Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (109 page)

“Nanny Howard?” said Oliver, then his expression abruptly altered. “Oh, I’d quite forgotten about that. Really, Jonathan, you should have reminded me. Or did you forget as well?”

“No, that is to say. . . .”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been putting it off.”

“Not precisely, but there’s just been so much to think about that I—”

“You have been putting it off.”

“I have not, I’ve just . . . well. . . .”

Elizabeth stepped in. “Don’t badger him, Oliver. Can’t you see he’s terrified?”

“Terrified? Him? After all he’s gone through?”

“Do please make allowances, Cousin. He’s never been through this before.”

Oliver frowned and shrugged. “I see what you mean. Come to think of it and given the choice, I’d probably be hiding in the cellar about now, or be halfway to France. It’s a hard road you’ve picked for yourself and no mistake.”

“Surely not that hard,” I said.

“Consider how much of the way of it you’ll be walking with Cousin Edmond, then tell me that again.”

He’d made a good point, but I’d deal with Edmond later.

“Edmond can keep,” said Elizabeth. “Our concern is with young Richard. Come along, little brother, put your best foot forward. It’s not every day a man gets to meet his son for the first time.”

CHAPTER TWO

This was not strictly true. I met the child last night, though he’d not been awake. It was probably for the best, since the knowledge of his existence had been a frightful surprise for me. Coming as it did some four years after his birth, I was hardly prepared to deal with it in an intelligent manner. For the most part, I’d simply stared in wonder at the little boy asleep on his cot—the little boy bearing my features—that his mother had been so careful to keep isolated from the rest of the family lest they discover his true paternity.

Even now, with Elizabeth and Oliver there to take me in hand, I hardly felt ready to deal with the prospect of meeting my natural son, much less a face-to-face encounter. It was enough to make the bravest man’s resolve tremble and collapse upon itself. Who was I if not a child myself, surely unable to assume the responsibility involved.

But Elizabeth adjusted my neck cloth, I saw to the dusting of my knees, then out we marched with Oliver to the upstairs rooms that served as the house nursery. My feet threatened to transmute into leaden weights along the way; if left to myself, this few minutes’ walk might have turned into an hour’s journey. Their company forced me to keep to a normal pace. Before them I had to pretend to an enthusiasm I did not possess as I had no desire to draw additional attention to myself.

Why so reluctant, Johnny-boy? It’s not as though you haven’t met him already.

True, but until then I’d no knowledge of the child’s existence and therefore no time to think about things. Besides, he’d been safely asleep Now that the initial surprise and shock had worn off somewhat I was beginning to comprehend the enormity of what I was about to face.

I could give the child a looking over, then leave him to Edmond and have done with it, but my heart, quailing as it was at an unknown future, firmly told me that that was not the honorable course to follow. I’d already given Edmond to understand that I was benevolently interested in the boy’s welfare, something that surprised him at the time. After thinking about it, my reaction was something of a surprise to me as well, but the words had been said, and I’d have to stand by them. For it was my duty. . . obligation . . . burden. . . .

Good God, but Elizabeth and Oliver were positively alight with anticipation for what was to come. I was hard pressed to keep my shameful cowardice well-hidden—an achievement made particularly difficult because of a craven voice within urging me to bolt and run from the house while I could.

Then I seemed to hear my father’s voice as sometimes happened when I most needed his counsel.

Always move forward, laddie. We’re all in God’s hands and that’s a safe enough place as any in this world.

It helped steady me, helped to drown out my disgraceful whining. Would that he could be here, though. Of course,
then
I’d have to break the news to him. . . .

Later,
I promised myself.

Most of the family members who had stayed overnight after Aunt Fonteyn’s funeral had gone home today, taking their own offspring back to more familiar surroundings. It might have been easier to leave the children at home to begin with, but those parents with long-reaching plans found weddings and funerals to be ideal times to allow the coming generation a chance to meet. Thus were advantageous matches often made a dozen years prior to the actual nuptials.

