Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (82 page)

She said my name again. Closer this time. Her voice rising as though in alarm. I hoped we weren’t in any difficulty.

Had trouble clearing my throat. Coughed a few times before I could mumble anything like an answer. Blinked my eyes a lot, trying to see better. The room was foggy as well as dark.

Elizabeth’s face hovered over mine. “Do you hear me?” She spoke slowly, as one does to another who is the worse for drink. “Speak, Jonathan, do you?”

“Mm.”

“Do you know me?”

What was she
on
about? “Mm, mu . . . niz . . . beh.” It was the best I could do with a mouth full of cotton.

“
Oh, God!
”
She dropped her head on my chest and began sobbing.

What in heaven’s name was going on? Why was she acting like this? I touched her with one hand. She rose up and seized it, holding it against her wet cheek.

“Miss Elizabeth, please have a care for him.” Jericho this time. He loomed over her, and I could tell he wanted to lay a hand on her shoulder to give comfort, but class and custom forbade such a familiar childhood gesture.

She kept weeping.

“
Please,
miss, you’re not helping him this way.” His gaze darted between myself and Elizabeth, and he appeared to be just as upset, barely holding it in.

I had not been frightened before. His tone and manner were strident with unease. Jericho was ever and always playing the role of imperturbable servant, but now he was clearly afraid, and that pierced right through my heart. And as for Elizabeth’s reaction, I reached out to him.

“Wha . . . ss . . . .”

“It’s all right, Mr. Jonathan.” His assurance was so hasty and sincere that I knew that something awful must be happening. Was the ship sinking? I tried to sit up, but my apathetic limbs were as much of a hindrance as Elizabeth’s close presence. “Lie still, sir. Please.”

There was little else I could do as he got Elizabeth’s attention at last and persuaded her to better compose herself. She soaked a handkerchief swiping her tears and blowing her nose. I looked to him for some clue to explain her behavior. He smiled at me, trying to make it an encouraging one, but creating a less than positive response instead. His face was drawn and hollow and . . . thinner? As though he’d not eaten well for some time. But he’d been perfectly fine last night. What in God’s name. . .?

With Elizabeth no longer wailing upon my breast I was able to raise up on my elbows. We were not in the tiny cabin anymore. This room, while not palatial, was quite a bit larger. The walls were straight, not curved, the ceiling much higher. Why had I been moved? And where? I could not recall any such chamber on board.

“Forgive me, I couldn’t help myself,” said Elizabeth. “It’s been such an
awful
time.”

“Whaz been?” I slurred. Coughed. Damned tongue was so thick. My voice was much deeper than normal, clogged from sleep. “Whaz maa’er?”

“Nothing’s the matter now, you idiot. You’re all right. Everything’s all right.”

I made a sound to inform her that I knew damned well that everything was
not
all right.

“He doesn’t understand, Miss Elizabeth. He’s been asleep.”

And it was past time to shake it off. With heroic effort, I pushed myself upright and tried to drag my legs from the bed.

It was a real bed, too, with fresh linen and dry blankets, not at all like the one in the old cabin. Had we taken over the captain’s quarters?

I coughed and worked my jaw, rubbing my face. Yes. That was better. Feeling was returning once more, thank goodness. I could actually tell that my bare feet were touching the cold boards of the deck. Bare? Well, of course Jericho would have readied me for sleep. It was remiss of me to have made extra work for him by falling into bed with all my clothes on.

Another stretch; this time things popped along my spine. God, but that felt good.

Jericho and Elizabeth watched me closely.

“Wha’ iz the ma-matter?”

“You’ve been asleep, sir,” Jericho patiently repeated.

“Wh’d’f it?” Worked my jaw more. “What-of-it?” There,
now
I could understand myself.

“You remember nothing of the voyage?” asked Elizabeth.

“What do . . . you mean? What ’f the voyage? Something happened to Rolly?”

“No, he’s fine. He’s safely stabled. You?”

Stretched my neck, rubbing it. “Not making much sense, Sister.” I saw that, like Jericho, she was also drawn and tired-looking. Circles under the eyes, skin faded and tight over the bones. “Are you well? What the devil is wrong here?”

“For God’s sake, Jonathan, you’ve been
asleep!
”

Was that supposed to mean something? Apparently so. Something most dreadfully important to them both.

“More than asleep, sir,” Jericho put in. “You know how you are during the day. It was like that.”

“What was like that? Will you please be more clear? You’re saying I slept, yes. Is it that I slept the whole night through as well as the day?”

