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Usha Gupta and the case of Vlad Dracovitch
by lantana2
 The recent mention of Debbie's Hungarian colleague "Vlad" was too much to resist for this contributor to the Fantasy Archers topic of .
I settled myself into my seat in the sleeper carriage, and watched as the beautiful city of Budapest began to slip away. We moved swiftly past fertile countryside, some farms, turkeys pecking contentedly, and I reflected on the events which had brought me here.
It began with a visit to my office in Borchester by wealthy local farmer, Mr Brian Aldridge. I was somewhat surprised to see Mr Aldridge as I had always understood him to be a client of the only other solicitor in the county. Mr Aldridge appeared unlike his usual smooth and debonair self, nervously shifting in his seat so that the gold chains on his loafers caught the sun and reflected in the windows and the small glass that hung over the fireplace.
"Usha", he began, "I have come to you because I believe I can have full confidence in you, in what is a somewhat difficult situation. It concerns Debbie"
Debbie was Mr Aldridge's stepdaughter, a young woman of whom he was extremely fond. "I need you to take some papers to her", Mr Aldridge continued, "papers which she must sign".
I knew that Deborah Aldridge managed her stepfather's business interests in Hungary, and that she had recently returned to that country after a flying visit to the Aldridges' Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm, in which she was also involved. I did not understand why the papers could not be posted or faxed to her and said so to Mr Aldridge .
He hesitated. "I can not contact Debbie", he said at length. I last spoke to her on our webcam system, but, although I could hear her clearly, the system was malfunctioning and I could not see her. Now I can make no contact at all, but I was told by one of our staff that she had gone to visit her deputy in Hungary, Vlad Dracovitch". Seeing me lean forward to question him, Mr Aldridge held up a hand. His gaze was lowered, and I quickly sat up again. "Dracovitch was recently involved in a serious road accident", Mr Aldridge continued, "and I have been informed that he is recuperating in a house belonging to his family in Romania-Transylvania to be precise. Debbie went to see him last week to discuss business, and has not yet returned. His family's home does not appear to have any modern communications, and I do not want to trust these papers to the Romanian postal system; I understand the property is extremely isolated. I have a proposition for you, Usha".
I dealt briskly with Mr Aldridge's proposition and he then rather shamefacedly asked me to undertake a journey to Transylvania to deliver the papers to Debbie. Mr Aldridge could not go himself, he explained to me, as some urgent business had arisen in Germany. All my expenses for first class travel would naturally be paid, and the task would be well remunerated. It was a little while since any of the residents in Ambridge had required my legal services; profits were not looking good and with only a slight hesitation, I accepted the commission.
That evening, I discussed the matter over with my dear Alan, the Vicar of Ambridge. Although he did not try to talk me out of going, I could see his concern. As I was packing, for I was to leave the next day, he came into the room, and handed me a small gold crucifix. "I know this is not a symbol of your faith, Usha", he told me, "but it was given to me on my ordination, and I feel strongly that I should give it to you for this journey". Puzzled I took the small object and fastened it around my neck. Alan took me in his arms but I was distracted. I found myself thinking only of my journey and the mysterious Vlad Dracovitch.
***
My uneasy musings were suddenly interrupted by the ring tone of my mobile. Much to my surprise, the caller was Brian Aldridge.
"Usha, thank heavens, you're still within range"
"Mr Aldridge? I thought you were going to Germany"
"I'm there-in Munich. Listen, please, Usha, it's important that I talk to you, and my battery is low. I'm here with Siobhan Donovan-Hathaway that was. Usha, I don't know how much you know…?"
"There were rumours", I said cautiously. Bitter memories kept me from taking too close an interest in the extramarital goings-on of the Archer family.
"Usha, I can rely on client confidentiality here, can't I?" To anyone who knew me, the answer was too obvious to give. "Siobhan and I were lovers", Mr Aldridge continued. "I am the father of her child- my son Ruairi"; his voice broke. "I should have come here sooner, I knew something was wrong. Siobhan is desperately ill, some problem with her blood, they're doing tests. There's a suspicion it's not natural - there are marks on the skin, drugs perhaps….".
I was bewildered. I was sorry to hear of Siobhan Hathaway's illness, but why, I asked, did Brian Aldridge need to tell me about it so urgently.
