Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (63 page)

The annoyingly redoubtable Ash was on his hands and knees bellowing at Drummond, who was not yet to the point of rousing from his shock. Damnation to them. If I had more time I could have stayed, changed their memories to my advantage, but the rising sun was against me. I had scant minutes, no more and probably much less. It was hard to tell for the clouds.

I had to get away.

Slogging fast over the open snow field was the best I could do. I threw the cloak around my shoulders and pulled it close, grateful for the brothers’ greed. The only reason I could think why they’d followed out after us was for Seth to lay claim to my boots before his friends dropped them—along with my body—into the Sound. Abel may have come to try for them himself one more time; that, or to enjoy the execution. Young Tully was probably still snoring.

I ran as quickly as possible, wanting distance between myself and the growing row behind me. Ash’s shrill voice rose high over the drifts, suffused with anger. I looked back once and saw him on his feet, shaking a fist at me. Without a doubt, he was a dangerous man, but also stupid and incredibly foolish; I still had the pistol.

A perverse fancy took me. I stopped and turned, arm out in the best dueling style, my pose and posture unmistakable. He ceased cursing, caught between horror and surprise. I pulled the trigger and was rewarded as it fired perfectly. The thing made a grand roar, and I had the satisfaction of seeing Ash and the others duck in dismay. They weren’t injured—I’d aimed just over their heads—but by the time they found enough courage to look again, they’d not be able to see me. I took that moment as the right instant to vanish.

The thought belatedly came that they’d follow my trail in the snow. They’d find my tracks ending in the middle of the field as though I’d vanished into the air, which, indeed, I had. Well, it was too late now. Let them puzzle it out and be damned.

Glad I was that the wind had died. There was just enough to give me a direction to push against, which I did with all my strength and will. I sped south and then west toward home, though I had not the faintest possibility of reaching it in time.

Panic?

Oh, yes. Quite a lot.

There was also the hope that once I’d put enough distance between myself and that band of patriotic cutthroats, I could go solid, get my bearings and find shelter for the day. All I needed was a shack or barn, someplace to hide from the approaching sun.

I hurtled forward for as long as I dared, then re-formed. The light was nearly blinding. The snow-blanketed fields reflected it, increased it. I shaded my eyes and searched with desperate haste and hope for cover. Nothing, absolutely nothing, presented itself.

For want of anything better to do besides stand and gibber with fear, I vanished and continued forward. There were some trees in the distance, widely spaced and naked of leaves. Probably useless. Faster and faster I went until such senses as were left to me in this form gave warning that I’d reached my goal.

This next re-forming was more difficult. The light much worse. My fear all but choked me. The trees were useless. Even in the high summer with their leaves, their shade would not have been sufficient. They were too far apart. There was no other choice, though. Perhaps my cloak would shield me from the sun. Even winter’s pale orb shrouded by thick clouds would doubtless cause me great harm unless I found some better protection.

Then I noticed the trees farther on were strangely shortened. My sight was the worse for the glare, but I was just able to discern that they were not really short, but actually the top branches of trees growing upon much lower ground.

The Island was pocked here and there with depressions we called kettles because of their general shape. Rapelji said that they’d been carved out of the earth by ancient glaciers. Some were small, others much larger, with names to them. I had no name for this one, but immediately dubbed it “haven.”

I charged forward, faded somewhat, and launched my partially visible body over the edge. It was quite different from the tumble I’d taken into one as a child. The landing was much less abrupt.

The high wall of earth on my left blocked the immediate threat of light; the other wall was not all that far away. The bottom would be exposed to sun for only a short time during the day. I could improve that if I—yes, there, where the wall bulged out, creating a little alcove, but to lie as one dead with only a cloak for covering . . . . I was afraid Ash and his crew would come hunting and chance upon me while I lay helpless. After what I’d done to Drummond, they’d hack me to bits.

The snow. It had drifted in here all throughout the winter, deep and undisturbed, yards deep.

It might not work.

Oh, but it
had
to.

