Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (66 page)

On that point I gave him my most solemn word of honor to do exactly that.

* * *

There had not been a fresh snowfall in the last day or so; the ground was well-churned by dozens of passing feet, and I wasn’t enough of a skilled woodsman to tell old tracks from new under these circumstances. But I also wasn’t planning to trail anyone if I could help it. I walked quickly, taking the general direction of the soldiers. They were out of sight and nearly beyond hearing; I deemed it safe to let myself fade away and rise on the wind.

Practice told me about how high I was: a little above the treetops. There I took on just enough solidity to see and hoped that none of the hunters below looked up.

I spotted a few of them, gray shapes on gray ground, in a hurry, yet trying to be cautious. Willing myself ahead, I saw more and more, and by their movements discerned they were part of Nash’s troop. None of them was purposefully rushing forward in the way a fleeing fugitive might.

An hour passed, they searching below, me circling high above and ranging far ahead of them. Neither of us saw anything. They headed north, toward the coast, and once there covered the shoreline, but I could have told them it was useless. No boats had been launched that I had seen. Though the killer had had a good head start and just might have escaped that way, I was not inclined to think so. He’d probably gone to ground in any number of places. Nassau County was loyal, but there were pockets of sedition here and there that a rebel would know about. They were a thick lot with one another and carefully shut-mouthed. Whoever had done for Knox could be sheltering in any of a hundred innocuous buildings between the inn and the Sound.

Faint from my skyward exertions, I returned to Glenbriar and found Father and Beldon waiting for me at The Oak. Lieutenant Nash had come back a little earlier, just as weary and tremendously disgruntled.

“I’ll hear your story of what happened, if you please, sir,” he said to me. He was clearly ill-pleased that I’d gone off on my own again, but made no mention of it.

I told him, unable to add any more details, though he very much wanted them.

“You saw
nothing
through the window?” he asked, barely on the polite side of exasperation.

“Only a vague shape. The candles in the room made reflections on the remaining glass. I glimpsed the smoke, but that was all. At first, I couldn’t take in what I’d seen or what had been done. It happened so quickly, hardly a few seconds passed and it was over.”

We were in the common room, surrounded by a few more soldiers and many more townspeople. Cold as it was, the front windows were open, and others outside had draped themselves over the sills to catch the news.

“You found no sign of where he’d gone?” I asked in turn.

Nash scowled mightily. “My men are still looking. Lord James thought he saw something and took himself away after it.”

“Not alone, I hope.”

“No, certainly not.”

Mr. Farr, supremely unhappy that such an awful murder had occurred in his house, pushed forward. “What I want to know is why anyone would do such a wretched thing. I run a respectable place and this—” He clenched his hands, shaking them for want of words to express his outrage and fear.

“Revenge, possibly,” said Dr. Beldon. “There are people aplenty hereabouts who would be happy to send someone like Knox to hell.”

“He’d have been sent there soon as we were done with him,” Nash grumbled. “First those two escapes and now this fellow shot before we could hang him. Mark me, I think his own rebel friends murdered him so he wouldn’t betray them to us.”

This inspired a rumbling murmur of agreement from the crowded room. Not one of us—least of all I—had any doubts over the viciousness of the so-called patriots who troubled the whole county. That they should turn upon one of their own to save themselves was a dreadful and cowardly act, but not terribly surprising.

Nash was not only partial to his idea, but more than willing to act upon it. “Mr. Barrett, I’ll want a complete description of the men who kidnapped you, as much as you can remember right down to the least scrap of clothing on their backs. Write it out. I want something I can pass along to my men. I’ll be finding these traitors if I have to turn over every stone in the county.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MAY 1777

“You’re more quiet than usual,” observed Elizabeth.

“I didn’t know it was usual for me to be quiet.”

“It has been lately. What’s been bothering you?”

“Long days and short nights.” For me, such a complaint had quite a bit different meaning than it did for other people.

“And nothing else?”

“Waiting for Nora to reply, or at least for Oliver to send a letter. It’s been ages.” Plenty of time for my duplicate packets to find their way to the Warburton family in Italy and for them to pass it to Nora. I worried that my letters had gone astray somehow, undelivered while I sat half a world away impatiently fuming for an answer that would never come.

“I thought it might be because of those men,” she said.

That was how the household had come to refer to Ash and the other cutthroats. “Why should you think that?”

“Because that’s when you started being so quiet.”

And also when I discovered Norwood’s liaison with Molly Audy. I didn’t like having the knowledge, and keeping it a secret affected my behavior with Elizabeth. I was tempted to unburden myself about it, if not to her then to Father, or perhaps even Beldon. But since that time Norwood had not gone whoring again. Of that I was sure since I’d made a habit of “questioning” Molly whenever I paid my respects. At least, a whispering voice in my head said, he hadn’t been whoring with
her.
With all the soldiers around, there were any number of camp followers about, and if not as pretty or as skilled as Molly, they were cheap. I remembered her mention of his parsimony over the price.