"I'm sorry, I'm not thinking clearly", he muttered, "It's Dracovitch, I need you to talk to him".
"Vlad Dracovitch? But what has Mr Dracovitch got to do with Mrs Hathaway, er Ms Donovan?"
"I was with Siobhan last night - I'd got her into hospital. She... I couldn't believe it when I saw her. She was always so vibrant, and now it's as if the life is being drained out of her. As it grew dark, she started murmuring. I heard the name Dracovitch again and again. I called to her, asked her what she meant. One of Siobhan's colleagues came in to visit, Minna somebody. She told me Siobhan had met Dracovitch at some wretched beanfeast, New Agriculture in the New Europe, or some such nonsense. Siobhan was doing the Hungarian translation - it was always something she particularly enjoyed. Dracovitch was talking about our Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm operation and of course Siobhan couldn't help taking note. Minna said Dracovitch and she appeared… well, there was obviously a mutual attraction..."
He broke off, then continued, "Siobhan left with Dracovitch. After that evening, Minna said, she never discussed him. Minna might have forgotten the incident, but she always remembered that it was almost immediately afterwards that Siobhan became ill - tired and distant, Minna told me. I knew there was something wrong, I should have come before. Usha, ask Dracovitch what he knows, ask him what happened."
I could hear the beep of the low battery and the fading of Mr Aldridge's voice. "And Usha, you and Debbie, you must take care.."
The line went dead.
***
The view from my window should have been both beautiful and peaceful. My room overlooked a small courtyard, surrounded by simple white buildings with closed blue shutters and, beyond, hay fields still being worked with horse and cart and the wooded mountains rising above them. Twilight was falling and a pale moon was in the sky. The storks nesting on the ruined keep were settling down for the night but a few early swifts were circling and a bat was emerging from the nearby chapel. Yet there was a feeling of unease, of something hidden waiting to emerge. Were those thunder clouds beginning to form over the mountains?
I shook myself. I needed to finish getting ready for dinner. I turned away from the window into the shadowy room, which was growing even darker as the sun set. I lit a candle. Mr Dracovitch's home had few modern amenities but his family had obviously once been wealthy. The golden mirror on the oak dressing table was decorated with what seemed to be the family crest, two dragons coiling together. I had seen this symbol before in the fading tapestries which still hung in the house and on the wall of the chapel. I gazed critically at my reflection. I had already put on a clean dress and I noticed that the cross which Alan had given me did not really match; I would change it in a moment for a necklace I had brought with me. I began to brush my hair, and thought back to my arrival at the house.
My train journey had finished in a small town and I had tried to find a cab to take me to Mr Dracovitch's house. Two taxis were waiting for fares, and I showed the first driver the address Brian Aldridge had given me. "Vlad Dracovitch", I said, pointing to the name. Without a word, the driver pulled up his window and drove away. The second driver turned from me, spitting on the ground. Puzzled, I wandered into the small town. I tried, using sign language and a few words from my phrase book, to seek help from an elderly woman at a market stall. On hearing Mr Dracovitch's name she seized my arm and shook her head vigorously. Desperately, I produced a bundle of euros and a man loading a cart approached and indicated he would take me. An argument appeared to ensue between my driver and the old woman but he moved away and began to help me onto the front of the cart. Seeing us leave, the old woman rushed up and pressed a large bulb of garlic into my hand. This was certainly a most peculiar place.
We quickly left the town and trotted past fields and small villages. We began to climb a small wooded track. My driver was surly and uncommunicative. Abruptly, he pulled up the horse and indicated I should get down. He pointed to a dark tower in the distance, and held out his hand for what seemed an extortionate payment. Then he turned the small cart and disappeared down the track. Clutching my small case, I made my way towards the tower with a sense of foreboding. However, when I arrived, I found the ruined tower was in the grounds of what seemed to be a small white manor house. I was looking about when a voice called, "Usha? Usha Gupta?". To my relief it was Debbie Aldridge. She indicated that I should wait and in a few moments a large oak door opened. A wizened and hunchbacked old man appeared in the doorway and, taking my case, indicated that I should follow him.
We climbed a wooden stair case to an upper room. It appeared large, but I could make out little, as the shutters were fastened. Then Debbie Aldridge moved out of the shadows, dressed in well cut jeans and a high-necked white shirt. She spoke to the old man for a few minutes, calling him "Igor". I was impressed by how fluent she had become in the language after only a few days stay.
