P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death

by Red Death(Lit)

  "You'll have buckets of time, I'm sure," said Oliver. "The fellow here is frightfully good, but new here and his name escapes me. Knowing Bolyn's ambitions, he's probably German."

  "What's his ambition to do with his taste for music?"

  "It's well known that the king prefers German music, and Bolyn must be hoping that an evening like this will somehow get him royal attention."

  "To what end?"

  "Who knows? He's probably angling for at least a knighthood; they usually are. I never saw much point to playing such games. There was one fellow I knew whose father was knighted and the only advantage he noticed was for the tradesmen, who doubled all their bills."

  We moved out of range of the music, through some wide doors, and into a graceful garden surrounding the house. Lanterns hung from flower-festooned poles, taking the place of the sun, which had departed on our drive over. Here we caught up with Tony, who had grown fretful.

  "She's supposed to be here," he told us. "Mrs. Bolyn assured me that she acknowledged her invitation." Nervously, he tugged at his neck cloth. The afternoon's rest had restored his color and now it all seemed gathered in two dense spots high on his cheeks.

  Love must be a frightening thing indeed to put a man into such a state, I thought, and wondered if I would turn into a similar wreck if the conclusion of this evening lived up to my expectations. I was in pursuit of physical gratification, though, and aware that other young men achieved it without exhibiting Tony's alarming symptoms. Perhaps if I were careful, I would not fall in love with my hired mistress, and thus be spared such agonies. I was more than willing to take the chance.

  A table with cold meats and other things had been set up in the garden and though Tony claimed to have no appetite, Oliver and I did, and took full advantage of the offerings. We each promised the other not to overindulge in the matter of wine and with that understanding made up for it in the matter of food. In between bites, he would point out this person or that to me, always with some amusing note about them, which helped to fix their names in my memory.

  "Over there is Brinsley Bolyn-that's Charlotte's brother, you know. She's the raving beauty this year, but no one's been able to marry her yet. They say their father is holding out for someone wealthy enough to do his family some good."

  "Are they descended from Anne Boleyn? Or rather from her family?"

  "No, but they like to think it and have put the story about so long and so often that people are beginning to believe them. I'd put as much stock in that claim as I would the footman who takes on his master's name and title and insists on being called 'my lord.'"

  "Are there any real titles here?"

  "I'm certain of it. Bolyn's spent enough on this to try to impress them. They wouldn't dare not be here." He nodded in the direction of a slight fellow conversing with a fat man. 'There's Lord Harvey, for one. His title outlived the family fortune and he's looking around for an heiress to help him recover their lost dignity. I wonder why he's talking with old Ruben Smollett? That's Robert's father. Robert's part of our group, y'know. Unfortunately for Lord Harvey, Smollett's oldest

  daughter only just turned twelve. I doubt if his creditors will wait until she's old enough to be married off."

  Tony rushed up just then, his eyes alight and hands twitching. "Wipe the grease from your faces and look lively, you two. She's here!"

  "I should never have guessed," said Oliver. He passed his plate to a convenient footman and obediently dabbed the corners of his mouth. I reluctantly left my own tasty burden on a table where someone's lap dog jumped up to finish it for me. "Lead us to this paragon of beauty, my friend."

  Oliver meant only to mock Tony's enthusiasm, but once we'd turned a corner formed of hedges we could see that his praises had been well placed.

  "By God, Tony!" he gasped.

  "Just as I said. What say you, Mr. Barrett?"

  My words seemed to have deserted me. The young woman conversing with her friends on the path before us was beyond them, anyway. She had dark eyes, a pleasing nose, a mouth perhaps too wide for convention, and a chin too sharp, but the totality of all was such as to strike even a blind man speechless. I felt as though I'd taken a step and found the stairway mysteriously shortened, leaving me jolted from head to toe and ready to fall over.

  "Just as I said!" Tony repeated gleefully.

  Indeed, yes, I thought, and my heart began pounding so loud I could hardly hear anything else.

  "I'll introduce you to her in a minute," Tony promised.

  "Why not now?" my cousin demanded.

  "Because you look like a dying fish. When you can properly breathe again, I'll invite you over. In the meantime, I must have a word or two with her."

  He excused himself and joined the group of women. They received him kindly and with some giggling as he solemnly bowed to each. He reserved his lowest and most courtly bow for Miss Jones, who accepted it with no more than a nod and a polite smile. Evidently she was still unaware of his true feelings for her, though they were painfully obvious to anybody who happened to be glancing their way.

  "His parents may not approve of this," Oliver remarked.

  "Of what?"

  "Him wanting to marry her. Old Warburton is a dreadfully practical man with a horror of penniless girls with no name. Unless she has money, property, family, or all three, they'll have to elope."

  "So you're taking Tony seriously?"

