Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (76 page)

Long ignored as part of life’s normal background, the sounds tugged me like ropes. I’d felt it a dozen times over since the plans to leave for England had been finalized. Though not all that happened here was pleasant, it was home,
my
home, and even when we choose to do so, who of us can depart easily from such familiarity?

And comfort. I hadn’t much enjoyed my previous voyages to and fro across the sea. The conditions of shipboard life could be appalling, yet another reason for concern over having Elizabeth along. But I’d seen other women make the crossing without complaint. Some claimed to even enjoy it, while not a few of the hardiest men were stricken helpless as babes with seasickness.

Well, we’d muddle through somehow, God willing.

I shed those worries for others upon opening the parlor door. Within, a burst of candlelight gilded the furnishings and their occupants. Clustered at the card table were Father, Mother, Dr. Beldon, and his sister, the gossipy Mrs. Hardinbrook. Beldon and Father looked up and nodded to me, then resumed attention on their play. Mrs. Hardinbrook’s back was to the door, so she noticed nothing. Mother sat opposite her and could see, but was either unaware I’d come in, or ignoring me.

The game continued without break, each mindful of his cards and nothing else as I hesitated in the doorway. For an uneasy moment I felt like an invisible wraith whose presence, if sensed, is attributed to the wind or creaks of an aging house. Well, I could certainly make myself ghostlike if I chose.
That
would stir things a bit . . . but it wouldn’t be polite, however amusing.

Mother shifted slightly, eyebrows high as she studied her hand. Her needle gaze flicked here and there upon the table, upon the others, upon everything except her only son.

Ignoring me. Most definitely ignoring me. One can always tell.

Home,
I thought grimly and stepped into the parlor.

CHAPTER TWO

Upon entering, I was noticed that my young cousin, Anne Fonteyn, was also present. She’d taken a chair close to a small table and pored over a book with fond intensity. More Shakespeare, it appeared. She’d developed a great liking for his work since the time I’d tempted her into reading some soon after her arrival to our house. She was the daughter of Grandfather Fonteyn’s youngest son and had sought shelter with us, safely away from the conflicts in Philadelphia. Though somewhat stunted in the way of education, she was pretty and possessed of a sweet and innocent soul. I liked her quite a lot.

I drifted up to bid her a good evening, quietly, out of deference for the others. “What is
it
tonight? A play or the sonnets?”

“Another play.” She lifted the book slightly. “
Pericles, Prince of Tyre,
but it’s not what I expected.”

“How so?” I took a seat at the table across from her.

“I thought he was supposed to kill a Gorgon named Medusa, but nothing of the sort has thus far occurred in this drama.”

“That’s the legend of Perseus, not Pericles,” I gently explained.

“Oh.”

“It’s easy enough to mix them up.”

“You must think me stupid and tiresome.”

“I think nothing of the sort.”

“But I’m always getting things wrong,” she stated mournfully.

That
was my mother’s work. Her sharp tongue had had its inevitable effect on my good-hearted cousin. Anne had gradually become subject to much unfair and undeserved criticism over the months. Mother had the idiotic idea that by this means Anne could be made to “improve herself,” though what those improvements might be were anyone’s guess. Mother was always short on providing helpful suggestions. Elizabeth and I had long ago learned to ignore the jibes aimed at us; Anne had no such defenses and instead grew shy and hesitant about herself. In turn, this inspired even more criticism.

“Not at all. I think you’re charming and bright. In all my time in England I never once met a girl who was the least interested in reading, period, much less in reading Shakespeare.”

“Really?”

“Really.” This was true. Nora Jones had been a woman, not a girl, after all. But some of the other young females I’d encountered there had possessed interests in areas not readily considered by most to be intellectual. Such pursuits were certainly enjoyable for their own sake; I should be the last person to object to them, having willingly partaken of their pleasures, but they were not the sort of activities my good cousin was quite prepared to indulge in yet.

“What are they like? The English girls?”

“Oh, a dull lot overall,” I said, gallantly lying.

“Did you get to meet any actresses?” she whispered, throwing a wary glance in Mother’s direction. Whereas a discussion of a play, or even its reading aloud in the parlor was considered edifying, any mention of stage acting and of actresses in particular was not.

“Hadn’t much time for the theater.” Another lie, or something close to it. Though I’d applied myself well enough to my studies, Cousin Oliver and I had taken care to keep ourselves entertained with numerous nonacademic diversions. Then there was all the time I’d spent with Nora. . . .

