Wednesday: Cripple Minton
A train at eight-twenty in the morning is a sleepy thing.
Jane, having not yet had an opportunity to feed, was particularly lethargic, and the gentle whump-whump-whump of the train passing over the tracks made her even more so. Her hunger made it impossible to sleep, however, and so she planned on spending the hour and a half it would take to travel from London to Warwick staring out the window. Walter, who could fall asleep anywhere, had done so within five minutes of the train leaving Marylebone station. His head was against Jane’s shoulder and his breath was hot in her ear, which was irritating.
She felt guilty being irritated about Walter’s close proximity. She knew she should be grateful that he hadn’t broken things off. But when she was hungry she hated to be touched, not least of all because she could feel the blood coursing beneath the surface of the skin of the person touching her and it took enormous force of will not to bite. At the moment she was grinding her teeth, trying to keep her fangs locked in place.
“Good morning.”
Jane turned her head. “Oh, good grief,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
Joshua, dressed in the same dark suit he’d been wearing the previous day, sat down in the seat across from Jane and Walter. Jane glanced anxiously at Walter, afraid he would wake up.
“Don’t worry about him,” Joshua said, scratching idly at his beard. “If he wakes up, I’ll glamor him and he’ll think it was all a dream.”
“Why do you have to glamor him?” Jane asked. “What makes you think I can’t do it?”
Joshua ignored her, which was annoying. Byron does the same thing, she thought. They really are very much alike. “I did some asking around about Crispin’s Needle,” he said.
“And?”
“Nobody’s entirely sure it exists,” said Joshua. “Some vampires think it’s a legend. Others think it exists but that it doesn’t really work. And some believe in it.”
“That isn’t terribly helpful,” Jane remarked.
“No,” Joshua agreed. “It isn’t. However, I did find out one useful piece of information. Have you heard of the Tedious Three?”
Jane shook her head. The movement jostled Walter, who opened his eyes and yawned. “Are we there?”
Joshua placed his hand in front of Walter’s eyes. “Back to sleep,” he said, and Walter’s head fell against Jane’s neck.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
“You mean you can’t?” Joshua said, lifting an eyebrow. “Interesting. So, have you heard of the Tedious Three?”
“No,” Jane snapped. One more vampire trick I don’t know about, she thought, irritated.
“Librarians,” Joshua explained. “Names of Zenodotus, Callimachus, and Eratosthenes. Each was at one time a librarian at the Library of Alexandria. Since being turned they’ve dedicated their lives to recording the history of the vampires.”
“How interesting,” Jane said.
“You’d think so,” said Joshua. “But they manage to make it boring. Nobody can stand them. For one thing, they’re forever correcting your grammar.”
“One’s grammar,” Jane said under her breath.
“If anyone knows about Crispin’s Needle, it’s them.”
“They,” said Jane. “I mean, where do we find them?”
“That’s the tricky bit,” Joshua replied. “They’re so annoying that no one wants to spend time with them. Nobody I spoke to can remember where they live.”
“Why is everything so difficult?” said Jane. “What good is having vampire librarians if you can’t ask them anything?”
“That’s where you’re lucky,” Joshua said. “Their last known whereabouts happen to be in Warwickshire. If you can find someone there who knew them then—”
“And just how am I supposed to do that?” Jane interrupted. “Is there a vampire directory? Can I just stop in at the visitors’ center and ask them to point me to the nearest vampire?”
“You’re in a foul mood this morning,” Joshua said.
“And whose fault is that?” said Jane. “If you hadn’t shown up, I would be married right now and very, very happy. By the way, how did you know I was getting married anyway?”
“Word gets around,” Joshua said. “But let’s focus on the task at hand. You need to find a vampire.”
“You’ll help me, of course,” said Jane.
Joshua shook his head. “I’m heading straight back to the city,” he said. “I’m having lunch with my publisher.”
“Your publisher?” Jane said. “You mean someone is actually publishing your poems?”
“I’ll have you know I’m quite popular with the undead,” Joshua said proudly.
“We have our own publisher?” Jane said. “You mean I didn’t have to wait almost two hundred years to be published again?”
Joshua looked sheepish. “Actually, he doesn’t much care for your work,” he said. “He finds it all a bit twee.”
Jane, incensed, started to reply, but just then Chumsley passed through the car. “We’ll be arriving in five minutes,” he called out. “Warwick station in five minutes.”
“Just find a vampire,” Joshua told Jane as he got up. “It won’t be difficult.”