“More than a night, Jonathan,” said Elizabeth. “Much more.”

I abruptly fathomed that I was not going to like hearing what Elizabeth was about to say. “More?” I croaked.

“You slept through the whole
crossing!
”

Oh, to be able to laugh at that one. But I could not. Other noises than laughter issued from me, unintelligible, but nonetheless conveying confusion.

“You went down to your cabin to get some rest on our second night out,” she said, speaking carefully as though to prompt a poor memory in a slow child.

“Yes, you told me to.”

“You never woke up from it. You just wouldn’t, and when you’re that way, it’s as though you’re dead.”

“Never woke up? Whatever do you mean?”

“You
slept
the whole voyage! You’ve been asleep for over
two months!
”

I shook my head. “Oh, no-oo . . . that’s impossible.”

Their expressions were sufficient to gainsay my weak denial.

“Impossible. . . .” But I had to only look around to see that we were in a building, not on a ship. My own body confirmed as much. Gone were the raised hackles, the illness, the constant pressure inside and out. There was a small fireplace set in one wall, and its dancing flames warmed the room. Definitely not something you’d find at sea.

Nightshirt trailing, I boosted unsteadily from bed and staggered on stilt-stiff legs toward a small window. The glass was chill and opaque with condensation. I fumbled with the catch and thrust the thing open. Cold wind slapped my face, bringing the scent of sleet, mud, coal smoke and stables. I was on an upper story of a building taking in the view of its courtyard. An inn of some kind. Vaguely familiar.

The Three Brewers. The inn I’d stayed at while waiting to meet Cousin Oliver for the first time four years ago.

“This just cannot be.” But the proof remained before my eyes, mocking my denial.

“Jonathan . . ..” My sister’s tone had taken on patient reproach. She could tolerate confusion, but not willful stupidity.

I stared dumbfounded at the prosaic scene below. Beyond the inn, past the lower roof of its opposite wing, were trees, other roofs and church steeples stretching miles away into a cloudy winter night.

True, true and true. We were most definitely, most undeniably, yet most impossibly in
London.

CHAPTER FOUR

LONDON, NOVEMBER 1777

“It was perfectly horrid, that’s how it was,” Elizabeth said, her voice a little high. She was still upset but visibly working hard to control herself. Though the crisis was past, having lived with it for so long she must have grown almost used to the strain. When the strain suddenly ceased . . . .

“I’m sorry, I truly am. If I’d
any
idea that—”

She waved her third sodden handkerchief at me and told me not to be foolish. “Of course, you’d have said something, warned us, we all know that. But it’s been such a wretched ordeal, and now that it’s over I hardly know what to think or do.”

“Tea,” Jericho firmly stated. After assuring himself that I was fine, his concern shifted to Elizabeth’s well-being. “A large pot of strong tea is what’s wanted.”

“With lots of brandy,” I added to his departing back. Would that I could have some for this shock. Two months? How could two
months
of my life have slipped away?

“You have no memory of
any
of it?” she asked.

“My last recollection was talking with you by the rail, going below and dropping into bed. As far as I’m concerned, that happened last night.”

She shook her head and kept shaking it.

“I don’t disbelieve you, Elizabeth, it-it’s just hard to take in. Tell me all that happened, maybe that will help.”

“Where to start . . . ?” She closed her eyes a moment, then rested her gaze on me. “First, I’ll say that I am very glad that you are all right. You’ve no idea what we’ve been through.”

“Then for God’s sake enlighten me.” I sat on the bed again, wrapped in my dressing gown and wide awake, if considerably taken aback. By now it had penetrated my skull that my mysterious lapse had been a singularly unpleasant ordeal for Jericho and Elizabeth. Better to concentrate on them than myself. It was less demanding.

She gave a long sigh, then took a deep breath. “On the third night out Jericho tried to wake you, but you just refused to do so. I’d told him that you’d been very tired, and he let you rest a few more hours, then tried again. Nothing, except for a few grumbles, and you kept on lying there, not moving at all.”

“I’m sorry.”

She fixed me with a look that told me to cease apologizing. “We decided to let you sleep and try again the next night. Again, nothing. Finally Jericho went down to the hold and drew off some blood from one of the cattle and wet your lips with it. Then he tried putting a few drops in your mouth. Not even
that
worked.”

I spread my hands. Apologetically. Couldn’t help it.

