Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (121 page)

“I see wot I see, sir. Thank you kindly, sir, ’n’ bless you,” he said in response to the shilling I slipped him. I bade him a good morning and began to walk away, but he hailed for me to stop a moment more. “There’s one thing botherin’ me ’bout them Mohocks, sir.”

He had my full attention. “What would that be?”

“They walked right past me without hardly a look—which as I’ve said, ’s fine with me. But ’s been my experience that they always ’ave at least a curse or two to throw at the watch. Nothin’ like that tonight. They just walked past, lookin’ at the houses like a pack o’ damned foreigners. It was dark ’n’ they was a ways down so I couldn’t tell to swear to it, but I think they was payin’ some extra mind to yer ’ouse—Dr. Marling’s ’ouse, that is.”

I didn’t like the sound of this. “Staring at it, you mean?”

“That’s what I’m not too sure of, sir. ’F it’d been plain I’d ’ave come ’round to let you know about it, but it wasn’t, so I didn’t. The ’pression I got was they might ‘a’ looked at it a bit longer than the other ’ouses, ’n’ for that I can’t rightly swear to on a Bible. Just thought I should mention it now since yer ’ere ’n’ all. I don’t mean t’ be troubling ’r worryin’ ye’.”

“Not at all, Mr. Dunnett. As I see it, you’re only doing your duty. I’m grateful you told me. Do you recall what time they came by?”

“Not long after midnight, ’f the church bells rang true.”

By then I’d have been deeply occupied with my letter writing and the rest of the house asleep. It may have been nothing, but recent events gave me many excellent reasons to be cautious. Also, though endeavoring to bring a change for the better to Ridley and Arthur, it did not mean their friends would also be favorably affected by such reformation.

This time I pressed a handful of shillings into Dunnett’s hand, and he was sufficiently overwhelmed to start protesting that it was too much. “Not nearly enough,” I said. “If ever you see anything of a similar nature in the future, I want you to come straight to the house as soon as you’re able and let me know. You need have no fear of waking me no matter how late the hour—that is to say, if I’m home. If I’m not, then be sure to tell Dr. Marling or Miss Barrett or Jericho, understand? I’ll see to it they hear what you’ve just told me.”

“You ’specting trouble?”

“Not expecting, but it suits me to know all I can about anything to do with Mohocks. That duel I fought may not be quite finished yet. Friends of the man who lost might want to reopen the contest, but not on the field of honor, if you take my meaning.”

“God bless you, sir, I understand clear as day. Y’ can count on me.”

I bade him a good morning and continued down the street, wanting to stretch my legs and needing to think. Neither activity took long. I walked fast and thought faster.

Tomorrow night, before anything else, I’d pay a call upon Ridley and see to it he kept his friends in check. Arthur Tyne would also briefly receive me as his guest, like it or not. I didn’t believe either man to be much, if any sort, of a threat to me or my family now, but had learned to value caution over carelessness.

The Mohocks Mr. Dunnett had observed might have had nothing to do with Ridley. There were dozens, if not hundreds of their ilk roaming the city at all hours of the night. Word of the duel might have reached some kindred group and they’d only come to look at the house out of curiosity and nothing more.

And, of course, I was not prepared to believe
that
.

Even knowing it was much too late by now to look for any sign of their band, I surrendered to the desire to take in a broader view of the area. Tucking the ends of my cloak close around my body, I gave the street a quick glance up and down to make sure it was deserted. Only then did I vanish. The world faded to a gray nothingness, though I soon had ample evidence of its continued existence despite my apparent leaving of it.

Well-a-day, but I’d underestimated the
wind
.

The beastly stuff must have blown me a good hundred yards before I knew what was happening. It tumbled me about as easily as that discarded newspaper, and I had to fight it with more than the usual effort of will required for this mode of movement. The wind felt every bit as solid to me without a visible body as with one. After a stint of hard work I managed to force my way back and upward until I reckoned myself to be well above the tops of the immediate houses. Then did I take on the barest amount of solidity to see exactly where I’d gotten myself.

I was just within sight of Mr. Dunnett’s box and silently crowed with an inward congratulation I certainly didn’t deserve, for it had all been luck. I hovered over this one place a moment, decided it was possible to continue with this folly despite the weather, then went higher. There the wind slacked off a bit, easing my work. Doubtless its strength was worse closer to the ground, being whipped up by its passage between the city’s many buildings, like that of a river being forced to flow between the pylons of a bridge. The more narrow their placement, the greater the speed of the water.

When I was well over the tops of the tallest chimneys and holding in one spot like a kite on a string, I gave the streets within range of my cloudy vision a thorough examination. All was as I’d expected, quiet and unremarkable—if one could describe so unorthodox a view as such. I chided myself for taking this aspect of my miraculous condition for granted.