“You don’t know me very well,” said Jane.
“If you’re meant to find Crispin’s Needle, you’ll find the way,” Joshua said. “Now farewell, my sweet. Until we meet again.”
Jane exhaled loudly. “Stupid Romantic poets,” she muttered. “Always blathering on about fate and destiny. Moony dreamers, the lot of them.”
“What?” said Walter, who had woken up and was stretching.
“I said we’re here,” Jane replied.
As the train came to a stop they gathered up their things and walked to the door. Most of the others were already there, all looking less than awake. Jane realized that Joshua had probably glamored the entire car to make sure no one remembered seeing him. Perhaps he’s not as stupid as I think he is, she mused.
As they exited the train they were herded toward a small bus into which their luggage was also being loaded. Chumsley, after three or four pints the night before, had offered to allow Miriam, Lucy, and Ben to travel with the rest of the group whenever there was room, thereby saving them a great deal of trouble, not to mention taxi fares. Now they all piled into the bus and took their seats. Jane couldn’t help but notice that Enid’s guests—and Miriam—all sat on one side, while Chumsley’s sat on the other.
The first destination being of Chumsley’s choosing, he was in charge, and as the bus made its way toward the hamlet of Cripple Minton he briefed them on the site.
“We’re going to be touring Pitstone Vicarage,” he said. “As the name suggests, it was once home to the presiding vicar of the neighboring church, which is also owned by the family and no longer used for services. However, the church is of little interest to us. It’s the vicarage we’ve come to see. It is, I do not hesitate to say, one of the hidden gems of British architecture.”
Lucy, who was sitting behind Jane, leaned forward. “Can we go look at the church anyway?” she asked. “I don’t think I can stand a tour this early in the morning.”
“I agree,” Jane said. “Besides, I suspect they don’t really want us tagging along.”
She conferred with Walter, who seemed a little disappointed that she didn’t want to see the vicarage but didn’t try to get her to change her mind, which Jane interpreted as his way of agreeing that it would probably not interest her very much. She was equally relieved when, as the bus arrived in Cripple Minton and pulled to the side of the narrow road on which Pitstone Vicarage was situated, Miriam announced that she and Lilith would be staying with the group. This left Jane, Lucy, and Ben free to investigate the church.
As Chumsley had noted, the church was not particularly distinctive, although it was charming in the way that all English churches of a certain age are. The stones out of which the walls were built were cunningly composed so that no other supports were needed. The wooden pews glowed with a soft shine created by the behinds of the faithful polishing them year upon year. And the stained glass that filled the windows glowed faintly in the winter morning light.
Jane went to the nearest window and looked more closely. The scene depicted showed a group of three women being menaced by two men. Two of the women knelt on the ground, their hands lifted to heaven. The third woman stood defiant, pointing an accusing finger at the men. A small plaque beneath the window read: ST. APOLLONIA THE BLESSED REFUSES TO RENOUNCE HER FAITH.
The next window was most unusual. The woman Jane now knew to be St. Apollonia had her arms held behind her by two men. Her mouth was open and a third man was reaching inside with a pliers-like instrument. It gripped one of Apollonia’s teeth. The saint’s lips were bloody, and at her feet were scattered a dozen small white objects also dotted with blood. The identifying plaque read: ST. APOLLONIA THE BLESSED HAS HER TEETH REMOVED BY HER TORMENTORS.
“That seems an odd thing to do,” Jane said to Ben, who had come to stand beside her and was peering at the window.
“Not really,” Ben told her. “They did all kinds of weird things to the martyrs. Well, allegedly. I suspect most of these stories are made up out of whole cloth.”
“That may be true,” said a woman’s voice. “But we do have several of St. Apollonia’s teeth in a reliquary.”
Jane and Ben turned to see a very pretty young woman standing behind them. Her age was difficult to determine, but Jane put her at no more than thirty. Her long blond hair fell loosely about her shoulders. She was wearing a deep blue cashmere turtleneck sweater and black pants.
“I’m Clare Marlowe,” the woman said. “My family owns the house your group is touring, as well as the church.”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” said Jane. She introduced herself, as well as Lucy and Ben.
“How did your family come to own a church?” Lucy asked.
“The church dates from the eighteenth century,” Clare said. “The first vicar was Bartholomew Marlowe. His family—our family—was very wealthy. But Bartholomew wasn’t interested in money. He was more of a scholar, with a particular interest in religion. When he was twenty his parents and only sister were killed in a boating accident. Bartholomew inherited a fortune, which he used to build this church and the vicarage. Since then a Marlowe has always lived in the house.”
