Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (93 page)

“She would do that . . . to me. Nora. . . .”

The influence Nora had imposed that caused him to forget certain things about her had finally failed.

His hand went to his throat, and he made a terrible mewling sound as he stumbled backward. He got as far as a chair and fell into it and stayed there. He shivered again, not from fear of me but from the onrush of restored memory.

“Oh, my God, my God,” he groaned over and over, holding his head, giving a voice to his misery.

I swallowed my own anxieties. How unimportant they were against his pain. Standing, I finished with the buttons and donned my remaining clothes. This done, I went to Jemma and saw to her wounds. Their flow had ceased, but the drying blood was a nuisance. Slopping brandy on my handkerchief, I dabbed away until she was clean, then gently woke her.

“You’re a lovely darling,” I told her, pressing coins into her hand. “But I need to speak with my cousin, so if you don’t mind . . . .”

She had no chance for argument as I smoothly bundled her and her trailing skirts out the door, shutting it. I trusted the money would be a more than sufficient compensation for my rudeness.

Oliver watched, saying nothing. I pulled a chair from the other side of the table and sat across from him.

“Y-you’ve done that before,” he murmured, making a vague gesture to mean Jemma.

“Yes.”

“You . . . take from them.”

“I drink their blood,” I said, deciding to be as plain as possible. “Just as Nora once did from you. And from me.”

He shuddered, then mastered himself. “I suddenly remembered what she did to me.”

“And she stopped. She knew you did not enjoy it.”

“But you did?”

“I was—I am—in love with her. It makes a difference.”

“So this is just some form of pleasure you’ve taken to li-like old Dexter and his need for birch rods?”

“No, it’s not that way for us.”

“
Then what is it?
”
He waited for me to go on. When the pause became too lengthy, he asked, “Why are your eyes like that?”

At this reminder I briefly averted them. “It’s . . . . This is damned difficult for me, Oliver. I’m terrified of-of losing your friendship because of what’s happened to me.”

He shook his head, puffing out air in a kind of bitter laugh. “One may lose friends, but never relatives. Rely on that, if nothing else.”

He’d surprised me again with this crooked humor, God bless him. I softly matched his laugh, but with relief, not bitterness inspiring it. “Thank you.”

“Right.” He sat up, squaring his shoulders. “Now,
talk
to me.”

And so I did. For a very long, long time.

CHAPTER NINE

LONDON, DECEMBER 1777

“What’s happened today, Jericho? Any new staff taken on?” I asked.

“No, sir. Miss Elizabeth was too busy receiving visitors and had no time for interviewing anyone.”

“What visitors, then?”

“Miss Charlotte Bolyn called today. She wanted to confirm again that you, Miss Elizabeth and Dr. Oliver will attend the Masque tonight. Then she flew off elsewhere, but was rapidly succeeded by a horde of other young ladies and their mothers.”

“Oh, dear.”

“A number of them were most disappointed that you were not available.”

“Which? The young ladies or their mothers?”

“Both, sir.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear.”

“Indeed, sir. Some of them had a decidedly predatory air about them.”

“And I was hoping to be spared. Damnation, you’d think they’d realize that not every bachelor is looking for a wife. Can’t imagine where they get the idea.”

“I believe it has more to do with them seeking a husband, sir.”

“You’re perfectly right, of course, and it’s wretched bad judgment on their part thinking they’d be better off with one. I’ve seen what’s on the market and ’tis poor pickings. I shall have to acquire a horrible reputation to put them off my scent. Perhaps I can tell the truth about my drinking habits.
That
would send them away screaming.”

“I have serious doubts such a ploy would be particularly effective as a means of avoiding matrimony, sir.”

“You’re right. There are some perfect rotters out there drinking far worse stuff than blood who’ve gotten themselves thrown headlong into wedlock-and-key. Well, I’ll think of something to make myself repulsive. What else for the day? Anything?”

“Several boxes addressed to Dr. Oliver arrived in the early afternoon from Fonteyn House.”

“Sounds ominous. Any idea what’s in ’em?”

“None, sir. Everything was taken to his consulting room. When he came back from his rounds he shut himself in with the items and has not yet emerged. That was some hours ago.”

“Most mysterious. Are we done here?”

He gave me a critical look to determine whether or not I was presentable. Since no glass would throw back my image, I’d come to rely solely upon Jericho’s fine judgment in the matter of my personal toilet. He had excellent taste, though tending to be too much the perfectionist for my patience.

