to touch the exposed skin on his neck or at his wrists. “What is in Whitby?” she asked him. This surprised me, for I thought she meant to comfort the man, but instead she only wanted an explanation.
“Do not touch—” Stewart said softly.
“You must afford him a chance to recover,” Vambéry said from the window. “Emily came in direct contact with him and he was not prepared for it. I realize this may be vexing for you or me to comprehend, but when it happens to a clairvoyant as strong as this man, it can be quite traumatic, even dangerous.”
“I am okay,” Stewart mumbled. “But please, Miss Matilda, please back away. I mean you no disrespect, but you are far too close.”
Matilda did as he asked.
Still at the window, Thornley was now sobbing. I went to him and looked out, surveying the night. There was no sign of Emily. If she had left tracks in the muddy earth, the rain had washed them away. But I sincerely doubted she had.
“She is out there all alone,” Thornley said. “We must find her. She cannot care for herself.”
“We will, I promise. Let me close these shutters; the storm is coming in.”
Thornley glanced absentmindedly at the puddles collecting on his dining room floor, then waved a hand in my direction before walking back to the table and collapsing into one of the chairs.
I made one last assessment of the night, then closed the shutters and engaged the lock. When I returned to the table, Vambéry was there, holding my ring to the light. “What is this?” His voice had taken on an angry edge.
“That is the ring Matilda and I found in the palm of the hand we found in Artane Tower,” I replied. “We told you about it already.”
“You told me about the ring, yes, but you did not mention the inscription on it or that you still possessed it. Did you not think those details of importance?” Vambéry leaned in close to Stewart and allowed him to read the words circling the interior of the ring. “Would you care to hold it?” Vambéry asked him.
Stewart grimaced in obvious discomfort. He scrambled to his feet and reached for his glove. “I will do no such thing. I would like your coach to return me to my home immediately.”
“You cannot leave yet!” Matilda stepped between him and the door. “You must tell us about Whitby.” She scrambled for her sketchbook on the table and turned to the map of England, tapped at the mark next to the town of Whitby. “What is this place? What is this Whitby?”
“You would be best served to forget all about Whitby or ever finding your nanny,” he replied. Turning to Thornley, he added: “And you should forget your wife. He has her now; there is no getting her back.”
“Who has her?”
Stewart pushed past him for the front door. “I will tell your coachman to return here after he takes me home.”
Matilda tried to go after him, but I grabbed her hand, shaking my head.
“Let him go,” Vambéry concurred. “What do you know of Dracul?”
“Nothing. Aside from the inscription on the ring, I have never heard the name before,” I said.
Vambéry gestured to the vacant chairs, and Matilda and I sat. He then picked up the ring and held it clamped between his thumb and forefinger. “This explains much,” he said. “More than you will want to hear, but you must if you are to understand what we are up against.” He took one of the remaining seats and set the ring on the table. “The Draculs are an ancient family born in the mountains of Wallachia; they rose from the peasant class to protectors of the people to ultimately rulers over the land, safeguarding the populace from numerous invaders, primarily the Turks, for centuries. It is said they did so with great might and fearsome battle techniques, and that they benefited from an unholy alliance with the Devil himself. It is said each member of this family traveled to the mountains near Lake Hermannstadt to attend the Scholomance, the Devil’s school. Here, students were exposed to all