“Was the church ever used for services?” asked Ben. “Or has it always been private?”
“At first it was used by the public,” Clare said. “Bartholomew liked the idea of being a country vicar. But his son, Tallway Marlowe, wasn’t interested in it at all, and after his father’s death he closed the church to the public and it’s been closed ever since. Occasionally people come to see it, but I’m afraid it’s mostly been forgotten.”
“That’s a pity,” Jane said. “It’s so lovely. These windows are particularly beautiful, although I confess I’ve never heard of St. Apollonia.”
Clare laughed. “Not many people have,” she said. “She’s a bit obscure. She lived in the third century, in Alexandria. According to church history, she was a virgin dedicated to the service of God.”
“Aren’t they always?” Lucy said. “Virgins, I mean.”
“It does seem to come with the territory,” said Clare. “Apollonia was of course a convert to Christianity, which annoyed her pagan neighbors. One day a group of men rounded up Apollonia and several other Christian women and ordered them to recant or be burned alive. That’s what you see in the first window. When Apollonia refused, they tortured her by pulling out all of her teeth.”
Clare moved on to the third window and continued the story. “Seeing what was done to Apollonia, the other women threw themselves into the water in order to drown,” she said.
Indeed, the window showed two women bobbing in what could only be the ocean, their raised hands clasped in prayer. Their captors stood on the shore, looking on angrily and shaking their fists.
“The men threw Apollonia in after them,” Clare said. “But she didn’t drown.” She indicated the fourth window, in which a very much alive Apollonia was being lifted from the water by what appeared to be an angel. “Although the other women perished, Apollonia was delivered from death.”
“Why just her?” Ben asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I suppose it depends on how you look at it,” said Clare. “Apollonia was willing to suffer for God. The other two killed themselves rather than go through that. Perhaps God didn’t think they were worthy.”
“And they say our God was harsh,” Ben remarked.
“The story continues on the other side,” said Clare, leading them across the nave to another set of windows. “Since water didn’t work, Apollonia’s captors decided to try fire.”
“Wait,” Jane said. “Didn’t the angel take her away?”
“She asked to be returned to them,” Clare answered. “Remember, she was a martyr.”
“Of course,” said Jane. “Go on.”
“As you can see, they threw Apollonia into a pile of burning sticks,” Clare said. “I think the fire is particularly well rendered.”
“The glasswork is gorgeous,” Lucy remarked.
“Apollonia, of course, did not burn,” said Clare as she walked on. “Once again the angel came and saved her, which is what you see in window number six. And now we get to the really good stuff.”
The seventh window depicted Apollonia on the ground. One man held her feet while another held her arms stretched out behind her head. A third man knelt beside her, a spike in his hand. It was pressed to Apollonia’s chest, just over her heart, and the man was in the process of bringing a hammer down toward it.
“This is unusual in the history of the saints,” Clare informed them. “The martyrdom of Apollonia is the only example of a saint being killed in this manner. Supposedly the spike used to pierce her heart was made from the nails that were used to crucify Christ.”
“And what’s happening here?” asked Ben, moving to the eighth and last window as Jane continued to stare at the seventh.
“St. Apollonia redeemed from death,” Clare said. “See how she’s rising toward heaven while her executioners fall to their knees? Allegedly they were so frightened by her ascension that all the blood drained from their bodies.”
Jane turned to Lucy, who had remained with her in front of the seventh window. “Don’t you find this all a bit strange?” she murmured.
“Christianity?” said Lucy. “Of course I do.”
“I mean St. Apollonia specifically,” Jane said. “First there’s the matter of her teeth, which for some reason they felt the need to remove. Then she couldn’t be killed either by water or by fire. And finally they do her in with a spike through the heart, yet she rises from the dead and her killers are drained of their blood. Sound familiar?”
“I admit it’s a bit vampire-esque,” Lucy admitted.
“A bit?” said Jane. “The only thing they’ve left out is her turning into a bat.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t really do that,” Lucy said. “Have you been holding out on me?”
“No,” said Jane. “I can’t. But that’s not the point. The point is that this is clearly some kind of allegory about vampirism.”
Lucy considered this for a moment. “If that’s true, then why didn’t the spike kill her?” she asked.