“You will do, sir,” he said grudgingly. “But you want some new shirts.”

“I’ve already ordered several from the fellow who’s done my costume for the Masque.”

“Oh, sir, do you really think—”

“Not to worry, it’s Oliver’s tailor, a most careful and experienced man.

That mollified him. Oliver’s own taste was sometimes eccentric, but he was wonderfully sensible when it came to shirts.

Released from the evening’s ritual, I went unhurriedly downstairs to join the others, giving a polite nod to the new housemaid as she ducked out of my way. She was a shy sort. Hopefully she would become more at ease as she got used to the habits of the household. Her eyes were somewhat crossed, but she seemed energetic enough for the work, sober, was a devoted churchgoer, and had already had the pox. Elizabeth had engaged her only yesterday morning; that same night I’d conducted my own interview with the girl, influencing her into not being at all curious about my sleeping or eating habits. Or lack thereof. For the last week it seemed that each time I woke up there was a new servant on the premises requiring my attention. Thus far, not one of them had taken the least notice of my differences, not within Jericho’s hearing, anyway. It was his job to look for chinks in my work and give warning when reinforcement seemed required.

But for now, all was safe. My traveling trunk with its bags of earth was secreted in a remote section of Oliver’s cellar, allowing me to rest undisturbed through the day. At sunset I made my invisible way up through the floors of the house to re-form in my bedroom and there submit to Jericho’s grooming ministrations. It wasn’t quite the same as it had been back home, but the inconvenience of curling myself into the trunk each night rather than stretching out on a cot was negligible. Such totality of rest that had me indifferent to my surroundings did have an advantage.

As for my excellent good cousin, well, our talk at The Red Swan had been mutually harrowing, but the experience created a solid bond of friendship between us, something I’d needed and was humbly grateful to have, and all without having to impose my influence upon him. Without doubt it was the most difficult conversation I’d been through since my first night out of the grave when I encountered Elizabeth. The topic was essentially the same: an explanation of myself, of the changes I’d gone through, and the desperate, unspoken plea for acceptance of the impossible.

But Oliver, my friend as well as my kin, had a great enough heart to hear that which was not asked aloud and then freely give it.

Not that any of what he heard was particularly easy for
him.
It took a goodly time to persuade him that I really was not like old Dexter, one of the Cambridge administrators whose nature with women was such that he could not achieve satisfaction unless his partner birched his backside raw. We students found out about it from one of the town whores, who was not as discreet as Molly Audy when it came to gossiping about her clients. Most of us thought him a strange fellow, though still likable.

But once I’d convinced Oliver that my need to drink blood was a physical requirement equivalent in importance to his eating every day, things went more smoothly. His medical training (and curiosity) won out over his initial trepidation, and once loosed, he fairly hammered me with questions. Unfortunately, I could not answer them all; many were the very ones I had in store for Nora.

Oliver had much to speak of for himself, mostly of his own feelings toward her, which might best be defined as ambivalent. Certainly he’d found her beautiful, even bewitching, the same as many of the other men in our circle, but he’d been highly disturbed by her habits, then and now. With his memories restored he had much to unburden.

“She was using us—every one of us—to feed on like a wolf upon sheep,” he’d said at one point with something close to anger.

“One may look at it like that, but on the other hand, she willingly gave of herself to pleasure others.”

“But that makes her a—” He cut off, realizing that I might take exception to his conclusion.

“I know what it makes her, and I’ll not deny the similarities between herself and the two ladies we’ve enjoyed tonight. But God’s death, man, I shan’t begrudge the woman the right to make a living in whatever way that she’s able. Look at the limitations our condition imposes. She can no more open a dress shop or a coffee house than I can go to court to practice the law. Both require that we be up and about during the day, y’know, which is utterly impossible. I came to see it as a fair trade for her to ply, and you’ll recall she never imposed herself on anyone who could not afford to indulge.”

He thought it over and saw the sense of it. “But I still feel . . . well, violated in some way. First by her use of me, then again by making me forget it. I’m not sure that I’d care ever to see her again after all that.”

“I’ve an idea that if I made mention of it to her, she would doubtless offer a full apology. She did not forcibly impress herself upon her male friends. And she showed consideration for your feelings when she understood your reluctance to participate.”

“There’s that . . . .”

“Making you forget was spare you distress and protect herself, nothing more. I’m sure that’s what she had in mind when she did the same to me as well. It made our parting easier, for me. I’m sure it was difficult for her to bear, though.”