  "I think so this time. I've chided him on his susceptibility to beauty and for falling in love with a new girl every other week, but there's something different about this one."

  That was an understatement. She was no less than astonishing. I couldn't pry my eyes from her. I also felt a familiar stirring that made looking away imperative lest something embarrassing develop within the snug confines of my black velvet breeches.

  But I continued to stare at the unearthly beauty not a dozen feet away, shifted and dithered uncomfortably, and had a passing thought about being caught on cleft sticks.

  Then she looked right at me.

  Oh, those eyes...

  I gulped-unsuccessfully, for my mouth was dry-and my heart gave a lurching thump that everyone must have heard. She certainly seemed to, for she smiled, looked me up and down, and smiled again. By then I was certain the world had paused in its spin only to start over faster than before to make up for the time lost. In contrast to the one she'd bestowed upon Warburton, this smile was warm with interest. I had to turn and see if anyone was behind me, hardly able to believe that I was the focus of her attention.

  She tilted her head to say something to Warburton, who instantly broke away and came back to us.

  "Would you like to meet her now?" he asked.

  Would the incoming tide like to meet the land? That's how I surged forward. Warburton made introductions that included the other ladies, but hers was the only name that I heard; hers was the only face that I saw.

  She inquired about my health and I mumbled and muttered something back. With my blood running all hot and cold through my loins, I was too distracted to make intelligible speeches. It was wonderful, but agonizing, for I truly wanted to make a good impression upon her, yet found myself unable to think of anything to say or do except act like a stunned sheep.

  Hardly a minute had passed and she was drifting off with Warburton. No doubt he would find some secluded spot in the garden, make his proposal, and that would be the end of any chance I might have to improve my own acquaintance with her. All the color suddenly drained out of my world.

  "Something wrong?" asked Oliver. "Good heavens. Perhaps you'd better sit down. You're ill."

  "I'm fine," I lied.

  "You are not and nearly being a doctor, I should know. Come over here and I'll find you some brandy."

  He led me to a bench and made me sit. Hopeless, I watched Warburton and Miss Jones disappear in the crowd. I had had my chance and now it was lost. When Oliver returned with the promised drink, I heartily wished it to be loaded with hemlock.

&nb
sp; I obediently drank without tasting a drop and either owing to the heavy meal or the force of my mangled emotions, it had absolutely no restorative effect.

  "What has happened?" Oliver demanded, his face puckered with concern. "Oh, don't tell me. I can see it now. Good heavens and well-a-day, but this is turning into an interesting evening. Just promise me you won't get into a duel with Tony and murder each other over her."

  "What?"

  "That's how these things usually end up, and Tony's been my friend for years and I've gotten fond of you even if you are half Fonteyn and I'd rather not have you running each other through..."

  I held up a hand. "Peace, Oliver. I'm not the sort of fellow to come between a man and his potential bride."

  "That's a relief to hear. I mean to say, I wouldn't have known which of you to second."

  For his sake and the sake of his jest, I grinned, but it faded the moment someone else claimed his attention and took him away. I remained on the bench thinking of everything and nothing and hoping to catch a glimpse of Miss Nora Jones again. A few of the young ladies that had been in her company descended upon me and tried to open a conversation, but I doubt that my replies to their remarks made much sense. When they drifted on it occurred to me that I was being a fool about the whole business. Yes, I had met an extremely beautiful girl, but it was an idiot's dream to think that I'd fallen in love with her at first sight.

  Now that was a frightening word: love. The very fact that it had so swiftly cropped up in my mind had an immediate sobering influence upon me. It was utterly impossible, I concluded. Impossible because I knew nothing about love, about this kind of love, anyway. I did love my sister and father, my home and the people there, even my horse, but what did any of that have to do with what I was now feeling? Nothing. Perhaps some of the food I'd eaten had gone bad and the symptoms had manifested themselves at the same time I'd clapped eyes on Miss Jones.

  Life would be so much simpler if that were true.

  "Mr. Barrett?"

  I gave a start. "Yes?"

  A middle-aged woman with a pleasant smile and kindly eyes looked down at me. "I'm Mrs. Poole, Miss Jones's aunt."

  A knot formed in my throat. "Yes? I mean, I am very pleased to meet you." Belatedly, I found my feet and made my bow to her.

  "As am I," she said. "Would you mind very much coming with me? My niece-"

  I didn't hear the rest. It was blotted out by a strange roaring in my ears. I did not think it had anything to do with the digestibility of my dinner. She led the way into the garden and I followed. We turned corner after corner until I thought we should run out of space to walk. We did not seem to be very far from the house, though. The hedges must have been laid out as a kind of maze. I liked that.

  Then my knees went jellylike as we turned one last corner and came upon Miss Jones standing in the faint nimbus of light from one of the lanterns scattered throughout the place. Her eyes brightened and she extended her hand to me once more.

