Call Me Ismay (20 page)

“It seems that we are alone,” he blurted, startling Stanley behind him. “I will be most displeased if our courier has misled us.”

“We
are
alone,” Stanley confirmed, and then his voice took on a quieter tone as he spoke once again. “Well, all except for one, now...”

Langston turned. About ten yards away was the form of a woman- with the same black dress, the same black shawl, the same softly beautiful but pensive face he'd seen weeks before.

“Dear God, woman- what are you doing here?” Langston exclaimed. “Where are Lyons and Gidley?”

“They are on their way to the cemetery,” Lillith replied, her voice still soft, her face still pale. “I wanted to consult with you first, Mr. Langston. You must leave London at once, and you mustn't go back to the newspaper.”

“But aren't you taking an extraordinary risk by coming here? Won't Lyons know that you're not just a messenger, but
the
messenger?” Langston inquired intensely, then became a little suspicious. “Or had he appointed you as spokeswoman since the beginning?”

“He knows nothing of our prior contact.” Lillith cast a furtive glance at Stanley, who appeared utterly bemused. “Mr. Langston, who is this gentleman?”

“This is my associate, Mr. Johns. You should know that I trust him implicitly.”

Stanley dubiously looked over Lillith's obviously domestic outfit but politely removed his cap. Lillith was not so much flattered as she was frightened. “Begging your pardon, lad, but I wish Mr. Langston had not brought another soul into this- especially one that seems so young and tender.” Stanley immediately blushed as she turned back to Langston. “How much does this boy know, sir?”

“Only that a source had identified themselves as the author of the letters, but I did not divulge your name- nor have we had any conversation regarding the exact nature of what you had written to me.”

“Begging
your
pardon, miss,” Stanley interjected, an unfortunate tone of chauvinism creeping into his tone, “but am I to believe that Mr. Langston has been receiving anonymous letters purporting to be of the highest importance from a scullery maid?”

Lillith, for her part, appeared wounded by the remark.

“Stanley!”
Langston admonished. “You have no idea what this young woman has endured, or what she has possibly put at risk merely by meeting with us today! She is
indeed
my source, and all that is important to me is her honesty, not her place in society.” He glowered at an astonished Stanley for a moment, then continued. “Perhaps in a short while it can be made fully clear to you.”

Lillith, her brow furrowed in distress, was clearly resisting the urge to take her own word out of turn against Stanley. Finally, for a brief instant she allowed her voice to take on a indignant tone. “I begin each day by presenting an MP in the House of Commons with a tea tray, Mr. Johns. I do not scrub floors.”

Stanley's cheeks reddened even further. A small smile of admiration caused Langston's usually taut jawline to relax ever so slightly, if only briefly. “Stanley, this is a young woman who, while employed in a life of service, has plenty to teach. You would do well to mark her words, we both would.” Lillith, nervous and humbled, cast her hooded brown eyes to the ground. “Miss Lillith,” Langston continued quietly, “Why are you here? Where are Mr. Lyons and Mr. Gidley?”

“They are on Their way to the cemetery,” Lillith replied again, not making eye contact with Langston. “As I said, I wanted to consult with you first.”

“Well, if you are going to do that you must do it quickly before you're seen in our company,” Langston urged. “The agreed meeting time was ten o'clock, and I fear that hour is now upon us.”

“They won't be on time, but They are on their way,” Lillith replied. She cut her eyes to Stanley- who was agitatedly fidgeting with the flat cap in his hands- before she took a few steps towards Langston.

“Mr. Langston, sir- you have always proceeded with caution. I can see that Mr. Stanley here knows not of what we speak and I thank you for that.” She took an additional step forward. “I do not believe that Mr. Lyons can be stopped in His business. His... rules, His
abilities
are far more complicated than you know,” she added, choosing her words carefully. “I do not think He can be stopped in England. Outside the country, however, there might be a chance. He may not have so much influence
out west,”
she emphasized, while squirming in her shawl as if to retrieve something. “He may not enjoy the power to
rule others
over there.” At last she pulled out what appeared to be two envelopes, and she presented them to Langston. “These are for you, Mr. Langston. One is a letter and you should not read it here.” She leaned a bit closer, speaking softly so that only Langston might hear. “The other is a little something and I suppose I don't mind if you see it now.”

Langston glanced down at the envelopes, seeing that one had the old familiar red wax seal on its back, while the other seemed partially open and loose.

Lillith gently moved her face to Langston's ear, ensuring that Stanley would definitely not hear what she said next. “I made sure that the letter was especially vague this time.” She stepped back, allowing herself a very small smile at her own little joke.

“You don't mind if Stanley sees what's in the unsealed one, do you?” Langston muttered. Lillith shook her head.

Langston fumbled with the envelopes in his hands, intrigued but decidedly rattled. He could determine by the feel of the unsealed envelope that it held something small of a slightly unusual size.

As Langston went to open it, Stanley piped in. “Sir, according to myth, wasn't Lillith a demoness who lived in the trunk of a weeping willow? Seems so interesting, with the cemetery so full of them.”

“That will be quite enough, Stanley,” Langston declared, as he brought out the envelope's contents. For her part, Lillith refused to acknowledge Stanley's presence from that moment on.

Langston unfolded a rectangular piece of paper and stared at it. It read:

WHITE STAR LINE. Royal and United States Mail Steamers. Third Class Passenger's Contract Ticket.

