Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (129 page)

Oliver was sucking his lip again. “But could you not just leave for Fonteyn House tonight and save them the trouble?”

“I could, but I plan to be here tomorrow evening to keep watch.”

“
Alone?
” Oliver looked ready to offer serious argument on that point.

I gently waved him down. “Yes, alone, and I’ve an excellent reason for it, if you but hear me out.”

He worked his mouth. “If I do that, then you’re sure to talk me into something I won’t like.”

“Only if you let me.”

“I won’t, then.”

But in the end, he did just that.

* * *

When I awoke the next night it was to a disturbing near-silence, the sort that would have otherwise given me alarm had I not expected it. I was aware of mice going about their business, the scratch of a tree limb brushing against the walls outside and the tiny creak of my own bones in their sockets, but nothing else. Rising from my pallet on the bags of earth, I traveled invisibly up through the empty floors as usual to my room, reforming just in front of Jericho, who had been waiting for me. He was long used to these appearances from thin air, and without batting an eye in my direction finished shaking out the clean linen he’d picked for me to wear.

“Evening, Jericho, how went the day?”

“Tolerably well, sir,” he answered. “Everyone left for Fonteyn House without incident, except for some objections from Master Richard when he understood where he was being taken.”

“What? He didn’t want to go back there?”

“He was simply reluctant to leave without the carpet.”

“Carpet?”

“The one you bought for his playroom. It seems he’s rather fond of playing rough and tumble over it and insisted his recreation would be seriously limited if he had to leave it behind.”

“Well-a-day! Think of that!” I was absurdly pleased with myself.

“He insisted it accompany him for his stay.”

“Tell me everything he said, every single word.” Since I would be bereft of our regular hour of play tonight, this second-hand accounting of my son’s activities would have to do for now. Jericho was well used to this, too, for I always asked him to provide me with all the details of Richard’s day, at least for those times when their paths intersected. Jericho didn’t mind, for while he spoke at length of domestic things, I would then sit still long enough for him to give me a proper shave.

“Miss Elizabeth’s new spinet arrived,” he said. “It was just as well young Jamie and I were here to take charge of the delivery The makers sent along a man to see that it was in perfect tune, a rather abrupt Frenchman, but he knew his business.”

“You mean it’s not likely he was a spy for the Mohocks?”

“No, sir. All he had mind for was the spinet. He played very well. I complimented him in his own language, which surprised him, and after that he was somewhat less abrupt in manner. He let it be known that he was a teacher of music for diverse instruments, as well as dance and deportment and should anyone here be desirous of lessons he was available for hire.”

“A French musician hanging about the place? That’s just the sort of diversion Elizabeth needs, I’m sure. Handsome fellow, was he?”

He knew I was joking and raised both eyebrows in agreeable response. “Passable, I’m sure, though I cannot pretend to be an accurate judge of male comeliness. However, I was thinking you would wish rather to hire him as an instructor for Master Richard.”

“I’d have to meet him first. Isn’t it a bit early for that? No, I suppose not. Elizabeth’s offered to teach Richard the spinet, but suppose he wants to play a fiddle instead? He could learn French at the same time. Well-a-day, but look at me, I’m talking myself into hiring the man already. I’ll look into it later; this other business at hand wants clearing up first. What else happened today? Any news on Ridley?”

Jericho had been apprised in full of my wretched discovery the night before, though if we three had said nothing to him, I’m sure he’d have heard about it anyway. Oliver was right about the man’s uncanny ability to know all that was going on.

“There was a notice in one of the papers of the incident, sir. You may read for yourself.” He gave me the germane sheet, and I squinted at the tiny print.

“Doesn’t say much. After the hue and cry, it only identifies him as Thomas Ridley, and says his throat was horribly cut under mysterious circumstances. You’d think they’d have more details. There’s not even a speculation on who might be responsible.”

“Upon consideration, that lack is in our favor.”

“You’re right of course, but still. . . .”

“I would venture to guess that the murderer may be experiencing the same sort of frustration as yourself.”

