Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (65 page)

But I was fairly sure that he was a bit envious of me. He questioned me over and over about what had happened, eyes shining as he searched out every scrap of information from my memory. He was welcome to it, though I found no charm in any of my recollection. Perversely, the more I touched on the negative aspects of it, the greater his admiration rose.

It was flattering, in its way, but wearing. He had no idea of the true cost. To have strangers indifferently attempt to destroy your life for their own gain is wholly shattering. Father understood the hurt my soul had suffered; Norwood did not.

No, I thought, Lord James Norwood was better suited for something “safely” dangerous, more along the lines of riding to the hounds. There was always the chance of falling and breaking one’s neck, but if skillful and fairly lucky, one could return, invigorated, content that death had been bravely overcome. However, he could choose to ride or not. I hadn’t chosen to be kidnapped. That removal of choice was the single most important difference between the dangers.

I could
not
see him going through what I had gone through and still emerge filled with the same sense of naive enthusiasm. Though he was nearing thirty, I wondered which of us was the older and decided it was me. Experience can be quite aging.

Elizabeth came over, put a hand on his arm and said, “Really, Lord James, you’re positively exhausting my poor brother.”

His attention went from me to her with (to my eyes) visible difficulty, but his face smoothly adjusted into a smile.

Elizabeth picked up on the slow change, though. “I’m interrupting?”

“Not at all,” he said. “And you’re right. I’m being an imposition.”

We made mock protests and other such talk, then they drifted away to their favorite corner for more private converse. I watched them and then with suddenly kindled heat remembered Molly Audy.

With all the other events filling my brain, my discovery of his visits to her had altogether been pushed aside. The incident and my questioning of Molly rolled to the front once more, leaving me flummoxed and fuming over what to do next.

No happy solution presented itself beyond a base desire to break every bone in his body. But, as satisfying as this might prove to be, I had to reluctantly admit that what went on between them was not my business. If she found out, Elizabeth was more than capable of taking care of herself.

If she found out.

I
could not be the one to tell her. Any interference on my part would be a most unwise and importune course to take.

Still, if he upset Elizabeth with his actions, I’d be there for her, fists at ready.

* * *

The next night, Father, Beldon, Norwood, and I sedately rode into Glenbriar. Father and Norwood had already been there early in the day to sort things out with Nash. That worthy officer chose not to complain about their tardy report of my return home, for he was still in awe of Norwood’s title and wished to present himself in a good light. He managed to do just that by swiftly dispatching himself with a troop of men to the road where I’d been found. They eventually located the hovel where I’d been taken, but the place was bare of rebels. There was a wagon in the barn, but no horses and no sign of a boat. Nash, with his ever-acquisitive turn of mind, had confiscated the wagon, then ordered the burning of the house and barn.

“Why on earth did you do that, sir?” asked Norwood with some justifiable mystification. The four of us were with Nash at The Oak, listening to the account of his day.

“Because it’s one less sanctuary for them to use,” he replied.

“But the owner of the property—”

“Was not on the premises. A diligent search was made, I assure you.”

“Seems to me,” said Father, “that you could have quartered some of your men there.”

“Possibly, but I considered it to be too far distant.” From the pause preceding Nash’s statement, I could tell he hadn’t considered the idea at all until now.

“Pity about that. If the rebels had decided to try returning, you’d have had them.”

Nash reddened. “If they return, I’m sure the Suffolk militia will be able to deal with them.”

This was met with the kind of silence in which much is said. It was well known that the loyalty of Suffolk County was at best questionable, and that’s what we were thinking, including, belatedly, Nash.

“I’d like to see this Knox fellow,” I said, before things grew too embarrassing.

Nash had already agreed that I could have my private talk, though he would have guards standing ready outside. The memory of the two escapees last fall was yet with him, and even if he’d been made to forget who had helped them, he was not inclined to take further chances. Now he fairly leaped at my offered distraction and issued orders for the man to be removed and brought in from the blockhouse.

“Where will you interview him?” asked Norwood.

