Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (95 page)

“Something like that. London gets too small for me, y’ see.” He grandly stretched his arms wide as if to illustrate. Red from the dance and sweating, he untied his beard and stuffed it into a pocket.

That was when the nagging familiarity about him changed to instant and utter certainty. Ridley was the drunken leader of the Mohocks that I’d bedeviled on my first night in London.

Good God.

“And how is America, these days?” he asked me, again with that almost, but not quite, patronizing tone. It was finely balanced, just enough so that he was unpleasant, but not to the point where anyone could take exception to it.

“Fine, very fine,” I answered, not really thinking.

“Fine? You’re not one of those damned rebels, are you?”

“Absolutely not!” cried Oliver. “My God, but Jonathan’s done his share of the fighting for our king. How many have you killed, Coz? Half a dozen?”

“You exaggerate, Oliver.” I had no wish to dwell on that episode of my past.

“Blazed away at a roomful of ’em, at least, only this summer.”

“How interesting,” said Ridley, giving me a lengthy stare. Damnation. Had he recognized me as the victim he and his gang had tried to sweat? Hard to tell if it was that or his reaction to Oliver’s tipsy boasting.

“Not very,” I countered. “Just defending my family. Any man would do the same. Are you enjoying the Masque? That coat must be warm.”

God, but I was close to babbling. Really, now, there was nothing to fear. It was unlikely that he’d remember me; the street had been dark, the engagement brief and he very drunk. Besides, half my face was now obscured by my mask. The music and the great press of people were simply nerving me up. All I had to do was bluff my way along and none would be the wiser. Besides, unless he wanted ousting from polite society he had every reason not to mention the incident.

“Rather,” he said, a lazy amusement creeping over his heavy features. Neither handsome nor ugly, but possessing distinct enough looks to make him stand out, he seemed to know how to use them to his best advantage. Moments ago he’d almost seemed dashing as he squired Elizabeth ’round the dance floor. Now he was decidedly base as he spoke more loudly than necessary to be heard over the music and other speakers. “There’s plenty of things here to make a man warm, though.”

“Yes, the dancing. I may try a turn or two myself, later.”

“It’d be well worth the trying, I can guarantee you, Barrett. The ladies here tonight are of superior stock. Very lively they are.”

“I have noticed.”

“Now,” he said, pointing out at the couples on the floor. “See that pirate wench with the red wig? There’s a pretty slut who knows what’s best for a man. It’s the way she walks and moves is how you can tell she’s eager for it. I’ll give you seven to five that I’ll be pounding her backside into the floor within the hour. What do you say?” He grinned down at me.

For an instant I did nothing, disbelieving my ears, then Oliver, for all the wine he’d taken, was just quick enough to get between us. I heard him shout my name, trying to penetrate the roar of white-hot rage blasting through my being. I fought to push him to one side to strike at Ridley, but our violent commotion seized the attention of the other men present who had overheard his base boast, and they leaped in to hold me back.

“Have a care, sir!”

“Calm yourself, sir!”

“For God’s sake, Jonathan,
don’t!
”

Through it all, Ridley stood with his hands on his hips, smirking. He knew what he was about. I wanted to smash his face to a pulp and could do it with ease if only these fools would let go my arms.

“You heard the bastard!” I shouted. “You heard him!”

“Aye, we did, an’ there’re ways for gentlemen to settle such things,” intoned an older man with an Irish accent.

“Let them be settled, then. I’m issuing challenge here and now.”

“First cool yourself, young sir. Ye’ll accomplish naught while in such a temper, and that’s what he wants.”

I abruptly stopped fighting, dropping flat on my heels but still boiling inside and ready to tear Ridley in two at his next word. But he said no more and just walked away with his ass’s grin fixed in place. The men eased their restraint on me, trusting I’d mastered myself. I tore off my half-mask, but my searing glare was lost on Ridley’s unresponsive back.

“That was a rare harsh slur to an innocent lady, sir,” said the older man with dark sympathy.

“To my
sister,
sir,” I corrected. “Such a disgusting offense to her honor must be answered.”

