Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (91 page)

When Aunt Fonteyn ran out of breath, I seized the opening and continued, doing a fair imitation of a man bored with the topic. “Of course you’re aware that my poor mother has been under a doctor’s direct care for several years now. She’s often in a deluded state because of the laudanum she takes, and so is hardly responsible for herself or anything she says or thinks or imagines. She has suffered from this sickening fancy for some time. We’re all used to it and ignore it entirely.”

“
Be quiet!
”
roared my aunt.

“I speak only the truth,” I said, full of offended dignity.

“You! All of you out of here!” she bellowed at the servants. Their scrambling escape back to the hall was most comical, but none of us smiled. The door slammed shut, but I had confidence that their ears were glued fast to the cracks and keyhole.

“You know, Oliver,” I went on in a carrying tone, “this display convinces me that your poor mother may also suffer from the same complaint as mine. She seems quite out of her mind.”

Oliver visibly flinched and could not yet speak, but Aunt Fonteyn did. Her voice turned low and murderous.

“You vicious young
bastard.
Lie all you wish, slander how you like, but I know the truth of things. You and your sister are an unnatural pair and will rot in hell for what you’ve done—”

“Which is exactly
nothing,
woman!” I bellowed, patience finally broken. “I know not where Mother got such a ludicrous idea, but surely you’re too intelligent to believe her nonsense.”

She wasn’t listening. “I opened my hearth to you, and here is my repayment. I’ll have the both of you arrested and whipped in the stocks for—”

“Oh, yes, by all means do that. I’m sure the display will make a favorable impression on your many dear friends.”

And there it was, my killing thrust right into the great weakness she shared with Mother. I had the supreme satisfaction of seeing Aunt Fonteyn snap that foul mouth of hers fast shut. Though it was impossible to judge her color under the paint, it must have been dark indeed. Had I pushed too far? Her eyes looked quite mad. If she dropped from a burst blood vessel I would not have been surprised.

Then, even as I watched, the hot madness changed to icy hatred with an alacrity that eerily reminded me of Mother’s abrupt and alarming changes of mood.

“You,” she whispered in a voice that raised my hackles, “are no longer a part of this family. You are
dead,
the two of you! And like the dead you forfeit all right to your inheritance. You can pander in the street for your bread and your whore-sister with you. I’ll see you both cast out.”

“No.” If she was icy, then I was glacial. “You. Will. Not.”

From some faraway place I heard Elizabeth murmur my name, warningly.

I had no mind for her, only for the hideous creature before me. I dared not spare the attention. All was in balance within me between anger and sense. Lean too far in the wrong direction . . . .

Aunt Fonteyn blinked rapidly several times. She seemed short of breath or had somehow forgotten to breathe. A sharp pain started up behind my eyes, but I ignored it.

“You will not,” I carefully repeated. “You will do nothing. This matter ends here and now. No more will ever be said of it. No changes of any kind will be made about our money. No more accusations will be raised ever again. That lie is dead. Do you understand?”

She made no reply, but I saw the answer I wanted. I also saw, once I released her from my influence, a look in her flat eyes that I should have anticipated, but got a wrenching turn from all the same.

She was afraid.

Of
me.

We were fixed fast in a moment of mutual realization: she as the understanding dawned that she was no longer the unchallenged head of the family, and I in the discovery of yet another depth and use of my unnatural talents. It was heady, for I could have easily ordered her down from her throne and taken it for myself or generously presented it to Oliver.

Who would likely have less use for it than myself. Leave the poisonous spider to her tattered web and walk away.

Then the moment passed and she recovered herself and swiftly concealed this glimpse of her frailty. Too late. It had been revealed. She could never take it back again and well did she know it. Not that I was proud of having engendered the feeling in her, but I couldn’t help but think that she was more than deserving, the hateful old crow. She would despise me all the more for my knowledge, too, but I cared not.

“Jonathan.” Elizabeth was at my side, touching my arm. There was more to this than merely standing up to a bully; she’d known exactly what I’d just done. But I did not care, satisfied no further grief would trouble us.

“It’s all right,” I murmured. “It’s all over. We’re leaving.”

Aunt Fonteyn managed one last rally. “Never to return as long as I live.”

As a threat it was pathetically wanting in power. As a parting salvo it was empty of injury. If I never saw the inside of this dungeon and its guardian dragon again, it would be too soon.

“Oliver,” she snarled. “Take these two unclean beasts out of this house. Immediately. They are no longer a part of this family.”

Oliver made no move to obey. He was pale as fog and looked about as substantial, but he did not so much as shift one foot.

“Do it, boy! Are you deaf?”

“No,” he said, and there was enough force in his reply to suffice as an answer for both questions.

