Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (97 page)

Just as things were becoming unbearable, Elizabeth appeared, pushing her way through the others. Her face was dreadfully white.

“Jonathan, someone just told me that you—” She interrupted herself, giving forth a heartfelt shriek. My cloak had slipped open a little, revealing the bloodstains.

“He’s in no danger,” Oliver hastened to assure her. “He just needs a bit of quiet. Gentlemen, would you please,
please
allow me to attend my patient?”

Easier said than done, what with such a boisterous crowd. I finally had to ask for them to leave myself, though it was a sore disappointment to my well-wishers. Brinsley, with his authority as host, stepped forward and persuaded them to be herded outside.

Throughout all this, Elizabeth pounded us both with angry questions. “A duel? How in God’s name did you get into a duel?” she demanded.

“That blasted fellow in the Russian costume insulted you,” said Oliver. “If Jonathan hadn’t challenged him, I certainly would have, the filthy bounder.”

“Insulted? What on earth did he say? Jonathan, are you all right? Oh, why did you
do
such a thing?”

And so on. She said quite a lot in a very short time, torn as she was between rage and relief. I had to tell her over and over that I was fine, while keeping one eye on Oliver . . . who kept one eye on me.

Once the door was closed and we were blessedly alone, Oliver pulled a chair close. I did not care for the sick worry that so obviously troubled him. He reached toward me, saying he needed to see my wound.

I tried to wave him off. “This is not necessary. I’m fine. I just need a little rest.”

Blinking and swallowing hard, he looked as though I’d slapped him. “I-I know what I saw, Jonathan. Please don’t make light of me.”

“What does he mean?” asked Elizabeth. “Just how bad is that scratch?”

“Bad enough,” I muttered.

Oliver bowed his head, raised it, then quickly moved and opened my shirt. He gave a kind of gasping sob, full of fear. Just to the left of my breastbone was a fierce-looking red welt, like a fresh scar, as large around as my thumb. There was drying blood everywhere, but the wound itself had cleanly closed. The rest of the area was tender like a bruise and about as troubling.

“It’s not possible,” he said, as miserable as any man can be on this side of hell. “Not . . . possible.”

Elizabeth leaned close. “My God, Jonathan, what happened? What
really
happened?”

“I was careless. Ridley got through. A palpable hit, it was.”

“You—”

“That angle and depth . . .” said Oliver. “I know it pierced your heart. I
know
it did.”

Elizabeth seized my arm as though to assure herself I yet lived. “Jonathan?”

My voice sounded rather hollow—little wonder when death comes so close. Even a mocking touch from the Reaper is enough to melt one’s bones. “Should have killed me, but didn’t. Thought I had been killed . . . then I was better. It hurt, but I’m fine now. I swear it.”

“How can this be?” Oliver pleaded. Fear again. Fear sufficient for all of us to have a share.

But no more for me. I was worn out by that dismal load. This was part and parcel of my changed state, and something I had to accept, not dread. I straightened as though to dislodge the weight from my shoulders. “Remember what I told you about Nora?”

Elizabeth knew the full story on that and understood of what I was speaking. It took poor Oliver a little longer. To be fair, he’d been drunk when we’d had our talk; he might not possess a wholly clear recollection. Besides, being told something and actually witnessing it are two different things.

“You were run right through the heart,” he insisted. “I saw it. So did the others, then you—”

“Others?” Elizabeth fixed me with a look. “How many others?”

“Most of the lot that Brinsley chased away for us,” I said.

“And they saw
everything?
”

“It was very fast and dark. They’ve already convinced themselves that they didn’t see what they thought they saw.”

While she sorted that out, I turned back to Oliver.

“There’s no need to be upset about this. It’s part of my changed nature, and I can no more explain why it is than you can tell me what causes the flying gout.”

“But for you to survive such a—for you to heal so quickly . . . .”

“I know. It’s one of the things that puzzles me as well. It’s why I have to see Nora and talk to her.”

“But it’s just not
natural.
”
he insisted.

I asked, “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I-I didn’t know you could do anything about it.”

“Well . . . I can’t.”

