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The Art of Flattery
As far as polite society knew, Celia Abbott Ashby lay cold and lifeless in the ground. The story went that the girl fell victim to a fiend who stripped off her dress, slit her throat, and disappeared with her attire and reticule. Many saw her laid to rest at Kensal Green, and they remembered the great distress of the Abbott family, in particular her brother John. None knew that, on the next full moon, she clawed out of her coffin as a vampire and drained him.
Celia was clever. Rather than allowing John's body to be found and buried, she paid for a room in a public house of positively no repute, tucked him in, pulled up the bedclothes, and there he remained. No one, save a few tenants with sensitive noses, was the wiser. Perhaps that unusual method of waking up, as if from a blistering hangover instead of death, was why John didn't embrace a typical vampire lifestyle.
Invitations to dinners and parties no longer landed on Celia's doorstep, but they occasionally landed on John's. To his old society, he was very much alive... Simply five years into a protracted grieving process. They attributed his strange behaviors -- neglecting his professorial post, surrounding himself with people of loose moral character -- to it. One never knew in which mood he would attend social occasions. When in good spirits, he was a lively guest and quite the conversationalist. When not, he arrived unkempt and was prone to blackening the atmosphere. Only the pedigree of his family kept him from being blacklisted.
The Harrisons hosted a soiree every summer. It was famous for its socialites, excellent food and drink, and lively card games. The Abbotts received their annual invitation, and though his parents gracefully declined, John made it his business to attend. He stationed himself in the front parlor, where he could see the comings and goings. When a young lady sat on the piano bench and began to tickle the ivory keys, hoping to display her accomplishments, he rested his elbows on the piano and watched.
( Indelicate Pianist )
( Men of Science )
Celia was clever. Rather than allowing John's body to be found and buried, she paid for a room in a public house of positively no repute, tucked him in, pulled up the bedclothes, and there he remained. No one, save a few tenants with sensitive noses, was the wiser. Perhaps that unusual method of waking up, as if from a blistering hangover instead of death, was why John didn't embrace a typical vampire lifestyle.
Invitations to dinners and parties no longer landed on Celia's doorstep, but they occasionally landed on John's. To his old society, he was very much alive... Simply five years into a protracted grieving process. They attributed his strange behaviors -- neglecting his professorial post, surrounding himself with people of loose moral character -- to it. One never knew in which mood he would attend social occasions. When in good spirits, he was a lively guest and quite the conversationalist. When not, he arrived unkempt and was prone to blackening the atmosphere. Only the pedigree of his family kept him from being blacklisted.
The Harrisons hosted a soiree every summer. It was famous for its socialites, excellent food and drink, and lively card games. The Abbotts received their annual invitation, and though his parents gracefully declined, John made it his business to attend. He stationed himself in the front parlor, where he could see the comings and goings. When a young lady sat on the piano bench and began to tickle the ivory keys, hoping to display her accomplishments, he rested his elbows on the piano and watched.
( Indelicate Pianist )
( Men of Science )