Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (110 page)

“Hallo, Nanny. I was the bad-lad last evening, or so they tell me.”

“Indeed you were. No chocolate for you tonight.”

He ducked his head in mock shame, then she tapped his wrist twice with her free hand in an equally mock slap. “There now, all’s forgiven. Stand up straight and tell me what you’ve been about today.”

“Oh, just seeing to business. What with all that’s happened there’s quite a lot of it going around—like an outbreak of the pox.”

She nodded. “I’ve not been able to tell you how sorry I am about your mother’s death.”

His mouth worked. It seemed clear that Oliver had forgotten the fact until struck with this reminder. He’d been cheerful but moments ago, after all. He had not loved his mother—quite the contrary. This unlooked-for expression of sympathy was genuine, probably making it that much harder to accept. He did, though, murmuring his thanks.

“Are you also here to see Richard?” Nanny Howard asked, her eyes glancing toward me and Elizabeth.

“I should say so. Past time it was done, don’t you think?”

“Well past time. I was about to put him to bed. He gets cross when he’s kept up too late.”

“Oh, but I meant—oh, never mind. Bring him out and let’s have a good look at the fellow.”

She stood and rustled into an adjoining room.

If my heart was still capable of beating, now would be the time for it to recommence that duty; perhaps then my chest would not feel so appallingly tight. A great lump tied to rise and lodge in my throat, and I found myself swallowing hard and repeatedly in a vain effort to push it down.

Elizabeth slipped her hand into mine. “It’s all right. He’s only a little boy.”

“I know, but—”

“It’s all
right
,” she said, squeezing my fingers.

Another unsuccessful swallow. What would he think of me? Would he even think anything? Would he like me? What would he call me?

Nanny Howard provided an answer at least for the last of the many panic-inspired questions bombarding my overactive brain. Herding her charge into the room, she said, “Come along now and meet your cousins, there’s a good lad.”

He tottered hesitantly in ahead of her, and such a little creature he seemed to me with his diminutive limbs and overly solemn expression. Thick black hair, fine pale skin, huge blue eyes and rosy lips, he hung back by Nanny Howard, frowning a bit at this formidable gathering of adults. He came in nonetheless.

“He’s your living image,” Oliver said under his breath.

“In miniature,” said Elizabeth in the same hushed tone. “Oh, he’s beautiful, Jonathan.”

As though I could take much credit for the boy All I’d done was provide seed for his mother to conceive him. Despite the hasty and imprudent circumstances of that illicit joining, I had to admit that the results were astonishing.

Mrs. Howard urged him forward. “Richard, this is your Cousin Oliver. Remember how you were taught to greet people?”

Mouth pursed in concentration, Richard nodded and made a deep bow, hand to the waist of his petticoats. “At your service, sir,” he said, the seriousness of his manner making an appealing contrast to his light, piping voice.

“And yours, young master,” Oliver gravely responded.

“Oliver’s the head of the family now, did you know that?” Mrs. Howard asked of the boy.

Whatever it might mean to Richard, he decided that another bow was in order and so executed one in good form. This time Oliver returned it with a dignified nod of his head, but he was struggling hard not to smile.

Mrs. Howard turned the boy slightly to face his second visitor. “And this is your pretty Cousin Elizabeth.”

“How do you do, Cousin Richard?” Elizabeth asked. She was positively quivering from inner excitement. Above all the others I could hear her heart pattering away as she extended her hand toward him. He bowed deeply over it, grand as a young prince at court.

“Very well, thank you.” There seemed to be a hint of guarded interest in his eyes for her.

“How old are you?”

“I am four, and next year I shall be five. How old are you?”

This brought forth an admonishment from Mrs. Howard that that was not a proper question for a gentleman to ask a lady. He then inquired why it was so.

“We’ll discuss it later. Now you must greet Miss Elizabeth’s brother. This is your Cousin Jonathan, and he’s come all the way from America to meet you.”

Reminded of his social duty, Richard bowed and I returned it. Doubtless our respective dancing masters would have been well pleased.

“What’s ’Merica?” he demanded, looking me right in the eye.

“It’s a land very far from here,” I told him.

“Is it farther than Lon’on?”