A confused Langston regarded it for a moment, taking in its black and white artist's rendition of what appeared to be an enormous ship.

“A boarding pass of some sort?” Langston asked, puzzled. Stanley was craning his neck, trying to get a view over Langston's shoulder. “What is this, a used one? Why are you giving me this?”

“It's not used,” Lillith replied, quietly. “Mr. Lyons purchased it for me initially for passage out west, but He decided He did not want evidence that He was bringing any of His help out of England. He thinks it's best to keep me off the passenger's list, and believe me, He has enough influence to do that- keep me under His thumb and away from all other men but Himself.”

“Keep you off the passenger's manifest- but why? Are you telling me this is an active ticket for a ship?”

“He believes it was sold at cost to some other pug in someone else's household after He told me to get rid of it,” Lillith explained. “But I decided to keep it in case it was needed.”

“So is this...” Langston's voice trailed off. “Miss Lillith, are you to believe that I am going to follow Edward Lyons to America?”

“Mr. Lyons has...
accomplished
as much as He can here in England,” Lillith explained, again choosing her words carefully in a slightly trembling voice. “He said He believes that the next step is now to be taken as part of the Argued Prophecy. I believe that He- and especially that dreadful man Gidley- wants to pursue new blood.”

Langston could feel a trickle of sweat roll down his back, under his overcoat. He knew full well that Lillith wasn't exactly speaking in code.

“But even if he were, what am I expected to do? I can't just up and leave London- I have family, with a sister who can't hardly care for her young sons and daughters, and a job- well, I believe that I
do
still have employment, but I'm not sure for how much longer,” he replied sardonically, taking a look at Stanley. “I am just unable to suss out why on earth you believe I should do this. I certainly haven't been able to contain Lyons here in Britain!”

“Here, He has been able to hide right in front of everyone, but if you can expose Him for what He is before He casts his spell over there, we might have a chance to stop Him,” Lillith explained. “But it has to happen before He reaches Utah. If He makes it to Utah, it's all over.”

“Utah?” Stanley interjected. “That's right near Arizona and New Mexico, innit? Weren't they just granted statehood or something earlier this year?”

Langston and Lillith ignored him. “I am still not certain, Miss Lillith, what it is that you believe can be achieved. We are talking about an enormous swath of land, where Lyons can blend in, disappear, never be seen again. Of course right now at least we know what district of London he represents, but if it's his design to flee for America, I really fail to see what can be accomplished.”

“He cannot be stopped here. But in the states, if we can force Him to show His true colors in some dreadful backwater in Texas, we might be able to stop Him.” She leaned in close to whisper in Langston's ear. Stanley protested by stepping several feet away, taking a seat on the curb leading into the cemetery, and sulking. “And they won't have to use a silver bullet, either.”

Langston's ears burned and his jaw tightened as he processed Lillith's second bold reference to vampirism that morning. Agitated, he felt compelled to admonish her a bit. “Miss Lillith-” he hissed his words in urgent secrecy- “the reality of this situation is clear to me-
painfully
clear. There is no need to continually remind me of the supernatural aspect of what is happening.”

“But I
do
need to remind you, Mr. Langston,” Lillith whispered in protest. “So much of what you believe you understand about the dark arts is at best half-correct. Lyons, if you follow Him out of the country- He doesn't have to be captured under the cover of darkness in order to force Him to reveal what He is. Even I demonstrated that to you...” She subtly tapped her upper lip, twice.

“Yes, yes, you have made that clear, but I am extremely reluctant regarding our chances- and I'm assuming we are talking of
our
chances, aren't we?” Lillith nodded. “You would be there also, but under his thumb, as you stated. I can't see the benefit of me trying to corner Lyons- as you stated- in some American backwater, unless it's in Louisiana or somewhere. I'm told they practically invented voodoo there.”

Lillith allowed herself the very smallest of smiles. “Mr. Langston, the days of domestic service will be coming to an end, and sooner than you think,” her voice becoming a little bit more bold in its volume. “The women's movement will see to that, if and when it succeeds. Mr. Lyons, who is always so boastful of His political instincts, knows this. That is why He is relocating out west, to the desert, where He thinks He can hide and pretend there isn't a war between the sexes. My father had dreams for me when I was growing up in Cornwall- always said I had the brains to be a secretary, and if we can feed Lyons to the wolves in time, I could easily become
your
secretary. I've proven to you I can write, I have excellent organizational skills...”

“My secretary?” Langston exclaimed. “You've already prepared a future for us when I couldn't even afford this Third Class ticket that you've handed me if I'd wanted it on my own?” Stanley, who had been sitting on the curbside and consistently pouting for the past several minutes, impudently resting his face between his fists, turned his head slightly as Langston raised his voice. “Miss Lillith, you ask too much of me. I can ask Edward Lyons a few potentially embarrassing and incendiary questions here today, but I can't just reorganize my entire life's priorities and go off on some foolish crusade. To that end-” Langston frantically pulled out his pocket watch- “I really must ask you to move along, as Lyons and Gidley should have arrived here at least three minutes ago.”

He put his pocket watch away, nervously pawing through his coat as he tried to secure the two envelopes while trying to pull out his diary. Lillith didn't move, and never took her eyes off of him.