Hidden (Marchwood Vampire Series #1) Read online

  Other passengers squeezed passed them in the corridor and Alexandre eyed them with interest, wondering what their stories were and whether he would have the chance to converse with any of them. The rest of his family bustled about inside their compartment, stowing away bags and removing overcoats.

  ‘Come in, Alexandre,’ his mother chided. ‘Why are you standing out there? You are blocking the way for the other passengers.’

  ‘Sorry, Maman,’ he replied and entered their compartment.

  ‘But where are we to sleep?’ Isobel asked.

  ‘It has only just turned four o’clock, Isobel. You do not need to worry about that just yet,’ Papa teased.

  ‘Tell us more of Turkey, Papa,’ Jacques said.

  ‘Let us remove our outer garments and make ourselves comfortable first. We have a long train ride ahead of us.’

  Before long, they were snugly ensconced in their first class compartment, all coats and bags stowed away under their seats.

  Doors slammed, the whistle blew and great clouds of steam wheeshed into the icy afternoon air. The carriage lurched backwards unsteadily and then, with more confidence, rocked forwards and away, out of the station, leaving behind the great iron roof of the Gare du Nord.

  The soft rhythmic puffing of the train took Alexandre and his family northwards through the grimy Parisian suburbs until they were outside the city. And then it curved back round onto the main line that would take them south to the sea and beyond.

  They travelled down the tracks through woods of pine and larch. They climbed hills and steamed through tunnels hollowed out of the soft limestone. Over bridges and viaducts they steadily made their way southwards. Through mirror-black windows Alexandre stared out into the rapidly growing gloom at the smudged outlines of smoking cottage chimneys until at last night finally fell and their train was a lone speeding light through the dark french countryside.

  Supper on the train turned out to be quite a lavish affair. The Chevaliers were shown to their table where they chatted and sipped aperitifs.

  ‘I cannot believe it will actually be warm in Turkey. The weather is so vile here,’ Isobel said, tasting her drink.

  ‘Do not forget it will still be cold at night,’ Papa replied.

  ‘If we are lucky, it will be warm in Marseille too,’ Maman added.

  ‘Do stop talking about the weather and tell us of all the exciting discoveries we shall make in Turkey,’ Jacques said.

  ‘How can Papa tell us that, when we haven’t even discovered them yet,’ Isobel rolled her eyes.

  ‘Is it really true you do not yet know what lies in Cappadocia? That you have no idea what manner of artefacts we are going to uncover?’ Alexandre asked his parents.

  ‘Monsieur Bouvier has made me and your mother sign a letter of confidentiality. But I can tell you this much – you will not be disappointed.’

  ‘You mean to say, you actually know what is there? Then you must tell us, Papa,’ Jacques said. ‘It is too unfair to make us wait this long to find out.’

  ‘If I tell you, Monsieur Bouvier will send his wife to hunt us down and then we will all be in dire trouble.’

  ‘Didier,’ Maman chided. Do not let them hear you talking this way about Madame.’

  ‘But everybody knows she is a shrew, Maman,’ Alexandre said.

  ‘They may know it, but it is not polite to say it out loud.’

  ‘Your mother is right. I should not have spoken so. Erase that comment from your memories, children. Aah, here comes the soup - Pigeon Bisque. It smells delicious.’

  ‘I am so hungry I could eat my shoe,’ Alexandre’s eyes lit up at the arrival of the first course.

  ‘You boys are always hungry,’ Maman replied.

  Alexandre concentrated on his food while Jacques cross-examined Maman and Papa on every aspect of archaeology he could think of. Papa never tired of talking about his favourite subject and Jacques’ interest fuelled his enthusiasm.

  Alexandre realised this Turkish dig could lead to the most important find of the century or it could be a wild goose chase. But it was a risk his parents were willing to take. They wanted to uncover that one big find that would gain them the respect of their peers and re-launch their ailing careers.

  Whilst they had been enjoying dinner, the train staff had transformed their first class carriage into a comfortable bedroom. The lower benches were now beds, and two further bunks had been pulled down from each wall. Alexandre and Jacques were to share, topping and tailing.

