Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (136 page)

“What did Nora think about Richard?” Elizabeth asked after I got to that point in my tale.

“Oh, she’s pleased about the whole business, Thinks it’s wonderful, seeing how things are for me now.” Thus did I delicately allude to my infertile state.

Elizabeth understood, briefly tucking in her lower lip. “Is—is she unable to bear children?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“
Sad
is an inadequate word for it. That poor woman.”

“Unless one considers that I’m something of an offspring of hers” I added.

They did, to which Oliver said: “Very ‘something of.’ Coz, if the achievement of this condition is as rare as she says.”

“We’re hoping your medical knowledge might be helpful in explaining why this is so.”

His eyebrows jumped. “You do expect a lot from me . . . but I’ll do all I can, of course. What did she think of Clarinda, though? I mean about the boy’s conception taking place while you and Nora were still . . . well . . .
you
know.”

“She was not jealous, if that’s what you’re worried about. At most she only questioned my taste. But I told her I was very young at the time, after all.” Unspoken was her reply that I was
still
very young.

“That’s a relief. You’ve enough complications in your life already. Did you tell her anything about our recent troubles?”

“Seeing how closely they’re connected with Richard, I had to tell her everything about them.”

“What does she think of it?”

“That it’s perfectly horrible, and she’s all for my clearing the mess up as quickly as possible. She’s offered to help if she can, but at this moment I don’t see how.”

“She knows plenty of gentlemen in the city. Some of them could secretly be Mohocks, y’know, and have useful information for us.”

“We discussed that possibility, but she hasn’t seen any of ‘em since she left for Italy all that time back. Her offer to help is more in the line of lending any aid from her household if we need it. Fonteyn House is ably defended, but it would harm nothing to have some extra eyes and ears about the place until this business is done.”

“Excellent idea. When shall we see ’em?”

“I hadn’t really settled that with her, but I can go by and talk with her later.” Indeed, I was most anxious to see her again. Last night had been a true wonder, but we had much lost time to make up.

“When will she be coming for a visit?” asked Elizabeth. “Did you tell her how much I wanted to meet her?”

“Yes, I did, and she was a bit taken aback by it, too.”

“Whatever for?”

“This condition of being a ‘vampire,’ as she calls it, has made her shy about revealing it to people. Times were when one could be burned at the stake for taking such peculiar nourishment, so you can understand why she’s wary. To hear that you not only know of it, but fully accept it is quite much more than a mere novelty to her. It may take her awhile to get used to the idea, but she expressed an interest in meeting Richard, so it shouldn’t be difficult to persuade her to a visit.”

“We’ll have a late tea with her or something,” she said, “with the two of you having your own preferred drink in a separate pot.” Oliver made a slight choking sound, but she ignored him. “Where is she staying?”

“At her London house.”

“But I thought it was deserted.”

“Not anymore. As soon as she got my note, she came up from Bath in her coach with a few of her people. They’ll have the place opened and aired by now, perhaps not to the point of receiving guests, but they should have the worst of the cobwebs swept away.”

“Admirable, most admirable,” said Oliver, who was starting to squirm in his chair. “But while I don’t wish to belittle the importance of Miss Jones turning up, I shall burst a blood vessel if you don’t give us any news about the business at hand.
Did
you talk to Arthur Tyne?”

Lest his growing agitation do him harm, I quickly imparted what I’d learned, namely about Arthur’s hasty disappearance. “He must have got the wind up once he saw the story of Ridley’s murder in the papers,” I added. “He’s probably halfway to France by now.”

“If he has any sense,” said Elizabeth. “What about the Mohocks? Did you see Mr. Litton?”

“Not a sign of them; I was interrupted by Nora before I could visit the chap. Oh, yes, Edmond came by just before I left to see Arthur.”

“Did he? You have had a busy time of it. What did he want?”

I told them of my conversation with our justifiably ill-tempered cousin at the coffee house. “He said I could talk to Clarinda to see if she knew more than she was telling. I promised to come by tonight.”

“Will you be influencing her?”

“Only if necessary,” I hedged.