“You’re being rather generous. Think about poor Tony Warburton . . . if what you say she did to him is what caused his madness. I can still hardly imagine him doing such a horrible thing except that that’s the same time you began going peculiar. For three years you had this grand passion for the lady, and then you behaved as though she were no more important than any of the other women we’ve known.”

“Only because she made me think so,” I repeated, trying keep the weary note from my tone. Oliver was having the devil’s own time getting his head around that point. “She
made
me forget everything that was truly important between us.”

“And you can do the same sort of . . . of influencing? If you don’t mind my saying so, I find that to be rather frightening.”

“As do I, be assured, so I am cautious with it.”

“But you have . . . influenced me?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “And I humbly apologize and promise never to do so again. That’s what this talk is all about, so I may be honest and plain with you from now on.”

“I can appreciate that, Coz. Apology accepted, though damn it, I’ve no memory of what
you’ve
done, either.”

“Nothing awful, I assure you. I only asked that you ignore my avoidance of taking meals and not think it odd I sleep the day through. That’s all, I swear it.”

“Yet I remember nothing.”

“ ’Tis the nature of the act.”

“Insidious stuff, ain’t it? And Nora’s used it on God knows how many of us.” He gave a brief shudder.

“You must understand that she
has
to be secretive when it comes to certain things. As do I, now. You’ve only to recall your own reaction when you walked in awhile ago to see why.”

“Yes, that woke me up. Are you sure Jemma is unharmed?”

“Quite sure. In truth, I went to some effort to see that she enjoyed herself.”

“Hmph. If I’d troubled to do the same for Frances, I suppose I’d have come in much later and then we’d have not even had this talk.”

“Only in part. I’ve been intending to tell you the whole of this, but . . . well . . . the choosing of the right time grabbed the bit and dashed away from me.”

“Yes,” he said, hooking one corner of his mouth up in a smile full tainted with irony. “Well. The time chose itself. I suppose we’ve made the best of it, Coz, but damnation, this wants a good deal of getting used to.”

But the nights passed easily between that one and the present, with Oliver becoming quickly accustomed to my change. Certainly my own peace of mind returned for I’d taken no enjoyment whatever from the necessity of having to influence him. It’s one thing to be compelled to use it on a paid servant, but quite another to inflict it upon so good and close a friend as he.

Never again, I promised us both.

One point which he did not raise in regard to my strange talent was whether or not I had influenced his mother to our advantage during our recent confrontation. Oliver was a most clever fellow under his appearance of playing the ass, and certainly if he applied the least thought to it, he’d have worked things out and known why Aunt Fonteyn had mysteriously cooperated with my order that she make no trouble for us in matters of our inheritance.

She did hold to a total severing of communication with him, which he was the most cheered about.

Her letters of acidic advice to him had been almost a daily ordeal what with her endless supply of paper, ink, and opinions, but since that night those had ceased. Without that intrusion or the prospect of further summons to Fonteyn House, life turned most pleasant for him. He now had congenial and witty company in his great lonely home with the kind of family he’d ever longed for and deserved. I rather suspected that Oliver knew what I’d done and had decided to let sleeping ogres lie.

Life was indeed congenial for us all, and for me would have been perfect if I could just find Nora again.

* * *

“Oh, there you are,” said Elizabeth, emerging from the kitchen hallway to meet me as I reached the lower landing. “Thought you’d never be coming down.”

“Jericho was playing the taskmaster this evening. Wanted to make sure I was properly groomed for the Masque tonight.” I ran a finger along my freshly scraped chin and felt particularly bright of mood. The Bolyn’s gathering was the talk of the town, and if ever there was a chance for Nora to emerge from wherever she’d hidden herself, it would be at this huge party. Everyone would be there, invited or not.

“Did he tell you about Oliver’s mysterious treasure arriving?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, all the boxes. Where is he? Still in his consulting room?”

She nodded. “He came home an hour ago, went in, and hasn’t been out since or even called for tea. I decided to wait until you were up before checking on him. He won’t mind if we both interrupt. Wonder what they could be?”

“Knowing the bent of his studies, probably stuffed and mounted specimens from Bedlam, ” I said, strolling toward the right room.

“Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

“I’ve seen worse. If you ask him, he’ll arrange to take you on a tour, y’know.”

“I think not.” Elizabeth was familiar with my account of the dread place and apparently it had been vivid enough to put her off seeing for herself.

We paused before the consulting room door and she knocked, calling Oliver’s name. There was no immediate reply; she repeated herself.