  ‘Keep still, man, for goodness sake.’ Alexandre jabbed his brother’s leg with his foot.

  ‘Ow! Maman, tell Alex to stop hogging the whole bunk and maybe then it wouldn’t take me so long to get comfortable.’

  ‘Just lie still, close your eyes and go to sleep,’ Alexandre said. ‘That usually works for me.’

  ‘It usually works for me too, but I don’t usually have to lie next to a six foot idiot who takes up the whole bed.’ Jacques kicked him back.

  ‘Ow! You little ...’

  ‘Right, that’s it!’ Alexandre heard his mother slip down from her bunk. She drew back the curtains in front of their bed. ‘Jacques, you take my bunk. I will share with Isobel. I cannot stand another moment of your bickering. Just promise me you will not be like this for the whole nine months we are away. Didier, why are you not scolding your sons?’

  Alexandre followed his mother’s gaze to see Papa lying in his bunk with his mouth open, snoring.

  ‘Oh. Now quiet, everyone. Papa is asleep.’

  ‘We don’t have to whisper, Maman. We could scream blue murder and he wouldn’t wake,’ Alexandre said. ‘You know what he is like once he falls asleep.’

  ‘Yes, well …’ Maman replied, climbing in next to Isobel. ‘… it is late and we have another long day tomorrow. Sleep now, children. Goodnight, I love you all.’

  ‘Goodnight, Maman.’

  ‘Goodnight, Maman. Sleep well.’

  Alexandre stretched out on his narrow bunk, relieved he no longer had to share it with his fidgeting brother. He lay with his hands behind his head and stared up at the underside of Jacques’ bunk. It didn’t look too sturdy. He hoped it didn’t detach from the wall and come crashing down on top of him.

  The train swayed gently and Alexandre thought this is what it must feel like to be a babe rocked to sleep in its mother’s arms. He and his siblings had never travelled on a train before. They had rarely travelled anywhere within their own country, let alone abroad.

  His parents, on the other hand, were two of the most well-travelled people of their time and it had always struck Alexandre as grossly unfair he had been nowhere and seen nothing, whilst they had travelled the world ten times over. Now, however, his time had come and he meant to make the most of every second of every day.

  The next morning dawned clear and cold, the wide pale country sky trying its hardest to be blue. By ten o’clock it had succeeded.

  After an early breakfast, the family returned to their compartment and once again it had been transformed back into its daytime persona. Everyone was quiet and contemplative this morning. Even Jacques remained uncharacteristically silent. Alexandre had slept fairly well, but his thoughts now turned to the long sea voyage ahead of them.

  Once they boarded the steamer at Marseille, they were to meet up with The Swintons, old family friends from England. Victoria and Harold Swinton were archaeologists who had worked with his parents on various digs around the world. They had two children – Leonora and Freddie. Alexandre wondered what they would be like. He had a vague memory of them from his younger days - the girl had been irritating.

  Through the window, idyllic country scenes scrolled past – olive groves, ruined castles, small river ferries cruising beneath arched stone bridges and bent-backed agricultural workers with all manner of livestock working the brown and yellow fields.

  All too soon, the mellow French countryside was swallowed up by a more urban landscape. A random spattering of chalky white houses gradually m
erged and darkened into dirty suburbs – Alexandre’s first introduction to Marseille. The Paris rain had not reached this far south and the views were dusty and dry.

  Suddenly the train slowed and drew into the Gare St Charles, Marseille’s train station, which perched loftily on top of a high plateau. They were not to disembark here, however. After a short wait, the train moved off onto a single track branch line, towards Gare de la Joliette, the harbour station.

  *

  Marseille, the oldest city in France, lay on the eastern shore of the bay, backed by green-covered hills and high-peaked mountains. Down at the harbour, sailing boats and steamers purposefully set out to sea or else lined up along the dockside, moored two and three deep.

  Alexandre breathed in the sea air and almost gagged. The Marseillaise atmosphere felt much drier than cold damp Paris, but it smelt infinitely worse. The docks swam in ships’ rubbish and the stench of foul water was almost too much to bear.