“We were frightened by then. For all we knew you might truly be dead. You mentioned once to me you had a problem crossing water, and I was terrified that this ocean had somehow killed you. Jericho held hope better than I, and pointed out that your limbs still moved freely. But just to make sure, I jabbed you with one of my mending needles—”

“Oh, I
say—!
”

“I said we were frightened! It drew blood and the wound healed up. I nearly fainted with relief. That’s the only way we knew that your body still held a spark of life. We didn’t know whether to leave you alone or try something sterner, then Mr. Quinton, the apothecary, came ’round. Lieutenant George sent him to look in on you, the blasted toady.” The tone she used with his name indicated that George was the toady, not Quinton. “Jericho tried to put him off, but Quinton remained curious and went into your cabin when we weren’t around. He promptly ran straight to Mr. George to declare you dead.”

“Oh, dear lord.”

“That brought the captain down to see, and I was flooded with so much sympathy that I could hardly make myself heard. When I finally got them to listen, they thought I was a madwoman.”

“What did you say?”

“That Quinton had got it wrong and you were only deeply asleep. No one believed me; they wouldn’t even listen to Jericho, and I was getting more and more angry. Quinton held a mirror to your face and of course you weren’t breathing, and your heart was still; it was so ghastly. Oh, but they were so kind, telling me I was distracted by my
grief and they were more than willing to spare me from the sad responsibility of seeing you decently taken care of. By that I understood you were in for a sea burial.”

“How did you stop them?”

“By grabbing you and shaking you like a butter churn and screaming myself hoarse—”

“Wait, I remember that!”

She paused. “You do?”

“Vaguely. I don’t think I was polite.”

“You weren’t. You growled, cursed, damned my eyes, shrugged me off and rolled over asleep again.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“Don’t be, the fright you gave them saved your life. They stopped trying to remove me from the cabin and had Quinton make another examination. He was surprised and upset by then and anxious to redeem himself, and though I know he couldn’t possibly have found a heartbeat any more than before, he said, you were indeed alive, but unconscious. What a relief that was to hear. The captain and Mr. George wanted a closer look for themselves, but I’d caught my breath by then and an idea came to me of how to deal with them.

“Since they’d been so sympathetic, it seemed right to make use of it, so I finally got the lot of them out into the passage and lowered my voice the way Father does when he really wants people to listen. Then I told them in the strictest confidence that you were sadly addicted to laudanum and—”

“You
WHAT
?
”

“I
had
to! It was the one thing I could think of that would explain your condition!”

I groaned.

“I said you’d brought a supply with you and were taking it to help your seasickness and it was likely you would remain like this for most of the voyage. Afterward, they had quite a different kind of sympathy for me and were perfectly willing to leave you alone, and that was all I wanted. Perhaps your reputation might suffer a little should there be any gossip—”

“A
little?
”

“But I doubt if anything will come of it; they gave their word of honor to say nothing, and unlike some people I’ve known, I’m willing to believe them.” She stalked across the room to rummage in a small trunk, drawing from it her fourth handkerchief. She blew her nose several times. “And so passed the first week.”

A week? A mere
week?
“I’m afraid to ask about the rest of the voyage.”

“Happily my well-wishers weren’t as disruptive. Jericho took small meals to your cabin, supposedly for you, then either ate them himself or hid them in the chamber pot to be thrown overboard. He didn’t have much of an appetite, nor did I; we were so damned worried. The others had an explanation for your condition; we did not. As the days passed and you kept sleeping, we almost got used to it. We reasoned that since you had survived the grave, you were likely to survive this, but it was such a thin hope to cling to with so much time on our hands and nothing to do but wait it out.”

“It must have been awful.”

“The word, little brother, is
horrid,
and I don’t mean in the lighter sense of which Cousin Anne is so fond.”

“Ah . . . yes, of course.”

Elizabeth paced up and down and blew her nose again. Jericho was taking his time bringing the tea and brandy.

Two months.
Months.
Dear God. There was much about my changed condition that was unnatural, but this one was beyond comprehension. “It must in some way be connected to my difficulty in crossing water . . . .”

She gave me a sour look.

But I continued. “I was so seasick, perhaps it is meant to spare me the constant discomfort.”

“Jericho and I had many, many discussions on the subject and came to the same conclusion.”

“And you sound as though you’re bloody tired of the subject.”

“You are most perceptive.”

I sensed it would be wise to be quiet.

She stopped pacing. “I do apologize, Jonathan. I shouldn’t be so rude to you. You’re safe and well and that’s what we prayed for all this time. I’m just so damnably weary. I feel like a drawn bow that’s been suddenly undrawn and unstrung.”

