Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (19 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

CAMBRIDGE, JANUARY, 1776

Celebrating the New Year with Oliver and several of our friends had once again been a merry but depleting experience. It took a few days of rest before I was in a condition to notice my surroundings again and so discover the packet of mail from home one of the more sober servants had left on my study desk. Breaking the seal, I found that it disappointingly contained but one letter, the singularity enough to cause me alarm before I even read it. After reading, I was in no better state, and once the whole import of the news it contained sunk in I was utterly horrified.

I had to see Nora.

It was fully dark out, and raining, but she’d be receiving visitors despite the weather. I threw on protection against it and bolted from the house.

The streets were slick with water and mud. Some of the houses had their outside lamps burning, but these were little better than distant will-o’-the-wisps against the murk. It hardly mattered. I could find my way to Nora’s blindfolded.

Mrs. Poole let me in, smiled, and said, “I’m sure she’ll be out in just a few minutes.”

Yes. True. A few minutes with each of them. That’s all it took to get what she needed. I couldn’t begrudge her that, but this time the waiting was thorny. The letter rustled in my coat pocket as though reminding me of the calamity contained in its lines.

“Shall I take your things?”

Thus Mrs. Poole gently reminded me of my manners. I gave over my hat and slipped free of my cloak, dropping my stick in a tall, oriental-style jar holding similar items left behind by previous visitors. “Where are the servants?”

“Some are in bed, others are busy in the kitchen. I don’t mind, Jonathan. Heavens, but it is a wet night out. If you’ll excuse me I’ll see that this is hung by the fire. That is, if you are staying awhile?”

“I don’t—I mean—yes. I think so. Yes.”

“Is there something wrong?”

My world was coming to an end. “I need to talk to Nora.”

She chose not to press farther and left. Too nervous to sit, I paced up and down the hall, my boot heels thumping on the painted wood floor. I wanted Nora to hear and hurry herself. Unsuccessfully, despite the fact it meant nothing more to her than nourishment, I tried not to think about what she was doing beyond the closed door of her drawing room.

They were certainly quiet, but then it wasn’t really a noise-making activity: perhaps a gasp or sigh, the slip of cloth on skin, a soft murmur of thanks from one to the other, and, if she was in need, the click of a few coins passing from one hand to the other. Except for paying over any money, my own experience was too ready to supply details, though in fact I heard exactly nothing. The walls were solid and the door thick and snugly fitted within its frame. Even a moderate amount of sound would not have escaped.

I paced and turned to keep warm. It had been a bad idea to relinquish the cloak to Mrs. Poole. I glared at the door. Damnation, how long did she need? It wasn’t as though she had to take her clothes off, and all the man had to do was loosen his neckcloth for her to . . .

The door swung open. I belatedly thought that it might be better to step into a side room and give them the privacy to say goodbye, but it was too late now. And not overly important. To the departing young man I would doubtless be just another one of Nora’s many courtiers stopping to “pay my respects.”

Damnation. The man was Tony Warburton. They saw me at the same time. Nora’s face, always beautiful whatever her mood, lightened with that special joy only I seemed to give her. Warburton’s darkened briefly and didn’t quite recover. He used to be better at hiding it and often as not hardly bothered anymore.

Nora noticed, but let it pass and greeted me cordially. “What brings you here at this hour?” Her eyes were flushed scarlet from this, her latest feeding. Like many other things about her that had at first upset me, I was now so used to it as to overlook it entirely.

“I must talk to you. It’s extremely important.”

She could tell by my manner that I was distressed. “Of course. Tony, if you don’t mind?”

Warburton seemed not to have heard her. He remained in one spot, looking hard at me. His neckcloth was back in place, but not as neatly as he was accustomed to wearing it. There was no mirror in the drawing room for him to do the job properly. There were few mirrors in the house at all, I knew. He was pale, not so much from blood loss as from high emotion.

“Tony?”

“Yes. I do mind,” he said at last. His voice was too charged to raise above a whisper, but the pent-up choler behind it was more effective than a bellow.

Nora’s ruby eyes flashed on him, but he glared at me. My own immediate troubles dimmed. That which had lain unspoken between us for so long was starting to surface.

But I had no heart for such a confrontation. “Never mind,” I said. “I’ll go. I apologize for my intrusion.”

Nora curtailed my effort to avoid a problem with a sharp lift of her chin. “Nonsense. You’re here now and—”

“Of course you’ll see him,” said Warburton. “You’ll always see
him
. No matter what it does to others.”

“Tony . . . .” she began.

“No more. I can bear no more of this.” His voice had dropped even lower with suppressed rage. I barely heard. Nora, standing next to him, had no such difficulty. She came around to stand directly before him.

“Tony, listen to me. Listen to me very carefully.”

The air in my lungs settled there as though it had gone solid and could not be pushed out. I knew the tone in her voice, felt the power of it singing through my own brain, though it was not directed at me. I also knew what it cost her.

But Warburton seemed too incensed to succumb to it. “No more. You want too much of me. Do you know what it’s been like for me these years having to be content with your crumbs while he—”

“Tony . . . .”

“No!”

Nora dropped back a step, clearly surprised. This instantly transmuted into anger, but Warburton was too engulfed by his own to care.

“Always taking, taking, taking. First our blood, then our money. Did you know that that’s how she makes her wage, Barrett? How she’s able to afford her houses, servants, and all the rest? She collects a little from each of us every time she does it. Only a little, mind you, so it’s not even missed. Gifts, she calls ’em. Well, no matter the name she chooses to put on the payment, a whore’s still a whore whether she spreads her legs for it or not.”