  ‘Oh, it is worse than anything I have ever smelt in my life!’ Isobel exclaimed, holding her lace handkerchief in front of her nose and mouth.

  ‘It is not very pleasant, I must agree.’ Their mother too, covered her nose.

  ‘It is the scent of adventure,’ Papa declared.

  ‘Where are we to meet the Swintons?’ Isobel asked from behind her handkerchief.

  ‘We will find them on the ship. They have made their way from England. Maman and I visited them there many years ago.’

  ‘And how old is their daughter?’

  ‘Leonora must be seventeen or eighteen by now. They stayed with us once, but you were probably too young to remember. You all got on very well.’

  ‘Maman, how can you say that?’ Alexandre said. ‘I can remember the girl was very annoying. Rude and entirely without charm.’

  ‘You only say that, because she did not fall for your charms, Alexandre. I have met her several times since and she has spirit - an admirable quality.’

  ‘And the boy?’ Jacques asked.

  ‘A thoroughly delightful chap,’ said Papa. ‘Jacques, you and he got on like a house on fire. Got up to no end of mischief though. He has now grown into a very likeable fellow.’

  ‘Is Monsieur Bouvier also their patron?’ Alexandre asked.

  ‘Goodness no,’ his mother replied. ‘Papa wants their expertise on the dig. The Swintons are so wealthy, I believe they own half of South Gloucestershire. They are passionate archaeologists though, just like me and Papa.’

  The cold Mistral blew down from the Rhone Valley and they had to keep turning aside to prevent grit blowing in their eyes.

  ‘Oh, it is awful. Freezing cold and smelly. Can we not return to Paris, Maman?’ Isobel pouted.

  Maman laughed. ‘Now, Isobel, you are made of stronger stuff than this. A bit of rubbish and a gust of cold wind is not something to get upset about.

  ‘Isobel, it is wonderful here,’ Alexandre said. ‘There is so much to see and the Mediterranean is so blue out there.’

  Isobel threw Alexandre a resentful glance. He had hoped she would have forgotten her crossness with him, but he realised he wasn’t going to have it so easy. Her face did soften a little as she looked out across the ocean. Away from the murky harbour, the sea twinkled and glittered in the morning sun, a slightly deeper shade of blue than the powdered sky.

  ‘I thought the Seine beautiful, but the Mediterranean is something entirely different,’ Alexandre said.

  ‘I feel your mother and I have been remiss in your education. We should have brought you to see the ocean long before now.’

  ‘I cannot argue with that, Papa,’ Alexandre replied.

  *

  The Mistral was a magnificent steamer, with a sleek hull, black-topped funnels and four masts for sailing if the winds were fair.

  Standing high on deck, Alexandre looked out across the land side of the ship onto a sea of colour. He saw upturned faces, hats and twirling parasols. Cases and trunks passed over heads, smiles, tears, waving handkerchiefs, kisses being blown and caught.

  He left his family for a while and walked around to the other side of the ship. There, the blue green ocean mesmerised him, its waves rippling out to the horizon and beyond. Gulls cried out: hovering, swooping, gliding and diving. Alexandre felt an affinity with these birds; a feeling that he now shared in their freedom. His wings had stretched and strained against the stiff breeze for too long, but suddenly he found himself no longer struggling - fair winds were taking him exactly where he needed to go.

  The steamship sounded its horn. Three long low blasts which filled up the air with its deep mournful sound. Cheers and shouts erupted all around and the large vessel began to heave its way out of the harbour, towards the open sea.

  A small child on deck pointed down into the water and Alexandre caught his breath as he saw a school of about twenty shiny-backed porpoises leaping up out of the navy blue ocean and diving back under to glide beneath the clear surface. As the evening sun slid slowly into the Mediterranean, one of its rays caught Alexandre’s face. He savoured its bright warmth and enjoyed an unfettered moment of billowing happiness.

  *

  The Swintons had been rich land owners for generations and Harold Swinton had inherited his wealth, like his father before him. These fortunate circumstances had allowed him to indulge in his passion for archaeology. He had met his beautiful half-Russian wife, Victoria, on a dig at an ancient Mesopotamian site where they had fallen in love and married within the month.

