The Delicate Dependency: A Novel of the Vampire Life by Michael Talbot Read Free Book Online

communications. Her only avid interest in the external world was a peculiar fascination for sounds. She would sit for hours listening to the cook shelling peas, or to the rhythmic clacking of the carriage wheels on the bricks of the street outside.
    Although I have never told a soul, I was at first repulsed by Camille. Perhaps it was my grief and guilt, but I viewed her imperfection as somehow connected to the imperfection of that little man. I knew it could not possibly be, but some irrational part of me kept suggesting her mother’s long-ago association with Hardwicke had somehow laid a blemish upon the child. Worse yet, even though she did not physically resemble her mother, there were times in her constant stupor that she struck the same vacuous expression that had so unsettled me about Camille. Was it fate? Was it cruel justice that I would come into the room and find her standing there in her white little frock and black knee-stockings, with her small pink mouth opened dumbly and her hazel eyes in that same vacant stare? It was coincidence, but it was her mother’s gaze.
    I could not be cruel to the child. I forced myself to show this poor little creature the affection that innocence and helplessness rightfully deserved, but it was a struggle. Limited though Camille was in her reasoning faculties, her acute hearing enabled her to recognize the weight and rhythm of my step. Whenever I stooped she would run and lovingly wrap her arms around me. The pressure of her tiny hands against my back seemed more than the pressure of a child’s hands. There was a firmness in her grasp, almost a passion that reminded me uncannily of her mother. It took all of my will to conceal the uneasiness the touch of those innocent little hands caused in me.
    I only revealed my feelings once. It was late one night as a terrible thunderstorm shook the house. Camille had become anxious over the vibrations, and Ursula brought her to my bedroom to be comforted. It was more than I could take. The moment those helpless hands pressed against my nightshirt—the nightshirt her mother had so often pressed with her own tiny hands—my feelings got the better of me and I lost my temper. I yelled at Ursula and told her she could just as easily have comforted Camille. It had never been my nature to lose my temper and Ursula was stunned. That was the first evening I became aware of the music.
    I had just been lulled asleep by the storm when I was awakened by the strains of a beautiful waltz. For the first few moments I lingered on the edge of my dreamy state listening to the music, but then my curiosity became aroused. I did not recall owning a gramophone disc of that particular waltz. I sat up in bed and listened. Against the background of the storm someone was playing the piano. I slipped on my robe and made my way to the upstairs drawing room. I pushed the massive walnut doors aside. The flashing of the lightning through the French windows intermittently lit the room. There was no one at the ornate gilt and rosewood pianoforte.
    The mysterious music repeated. I heard it when I came in late one evening, but by the time I ascended the stairs it had stopped. I even heard it in the daytime. On one occasion it met my ears when I was strolling through the garden. I looked up at the French windows, but I could not see anything through the glare.
    One afternoon I was napping in the study when the music began. There was no mistaking it. The muted tinkle was coming from the room over my very head. I rushed in my stocking feet to the upstairs drawing room. When I pushed the doors open my eyes were greeted with a miraculous sight. There, framed by the golden sunlight streaming through the French windows and seated at the gilt and rosewood pianoforte, was little Camille. The small china face looked up at me, the mouth agape. At first she seemed frightened, but when her large hazel eyes turned toward me and encompassed me with the infinity of their emptiness, I sensed