“Then you’re familiar with the Clonmel Summer Assizes.”

“I am.” Like the other gentlemen in our group, Oliver had acquired a copy of the Irish
Code Duello
that autumn, and I’d studied it with interest, hardly dreaming I’d find so quick a use for its fascinating rules.

“Are you cooled enough to properly deal with what’s to come?”

I could not take my gaze from Ridley’s retreating back. He stood head and shoulders above most of the crowd. I wanted to cut him in half and make him vanish.

“Jonathan?” Oliver, looking wholly sober, yet held my arm.

“Yes,” I snarled impatiently. Damn them and their hindrances against what had to be done, but I would have to abide or find myself as outcast as Ridley had just made himself. This was the quickest means open to attain satisfaction, though. What came next . . . ? “You heard him? You all heard his rank insult?”

Some three or four formally declared they had. All looked grim, understanding the course of things and their part in events.

“I’ll want a second,” I found myself saying. “Oliver, would you?”

“Need you ask? Of course I will.”

“Hold now,” said the Irishman. “ ’Tis contrary to the rules to deliver a challenge at night. No need for being a hothead. It can wait ’til the morning when you’ve had time to consider and compose yourself.”

“I must beg your pardon, sir, for I disagree. His insult to my sister’s honor is too great. We will settle things
now.
”

“But, young sir, the code states . . . .”

“Sir! This was no drunken exchange in a tavern, but a coldly considered disputation that Ridley intentionally provoked. He wants a fight, so I will not be delayed to oblige him!”

And with those words, I saw they realized my determination to immediately press forward was not a subject for question. Certainly any of them standing in my boots would have answered the same.

“Very well,” he sighed. “In this instance and on that point I think we may be forgiven, but as for the rest of the rules—”

“To those I have no objection, sir, so long as we proceed as quick as may be.”

A change went over the men around us, a kind of drawing together, as though they’d erected an invisible wall between myself and the rest of the crowd. The majority of the party remained unaware, so the music and dancing played on uninterrupted, but those just outside the wall seemed to sense it. Men nodded to each other; women whispered behind their fans. Something had happened. And even better, something was about to happen. I felt their collective gaze heavy upon me as our group departed the ballroom.

The older man, whose name was Dennehy, took charge of things, having appointed himself to the position of seeing that all else was done according to the strict laws of the Code. He’d heard everything that Ridley had said and been shocked as any, but was no less resolved to abide by the tenets of gentlemanly behavior. Though Ridley had already proved himself to be no gentleman, Dennehy would see that no others would descend to so base a level.

I was swept along by our press to a more secluded room. Brinsley Bolyn was sent for, not his father, for it was thought the elder Bolyn might have tried to postpone things. Once arrived, Brinsley was told what had happened and asked if there was a place nearby where a meeting might be arranged. This put him rather in the middle, being host to both myself and Ridley, but he promptly named an orchard just west of the house as a likely site. He promised to have lanterns brought to shed adequate light for the proceedings and said we could choose whatever was needed from his own collection of arms. I divested myself of the ridiculous costume cutlass.

Those important points covered, Oliver was dispatched to seek out and speak with Ridley’s second. He was back soon enough. Ridley had decided on the small-sword as his choice for the duel, which was not surprising considering the use he’d tried to make of it at our first meeting. In premeditated encounters like this, pistols were usually more favored than blades, since they tended to level any physical inequalities between opponents. Perhaps Oliver’s tale of my shooting rebels had instilled a tardy caution in my opponent. It made no difference to me. I knew how to employ either weapon with equal skill.

Though at the center of this attention, I was also strangely apart from the gathering. Even Oliver, who trudged close by my
side on our way to the orchard, was silent, as if afraid to speak with me, yet wanting to very badly. A quarter hour from now, for all he knew, I might be dead.

For all I knew as well.

I’d survived pistol and rifle balls, and even a cudgeling severe enough to kill an ordinary man; perhaps because of my change I would survive the sword, but I did not know, nor did it matter one way or another to me. Words had been said, ephemeral words, yet they could not be forgiven or forgotten. That foul-mouthed bastard had grossly insulted my sister and I was going to kill him for it or die in the trying.