I deferred to Nash, who said, “This room will suit. The door is stout and the window too small for a fellow his size to squeeze through. Just remember that we’ll be out here if you want help with him.”

I thanked him and then retired to a dark corner so Knox wouldn’t see me until it was time. Not that it was necessary; I could make him talk no matter what. This was for the benefit of the others.

Soon four large soldiers marched Knox inside, their heavy steps thundering throughout the inn along with the clank and clink of chains. They shoved their charge in with me and came out again, slamming the door.

He was not in the best of condition. His tough face bore some truly colorful bruises, and one eye had swollen shut. He moved stiffly, evidence of more bruising on the rest of his body. His clothes were more ragged than before and much dirtier. He tottered to the table in the center and dropped wearily into a chair. I had no pity for him. He and his cronies had been all too ready to murder me, and they’d certainly murdered others. If I could prevent them from continuing, well and good; I was glad to apply my special advantage.

I stepped from the shadows and slipped into a chair opposite with the table in between us. Folding my hands before me, I looked at him and waited.

Though plenty of candles lighted the place, recognition came slowly to him. The last time he’d seen me I’d been in roughly the same plight he was in now: injured and with other people deciding his fate. A change of clothing and posture made a significant difference in my appearance.

“ ’Oo’re you?” he asked with only a ghost of belligerence. There wasn’t sufficient force in his voice for it to be a demand.

I studied him long, then said, “Jonathan Barrett. The man you kidnapped and tried to kill.”

The color draining from his face made the bruises seem that much worse. His one good eye grew wide and his jaw sagged and the breath fled from him as though I’d struck him hard in the belly.

“I—I didn’t ever want t’ ’urt you, mister—” he began.

“Never mind that. I’m not interested. All I want is for you to listen to me.”

“Listen?”

I leaned closer. “Yes . . . listen . . . .” I went on, speaking steadily, calming him, putting him in a state that would make him eager to answer any question, even if the reply sent him more swiftly to the gallows.

His expression went slack, a disturbing vacuity, as though I’d stolen his soul, leaving behind a living but empty vessel of a body.

Ignore it
, I thought. “Now—you’re going to tell me about your friends, Ash, Tully, Able, Seth, and Drummond.”

“Tell you . . . .”

Now that I had him in so helpless a state, it was hard to keep my emotions in check. I sensed that if I allowed myself to let loose of a single shard of my anger, the result for Knox would be distressing indeed. I did not wish to have a Tony Warburton of my own.

“Everything,” I said, putting all my concentration into it until my head hurt and I had to ease off.

“Wha . . . ?”

He’d need guidance. I couldn’t expect to get useful information from him unless I came up with specific questions. Well, I had no end of those; which one first?

Before I could draw breath for it I was interrupted by the abrupt sound of glass breaking. My gaze shot to the small window behind Knox. One of the panes was gone; bits of it lay on the floor. The crash made me jump and after that I froze, staring. Nothing happened for what seemed like a long time, but could only have been a second at most. I started to move, though I had no idea exactly what to do. Go to the window and look out, perhaps. I was too startled to call to the soldiers outside. There was no time, anyway. The brief second passed and then came the hard, harsh
bang
of pistol fire.

Knox instantly slumped forward.

I must have yelled. The door burst open and men crowded in, but it was over. They found me with my back pressed against the wall, as though trying to melt right through it. They wouldn’t have been far wrong, either. My first instinct was to vanish. Had there been a second pistol aimed at me I’d have certainly done so.

Knox sprawled across the table with a terrible wound on one side of his skull and his brains and blood spilling from a much larger hole on the other. Questions were shouted at me. All I could do was point at the window and one bright lad finally got the idea and bellowed something to Nash. Much noisy confusion followed as some went to peer through the opening and others left to run outside.

The bloodsmell was everywhere, choking me as it filled the room like invisible smoke. One image impressed itself upon my over-taxed brain: the stream of blood flowing across the table and falling over its edge to the floor. I clearly heard the soft drip-drip-drip of it as it formed a ghastly puddle almost at my feet.