I started forward to knock him flat, but Nora was ahead of me. Her open hand lashed out faster than my eye could follow. Warburton grunted and staggered from what must have been a fearsome blow. The whites of his eyes flashed briefly before he shook it off. I made toward him, but Nora imperiously and inarguably signed for me to hold back.

“Mr. Warburton, I see no reason for you to remain any longer or to ever return once you’ve left,” she said evenly.

Warburton blinked a few times as her words penetrated. His long face crumbled in on itself as he comprehended what he’d done. “Nora, forgive me. I didn’t mean . . . it’s just that I . . . .”

“Get out of here.” She glided past him to open the front door herself. Spatters of rain and a wave of cold air tore through the hall.

For a long moment he made no move. I hoped Nora would ask me to force him out, though it would certainly end in a challenge and a duel. There was no reason to think that it might end otherwise, anyway. Nora coming between us had only postponed the formalities. I wanted to break his neck.

He finally stirred, started to speak, then aborted because of the venomous look she had for him. He winced as though from another blow and turned from her, eventually striding away into the pouring darkness of the street. Only when he was lost from sight in the misery of the rain did Nora close the door.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Was his jealousy your fault?” she demanded. She visibly trembled.

“This was ill-timed. I should have waited elsewhere, or first sent a note.”

“You know you’re welcome here anytime. So do they.” She waved a hand to indicate her other courtiers. “So did he. I’m the one to apologize to you, Jonathan. I should have seen this coming. Prevented it.”

“How? By talking to him?”

“In my way.”

“I thought you’d already done so.”

“I have. It just never seems to work as well with him. I don’t know why, perhaps it’s his drinking.” She shook off her speculations and came to me, her hands outstretched. “I’ll try again, but later, when we’ve both cooled down.”

“But, Nora . . . . ”

“ ‘A wholesome tongue is a tree of life, but perverseness is a breach in the spirit,’ ” she said, quoting from Proverbs. “There is something wrong in Tony’s spirit.”

“He mortally insulted you!”

“He told the truth and you know it. Granted, by the manner in which he told it, he meant to hurt me.”

“For which I’ll repay him handsomely when the chance comes.”

Then she went still and distant and I felt the wash of her anger flow over me like an icy wave. “This is not your concern, but mine, Jonathan.”

I was unable look at her or say what I’d been about to say. My outraged objections died unspoken, not out of fear of offending her, but from the tardy admission to myself that she was right.

“Please, leave it to me.”

Had she ordered or demanded I might have ignored it, but she gave this as a request, and that steadied me down. Much as I wanted to play the knight-errant and avenge the insults thrown at her, it was for her to resolve things her own way. Interfere, and I would be no better than Warburton.

“Very well,” I conceded.

Her face softened. I’d said nothing specific, but it was as good as a promise. She knew I would keep it. “Thank you.” The strain that had pushed between us vanished. “Come in by the fire. Would you like some tea?”

I declined, but let her guide me into the drawing room to the settee by the fireplace. “What will you do about him?”

“Whatever I can, if I can. I think it was a mistake for me to have continued with him after I’d met you.”

Cousin Oliver had also expressed a similar opinion. Often.

Nora’s face suddenly twisted. With a shock, I realized she was crying. She was not a woman to give in to tears and disliked doing so. I quickly stood and gathered her in my arms, giving her the comfort of soaking my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s all right to cry when you’re hurt.”

“It’s just . . . oh, God, but I hate losing a friend.”

Whatever his faults, Warburton did have looks and no small portion of charm. Beyond the necessities of nourishment, she had enjoyed his company and counted upon him as a friend as I had. No more, alas.

The storm gradually passed and she pulled herself in to once more resume her usual air of self-possession. I started to offer her a handkerchief, but she’d brought her own out. It was spotted with a small amount of blood. Warburton’s. I looked away as she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.

“Please don’t tell me there are others to take his place. I’m not like that, Jonathan. I can’t just engage any young man for what I do. It’s not a matter of having to take whoever comes my way because they’re handy. If it were for the blood alone it would be different. But there’s more to it for me than mere feeding. I have to at least like the man to touch him in that way, and I do like Tony. Or I did.”

“You need their love as well,” I whispered.

“Yes. And more. It’s so easy for men to love me, but for them to accept what I am . . . . Even after I’ve talked to them, influenced them . . . it’s not always there. Those are the ones I have to let go, and it’s never easy”

“Like Oliver?”

That startled her. “You knew?”

“I suspected. He’s never said anything, of course, only acted a bit reserved about you.”

She nodded. “He’s a very sweet young man, and I dearly enjoyed listening to his prattle, but it became obvious that he was uncomfortable about my needs. I made him forget all that happened, though some ghost of that memory may still remain. He is reserved, he just doesn’t know why.”

“I can see that such power of influence that you have is a great help in avoiding unwanted complications.”

“A help or a bad habit. I’m glad there are no such things between us anymore.”

“Mmm.” We sat close together on her settee and stared into the fire. Concerns over Warburton faded as I remembered what had brought me here. My heart began to ache.

Though she could not see my expression, she was quick to sense the change in my mood. “What is it, Jonathan?”

“I have some bad news.” God, was that
all
I could say about it?

But she heard the pain in my voice and turned around to face me.

I fumbled out the letter with some idea that she could read it for herself, but changed my mind. A summation was enough. More than enough. “My family. They want me to come home.”

Now she did take the paper from me and read it through. She said nothing.

Words were inadequate.

“It’s Father’s writing, but I know it
must
be my mother’s idea. Only she would be fool enough to tear me out of here before my studies were complete. It’s so utterly witless! How could she do this to me?”