“Oh, yes. Very much farther. Right across the ocean.”

“What ocean? I can tell them all to you, the ’Lantic, the Pacific, the Ind’n. . . .”

“Stop showing off, Richard,” said Mrs. Howard.

He subsided, pouting at the interruption of his recitation.

“You’re well up on your geography, aren’t you?” I asked

He nodded.

“Do you know your letters and numbers, too?”

Another nod.

“Mr. Fonteyn is most particular that the boys have their lessons early and regular.” Mrs. Howard had not referred to Edmond Fonteyn as Richard’s father, I noted, wondering if that was a conscious effort on her part.

“Boys? Oh, yes. Richard’s older brother.” I recalled Clarinda mentioning him, but not his name.

“Away at school, bless his heart. And then this one will be off himself in a few short years. They grow up much too fast for me.”

I vaguely agreed with her and found myself first staring at Richard, then trying hard not to stare. Shifting from one foot to the other, I experienced the uncomfortable realization that I’d run out of things to say to him.

Elizabeth came to my rescue with a gentle tap on the package I held in one arm and had quite forgotten. I shot her a look of gratitude and knelt to be at a better level with Richard.

“Do you like presents?” I asked him. “If you do, then this one is yours.”

From his reaction as he took the package, I gathered that he very much liked presents. The string baffled him a moment, but Mrs. Howard’s sewing scissors removed it as an obstacle. A few seconds of frenzied action accomplished the release of his prize from the wrappings, and he crowed and held up a truly magnificent horse for all to see. Shiny black with a brightly painted saddle and bridle, it was lifelike, carved in a noble pose with an arched neck and tail.

“By George,” said Oliver, “if it doesn’t look like that great beast you brought over with you.”

Elizabeth beamed. “That’s the reason why I picked that one over the others in the shop. It reminded me of Rolly.”

“You’re brilliant,” I told her.

“Aren’t I just?”

“Who’s Rolly?” asked Richard, his bright gaze momentarily shifting toward us.

“Rolly’s my own horse,” I said. “He’s a big black one with some white on his face just like the one you have there. I’ll. . . I’ll give you a ride on him some day, if you like.”

“Yes, please!”

“Not so loud,” Mrs. Howard cautioned. “A gentleman never raises his voice to another, you know”

“Yes, please,” he repeated in a much lower pitch.

“And what do we say when we get a gift?”

“Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome, I’m sure,” I said, feeling shaky inside because I liked this far too much.
’Fore God, what am I getting myself into?

Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Richard darted away and began playing with his new toy, strutting back and forth through the room as though practicing the art of dressage. He provided a variety of horse noises to go with his imagined exhibition, from whinnies to the clip-clop of hooves.

“A success,” Elizabeth observed, leaning toward my ear.

“To you goes the credit, if not the thanks.”

“I got my thanks when I saw the look on your face.”

“Don’t you mean his?”

“I mean yours while he opened it up. You looked ready to burst.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you not?”

Oliver, not to be excluded, got Richard to pause long enough in his parade to ask if he liked chocolate.

“Yes, please!” he bellowed, drawing Mrs. Howard’s mild reproof again.

“Well, let’s see what I have in my pocket,” Oliver said, digging deep. “Here we are—I think. Yes, there it is.” He produced a fat twist of paper, collecting a thanks from Richard, who carried off this second prize to enjoy on his own in a far corner of the room.

“You’re not to be spoiling him, Mr. Oliver,” Mrs. Howard said, hands on her hips.

“Just this once won’t hurt.”

“Only this once. More than that and I don’t care how big you are, I’ll put you over my knee just like I used to years ago.”

“No doubt. Then I shall consider myself warned off. Does that rule against spoiling infants apply to Jonathan and Elizabeth, too?”

He had her there, and knew it, though she continued to favor him with an arch gaze.

“Of course, we won’t presume to infringe on what you deem to be best for the boy, Mrs. Howard,” Elizabeth promised. But I knew my sister and had seen that particular look on her face many times before. Richard was going to reap a bountiful crop of gifts from his aunt in the future.

