Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (117 page)

“And bladder operations are the sort of thing you enjoy reading up on?”

“Hardly, but it caught my eye. I was really looking for news about the war and was distracted away by the account.”

“So how is the war going?” I asked, eager for a change of subject, any change at all. I vaguely recalled reading the bladder article myself and had no desire to have my memory refreshed.

“It was a September issue, so their news was dated. All they had was what we already knew when we left; that, and some account of the rebels indulging in a paroxysm of prayer and fasting last July fourth to aid their ill-considered cause. But the December issue is no better. There’s not one word in it about General Burgoyne’s defeat.”

I threw myself into a chair, hooking one leg over its arm. “They’re probably afraid it will prove to be too disheartening to the public. Too late for that, though. I’ll wager the King and his cronies know all there is to know, and they hope by keeping quiet the whole nasty business will be forgotten.”

“Then they are bound to be disappointed, especially if all the rumors in the papers are true.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are. I overheard quite a lot during the funeral.” A few of the men in the Fonteyn and Marling clans possessed an inside ear to the private workings of the government and when closely questioned, became rather free with their information, most notably after the Madeira started flowing.

“So did I,” she said, one corner of her mouth curling down. “If it’s true, then we may be here for good.”

“I thought we were, anyway. That’s what Father—or did he tell you differently?”

She made a sour face at me. “Father’s moving here for good, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that I have.”

This was more than startling news to me. My belly gave a twist as I sat up straight to face her. “What? You want to go back? Into the middle of a war?”

“Certainly not, but the war can’t last forever.”

“And then you’d go back?”

“I don’t know. London’s just wonderful from what I’ve seen of it, but I do get so homesick sometimes.”

“And you might return to Long Island after the war finishes?” This came out as less of a question and more like a woebegone whine.

“I’ve thought of it. But please don’t excite yourself yet, little brother. All I’ve done is think about it.”

“Then thank God for that.” But I was still unnerved.

“Your concern is most flattering.”

“I had no idea you felt this way.”

“Normally I don’t, but it caught up with me today after reading this rubbish. I came suddenly all over homesick. I miss Father and worry for him. Once he’s here in England, things will brighten up.”

“I’m sure they will.” I sincerely hoped so, being much attached to my sister. Though ever considerate for her happiness and comfort, the thought of her moving back, perhaps forever, to Long Island made a cold and heavy knot in my heart. I should not like that to happen at all. “I miss Father, too,” I added.

“Have you written to him yet?”

“Well. . .” I hedged. “I’ve started a letter, but there’s been so much to do with Richard—”

“Bother that.” Some of her dark mood appeared to drop away, and she favored me with a severe eye. “I’ve heard you complain time and again how heavy the early morning hours are before your bedtime when you’ve gotten tired of reading and there’s no one to talk to except the night watch.”

I favored her with a sour face in return. “Be fair, Elizabeth, how do you think I can put all that’s happened into a letter? ‘Dear Father, Cousin Clarinda murdered Mother’s sister, and damned-near got her husband and myself as well. By the way, I’ve taken in Clarinda’s boy, who’s turned out to be my son, so congratulations, you’re now a grandfather. How are things faring with you?’ He’d burst a blood vessel.”

Elizabeth found a cushion on the settee and threw it with a great deal of force, catching me square on the nose. “If you send him such a letter I’ll burst a blood vessel—one of yours.”

The cushion dropped to my lap, and I punched it a few times, cheered by her show of temper. “All right, all right, I know better, but it’s still anything but an easy task. If you’re so keen to let him know what’s happened, why don’t
you
write him?”

“Because it’s your business; therefore it’s your responsibility.”

“But you’re the eldest, as you frequently remind me. Besides, you have the better handwriting.”

“Jonathan, if I were a man I’d call you a coward and issue a challenge here and now.”

“You’d never get satisfaction, because I’d here and now freely admit that concerning this matter I’m as craven as a rabbit.”

“And properly ashamed of it, I hope.”

“Dreadfully ashamed. In fact, I’m quite paralyzed from it, so much so that I don’t think I could possibly lift pen to—”

Elizabeth reached for another cushion.