Debbie was obviously puzzled by my arrival and I explained the purpose of my visit. I handed her the papers. She perused them quickly and then smiled, showing small, sharp teeth. "Excellent", she said, and put them down on a small table. Igor the hunchback reappeared with a tray containing a soup bowl and bread. "Blimeh is Vlad's only employee", Debbie explained. "His family have served the Dracovitches for many generations. Many of the locals resent Vlad taking over the family estates again after the end of communism." That explained the strange reactions in the town.
I asked Debbie if she was eating. She shook her head, with another small smile. "Vlad and I only eat at night", she said softly. " We will have the pleasure of dining with you later." Finding it difficult to see, I asked if a shutter could be opened. Debbie shook her head. "There are so many valuable textiles and pieces of furniture here", she explained. "Light can be so damaging."
"How is Mr Dracovitch?", I asked. "I understand he was injured in a road accident." "Vlad is fully recovered", Debbie answered; she laughed showing her teeth again. "He is virtually indestructible, you know. All he needed was a return to his native soil to rest."
Debbie asked for some time to read the papers quietly. Igor would show me to my room and then I could explore the house and grounds. I did so, finding little of great interest. There was a small locked chapel, outside which some carts of earth had been piled. Perhaps some restoration was going on. I returned to my room to get ready for the evening meal. I unpacked, and finding the garlic in my pocket put it on one side of the wooden bed. On the other, I placed a small amulet of the god Hanuman, a present from my Auntie Satya, something I always took with me on journeys.
Now, as I looked into the mirror, I felt a sudden chill draught and smelled something sickly sweet upon the air. I would have sworn that there was someone with me in the room, yet the mirror reflected only empty shadows.
I turned around and screamed. A cloaked man stood before the dressing table. Fear made me rude.
"Who the hell are you, and how in God's name did you get into my room?"
"You disappoint me, Miss Gupta. Deborah told me you were a clever lawyer but only one of your questions is apposite. Still, where I am properly invoked, I will answer. My name is Vlad Dracovitch. You are welcome to my home."
The voice was soft and melodic yet insinuating. Dracovitch himself was tall, with fine dark eyes, a hooked nose and black hair streaked with grey swept back from a pale face. He appeared graceful, and his white hands had long fingers. It was difficult to judge his age.
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. I felt my skin crawl at his touch, an inexplicable revulsion, and yet at the same time, something else - was it desire? Unthinkingly, I moved back. Dracovitch smiled. His lips were very red in his white face.
"I have startled you, Miss Gupta", he murmured. "No, no", I replied quickly. What was wrong with me? "It is a pleasure to be here in your beautiful house. And please call me Usha". "I assure you that the pleasure will be all mine, Usha". His voice was a caress. A faintness was coming over me. I moved back towards the bed. Dracovitch was beside me. "You are tired from your journey, Usha. Let me assist you". He lifted me in his arms and laid me down. The sweet smell I had sensed before was stronger, lilies I thought, old lilies; I was very drowsy. Dracovitch moved towards me, then stopped suddenly. His glance fell on the garlic, then on Auntie's amulet. His gaze moved to my throat, where I could feel the crucifix lying. His arrival had prevented me from removing it. Dracovitch stepped back. He gave a low hiss, like a cat baulked of its prey. "I have underestimated you, Miss Gupta", he said, and his voice was now cold. "You are indeed a clever woman".
"Vlad, my love?" Debbie Aldridge spoke from the shadows. When had she come in? "Do we feast now? I am so hungry." "There is a small difficulty, Deborah", replied Dracovitch. "Come, and I will provide in a little while." They seemed to glide towards the door. I was still drowsy and confused.
"Wait", I called. "Mr Dracovitch, there is something I must ask you, about Siobhan Hathaway." There was a cry from Debbie Aldridge, animal-like, that chilled my blood. Dracovitch held a silencing hand towards her. " I do not know this person, I think", he answered.
