Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (130 page)

I did my best to emulate the proper reaction of one who, though the news be bad, has already heard and discussed it at length with others. Not a difficult ruse to maintain, since it was true. “This is a terrible thing, but I know no more about it than anyone else.”

“That account mentions the duel you had with him, ‘Mr. Barrett of Fonteyn House.’ ”

I looked at the print and saw that was precisely how I’d been identified. Oh, dear. More notoriety. Father would not be pleased when he heard, Mother might leap into one of her fits, and Edmond was positively furious. “The duel is a matter of fact. I can’t help if some fool put it in print. All I can say is that I’m as shocked as anyone about the murder.”

“Are you now?” He loomed over me. “And who do you think is responsible?”

“ ‘Fore God, man, are you implying—”

“You told me this business with Ridley had been taken care of and a few days later he turns up with his throat cut.”

“So you assume I had something to do with it?” I felt my face go hot and red as the anger flared inside.

“I haven’t assumed anything yet. That’s why I’m here—to find out what you know. I don’t care if the bastard’s dead or who killed him, but when the family name is dragged about in public in connection to such a scandal—”

“Oh, yes, certainly, the last thing this family needs is another scandal.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my tone.

Edmond pushed his face closer to mine, freezing his gaze to mine with the same intensity I used to force my will upon another. “Stop to think a minute and you’ll see the sense of it.” His tone was low but not benign. He looked as though he wanted to break me in two. “If the law connects Ridley’s death to the goings-on after the funeral, then checks into my household and finds out about Clarinda, she’d cheerfully talk her head off to get back at us even if she goes to the gallows for it.”

Now did I grasp why he was so angry. It was his reaction to a real fear. “There’s that,” I said, easing into a calmer voice and posture. “But you know very well Clarinda is too fond of her own skin to put it at risk.”

He grumbled something that might have been an unwilling concurrence for my logic and finally backed away. Despite my lack of need to breathe, I wanted to indulge in a sigh of relief as he put more distance between us by pacing the room. Resisting the impulse, I glanced at the forgotten coffees, which were cooling. Soon they’d be too cold to drink. Just as well, given my limits.

“Have you questioned her?” I asked.

“Of course I have. She claims to be ignorant of the incident and put on a pretty show of tears at the news.”

“You think she lied, then?”

“The woman doesn’t know how to do anything else, except lift her skirts to anyone in breeches.”

I gave him a sour face, but might as well have frowned at a wall for all the effect it had. “Perhaps I can talk to her and learn a bit more than you did.”

“What makes you think she’ll tell you aught?”

I wasn’t ready to confide about my talent for influence just yet, if ever, and so came up with what I thought to be a plausible excuse. “If I let her think I’m worried, afraid of this business, she might be tempted to gloat a little.”

He snorted with scorn. “Yes, I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance to do that and thus tell all.”

“It’s worth a try. Look, I’ve some errands to do tonight, but I could come by tomorrow evening. Perhaps the magistrates will have Ridley’s killer in custody by then and all this will be unnecessary.”

He grumbled and growled, but finally gave his assent that I could see her. “But you’ve still not answered me. What do you know about this?” He tapped the paper with his fingers.

“Enough to think the law should seek out his friends for his killer, not his enemies.”

“Who? Arthur Tyne?”

“Possibly.”

“Then I hope to God you’re wrong. He’d be worse than Clarinda if he ever started talking.”

“If he’s guilty of this murder, he’s not likely to bring it up in conversation.”

“He is if he’s a fool, and he did not impress me much with his wit at the funeral. Just to be sure, I believe I should go see him.”

“
That
would be a very bad idea.” He favored me with another scowl, but I was growing used to them. “You want to avoid a scandal, so the best course is to stay as far away from Mr. Tyne and his ilk as you can for as long as you can. He’s not in your usual circle of friends, is he?”

“Of course not.”

“Nor mine. We’ll go on as though nothing’s amiss and this business will simply pass us—and the family—by. But if you go barging in and stirring things up, that could change faster than the weather.”

Edmond had no liking for the suggestion, if only because it came from me, but in this case he reluctantly saw the sense of it. The magical word
family
had worked to persuade him to caution. I’d have to remember to invoke it more often.

