20 THE VISITOR

In two months, they purchased and operated a fine clothing mercantile store in the newly fashionable neighbourhood of Chiado. Many new clubs and entertainment venues were there, feeding upon the literary institutions, cafes, high-end stores and salons. The stores all featured the latest fashions and trends from London and Paris. The clothing and department stores were built and set up in the style of Harrods of London or the Galleries Lafayette in Paris, and the cafes reflected an Italian influence. It was as cosmopolitan and vibrant as it was new. Every venture was an adventure into the unknown, which appealed to the city's wealthy citizens.

The Empire was strong, and the citizens were transitioning from a more tenet farmer or feudal system to independence, thanks partly to land and peasant revolts twenty and thirty years earlier.

 Through the quiet connection of the O.T.I.D., Jonathan was awarded a royal medallion to be mounted on the exterior of his store. The medallion was the coat of arms of the Royal Family, the House of Braganza. This endorsement by the Court of Luis increased their wealth, prestige, and influence in social circles.

Evelyn was born into the peerage to a minor degree. Her mother’s grandfather had been knighted by King George II in 1740. The family slipped slowly into the background until her mother married Chester Harwood. With her background of being nearly wealthy and now having wealth, Evelyn adopted the attitude: “If one is going to live forever, one should live, like one is going to live forever.”

She had found a young woman with her exact proportions and sent her to Madrid or Paris to purchase the latest fashions for her.

“Evelyn, you are running up a few bills, more than I expected; we are not made of money; you should curtail your spending; you only have one body. Why do you need so many dresses?”

“If I am asked to attend a Royal Ball, I simply could not be expected to wear the same old thing all day. A girl must change.”

“Well, you are no longer a girl, per se, and we both know you will never change. That, I mean, is the truth—in the literal sense and, of course, in your mental state.”

She laughed. “Once a girl, always a girl. Young at heart forever, young in the mind, forever.”

“I guess that is why I fell in love with you, the girl with the broken shoe on Waterloo Bridge, and why I still love you,”

“Thank you, my love. The stranger who helped the poor shoeless girl. And you are still sweeping me off my feet.”

On the fifteenth of every month, they received a notification from the London law office of an American government deposit to their credit. They had expected nothing less.

Just as two years passed, a stranger knocked on their door one Friday evening.

Their house steward, Anibal, received the gentleman’s card and took it into the study. He returned to the stranger and said, “The ‘Mestre’ will see you now.”

After taking the man’s hat, overcoat, gloves, and walking stick to the cloakroom, he led him to the study.

“Mestre, may I introduce Matheu Du Raymonde to you?”

“Thank you, Anibal. If you could ask Senhora St Croix to join us, that would be all.”

“Very well, Mestre.”

St Croix did not say anything to the visitor until Evelyn entered the room.

“Du Raymonde, you have quite elevated yourself from last we met, an Irish stable boy and a runner for the Authentic.”

“Senhor St Croix, we all must do what we must do.”

“You look older with that manicured goatee and the side facial hairs. But enough talk of deportment. What deed of darkness brings you here? And please let us dispense with the formal addresses. Call me Jonathan and Evelyn; well, Evelyn. May we call you Matheu? And would you care for a glass of port?

“Indeed, yes. Indeed, yes to both the port and to the informality.”

Matheu remained standing as he took the port. Jonathan sat on a divan beside Evelyn.

What is it that brings you here to Lisbon? What does the Authentic wish us to know?”

“There are a few dark matters to attend to.

Firstly, the matter of your friend Orlan Marcano. During the siege and fall of Richmond, several troubling things happened. During the bombardment of the city by Union forces, his wife, I believe her name was Adrianne, was killed in that event. As a merchant of war materials, he was taken as a prisoner. Then, in what can be only called an act of spite and in a manner very unbecoming of a Devi, he, in an interrogation, branded you as a Confederate spy. He said that your fleeing to Europe was an escape. With the information I have on that, I believe that the War Office in Washington is looking into repatriating funds you gained from your agreement with them. He seems to have disappeared since his release from Union or Federal custody.”

“You mentioned spite as a reason for his actions. Why would you say spite?”

“The spiteful nature of this is that as you sold your enterprise to the care of the Union forces, he, for some reason, holds you accountable for his wife's death.”  

“That is preposterous and insane; how could any of Jonathan's horses have been involved? Some wagons could have liveried cannonballs, but that is insanity.”

“Yes, Madame, insanity indeed. His household staff had informed the arresting military constables. It looked like Mr Marcano was attempting to save her life by spilling his blood into her wounds. They tried to stop him, but he drew a pistol on them and drove them from his residence.

We can only assume that he was attempting a ‘turning’ on his wife, and it failed, and we fear he may have gone mad, or as you say, Madame, quite insane.”

“What you are saying is there is a half-mad Devi out there seeking to find me and do me ill?’

“Yes sir, and perhaps to your wife as well.”

“What does the Authentic have to say on this?”

“The Authentic has several issues at hand that do, unfortunately, take precedence over your matter.

The current Sultan of the Ottomans, Abdulaziz, who succeeded his elder brother, has decided to reconsider the Empire's long-time agreement with the Devi. This agreement dates back to the Second Great Crusade and the battles in which Louis VII defeated a Seljuk army and the battle just one month later in the Cadmus Mountains, where the Seljuks, in turn, defeated Louis with what was believed to be Devi assistance.

 As such, many of our kind have left the Turkish regions and the Levant. This has cost a Devi a great deal of money and security and caused the Authentic many long nights with much consternation.”

The second issue on her mind is that her exceptionally long-time confidant, Isabel Martel, has recently met with a tragic accident. She was caught in a fire near the Cathedral of St Sulpice in Paris.”