“That is to say. . . never mind.”

She put her potential projectile back, smiling a cat’s smile. Now
that
was a good sign.

Teasing done and peace preserved, I continued. “It would be easier if we heard from him first. Surely he’s written by now.”

“I’m sure he must have, but with the war going on, his letters might be delayed or stopped altogether. Those damned rebels have ships and guns, too.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d find a way to get something through. He’s got enough well-placed friends to help him. What I’m thinking is that he might have sold the house by now and already be on his way here.”

“I hope not—a winter crossing. . . .” She shivered, expressing a real concern for the dangers. “But that aside, you still have to do something about this yourself. Oliver and I will help, but in the end, it is your task.”

“I know. But making a proper job of it requires a lot of thought and I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

She made no effort in the least to stifle her laughter. I threw the cushion back, but missed. It landed harmlessly on the magazines next to her.

“Very well,” I grumbled when she had control of herself again. “I’ll make a start on it tonight, though what I’ll say to him will be anyone’s guess.”

“I’m sure the simple truth in the order it happened will be fine.”

“But there’s such a deuced lot of it and—oh, heavens—what if Mother should see it?” We both knew Mother was not beyond opening and reading her husband’s letters when the chance presented itself.

Elizabeth’s mouth crimped into an unflattering frown. “If she’s determined to commit such a trespass, then she should be prepared to accept the consequences.”

“I’m all for it, but my worry is what the consequences will be for Father.”

“I expect that should the worst happen, he’ll just call Dr. Beldon to give her a draught of laudanum, then Mrs. Hardinbrook will pat her hand and offer shrill sympathy as usual.”

“If he manages to keep the letter from Mother, I hope Father won’t tell her about Richard.” My description to Mrs. Howard of Mother’s likely reaction was no exaggeration. Far better for all concerned that she never learned of the child’s existence.

“He won’t, if you ask for his discretion.”

“Be assured of my utter determination to do so. But I’m tired of this. Let’s talk about Richard instead.”

“I wondered how long it would take for you to get ’round to him. Sooner than this, I would have thought.”

“Don’t fret, I’ll make up for the delay. We had a wonderful time tonight.”

“So Oliver and I observed whenever you came hurtling through. Did you win your race?”

“Oh, dozens of ‘em.” Taking this as an invitation, I told her every detail of what we’d done. “He’s terribly smart, y’know,” I concluded, sometime later, after letting her know about the attempted lesson in fractions and the chapbook.

“I know.”

“I think he really was reading along with me. He knows all his letters, at least up to M, anyway. I’ll take him through the rest of the alphabet tomorrow night.”

“That should be nice.”

“Something wrong?”

“I hope not.” But her face was serious again. I feared a return of her melancholy.

“Then what is it that you hope is not wrong?”

“Perhaps I’m too much the worrier, but I need some assurance from you.

“On what?”

Her ears went pink. “This is entirely foolish of me. I know you, but I can’t seem to quell the worry.”

“What worry? Come now and tell me.”

“It’s just that Richard is tremendous fun for you right now. Everything’s new and exciting. But this is for
life,
for both of you. I have to know that you’ll be there for him when he needs more than a playmate. That you’ll look after him when things are serious as well, the way Father’s always done for us.” Her words came out in a rush, clear evidence of her embarrassment.

In my own heart I’d already thought along those same paths, worrying that once the novelty of Richard’s presence wore off, I’d find other pursuits to occupy me. “Of course I will,” I answered quietly. “He was a surprise at first, but now I cannot and will not imagine life without him. Elizabeth—know this: that boy is part of my very soul and always will be.”

Her face cleared. Then she smiled, a small one, and gave an equally small sigh. “Thank you for not being angry.”

I shrugged. “Hearing your concerns for him is my pleasure. You’ve nothing to fault yourself with. I won’t pretend to assume I’ll make as good a job of it with him as Father did for us, but certainly I’ll do my best.”

“I don’t understand why I thought you might do anything less. I needed to hear you say it, I suppose.”