“With much justification. Is it very late?”

“Not really. You woke up at sunset as usual, or what used to be usual. I’m glad to see your habit is reasserting itself.”

“Is this my first night off the ship?”

“Yes.”

Right. I was away from water and doubtless the solid ground below had aided my revival. “Uh . . . just how was I debarked?”

“Jericho put you back into your box and locked it up, same as when you were placed aboard. The sailors shifted it to the quay, I hired a cart—”

“Did no one notice I was missing from the other departing passengers?”

“It was too hectic. After those many weeks aboard, all everyone wanted to do was to get away from one another.”

“Thank heaven for that.”

I heard steps in the hall, recognized them, and hurried to open the door.

“Thank you, sir,” said Jericho. His hands were occupied balancing a tray laden with enough tea and edibles for three. With the crisis past, he anticipated my sister’s return to a normal appetite. I got out of his way so he could put it down on the room’s one table.

“That smells good.” Elizabeth came closer. “Are those seedcakes? And eggs? I haven’t had one in ages. . . .” She hovered over the table, looking unsure of where to begin.

The smells may have been toothsome to her, but they were enough to drive me away. Cooked food of any kind had that effect on my sharpened senses. While she piled the beginnings of a feast on a plate, Jericho poured tea, adding a generous portion or two of brandy to the cup.

“All I really want is the tea,” she protested, crumbs of seedcake flying from her mouth. “This only spoils the taste.”

“You need it, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Then so do you. Stop fussing and sit down. I shan’t eat another bite until you have some as well.”

This was an unheard-of violation of custom, to be sure, though the three of us had been friends long before growing up had drawn us irretrievably into our respective stations in life. Jericho hesitated.

“Sit, Jericho,” she said. “Please.”

“Never argue with a lady,” I told him.

He glanced once at the door to be certain it was closed and once at me to be sure it was all right. Gingerly, he sat opposite her and suffered her to pour tea for a change.

“I’ve missed this,” she said. “Remember how we used to take away a parcel of things from the kitchen and eat in the woods, pretending we were pirates hiding from the king’s navy?”

I gave a small chuckle. “I remember you insisting on playing Captain Kidd for all your skirts.”

“Only because I’d made an eye patch, but I recall giving it to you when I became ‘Scarlet Bess, Scourge of the Seas’ after Mrs. Montagu’s gift of those red hair ribbons.”

“Yes, and what a terror you became. As Captain Kidd you were a much nicer pirate.”

She threw a seedcake at me, and I neatly caught it just to annoy her. She laughed instead. “I wish you could join us in this feast.”

“But he can,” said Jericho, garnering questioning looks from us. For an answer, he reached for a second teapot on the tray and held it ready to pour the contents into a waiting cup. He cocked an eye at me.

“What . . . ?” I drew closer.

He tipped the pot. From the spout came forth not tea, but blood. Elizabeth gasped, eyes wide and frozen.

When the cup was full, he gently replaced the pot. Then he picked up the cup and a saucer and offered them to me.

Hardly aware that I spoke, I whispered a thanks to him. The scent of the blood filled my head. The sight of it . . . the whole room seemed to have vanished; all I saw was the cup and its contents. I reached out, seeing my fingers closing ’round it of their own accord. Then I drank. Deeply.

My God, it was
wonderful.

Still warm. So much of it.

I drained it away in one glorious shuddering draught. Not until it was gone did I understand the breadth of my hunger. Muted by my long sleep, it snarled into life and was only slightly appeased by this offering.

“Another, sir?”

I could only nod. He poured. I drank.

So very, very wonderful. Eyes shut, I felt the glad heat spreading from my belly to the tips of my limbs, felt the weight of need melting away, felt the
life
of it infusing every part of me. Each swallow restored my depleted body with that much more strength.

Jericho cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, miss, I should have said something before . . . .” He sounded stricken.

I opened my eyes, abruptly mindful that I was not alone, and looked at Elizabeth. She was ashen. Her gaze fixed on the teapot, then Jericho, then me.

“I am most sincerely sorry.” Jericho started to get up, but Elizabeth’s hand shot out and fastened on his arm.

“No. Don’t.” For a long moment she did not move. Her breath was short and fast, then she forcibly slowed it.

“Elizabeth?” I hardly knew what to say. Only now did it penetrate my slow mind that the sight of me swigging down blood as another man might take in an ale might be less than pleasant in her sight.