“Oh.” He sat back, a dull red blush creeping up his long face as the point came home. “Um, well, that is.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“I’m being an ass again,” he mumbled.

“No more than myself for forgetting what happened to Nora until after the fact. I was so damned angry at Ridley I couldn’t think of anything except smashing his face in.”

Elizabeth scowled. “Just what
did
he say about me?”

My turn to blush.

“It was that terrible?”

“Let it suffice that I doubt he will ever be invited to one of the Bolyns’ gatherings ever again. He’s a genuine rotter, and a Mohock.”

“No!” said Oliver, aghast. “Really?”

“A Mohock?” asked Elizabeth. “He didn’t look like an Indian.”

I quickly explained the difference between the colonial and London versions. “Saw him myself on my first night here. He was leading a pack of ’em, drunk as Davy’s sow—”

“And you said nothing of it?” Elizabeth’s eyes fairly blazed.

“Well, it hardly seemed important. . . .”

Oliver leaned close once more looking annoyed. “I think you should tell us about this business.”

“There’s not that much to tell.”

“Nevertheless . . . .” He glanced at Elizabeth’s eloquent face.

“Nevertheless,” I faintly echoed, needing no more prompting, but I was tired and in want of refreshment, so my recounting of my first meeting with Ridley was straightforward and as brief as I could make it. I thought longingly of Jericho and his clever juggling with teapots, but that was not a luxury I could enjoy just yet.

As I finished, someone knocked at the door, and Brinsley hesitantly put his head in.

“I say, won’t you be wanting some bandaging or water or something?” he asked of Oliver.

It took a moment for my cousin to adjust his attention from my past exploit to his present dilemma. He gave me a wide-eyed look, a mute inquiry of what to do. I answered with a short nod, and he told Brinsley that he had use for those very items, if it would not be too much trouble.

“None at all, old chap. How are you doing, Barrett?”

“I’ll be up and about soon.”

“What a relief! Can I get you anything?”

“Perhaps you can spare an old shirt for me? Mine’s a bit—”

“Heavens, man, I can do better than that!” He bobbed out again.

“It seems to be working,” said Oliver. “Brinsley was right next to me and saw the blade go in, and look how he is now. He
believes
you
were only scratched.”

I sighed. “Thank heaven for that.”

God have mercy, if I’d had to influence the lot of them into denying the evidence of their own eyes, I’d have burst my head from the effort. As things stood, the witnesses were accomplishing a much better job of it on their own.

“Incredible.” Oliver shook his head. “And all this because you curtailed Ridley’s drunken sport. If he was that far gone in drink, I’m surprised he was able to remember you, especially with your being in that mask.”

“No more than I was to find how he moves so easily between the gutter and polite company. He’s a dangerous fellow, and you must do all you can to avoid him.”

“He’s got no quarrel with me, but you and I are blood kin and he might—I’ll do my best, Coz, but I doubt that he’ll be much of a problem for now. Once word of this has spread he won’t be on any invitation lists to polite places. You skewered him properly, too; he shan’t soon be on his feet . . . though killing him would have been better.”

“I’ve had enough of killing.” My rage vented, I had cooled enough to think again and knew that even in the worst of it that I’d have held myself back from such a fatal action. Ridley, as he had demonstrated, was not so charitable.

“Still, he’s a spiteful sort, you can see that. It might be over for tonight, but he’s just the kind to come after you later. According to the Code, he cannot reopen the argument, but that won’t stop him from making a new one.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open, not to fear,” I promised. “I wonder how he’s doing, anyway?”

“If you really want to go find out . . .” he began doubtfully.

“Not a bit of it! Just wondered is all.”

“I suppose they’ve turned up another doctor to attend him or I’d have been called in by now. Just as well, I suppose.”

Some of the Bolyn servants appeared, bearing the promised washing water, bandaging and a clean shirt of fine silk. Brinsley, it seemed, was in the midst of a severe bout of hero worship with myself as the object of adulation. I was rather nonplussed to be in such a position, feeling neither worthy of the honor nor comfortable, but it could not be helped.