Then Father was suddenly there, looking as sick and horrified as I felt, but
there,
and dragged me out, thank God.

I trembled, chilled through by sudden inner cold. Father got me to the common room and made me sit close before the big fireplace, somehow managing to wrest a sanctuary for us from the general tumult. I shut my eyes against it, held onto his hand and shuddered.

“It’s all right, laddie,” he murmured just loud enough so that only I could hear him. That drew me away from the worst of it, and soon after, either warmed by the fire or by his soothing voice, my shivering eased.

Beldon emerged from the death room, his grim expression confirming what we knew, that his patient was beyond earthly help.

He knelt before me to peer into my eyes and asked if I needed anything. I gulped and began to laugh in his face.

Father gripped my shoulder tightly. “Jonathan, behave yourself,” he said in a severe tone.

That worked, helping steady me. “I’m all right,” I said and was reasonably sure I meant it. Another gulp and I was able to haltingly tell them what little I knew.

“My God,” said Beldon. Both men were clearly shocked.

“Where’s Lord James?” I asked.

Father pointed toward the outside door of the inn where many of the soldiers had gone. “As soon as he understood the situation, he was off to the hunt.”

Glory-seeker
, I thought. “He’s welcome to it, if he doesn’t get his head blown. . . .” My gaze was drawn back toward the room, but I couldn’t see anything of Knox’s body because of the many other people trying to get in for a look. Just as well.

“I’m going, too,” Beldon announced and hurried away. Father and I followed him through the front door.

There wasn’t much wind, but it slapped enough to sting. I resumed shivering with a cold that was more imagined than felt, but there was work to be done. I walked around the building until reaching the little window. It was small owing to the expense of glass at the time this part of the inn had been built. It had shutters inside, but they’d been pushed back to let in the meager winter light and no one had bothered to close them again; otherwise the assassin might have been stymied.

I thought I caught a whiff of gun powder on the air, but discounted it as imagination. The breeze would have swept that away by now. Several soldiers were gathered at this spot and I recognized a few, including my sometime German tutor, Eichelburger. He and the others made much ado over two prizes, one a pistol, the other a length of wood.

“What is it?” I asked in German.

He hefted the pistol, holding it so the light coming from the broken window fell upon it. I moved closer and realized I’d not been mistaken. The smell of powder lingered around the thing. “This he dropped, the killer. This”—he waved the piece of wood— “was used . . . the glass to break.”

I translated for Father and Beldon and turned back. “Where is Lieutenant Nash?”

Eichelburger gestured at the empty yard around the inn and what lay beyond.

“Did anyone see who fired?”

He shook his head. “Him we find.”

I did not share his confidence and broke away to walk toward the limits of the yard. The wind carried vague sounds of men crashing about in the dark.

“It’s hopeless,” I said to Father when he caught up with me. “They can’t see a thing in this. They need help.”

“Good God, you’re not thinking of—” But he saw that I was. “Jonathan, you’ve had enough for one night. You’ve had more than enough for a lifetime.”

“Perhaps so, but I must do something.”

His patience must have been thinning, but he was willing to stretch it a bit more. “Do you now? Really?”

I took stock of myself. I’d been badly shaken, but was far from overwhelmed by the unpleasantness and told him as much. Somewhere within I felt my spine stiffen, raising me up. The chill within fled. I was strong enough for this.

“Those bastards plucked me up, carrying me off like stolen livestock, and came that close to killing me. And just when I thought I might be able to serve them back, they took that away as well. They’re low enough to murder one of their own. I’m a fool wanting to find the killer of a killer, but if I stand idle, waiting for Nash to come back empty-handed, as doubtless he will, I shall go mad from it.”

He frowned for a long time, then finally half-lifted his arms as if to give in. “You’re no fool, laddie. I know how you feel. I’d like to come along, but ’twill be better if I stay. This lot around the inn are running around like headless chickens. They’re wanting someone to argue ’em calm again. Just don’t let yourself be seen. The soldiers out there are liable to be skittish. And for God’s sake, be careful.”