“Really? How so?”

“Looking at this article, he might expect to read that you’d been taken into custody because of an implicating letter found in Mr. Ridley’s clothing.”

“Yes, I see it. He’s probably grinding his teeth wondering what’s gone wrong.”

“Unless he’s learned from Mr. Ridley’s Mohock friends that you were killed by them. Or so they believe. The papers had no mention of your misfortune.”

“I should say not. A scion of Fonteyn House shot in a brothel? Unthinkable! They’ll assume the family closed ranks with Mandy Winkle to hush it up for the time being. I daresay this Mohock tribe will be frightfully confounded when I start showing my face around.”

“One might hope as much, sir, but please tread carefully. Miss Elizabeth and Dr. Oliver are most concerned for your safety.”

“No more concerned than I am myself. You can tell ’em I’ll be extremely careful. Anything else on this?” I gestured with the paper.

“Only that his death is the talk of London society. There were several callers today. Some of Miss Elizabeth’s new friends were disappointed that she was not in, and doubly disappointed to know you were unavailable as well.”

“Marriage-minded females with their mothers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s from that damned duel. I should have let Ridley kill me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anyone else?”

“A few gentlemen to see Dr. Oliver came by before he left, and I had opportunity to entertain their servants and learn the news from them.”

“Which was?”

“Little more than what was in the paper. The general opinion they held, which for the most part was the same as their masters, is that Mr. Ridley, in light of the life he led, made such an ending inevitable. Speculation on the culprit ranged from it being one of his Mohock cronies to a jealous husband, to a cheated procurer.”

“Doesn’t want for variety. Wonder which, if any, is the correct choice? Did Oliver offer an opinion as well?”

“The doctor thought it best to pretend total ignorance of the issue and let his visitors do the talking; thus did he learn all there was to know. He was pleased about the ploy and asked me to mention it to you.”

“Then you can pass my admiration for his wit on to him in turn.”

“I will, sir.”

“Did he find out where Mr. Litton keeps himself when he’s not playing the second at duels?”

Jericho drew a scrap of paper from his pocket and gave it over. “Here are the directions as they were given to him by Mr. Bolyn.”

“That’s hardly a half-mile from here. You can tell Oliver this will be my second stop on my evening rounds; I’m calling on Arthur Tyne first—and yes, I will be careful.”

“Very good, sir. Any other messages?”

“If I think of any I’ll deliver ’em myself, though he and Elizabeth are not to wait up for me as I’m not likely to be by unless something extraordinary happens. Otherwise I’ll just leave a note on his writing desk and you can give it to them tomorrow. Are you finished with me? I’m ready to set sail from port? Excellent. Time you got away yourself. Have you the means?”

“Jamie and I were going to walk to Fonteyn House.”

“Walk? I won’t hear of it. Take this and hire yourselves a cart or some sedan chairs.”

“I don’t think that would be proper, sir. Jamie might think himself above his station if he—”

“Oh, hang, that. These are exceptional times. If he shows signs of snobbery you deal with it as you please, but I won’t have you walking all the way out there on your own after dark. Mohocks aside, it’s just too dangerous. Be sure to take one of my sticks, and see to it Jamie has his cudgel.”

* * *

I saw the both of them off out the scullery door. From there they were to make their way past the stables, down a back lane and then emerge onto a street some distance from the house. It was the same route the other servants had taken; I hoped that it was still safe. Just to be sure of things, I followed them the whole time, albeit from a height. Neither they nor—presumably—anyone else was aware of my presence, as it’s most unheard of for a gentleman to take the evening air by taking to the air. Once they were aboard a hired cart and lurching in the right direction for Fonteyn House, I left them behind and returned, making a high circle of the neighborhood.

No loitering dandies, no unfamiliar carriages, chairs or coaches lurked in the area. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or annoyed when I slipped back inside the house.