  Now, the Chevaliers walked across the black and white tiled floor of the Garden Lounge to where the Swintons sat at wicker chairs around a tile-topped table. They appeared to be playing the card game, Chance, and from the look of things the boy, Freddie, appeared to be winning.

  ‘This is just too easy,’ he chortled.

  ‘Nobody likes a show off,’ his older sister replied.

  ‘Never mind, Leonora. We’ll play something easier next. How about Snap?’

  Leonora rolled her eyes and ignored her younger brother. Both parents laughed.

  ‘Harold! So good to see you,’ Alexandre’s father called out. ‘Victoria, how are you? You all look marvellous.’

  ‘Children, look!’ Victoria rose to her feet. ‘It is the Chevaliers.’

  The Swintons stood up and introductions were made. Harold looked around and caught the eye of a steward who came over and moved another table and some chairs next to theirs so everyone could sit together. Both families spoke both fluent French and English and switched easily back and forth between languages.

  ‘I cannot wait to find out the nature of the site.’ Freddie said.

  ‘I know,’ Jacques replied. ‘It is too bad Papa will not enlighten us.’

  ‘Perhaps now would be an appropriate time to tell the children,’ Papa looked at Maman and the Swintons. They smiled and nodded their agreement. ‘But remember,’ Papa continued. ‘This is confidential information.’

  Alexandre and the others leaned forward to better hear the information they had been itching to find out for days.

  Papa began:

  ‘As you know, we are travelling to an area in the region of Cappadocia. The site was unearthed very recently, when a local woman caught her foot in something and could not free it. Her brother cleared the ground and realised her foot was trapped in some kind of narrow hole. They eventually freed it, but later discovered the hole was an ancient light well, or air vent belonging to an underground chamber. This chamber had lain there, undisturbed for centuries.’

  Everybody made ‘ooh’ noises and laughed.

  ‘Carry on Papa,’ Jacques said. ‘What is inside the chamber?’

  ‘Well, we are not entirely sure. It is thought there may be more chambers leading from that one. Perhaps interesting artefacts to be uncovered, maybe it was a burial site with clues to an undiscovered ancient civilisation. We will not know until we see the evidence with our own eyes.’

  ‘There is another thing that makes this site more interesting. The locals will no
t go anywhere near it. Apparently they are terrified. They say the ground is cursed. It is very intriguing.’

  ‘Oh,’ Isobel looked at their mother. ‘It’s not is it? Cursed, I mean.’

  ‘Of course it’s not,’ Leonora Swinton interjected. ‘It is all local folklore and mumbo jumbo. You do not want to take any notice of that.’

  ‘Do not worry, Belle,’ Jacques said in a fake pirate accent. ‘Alex, Freddie and I will save you from the terrible ghosts in the accursed underground cavern.’ He made a ghoulish face and pretended to strangle himself. Freddie laughed, but Isobel did not look amused.

  ‘Very funny, Jacques. But it does not sound at all pleasant to me.’

  ‘Leonora is right. It is all superstitious nonsense,’ Victoria said and put a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘But really, it will be very interesting to see what is down there. Some of the local people are afraid of the unknown, that is all.’

  Alexandre listened with growing anticipation. He could not wait to enter the cavern and see what was to be found. Visions of tombs, ancient mummies, jewels and gold scorched his mind. He had never paid much attention to his parents’ profession before. It was just something they had always done. He had wanted to accompany them for the travel more than for the actual work itself. But underground caverns sounded exciting and the fact it was all such a secret, made it doubly so.

  ‘Will I actually have to go into the cavern?’ Isobel asked.

  ‘That is the general idea.’ Jacques rolled his eyes.

  ‘Not if you do not wish to,’ Papa said, giving Jacques a reproving stare. ‘But it would be an exciting and interesting experience for you if you did decide to have a look.’

  Alexandre took a stealthy look at Leonora. She was beautiful, but just as outspoken and bristly as he remembered from years ago when they were young children. Freddie seemed to be quite straightforward. A little like Jacques really. He wondered how they would all get along in the coming months.