"You met her in Munich", I said hastily. "She was translating..." "Ah, now I recall", Dracovitch murmured. "The flame-haired woman. Most tempting. I warmed myself a little". A low moan from Debbie Aldridge. "My client, Mr Aldridge, is with her in Munich", I continued. "He is most concerned, she is very ill, he describes her as drained of life. He thinks you may be able to shed some light on what has happened." There was a movement. At the mention of her stepfather and Siobhan, Debbie had stepped forward, with an expression on her face that was almost bestial. Dracovitch laid a restraining hand upon her arm. "Light", he said, and smiled. "No, I do not think I can shed light but you can tell your client that this sickness will soon be over. It is a transient thing, and then the redhead will ….live long. He will see, I am sure."
He turned and both he and Debbie were gone from the room.
I lay down again. A complete exhaustion had come over me and I slept, a sleep troubled by strange dreams. When I awoke it was still night, the moonlight bright in the room. I got up and went to the window. To my surprise, Debbie stood in the courtyard. She appeared to be waiting for something, but there was only a bat circling over the keep. Suddenly Dracovitch appeared from the shadows. He was carrying something in his cloak, something that moved. Debbie stepped forward eagerly and Dracovitch flung off his cloak. Oh, the horror. I turned and ran.
The last thing I remember is stumbling through the woods, branches tearing my face as I fled from the house.
A letter from Alan Franks to Cyril, former Bishop of Felpersham
You have been such a good friend to Usha and me in the past, I hope, even though you are no longer my bishop, that you will not mind me troubling you with this account.
It began this morning. Amy was away, spending a few days of the holiday with her grandmother. Usha was abroad on business for a local client, Brian Aldridge. Did you ever meet him - the squire manqué of Ambridge? I had some qualms about that trip, and I decided I should concentrate on finishing my sermon for Easter Sunday. The window in the study showed me many signs of spring and resurrection, the daffodils, new buds, the lambs frolicking in nearby fields. I shut the window. It wasn't until moving to Ambridge that I realised 'The Silence of the Lambs' was a complete misnomer. I was just opening my laptop when the phone rang.
It was Adam Macy, Aldridge's stepson, sounding tense and unhappy. "I'm sorry to trouble you, Alan", he began. "I know this is a frantic time for you, but Brian has asked me to ring you - to arrange a funeral - and… I think it might be a good idea if you came to see Mum. All hell's broken loose here, if you'll excuse the expression."
Ad
am went onto explain that his stepfather had called Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm late last night. Brian was believed to be on a business trip to Germany but it transpired he had in fact been visiting his former mistress, Siobhan Hathaway. "I was furious at first," Adam continued, "but in the circumstances…"
Adam explained that Siobhan Hathaway had become very ill and sadly had passed away the day before.
"Brian's coming home, and bringing their son with him. He seems to expect Mum to cope. She's naturally distraught, and Alice is shouting about how everyone has lied to her, so Mum's worried about her and her exams, of course. Oh yes, I have to ask you about the funeral. Brian is trying to bring Siobhan's body home. Apparently he wants her to rest in Ambridge. As for me, I shall have to cope with everything, the lambing, the arable, the maize-maze, the deer, the strawberries, Ian's got no time off of course..." He broke off. "Well, you don't want to hear me moaning on."
I made the necessary immediate arrangements with Adam. I would visit Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm that afternoon and speak to Brian on his return. I asked if either of Adam's other half-sisters, Debbie and Kate, would be returning to Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm from abroad.
"How can I have forgotten", Adam said bitterly. "Apparently, Debbie has returned home. I haven't seen her but she telephoned from her cottage this morning. She's brought with her a 'colleague' from Hungary, Dracovitch. He's thinking of investing in property locally, apparently. That is just what I need. Look, I've kept you too long and Mum needs me. Thanks again."
Adam rang off before I could stop him. What was going on? If Debbie Aldridge and Vlad Dracovitch were in England, then where was Usha? I gazed out of the window, trying not to panic. My heart sank. Coming up the vicarage path was Lynda Snell.
I think you must have met Mrs Snell at various functions. She is, as our Lord says, the salt of the earth but sometimes the salt can be a bit too lavishly sprinkled. What was this visit for? Was it too late for me to ban her proposed maypole as a pagan fertility symbol? Very probably. I sighed and opened the door.
"Lynda, look, I'm afraid this isn't is a very good time for me. Perhaps we could…"
Mrs Snell ignored me, pushing past me and marching into my study.