“Oh my God, that is terrible. What a horrible way to die. So much knowledge and wisdom have been lost” Evelyn murmured as tears filled her eyes.

Jonathan followed. “She was hard and strict but fair, and regardless of stature or age, she treated everyone respectfully.”

The Frenchman nodded in terse agreement and added; I believe that the Authentic, for a time, deeply considered your wife, Sir.”

Turning to Evelyn. “You, Madame, for the position as an aide, but after reflection, she realized you, Evelyn St Croix, have a greater and longer destiny. The Authentic makes no claims to see the future, but she sees you as special.”

“Me, what have I done? In one way, I am the youngest or one of the youngest. I know next to nothing of the ways of the Devi. Why would she say that of me?”

“Perhaps, Madame and I mean no disrespect to your husband Jonathan, but perhaps your husband has not been entirely honest with you about the full weight of becoming a Devi as both a rarity and an honour.”

Evelyn looked at Jonathan with a look of horror etched on her face. “Jonathan?” 

Du Raymonde stepped backward to the door without stepping towards either to bid farewell. “I have said all the Authentic has requested, I say, and not one word more. I should take my leave.”

He walked back through the door, and Anibal, as if by magic, was there to give the man his belongings and then saw him to the door.

“What in Hell’s name have you not told me? What deep secret are you hiding, or do you think I am too weak or too young of a Devi to grasp? Your damned Authentic believes I have the power and will for some greatness. So why is it I am sharing my bed chamber with a deceiver? “

Jonathan looked at his wife and saw an uncommon rage in her eyes. Even as a man who had seen hundreds of dead and dying on the field of battle, this look of hers terrified him.

“I will tell you the story. It may be long or seem long, and you should hear me out without interruption.”

“No, Sir, I want the details and facts, or I will walk out the door and find Marcano so he may have his way with you. Speak damn it.”

“If that is what you want, Evelyn, then yes, I will tell you the short and hard facts.

In England, I fell in love with you. In Ireland, you almost died, or perhaps you should have died, but I was mad with love for you. I was overcome with fear, agony and dread. All I could offer you was what I did.  I granted you a new and longer life as a Devi. How I did that is something I am not proud of.

To save you, I needed to give you all the life energy I had, or near enough of it that it makes no odds.

I fed you in the room in the Stoker’s home enough life energy to see you through to get to Wicklow. And there I gave you so much more. But as not die on my own, I needed to feed on fear and death. Thus, Matheu and his companion procured two young women they encountered on the road in the very early morning of the second day we were there. Suppose I may spare you the detail of the furtherance of my actions. I had taken the life force of the older one and passed that energy to you. Then, the next day, I granted you the life of the second younger girl.”

“Beast! You killed two girls to save me?” You killed two innocent children to save my life? What kind of bastard did I marry? What kind of monster am I?

When you hold me in a naked embrace and ravage me with your so-called passion, is it me that you feel when you have your way with me? Is it my body you think, or is it their bodies you feel around you? Speak to me, you bastard,” she yelled at him, beating her fists upon his chest

“It is you. It has always been you. There is no one else. That is why I did what I did.”

“What of these girls? Did they have names? Did they have families? Are there people who may have died wondering where their children are?”

“They were young, but malnourishment had given them the bodies of old women; the ravages and the effects of the famine bore them great suffering. They had been marked and shaven, as was the practice in the workhouses. They had no hair for fleas or lice. Their time, if left alone, would have been short. They had escaped from a workhouse, and therefore, both the Irish guards or some stiff-shirted Englishman would have captured them to use for pleasure. A longer life perhaps by weeks, but a longer death by the same time.”

“You think you saved them from a worse life, so you killed them. Is that what you think?”

“No, Evelyn, I know that; I do not think it. At noon the next day, a Constable and a group of farmers with dogs barked at O’Leary’s door. The hound had followed their scent to Abigail’s. They wanted to search the house, but Matheu stepped up and said that some linens left out overnight had been stolen and that he found some ragged clothes balled up on the bed of his wagon.

Over the night, Matheu had placed the clothes there, which were indeed from the girls. As well, Matheu had poured horse piss on them to bring the hunt of the dogs to an end.

He also stole two chickens from a nearby residence to make the story more plausible. So, it would appear the girls had taken a road inland. 

“What else must I know about the macabre and sadist carnival you have made me join?”

“As Devi, we naturally take in this energy, and we can only release it first to the person we wish to turn to Devi, is through our blood.

With you, I had to slit my arteries and force my blood into your wound. I had to, as they say, transfuse blood into you. It is not like I could nourish you by pouring my blood into your mouth, or if you ate my flesh, you needed the blood to feed your heart and your brain, not your stomach or gut.

I gave you blood, enough for a few days. Then I took the life energies of those girls, created within myself more blood to feed you with, and that is the story of your rebirth.

In America, the pain of slavery, the riots in the city of Philadelphia and the proximity and the passing of soldiers from the battlefield sustained us both.

Here In Lisbon, it is the fat bastards in society, feeding on the labours of others and exploiting their fellow man as they rot from the inside with consumption and gout, and that does nothing for us.

I have seen and felt 10,000 deaths, and if I were to gain one week of life from each, I would live two hundred years. But I have seen more death than that when walking the battlefields. Deep in blood up to my calves, I will live much longer… perhaps longer than I care. “

 What of me? How long will I live? 

“That depends; the blood of mine in your veins will grow tired. It has served you for the past ten years, but you will soon need to charge yourself; you will need much more energy.”

“And how do I do that? How am I to overwhelm my sense with the lost life forces of others.”

“My dear, you must learn to kill.”