Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (56 page)

“Sir.”

“And don’t let yourselves be seen by anybody. What you’ve heard here, stays here.”

Both nodded with grim faces and waited impatiently as Beldon went to the library for the bottle of laudanum to show them what they’d be hunting.

“What happens should they find it?” I asked.

Father let his head fall against the back of the chair and shut his eyes. “They give it to Beldon, who will lock it in his medicine box, once he has a lock put on the thing.”

“What about Mother, though?”

“Nothing. We do nothing.”

Elizabeth shot me an anguished look over him. “But we can’t!” Father was quiet. Thinking, or tired beyond thought. “She tried to poison you!”

“It failed, by the grace of God. I have my warning and shall be more alert now.”

“No, Father! You can’t live in a house with that woman, day after day knowing that the next bite of food you take could be your death. I won’t have it!” Her voice had dropped to a shaken whisper, but was as forceful as a shriek.

Father made no response. The lines on his forehead deepened as his brows came together.

“This has gone too far. You
must
do something about her,” she insisted.

“I will, but in my own way.”

“But—”

He raised one hand slightly from the chair arm. “In my own way, daughter.”

This did not sit well with Elizabeth, not at all well. Her eyes were red from tears shed and tears yet to come. “What is that, then?” she asked, her voice thin as she tried to maintain control.

“We’ll take steps to see that the opportunity Dr. Beldon referred to has no chance to repeat itself.”

“That hardly seems enough,” she objected. “And what if she seeks another means to bring harm to you?”

Father was still ill and greatly weakened or he might have chided her. All he could do was shake his head, reminding me that now was not the time for such discussions. Later, when he was well, but not now. “We’re only worried for you, Father,” I said unnecessarily, using it to cover a warning look thrown at Elizabeth. It got through and she shut her mouth, though her jaw worked dangerously.

“I’m worried for all of us,” he said. “This was unexpected, but it can be dealt with. Actually, I’m not too surprised that something’s happened, I just didn’t anticipate it would happen in quite this manner.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been careless, laddie. About . . . Mrs. Montagu. Your mother’s finally worked it out and this” —he indicated himself— “is her reaction. I’d thought that should the day come, she’d fall into one of her fits, but she’s changed lately. She’s gotten more subtle.”

“Suppose it wasn’t Mother?” I asked uneasily.

His eyes opened. “Who else would want to?”

The names of all those people living with us tumbled through my mind. Longtime servants, guests old and new. None of them could possibly have any quarrel with Father. None. He was a well-loved, well-respected man. The only person in the house who did not love or respect him was Mother. She had access to Beldon’s medicines and was certainly familiar enough with the use of laudanum by now. The more I thought about it, the likelier it seemed.

She was a strong woman, but not stronger than Father, so a physical attack against him would be futile. But poison . . . now that would equalize things nicely. There was a horrid, repulsive coldness to poisoning, but also an ugly fascination in the process. To stand by and pretend concern while watching with secret interest as the stuff gradually carried away a life—that was a kind of wickedness so alien that I could hardly credit its existence. But here it was, right in my own house.

“What will you do?” My voice was thin, ghostly.

“Take more care,” came his simple reply.

You’ll need more than that,
I thought, my heart filled with leaden sickness.

Elizabeth made a choking sound and turned away to hide her tears.

Much more than that.

* * *

Archimedes and Jericho found no laudanum that night or in the days to follow. Though uncommonly diligent in their searches, we were left with the uncomfortable conclusion that either nothing was there to be found, or that Mother had been more clever at hiding it. Beldon offered the slim hope that the amount taken from his box had all been used that same night. No one was eager to accept his optimistic assessment, though.

Beldon saw to it that a stout lock was attached to his medicine case and began to lock his room whenever he left it. He kept both keys on his person and soon developed a habit of now and then tapping the pocket they occupied to make sure they were there. Their soft clink was a source of great reassurance to him, it seemed.

