Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (29 page)

The listening silence of the house washed against me, so profound that I could hear Elizabeth’s heart beat. Once part of the background, now it seemed to fill the room with its swift drumming. I knelt again and took her hand, pressing the inside of her slender wrist to my ear. This was music, the greatest music I’d ever heard. And the music was but one of a thousand, thousand other precious, fleeting things that I might never have appreciated or even known, but for Nora’s . . . gift.

Elizabeth spread her fingers to caress my hair. “Oh, Jonathan, how is this possible?”

“I have no easy answer for you.”

A smile fled over her face. The color was returning. “I don’t think I could expect one.”

“Is everyone all right? Is Father all right?”

Her expression fell. “What happened shattered him.”

“Good God, I must go to him—” I started for the door.

“He’s not home,” she said. “He went out late this afternoon. He went to Mrs. Montagu. I made him go,” she added. “She couldn’t possibly come here and he needed to see her and she him. They needed each other.”

Poor Mrs. Montagu. She loved me, too. “That’s all right, I understand, but soon I must see him.”

“Of course. We’ll go over right away.”

“Yes. It’ll be better for him if you’re there. But please, tell me where my clothes are.”

I must have sounded peevishly forlorn. She suddenly slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter that threatened to go to tears again. She leaned forward and held me, her head resting on my shoulder. I wanted to let her stay, but there was so much to do yet. She may have sensed it and pulled away to blow her nose. It had grown rather red. I loved it. I loved her.

She made a vague gesture to indicate my room. “That was Mother’s doing. After the . . . services she ordered Jericho to pack everything. I think Dr. Beldon got some of your better shirts. Oh, God, oh, God.” She struggled against another sweep of emotion, shaking from the effort.

“I’ll sort it out with Beldon,” I said quickly “Is he all right, too? He looked so awful when . . . when. . . ”

She broke off her work with the handkerchief to stare as we both realized the time for explanations was upon us. Everyone, even Father, would have to wait. “You must tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me everything.”

I rocked back on my bare heels and stood, pacing the room once or twice to put my thoughts in order. She watched my smallest move, her eyes wide as though she were afraid to look away or even blink, lest I disappear. Her fingers clutched the arms of her chair like talons. Tonight her world had lurched and tumbled and yet she was prepared to face the next fearful blow. Very brave, but not the best state of mind for listening.

Elizabeth’s cat lay on her bed, a tawny tom of considerable size and phlegmatic temperament. I picked him up and stroked him into a rumbling purr, delighting in the sensation of his warmth and softness. As with so much else, that which had been commonplace was now a wonderment to me. I took him over to Elizabeth and put him in her lap. He adapted to the change with indifference and continued his low murmur of contentment. She responded to it and began petting him. Her posture relaxed somewhat, though her eyes never left me.

Where to begin? In the churchyard? In my coffin? The ride with Beldon? Or much further back, with Nora? That was a tale I thought I’d never share with anyone. Ah, well, Elizabeth wasn’t the sort to blush easily; I wasn’t as certain about myself.

I tried to keep my story short and simple, and as neither could remotely describe it, tangled on some things. Elizabeth didn’t help when she interjected questions, but my own embarrassment was the worst hindrance.

Elizabeth impatiently interrupted. “Jonathan, please stop trying to protect my sensibilities and just tell me what you mean. Was she your mistress or not?”

And I’d hoped not to shock
her
. I gave up and spoke plainly, making it easier for a time, until I got to the part concerning the mutual blood drinking. Bereft of the rousing feeling leading up to it, the act lost all erotic attraction and sounded absolutely disgusting. Elizabeth’s color faded again, but she did refrain from interruption on this. She could see how extraordinarily difficult it was for me to talk about it.

She had another glass of brandy, taking half during the fight with Warburton and finishing it when I came to my waking up in the coffin. Then I did try to spare her by passing over it quickly enough, but she fastened upon that which had left me so thoroughly puzzled.

“How did you escape?” she demanded.

“I’m not sure I know what to tell you,” I answered with equal parts of truth and apprehension.