My son’s mother—and Edmond’s wife—Clarinda Fonteyn, had gone with custom and brought the boy with her. I could assume that it was done for the sake of form so as not to draw attention to him by his absence. Certainly she would not have shown him off to the other adults and kept him safe in the house nursery. She had not dared. His resemblance to me was unmistakable and the reason why she had incited her lover Ridley into murdering me. She’d not wanted me around as a living reminder of her past indiscretion; it would have spoiled her plans for her future.

Clarinda had had many ambitions—dangerous for me and for her husband, and entirely fatal for Aunt Fonteyn. Edmond and I had survived them, but what effect the aftermath of her acts would have on young Richard was yet to be determined.

“Here,” said Elizabeth, pausing and touching my arm. “I thought you should have a present to give him.” She drew a parcel from a hidden pocket in her wide skirts and thrust it at me.

Nonplussed, I accepted it, staring as if I might see through the wrappings and string to what lay within.

“It’s a toy horse,” she explained before I could ask. “Oliver’s idea.”

“If that’s all right with you, Coz,” he added. “I mean, I had one myself. You don’t mind, do you?”

I spread my hands, deeply touched by their consideration. “Before God, I think I’ve got the best family that ever was.”

“This small part of ’em, anyhow. I’d not be too certain about the rest of the lot if I were you. They’re all mad in one way or another y’know. Hope the boy takes after you and not Clar—well. . . that is to say. . . .” He suddenly went very red.

“Oh, let’s not be silly about this,” Elizabeth said, regarding us both with a severe eye. “All right, so young Richard’s mother is what she is. That need not affect him in an adverse manner unless we do it ourselves by behaving strangely every time her name comes up in conversation. Jonathan, do you not recall how Father dealt with the subject whenever we inquired after Mother as children?”

“Vividly.”

“How?” asked Oliver.

“He’d tell us that she had to be away from home because she was ill and did not want us to become sick as well,” she answered.

Was that not the stark truth of it?
I
thought. Later, when we were older, Father explained that Mother’s illness had to do more with her mind and spirit than her body. Now did we understand the extent of damage that might have been done to us had she remained with her family and not gone off to live far away.

“Since Jonathan wants to make himself a part of Richard’s life, then I think it best that we decide here and now how to behave ourselves concerning Clarinda. I had a long talk with Edmond about it today—”

“Edmond?” I yelped.

“Certainly, little brother. You weren’t in a condition to do so, and as the boy’s aunt, I also have an interest in his future.”

Clarinda’s cuckolded husband. With all my physical advantages over normal men and despite the fact that we were on reasonably amicable terms considering the outrageousness of the situation, even I was subject to a tremor or two when it came to facing Edmond Fonteyn. That Elizabeth had done so and apparently emerged unscathed raised my already high respect for her capabilities to a yet loftier elevation.

“We had a constructive conversation about the whole business,” she said, “and he promises to be quite reasonable about how to deal with Richard concerning Clarinda. In fact, he thought that Father’s example would work perfectly for him in every way as well.”

“You told him about Mother?”

“Certainly, since he knew about Aunt Fonteyn and her ways. He expressed great curiosity to me over how we managed to turn out to be so sensible. I thought it the polite thing to inform him.”

Unspoken was my thought that Edmond might have been comparing us to Oliver and found my cousin somewhat lacking. Not that Oliver was a fool; it just suited him to assume the role when the need arose. The need, unfortunately, seemed to occur most often whenever Edmond was around.

“Is it agreeable to you both that we should follow this direction?” she asked, knowing full well we’d have to say yes. We did not dare disappoint her. “That’s resolved, then. Are there any other points that we need to discuss?”

“I have one,” said Oliver. “What does Edmond plan to do when the rest of the family twigs on who the boy’s real father is?”

“We did not precisely address that issue, but I got the impression he’d stare them down and dare ’em to say a word to his face.”

“That’s fine for him, he can take care of himself, but when people start whispering and the other children start bullying the lad—”

“I think that will be best worked out as it happens,” I cautiously put in.

Elizabeth favored me with an approving look and turned again to Oliver. “Anything else?”