“I should like to go to a play sometime,” said Ann. “I’ve heard that they have a company in New York now. Hard to believe, is it not? I mean, after the horrid fire destroying nearly everything last year.”

“Very. Perhaps one day it will be possible for you to attend a performance, though it might not be by your favorite playwright, y’know.”

“Then I must somehow find others to read so as to be well prepared, but I’ve been all through Uncle Samuel’s library and have found only works by Shakespeare.”

“I’ll send you others as soon as I get to England,” I promised.

Her face flowered into a smile. “Oh, but that is most kind of you, Cousin.

“It will be a pleasure. However, I know that there are other plays in Father’s library.”

“But they were in French and Greek and I don’t know those languages.

“You shall have to learn them, then. Mr. Rapelji would be most happy to take you on as a student.”

Instead of a protest as I’d half expected, Anneleaned forward, eyes shining. “Really? He would not mind tutoring a female?”

“Not at all.” Rapelji had liberal views about education for the fair sex. Firstly, he had a love for teaching that transcended any differences his students might present, and secondly, he enjoyed the extra money.

“I should like that very much, but how would I go about arranging things?”

“Just ask your Uncle Samuel,” I said, canting my head once in Father’s direction. “He’ll sort it out for you.”

She made a little squeak to indicate her barely suppressed enthusiasm, but unfortunately that drew Mother’s irate attention toward us.

“Jonathan Fonteyn, what is all this row?” she demanded, simultaneously shifting the blame of her vexation to me while elevating it to the level of a riot. That she’d used my middle name, which I loathed, was an additional annoyance, but I was yet in a good humor and able to overlook it.

“My apologies, Madam. I did not mean to disturb you.” The words came out smoothly, as I’d had much practice in the art of placation.

“What are you two talking about?”

“The book I’m reading, Aunt Marie,” said Ann, visibly anxious to keep the peace.

“Novels,” Mother sneered. “I’m entirely opposed to such things. They’re corruption incarnate. You ought not to waste your time on them.”

“But this is a play by Shakespeare,” Annewent on, perhaps hoping that an invocation of that immortal name would turn aside potential wrath.

“I thought you had needlework to keep you busy.”

“But the play is most excellent, all about Perseus, I mean Pericles, and how he solved a riddle, but had to run away because the king who posed the riddle was afraid his secret might be revealed.”

I choked and tried to catch Ann’s eye.

“And what secret would that be?”

My cousin noticed me shaking my head in silent warning. Ann’s mouth opened, but no sound issued forth. She went sheet-white. Though the family did not speak of such things openly, she’d seen and overheard enough to know she’d strayed into a forbidden area. One more word could set Mother off into one of her distracted rages.

“Well? Speak, girl.”

“The language is convoluted,” I said, stepping in before things turned awkward. Time to play the talkative ass since Mother tended to dismiss my musings as blather beneath her notice. I’d used the ploy before. “We’re trying to work out the meaning. Really now, he uses fifty words where one would suit just as well. I wish the Bard had set things down more plainly, but then he wouldn’t be nearly as interesting. I don’t know how Anne does it; she’s uncommonly excellent at the stuff, but it makes my head spin right around and no mistake.”

Anne shut her mouth and gave me a grateful look. Shakespeare spoke much of noble virtues, but, being a wily fellow, knew that base vices were of far greater interest to his varied audience. Sweet Cousin Anne was no exception to that rule. She’d belatedly realized that a revelation of the ancient king’s incest with his daughter was not exactly a fit topic for parlor conversation, especially here. We were on dangerous ground, considering Mother’s foul delusions. Father, who was not immune to her accusations, had gone still when Anne had floundered for an answer. He’d read the play and knew the dreadful answer. Beldon also, for he lifted his head, listening and tense while pretending to study his hand. He must have been prepared to rush upstairs for his medicine box if things got out of hand.

Mother sniffed. To everyone’s relief, she turned back to her game. “It’s your time to waste, I suppose. If your head spins so much, then find better things to do with it.”

And just how is card play especially better?
I thought. For a moment I was glad to preclude a problem by shifting her attention to me. But Mother’s dismissive comment and insulting tone kindled a sudden white hot resentment. I hated that we had to tread softly and constantly be on guard in her presence. One misplaced word or an innocent glance could be enough to set her off, and it was nearly impossible to avoid, for her sickness twisted things to her whim. It held dark sway over us all, like a tangible shadow.

