Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (42 page)

They leaned forward, silently encouraging me to continue.

“. . . make it . . . .”

“What?” demanded Elizabeth.

And the words just would not come. Their combined gaze left me entirely flummoxed over what to say next. I was being foolish again, worried they wouldn’t believe me, or worse, that they’d be afraid of me. But they’d accepted so much already and now seemed willing to accept more, so such worries were certainly all in my own head.

“Jonathan,” Father prompted, his expression kindly.

I nodded. “Yes. I’m trying. What it is . . . is that I have the ability to make my body insubstantial, allowing me to pass
through
solid objects. To float.”

“Float?” he echoed.

“Yes, sir.”

Neither spoke for a time, but they did exchange looks once more.

“What,” he finally said, “has that to do with your arm healing?”

It was my turn to stare. The floating and the restoration were so joined together in my mind that it was natural to conclude others would also see the connection.

“Uhh … that is … when I ceased to float around and resumed a solid state for my body I was all better.”

Another lengthy silence.

“I know I’m not doing this very
well—”

“No, not at all,” agreed Elizabeth.

“It’s like that business with mirrors. I’ve no explanation for it, it just
is
.”

“Perhaps, said Father, obviously struggling to affect a fair attitude, “if you gave us a demonstration?”

I’d foreseen the need for one from the start. That knowledge did not make it any easier, though. I nodded, went to the windows and closed the shutters to prevent anyone from spying, then turned to face Father and Elizabeth. Holding my hands up before me that I might observe my progress, I willed myself to slipped slowly into . . . whatever it was. The room seemed to obscure with fog as I grew more and more transparent.

Elizabeth rose straight up from her chair, gaping. Father staggered back, bumped against his desk, then suddenly sat down. On the floor.

Immediately becoming solid again, I started forward, but abruptly froze in place, held back by doubt, by their wide-eyed stares.

“Good God, “ Father whispered.

“I’m sorry.” I said.

He gave himself a shake and inhaled deeply. Stood up. Stared some more. “Sorry for what, laddie?”

Then I seemed to see myself through his eyes. They were the only mirrors left to me. They showed an uncertain young man who might as well apologize for the color of his hair as for this new . . . ability. “Excellent question, sir.”

He glanced at Elizabeth, who had gone white, and touched her arm in a reassuring gesture. She clutched his in turn. “You just surprised us, that’s all. Nothing to apologize for.” He put his hand out to me. I hesitantly came closer and took it. His grip was warm, encouraging. “You’re solid enough, now.”

Elizabeth took my other hand, but said nothing.

“Perhaps you could do that again,” he suggested.

And so I did. Eyes shut so that I did not have to watch them fading into the fog, I repeated my action.

“He’s so
cold,”
said Elizabeth, her voice seemed distant though I stood right next to her.

Then I let go of all ties to solidity. The pull of the earth, the feel of my clothes, the familiar constraints of my body ceased. I held myself in place by thought alone.

“My God, he’s vanished!” Father whispered.

But I’m right here
, I
protested, but of course, I had no mouth with which to speak. Opening my eyes was something that could be exercised only in though, for in this state I was unable to see anything. Enough. I instantly resumed form again.

They yet held my hands and continued to do so. Father’s grip increased somewhat, Elizabeth appeared too shocked yet to react.

“I vanished?” I asked. “Is it true? Father?”

He exhaled, turning it into a sort of laugh. “Clean away like a ghost.”

Oddly enough, after all the practicing I’d done, observing myself as I became more and more transparent until the gray fog engulfed everything, it had never occurred to me that I could become entirely invisible during the process. I thought that some shadow of me lingered in place.

“You’re all right?” Elizabeth asked shakily.

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t hurt or anything?”

“Not at all.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Sort of . . . like holding your breath, but not having to let it out for more air.”

She thought that one over a bit. Father asked me to vanish once more. I obliged, this time willing myself to travel some distance across the room before reappearing. I’d been practicing, after all.

“Well-a-day,” he said, borrowing one of my own expressions. “You said you floated, though?”