He also continued—at Father’s firm request—to perpetuate the fiction about the attack of flying gout. It was bad enough for us to know the truth behind his illness, but it would have been much worse for the others to know as well. For all to suffer with such knowledge . . . well, the strain and worry would have made the place impossible to live in.

The story also served well enough to cover the reason why Beldon demanded Mrs. Nooth’s close supervision of Father’s meals. As for drink, the cabinet in the library holding a small stock of wines and spirits also quietly acquired a lock. Father hinted to the locksmith about petty thievery and rather than confront the tippler, he preferred to confound him. The tale was so common that it would hardly be worth repeating, which was what Father hoped for and likely got.

Father was shaky the next day, his body trying to recover from the aftereffects of too much laudanum and coffee, but he was more himself on the next, and out doing his usual business after that. He made one brief visit to Mrs. Montagu, mentioning it to me later.

“I told her that things were becoming difficult here, requiring my presence, so she mightn’t see me as often. I did not tell her what happened, nor do I wish her to know.”

“Hasn’t she the right?” I asked.

“Yes, but she’s burdens of her own to bear at this time. Later, when I’m ready, she’ll hear it all, but not just yet. In the meanwhile, I’d appreciate it if you’d look in on her now and then when you’re . . . out and about. See that things are quiet. You know.”

“I’ll be happy to do so.” He knew all about my flying adventures, such as they were. The winter nights were perfect for this activity, at least when the winds were not too fierce. The cold weather drove people indoors and kept them there, allowing me considerable freedom to enjoy the open sky without fear of being seen. More than once I’d let myself drift all the way into Glenbriar to socialize at The Oak or visit Molly Audy or both. Molly’s fortune improved for my extra business, and at the inn I was able to expand my knowledge of the German language by talking some of the night away with the Hessians there. Would that things were as amicable at home.

The evening following the tea party was a quiet one. Father was up in his room, the rest were downstairs pursuing cards or music. Beldon had gone so far as to tune up his fiddle and attempt a duet with Lady Caroline. Norwood and Elizabeth managed to place themselves on the same settee, ostensibly to listen. Mother, Mrs. Hardinbrook, and Anne were at some sort of three-handed card game I couldn’t readily identify. All appeared peaceful and normal. Perhaps it was, but my perceptions had been so altered that I saw things in a skewed manner.

Studying Mother’s every movement and expression, I tried to read the truth within, if any could be discerned. I saw a middle-aged woman, her once beautiful face marred by years of unhappy passions and futile and frustrated goals. This was not a contented soul. Any peace in her life came from moments like this, where the only distraction from her own inner demons might be found in the company of her friends.

That was interesting. I’d always known it, but only now did the realization come to me: Mother was rarely ever alone. Mrs. Hardinbrook was with her most of the time, Beldon as well, then there were those tea parties and making calls on others. For all the acid of her personality, she always managed to have company around her. I wondered why. Was she so afraid of those demons she could not face them?

Having faced down a few myself, I couldn’t blame her for that.

Elizabeth rose and excused herself during a break in the playing and walked unhurriedly out to the hall. As she passed me she raised her brows and gave a small movement of her head to indicate she wanted to talk. Anything more open might draw unwelcome attention from Mother. After a moment or two, I unobtrusively followed.

She was not waiting in the hall as I’d expected, but there was a faint glow of candlelight coming from the open door of the library.

“This is hard, Jonathan,” she said just as I came in.

“Tell me what the matter is and I might agree with you.”

She was blank for a moment, then waved her hand in a gesture of irritation.
“This.
Not being able to talk about last night or at least about the real truth of it. To pretend that nothing happened when all I want to do is scream about it to the heavens.”

“I know you do.”

“To sit in the same room as that woman . . . full of pretense over something this serious. If we do much more of it I’ll burst.”

“You won’t.”

She snorted. “I shouldn’t like to wager on that.”

“Father will take care of everything.”

“We can hope so, but . . . I don’t trust that blind spot he has for her. Yes, he feels honor bound by an oath to look after her, but cannot that oath be broken or at least bent by this change of circumstances?”