She turned full upon him and in an instant absorbed the fact that the mutiny had spread. “
What?
”

“How dare
you,
Mother? My cousins are good and honorable people, how
dare
you
say such horrid things about them?”

But she wasn’t about to revive that topic. My influence upon her was yet fresh. She instead seized upon his defiance. “Do you know what you say?”

“Yes, and it’s past time that I said it. So far past time that there’s too much inside for me to get it all out. I could burst from it. You horrify me and make me ashamed I’m your son, but no more. I’m going with them, and I won’t be back either.”

He started for the door.

“
Oliver!
”

And kept going.

“Oliver!” But there was no hint of anguish or regret in her, only rage for his rebellion. Elizabeth and I hurried to follow him. I closed the door behind us, shutting Aunt Fonteyn off in mid-roar.

The servants who had been listening were in the process of vanishing, except for the footman who had let us in. I told him to fetch our things, which he did, moving with gratifying speed, his face as white as Oliver’s. There would be the devil’s own hell to pay in this house for who knows how long because of what had just passed.

“Well, that’s torn it,” Oliver gasped. He began shivering from head to toe.

“You can apologize when she’s in a cooler mind,” I said. “There’s no reason for you to cut yourself off from family just because I—”

“Apologize? I’ll be
damned
before I apologize to that night hag. My God, the years and years I’ve put up with . . . . Well, it’s beyond endurance and no more of it for me.” He shrugged into his cloak, arms jerking every which way. “Family? The two of you are all the family I need or want! By God, you’ve both shown her up for what she is and I’ll be damned if I’ll stomach any more of her ravings.”

“Then I’m glad for you and proud of you,” said Elizabeth, pulling the hood of her wrap over her head. She muddled her gloves, pulling the left one onto her right hand. “Let’s get away from this cursed pile of old bones.”

“Yes!” he agreed, his voice rather high and strained.

The footman rushed ahead and threw wide the big double doors of the main entrance. Elizabeth moved past me into the winter night, then Oliver, both of them in a great hurry, for which I could not blame them. Glancing back at the parlor door, I almost expected Aunt Fonteyn to emerge and renew her attack, but happily she did not.

The footman trotted off to fetch the coach, for which action he was probably placing himself at risk. I would not put it past my aunt to discharge him and the driver for assisting us, sell the horses to the knackers, then burn the coach.

I began to tremble as well. Reaction, of course. I had naught to fear. I hoped.

“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked me.

“What have I done?”

“Exactly what was needed and in exactly the right way.”

“But if I was wrong?”

“That’s impossible or I would not feel so well off.”

“Nor I,” Oliver put in. “I feel like an anvil’s been lifted from my head. By God, I should have done this years ago. By God, by God . . . .”

And then it caught up with him. His mouth shut and his face twisted. He bent forward suddenly once, twice, as though in sudden agony, his skin gone green.

“Oh,
hell,”
he wheezed. Then he sightlessly staggered a few yards away and emptied his belly upon the snowy ground.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The ride back to Oliver’s home was notable for its atmosphere of barely restrained hysteria. We were each absurdly pleased with the outcome of our harrowing audience, each laughing as we recalled who said what and repeating the better points to one another, but with something of an air of doom hanging overhead. This was no petty family quarrel but a catastrophic and permanent rift, and we were well aware of it despite the shrill giddiness presently buoying up our hearts. Certainly the right actions had been taken, but even with my influence to assure our future incomes would continue, there was no telling what other repercussions might be pending.

By the time we’d left the coach and mounted the steps into the house, a certain amount of sobriety had begun to manifest itself. My cousin wasted no time in dealing with it and made straight for the parlor cupboard where he kept his wine and spirits. He fumbled badly with his keys, though, his hands still a-tremble.

“Let me,” I said, stepping in.

He relinquished them; I found the right one and used it. Wine was for celebrations, but brandy was useful for reflection as well as for its medicinal qualities. I grabbed a decanter and two glasses. Knowing their respective capacities, I poured out four times as much for Oliver as for Elizabeth. Neither said a word until both finished their portions. Elizabeth, not having much of a head for the stuff at the best of times, succumbed and sat in the nearest chair, complaining that her legs felt too weak to hold her.

Jericho walked in just then. With a lifetime of finely honed perception behind him, he instantly saw that we’d survived a mighty battle and withdrew again. Not for long, I thought, and was proved right when the scullery girl appeared and began to swiftly stoke up the fire and light more candles, acting the part of the maid we did not yet have. Apparently Jericho had instructed her in the finer points of dealing with the gentry, for she said not a word, though her expression was eloquent, filled as it was with excited curiosity. Things were happening.

She staggered out under the combined weight of our cloaks and hats, taking them away to dry in the kitchen, nearly running into Jericho. He’d known we’d not be staying for supper at Fonteyn House and had prepared accordingly. Fresh bread, a cold fowl, several kinds of cheese, biscuits, and two teapots crowded the great tray he carried. He put it on a table, filled a teacup for Elizabeth and took it straight to her.