I faded completely and sank beneath its unbroken surface, sank until I touched upon the more solid barrier of the frozen earth beneath and there stopped. Then gradually, ever so cautiously, I assumed form once more. Not at all easy, but the hard snow gave way to my frantic pushing and I made myself a kind of burrow. I twisted this way and that, but saw not the least hint of light. It would do. It would have to, for my choices had been stolen away by the dawn.

It was a grave. No other word could describe this kind of darkness or silence. I was acutely conscious of the great weight of the snow above. Had I needed air, I’d have smothered in a short time. As it was, my mind was in danger of smothering from the memory of my first wretched awakening into this changed life.

And then . . . my worries ceased for the day.

CHAPTER TEN

I awoke to utter blackness, immobile from cold and disoriented, leaping into a kind of groggy alarm. As my last thought had been for my hated churchyard coffin, I mentally kicked out in a—literally—blind panic, instinctively tried to vanish and did.

By increments.

Bit by bit, I faded, feeling myself going at the extremities first as hands and feet, already numb, lost all further bond with touch. It seeped past my skin and muscle, to the vitals, to the bones, until I was finally incorporeal and bumping gently against the sides of my tiny prison.

Nasty sensation, that.

During this agonizingly slow transformation I’d recovered some of my wits, recalling that I’d buried myself in a snow bank to escape the daylight. I also knew I no longer wanted to be here. So thinking, I sieved slowly upward from the icy sanctuary until I seemed to be free of it, then tried to resume a solid body again.

It was a reverse of the vanishing, only slower, with me struggling to push it faster and not making much difference at all. For a time, while but halfway formed, I madly blinked to clear my fogged vision. My eyes were not themselves subject to any injury, but the lengthy return made it seem so. Once they were clear, I knew I was whole. I felt much better—until my legs gave out and I landed face-down in the snow like a felled tree.

After that, I became more cautious.

I was chilled through and through, so much so that I had quite forgotten what it was like to ever be warm. My fingers were an unhealthy white and, though they moved, were too stiff to be of much use. All my joints were stiff, for that matter. I felt as though I’d been hollowed out and filled from the toes up with half-frozen mud.

While trying to push the ground away, I reflected that if I didn’t find some warmth soon, the mud inside would freeze the rest of the way. With that ominously in mind, success followed my next effort to stand; then I endeavored to walk . . . well, shamble. At least I was moving.

The kettle had high walls, but was mercifully open at the southern end, making for an uncomplicated escape. I didn’t want to try vanishing again until my condition had improved. My pace was slow, but constant, and became more fluid the longer I kept at it. When I started shivering, I knew I’d done the right thing to save myself, quite probably just in time or they’d have not found my body until late spring.

I had to trudge uphill for a bit, then the kettle opened to an empty field. No fences were in sight, no signs of anything civilized, only snow and the stark black silhouette of a tree here and there. The east-west road that Ash and his crew used lay somewhere ahead. I was reluctant to find it, though. Since I’d determined I was in Suffolk County, the chances of encountering more of his rebel friends was great. It would not be terribly advantageous to my interests to escape one band of cutthroats only to be captured by another, but I supposed I could cope if it was unavoidable. For now I was too miserable to plan for anything more harrowing than the next few steps forward.

Lots of those. I didn’t bother to count.

The going was slow due to the uneven ground beneath the snow. Thank God that Seth hadn’t taken my boots away. Thank God I’d gotten my cloak back from Abel. It was heavy with damp, but preferable to going without. All I needed now was something to cover my head. My ears were like chips of ice. And, as long as I was making wishes, some gloves would be—

Gloves . . . . On impulse I slapped the inside pocket of the cloak. They were still there. I’d have to give Jericho a special thanks for his foresight and another to Providence that Abel had overlooked these prizes. Barely able to open and close my hands, I managed to pull the things on. Maybe they wouldn’t give warmth, but they’d hold in what little I might produce and keep the cruelly cold air from stealing it away.