"I have come to call you to your duty, Alan", she declared. "Do you not sense it? The stench of evil and death is abroad in the lanes of Ambridge!"
I sighed again. "I'm sorry, Lynda, but I know Oliver and Helen are working hard to get their cheeses right and I think if you do have complaints the council rather than the Church of England is the correct forum…"
"You completely misunderstand me, Alan", she replied. "But I forget, you do not know who I am."
This was terrible. First Jack Woolley and now Lynda appeared to be losing her faculties. "Of course I know you," I said gently "You are Lynda Snell…"
"Snell is my married name", she said impatiently. "I was born Belynda van Helsing. Perhaps you have heard of my great-grandfather, the renowned Professor Abraham van Helsing of Utrecht? He came to London to fight the fiend called Count Dracula. My great-grandfather believed he had defeated the Count", she continued. "But Robert's researches on the internet have led me to the truth. The foul creature lives on, if its existence can be called life, and now goes by the name of Dracovitch."
Dracovitch! I begged Lynda to tell me more. What she revealed turned my blood to ice. I can not recount the horror of it here but I enclose a copy of some of Mr Snell's findings. I beg you to read them and to pray. The creature was here, amongst my flock! And what of my darling Usha - what had become of her? I asked Lynda for a few quiet moments of prayer.
"What now?" I asked her. "Do you believe that we two can end this creature's reign of evil?"
She shook her head. "I know of my great-grandfather's work", she replied, "but I lack his training and experience. And you, Alan, while you can assist, are not familiar with the necessary rites and rituals. But there is one here, one who can save us. Get your motorbike, Alan. We must go at once to Brookfield".
***
Lynda bustled into the kitchen at Brookfield, with me following in her wake. As you may remember it is the farm of David and Ruth Archer. They were both in the kitchen, obviously having managed to snatch a few moments away from the agricultural round. At our arrival, Ruth looked up from 'How to be a Domestic Goddess'. "Hello, you two", she said, "would you like a cup of tea?"
"Thank you, Ruth, we have no time for that", said Lynda. "I need to speak urgently to Philippa." David and Ruth exchanged puzzled glances. In her pleasant Geordie accent, Ruth said she was sure they didn't know a Philippa. David shook his head. "No, I don't believe… hang on, Lynda, you don't mean Pip, do you?" He called out, "Pipsqueak, come here a moment, please". The Archers' teenage daughter came in from the sitting room where she appeared to have been looking after her young brothers.
Lynda beckoned imperiously from the doorway. "Come along, Philippa, there is no time to waste." Outside in the yard, Pip Archer looked questioningly at Lynda. "I have known since Christmas, since you spoke to me about the pantomime, that there was something about you", Lynda told her, "and only last week, only in the very nick of time, I became sure of the fact that you had been Chosen!" "I don't think so, Mrs Snell", Pip replied rather sadly. "I'm nothing special. Granddad thinks I'm good at music, but I'm not really." "You are mistaken, Philippa", continued Lynda, "you are indeed the One. In every generation, a Slayer is born."
To Pip's and my amazement, Lynda went on to explain that she had learned from Professor van Helsing's writings of the existence of the Slayers, young women gifted with the power to destroy the undead.
"There is much to be done, and little time to train Philippa in the use of her powers", Lynda concluded. "She must come home with me. Alan, I have two tasks for you. First, give this order to Christopher Carter. Tell him time is of the essence." She handed me a sealed envelope. "Next, I want you to put this through the door of Debbie Aldridge's cottage. Take care, carry your Bible with you. It is yet day, but the creature's powers grow stronger." You can imagine that I was surprised to see a leaflet with sale details from Churchman Properties Ltd but I did not want to question Lynda. "Philippa", she continued, "run and tell your father that we two need a lift to Ambridge Hall." Pip disappeared into the farmhouse.
Just at that moment, my mobile rang. It was Brian Aldridge, ringing from the airport. He had returned, bringing with him the body of Siobhan Hathaway. "She died, Franks, she died, this disease sucked the life from her. Listen, have you heard from Usha? I can't contact her. I must know what she has learned of Dracovitch, he was with Siobhan before she became ill, I…"
I interrupted. "Brian, I'm sorry, I have someone with me. Let me call you back as soon as I'm free so we can talk properly."