A little “talk” between myself and Norwood might clear the air and either cancel my doubts or confirm them. If the latter, then he and I would have a much more serious talk, indeed. But I’d been putting it off, as one does any potentially unpleasant task.

“You haven’t said much about it.” Elizabeth brought me back to the present with her misplaced assumption about my reticence.

“Haven’t really wanted to. Or needed to,” I added, looking up at her with as much reassurance as I could muster.

She met my eyes over the mound of sewing piled before her on the dining table and hopefully saw that her gentle concern was appreciated, but not necessary.

“What about yourself?” I asked. “Getting nervous?”

“Only about whether I’ll have this finished in time.” She indicated the yards of satin and silk.”

“You will.”

“So everyone tells me.”

“The others would help if you’d let them.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, thank you. Sewing my own wedding dress has long been a fancy of mine, and I’ll not ask others to share it with me.”

The initial formalities had come and gone months ago. Lord James Norwood asked Elizabeth if he might petition Father for her hand in marriage and had been answered in a most positive manner. Father had granted permission in his turn, with the reluctance and pride all fathers experience when they must give up their daughters, and since then the house had been busy with preparations for the wedding. Much of it had to do with making many new clothes for the bride, and while Elizabeth had gratefully accepted help for her other dresses and things, she’d reserved the most important project for herself.

It was taking longer than expected. Amid the housecleaning, the and the thousand other details that seemed to arise when two people decide to join forces, Elizabeth hadn’t had much time for her project. She rose early before the sun to work and was still at it long after dark. I kept her company then, for the time was fast approaching when we would no longer be able to have these quiet talks. Soon Norwood would sweep her away and things would never be the same again. Well could I understand Father’s mixed feelings in the matter. I was happy for Elizabeth’s happiness, but sorry for myself at losing her.

I’d discerned a slight edge in her tone, or thought I had. “Has Mother been troublesome?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just wondered if anything had happened today.”

“No.
She’s
been quiet enough.”

True, very true. Since that one talk I’d had with her, Mother had continued behaving with remarkable restraint. She still ignored us as much as possible, but was otherwise almost civil. There was a marked lessening of her biting sarcasm, no shows of temper, no tantrums, no berserk fits, and far more important to me, no laudanum turning up in Father’s tea. He commented now and then about the change in her, but thought it to be a result of Elizabeth’s physical confrontation with her last December. I knew better, but still did not care to enlighten him about it, and if he’d guessed, he kept it to himself. As he cautiously (and more discreetly) resumed visits with Mrs. Montagu, I found a great easing for any strain my conscience might have felt over the matter.

“What about her toady, then?” Things had been rather uneasy between Elizabeth and Mrs. Hardinbrook lately. The lady’s disappointment at Elizabeth’s marrying Norwood instead of Beldon had festered into bitterness.

“She’s a fool and a wretch,” Elizabeth said in a low voice. She flushed deep red and promptly pricked her finger on her next stitch.

I picked up the bloodsmell right away, but ignored it. “What’s she done?”

“It’s what she says, though she says it in the nicest way possible. I’d managed to forget about it until now.”

But not very well, since I’d noticed something wasn’t quite right with her. “Tell me.”

Elizabeth stopped sewing and heaved a great sigh. “It was this afternoon when we were receiving some of Mother’s cronies. Even if she doesn’t look at me if she can help it, I had to be there. It’s usually bearable, but Mrs. Hardinbrook had her head together with that awful cat, Mrs. Osburn. She spoke just loud enough for me to hear, but not enough so that I could really make a comment about it. You know how they—”

“Yes, I’ve seen it in practice. Go on.”

“She was all pleasantries about me, but what she was saying was still full of spite.”

“What did she say?”

“Well, it was about how
lucky
I was that Lord James had picked
me.
So very
lucky
that I hadn’t ended up an old maid, after all. And how
good
it was that I had a sufficient fortune for a dowry. You’d think that James and I hadn’t come to our determination together at all or that he’d taken pity on me or something.”

“The bitch,” I said evenly.

“Then she started going on about all the money he’d come into once we were married and as much as implied that
that
was why he’d proposed. They laughed about it, because she’d make a joke of it, but it wasn’t nice laughter. I looked at her to let her know I’d heard, and all she did was smile back, pretending otherwise. How I hate her.”

“She’s a fool, definitely, and not worth your notice.”

“I try to think that, but it’s hard. I don’t know how a person can go to church every Sunday, appear to listen to the sermons so closely and then act as she does. It’s wicked.”

“The more so because she knows what she’s doing to you.”

Elizabeth’s lips came together a moment and there was an excess of water in her eyes. “You don’t know about this, but when you came home hurt from Mrs. Montagu’s . . . .”

“What?”

“Well, I overheard that beastly creature asking our mother who would get your share of Grandfather’s estate should something happen to you.”

