Stefan's Diaries: The Ripper

Chapter Seven

 
I know who you are.
The words thudded in my consciousness. Who was I? I was Stefan Salvatore once. Damon knew that. So did whoever wrote the message on the wal . But who else?
He was a drunk. Let it go, I commanded myself as I hastily picked my way out of the park and toward the hotel, stopping along the way to purchase tickets for a musical burlesque at the Gaiety Theatre. I'd gotten two box tickets, each one costing more than a week's pay. But I'd compel ed them from the bewildered man at the box office, justifying it by reminding myself it would al be worth it if the play led to us finding Cora.
With the tickets in my breast pocket, I whistled to myself as I headed back into the hotel.
Violet jumped up as soon as I opened the door.
"How was your day?" she asked, sounding anxious and tired. "Did you find Cora?"
"I spoke to Alfred, and you don't have to worry about your job. And I think I know where we can find Cora," I said slowly, belying my own excitement. The last thing I wanted to do was give Violet false hope.
"Real y? Where? How?" Violet clapped her hands together. "Oh, Stefan, you're wonderful!"
"I'm not," I said gruffly. "And I don't know for a fact, but I think she might have met a producer from the Gaiety Theatre." I briefly explained my conversation with Eliza, although I left out the part about the man with the accent. But in Violet's mind, Cora was as good as found.
"Real y?" Violet beamed. "Why, no wonder she wouldn't have said anything! Because, see, Alfred would have gotten jealous. And if he'd known she'd left her job, he wouldn't al ow her back. So maybe Cora was just waiting until she got the theater job before she came to col ect me. That makes sense, doesn't it?"
"I suppose so," I said slowly. Violet's cheeks were red and she was striding back and forth across the room. She was excited and agitated, and I wanted to believe the story she'd spun. It could be true. But no good could come of us both pacing like caged animals in the hotel room. We had a few hours before the show, and Violet was stil clad in her stained pinafore from last night.
"Let's go shopping," I decided, standing up and making my way to the door.
"Real y?" Violet wrinkled her nose. "Of course I want to, but I've no money . . ."
"I have a little bit saved. Please, it's the least I can do after everything that happened last night." Violet hesitated, then nodded, accepting my help. "Thank you!" she said. "I can't wait to see Cora. She won't believe that I had my own adventure. Why, I think she might be jealous," she continued giddily. I started to relax.
After al , I could play Violet's what if game, too. I could pretend the drunk outside the tavern had been hal ucinating and had mistaken me for his long-lost cousin. I could pretend I was a human.
And that's where the game ended. Because I wasn't, and as much as I wanted to believe it, none of the rest was true either.
"We should go before the store closes," I said awkwardly. What was I doing? Why did I care whether this girl or her sister lived or died? Stefan Pine would go back to Ivinghoe and wake up tomorrow to milk the cows. Stefan Pine would stop reading the London papers. And Stefan Pine wouldn't be taking a girl from the gutter and buying her a dress to make up for the fact that his brother was most likely drinking her sister's blood.
But I wasn't Stefan Pine. I was Stefan Salvatore, and I was in too deep to leave. Together, we strode out into the dark afternoon. I raised my hand to fetch a coach.
Immediately, a coach pul ed up to us. "Where to?" a driver asked, tipping his hat.
"Where can we go to get a dress?" I asked boldly.
"I'd bring you over to Hyde Park. Harrods."
"Real y?" Violet clapped her hands in delight at the mention of the name. "That's where everyone classy shops! I read about it. I've heard even Lil ie Langtry goes there!"
"Let's go," I said grandly. I had no idea what Violet was saying, but al I cared about was that she seemed happy.
We took off through the streets of London. Compared to Whitechapel, this part of the city was lovely. The streets were wide, wel -dressed men and women were walking arm in arm on the sidewalk, and even the pigeons seemed clean and wel -behaved. Violet looked back and forth, as if unable to decide where to direct her focus.
Final y, the driver pul ed up at an imposing marble building. "Here you are!" I paused. Should I compel my way into not paying for the ride?
"Thank you!" Violet hooked her arm in mine as she hopped out of the coach. The opportunity to compel was lost and I felt through my pockets, pul ing out a few shil ings and handing them to the driver.
He drove away, and Violet and I stepped through the doorway into a vaulted hal way fil ed with the competing scents of perfume and foods. The marble floors were so polished I could see our reflection when we gazed down. Everyone spoke in a slightly raised whisper, as if we were in a church. And indeed, it seemed like a holy place.
Violet sighed in ecstasy. "It sounds like a sin, but when I was little, our priest asked us to imagine heaven. I always thought it would look like this.
Everything shiny and new," she said, echoing my thoughts as we walked through the winding aisles of the department store. A section sel ing stationery gave way to one sel ing toys, which opened into a massive food hal . It was as if anything anyone could imagine was under one roof.