She sipped at the steaming brew and sighed gratefully. “Jonathan, you will triple Jericho’s wage as of this very moment.”

“Done,” I said.

Jericho paused, seeing that I was serious. “But, sir. . .” he began, taken aback. I’d made legal arrangements to wrest him from the bonds of slavery right after we’d moved from the inn, and he was still in the throes of adjusting to his newly bestowed freedom.

After this night, the same might be said for the rest of us.

“But nothing. My sister requests it and so it is done. ’Tis paltry pay for such imperial comfort.”

He gaped and nearly let the pot slip from his fingers before his customary dignity reasserted itself.

Oliver noticed our byplay, but added no light remarks as he might have done if things had been more normal. Instead, he paced in a distracted manner, pausing in each pass before the fire to warm himself.

“Tea, Dr. Oliver?” Jericho asked, reaching for another cup.

“Oh, ah, no, thank you. Need to settle myself first.” Oliver helped himself to another brandy. The glass clinked and rattled from the tremors running through his hands.

Jericho put the first pot down and picked up the second, raising a questioning eyebrow at me. Elizabeth apparently guessed its contents, but this time offered only a wry smile in reaction. After a glance at Oliver, I nodded. In his present state my cousin wouldn’t notice anything short of the roof falling on his head, but just to be safe Jericho obscured the pouring of my beverage by interposing his body.

“Bit of a risk, this,” I murmured as he presented the cup to me. The warm bloodsmell rising from it was sweet to my senses. I felt my upper corner teeth begin to lengthen in response.

“When you left tonight, you gave me to understand that the circumstances of your visit might be exceptionally difficult. With that in mind, I thought you might be in need of reviving afterward.”

“And I am grateful, just don’t make a habit of it.”

“Of course, sir.”

I downed it in one glowing draught and had another. Drinking from a cup did have its advantage over sucking directly from a vein, being more refined and cleaner, but I had reasonable fears against making frequent use of it. Though I could readily deal with discovery, it might not go so well for Jericho should someone notice him regularly drawing blood from our horses.

Elizabeth nibbled from the food she’d been given, assuring me that she was recovering from the business, but Oliver refused an offered plate and continued pacing nervously around, rubbing his hands together as though to warm them. Elizabeth’s gaze followed him for a time, then she looked at me. I raised one finger to my lips and winked to let her know all would be well.

“Oliver,” I said gently. “You’re making me dizzy with this walking about to no purpose. Let’s get out of here and take a little air.”

“But it’s freezing,” he said, not meeting my eye.

“Just the tonic we want to clear our heads.”

“What about Elizabeth? Can’t leave her alone with all that’s happened. Not right, that.”

“I am going up to bed, so don’t worry about me,” she said. “Jericho, can you trust Lottie to ready my room? Excellent. I’ll just finish this and be right up.”

“Well, if you’re sure. . .” Oliver said doubtfully.

“Wrap up against the chill,” she advised him with a careless wave from her chair as though nothing was amiss. It was a well-calculated attitude. Had she been standing she might have gone over to kiss his cheek, but that would have broken him down into tears. He did not need that sort of release just now.

Jericho quickly produced dry cloaks for us to don, and with hats in place and sticks in hand, I got us out the door before Oliver could change his mind.

“There’s such a thing as too much when it comes to tonics,” he remarked as the first blast of wind struck him. “Are you sure you want a walk on a night like this?”

“So long as it ends at a tavern,” I said.

“But I’ve plenty of drink inside.”

“It’s not the same. Much too quiet for one thing. Elizabeth enjoys it, but I need to see that there are other people in the world right now. Ordinary folk with kindly hearts and smiles.”

He grunted a reluctant agreement to that and let me lead him away.

The cold air woke him up and he offered directions as needed to get us to The Red Swan, which he said was one of the more superior establishments of its kind in the neighborhood. It was quite different from The Oak back in Glenbriar, being much louder, smokier and noisier. Oliver was evidently a favored patron, to judge from the boisterous greeting that was raised when we came in. Several garishly made-up women squealed their hellos, but did not forsake their perches on various male customers’ knees. That was another difference. The landlord of The Oak never allowed such women into his house . . . more’s the pity.

Oliver asked for a private room and got it, and though separate from the others, we were not completely isolated. The sounds of their current revel came right through the thin walls, letting us know we were most certainly not alone in the wide, lonely world.

Drinks were brought, as well as food, and an inquiry as to whether additional companionship might be desired. Oliver mumbled, “Later, perhaps,” and they shut the door on us.

“You and Elizabeth worked this out, didn’t you?” he asked, glowering at me but not in a serious manner.