As the worst of the surprise was past with acceptance and even approval pending, I was more willing to oblige their curiosity. This time I did not let the fog swallow me completely and held myself in a near-transparent state. Weightless, I drifted upward until I was right against the ceiling. I felt its restraining barrier, but knew I could seep through it to the floor above, if I wished. I considered it, but decided not to; tonight’s performance was quite sufficient.

Growing gradually more solid, I sank to the floor.

They had a hundred questions which I tried to answer, though most were unanswerable.

“I really don’t know how it works,” I said after much rapid talk and a number of demonstrations that left me fatigued. “I don’t know how it healed me. God knows, I wish I did.”

“If it pleases God to keep the secret to Himself, then so be it,” said Father. “You’re whole again and that’s what matters. We shall have to content ourselves with that and give thanks for it, for it seems a mighty gift.”

“If an alarming one,” Elizabeth added.

“I’m sorry for that,” I said.

Father chuckled a little. “Don’t see how it could possibly have been avoided, laddie. Have you any others we should know about?”

I shrugged. “I can’t really say. That’s why I was writing to Oliver tonight. I wanted him to pass a letter on to Nora for me. I’ve asked her a number of questions about what’s happened to me, but it’s going to be months before I hear from her . . . if she even replies.”

“Why do you think she won’t?”

“Because she made me forget so much.”

“But from what you’ve told us of her, she strikes me as being a woman of honor.”

“And secretive. She could have warned me—” I broke off and firmly smothered that tiresome lament. “I’m sorry. When it comes to Nora, I sometimes don’t know what to think. She’s gifted me with a fine double-edged sword, but failed to give instruction on how to safely wield it. If I’m not careful, I could injure myself or others.”

“You’re doing the best you can, laddie, no one can expect more than that. There’s no reason to think she won’t answer. You might want to send more than one letter by different ships, though. Times are so unsettled that a single missive might not get through.”

“Yes, I’d thought of that.”

“Good. Get all your writing done tonight, and I’ll see that it’s sent out for you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The words had hardly left my lips when the library doors were thrust open with a great deal of force. Mother stood on the threshold, glaring at the three of us turn on turn.

“What is going on here, Samuel?” she demanded, her voice sharp and accusatory.

“Very little, as you see,” he said, spreading his hands. “We were conversing.”

“Conversing? I’m sure you were.” Despite the heavy powder coating her face, we could see that she was flushed. “About what, may I ask?”

“Nothing of import, just passing the time.”

“Yet you close the doors?”

“We had no wish to disturb your card game.”

“And the shutters?”

“There was a draft.”

“You’ve an answer for everything except what’s been asked, don’t you?”

To that, Father made no reply. I wondered where Dr. Beldon had gotten to, as it looked to be one of those nights where his medical talents might be required.

“Jonathan Fonteyn.”

I
hated
the contemptuous tone she used when addressing me.

“Yes, madam?” I murmured back, striving for a meek tone.

“What were you talking about?”

“Nothing, really. I’m writing letters, and Father promised to post them for me.”

“And what are you doing here, Elizabeth? I’m sure that such conversation can’t possibly be of any interest to you.”

“I was cutting some pens.”

“No doubt, I can see the mess you’ve made. You can leave off with that. It’s late and past time that you went upstairs.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips, holding silent.

“Well, girl?”

“I shall be along shortly, Mother, as soon as I’ve cleaned up.”

“Cleaning’s for servants. You’ll do as you’re told and be along now.”

“She’s no child, Marie,” said Father.

“So you’ve noticed,” Mother snarled back. “So you’ve
both
noticed! You think I’m blind to it? You think I don’t see the three of you, the whispers, the looks you pass each other? It’s disgusting.”

“Marie, that’s enough. You’ve made a mistake—”

“Yes, I’m always making mistakes. I’m always the one who’s wrong, the one who imagines things. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Father’s face hardened to an expressionless mask, as had my own, as had Elizabeth’s. When Mother was in this kind of mood, no appeal to reason would work on her.