Below stretched the walkways and cobbled streets, some empty, others showing scatterings of people either starting to wake for the coming day or trudging wearily to bed from the closing night. None of their number looked to be Mohocks; on that point I was torn between annoyance and relief.

Relief, I finally decided. If I’d spotted any of them from my high prospect I might have been tempted to investigate their business, and that might have led to several sorts of unpleasant and time-consuming complications. The morning would be here soon to send me into another day’s oblivion. I’d have my fun tomorrow night. For now, I would put away my worry since there was nothing I could do about it and try to enjoy my remaining moments of consciousness.

Not a difficult task, that.

Except for a rare balloonist, no others would ever share this sight; I was one of a tiny number and needed to be more aware of and thankful for the privilege. A cartographer drawing at his map might also have so fascinating a view, though all would have to take place in his imagination. He could measure out the streets and write their names, even add tiny squares to his work to mark individual houses, but could never put in details as I saw them. Could he see the shadows of the people coming and going from those houses and wonder how their lives and fortunes fared? Could he fill his flat paper streets with the movement of life that I observed like a god from on high? Perhaps he did to some extent, but he could never actually know it as I did. It was glorious and at the same time sadly dispiriting. My dismay came from the knowledge I could not share this with anyone. I was doing the impossible, and though exhilarating beyond imagining, it was also unutterably lonely.

I thought of Nora. Of all the people of the earth, she was the only one who could possibly understand my feeling, could possibly share it, cherish it.

Though she must certainly possess this ability, I’d never heard her speak of doing it. She was ever careful to keep the differences of her changed nature well hidden, using her own talent for influencing others to maintain the illusion she was no different from any other normal woman.

But she was different. Different because I
loved
her.

The remembrance of her face, her voice swept over me more strongly than the wind. I twisted like a leaf and began to descend. Swiftly.

The need to keep that illusion was important to her. I’d seen how it had been when, with the cruel thrust of a blade, Tony Warburton had torn it from her.

I spiraled down, down, down, skimming close to the harsh brick of the buildings.

Where are you, Nora? Why did you let me go? Why did you not tell me what would happen?

I took on solidity. Weight.

Perhaps she’d been unwilling to share her knowledge with me because of that need to pretend. God knows she was reticent enough with all else. I dropped faster.

Perhaps she thought her silence had all been for my own good.

Faster.

Perhaps she’d been unsure of my love for her, or worse, unsure of her own for me.

I went solid.

With a jolt that shot right through my spine I landed hard on the cobbles. The violence of the impact was too great for my legs to bear. A bone snapped. I heard the sickening crack quite clearly. I fell and rolled. The pain followed a second later, wrenching from me a strangled cry.

Then I vanished away, my ability to do so overcoming self-control. The wind seized me and fetched me up against a building before releasing its grip.

Solid again, I sprawled on some freezing cold steps trying to writhe away from my internal torment and failing.

Perhaps . . . she’d never really loved me at all.

CHAPTER SIX

“Melancholia,” Oliver pronounced, glaring at me from his chair by the parlor fire.

I voiced no response, only shrugged, though I tended toward full agreement with him.

“It must be from this black stuff hanging from the windows and mirrors,” Elizabeth put in, also favoring me with a dour look as she stirred her tea. “And having the curtains being drawn all the time so as not to offend the neighbors.”

“Oh, that will soon change,” Oliver said, reaching for a biscuit. “I’ll not care who’s offended. God knows Mother never worried about offending people but—back to your good brother’s complaint—put those things together with it being winter and without a doubt you have a rampant case of melancholia.”

“What will you do about it?” she asked him.

“An outing is in order, I think. Nothing like a change of scenery to change one’s outlook. Didn’t he say he wanted to go to the bookstalls and hunt for plays?”

“Yes. He promised our cousin Anne. . . .”

And so they went on, drinking tea and talking about me as though I wasn’t there. All intentional, of course, sounding almost rehearsed. I withstood it patiently.

Melancholia was a fairly close description for my state. Earlier this evening my hour with Richard had helped, but only for that hour. Once he was tucked away and asleep I tiredly trudged to my own room for Jericho to repair the damage wrought by playing with a lively four-year-old. He caught me up on the day’s events and, as he brushed out my coat, cautiously asked if I’d enjoyed my walk the night before. I told him I had, offering no explanation for the condition of my clothes, made filthy from my fall to the street.

Despondency about Nora had seized my spirit, slowing my steps toward home even as the vanguard of dawn began to creep over the eastern sky. The watery light was nothing to the early risers I passed, but blinding to me. For all that I held to a perverse need to risk myself—that, or I simply did not care what happened.

Despite my deliberately laggard progress, I managed to reach my bed in the cellar with time to spare. With time to think.