Elizabeth did not approve of this talent, handy as it was, and she knew what I was trying to avoid discussing with her. “I rather think it will be necessary, so do be careful, Jonathan.”

“Do you want company?” asked Oliver.

“Not unless you plan to keep Edmond entertained while I interview his wife.”

“Up. Hadn’t thought of that, but I’ll do it if you—”

I waved him down. “No need to make such a noble sacrifice just yet, Coz. I’d be glad to have you along, but he was reluctant enough to let me in, and for the both of us to turn up might be more than his temper will bear. Besides, Edmond could heap you with questions neither of us is prepared to answer just yet, if ever. I should be much easier in my heart not to have that possibility as a distraction while I’m talking with Clarinda, and very much easier knowing you were on watch here, keeping everyone safe.”

Happily, additional persuasion was not needed. He was more than pleased to play the guardian and endure another long wait at Fonteyn House rather than spend even a minute with the grim Edmond. At my request, Oliver called for someone to ready a horse for me. Though I could travel easily enough to Edmond’s by the same means I’d used to get to Fonteyn House, it seemed wiser to use a more mundane form of conveyance. My recent travel combined with last night’s endeavors with Nora had left their physical impression, and I was yet a bit weary despite a full feeding I’d made after coming back from following her. Later, I’d have to make up for it. Neither of us would benefit tonight if I appeared on her doorstep in less than perfect vigor. To fill in the wait, I asked Elizabeth how the day had gone.

“Most agreeably,” she said, and I was treated to an engaging summation of the rabbit hunt. It cheered me mightily, until I realized it was yet another activity I could never share with the boy. Deeply frustrating, but I swallowed it back along with the dark feelings of regret and disappointment. At least I was here and able to share
some
things with him and not long dead and moldering in the churchyard at Glenbriar.

Blessing and curse. As there was no escape from either, I’d have to accept both.

* * *

All the horses in Oliver’s stable in town had been taken away to the safety of the one at Fonteyn House, including my beloved Rolly. He was full of himself tonight, prancing about, hardly able to hold still enough to mount. Once in the saddle, reins firmly in hand, I had better control over him, but was not adverse to allowing him to have his head for a short canter to the gates. The two footmen posted on watch there obligingly opened them, allowing us to pass through. If they had any wonder for how I’d gotten inside in the first place, I heard nothing of it. I waved once to them, clucked at Rolly and let him stretch his neck.

Floating high over the land is one thing, but it’s no substitute for the shivering exhilaration of riding a horse at full gallop. Your life is in your hands, completely dependent on your skill, sense of balance and sheer luck. A misplaced hoof, an unexpected concavity in your path, a startled bird flying up in your face—these and a hundred other lurking dangers can make for an easy disaster. Rolly and I ignored the lot and sped recklessly down the road, my laughter hanging in the air behind as we cut through the cold night. He was a splendid animal and not for the first time I blessed Father for putting him aboard the ship that had taken me to England.

Eventually, though, even Rolly had enough giddy exercise for the time being and we slowed to a cooling walk. I felt the untroubled movement of his breathing with my legs; there was no sweat on his neck. He had miles more travel left in him yet, I judged. He’d recovered beautifully from the sea voyage. He was fit and ready for . . . well, now, there was an interesting speculation to dwell on.

My mind swiftly turned to the prospect of having my own estate courtesy of Oliver’s generosity. An estate meant land enough for farming—or husbandry. Certainly the idea of breeding Rolly to some fine English fillies was more tempting than tilling soil. Profitable, too. The gentry’s fondness for horse racing was never better what with the royal enthusiasm for the sport. I had but to raise a single favorite to win one race to make a name for myself and better my fortune.

And there was Richard to consider. He was already showing an early love for horses that could be cultivated into an effortless expertise. What better gift could I bestow upon him than a stableful of assets in a business he might enjoy as a lifelong vocation?

But you’re getting ahead of yourself, Johnny-boy. Let the lad make up his own mind.

True. He was only four. Anything could seize his fancy between now and the time he reached four and twenty—if it was God’s will he should live that long.

Live for the present
, I
firmly reminded myself, lest I grow melancholy again.

