It was a tense night at the supper table. Pearl watched Aubrey, laughing, taking double helpings of chicken fricassee, chewing with his mouth open, and wondered how he could act so jovial sitting across from the woman he’d tried to rape.

Even the wound on his forehead was nearly healed, but a scabby cut across his brow.

He and Father were discussing the damn book. The concept had not been explained to Pearl: she was expected only to piece together the details from their stray words. She had not been told anything of the expedition, in general, and was therefore left with no way to engage in the conversation. Occasionally, one of them would flaccidly attempt to include her, with a quick ‘isn’t that right, darling?’ or a passing ‘what about you, little one?’

Pearl was supposed to respond with a polite smile and demure nod, to tell them without telling them that they were free to continue on without her. But tonight she found it impossible to follow through, and eschewed her script. She stared across the table with a panther’s glare,  her fingers white around the handle of her fork, and the conversation dropped like a ship’s anchor until the men dragged it back up.

“Daughter,” Ephraim said. “What is the matter?”

Pearl looked at Aubrey. Aubrey wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.

Her father repeated himself, demanding for her to confess— as if she were the sinner!— and adding, “Need I send you to your room?”

Pearl could not take it. “Why don’t you ask the ass sharing our table?”

Aubrey dropped the napkin.

“Pearl!” her father barked.

But Pearl was not looking at her father: she looked at Aubrey, at his wounded puppy stage act, at his fidgeting hands— hands that thought they could go wherever they pleased.

“Well?” said she. “You know what you did. Tell my father.”

Said Aubrey, “Did what?”

Pearl’s hands were shaking. “Do not play dumb, you– you cad. You came into my room and–”

“That’s enough, Pearl,” Father said.

“No, no, let her continue.” Aubrey waved his hand. “See, what I seem to recall was that, upon entering my beloved fiancée’s room to wish her a good-night, she saw fit to throw a vase at my head!”

He indicated his wound.

Her father observed Pearl sharply from the head of the table. “Is this true?”

Pearl picked up her knife and fork, delicately cutting a strip of meat. “He’s forgotten the part where he accosted me in my own bed.”

Aubrey launched to his feet. The silverware tinkled and their drinks wobbled dangerously in their glasses. His expression was dire, fixed upon her. For a moment, it seemed as if he would leap across the table and throttle Pearl right then.

“Why are you telling such horrible stories?” he cried.

“Both of you, stop it.” Father folded his hands over the tablecloth. “Pearl, come with me to my study. Aubrey, wait here.”

“I’m innocent, sir!” said Aubrey. “I love your daughter, I would never do such a thing!”

Father nodded. “We will see.”

There was no triumph, standing in the forbidden room. Pearl waited in the center, slippers on the maroon tug, as Father puttered about, putting on the lamp, balancing his spectacles on his crooked nose. What he did not do was speak.

Pearl, terrified that if she stopped she would never tell of what happened to her again, went on in a frightened babble. She told all that she knew: of Aubrey coming into her room that night— she had thought him innocent, too!— and of her raw terror when he pinned her to the headboard.

“Father, he… he touched me. He wasn’t speaking, only drooling like an animal! I am sorry that I broke the vase, but I simply had no choice. I was only trying to stop—”

“Pearl.” Her father stood before her, eyes downcast to a scrap of parchment he held in his hand. 

“Father, please, believe me–”

“I do.”

Pearl’s shoulders slumped in relief.

But then, he said, “That is, I believe you believe yourself.”

“Father?”

He looked up. “We both know Aubrey would never do such a thing.”

“I thought so.” There was a pang in Pearl’s chest.

“My dear daughter.” Father cupped her face with his weathered hand. “Forgive me. You are going to have to behave yourself.”

“Why?”

“Show me your neck.”

Pearl felt very, very cold. She was still as her father brushed against the hairs on the back of her neck, and rolled down her ruffled collar. Rough fingertips pressed against her throat.

“Father…” she croaked. “I’m not…”

“Oh, but they can be tricky,” said Father. “They lurk in the dark, always waiting. They would love to eat a foolish girl like you.”

Pearl winced.

“You’ve not left your window open?”

“Of course not.”

Father lowered his hands. Pearl, her throat now dry and sore, looked anywhere but at him. Her eyes fell to the Bible on the desk beside her.

“Daughter, forgive me,” he said. “Lift up your skirt. I need to check for your hymen.”

Pearl must have left her body out on that rainy street.

“I can call the maid in,” said he, “if you’d be more comfortable.”

“Why…?” Pearl began to sob into her hand. “You are my only family, Father, my only ally. I love you. I need you to listen…”

“And I need you to be obedient!” he said. “Do you think I take these things lightly?”

Of course not. 

The miserable inspection continued. Pearl leaned back against the desk, her vision filled with the shelf of curiosities across from her. There was a jade dragon. A doll in Transylvanian garb. Bone fragments of long dead animals. A death’s head moth with its wings spread by pins.