My face felt brittle under the skin, and all I wanted was to get out of there before anything shattered. Excusing myself to Ann, I took my leave, hoping it did not appear too hasty.

Sanctuary awaited in the library. It was without light, but I had no need for a candle. The curtains were wide. I eased the door shut against the rest of the house and, free of observation, gave silent vent to my agitation. How dare Mother deride our little pleasures when her own were so empty? I suppose she’d prefer it if all the world spent its day in idle gossip and whiled away the night playing cards. It would bloody well serve her right if that happened. . ..

It was childish, perhaps, to mouth curses, grimace, make fists, and shake them at Mother’s portrait over the fireplace, but I felt better for it. I could not, at that moment, tell myself she was a wounded and generally ignorant soul, for the anger was too strong to respond to reason; perhaps it was my Fonteyn blood making itself felt. Happily, the Barrett side had had enough control to remove me from the source of my pique. To directly express it to Mother would have been most unwise (and a waste of effort), but here I was free to indulge my temper.

God, but I would be glad to leave
her
behind. Even Mrs. Hardinbrook, a dull, toad-eating gossip if ever one was born, was better company than Mother, if only for being infinitely more polite.

My fit had almost subsided when the door was opened and Father looked in.

“Jonathan?” He peered around doubtfully in what to him was a dark chamber.

“Here, sir,” I responded, forcefully composing myself and stepping forward so he might see.

“Whatever are you doing here in the . . . oh. Never mind, then.” He came in, memory and habit guiding him across the floor toward the long windows where some light seeped through. “There, that’s better.”

“I’ll go fetch a candle.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself, this is fine. I can more or less see you now. There’s enough moon for it.”

“Is the card game ended?”

“It has for me. I wanted to speak to you.”

“I am sorry about the banging door, sir,” I said, anticipating him.

“What?”

“When I came home this morning. Jericho gave me to understand how unsettling it was to the household. I apologize.”

“Accepted, laddie. It did startle us a bit, but once we’d worked out that it was you, things were all right. Come tomorrow it’ll be quiet enough ’round here.”

Not as quiet as one might wish
, I thought, grinding my teeth. I’d be leaving Father behind. He’d made no complaint, understanding how important it was that I go find Nora again, but it wasn’t fair to him. I had asked him to come along, but he said he must remain to look after things and I was not to worry.

Father unlocked and opened the window to bring in the night air. We’d gotten into the habit of locking them before quitting a room. The greater conflict outside of our little part of the world had also thrown its shadow upon us. Times had changed . . . for the worse.

“I saw how upset you were when you left,” he said, looking directly at me.

Putting my hands in my pockets, I leaned against the wall next to the window frame. “I should not have let myself be overcome by such a trifle.”

“Fleabites, laddie. Get enough of them and the best of us can lose control. You did well by yourself to leave.”

“Has something else happened?” I was concerned for Ann.

“No. Your mother’s quiet enough. She behaves herself more or less when Beldon or Mrs. Hardinbrook are with her.”

And around Father. Sometimes. Months back I’d taken it upon myself to influence Mother into a kinder attitude toward him. My admonishment to her to refrain from hurting or harming him in any way had worked well at first, but her natural inclination for inflicting little (and great) cruelties upon others had gradually eroded the suggestion. Of late I’d been debating whether or not to risk a repetition of my action. I say risk, because Father had no knowledge of what I’d done. It was not something of which I was proud, and I was certain he would forbid it.

“I wish she would show as much restraint with Ann,” I said. “It’s sinful how she berates that girl for nothing. Our little cousin really should come with us to England.”

“They had a difficult enough time getting her to take the ferry from New York to Brooklyn. She’s no sailor and more’s the pity.”

Indeed. A trip to England would do her great good, but Anne was genuinely frightened and made ill by water travel, and had firmly declined the invitation to come with me and Elizabeth.

“What about yourself?” asked Father, referring to my own problem with water.

“I shall be all right.”

At least I
hoped
so
.
the streams that flowed through our lands had come to be something of a barrier to me, a fact that I’d discovered the first time I’d tried crossing one on my own after my change. What had once been an easily forded rivulet had become a near impassable torrent as far as I was concerned. My feet dragged like iron weights over the streambed and the water felt so chill as to burn me to the bone, or so it seemed to my exaggerated senses. Father and I investigated the phenomenon at length, but could make no sense of this strange limitation I’d acquired. Like my ability to vanish, we connected it to my condition and had as yet found no cure.