“Is it so terrible?”

“One could say that. One could also say that it is entirely absurd as well.”

She pressed me, but my explanation, when it came, was met with gentle skepticism.

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “It’s not something I can believe, and I’ve been through it.”

For several minutes she was quite unable to speak. When she did, she had all the questions I’d posed for myself and was just as dissatisfied with my inadequate answers.

“Can you just
accept
it?” I asked, my heart sinking as Nora’s must have done on other, similar occasions with me.

“If we lived in a time when otherwise intelligent and reasonable people believed in witchcraft this would be so much easier to take,” she replied.

“Can you?” It was almost a prayer.

“It’s not a matter of ‘can’ but of have to, little brother. Here you are and here you stand. But, by God, if this night ends and I wake to find I’ve dreamed it all, I shall never, never forgive you.”

I began to smile, but smothered it. The feeling behind the mocking threat was too tender for levity. She’d reached her limit and this was her way of letting me know. I went to her and took her hands in both of mine. Hers were cold.

“This is not a dream. I have come back and I will not leave again.”

“God willing,” she added quietly.

“God willing,” I echoed.

She bowed her head over our clasped hands, whether for prayer or out of sheer weariness, I could not tell. Then she looked up. “Jonathan . . . do you have to drink blood as she did?”

“I’m afraid I do.”

“Will you do the same things she did?”

My God, she was wondering if I’d be seducing dozens of young woman in order to feed myself. An interesting idea, but not an example I intended to follow. “No, I will not do that. There’s no need.” I explained about my business with Rolly. “It didn’t hurt him and I was much revived,” I added, hoping that the knowledge might make her feel better.

“Oh,” was all she could say.

“Probably best if you don’t think about it,” I quickly suggested.

“It sounds so awful, though.”

“It’s not, really. Not to me.”

“What will you tell everyone?”

I was surprised. “The same as I’ve told you.”

“
All
of it?”

Oh, dear. Sharing the truth with Elizabeth and Father was one thing, but spelling out the details of my intimacies with Nora to every yokel in the county was quite another. And as for popular reaction to what I required for sustenance . . . “Yes, well, perhaps not.”

Elizabeth took notice of my distress. “Never mind. We’ll talk to Father and decide what to do later.”

Later. My favorite word, it seemed. I could grow impatient with it.

“We must find you clothing,” she continued. “I’ll get your shirts from Dr. Beldon’s room—”

“Will you now? And what do you plan to tell him?”

“Nothing. He’s not home.”

“Then where the devil is he? You shouldn’t be here alone.”

“I’m hardly alone with the servants—”

“Where is he?”

“Hunting.” She said this with a meaning that passed right over me.

“I don’t understand.”

“Right after the . . . services for you, he left with the soldiers to go looking for the men who shot you.”

I backed away until I bumped into her bed, then abruptly sat. While I’d been stumbling about, wholly occupied with my own problems, the world had spun on regardless. My life thread had been cut, knotted together, and worked back into weave again, but no one other than Elizabeth knew about it. “You must tell me everything that’s happened since I. . .”

Might as well say it.

“… since I died.”

“Oh, Jonathan.”

“I know of no other way to put it, so let the words be plain and honest. It’s only the truth, after all. Now tell me. I must know all that’s happened.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to gather her wits and decide where to start. She was usually so self-possessed that her present discomfort was painful to watch.

“Did Beldon see who shot me?” I asked, hoping it would prompt her to speech.

It did. “No. He heard the shot and saw the smoke, then turned in time to see you fall. Do you not know who it was?”

“Roddy Finch.”

She stopped petting her cat and went white. “Then it’s true. Beldon said he thought the Finches were behind the horse theft, but I couldn’t believe that they would have—”

“Well, one of them did,” I stated with no small portion of bitterness. The Finches had been schoolmates, friends, part of the Island itself as it related to our lives. The treachery was monstrous.

“But for Roddy Finch to do such a thing?” She looked ill and I could sympathize with her up to a point, but no farther.

“For
anyone
to do such a thing,” I reminded her. “If they catch him, he’ll be hanged.”

