jo bounced in, laid herself on the sofa, and affected to read.

“Have you anything interesting there?” asked Meg, with condescension.

“Nothing but a letter from a salon in town,” returned Jo, hiding her face behind the sheet.

“You’d better read it aloud. That will amuse us and keep you out of mischief,” said Amy in her most grown-up tone.

With a loud “Hem!” Jo began to read very fast. The girls listened with interest as the writer thanked the candidate for her application to their esteemed institution, congratulated her on her impressive qualifications, and offered her a place among their newly forming squad of vampire defenders.

“You?” cried Meg, dropping her work. “You’ve been accepted to Gentleman Jackson’s salon?”

“They’ve never taken a girl before,” said Amy.

“Oh, my Jo, I am so proud!” and Beth ran to hug her sister and exult over this splendid success.

Dear me, how delighted they all were, to be sure! How Meg wouldn’t believe it till she saw the words, “Miss Josephine March, Cadet,” actually printed on the invitation to join the class. How graciously Amy complimented the salon’s training methods and success rate in tracking and apprehending slayers. How Beth got excited, and skipped and sang with joy. How Hannah came in to exclaim, “Sakes alive, well I never!” in great astonishment at “that Jo’s doin’s.” How proud Mrs. March was when she knew it. How Jo laughed, as she declared she might as well be a peacock and done with it, and how Gentleman Jackson’s salon might be said to have established an annex in the House of March, as the girls promised to study with Jo at home.