But I did not want to think.

I’d cast off my cloak and shoes and stretched out on the bags of earth that served as my grave for the day and tried hard not to use my mind. And failed. Miserably. Nora’s face was the last image I saw before oblivion finally came and the first there at its departure. I could still almost see her, in the corner of my eye, in the flame of a candle, in the shadows of an unlighted corner—almost, for invariably when I looked more closely, she disappeared.

Trying to escape the phantasms, I’d eventually come downstairs to join my sister and cousin, mumbling only the most minimal acknowledgments to their greetings. Oliver immediately remarked that I looked like a dejected gravedigger and inquired why, since last night I’d been fairly cheerful. My vague reply was anything but satisfactory to either of them, and that must have set their converse in motion.

Their rapport with each other had now grown to the point that with the exchange of a single look they were able to conduct quite a detailed discussion without uttering a word. The conclusion they reached on the best course of action to take soon manifested itself in this rather artificial conversation about me. I took no offense from it since the overall bent was to eventually put me into a good mood. I wasn’t adverse to the idea of a change to a more pleasant state of heart, but my spirits were so low that I couldn’t see how they’d ever succeed.

However, their obvious concern touched me enough that I at last roused myself to speak in an effort to at least meet them part of the way.

“I’d prefer not to go to Paternoster Row,” I said, interrupting them. Both looked at me expectantly. “Not yet, anyhow. Perhaps a little later.”

“Where, then?” asked Elizabeth.

“The Everitts’ house.”

She raised her brows slightly, knowing the Everitts to be one-time neighbors to Nora Jones.

“I just thought I could look in, find out if they’ve heard any news about Nora since Oliver’s last visit.”

She promptly expressed her approval of my errand. Being familiar with all my moods, she was aware of the usual reason behind my despondencies, and saw the proposal as a means to lift this one.

“Would you like company?” Oliver asked, trying to hold to a neutral tone, but still managing to express hopefulness.

“Very much so, Coz. What about you, good Sister?”

“I’ve had more than my share of London for now, thank you.” She’d spent nearly the whole day out with Mrs. Howard and Richard, shopping for carpets. Their choices were to arrive sometime tomorrow along with Elizabeth’s new spinet.

“Probably just as well,” I said. “I’ll feel easier knowing you’re here to look after things.” It was then I told them about my exchange with Mr. Dunnett and the men he’d seen looking at the house last night.

“Damned Mohocks,” Oliver growled, for once forgetting to apologize to Elizabeth about his language. He never seemed to notice when she used similar terms. “Something should be done about ’em.”

“Not to worry. If I see them, I most certainly will do something about them,” I promised.

“Well, it can’t be safe leaving Elizabeth on her own with those louts lurking about.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Jericho’s here, and I’ll be safe enough if Jonathan loans me his Dublin revolver. Besides, the staff here has nearly doubled in the last week. I’ll just warn them to keep their eyes open, the doors bolted, and have a club handy.”

“It’s a disgrace,” he complained. “Decent people having to go about in terror of a lot of worthless bullies with no more manners than a pack of wild dogs—it’s just not right.”

“No, but I’ll be fine, nonetheless.”

“One of us should stay here with you.”

“Leaving the other to wander the city unprotected? I think not, Coz. Now you both go along before it gets too late to visit and find out what you may about Miss Jones, and I wish you the best of luck at it.”

With this combined blessing and firm dismissal upon our heads, Oliver rang for someone to tell the driver to ready his horses and carriage, then shot off to his room to ready himself. He didn’t get past the lower hall; Jericho was coming down the stairs with our cloaks, hats, and canes. He must have heard my proposal for an expedition.

“You’re more uncanny than your master,” Oliver remarked, staring at the things.

Jericho’s eyelids dipped to half-mast and his lips thinned into a near-smile. I understood that look; he was insufferably pleased with himself. He helped us don the cloaks—he’d long since retrieved mine from the cellar and brushed it clean—and handed over our canes. Oliver’s was topped by a fine knob of gold, marking him as a medical man; mine was less ostentatious, but still identified me as a gentleman of means. Hidden within its length was a yard of good Spanish steel that would also identify me as a gentleman of sense to any footpad or Mohock. I thought of carrying one of my duelers as well, but decided it was unnecessary. The two of us, along with the driver and two footmen, would be safe enough even on London’s dark streets.

Of course, they were not dark for me. Another advantage in our favor.

The carriage was brought along to the front, and I took this time to excuse myself, passing quickly through the house as a shortcut to the stables. They would be empty of activity for a short time while the men and lads were busy. I slipped inside, patting Rolly and by way of a greeting slipped him a stolen carrot from the kitchen. Forbidden fruit—or in this case vegetables—must taste best, for he crunched it down with obvious relish. Moving on to Oliver’s riding horse, I offered him the same treat. The bribe was greedily accepted. In return, I just as greedily supped on a quantity of his blood and felt the better for it. Last night’s efforts and injury had used me up, leaving my body in need of refreshment.