“Maybe it was Crispin’s Needle,” Jane suggested, keeping her voice low. “The final window shows her with her soul returned to her body.”
“And the dead guys?” Lucy asked. “If she’s not a vampire anymore, who drained them?”
“Good question,” Jane said. “Perhaps God has a more refined sense of humor than we think he does.”
“Too bad we can’t get a look at those teeth Clare mentioned,” said Lucy. “It would be interesting to see if any of them are fangs.”
“It certainly explains why the Tedious Three would have spent time here,” Jane said. “If this story is true, it would definitely qualify as vampire history.”
“The who?” Lucy asked.
“Oh, I haven’t told you about them yet,” said Jane. “Vampire historians, apparently. Joshua told me about them this morning.”
“You saw Joshua again?” Lucy said.
“Not so much saw as was visited by,” Jane explained. “A bit like the Ghost of Christmas Annoying. But he did say that the Three have been looking for the Needle for some time.”
“So you think the Needle really does exist, then?”
Jane sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.
“But you want it to, don’t you?” said Lucy.
“It would make things easier,” Jane said.
Lucy shrugged. “You’d be human again,” she said. “Not that you’re inhuman or anything,” she added quickly.
“I know what you meant,” Jane said, leaning against her for a moment. She was quiet as she looked over at the figure of Apollonia ascending. “I could grow old with Walter,” she said softly.
“Did you guys see the rose window behind the altar?” Ben appeared beside them.
“No,” Lucy said. “Why? Is it as weird as these are?”
“See for yourself,” said Ben.
Jane and Lucy followed him to the center aisle of the nave. Behind the altar the rose window hovered like a full moon. When they’d entered the church the light had not been strong enough to illuminate it. Now sunlight poured through the glass, and when Jane saw the image depicted there, she gasped.
A large heart occupied the center of the window. Piercing it was a long, thin needle very much like the one in the scene from the seventh window. The tip of the needle protruded from the bottom of the heart, a single drop of blood hanging down from it. Rays of light emanated from all around the heart, filling the window.
“It’s beautiful,” Jane said.
“The pierced heart of St. Apollonia the Blessed,” said Clare, who had come up behind them. “There’s only one other window like it in the world.”
“Where?” Jane and Lucy asked simultaneously.
“France,” Clare said. “Paris, to be exact. In a private chapel in a house that once belonged to a courtesan named Eloise Babineaux.”
“You don’t happen to have the address, do you?” Jane asked.
Clare nodded. “I do,” she said. “I wrote an article about the windows last year and corresponded a bit with the current owner of the house. But may I ask why you’re so interested in the window?”
Jane thought quickly. “I’m very interested in religious iconography,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” She hesitated a moment before asking her next question. “You mentioned that you have some of Apollonia’s teeth,” she said. “I don’t suppose anyone knows what became of the spike they used to kill her?”
“Not that I know of,” Clare answered. “But it’s funny you should mention that. Several years ago three men came here and asked that very same question. No one else ever has.”
“Three men?” said Lucy. “Did they say who they were?”
Clare shook her head. “They didn’t say much at all. Just that they were compiling information about various churches. For a book, maybe. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about them until just now, when you asked about the spike.” She paused. “Oh, I do remember one thing. They kept referring to the spike as a needle. In fact, they corrected me when I called it a spike. It reminded me of when my teachers used to correct my grammar.”
“Teachers,” Lucy said, looking at Jane.
“Or librarians,” Jane said.
“That’s it,” said Clare. “Librarians. They reminded me of fussy old librarians. I kept expecting them to shush me.” She laughed.
“Did you tell them about Eloise Babineaux?” Jane asked.
“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I did,” said Clare. “In fact, I’m sure I didn’t. And since we’re talking about it I’m remembering more. They weren’t just fussy, they were … spooky. I can’t think of any other word to describe it. I was glad when they left.”
“Well, thank you for giving us the address,” Lucy said meaningfully.
“Of course,” said Clare. “Oh. Right. I’ll just go get that.”
She scurried off to the house, leaving Jane and Lucy to keep looking at the rose window. Ben, having grown bored with the whole thing, had wandered outside.
“It must have been the Tedious Three,” Lucy said.
“They certainly fit the description,” Jane agreed.
“Eloise Babineaux’s house is in Paris,” said Lucy. “When do we get to Paris?”
“Sunday, I believe.”
Lucy looked at the glowing heart, then at Jane. “Hopefully whoever lives in Eloise’s house will be accepting visitors.”