Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (57 page)

“That was the idea.”

“And a good one. Thank you, little brother.”

I bowed good-naturedly. “She
spoke
to you.”

She’d been smiling; now it faded. “Yes. I hope she won’t make a habit of it. I . . . don’t think so.”

“Why is that?”

“Just a feeling. In the past she’s never failed to find some fault with me and make some kind of disparaging comment over it. She had the opportunity now and did not use it.”

“Perhaps she wants to maintain as much distance from you as you do from her and knows that talking to you would diminish it.”

“ ‘Though this be madness’ . . . ?”

“She knows ‘a hawk from a handsaw.’ ”

We fell silent a moment and stared out the empty door. Distantly, Beldon drew a few notes from his fiddle, then sawed a few others with more confidence. The spinet followed his lead, then passed him.

“Lord James will be missing you,” I said.

“I’m missing him.”

“What will you tell him?”

“I’m not sure. Talking to you about it . . . . I have to think some more.

“Will you tell him about me?”

She was startled. “Why should I?”

“In the interest of honesty. Why not? It’s a secret as well.”

“But not an awful one. It’s not the same.”

“It’s been pretty awful to me, at times.”

“This must not have been one of them. You should have seen your face when you came back after that woman left.”

“I wish I could.”

Elizabeth knew about my problem with mirrors. “Well, you looked positively smug. Feeling sorry for yourself now?”

I made myself smile and shook my head.

* * *

I wandered back to the music room some while later. Lady Caroline had relinquished the spinet to Elizabeth and was now seated next to Norwood, but nothing else had changed. I listened as she and Beldon played through a few songs they both liked and nodded genially at anyone glancing my way. After a time I quietly wandered out again.

The mood was a familiar one: I was too restless to sit, or read, or do much of anything. I hated this kind of waiting, of not knowing exactly when it would end. Months would pass before fresh news came from Oliver. Unless a delayed letter from him was already crossing the sea. Or even sitting in port just miles away.

It was bitter cold when I finally thought to go outside. I had no cloak or hat, but the chill would not affect me for a goodly time, despite the high wind. The noise of it bothered me more than the low temperature. It hissed and snarled through the bare tree branches and sent loose crystals of snow skittering over the drifts. I plunged my bare hands into a thick white pile and dug out the makings of a sizable snowball. Packing it down solidly, I smoothed it, rounded it, slapped more snow in where it lacked.

There was ice mixed in and it cut me. I regarded the stinging slice in my finger for a moment, vanished and returned. The cut was gone.

I liked that, and chuckled at the advantage my condition brought to the maintaining of my health. Then I hefted my snowball and threw it as high and as far as I could over the trees. Couldn’t tell where it landed. Couldn’t hear. The wind carried the sound away.

Elizabeth had been right to question whether I felt sorry for myself, but my pity was for our family in general, not just for me.

Well . . .
some
of it was . . . but I wasn’t giving in to it, not for now.

I made more snowballs and threw them into the pale winter night until my fingers grew stiff and blue, then went inside to thaw them by the library fire. Around me the house gradually settled down for the evening. The last bit of cleaning was seen to in the kitchen, along with preparations for tomorrow’s cooking tasks. I heard Archimedes’s stately tread going up the stairs to inquire if Father wanted anything more before retiring. Jericho made a last round to see that the doors and windows were locked, then went up to my room to set out my things as usual. He and his father came down together, their voices soft in the liquid sound of some African tongue. Jericho understood his father’s language, but rarely spoke it where a white person might hear. He said it made them nervous.

The music had stopped and conversation ceased. Norwood escorted his sister to her room. Beldon saw to the other ladies, then came to the library.

He did not see me as he cast about for a book for this evening’s reading. I made sure of that. Only when he was gone did I return. I didn’t usually vanish to avoid people, but tonight I was in no mood for further conversation.

Beldon trudged up to his room, and one by one people upstairs and down retired to their beds. If I listened closely, I could just hear Mrs. Hardinbrook’s first snores.

