My recollection was true and the events innocent enough, and yet I felt as if I were a penitent, called upon by her confessor to recount her crimes. I glanced at the muslin screen, but Cosmina was nothing more than an alteration in the light to me-no form, only the suggestion of a presence. In contrast, I was clearly revealed to her, every inch of my profile and expression laid bare. I felt naked and exposed, and I disliked it.

“Are you almost finished?” I asked.

“Very nearly, my dear. Hold quite still. I am at the neck and it is rather tricky as your hair is so heavy just there. Still, it would be worse if you were wearing your necklace,” she added, and I started, realising that I had quite forgot to retrieve the beads from the workroom. I should have to go to the count for no other reason than to reclaim my property before Cosmina detected my foolishness.

“Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, her voice a study in woe.

“What is the matter?” I said, my voice a trifle too sharp.

I rose from my chair to see what the trouble was. Cosmina sat, black paper in one hand, scissors in the other.

She looked at me in dismay. “You moved so quickly, you startled me and I have quite ruined it.”

She gestured towards her lap where the tiny black image of my head had fallen to her skirts, the neck as neatly cut as if by a guillotine’s blade.

That night my sleep was broken by dreams of the count again, and the following day I felt thick-headed and dull; even Charles commented that I did not seem myself. Cosmina fell ill again, a relapse of her cold, and I did not see her, although Dr. Frankopan called and said he had given her something to help her to rest. Charles accompanied him back to the village, where the good doctor promised him a hearty meal at the inn, and I roamed the library, too distracted to settle. In the end, I decided a rest in my room would clear my head, but as soon as I entered, I realised someone had been there before me.

I was aware of my pulses quickening, as if I feared someone still lingered, watching me.

“I am not afraid,” I said stoutly. Almost as soon as I had said the words, my eyes fell to the table and I counted myself a fool. Coiled there was the string of blue beads I had misplaced. Since I had not gone to his room to retrieve them, the count must have returned them to me. Still, I could not rid myself of the feeling that someone had been in my room for a longer period of time than merely returning the necklace would have required. I searched my things carefully. Nothing had gone missing; nothing seemed actually disarranged. And yet I could not be completely at my ease in that room, and in spite of my fatigue, I took up my plaid shawl and made my way out of doors for a little fresh air.

Florian was about, and I was struck suddenly by the change that had come over him in the past few days. He no longer wore simply the long linen shirt of the peasant, for he had changed it for a properly tailored affair with cuffs and a collar. He wore a bit of faded silk wrapped and tied at the throat as a sort of neckcloth, and his boots were freshly shined. He had gained authority and it suited him, although his eyes were still the saddest I had seen.

“Good day, Florian. Where are you bound?”

He nodded towards the garden wall. “The last of the apples must be picked.”

“May I help?”

He said nothing but passed me a basket, and beckoned me to follow him. We worked for some time in the ruined garden, picking the last of the sinister black apples with the sweet flesh. A light wind had blown up, tossing the tops of the stunted trees and bearing upon it the scent of woodsmoke and pine. The sun was warm upon my face, and I soon discarded the shawl, draping it over a sprawling tarragon bush.

Florian hummed as he worked, a piercingly sweet and sad tune, like a lullaby for a dying child, and I found tears pricking my eyes as I picked.

“Are you well, Miss Theodora?” he asked.

I nodded and summoned a smile. “I am tired is all. I slept poorly last night.”

“Do you fear the strigoi?” he asked suddenly.

I hesitated, and then gave him honesty. “I do not know. I cannot think what to believe. One moment I am convinced that these monsters are real, the next I am chastening myself for a fool.”

“Will you leave this place?” he asked, and although it was only for a fleeting moment, I saw something hopeful spring to life in his eyes.

“Eventually. I have promised Cosmina to remain for some time yet. Perhaps through Christmas.”

“And when you go, will you be taking Miss Cosmina with you?”

I thought of the immense sadness in him, the chivalrous little attentions towards Cosmina, and the brusqueness with which she dismissed him. And I understood him a little better, or so I believed.

“You would not like for her to leave,” I said kindly. I had meant to offer him some comfort, to explain that I had no intention of asking Cosmina to leave with me, not least because I had no place to offer her.

But before I could, he burst out in impassioned speech. “Because it is good she should go. You take her far from here-and soon. When your friend leaves, Mr. Beecroft, you take Miss Cosmina. Save her.”

And with that extraordinary pronouncement, he turned upon his heel and left me in the garden, staring after him and pondering all that he had just told me.

I took one of the devilish black apples and shined it upon my skirt as I seated myself on a crumbling stone bench. It seemed clear to me, piecing together the revealing bits I had heard since my arrival, that Cosmina was in some danger. Perhaps from the spectre of the strigoi, perhaps from some inherent weakness in the blood of the Dragulescu women that seemed to afflict the countess and Cosmina in unequal measure. And Florian, in spite of Cosmina’s indifference to him, thought warmly of her and wished her to be protected. They had been children together, and it was natural that his feelings towards her should be cordial ones. She was the nearest thing he had had to a sister, and although time and maturity had given them both an awareness of the differences in their expectations-she was the ward of the countess whilst he would never rise above hired steward-it was understandable he should look to her best interests. It only saddened me that I could not accommodate his wishes. I had no home of my own, still less did I have a place to offer Cosmina. It vexed me that I could offer her neither sanctuary nor solace; indeed, I could scarcely look at her without thinking upon my impropriety with the count and how she might view the matter.

As if conjured by my thoughts, the man himself appeared in the garden. I had not heard him approach, and when he spoke my name, I started up, the unbitten apple rolling from my grasp.

He retrieved it and polished it upon his lapel. “I did not mean to startle you, but you were so deep in thought. I called your name twice.”

He extended his hand, holding out the apple upon his palm. I took it, feeling for all the world like an unchaste Eve.

“You seem low of spirits. Has your friend been bullying you?” he asked, but the nonchalance of his tone did not deceive me. He lounged against the tree, affecting an air of casual interest, one booted ankle crossed over the other.

“Charles? He would not know how,” I told him. “He manages, he does not bully.”

“And does he mean to manage you?”

“I cannot think that it should make any difference to you what becomes of me,” I said. I bit into the apple with a sharp snap of the teeth, but it tasted like ashes in my mouth.

The count’s eyes narrowed, and I saw suddenly that he was angry but determined to conceal it.

“You can say that after the letter? My God, you are a coldhearted little beast.”