“I shall take myself along now,” I said, rising. “The evening is wearing. “

“What sort of business can you have at this hour?”

He’d probably think it anyway, no matter what I told him. “Just a bit of wenching, dear Cousin, nothing more. There’s a fine lady not far from here. I’m sure she can get you an equally fine companion should you wish to come. Or we can share, if you like.”

By means of a most contemptuous and forbidding sneer Edmond made it clear that going with me to such an assignation was the last thing he desired to do.

“Another time, then,” I said with a bright, guileless smile, picking up my cane. At the door, though, I felt a twinge of guilt for my impudence and turned. “Edmond, I know you’re upset over this, but there’s nothing to worry about. There’s even a chance the murder has nothing to do with Clarinda.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said flatly.

“Then hope for it, but keep yourself prepared for the worst.”

“And just how do I do that?”

I pulled out enough of the Dublin revolver for him to see what it was. “Get yourself one of these if you haven’t already, and watch your back. If Clarinda’s involved in some way, remember she holds no love for either of us. Make sure your servants are trusty and fully understand the virtue of bolting the doors and windows, and though I hope to God it’s unnecessary, give them instructions to notify me or Oliver immediately should anything inimical happen to you. Left without, she might persuade one of them that she’s mistress of her own house again and thus gain her freedom.”

He pursed his lips and frowned, but he was listening.

“Otherwise, put an ordinary face to the world and carry on as usual.”

* * *

Brave words, I thought during a quick walk back with him to his coach.

To ensure our mutual safety, we agreed to go together. On the way I gave the street a thorough inspection, finding nothing of note, and made a casual inquiry with Mr. Dunnett when we passed him. He said all was quiet, and considering the vale I’d given him, I knew his report was to be trusted. Edmond grunted approval at this evidence of my own caution.

I saw him into his conveyance and felt significant relief after the driver had clucked to the horses and driven them away out of sight. My worry had been Edmond would find a reason to go banging on Oliver’s door and discover the house empty. Then I’d either have to explain it or influence him into not caring, and both would delay me for longer than I’d planned.

Rushing into the house, I went from room to room, putting out the candles I’d left alight. Normally I’d not be so foolish, but Edmond’s arrival had surprised me, and I was too used to there being servants around—neither being much of an excuse to give to Oliver for burning down his home. There was no harm done, thank God, and the place had looked occupied, but the time for shamming was past.

Locking the door again, I found my conscience yet smarted over Edmond. I should have told him at least some of what had happened so he might be more prepared for trouble. But before I did that, I hoped to make it altogether unnecessary. Far better it would be if I could clear everything up tonight, and I would, God willing. If the Mohocks or the killer or both would not come to me, then I was surely going to come to them.

It was getting near to the dark of the moon, but the sky had cleared, and what few stars were visible between the city smokes served well to light my way. I felt rather exposed walking along like a normal man, and would have much preferred to rise and take to the sky. I’d become quite spoiled. Though not so vulnerable to the world’s hurts, I was yet as subject to a certain amount of anxiety as anyone. With all that had happened, my nerves were unsettled to the point that I wanted to start at every unexpected sound, and in this precarious state of mind, all sounds seemed unexpected.

I told myself not to be a blockhead and forged onward, determined to cleave to the plan I’d placed before Oliver and Elizabeth. I had only to visit Arthur Tyne and hear his story, then, depending on what I heard, call on Mr. Litton or one of the Mohocks and finally sort things out.

But it had made so much
more
sense when argued before a cozy fire in a well-lighted room.

Close upon my approach to the crescent-shaped row of houses where Arthur resided, I half expected to garner some sort of notice. By this time my unease had become so much of a familiarity that it surprisingly transformed to aggravation. If a round dozen Mohocks leaped out to confront me, I’d have yelled my head off, but would have also perversely welcomed the attack as a sign of progress. However, I proceeded unscathed and somewhat disappointed straight to Arthur’s door.

I delivered a brisk knock and waited. Though the hour was late for a call, I knew the rigid rules for genteel society were likely to be somewhat bent where someone like Arthur was concerned. I knocked again, but no butler answered.