The room was cleared again, and this time Elizabeth went out to deliver a report to the waiting throng about my condition and to order Oliver’s carriage to be brought ’round. After all this it would have been too much to expect us to remain and participate in the rest of the evening’s festivities. There would be other events in the future, though; this incident had bestowed instant celebrity upon us, which meant countless invitations. Given the grim circumstances, I found the prospect to be a dubious honor. Had I not possessed my unique advantages, the next social gathering for our circle would have been my funeral.

Ugh.

I cleaned the dried blood away, donned Brinsley’s shirt and bundled up my torn and stained costume shirt and waistcoat for Jericho to deal with. Perhaps he could work a miracle and salvage them in some way, but I doubted that I’d ever be in a mood to don them ever again. Oliver, seeing that the bandages were unnecessary, stuffed them in one of his pockets.

For the sake of appearance and to discourage questions, I leaned heavily on his arm on our way out, keeping my head down. Not all of my weakness was a pose; I was enervated by the blood loss and would soon need to replace it. My energy came in fits and spurts; I’d have some vigorous moments, then sink into an abrupt lethargy as though my body was trying to conserve strength.

Though our concerned hosts were disappointed that I would not remain with them while I mended, they got us to the carriage without delay and we piled gratefully in.

“I’m sorry to have spoiled the party for you,” I said to Elizabeth as we settled ourselves.

She snorted. “After this kind of excitement, a masqued ball, no matter how elaborate, is but a tame occupation by comparison. I shall be in need of rest, anyway, for there will be a hundred callers coming ’round to the house tomorrow to see how things are with you. I hope Jericho and the staff will be up to the invasion. I’ll wager that most will be young ladies with their mothers, all hoping for a glimpse of you.”

My heart plummeted. “You can’t mean it—”

“I saw it in their faces before we left. There’s nothing so stirring to the feminine heart as watching a wounded duelist stoically dragging himself from the field of battle.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Indeed, many of the girls expressed disdain for any man unless he’s blazed away at another in the name of honor, or in your case taken up the sword to—”

“Enough, for heaven’s sake!” I moaned.

“No, little brother, I think this is but the beginning. Like it or not, you’ve become a hero. . . .”

“Oh, my God.”

Oliver’s gaze flicked back and forth between us and now came to rest on me. His mobile face twitched and heaved mightily with suppressed emotion for all of two seconds, then he burst forth with a roar of laughter.

Had Oliver not been in sore need of the distraction, I’d have objected to his finding humor in my situation, but I held my peace until he’d quite worked through it. By then we were home and trudging up to our respective rooms to prepare for bed, myself excepted, of course. I went to the parlor to rest a little while, until Jericho came in. Elizabeth had apparently told him about tonight’s adventure, for he raised no question concerning the bloodied bundle of clothes I handed him.

“Don’t know if you can mend ’em, but it might be a good idea not to let the servants see this lot. Might alarm them or something, and I’ve no wish to add to the gossip about this incident.”

“I shall be discreet, Mr. Jonathan. You’re certain that you are all right?”

“I think so, but for being wretchedly weak, and that will soon be remedied. Has the coachman finished with the horses?”

“He just came back from the stables and is having tea in the kitchen. The way is clear for you . . . unless you wish me to see to things?” he asked, obliquely referring to fetching the blood himself.

Tempting, but that would involve an additional wait. No, I was tired, but not that far gone. I told him as much and thanked him for the offer.

After he’d gone away to the kitchen, I traded the inadequate pirate cloak for my own heavy woolen one and slipped out the front door to walk unhurriedly around the house. The grounds of Oliver’s property were limited, with barely room for a small vegetable garden, now dormant, and the stables, but at least he had no need to board his carriage animals and hunter elsewhere. With Rolly added to this little herd, I had a more than adequate supply of nourishment for my needs, though other sources were available. London was positively bursting with horses, and should it have become necessary, I’d have been able to feed from them easily enough.

It was Rolly’s turn tonight. He’d filled out now that he was done with ocean voyaging. I’d been generous with his oats and had him groomed and walked every day to strengthen his legs, and the extra care showed in his bright eyes and shining coat. We’d lately been out for a sedate turn or two up and down the long street when the weather wasn’t too wet, so he wasn’t snappish for lack of exercise.