Other than that and the wind outside, all was quiet. When I was busy clerking for Father or absorbed in a book, I hardly paid mind to any of it; now it seemed to shout at me, “You’re alone, alone,
alone!”

Indeed, I was. More so than most. Even Mother.

When the silence went on for an hour, I shifted from before the dying fire and quietly padded upstairs, carrying a candle. My shoes were on the hearth, still drying from the snow, but I’d have left them off anyway.

On the landing I went left instead of right and paused outside Mother’s door to listen. She was asleep. My hand light on the handle, I slipped inside.

In all her time here, I’d never been in her room. I’d never had an interest in seeing it since she’d moved back, nor had she ever invited her children to visit. Only Mrs. Hardinbrook had been welcomed here, and Beldon, when his doctoring was needed. It had the usual furnishings, including a large mirror. I could ignore that for now.

Mother was buried under a thick layer of coverlets. She lay on her back, her carefully dressed hair wrapped up for protection against disarray in her sleep. Her face was thick with powder and paint, the feeble tools used to retain some ghost of her former beauty. She looked like a ghost, a still one, with its mouth slightly open.

My throat was tinder dry and I knew I was afraid. I could back out even now and no one would be the wiser.

Mother grumbled uneasily and turned a little. The lines on her face that should have been smoothed by sleep deepened into a scowl. If she dreamed, then it was an uneasy one.

Elizabeth was right, there was hatred in this woman, but was it enough to inspire her to poison a husband she had ceased to love decades ago? The more I looked at her the more likely it seemed. And the more pressing my need to do something about it.

I glided to a bedside table and lighted the candle there from the one in my hand. The room had been too dark. I found another candle and brought it over. Their three lights yet seemed too feeble, that, or my fear made them so.

Unhappily giving in to what was again a skewed perception, I turned up one more candle, just to be sure. Plenty of light now, no chance for failure . . . unless someone walking past in the hall noticed the golden gleam escaping under the door and . . . .

No. None of that. I’d hear anyone walking past first. With my hearing, I’d know when they first set foot to floor from their beds.

Get on with it.

I had to work my mouth a bit to get enough spit in it to speak. Then I wavered and cursed myself for hesitating.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned over Mother and gently shook her shoulder. It felt strange to touch her. She never encouraged it. The last time I’d touched her had been at my homecoming from England. It had been a perfunctory embrace, no more than what was needed for show. After that, nothing.

I expected iron, or something equally hard and cold, but this shoulder was soft and flaccid under my fingers and I drew back as soon as she stirred. She mumbled and shifted.

“Wake up,” I whispered. I could barely hear myself.
Have to do better than this
. I
shook her again, more firmly. “Wake up, now.”

Her mumble turned into a whimper. I worried that she might have taken one of Beldon’s sleeping draughts. Damnation if she had.

“Wake up!”
A more fierce whisper.

“No,” she moaned, drawing it out into a near whine. “No, Papa.”

“Come on.” I shook her again, trying to break her from her dream.

“Please, no, Papa. Don’t.”

“Mother . . . wake up!”

Her eyes wide, she gasped and shrank from me. I hadn’t known what to expect when I woke her, but not this. Not this kind of shock, not this kind of naked fear. My God, what had she been dreaming about?

“What?” The last shreds of sleep tore away from her puffy eyes. They sharpened, cutting into me. “What are you doing here?”

Such was the force of her question and my ingrained habit of obedience that I nearly wasted time answering her. But I caught myself and said, “Quiet. You will be quiet, Mother.”

“You—”

Our gazes locked. That was what was important.
“Quiet . . .
and listen to me. You will
listen
to me . . . .”

The fear, anger, hatred, outrage—whatever it was that drove her eased instantly. It was frightening to see just how swiftly the change came over her, almost like one of her fits, but reversed.

No wonder Father had thought of this acquired talent of mine as both a gift and a curse and had asked me to use it sparingly. And so I had. For the most part. Nora used it often enough to protect herself, letting her conscience guide her, and I’d taken that as a wise example to follow. Bullying Nash into a more compassionate behavior did not seem to be an abuse of power, after all, but what I was about to try now . . . .