“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” By her tone, I gathered that Nanny Howard was not for one moment fooled, either. “Well, custom says that first meetings should be brief and polite, and it’s past his bedtime. . . . ”

“I don’t want to go to bed,” Richard announced. Chocolate smeared the lower part of his face and coated his fingers. Mrs. Howard swooped on him, pulling a handkerchief from her apron pocket. There followed a short struggle as she cleaned away the worst before the stains wandered to his pinafore. She must have dressed him in his best for the occasion, so her anxiety to spare his garment from damage was understandable. It reminded me of my own tribulations in the nursery and how glad I’d been to forsake my child’s petticoats for my first suit of boy’s clothing. He was at least two years away from that glorious rite of passage. I wondered if he’d lie awake nearly all night as I’d done, too excited with anticipation to sleep.

“You seem pensive, little brother.”

“Oh, not a bit of it. Just watching.”

Duty done, Mrs. Howard invited Richard to bid us good night. He did so with notable hesitation, but I thought it had less to do with parting from our company than with a natural reluctance to give up the day and go to sleep. Mrs. Howard took him in hand and led him off to the next room. They’d just reached the door when with a cry he broke away from her and darted over to where he’d left his toy horse. He seized it strongly in both hands, hugging it to his body, and marched back.

Then he paused, turned and looked me right in the eye as before, and flashed me the devil’s own grin.

Then he was gone.

My mouth had popped open. What breath I had within simply left, as if it had other business to attend. I stood as dumbfounded as one can be and still have consciousness, though there was little enough evidence of that in my frozen brain. I was dimly aware of Elizabeth exclaiming words of approval to Oliver and his own reply, but blast me if I was able to discern anything of their speech.

I felt light and heavy at the same time, and if my heart no longer beat, then surely it gave a mighty lurch when that exquisite child smiled at me so. My sight misted over. I blinked to clear it, wondering what on earth was the matter with me.

And then I knew, as clearly and as brightly as though lighted up by a thousand candles. I knew in that moment that I
loved
the boy. My child. My
son.

Just like that.

“Jonathan?” Elizabeth pressed a hand on my arm. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head at her foolishness. And at my own foolishness. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.”

* * *

“Come on, Elizabeth, you must have something to celebrate meeting your nephew,” said Oliver. “Since Jonathan can’t join in, you’ll have to make up for his place in a toast.”

“I should be delighted to try, but if you give me anything stronger than barley water or better yet, some tea, I shall fall asleep here and now.”

“Asleep! After all that?”

“Especially after all that.”

We’d returned to Oliver’s drawing room to find the fire in need of revival. Eschewing the employment of a servant, Oliver set himself to the task, being full of considerable energy and needing to work it off. He did ring for someone to bring in some form of refreshment, though. He chose port for himself and dutifully ordered a pot of tea for Elizabeth.

“You’ll be awash with this later when dinner’s done,” he warned her after a maid had come and gone leaving behind a loaded tray.

“I’m tempted to avoid dinner altogether and have something sent to my room,” she said, pouncing on the teapot like a she-cat on a mouse.

“What? Leaving me to face the remaining crowd on my own?”

“Hardly a crowd, Oliver. There’s just a few elderly aunts and uncles left, after all.”

“And the lot of ’em starin’ at me the whole time like a flock of gouty crows. Don’t you think they aren’t interested in the goings-on last night, because they are. I managed to keep out of their way so far, but there’ll be no escaping them at dinner.” He shuddered, pouring himself a generous glass of the port, then downing the greater part of it.

Elizabeth was not without pity. “Very well, for your sake I’ll play hostess and talk about the weather should anyone ask you an embarrassing question.”

“Thank you, dear Coz. The weather! Excellent topic! There’s nothing they like better than to discuss how bad it’s been and how much better it was when they were younger. We’ll give ’em a real debate on it. Well, that’s all solved. Now, about young Richard. . . .”

“What about him?”

“I was only going to say what a fine lad he seems to be. What about you, Jonathan? We’ve not heard a peep from you since we came down.”

Both looked at me, but I had nothing to say. I was so full of feeling that words seemed pointless.

“I think my brother is still in the thrall of shock,” Elizabeth observed. Smiling, I shrugged in a way to indicate that she was more than a little correct.