“The devoted father and his two
loving
children,” she sneered. “God should strike the lot of you dead where you stand.”

“Oh, Marie,” sang out Mrs. Hardinbrook, coming up behind Mother. Her voice and manner were light and innocent of the situation she was walking into.

Mother’s face underwent an immediate change. The Medusa abruptly transformed into a middle-aged matron, smooth of countenance and unblemished by vile fantasies.

“Yes, Deborah, what is it?” she cooed sweetly.

“We still have another hand to play out. I hope you will come back and finish it? Please say you will.”

“Of course, of course. Do lead the way, my dear.”

But Mother shot us one last venomous glance before turning to follow Mrs. Hardinbrook. She pointedly left the doors open.

Father let out a pent-up breath and sat heavily in his chair. He didn’t look well. “God,” he said, putting his head in his hands. He rarely succumbed to the strain. Seeing him like this was enough to tear my heart in two. I went to him and knelt on one knee, feeling dreadfully helpless and angry all at once. I lay an arm lightly upon his shoulder, offering what comfort I could.

Elizabeth crossed to the cabinet, poured out a portion of brandy into a cup and took it to him. This time he had no objection to drink. When he’d finished, she poured one for herself and took it straight down as though it were water. I could have used such a draught for myself, but knew better than to try.

“That Hardinbrook woman may be a clacking toad-eater, but she’s a damned useful clacking toad-eater,” Father finally said.

“I’ll not say anything against her,” I added.

Elizabeth looked past us to the open door, as though fearful that Mother might return. “What are we to do?” she asked Father.

“We needn’t do anything. The fit will pass and she’ll be all right. She won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

She put down her cup and stood before him. “She’s getting worse, Father. The things she said about me and Jonathan are bad enough, but to include you in with her filthy accusations is beyond endurance.”

“What would you have me do?” he asked, subdued. She dropped her gaze. We’d had this discussion before.

“I could send her away somewhere, but what good would come of it? She would only worsen. Most of the time she’s all right, and Beldon and his sister keep her in hand. But I’m truly sorry for what she’s doing to you two—”

“And to yourself, Father,” I said.

He shrugged, as though his own pain was of no consequence. “I am sorry for that as well, and if I could stop it, I would.”

“Why
can’t
you send her away?” Elizabeth murmured, again not looking at him.

“Because I made a promise when I married her. I promised to take care of her. Always. In sickness or in health. Those words also mean sickness of the spirit as well as the body.”

“But she’s more impossible every day. She
is
getting worse.”

“And would become much worse if sent away. It’s the same as if she were ill in bed with a fever. The fever she suffers from is in her mind rather than her body, but the principle is the same. She needs care, and it is my responsibility to see that she has it. For the sake of the promise I made those years ago and for the memory of the love we once had, it is my chosen duty. I will not dishonor myself by ignoring that duty just because it has become unpleasant.”

“And what are we to do, then?”

“I have no answer for you, daughter. I’d rather hoped you’d give me one.

Elizabeth raised her head. She was blushing right to the roots of her hair. “I think I understand you, sir.”

He lightly touched her hand. “I thought that you would. What about you, laddie?”

“We all have our duty, sir. I’ll not shirk mine.”

“Good.”

“But . . .”

“Yes?”

“If now and then, when we get filled up with it, would you mind much if we complained a bit?”

He laughed. Some of the deeper lines lifted. “Not at all. That is, if you don’t mind my joining you.”

* * *

It was late and the house silent. I’d opened the library shutters to enjoy the air. It was damp and heavy with the sea smell, but clean. A draft stirred the slivers of quill and feathers from Elizabeth’s abandoned work. I put the finished pens in the cup of shot and used the edge of one packet of finished letters to sweep the leavings off the desk and into one hand. Some of the stuff dropped onto the floor, but the rest I threw out a window. My letters, sealed and addressed, I placed under the shot cup where Father might easily find them. There was a good four months’ wait ahead of me—more likely six with winter coming on and slowing the passage of shipping—before I could even begin to look for a reply from either Nora or Oliver.