Each step became marginally easier than the last, and the line of footprints behind me grew longer and longer. A mile of it must have stretched back to the kettle when I saw the road. There was little to mark it from the rest of the countryside but the indentations of ruts and marks left by wheels and livestock. I chose the westward direction and walked and walked and walked.

After an hour of it, I decided my fears of meeting with more rebels were not to be realized. That comforting thought kept me in good spirits until the country silence was broken by the sound of hoofs.

Coming up behind. Rebels for sure. Hunting me down.

No place to hide, not a tree or a drainage ditch, no wall or even a bush. Vanish? No. My insides were too unsettled yet; I could do myself an injury, or perhaps not have the strength to re-form again.

Very well, hide in the open. Pretend to be what I must surely look like, a forlorn traveler on his way to shelter. I’d plod on and ignore them and hope they’d return the favor and pass by.

The sky was clear of clouds and there was a bright, nearly full moon out. The light was excellent. They’d probably have a sharp look at me before they went by. That’s what I’d do.

How many? A glimpse over my shoulder showed only two riders. That was good. I could probably handle them if it came to it. I fervently prayed it would not.

They clip-clopped up, in no hurry, and came even with me. They stayed even with me. Damnation.

“You, sir! Who are you and where are you bound?”

An educated voice. A gentleman’s voice. Familiar . . . .

I looked up . . . right into the astonished face of Lord James Norwood.

My own expression must have matched his well enough, for we were both struck speechless. Then the second rider swung his leg over his mount’s neck and slipped off.

“My God, Mr. Barrett, is it you?” Dr. Beldon, brimful of relief.

I was impossibly glad to see him and deeply touched by this evidence of his concern for me, and raised a smile of greeting. It was meant to reassure, but had quite the opposite effect on the poor man.

“Sweet heavens, are you all right? What has happened to you?”

Norwood, prompted by the doctor’s actions, also dismounted and echoed those questions and more. Both of them were obviously shocked by my
doubtless wild appearance. They each took an arm to support me, though I’d been doing an adequate enough job before.

“You’re freezing cold, man,” said Beldon. “Here, I’ve a blanket in one of my bags . . . .” He broke away to get it.

“Where have you been, sir?” asked Norwood.

“Some house near the shore,” I answered. My voice was thick and strange in my throat. “Not sure. My family? Are they—?”

“They’re very worried for you. Your father is out with another search party farther south.”

“Search party?”

“Half the Island is out looking for you. As soon as that rascal turned up early this morning with your note, Mr. Barrett sent me off straight as a shot to fetch Lieutenant Nash and his men.”

“Here,” said Beldon, shaking out the promised blanket. “Get this up over your head. Your ears are quite blue.”

I let him fuss, for it was incredibly good to be among friends again.

“Some brandy now . . . .”

There was no way of refusing it gracefully, so I lifted the opaque bottle he offered to my lips and pretended to swallow. A drop or two burned upon my tongue, but only for a moment.

“Are you fit enough to ride?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“There’s a farm not far ahead—”

“No. My own home. Take me right home.”

“You’re certain you can make it?”

“A dead run would be too slow.”

Norwood laughed lightly at this. “And dangerous for the horses, but we’ll see what we can do. Can you give him a leg up, Doctor?”

Norwood had the larger and stronger of the two mounts. He sprang into the saddle, held out a steadying arm, and Beldon gave me the boost I needed. I landed with a thud astride the horse’s rump and might have fallen right off again if Norwood hadn’t caught me. The exertion called back a ghost of dizzying pain from Drummond’s initial assault. My balance was off, but I tried not to let it show, lest they hold to a slow pace.

The pace was slow anyway, at least to my mind, but Norwood kept the time filled by answering my questions on what had happened after Knox’s arrival.

“The big brute was strutting around as though he owned the place, demanding to see Mr. Barrett. Ill-favored fellow, from what I saw of him. I only caught a glimpse at the time. Your father read the note he had, and you should have seen the look on the man’s face when the servants were ordered to grab hold of him. Took a number of ’em, I must say, all the stable lads and those two black housemen as well were needed before they got him on the floor and tied him tight as a trussed bird. And the language. Your father had him gagged as well, to spare the ears of the ladies. Unpleasant business.”