Final y, we reached the back of the store. Dresses of al colors were hanging on racks, and women were mil ing around the displays as if they were at a cocktail party. Saleswomen were standing behind glass cases, ready to help customers.
"You can have anything you want," I said, splaying my hands as if to show her the extent of the wares.
But Violet seemed sad. "I wish Cora were here. She would love it."
"We'l find Cora," I said firmly.
"May I help you?" a woman in a dark black dress asked, gliding up to us.
"We need a gown," I said, nodding toward Violet.
"Of course," the woman said. She gave Violet a glance from head to toe, but refrained from saying anything about her shabby clothes. Instead, she smiled.
"We have some things that wil do very wel . Come with me," she said, motioning for Violet to join her.
She turned toward me. "You stay here. When I'm through with her, you won't even recognize her." For a second, I paused. I didn't want to let Violet out of my sight. Then I laughed to myself. I was being paranoid. We were in the finest department store in the world. It wasn't as if the saleswoman would hurt her.
"Al right, then?" The saleswoman arched her black eyebrow as if sensing my discomfort.
"Of course," I said. I settled onto a plush peach-colored settee and glanced around. I felt like Whitechapel was in a different country. Could it be possible just to stay on this side of the town and forget about the murderer? I wanted to, badly.
"Stefan?"
I glanced up and gasped. Violet was clad in an emerald-green dress that accentuated her smal waist and red hair. Even though her face was stil drawn and there were dark shadows under her large eyes, she looked beautiful.
"What do you think?" she asked shyly, twirling in the mirror.
"She's lovely, isn't she?" the saleswoman murmured. "We tried two others as wel , and your wife looks equal y exquisite in al of them."
"She's not . . . yes," I said simply. It was so much easier to lie. "We'l take this dress. We'l take al of them," I said, pul ing her aside to compel her to give us the purchases for free. The expression in Violet's eyes was worth it.
Instead of taking a coach back to the hotel, we walked. Every so often, I caught her stealing glances of herself in the windows, twisting the skirts of her new emerald-green dress. It was nice that I could make someone happy.
"I fear I won't be able to repay you," Violet said at one point.
"No need." I shook my head. "Your friendship is repayment enough."
"Thank you. But I feel like I'm not being a good friend. Al I do is talk about myself. I only know your name, and that you're from America. Are you a businessman?"
I laughed. "No, I work on a farm. I'm just like you. And I know what it's like to lose a family member. My brother once went missing. I was worried sick about him."
"Did he turn up?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"Eventual y. And I know you'l see Cora soon." My heart went out to Violet and her missing sister. "Tel me more about her," I said.
"Wel , we fought of course. But al siblings do, don't they? She had to do everything first. And of course I wanted to be just like her. I don't think that I would have moved to London without her. And now that she's not here . . ."
"You have to figure out who you are," I murmured.
"Yes," Violet agreed. "But it's hard to know who I am without Cora. We're that close. Is that what it's like with you and your brother?
"No." I shook my head.
"Did you have a fal ing-out?"
"Yes, but that's long in the past. Right now, I'm only focused on my future," I said, offering the crook of my elbow for her to loop her arm through.
"Wel , your brother's making a mistake, to fight with you," she said.
"And I'd never fight with you, if you were my sister," I said. I was enjoying our comfortable back-and-forth.
We stopped by the hotel to drop off our bags with the bel hop and then continued on our way to the theater.
"I feel like this is a dream and I don't want to wake up," Violet said, her eyes shining as an usher led us to our seats. Being with Violet felt natural, and our easy banter reminded me of the way that Damon, I, and the rest of the boys would tease the Mystic Fal s girls at barbecues and social functions during the year.
Suddenly, the theater went dark and the curtain rose on the stage.
"Oh, Stefan!" Violet said, clapping her hands together as she perched on the very edge of the velvet-covered chair and leaned her elbows on the railing of the box. Dozens of chorus girls came out, wearing flouncy skirts and large hats, and I tried to pay attention to the song they were singing. But I couldn't. Al I could think of was Damon. Why had he done this? It had taken years, but I'd found peace. Couldn't he do the same? He could feed on women and have his fancy parties al he liked. I just wanted him to stop destroying other people's lives. I was convinced that we could both live and let live. But I couldn't live if my brother was kil ing.
I saw Violet glance at me and I tried to look as if I were enjoying the show. But inside, I was frustrated. I hated the way everything always came back to Damon, and most likely would, for eternity.
"I didn't see Cora," Violet said in disappointment. "Maybe she's not in this show."
"Hmmm?" I asked, realizing the curtain had gone down and thunderous applause was emanating from al corners of the theater house.