No. I would not start worrying about what people might think. Do that, and I’d end up like Mother.

I’d once agreed with Father that to force my will and thoughts upon others was not only ungentlemanly, but dishonorable. It had seemed so simple then to refrain. The right thing. One of the first ideas to occur to him was that I might be tempted to influence Mother into better behavior, and I’d all but given him my word that I would take no such action. Now as I stood here and stared down at her empty eyes I felt shamed over having to betray his trust.

But what I was doing was right. It
had
to be right.

The agreement we’d made so easily last summer did not cover this threat, had never even considered it. I wasn’t doing this for any other reason than to protect him, but then I wasn’t planning to tell him about it, either. Out of considerations of honor, he might forbid me to do anything.

Damnation, again. I was becoming like Mother, for I was doing this for Father’s own good, without his permission.

So be it, I thought wearily. For peace in the family and out of love for my father, so be it.

I straightened, resumed looking into Mother’s eyes, and began to speak.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Days—and nights—passed and nothing untoward happened, thank God. Responding unknowingly to my influence, Mother did what was asked of her, which was to do nothing.

I’d kept my influence to the absolute minimum, making the brief and simple request that she should not attempt to hurt or harm Father ever again. Once assured that she understood completely, I suggested that she forget my intrusion, but not her promise, and to go back to sleep. After a moment, when I stopped feeling so unsettled, I put out the candles, carefully returned them to where I’d found them, picked up the one I’d brought, and left.

Without, the hall, rooms, the whole house had been as silent after as before. A listening silence, said my guilty fancy, but I was safe enough from discovery.

Depending on one’s conscience, guilt can be eased by the passage of time, and to my surprise, I found my conscience to be rather more flexible than I’d thought—at least in this matter. As one night succeeded another without further incident, I began to see that what I’d done had been the right action to take. The only drawback was not being able to speak of it to the others.

It would have helped them to know that their worries were over, but it seemed best to let things run on as usual. Not that I was indifferent to their concern; I offered reassurance when it was needed, but kept my mouth shut the rest of the time. After a while, life gradually eased back to normal. Or something close to it. Father resumed taking tea with us and ceased looking dubious when presented with his evening meal. Elizabeth, distracted by Norwood, left off drifting along in Mother’s wake whenever the woman left a room alone. Jericho and Archimedes stopped their searches for laudanum, though they continued to keep a sharp eye on Mother during gatherings.

Beldon remained watchful, though.

“I feel badly about this, Mr. Barrett,” he confided to me one night not long after. “My carelessness was inexcusable. It shall not be repeated.”

“Hardly your fault, sir. How could you have known? Or even anticipated?”

“But I should have.” He touched the pocket where he kept the new keys to his medicine box and room. “Nevermore.”

“Then surely there’s no reason to feel bad.”

He offered me a bleak look. “There is should your Mother decide to make another attempt, by another means.”

“What is open to her, then?”

“There are a number of hunting arms in the house, pistols, and you know that Lord James has quite a little collection of his own.”

“You hardly need worry over that. Mother knows nothing about the loading or shooting of firearms.”

That brought him a measure of solace. We had arms, powder, and shot at hand because of the roughness of the times, but kept them well-hidden. With rebel raiders threatening to swoop upon us to commit common robbery under the thin sham of patriotism, Father had taken pains to augment his cache of guns over the months. However, it was impractical to leave them loaded, as the powder might become too damp to fire. He did make certain that everyone in the house from Elizabeth to the scullery boy knew how to load and shoot, though. Everyone but Mother, who claimed to despise the noise and mess, and did her best to make a virtue of her willful ignorance. I think she may have regretted her attitude, for Lady Caroline turned out to be an enthusiastic shootist, setting a good example for the rest of the ladies to follow.

“What other means of mayhem might Mother turn to?” I asked Beldon.