That left me stunned at the bad manners and worse timing, but not surprised. Deborah Hardinbrook could be nearly as rapacious as Lieutenant Nash.

“I—damnation—I’m finding myself cringing inside like a child whenever I see her, waiting for the next bit of poison to come spewing forth. Sometimes I know what she’s going to say next and then she says it, as though she’s hearing my thoughts. I don’t know how Dr. Beldon puts up with her. Sometimes all I want to do is. . . .” One of her hands formed into a fist, then she let it relax. “But if I did that then I’d feel awful afterward.”

“Not nearly so awful as Mrs. Hardinbrook. She’d feel
much
worse.” She glanced up, her eyes slowly kindling with the beginnings of a smile. “You think so?”

“Oh, yes. She’d feel terrible. Can you imagine her consternation trying to cover the bruises with rice flour? There wouldn’t be enough on the Island to do a proper job of it. You are quite the firebrand, dear sister.”

Elizabeth fell into my humor, speculating, “I could black her eye . . . .”

“Knock out a tooth or two in the front . . . .”

“Cut her hair and throw her wigs down the well . . . .”

“I wouldn’t go that far, it’d foul the water.”

By then Elizabeth was laughing freely and when it had worn itself out, I saw that her usual good spirits had reasserted themselves.

“There,” I said. “The next time you see her, try thinking of her as looking like that, toothless, bald, and bloodied. She’ll go mad trying to figure out what’s amusing you so much.”

“I don’t know how I shall manage without you, little brother.”

“You won’t be living that far away. I shall visit so often, you and James will be sick of seeing my face.”

“Never.” She went back to sewing again. “But I know that things will change. They always do when someone gets married. I’ve seen it happen to my friends, how they break away and move on like leaves dropping from a tree. The wind catches them up and off they go. I shouldn’t like that.”

“Then make sure James knows and perhaps you can avoid it.”

“I can tell him, but there are some things that can’t be avoided. You know he’s talked about taking me to England. We’ll probably even stay there. I might never see you or Father ever again.” She looked in danger of tears.

“You can always call off the wedding.”

The danger instantly passed. “I can’t do that!”

“Well, then.” I spread my hands.

She made a kind of growling sigh. “All right. Perhaps I
am
getting nervous.

“You’ve every right to be considering what you’re taking on. It’s not only getting married, but setting up your own household, getting the servants to work together . . . .”

She nearly shuddered. “I can handle the ones I engage well enough, but that Harridge fellow makes me feel as though I should curtsy every time he walks into the room.”

In the front hall or the servants’ hall, Norwood’s valet was not a popular man.

“He’s going to be a perfect ogre to the others, I know it,” she said.

“Keep him busy enough with duties and maybe he won’t have the time for it. That should be easy with all the work to be done in the new house.”

She muttered a guarded agreement, but I could see the reminder of what was to come had been a cheering one. She was looking forward to setting up her own home.

By some miracle Norwood had found a suitable dwelling halfway between Glenbriar and Glenbriar Landing and had rented it, calling it their “nuptial cottage.” The miracle had been finding anything at all. By now Long Island was not only flooded with soldiers, but with prisoners of war, and all of them in need of lodging. I suspected that Norwood had used his own kind of influence to secure it, trading on his title as much and as often as possible.

It was no vast hall, but certainly much more than a hovel, having belonged to a gentleman who had had the misfortune of being home when the overly-zealous Colonel Heard and his troop of traitors had come calling over a year ago. Heard had already been to Hempstead hell-bent on extracting oaths of loyalty for his American “congress.” Father had been caught up in that farce himself and had managed to shrug it off, but this other gentleman had not. Keenly feeling the humiliation of being forced to take an oath to support an illegal government he’d neither voted for or wanted, he’d put his place up for sale and packed his family off to Canada that summer—just before Lord Howe’s arrival.

The house stood empty for only as long as it took for some officers to claim it and move in, and being gentlemen, they hadn’t the faintest idea how to organize anything of a domestic nature. It became run-down, very quickly, enough so that any prospective buyer would turn away before passing through the gate. The officers had long moved out, following Lord Howe to New York. With no owner present and the agent for the sale desperate for any kind of money, he’d been most eager to agree to the pittance Norwood offered in the way of rent. His lordship pointed out, quite correctly, that the house needed repairs and the only other likely occupants would be prisoners or troops with little or no money at all. An agreement was made, and Norwood and his bride would soon take up residence.

Far too soon for me. I would miss my sister very much, far more than when I’d been packed off to Cambridge. It didn’t matter that she’d be living only a couple of miles away; things would change between us.

I supposed that it would be easier if I liked Norwood better, but that business about Molly had infused me with a difficult to overcome prejudice. For Elizabeth’s sake I’d tried not to let it bother me and had been fairly successful. Time would inform me on whether I could maintain the attitude with any degree of sincerity.