Damnation, if I’d come all this way for nothing. . . I stepped well back from the door to see the upper windows. One of the curtains twitched. Quick as lightning, it passed through my mind that Arthur, far from being the perpetrator of Ridley’s murder, might likewise be a target for harm himself. If so, then he’d have good cause to skulk in his own house, and have especially good cause to avoid me should the rumor have reached him that I had done the deed. I could knock all night and get no reply.

The lamp by the door was unlighted. A favorable thing. I glanced once up and down the street. Not completely empty, but no one seemed to be paying much mind to me, and it was dark. To the devil with it. I vanished and ghosted through.

The entry was dim even for my eyes. All the curtains were drawn, and little outside light seeped inside. I sniffed the air. No bloodsmell, thank God. I listened, hearing nothing on this floor. Some stairs leading up were on my right. Rather than announce my presence by the scrape of a shoe or a squeaky tread, I made myself transparent and floated to the next landing, solidified and listened again.

There it was. The intervening floor had muffled the sound of his breathing.

Beyond
that
doorway. Soundlessly I glided toward it, taking form only when I was on the threshold. I peered in.

It was a bedroom. A single candle burned on a table by the bed. By the window, his back to me, stood my man. He had one eye pressed close to a thread-thin opening in the curtain and his posture was such as to indicate his whole attention was upon the street below. Had he seen me vanish? Not that it mattered; I could make him forget, and now was a good time as any to begin.

“Hallo, Arthur.” The devil was in me, else I’d have had mercy and given him some gentler warning of my intrusion.

He fairly screamed as he whipped around. I gave an involuntary twitch at the row and hoped it wouldn’t disturb his neighbors to the point of investigating.

And then. . . I didn’t give a tinker’s damn for any of them. The dunce pressed against the far wall panting with fear was Arthur’s butler.

“
Damnation!
”
I snarled. “Where is your master?”

Under the circumstances I was much too optimistic about getting an immediate response from him, and too impatient to wait for him to calm down and collect himself. While his knees were still vigorously knocking one against the other, I stepped close and forced my influence upon him, once more demanding an answer.

“N-not home,” he finally choked out.

“So I gathered. Where has he gone?”

The combination of his fear and my control was a bad one. His heart hammered away fit to burst. I relaxed my hold on his mind and told him to be easy. It worked, after a fashion, and I was almost able to hold an ordinary conversation with him.

“I don’t know,” he said in a faded voice after I’d repeated my last question.

“When did he leave?”

“Earlier today.”

“Did he know about his cousin’s death?”

“Cousin?”

“Thomas Ridley.”

“I don’t know.”

Well-a-day And I thought it was impossible to keep anything hidden from one’s butler. “Where are the other servants?”

“Dismissed.”

“What? All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Why did he dismiss them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he dismiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you still here?”

The answer was not instantly forthcoming, having stopped somewhere halfway up his throat. And little wonder, I thought, once I’d looked around the room; the man had been so terrified not just from my sudden appearance in the house, but because I’d interrupted his thieving. Two bundles lay on the bed, one tied up and ready to carry, the other open to reveal a pile of clothing, some trinkets and two silver candlesticks. I also noticed why I’d mistook him for Arthur, for he’d donned some of his former master’s clothing, a silk shirt and a dark green coat with gold buttons.

“You’ll not get a good character doing that, my lad. A noose more like. “

He didn’t disagree.

I spent the next quarter hour in a weary bout of questioning, and though plagued with headache for my efforts, learned a few interesting things.

Arthur had been somewhat mysterious in his behavior for the few last days, being rather quiet and subdued. Nothing odd in that, considering the injuries he’d suffered along with the effect of my influence, I thought. He’d kept to his room, resting and refusing to see a doctor for his condition, which was rapidly improving. Today he’d recovered enough to walk to his favorite coffee house to read the papers there as was his habit. Hours later he’d returned a changed man, being nerved up and restless. Pale and abrupt, he ordered the packing of a traveling case, had his horse brought around, and mounted up. He then summarily discharged the entire household and rode off without another word.