“Oliver, you’ll be sure to tell Elizabeth all that happens, should things . . . not go well? She won’t appreciate it if you try to spare her feelings.”

“You’ve the right on your side. Everything will be fine,” he said, trying to sound hearty for my sake.

I let him hold on to that. He needed it.

* * *

We arrived at the orchard. Apple trees they were, and under Brinsley’s direction servants hung paper lanterns from the bare limbs. They lent a bizarrely festive air to a grim event. The wind was a nuisance; some of the lanterns went out and could not be relit. With several yards of ground between us, Ridley and I were each asked whether we wanted to proceed under such adverse conditions; we each said yes.

Ridley cast off his gaudy coat and fur hat, handing them to someone, then stretched himself this way and that to loosen his muscles. He had a long reach and obvious strength. Perhaps he thought that would give him the advantage over me, yet another reason for blades over pistols.

Following his example, I also stretched after shedding my now ludicrous pirate disguise. I took care to study his reaction, but he gave none that could be construed as recognition.

He inspected the sets of blades that Brinsley had brought, plucked one up, and swung it around to get the feel of it. Then he leveled it briefly in my direction, looking down its length. Satisfied, he handed it back, but continued favoring me with that same infuriating smirk. He was very sure of himself.

“ ’Fore God, I’ll need some beer in me soon for the thirst that’s coming,” he declared. “Have
you
any with you, Barrett?”

No one else understood what he was talking about, only I. Mr. Dennehy told Ridley’s second to ask him to refrain from speaking to me unless he was ready to offer apology for his insult.

Ridley laughed, but did not pursue the issue. His point had been made.

“What’s behind that?” asked Oliver, leaning close to speak quietly in my ear.

“He’s letting me know that we’ve met before.”

“Indeed? When?”

“I’ll tell you later, God willing. Let it suffice that his insult to Elizabeth was on purpose. He knew we all of us were together because of our costumes. He wants this duel.”

“My God.”

“I must ask a promise of you should anything adverse happen.”

“Whatever I can,” he said, too caught up to gainsay my doubts.

“First, take care of Elizabeth, and second, you are not to challenge Ridley. If he should best me, the matter ends here, to go no further. Understand?”

Oliver went white in the lantern glow. He knew my thoughts: that Ridley would not stop at the mere first drawing of blood; his intent for this duel was to kill me. “But—”

“No further. I won’t have your blood on my soul to disturb its rest. I need to know that you’ll be around to look after her.”

It upset him, that was plain, but he finally nodded. “I promise, but for God’s sake, be careful. The way he keeps smiling at you like that, he doesn’t look right in the head.”

“The fool’s only trying to unman me. Have you seen how he fights?”

“Only heard. I’m told he’s quick and confident, with the endurance of an ox. You should be the faster, though, if you’ve kept up your practice.”

Oliver and I had often taken such martial exercise with our friends while at school, but it had been over a year since then. Father and I had done some sparring. In those bouts I found I did not tire fast and that I had gotten quicker. I was able to match Ridley’s confidence with my own.

Then the time was upon us. Swords were presented, the distance marked, and I found myself but a few paces from Ridley
.
Again, he was asked if he was prepared to apologize. He said he was not.

“Gentlemen,” said Dennehy, “
en garde . . . !
”

Dropping slightly with legs bent in the prescribed manner, I got my blade up and at an angle across my body, its point even with Ridley’s head. He mirrored me exactly, but from a higher level because of his height. I found myself noticing small things: how he placed his feet, the pattern of embroidery on his waistcoat, the way his sand-colored brows hooked down on the outsides.

“
Allez!
”

It was begun.

I let Ridley make the first pass. As I’d expected, he relied on his reach and strength. He swatted my blade aside with a powerful slap and lunged, but I backed off in plenty of time and countered with a feint to the right. He was smart, backing in his turn, and was fast enough to block my true attack to the left. I drove in again on the same side, hoping he’d take it for another feint, but he seemed to know my mind and was ready for it. Damnation, but he was fast. I didn’t see his blade so much as his movements.