  "Good evening again, Mr. Barrett," she said in her angel's voice.

  I stammered out something polite, but before I could follow it up with anything better, a dark thought intruded upon me. "Where is Tony, that is, Mr. Warburton?"

  "Gone back to visit with his other friends, I expect."

  "I thought that he... that he was going to-" I broke off and found some difficulty in breathing.

  "Yes," she said serenely. "He did propose to me, but I turned him down."

  My eyes must have popped just then.

  "We had a nice talk and got everything sorted out," she continued. "I am happy to say that once Mr. Warburton realized that I have no wish to marry, he pledged himself to remain my very good friend, instead."

  Now what did she mean by that? I decided I didn't care. "Perhaps we may also become friends, Miss Jones." My words were light, but difficult to bring forth. Not knowing quite what to say or do, I babbled on. "I should like that very much."

  "Of course, Mr. Barrett. That's why I asked my aunt to bring you here. I wanted to get to know you better, too. I hope you do not think ill of me for doing so."

  "Not at all."

  "Good. I do tire of all the rules that society has invented to prevent men and women from holding intelligent converse with one another. Sometimes it is tediously impossible. If it weren't for my dear aunt..."

  At this second mention of Mrs. Poole I glanced around, thinking that she might take this opportunity to put in a word, but she was nowhere in sight. Leaving us alone didn't seem quite proper, or at least it would not be so back home. Here in England, though, things might be different.

  "She's a little way up the path," said Miss Jones, correctly reading my thoughts.

  "Indeed?" I was feeling all hot and cold again. Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Oh, dear, this is difficult for you, isn't it?" "I... uh... that is..."

  Now she took my hand and came so close that all I could see were her wonderful eyes. They were darker than a hundred midnights, but somehow caught the wan light and threw it back like sparks from a diamond. I found myself blinking against them. "It's all right, Mr. Barrett," she whispered soothingly. And so it was. A great calmness and comfort overtook me as she spoke; a cheering peace seemed to fill me in the silence that followed. My worries and self-doubts over this new situation vanished as though they'd never been, and I came to realize that my inexperience, rather than trying her patience, was entirely charming to her.

  Not quite knowing how we got there, I found myself sitting on a bench in the shadows chatting with her as though we'd known each other for years. She had me tell her all about myself. It didn't take long; I hadn't done very much yet with my life and thought any lengthy reminiscences of it might bore her. I need not have worried, for she seemed to find everything I said of interest. It was highly flattering and most encouraging to my own esteem, but eventually I ran out of subject matter. I burned to know more about her and thought that if I could put the right combination of words together I would learn everything.

  While I paused to think, she took advantage of it to shift the subject slightly.

  "You really are so very beautiful," she told me, her fingers brushing my cheek.

  "Shouldn't I be the one to say that to you?" I asked. I was acting surprisingly calm, but inside I wanted to leap up and turn handsprings.

  "If you wish."

  "Perhaps you hear it too often."

  "Often enough," she admitted. "And there are other subjects one may talk about with equal enthusiasm."

  "If you asked me to name one, I don't think I could possibly meet the challenge."

  "I judge that you underestimate yourself, Mr. Barrett. What about love? Have you ever loved a woman?"

  Some of my earlier awkwardness returned.

  "Oh, it's all right to talk with me about such things. Other girls might not be so minded, but I have always had a great curiosity. With some men, one may tell right away, but with others..." She shrugged. "So tell me, have you... ?"

  "I have never loved a woman," I admitted. "I have never been in love... at least not until I saw you."

  She was pleased, which pleased me, but I had hoped for a warmer response. No doubt other men had confided similar sentiments to her and repetition had dulled the meaning for her. I wanted to be different from them, but did not know what to say or how to say it.

  As it turned out, I said nothing, for we were suddenly pressing close and kissing.

  While growing up, I had seen others so engaged and had surmised that observation had little to do with active participation. My surmise proved to be more than correct. Until this moment I had had no real inkling of the incredible pleasure such a simple act could produce between a man and a woman. No wonder so many people took any given opportunity to indulge themselves. This was far more addictive than drink, at least for me.

  My first efforts were less polished than enthusiastic, but she had me slow down to a pace more suitable for savoring and each minute that passed taught me something new. I was
a very willing student.

  She pulled away first, but not very far. "You've never before loved a woman?"

  "No."

  "Would you like to?"

  I was not so far gone as to be confused by what she meant. "More than anything in my life."

  "And I should very much like to be that woman. Will you trust me to arrange things?"

  "Arrange?"

  She drew back a little more. "I think it's best if we are both very discreet about this."

  I understood and immediately agreed, but wasn't prepared to give her up just yet. Neither was she and we pursued our initial explorations until I was faint for want of air. Nora-for she had become Nora to me by now-did not seem to need any, but allowed me time to recover.