My plan called for me to wait about the place a bit, making sure lights showed in the windows and moving them from room to room to give the impression all was normal. Then would I make another near-invisible circuit of the street, looking for spies. After a reasonable period—or until my impatience got the better of me—I would venture forth as though to take a walk and see if that drew anyone’s notice. Going to see Litton might do it for me, but if need be I’d try attracting attention by walking the whole way to Arthur Tyne’s home, ostensibly to offer condolences, but primarily to interview him. Should he prove ignorant of these doings, I would at the least get from him and Litton the names of others who might be more helpful.

After a quarter hour of pacing and peeking past curtains every few minutes, I decided the house was entirely too quiet for me. Lighting more candles did not help, though they gave the place an occupied look to any watchers—much good it would do me if there was no one out there watching. Perhaps I’d counted too much on the villain’s abilities. That or I was too eager for trouble to start.

Not wise, Johnny-boy. Not wise at all.

Another few minutes crawled by while I examined the new spinet. Elizabeth had done herself proud, for it looked to be a superior instrument. I was sorry to have to deny her the pleasure of playing it now that it was here. My own clumsy fingers picked out a simple tune remembered from long-abandoned childhood lessons. The sound was beautiful enough to my untrained ears; how might it be once she sat down and called forth its full potential?

My speculations were cut short by a fearful pounding on the front door that made me near jump from my skin. Were the Mohocks going to try for a bold attack after all? I peered through a window to see who it might be and rocked back on my heels in surprise. What on earth was
he
doing here?

I hurried to the entry and opened the door to the full force of Edmond Fonteyn’s baleful glare.

“Thought you had a butler,” he growled, not deigning to cross the threshold. “Nevermind that. Throw on something and come with me. I want to talk with you, but not here.”

Too bewildered to question him before he turned and walked off, I had the choice of doing what he said or calling after him and insisting he return. Well, he looked to be in a foul mood already, so there was little point in adding to it. If nothing else this might draw the eye of any watchers. I caught up my heavy cloak from where Jericho had laid it out, jammed on a hat, and grabbed my sword cane. Slipping into the cloak was made more difficult when I realized something heavy was in its inner pocket. The thing banged against my side and caused me some puzzlement until a quick look confirmed the weight to be my Dublin revolver, its six chambers loaded. Jericho had, indeed, thought of everything.

Edmond had traveled in his coach, but he’d left it standing before the house and was stumping off down the street even as I twisted my key in the lock. I came even with him and asked him a reasonable question concerning his business with me.

“Someplace less public than this first,” he said, and kept walking. We went by Mr. Dunnett’s little watch house. I passed a quick greeting with him, noting with pleasure the man had treated himself not only to a new cloak, but a thick muffler and gloves. He bade me a cheerful good evening in return, but was allowed no more than that because of the quick pace Edmond set. Apparently he was fully recovered from his misadventures at the funeral.

I thought he was heading for the Red Swan—yet another surprise—but instead he proceeded on to Hadringham’s Coffee House. Happily, the smells associated with this place of refreshment were less objectionable to my sensitive nose than most, and I followed Edmond inside with hardly a qualm. Within all was warm and smoky, the very timbers permeated through with the exhalation of countless pipes of tobacco over the years. Quite a few patrons lingered at the many tables even this late, for the establishment was a favorite meeting place for the local illuminati. It provided a place to enjoy the exchange of good conversation with one’s fellows, the same as a tavern, but without the resulting drunkenness and debauchery. There were other places to pursue those pleasures when the mood struck.

The gentlemen scattered about the main room looked up to see who had come in; one or two were familiar faces since I occasionally came here to pass the time when it pressed heavily upon me. I acknowledged each with a polite bow while Edmond dealt with a waiter. He ordered and got a small private room and two dishes of coffee, then told the waiter not to disturb us further. The man had barely set down his tray before money was thrown at him and he was practically booted out.

“This sounds serious,” I ventured as Edmond closed the door rather hard.

“It damned well is serious,” he snapped back. “I want to know what the devil is going on.”

“Could you be more specific?”

From his coat pocket he drew out a folded newspaper and slapped it on the table before me. Though different from the one I’d seen earlier, it was open to a story about Ridley’s murder.