"The show! The first act is over," Violet said. "And, oh, Stefan, it was ever so lovely!"
"You liked it, then?" I asked mechanical y. If Cora wasn't here, had we just wasted another night? Maybe the Journeyman was stil open. I was about to tel Violet our plan when I noticed tears leaking from the corner of her eyes.
"If only . . ." she began.
"If only what?" I asked.
"If only Cora were here. Every time the curtain opened, I'd just cross my fingers and send a prayer to St. Jude, but . . . oh wel . I stil liked the show. Thank you," she said, smiling wistful y.
"I understand," I said, squeezing her hand. I did understand. When Damon had gone away to fight in the Civil War, back when we were humans, I'd always felt a half second of regret whenever I was doing anything enjoyable, thinking how much better it would have been if only he'd been there to be part of it. And even though I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I was now better off without my brother, there was stil a vestigial pul that wished I could be with him. The more I saw of the world, the more I realized that not al people had bonds like mine with their siblings. And maybe that was far better than what I'd had, and what I'd lost.
The curtain opened again and another act, more opulent than the last, began. I tried to watch, but I couldn't keep track of something even so elementary as who played the lover or the vil ain, and the lyrics for the musical numbers seemed sil y, not charming. So I watched Violet instead. Lit up in the glow of the stage lights, she looked absolutely entranced, and the happiest I'd ever seen her in our short time of knowing each other.
As the curtain came down, I stood and clapped politely along with the audience.
"Oh, Stefan, thank you!" Violet said, spontaneously throwing her arms around me. "I don't want this night to end!"
"You're welcome," I said, shifting my weight from side to side impatiently. In front of us, the lead actress stood on stage, blowing kisses to the audience, while members of the front row were throwing flowers toward her.
Violet sighed theatrical y, unable to tear her eyes away from the stage. "Cora should have been in that play," she said, her voice adamant with resolution. "Charlotte Dumont doesn't have anything on her."
"Who?" I asked. The name sounded familiar.
"Why, Charlotte Dumont. The actress."
"She was here?" I asked. Charlotte was the woman who Count DeSangue was consorting with. Maybe this hadn't been such a waste of time.
"Stef-an!" Violet said playful y. "She was the lead actress. Wasn't she wonderful?" Violet's eyes danced, but I wasn't paying attention. My eyes were scanning the crowd for my brother.
"Just once, I'd like to stand out," Violet continued, oblivious to my distraction. "Back at Ten Bel s, I feel invisible. I want to feel unique. Like I did when I was little. You know, when your parents think you're special, and you believe them?" Violet said wistful y as she daintily picked up her skirts to walk down the winding stairs of the theater and onto the street. Watching her from a few steps back, I was amazed at how different she looked from the sad barmaid of last night. In her finery, she had al the confidence and airs of a woman who'd grown up in luxury.
"You are special," I said, meaning it. She was charming and fun and I knew that once she believed in herself, she'd find people who believed in her.
"Why, thank you," Violet said coquettishly. Around us, people turned to gaze at her. I was certain they were gawking because they were trying to place her - had she been one of the comic ingenues they'd just seen onstage? Violet smiled, clearly basking in the attention.
"What shal we do now?" Violet asked, her eyes shining.
We'd reached the cool street and I breathed out, glancing around. Even though it was late, the street was crowded with passersby. A few paces down, I noticed streams of people were entering the smal black door marked STAGE. I made a split-second decision.
"I have an idea," I said. "We're going to meet Charlotte." I pasted a smile on my face as I marched toward the door.
"Name?" a smal man with slicked-back black hair asked, glancing at the leather-bound book clutched in his hands.
"Name?" I repeated, in mock confusion, trying to get him to look up at me.
"Yes, your name," the man said with exaggerated patience, final y glancing up at me. "I'm afraid the party is guest list only."
"Sir Stefan Pine. And my wife, Lady Violet," I added as Violet giggled delightedly beside me. Even though his job was to guard the door, the vague slurring of his words made it obvious he'd been taking in drinks as the audience members had been taking in the performance. I didn't so much have to compel him as confuse him.
"Yes, sir," he said, barely glancing back down at his list as he ushered us inside.
Violet widened her eyes, but I merely placed a finger on my lips and fol owed the crush of people into the cavernous backstage.
We turned into a brightly lit room that was almost as big as a bal room, already fil ed with actors in various states of costume as wel as audience members, whom I recognized as the wel -heeled fel ow members of our box. We were definitely in the right place. Now, al we had to do was find Charlotte. It was almost too easy.
And then I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I whirled around.
There, with a wide smile, thick dark hair, and an inscrutable expression in his bright blue eyes, was Damon.
"Hel o, brother," Damon said, flashing a wide grin.
I grinned back. I'd play nice. For now.