“A push down the stairs?” he hazarded, then shrugged sheepishly. “I know, I’m probably worried over nothing, but I am fond of your family and should bitterly regret any harm that might come to them. Your father was uncommonly generous in taking my sister and me in and allowing us to stay.”

That, of course, had been Mother’s idea, for this was her house, not Father’s, but in truth, Father had come to appreciate their company: Mrs. Hardinbrook as a buffer against Mother, and Beldon as a physician . . . and friend. I was reluctant to admit that, unwilling to relinquish my first impression of the man, which was that of a self-serving toad-eater. But though he often fell into that habit, especially around people like Norwood, he’d ceased to do so with our family. Perhaps some of our own cheerful honesty with one another (with the exception of Mother) had made a favorable impression upon him.

“We’re all grateful for your presence, Doctor, and for your concern, but things are well in hand now.”

He looked skeptical.

“I don’t mean that we should not be vigilant to potential trouble, but I think things are safe enough that we may be at ease most of the time.” There, that was as much as I would tell anyone and much more than I’d wanted. Father and Elizabeth would have been able to discern what was behind my words and correctly guess what I’d done to be filled with such confidence. Beldon, though, did not. From his wan smile I got the impression he put it down to youthful optimism. I hoped he would choose not to quote me before others. That might prove to be rather awkward.

But this night, like the last few, was quiet. The usual game of cards went on; they might have had enough for a second table of play, but I had no desire to join them and Norwood was gone. Some business in Hempstead claimed his attention and he’d left at dawn that morning. Poor Elizabeth had had a dull time of it waiting for him, or so I gathered when she greeted me earlier. Now she poked glumly at the keys of the spinet, starting up every time she fancied hearing a noise that might be the announcement of his arrival home.

Lady Caroline was busy with some delicate needlework, while Anne studiously read another of Shakespeare’s works. They sat on either side of the table, close enough to share the candlelight. The flames lent a golden tone to their high-dressed and powdered hair that was charming to behold. I had a book of my own, but my attention kept wandering from it to them, particularly Anne. Her brow was deeply furrowed in concentration, but it was not unattractive on her. I quite liked the effect, as it gave a more serious air to her pretty, but usually blank face.

Then she must have sensed me watching her. She looked up to meet my gaze. I smiled politely and got one in return. She tried to continue reading, but I’d spoiled it for her. After a few more efforts, she gave up and smiled at me again.

Well-a-day.
I’d seen that expression more than once on other women and recognized it, or thought I did. The question to face now was what to do about it. Possessing a healthy portion of curiosity, I decided to find out if I was mistaken. I nodded back to her with a friendly expression. Hers was also friendly . . . and maybe a bit more.

She quietly folded her book and left the room in such a way as to bring no notice to herself. That usually requires either talent or raw instinct to do well, and Anne apparently possessed both those qualities. As she passed me, I got another look from her. No, I had not been at all mistaken, so after an interval, I followed. I wasn’t sure about my ability to be as quiet as she, but tried.

She was in the parlor. The fire was out and the only light came from the single candle she’d taken with her. She put it on a table.

“Hallo,” I said.

Anne briefly smiled, then said, “You seem to like me.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

“As a cousin, or as something more?”

“Ahh . . . well. . . .”

“Is that why you were looking at me? Were you trying to decide?”

I laughed a little. “Maybe I was. I’m sorry if I’ve given offense.”

She shook her head. “I’m not offended, but I am curious.”

What a coincidence.

“I know we are blood cousins, but I . . . think you’re very handsome . . . and kind.”

“Thank you. I think you’re very pretty and sweet.”

She swallowed. “That’s good.”

I moved fractionally closer. “Perhaps it’s that we’re both merely curious.

“Yes, I’m sure of it. But I . . . .” Now she looked rather helpless and lost. Was she standing on the edge of that cliff Elizabeth had spoken about? What lay below, a soft landing or something painful?

“Do you think you might be in love?” I asked. I was nowhere near any sort of edge, but to take advantage of her would be most ungentlemanly. My sojourn in England taught me that in certain situations it was best for the lady to take the lead.