This admirable provender, on top of the prospect of our outing, was beginning to have a favorable effect on me already. I didn’t really expect the Everitts to have fresh news, but it felt good just to to make the effort to find out for certain. Besides, whatever the outcome, the trip we’d planned afterward to Paternoster Row held more attractions for me than mere shopping for plays to send to Cousin Anne to read. This was London, a city bursting with women and opportunities to share their company. If I could not immediately find Nora and settle my questions with her, then I might, for a while at least, find distraction with someone else. Not the same, of course, but passing time with a pretty lady had ever been the best way I’d found for gladdening a sorrowful heart.

Yet another excellent reason to refresh myself. Should things work out as I hoped, I’d not want my prospective liaison spoiled by the needs of my body confusing lust with hunger. I could and had fed on human blood before when forced to by dire need, but when partaking the pleasures of a woman, it was best for us both that I kept control of my appetite. Thus could I prolong our mutual enjoyment without worrying about causing harm to my partner. Such was the way of it for most men—food first, then love—and so I was unchanged from my fellows in that respect, at least.

Necessity seen to and finished, I hurried ’round the house and climbed into the carriage with Oliver.

“What kept y—oh!” he said, when he caught a glimpse of my reddened eyes in the lantern light.

“They’ll be cleared up by the time we get to the Everitts,” I assured him.

“I’m glad to hear it. Most alarming when one doesn’t expect it. You sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“Can’t feel a thing.”

He grunted, then called directions to the driver, who in turn called them to the two footmen. They ran with their torches just ahead of the horses, lighting our way. The lot of them had come from the staff of Fonteyn House. Rather than dismissal, since for the time being there was little work for them there, Oliver had moved them to his house in town and kept them busy. He was still getting used to the idea of having to deal with his vast inheritance and taking on the weight of it in this manner, a little at a time.

I didn’t talk during the ride, content to let Oliver rattle on about his day. He’d paid a call on Tony Warburton and chatted with Mrs. Warburton about her son. Eventually he’d led the conversation around to Nora.

“I made out that Tony had muttered something to me about Nora being ill,” he said. “Then I asked his mother if she knew what he was talking about. She didn’t.”

“You’re certain about that—I mean—she’s certain?”

“Very certain. There’s no need for you to jog her memory with your influence, so your conscience may rest easy now. Her recollections of Nora’s time with them in Italy are most vivid. What with the girl’s kindness for Tony, Mrs. Warburton was quite taken with her. Hung on her every word, if you know what I mean. Anyway, the last she recalled, Nora was fair blooming with health, though perhaps a bit troubled over something.”

“Over what?”

“That I could not say, for the lady herself could not say. She asked if all was well with Nora, and was told that things were fine. Still and all, she was a bit surprised when Nora didn’t turn up in London that summer as she’d practically promised to do so in order to look in on Tony. I know it’s all the same as I’d written before, but at least you know Nora isn’t ill.”

“It could have been something sudden,” I said, unwilling to relinquish the worry so easily. “Something to keep her on the Continent.”

“It could,” he admitted. “But you must try to be optimistic, my lad. Your constitution’s as tough as a country bull’s. Who’s to say that Miss Jones is any different?”

Who, indeed?

We arrived at the Everitts, where I came up with a suggestion. “What about you going in and paying your respects while I give Nora’s house another quiet looking over? It’ll save some time.”

“Save time for what?”

“As long as we’re out, I’ve a mind to visit Ridley and Arthur tonight. Maybe we can catch them while they’re at supper. If those Mohocks that came by have anything to do with them—”

“Say no more, Coz. I’ll hurry things through. I’ll say I have other calls to make, else old Everitt will have me up to his study to look at his beetle collection again.”

We left the carriage and went our separate ways. As it was still somewhat early and the streets busy with evening traffic, I quietly slipped into the shadowed space between the Everitts’ house and Nora’s. Free from observation and hidden in the darkness, I vanished and sieved my way into her former home through a shuttered window, returning to solidity in what had once been a music room. Nora hadn’t been much for playing herself, but delighted in letting her guests indulge themselves. In one corner crouched the rectangular shape of a spinet and close to it stood a tall harp, both protected by musty shrouds. Similar sheets covered the remaining bits of furniture.

I held still and listened, but already knew that I’d hear nothing but the scurry of rats and mice. She was not here.

My last visit left me downhearted. Things were only a little improved now, the chief difference being that my hopes were almost nonexistent; therefore any disappointment awaiting me would not be such a crushing blow.