“It seemed for the best,” I said, pouring more brandy for him. By the smell of it, it wasn’t of the same quality as his own, but doubtless its warmth would do him good.

“Without saying a single word?”

“We understand each other very well. It’s sometimes easier to speak to one friend at a time, rather than two at once. Also one man to another, without having to be concerned about a female’s sensibilities. Elizabeth knows that, so here we are.”

“And if I prefer to drink instead of talk?”

“Then I make sure you come home in one piece so you don’t disappoint your patients tomorrow.”

“Ugh. Tomorrow. How am I going to face it after this?”

“The same as any other day, but freer. You have regrets?”

“No, but be assured the story of what happened tonight at Fonteyn House will run through the town like the pox.”

“Idle gossip,” I murmured dismissively.

“Not with Mother doing the gossiping. She’ll present herself favorably, of course, and I shall be the villain, and what she’ll say about you and Elizabeth doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“Your mother will say nothing.”

“Can you really be so sure?”

“I know it for a fact. Granted, there might be some talk of you two having a falling out, but there will be no ill rumors spread about myself and Elizabeth. Like it or not, we are still half Fonteyn and your mother would rather set fire to herself than endanger the good name of her precious father. Even the servants will keep mum if they know what’s good for them.”

Oliver finished his drink, coughed on it, then poured another from the bottle.

“It’s horrible. Absolutely horrible what she said. Absolutely horrible.”

I put my hand out, touching his arm. “Oliver.” Reluctantly he looked at me. “It’s not true.”

His lips trembled. “How can you think that I’d believe—”

“I
know
you don’t believe, but you are troubled, perhaps by a doubt no larger than a pinprick. There’s no reason to be ashamed of it. God knows we all have a thousand doubts bubbling up in our minds about this and that every living moment we’re on this earth. It’s perfectly normal. All I want is to put this one to rest forever. You have my sacred word of honor as a Barrett to you as a Marling, that Elizabeth and I are brother and sister and nothing inappropriate has ever passed between us. We’ll leave the Fonteyn sisters and their vile delusions right out of it.” I gave his arm a quick, solid press and let go.

Oliver let his jaw hang open, then emitted a short, mirthless laugh. “Well, when you put it like that . . . I feel a fool for ever listening to the old witch.”

“More fool she for listening to
my
mother. I’m sorry for letting my temper take hold tonight, but to hear that disgusting lie again was too much for me. I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Yes, probably in the same way I can’t help myself when there’s a boil to be lanced. The patient may howl at the time, but it’s better done than ignored until it poisons his blood and kills him. No regrets, Cousin,” he said, raising his glass to toast me.

“None,” I responded and felt badly for not being able to return the honor, but Oliver seemed not to notice. I wondered if this might be the right time to confide to him about my changed condition.

Perhaps not. Later would suffice. He’d been through enough for one evening.

Putting his glass aside, he leaned forward across the table. “Those things you said about your mother, about the doctor and the laudanum. . . .

“All true. She goes into these raving fits, and Dr. Beldon and his sister are the only ones who can deal with her. The laudanum helps, but Beldon has to be sparing with it, lest there be permanent harm.”

“Sounds like he knows his business, then.”

“He’s a decent fellow, all told.”

“What’s your mother like when she’s in one of her fits?”

“About the way your mother was tonight but with less direction.”

“Good God.”

“The difference being that your mother knows what she’s doing when it comes to inflicting pain and mine does not. Hers is more of a thoughtless lashing out than a directed volley. I don’t think she takes enjoyment from hurting others as Aunt Fonteyn so clearly does, but she does like to win. There are no conversations with the woman, only pronouncements. What she says is law, and God help you if you disagree.

“Grandfather Fonteyn was the same way,” he said, hunching his shoulders as he leaned upon the table. “Certainly in observations I’ve made outside of my own family, I’ve seen how a nervous condition can be inherited. Let us pray to heaven that it spares us and our own children.”

“Amen to that,” I genially concurred.

Oliver’s face went twisty again and I hoped he would not be ill. “I . . . I don’t remember much about Grandfather, but he quite terrified me. I used to hide from him, and then Mother would make my nurse whip me for being disrespectful, but better that than having to see him.”

“Understandable. I’ve heard that he was a perfectly dreadful man.”

“But you don’t have the whole story. Mother was always a trial, but Grandfather . . . he always treated me like—like a special pet. He’d laugh and try to play with me, gave me sweets and toys. I remember that much.”

I found that difficult to believe from the tales told about him and said as much.

“I know. It makes no sense. It made no sense. There was something strangely wrong about it. Children have sharp instincts, like animals sometimes when it comes to surviving a harsh life. Whenever I was with him I felt like a rabbit in a lion’s den, and the lion was only playing with his supper: me. I never could fathom why until . . . until tonight.”