“One more thing, I fear. What are we to tell the boy? He’ll have to learn about his true parentage, y’know”

For this, Elizabeth made no response. They looked expectantly at me. I raised and dropped my hands, giving in to pure helplessness. “I’ll have to talk to Edmond about it, I suppose. But for now, the boy’s only four, the knowledge will hardly mean anything to him, nor would it do him much benefit. Such a topic can wait until the time is right for it to be addressed.”

“Well said,” Oliver commented. “I suppose I worry too much and too far ahead of myself for anyone’s good.”

“I believe that it has become your lot to have to do so. You’re head of the family now, aren’t you?”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yes, God help me. They’re already coming forward, wanting me to settle disputes—or should I say take sides. You’d think I was a judge and not a doctor the way they go on about their squabbles.”

“You’ll do all right.”

“Humph. Easy for you to say, Coz, you’re well out of it for the day. Wish I could hide in the cellar when they come calling with a new problem.”

“No, you
don’t
,” I
told him with such absolute sincerity that he laughed.

“What? You’ve no liking for sleeping the day through and avoiding its troubles?”

“I told you that it’s not really sleep—”

“Bother it, you know what I mean.”

“Indeed I do, but I’d gladly take on a bit of trouble if a bit of real daylight went with it, too.”

My wistful tone turned him instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, I should have thought first before—”

“No, you shouldn’t. You’re fine just as you are.” Best to curtail
that
kind of thinking, or my poor cousin would end up apologizing every time he opened his mouth for a jest. “I’m the one who’s too serious around here. My point was that it is a wise thing to have a care on what you wish for. Now if you
really
want to spend the day skulking in a damp cellar and never ever taste brandy again—”

He raised both hands in a horrified shudder. “Enough, enough already! You make my skin crawl. Ugh!”

Good humor was restored. “Right then. You’ve reminded me of something. I’ve a question for you, Elizabeth.”

She tilted her head expectantly.

“Tell me, dear Sister, was it you who went home and fetched some of my earth today?”

Because of the many distractions the night before I’d had no time to return to my usual sanctuary under Oliver’s house in town and had to seek shelter from the dawn in the cellars of Fonteyn House. Safe enough from the hazards of daylight it was, but when denied the comfort of my native soil I was subject to an endless series of bad dreams and powerless to escape them until the setting of the sun. This time, though, the infernal dreams mysteriously curtailed themselves, and against expectation I achieved a decent day’s rest. Upon awakening this evening I discovered that someone had placed a sackful of earth next to me where I’d made a bed on the floor of an unused wine cupboard.

“I could not go myself—with so much work to do it was impossible to get away,” she said, “but I did dispatch a note to Jericho to send over a quantity. What a blessing it was you taught him to read and write. To have given such strange instructions to the footman verbally, well—there’s enough gossip below-stairs as it is. No need to add to it.”

“Indeed not, and for your trouble you have my thanks. You spared me no end of torment today”

“I’d like to study that aspect of your condition, too,” Oliver put in. “There must be some reason behind it.”

“Perhaps later,” I said, hoping he’d notice my lack of eagerness.

Fortunately, he did. “I see. There’s better things afoot than having your doctor plague you with questions for hours on end. Come along, then, let’s go meet this brat of yours.”

“He’s not a brat,” I objected.

“How do you know? Weren’t you a brat at that age? I was, when I could get away with it, and what fun I had, too.” Eyes aglow, he tucked Elizabeth’s hand over his arm and continued down the hall, leaving me to catch up as best I could.

The nursery looked quite deserted now. The cots and bedding were folded and put away, and their occupants long gone home except for one. Nanny Howard, the tiny woman in charge of this most important post, sat by a sturdy table with sewing in her lap, working by the light of several candles. She glanced up as we entered and without saying a word managed to communicate that we were tardy and no excuses would be accepted for the transgression.

Hers was a kind face, though. She’d been Oliver’s nanny once upon a time, and his regard and respect for her ran broad and deep. Certainly she alone had provided him with his only real source of love and protection when he was growing up under the cold eye and critical tongue of his mother. His expression softened and warmed as he looked at her. He silently excused himself from Elizabeth and went over to take the other woman’s hand, bending to kiss her cheek.