“It’s because you’re my sister. You’ve seen
me
as a child howling away over scraped knees and a bloody nose, and it’s hard to accept that the boy you hold in your memory can handle a man’s business when he’s grown. Good heavens, there’s many that can’t no matter how old they get.”

“Too true.” We regarded each other, peace restored—I hoped—to her heart and mine. For all the fun and frolic with Richard, I held a keen and clear awareness of the attendant responsibility. In odd moments I sometimes gave in to fear and quailed at the enormous weight of it, of raising a child, but then I’d had a more than decent raising and could draw upon memories of my father’s example when necessary. With this and guidance from others I had reasonable expectation of not making a mess of things. Still and all, I would be very,
very
glad when Father arrived in England.

Perhaps I should wait a bit before seeking out a house, on the chance that he would want to help in the choosing. Much of his law practice had been occupied with the details on the buying and selling of property and boundary disputes. I’d welcome his vast experience. Damnation, but there would be a thousand decisions to make. The place might even require extensive furnishing. Elizabeth would be of excellent help there. Furnishings. . . .

“I was just thinking, dear Sister. . . .”

Her glance towrad me was sharpish. I only used that particular form of address when I wanted something and well did she know it.

“Do you think you could teach Richard to play the spinet?”

“I could try, if I had a spinet upon which to teach.”

“I was planning to get you one.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. But isn’t he a bit young, yet?”

“Oh, it’s never too early to learn. They say that fellow Mozart started just as young, and he ended up playing before all the royal courts.”

“Mozart was born with musical talent—what if Richard takes after you?”

“Then I’ll teach him to ride horses instead, and you’ll still have a fine instrument. Tomorrow I want you to run out and find the best spinet in London and have them cart it over right away. But that aside, I miss hearing you play.”

Her expression softened. “Why, thank you!”

“And get a carpet, too.”

Now did her expression abruptly pinch into blank perplexity. “A carpet?”

“Yes, a nice big thick one, the thickest you can find. I promised Mrs. Howard one for the nursery and said the three of you could go shopping for it tomorrow. Richard should have a say in the choosing, too, I thought.”

“How kind of you to find so many enjoyable things for me to do,” she said dryly.

“Not at all. I suppose you’ll need to take measurements or something so it will fit. You’ll find a measuring stick up there, unless Mrs. Howard has given it back to Jericho. I was teaching him about fractions—Richard, that is, not Jericho—with it. Perhaps you can find a carpet for Mrs. Howard’s room, too. An excellent woman, we’re so lucky to have her, and I want her made as comfortable as may be.

“Heavens, Jonathan, I don’t even have a carpet for
my
room!”

I waved a careless hand. “Then indulge yourself at my expense.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” she muttered darkly.

Dear me, but I knew
that
look. Time for a bit of placation or I’d have another pillow in my face. “Well, I’ve gone on quite long enough. Why don’t you tell me everything you did today?”

Elizabeth sighed, apparently exasperated by this latest sudden change in subject, then composed herself to give a summation of the day’s events. As with Jericho, it had become a regular custom between us for her to tell me the news I’d missed while lying oblivious in the cellar.

“Well, to start with, Charlotte Bolyn has invited us to—”

“No, no, no, I don’t mean that rot! Tell me all that happened with you and
Richard.
”

She picked up the cushion and once more—and with considerable force—managed to strike my nose dead on.

* * *

In an effort to preserve my battered countenance from additional damage, I decided to intrude upon Oliver’s ruminations, hoping he wouldn’t be too far gone in study for a bit of company. Upon hearing my knock he grunted something that might loosely be interpreted as an invitation to enter. I took it as such and pushed the door open.

His own sanctuary was part study, part consulting room, to be used on those occasions to interview patients when he was not out making calls on them. His practice wasn’t a busy one, but he kept himself active with it. Most of his patients were from within his broad circle of friends, and being of a gregarious sort, he often as not paid visits as much to socialize as to render aid. Unless his services as a physician were actually required, he never charged for those visits, claiming he was content enough with the distraction of agreeable company. This made him popular, but it was just as well for him that he had income inherited from Grandfather Fonteyn or he’d not be living in his present comfortable circumstances.