Horrified, I recounted the conversation to Lynda, who turned pale. Pip Archer came towards us with her father. "Listen, Alan", Lynda said urgently. "Tell Brian that Siobhan's body should be brought to St Stephen's. Lay her in the Fairbrother chapel. If... if the worst has happened, it may be of some help that she is on consecrated ground. Ask Brian to come to the vicarage, so you can explain." She paused, obviously thinking frantically. "Meet me at dusk outside the church. I hadn't bargained for this. I don't know if there will be time to accomplish all that we must. Hurry now - and pray, Alan, pray!"
Extract of a letter from Brian Aldridge to Lucas Madikane
…so, you can see that I don't want Kate bothered with all of this in her condition. I just want to explain things so that she might understand one day.
I was dreading my return to Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm, the recriminations, the whole tedious process of sorting everything out. In the end, it was not quite as I had feared. Ruairi was asleep in my arms. Whatever she was feeling, Jenny has never been able to resist mothering a small child and took him from me to put to bed. Alice went to help, because, as she said, "None of this is his fault". Adam was there, waiting to give me his views, which he did in no small measure. Well, I deserved it, I suppose. I hadn't the energy to respond, and after a while I was hardly listening, until I heard the words: "Never mind, no doubt Debbie will understand. I'm surprised you haven't been to see her yet. She has her new man with her, you know, Dracovitch." I seized my coat and left the house hurriedly. I had to speak to Debbie and to Dracovitch.
I ran down to the cottage, banged on the door and called. I felt certain that there was someone there, but no one replied. The curtains were all drawn. Frustrated, I leaned against the wall. It was growing colder and I saw that the sun was beginning to set and a pale moon was rising. Suddenly, all I wanted was to be with Siobhan, to see her for one last time. I went back to the farm and got in the Merc, remembering happier times there with Siobhan.
The sun had set by the time I parked outside St Stephen's. I was afraid I would have to get the key from Bert Fry or that garrulous wife of his but the door was open. The air hung with a sickly sweet scent, lilies I thought but rather early for Easter, surely? I stopped. There was a light and the sound of voices in the Fairbrother chapel. What in heaven's name…?
The small chapel was full. There was that clerical idiot, Franks, clutching what appeared to be the altar cross, Lynda Snell, heaven help us, reading from a large dog-eared volume, the little Archer girl from Brookfield, what were her parents thinking of, and of all people, young Chris Carter, with a bundle of what appeared to be sharp and shining-new metal implements. "The Famous Five I presume," I said. "You appear to have forgotten the dog." Franks swung around and it was then I saw Siobhan's coffin, open, the lid on the floor. "What the…?"
"Chris, take Mr Aldridge, and explain", Lynda Snell said peremptorily. "We must complete the ritual. She must not be able to return to rest." Chris Carter took me by the arm but I shook him off angrily. Then, from the church door, I heard a voice.
"Brian, oh Brian, my love." I had no idea how but she was there. Pale, paler even now than when she lay dying but her green eyes bright, shining with a strange light, her lips very red. Her long red-gold hair was loose. More beautiful than I had remembered and with a new voluptuousness. "Brian, come here to me, my love, I am longing for you. One kiss and we can be together again, forever." I moved towards her. She disappeared from the doorway and I found myself in the graveyard. The scent of the lilies seemed stronger here. I was puzzled but unable to focus my thoughts. I was becoming drowsy; the scent, the memories of Siobhan. A low mist curled around my feet and she was there. "Brian, I have a gift for you. Come to me here, let me drink." I was close to her now, the scent almost overpowering, sweetness masking something sickly and deathlike. She opened her red lips, her teeth were so white. I allowed her to take me in her arms.
What happened next, I cannot really say. I was seized and pulled away, by Franks and Carter I presume. I could hear Lynda Snell, but her words made no sense. "Strike, Philippa, strike now!" I could hear a low, animal, snarling and hissing, then a cry - was that Siobhan?
I sank to the ground. Exhaustion was creeping over me. More voices. I was being helped to the car. Some discussion, who was to take me home, I think. Then running footsteps, a girl's urgent shout and they were gone.
I slept for a while in the Mercedes, deeply. Then she came and took me home.
More parodies - from Agatha Christie to Damon Runyon
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