Anne’s lips thinned as she sucked in the lower one. “I don’t know what answer to give you.”

“What answer do you give yourself?”

“That I’m not in love.”

“But you’re still curious?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps we should simply attempt to satisfy our mutual curiosity and leave it at that.”

She thought it over and her face lightened. “What shall we do?”

“Yes, well, there are any number of things that may be tried.”

“I’d like to kiss you.”

“That’s a good start.”

“But I don’t know how. You won’t laugh at me, will you?”

“My word of honor,” I said solemnly, which seemed to give her comfort. I was not playing with her, for I knew just how difficult and frightening total inexperience can be.

She straightened and composed herself. “Will you show me?”

Now I had a moment of difficulty, not from inexperience, but from the responsibility I was about to take on. I vividly recalled Nora had been aware of it for herself. With her example in mind, I knew then that I wanted Anne’s first kiss to be just as happy a memory as mine was.

“All right. Stand close.”

She did so.

“Relax a bit.” I placed my hands lightly on either side of her face, then bent a little and kissed her, just like that. Softly. Gently. “There now,” I whispered. “It’s easy. Want to try another?”

“Mm-mmm.”

I took that to mean that she did and so obliged, taking more time. She seemed to enjoy it, but had a puzzled look when I pulled away.

“Is that all there is? Not that it wasn’t nice, but I thought—”

“Actually, yes, there is more. Quite a lot.”

“Oh, that’s good. Will you show me that as well?”

“If you wish, but not everything. Don’t want to overdo it the first time out, y’know.”

I put my arms around her and she followed suit. She was on the small side, but we managed to put our lips together again. I slowly opened mine and after a pause she did the same, catching her breath as I tried a more intimate touch with my tongue. That woke her up.

“Oh, dear,” she gasped when I paused. I didn’t ask whether she liked it or not; it was obvious that she did, but had only been surprised.

“Does everyone do it like this?”

“Perhaps not as well,” I answered, eschewing modesty. I felt there was no need for such. Nora had, after all, been an excellent teacher.

“Again, please?”

Explorations proceeded on both sides. Her breath came faster and deeper and I could feel her heart pounding throughout her whole body. I was subject to some extremely pleasant reactions of my own, the most noticeable of which forced me to draw away before she discovered anything odd about my mouth. I began kissing her cheeks, forehead, temples, ears, and finally dropped as far as her throat.

And there . . . I had to reluctantly stop. My corner teeth were out and I was more than ready to put them to use, but that wouldn’t have been right. Not for either of us.

“Are you—are you finished?” she asked shakily.

“I think it’s a good idea to leave off here,” I murmured somewhat indistinctly.

“Do other people not continue . . . to other things?”

“Yes, but I’m not prepared to do so. That is for another person to do.”

“Who?”

“The man you’ll fall in love with someday.”

“What if I changed my mind? What if I’m in love with you after all?”

“That would make me a most fortunate fellow, but you’re not.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Her hands fluttered over her lips, paused at her breast an instant, and then clasped one another determinedly. She breathed in and out once. “Then what am I feeling?”

“The normal kind of lust that is often generated by bit of healthy kissing.”

“Lust?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a bad thing, though. Isn’t it?”

“You do have to be careful around it, and not give into it willy-nilly, but under the right circumstances it can be good indeed.”

“And these aren’t the right circumstances?”

“And I’m not the right person.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Her eyes were sharp and guarded. “How do you know that?”

“Because if it were otherwise, you and I would be feeling far more than just curiosity.”

She thought that over for a time. “Or lust?”

“Exactly.”

More thought. Her hands unclasped. She took one of mine and went on tiptoe. I leaned down once more and we kissed once more. Rather chastely. She was smiling afterward. “Well . . . Cousin, if and when I should fall in love with a man, thanks to you, I shall be better prepared to deal with him.”

“I’m happy to have been of assistance.”

“But he will have to be someone exceptional, I think.”

I bowed gravely. “You are most kind, Cousin.”

Her expression was playful. “Do you still like me?”