Cumberland, England, 1820

“What are you doing with that telescope, Ellen?”

            “Stargazing.”

            “There can’t be many stars at that angle, dear.”

            “Must you be so importunate, Sara?” Ellen grumbled, squinting one eye into the instrument.

            “I am not being importunate, though I do congratulate you on your vocabulary choice,” Ellen said to her younger sister, smiling. “Besides,” she continued, “isn’t it too cloudy tonight? How can you see any stars?”

            It was indeed an overcast May night on the moorland, with only intermittent gleams of moonlight where there was a rent in the heavy clouds that went scudding across the heavens.  

            “It’s not that cloudy. The moon has just broken through. Can’t you see it?”

            “The only thing I can see is your candle as it blazes,” Sara complained softly.  

            “Blazes is gross hyperbole, and you know it!”

            Sara sat up in her bed, “If you aren’t aiming your spyglass at the stars or the moon, pray what are you looking at?”

            “I thought you wanted the candle out,” Ellen countered, continuing to look out the window.

            Sara fell back onto her pillow, “I do want the candle out.”

            “Then blow it out. It’s causing a reflection on the glass, anyway.”

            “Ellen, this room is small but I can’t blow out your candle from here.”

            “Oh, fine!” Ellen huffed. She got down from the chair she had been standing on and blew out the candle. The room was bathed in fresh darkness. Sara sighed in relief – rather dramatically, Ellen thought. Ellen climbed back up on the chair and resumed her observations.

            “What are you finding so thoroughly interesting, Ellen?”

            “I’m waiting for him to come out.”

            “Waiting for whom?”

            “The new tenant.”

            “At Low Bridge Cottage?”

            The window stood Ellen at faced away from the village of Keswick. She was spying in the direction of Mount Helvellyn, and definitely not at anything in the night sky. The only thing that could possibly be considered of interest that way was the residence rented by their new neighbor. Neither Ellen, Sara, nor their mother had met these mysterious tenants, though they had moved in almost a fortnight ago. The only evidence of their existence was light in their windows at night. A milk cow had also arrived with them. Prior to this tenant, the cottage had only been used seasonally by shepherds.

            “He only comes out at night,” Ellen said as if to herself. “I believe he’s a ghost. Or a vampire.”

            “Vampire! Where have you ever heard of vampires?” Sara cried.

            “In Lord Byron.”

            “I hardly think Lord Byron fit reading for a thirteen-year-old girl,” Sara sniffed.

            “There’s no need to be such an attercop,” Ellen told her.

            “That’s slang. And anyway, I’m not being quarrelsome or peevish or whatever you think that means.”

            “I believe it’s closer to shrewish and it’s not slang.”

            “ ’Tis.”             

            “I saw it in print!” Ellen declared.

            “It was never in use in Sussex,” Sara said.

            “I’m fairly certain it was,” Ellen countered, defiantly.

            “But by any people of discernment and learning?” Sara asked yawning. The darkness was having its soporific effect on her.

            “I thought I saw him last night, but I didn’t have my glass,” Ellen said. “By the time I had fetched it, he was gone. Disappeared like a ghost. I could descry him nowhere.”

            “If you are done trying to descry, perhaps we could get some sleep?” Sara mumbled half into her pillow.

            “Ah. And now he’s come out!” Ellen whispered.

            Sara exhaled sharply, her eyes opening wide. “Can you actually see him?”

            “Oh, yes. Quite clearly.”

            Sara bit her lip, dubious. Ellen was capable of playing games. Reluctantly, Sara sat up on one elbow, looking at the silhouetted figure of her sister in her night-dress.

            “I don’t believe you.”

            “Would you like to see for yourself?” Ellen asked – a little archly, Sara thought.

            She dropped back onto the bedding. “No. I needn’t. Since you can see him so well, offer a description.”

            “The spyglass isn’t that powerful, Sara. It’s far too dark to see his physiognomy with any kind of assurance.”

            “Then how do you know it’s a man at all?”

            “It is a man. And not an old man.”

            “I thought it was too dark to tell.”

            “Oh, that much is discernible. His figure is clearly outlined by the moon.”

            “Enough to say that he has no wrinkles or white hair, perhaps?”

            “Don’t be daft. He stands erect and bears himself with no stoop. He walks swiftly without the assistance of a cane, Sara.”

            “That safely puts his age below, oh, sixty, at least.”

            Sara shifted position, starting to get up. She really should see for herself, she thought.

            “He’s gone now,” Ellen said.

            “Gone. Perhaps he was a ghost after all.”

            “The path up the mountain bends around. I can no longer see him.”

            Ellen came away from the window and got into her bed.

            “Put your nightcap on or you’ll get a rat’s nest.”

            Ellen did as her sister asked and then said, “I only wonder what sort of man he is. Why does he only come out at night?”  

            “Perhaps he was out during the day when you weren’t spying on him.”

            “Or perhaps he truly is a vampire and has gone off to drink someone’s blood.”

            “Shorter walk if he headed back to Keswick, I’d figure. He won’t find much potential prey up on the fells.”

            “Sara, you simply have no imagination.”

            “And your fancy runs away with you.”

            Ellen made no reply, but her sister could almost feel her fretting and she wondered if she might do something to alleviate the younger girl’s piqued curiosity. She didn’t suppose she should let Ellen fall asleep obsessing on every possible nocturnal occupation of their new neighbor.

            Sara sighed, “Anyway, Mrs. Herrington who brings the eggs said that she heard a young man is attending an older man, an invalid.”

            Ellen shot up, “Our young man?”

            “Well…”

            “When did you speak with Mrs. Herrington? I thought she came on Tuesday.”

            “She did.”     

            “That was two whole days ago, Sara!” Ellen complained.

            “Not so loud. You’ll wake Mother.”

            “Two whole days you’ve had this information and refused to share it. Such appalling behavior, Sara!”

            Sara couldn’t help but smile.

            Ellen settled deeper under her blanket and quilt. Sara felt herself slipping into a sweet sleep. She had no idea what had exhausted her so, but sleep seemed like a lovely and welcome drug, the lotus-eaters could not have been more content.            

In a loudish voice, Ellen asked, “Do you suppose the invalid could be the vampire?”