“No doubt.”

“But that was a brilliant bit of business with the note, and the same for Mr. Barrett for catching onto it so fast. You took a risk over that, though.”

“But it worked. That’s what matters.”

“Now, who were these fellows who captured you? How did you let it happen?”

“I didn’t, they did.”

“What? Oh, I see. Yes, certainly you didn’t plan to let yourself be kidnapped. Well, then, did you get a good look at ’em?”

“Much too good a look. I’ll know them the next time I see them.”

“Which will be soon, I hope. That is, if Nash and his men can find ’em before they get away.”

“And Father’s with them?”

“Looking in the wrong place, it seems.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t be more specific in the note as I didn’t know where I was until later.”

“Tell me what happened.”

I did so, briefly, leaving out certain details, and could see him swelling with anger.

“Bastards,” he grumbled.

And that agreed with my own opinion.

* * *

About three miles from home, Beldon said he wanted to run ahead to prepare things for me, kicked his hack to a canter and disappeared. I approved, for it would mean anxiety over me would be relieved that much sooner, and so it proved when Norwood and I finally arrived.

Jericho was there to help me from the horse, to help me inside, and to help me strip from my worse-for-wear clothes. Part of Beldon’s preparations had included instructing Mrs. Nooth to build up the fires and boil large quantities of water. The bathtub was set up in the now steamy kitchen and my cold and highly abused body was soon ecstatically soaking in wonderful, reviving heat. A hot wet cloth was wrapped around my head to warm up my ears. I must have looked like a pale sultan, but didn’t care.

Mrs. Nooth had bathed me as a child and treated me no different now as an adult. Her one concession to the passage of years was to drape a blanket over the whole of the tub, but I thought that it was more for retaining the heat than to preserve my modesty. She added more hot water as it was ready until I felt like a boiled egg, but got no complaints from me. Her instincts were to feed me something, anything. I managed to put her off on that. My past influence upon her helped, for she didn’t press.

The whole house, it seemed, was in the kitchen, full of questions. Even Mother was present, her mouth turned down in fearsome disapproval for the uproar and, possibly, my naked state, but with the blanket in place she had no cause for worry. Propriety, though somewhat strained, was intact.

Elizabeth had been in tears when Norwood and I came in, and had thrown her arms about me in relief. I’d held her and told her I was fine and then came the first of the questions: What had happened?

Where had I been? How did I get away? And so on. I repeated what I’d said to Norwood, with a few more details and a lot more interruptions. As before, I left out things. No one noticed, or if they did, it was accepted without comment.

“You should have killed the fellow while you had the chance,” said Norwood in regard to my bravado gesture of shooting over Ash’s head.

I remained silent on that one and wallowed in the incredible glory of hot water. Beldon removed the soaking wet turban to check my ears and pronounced them to be normal again. He then made a careful examination of the spot where Drummond’s near-deadly blow had connected.

“I see no sign of injury, sir,” he said. His manner was reminiscent of the time he’d marveled over my miraculously healed arm.

I couldn’t distract him out of it in front of all this crowd. “Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

“But your hair is—was quite matted with blood. It had to come from a cut in the scalp, and I can’t find one.”

“That suits me well, Doctor. Mrs. Nooth, might I trouble you for a bit of soap and a flesh brush?”

It was no trouble at all, and her bustling and cheerful chatter celebrating my recovery got between me and Beldon, as I’d wanted.

The two oldest stable lads had been dispatched on fresh mounts to find Father. Norwood thought of going, but didn’t know the countryside as well. They weren’t gone long; Father had been on his way home when they met him on the road. He’d galloped the rest of the way back and still smelled of winter night when he pushed his way into the kitchen to greet me. He knelt next to the tub, took my face in his hands and pulled me close, resting his chin on my head for a moment. Neither of us spoke. It didn’t seem necessary.