“But you’re alive,” she protested.

“He was stealing horses at the time, you know. They’ll get him and those with him for that, if aught else.”

She groaned. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Neither do I.” There was no need; it was out of my hands and someone else’s concern. “What happened afterward? What about the soldiers?”

“They brought you back. Both of you. Beldon was in a horrible state and weeping so hard he couldn’t see and had to be led by one of the soldiers. I was working with Father in the library and we saw them from the window, bringing the horses in from the fields like some ghastly parade. Father rushed past me and out to the yard. God, I can still hear the cry he gave when he saw you. I shan’t ever forget it.”

I went to her and put an arm around her wilted shoulders, giving what comfort I could. “You needn’t go on about that part. I couldn’t bear to hear, anyway. Let’s get ready and go to him. We’ll have to walk. If we stir up the stable lads I’ll be here all night talking to them.”

“The air will clear my head.”

With much tiptoeing, whispered directions, and the occasional misstep in the dark, we found clothes for me, then went to our rooms to dress. As promised, Elizabeth raided Beldon’s room for a clean shirt and stockings and I borrowed the rest from Father. It felt odd, pulling on an old pair of his breeches, but we were of a size now, and I didn’t think he’d mind. My other boots and shoes had vanished, requiring that I use the one pair that remained, the ones I’d been buried in. I duly replaced the silver buckles.

Elizabeth was informally garbed in a dress she favored for riding. It was hardly a step up from what some of the servants wore, but she found it comfortable and needed no help getting into it. Out of habit, custom, and regard that she’d be calling upon Mrs. Montagu, she covered her loose hair with a bonnet and drew on a decent pair of gloves.

We slipped out the side door, shutting it firmly, but were unable to lock the bolt. It would only be for a few hours, though. Cutting around to the front, we set off down the drive to the road at a good pace, though I felt like running again. However badly our reunion had begun, Elizabeth and I were together at last and one large portion of my enormous burden was lifted. Soon Father would understand everything as well and with their help . . .

My mind took a sudden turn down a path I’d studiously avoided until now. “Elizabeth . . . how did Mother take it?”

She looked at me sharply. “I was wondering if you would get ’round to her.”

“Is she all right?”

“She wouldn’t dare not be.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how she is, all that she does is determined by how she wants others to think of her. I don’t believe the woman has a genuine feeling in her whole body.”

I pressed for details and got them. My mother had been shocked, of course, but while others around her gave in to their grief, she busied herself getting the funeral organized.

“ ‘Someone has to see to it,’ she said, and the way she said it implied that we were weak fools. My God, even Mrs. Hardinbrook had tears to shed for you, but not Mother.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was also deeply hurt. “She’s a sick woman, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

I waved it off. “In a little while it won’t matter. What about Jericho?”

Elizabeth refrained from an immediate reply. I read it well enough on her face.

“My poor friend,” I said.

“Yes. I . . . I could not comfort him as I did when we were children. I sent him and Archimedes off with Father.”

No wonder I’d not roused anyone when I broke into the cellar. “But not yourself?”

“I wanted to be alone. Besides, someone had to stay home and keep watch on everyone. Did you not wonder why Mother didn’t burst in on our talk?”

“Vaguely. I assumed Beldon dosed her with laudanum.”

“He left a supply and instructed his sister about its use. I expect Mrs. Hardinbrook helped herself to it as well for sleep. I was tempted, but thought brandy would be sufficient.”

We reached the road soon enough. Elizabeth tripped on some old wheel ruts, and I had her hang on to my arm for guidance.

“You must have eyes like a cat,” she muttered.

“Or better. I am not without some advantages.”

And I would have enlarged on the subject but for an interruption that, for an insane moment, hurtled me right back to that hot morning by the kettle. I actually felt the sun’s heat on my face and the air lying heavy in my lungs. Without any thought behind the gesture, my hand fell protectively upon my chest as a Hessian soldier emerged from behind a tree with his long rifle ready and ordered us to stop. A second, then a third joined him and jogged toward us, their pale faces grinning like fiends in the moonlight.