Father withdrew in silence. He took his pipe and lay back in his armchair, his brow furrowed in thought.“There is no sign of vampiric influence on you,” he said. “And your virginity remains.”

Pearl felt no relief. “But he tried–”

“Aubrey tried to wish you goodnight,” Father said, “but he inadvertently woke you from a nightmare. In your hysteria, you mistook his intentions, and ran out before the matter could be sorted.”

She stumbled closer to her father. “I don’t want him in the house any longer.”

“Why? Because of your mistake? My dear, if any hard feelings remain after this incident, it’ll be because of you.” He gave her a hard look.

Pearl had been right– once silenced, all her spirited anger, all her indignation and pride, slipped quietly back inside her shell.

“Yes, Father,” said she. “I understand.”

Some days later, there was a bejeweled comb and a long, elegantly-written note on Pearl’s bed stand, next to her new vase. She tore up the note without reading it and stormed out of the house. The comb was dropped in the donation box of the first church she came across, to which she then stayed for fifteen minutes in silent contemplation.

Pearl would not reconcile the evil that had been done to her. She would not be damned by this event. No matter the trials that she was forced to endure, she would remain faithful to the Lord, and all that such a commitment entailed.

After finishing her prayers, she hiked up her skirts and trekked the streets until she reached —— House.

Ianthe greeted her like an old friend– they had, indeed, grown quite close. At her host’s insistence, they took a walk around the city; to an undiscerning eye, they must’ve looked just like a young couple sneaking outside for a spot of sunshine. The season had brought in the calvary, all the most precious bits and baubles of beauty to cheer Pearl’s troubled heart. Walking arm-in-arm with Ianthe along those streets– her friend in a striped cravat and Hessian boots— she felt the prickling of happiness, unfamiliar in her bosom.

When they encountered the Common, and began to stroll along the grass, Pearl could not help but gaze about her in wonder. It was so green, the hilltop that sloped far before her, the sky so blue against the buildings, the cows that lumbered along the field. How lovely the world could be! Even in the worst moments of her life, the world was lovely.

Pearl could not help but tell Ianthe of her struggles. The woman had become Pearl’s only confidant. Ianthe never doubted Pearl’s word, never scoffed or brushed her aside— Sometimes, Pearl wished that her friend had truly been a man, and not a bizarre pretender… else perhaps she might have fallen in love with “him”.

“I cannot sleep,” said Pearl.

“So I’ve noticed.”

Indeed, anyone could tell. Pearl had, in appearance, aged two years in ten days; she carried dark bags beneath her eyes, and walked through her life with a weary, insomniac’s slump. 

“I am so frightened,” Pearl said, “that he’ll return, and I won’t be able to stop him.”

Pearl felt faint, even under the wide brim of her bonnet. When she stumbled, Ianthe urged them towards a spot of shade, where they were able to rest beneath a tree. Under its shadow, Ianthe leaned against the trunk while Pearl continued her ranting.

“It is… every night, I lie there in my bed and great, paralyzing emotion overcomes me. It is as if my room is filled with brimstone. It is so hot, but I cannot breathe, and I cannot run away. I—I cannot even bring myself to throw off my covers. All I do is writhe and sob, and the air is thick with garlic and—”

“Garlic?”

“My father...”

Ianthe, having moved to Pearl’s side, laid a hand on her back. “Go on.”

Pearl did so, moving on to the ineffectual solutions. She’d tried everything short of laudanum – cold baths, sleeping upside-down, in her armchair, doubling up prayers and doubling up garlic flowers. But it was all for naught. Fear had turned Pearl into a living ghost.

“Pearl, my friend,” Ianthe said at last, “have you not tried opening a window? The night air– even in this ghastly town (no offense meant)– does wonders to the soul.”

“I can’t do that.” Pearl fiddled with the grass between her thumbs. “My father forbids it.”

“What an odd rule!”

“It is for my protection.” Pearl turned to face her. “My father… his trade is in hunting vampires.”

Ianthe burst into laughter. It startled the sparrows in the tree, who sprang out in a chittering cloud.

“It’s true!” said Pearl.

Ianthe was still laughing.

“He’s– he’s very good at it, you know.”

“I’m sure he is.” Ianthe manifested a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. “Are you in the business of hunting vampires, then?”

Pearl shook her head.

“Haven’t you ever seen one?”

“No…”

“Girl!” Ianthe whapped her walking stick against the ground. “My people may be superstitious, but we must have more sense than you! Do you truly believe such stories without a shred of evidence?”

Pearl bristled. “Are we speaking of vampires or God?”

Ianthe’s leering face softened. Pearl turned away in a huff.

“We live in a new modern age!” Ianthe said. Then, “Oh friend, forgive me. I forget that you’re not a man; you cannot take such mockery.” She laid a hand on Pearl’s shoulder, her ring brushing Pearl’s neck. “It only seems senseless to me– that he can believe such old wive’s tales but not you.”