Very well. But aside from Richard’s possible interest, I’d not hinder my own indulgence for such a pursuit. And if my son wanted to join in on the game, then he’d be more than welcome to do so.

Thus did I occupy myself with pleasant considerations, for their own sake and for the distraction they offered.

I needed it. Every step closer to Edmond’s home brought me back to the dreadful business of Ridley’s murder and my own attempted murder. The sweet interlude Nora had given with her presence began to fade from mind and heart, to be replaced by the brutal memory of a masked coward raising a dueler on me with intent to kill.

Of course he was a coward, for only such a man would shoot another in the manner that I’d been shot. If and when I found him, I’d teach him a hard lesson about the value of honor—if he had wit enough to learn. Doubtless he and his friends would be much surprised to discover I was yet among the living.

Then there was Ridley’s murderer to think about. It couldn’t have been Arthur; his actions were those of a frightened man. The Mohocks were unlikely to be involved as well, since they’d been so bent on avenging their fallen leader’s death. Someone had killed him and wanted me blamed, and as improbable as it seemed, I wondered if Clarinda had somehow arranged it. If she’d had a falling out with Ridley. . . though how any of it could have been managed with her locked up fast by Edmond I could not imagine.

Unless Edmond was behind it all. If so, then he was a finer actor than even the great Garrick; he’d not been the least startled to see me last night. Besides, what would be his purpose?

No, not Edmond. For lack of solid information I was growing distrustful, not to mention absurd. A short talk with Clarinda would clear this part of things up, or so I fervently hoped. If nothing else I’d get the names of Ridley’s companions from her; between her and Litton, whom I would call on later, I expected to obtain solid information to examine, explore, and put to good use.

I’d never been to Edmond’s home, but Oliver had given me precise directions, and I found the gate without trouble just where he said it would be. I looked for and spied two small towers made of white stone with an iron arch connecting them overhead. Had I any lingering hesitancy that I’d come to the wrong place, it was abolished by the name “Fonteyn” spelled out in the design of the arch.

The gate stood open, something I found disturbing since I’d been very clear to Edmond about the need to protect himself from attack. I thought he’d taken me seriously, but perhaps with the passage of a day with nothing happening, he’d relaxed his guard.

No. Edmond would not be so foolish. His nature wouldn’t allow it. There was something wrong.

Rolly was cooled enough from the walk so as to not take harm if I tied him up for a while. Dismounting, I led him through the gate and some yards into the property. The trees were thick here, which suited me well. I wrapped his reins around a low branch and, keeping to their cover, furtively moved parallel to the lane leading toward the house.

That structure was not far from the main road. Parts of it had been new when Queen Elizabeth’s privateers plied their trade against the Spanish. One of the stories firmly discouraged by Aunt Fonteyn was that prize money from such raids had built it and founded much of the family fortune.

Changing fashion and the passage of time called for improvements to be made by each succeeding generation until one of them had given up altogether and moved elsewhere to build Fonteyn House. Edmond’s branch of the family inherited what came to be called Fonteyn Old Hall, and if it lacked a freshness of design, it made up for it in history. There was a strong tradition one of the great Elizabeth’s ministers had spent the night here, possibly with the lady of the hall while her husband was away fighting the Armada. Aunt Fonteyn had, not unexpectedly, discouraged that story as well, preferring to state it was but a rumor and far more likely Elizabeth herself had been the guest. But as the other legend was more amusing, no one had believed her.

As I came closer I picked out the different architectural styles, one atop the other, each an attempt to obliterate the one below. Sometimes such combinations work; this was not one of those times. No wonder Edmond was such a stick if he had to live in this place. One could only hope the interior was more attractive.

All seemed quiet, but then I wasn’t sure what sort of trouble I expected: people running around, waving their arms and shouting perhaps? Not here that I could see. The grounds about the place were serene; lights showed through some of the lower windows as normal as can be. I found one with open curtains and peered into some sort of parlor. No occupants, just an ordinary chamber with too much old furniture. I was tempted to ghost my way inside, but did not relish the prospect of explaining my sudden presence to Edmond or, failing that, influencing him to forgetfulness. If something was seriously wrong, the best way to discover it was to ring the front bell and see what happened.