“He’ll think of something, I’m sure.” My responses were easy and without much thought behind them. Elizabeth mostly wanted someone to talk to, a chance to air her complaints and fears. As she was unable to speak to Father about it, I was now her only confidant, aside from Jericho and Archimedes. But they were servants and I was her brother. I accepted her fears and kept my own in check for the moment.

“You’re wanting to tell Lord James?” I asked, prompted by an unexpected insight.

Her teeth showed, but in a grimace, not a smile. “I don’t know what I want. Yes, I do . . . . Oh, damnation!”

I couldn’t help but laugh—quietly. “You
are
in love, aren’t you?”

Now she flushed red and paced up and down, wringing her hands together. “I think so. I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before. I can’t see straight or think about anything but him or do anything for myself. Am I ill?”

“Definitely, and I hope you’ll treasure that illness.”

“But, it’s frightening, too. Is that how you felt about Nora?”

“It depends on what sort of fear you mean.” Nora had inspired several kinds of terrors in me during our relationship, many of them quite wonderful.

“I mean the sort of fear that comes when you stand on the edge of what you know to be a cliff. You have to step off, not knowing whether you’ll fall into a stack of straw or dash to pieces on a pile of rocks.”

“Yes,” I said with a sigh of remembrance. “I’ve been through that.”

“What did you do?”

“I stepped off, of course. I didn’t have much choice. I just went, because any other choice would have hurt worse than landing on the rocks.”

“That’s what I want to do, but how can I do it without being truthful to him about things?”

“You really think it’s necessary to tell him about last night?”

“It’s . . . it’s been preying on my mind. Coming between us. I want to tell him, but I’m not sure. He’ll probably tell his sister and she might mention it to Anne or—”

“Just ask him to pledge on his honor to keep it to himself.”

“Is it just that simple? I hate secrets unless they’re happy ones, like a surprise gift. Those are the only ones I’m comfortable keeping.”

“A man like Lord James would probably be delighted to have your confidence and a pledge on his honor would be safe with him. It would make him feel the hero with you confiding such privileged knowledge to him.”

“The point is not to impress him, but to be honest.”

“He will be impressed, anyway.”

“But the knowledge itself is so sordid. It might put him off me.”

“I can’t advise you on what to do in this, or how he might react, but if he really loves you, nothing will keep him from you.”

“I suppose I’ll have to think about it some more. It’s just that sitting there with Mother behind us and playing cards as though nothing were wrong . . . . My God, if Rapelji hadn’t been with Father we might be weeping around a coffin right now.”

I put my arms around her and told her everything was all right. I’d been saying that a lot lately. I hoped with all my heart that it was true.

Footsteps. I recognized their purposeful clack and broke away from Elizabeth.

“What is it?” she asked.

I put a finger to my lips and faded away as fast as I could. And that was very fast. Elizabeth gave out with a little “oh” of surprise as she found herself alone in the room.

The steps, muffled for me by my
present condition, halted, probably at the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” Mother demanded.

The reply was slow in coming. The delay might have been caused by my
disappearance or the fact this was the first time in ages that Mother had directly addressed her, or both.

“Nothing. I just wanted to find a book to show to Lord James.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“I last saw him in the music room.”

“He’s not there now.” Mother stepped forward and around and circled the library. Assuring herself that Elizabeth was indeed alone and that I wasn’t hiding behind a curtain or crouched under the desk. Elizabeth remained silent. So did Mother. Eventually, she left. When I was sure she was far enough along not to hear, I returned.

My sister jumped when she saw me.

“Sorry. I thought it would avoid trouble if I—”

“My God.” She put her hand to her heart and breathed out a laughing sigh of relief. “My God.”

“I’m
sorry.
”

“Don’t be. I was just wishing that I could do that, too.” She went to the door and looked out. “Gone back to her game, I think. You saved us from considerable unpleasantness just now.”