*
I all but crawled back to my room some hours later, dejected and hopeless and with no idea of how to avoid my duty to my father. I'd cautiously asked Nora if she would be willing to come home with me, but she was unable to give an answer. That had hurt, for I'd wanted her to immediately say yes. She was honest, though. She really did not know what to tell me.
"There is so much to think about," she said. "Give me the
time to think it."
Pushing her to a decision would be importune. All I could do was accept and await. At least she'd not given a flat-out
refusal.
The last person I wanted to see was Tony Warburton, but he was sprawled in his chair in the sitting room we all shared, waiting for me. Two empty wine bottles stood on the table next to him and he was in the process of draining away a third as I walked in. Nora's intervention had only postponed the inevitable as far as we were concerned. Somehow, I would have to resolve things with him in a way that would not result in a duel.
"Barrett," he said. He looked embarrassed and shy and his eyes did not quite meet mine. All his anger was gone.
I hadn't known what to expect: a challenge, censure, insults- anything but remorse. My own anger magically evaporated, 1 was sorry for him, but did not feel up to more talk, especially since he was drunk. I made to go past to my own room, but he lurched from his chair to head me off.
"Please... Barrett, please hear me out. I just wanted to apologize to you." His words were slurred, but sincere. A drunkard's sincerity, I thought. Oh, well, forgiveness was easy enough to find in my present mood. I had other things on my mind now. "It's all right. I shouldn't worry about it anymore if I were
you."
His slack jaw waggled a bit. "Oh, I say, you are such a decent man. I'm... I've been so wretched since... I said a lot that I don't mean, and I'm truly sorry."
"Yes, well, don't worry about it."
"But I-"
"Get some sleep, Warburton."
"No, I need... must apologize to Nora as well. I was too horrible to her. I won't ask her to forgive me, but I will apologize.! only want to do that and then I shan't bother her again. On my
honor." He spread his hand over his heart. 'Tomorrow, then." 'Tonight! It must be tonight."
"No, you're much too... tired." I nearly said "drunk." 'Tonight," he obstinately insisted and pushed away from me. He found his cloak and dragged it over his shoulders. "You must come. She won't see me unless you're there."
I thought of trying again to persuade him to sleep, but knew it wouldn't work. He'd had just enough to be unreasonable and need watching, but not so much as to be incapable. He would go, with or without me, and in his condition he'd probably fall and drown in a gutter. Perhaps the cold air would help clear his head and I could talk him out of it for the moment. I hoped Nora would understand if I could not.
The weather hadn't improved, we were soaked when we reached her house. Warburton had forgotten his stick, so I'd lent him mine to steady his steps. He leaned on it now and complained about what a thoughtless oaf he was. I shivered and silently agreed with him as we tottered over the last few yards.
"At least knock first," I admonished, but he opened the door himself and walked right in.
"Shh," he said, finger to his lips. "Don't want to wake anyone. Only Nora, but she'll be awake. Keeps late hours, y'know. Very, very late hours." He broke off into a sodden grin.
"What is this?" Nora emerged from the drawing room where I'd left her. "Jonathan, what is going on?"
I felt supremely foolish standing there holding Warburton up. "He wanted to apologize. I couldn't stop him and thought it better to come along."
Her exasperation never quite developed. She saw Warburton's condition and how things stood. Or wobbled. "Very well."
Oblivious to us, Warburton broke away from me to plow into the drawing room, muttering about the brandy there.
"One more drink and he'll have to be carried home," I said. I'm sorry, Nora."
She dismissed my contrition with a smile and a shake of her head. "Go take care of him. I'll see if there's any hot tea or coffee left in the kitchen."
As expected, Warburton was pouring some brandy for himself. He looked up as I came in. "Where's the beauteous Miss Jones?"
"She'll be back."
"No. I want her here. She must be here." His sentiment al repentance was rapidly vanishing, threatening to turn into
belligerence.
I sighed. The tea would have to wait. "I'll fetch her." He brightened. "You're a true friend, Barrett." A patient one, I thought, turning away. Calling for Nora al the door, I only just caught her murmured acknowledgment from down the hall. Behind me, I heard two quick steps, but there was no time to look back to see what he was doing.
Something went crack. The room was engulfed in a dull white sheet and my legs dropped out from under me. I didn't see so much as feel the floor coming up.
When the white leached away I became acutely aware of a hideous knot of agony on the back of my head and my inability to move. I could breathe and suffer pain. That was
all.
And see. Yes. That was Tony Warburton standing over me. Holding my stick. His movements were in control and quite steady. His face was no longer slack from drink. His face.,.
Dear God.
"A true friend, Barrett," he whispered.
I tried to speak. Nothing happened. Too much pain was in
the way.
Holding the cane in both hands, he gave it a twist. I'd shown him and others the trick of it during practice at the fencing gallery. The handle came free and out slid a yard of Spanish steel, sharp as a razor.
No...
I must have made some sound; he raised one foot over mj stomach and shoved down hard with all his weight. Air vomM from my lungs. No breath, no movement, no way to wan
Nora-
Who was just coming in the door but he was ready for thai and whipped around in time with the blade level and his arm went straight and all she could do was give a little wondering gasp as the steel vanished into her chest.
She seemed to hang in the air, held up by the thin blade alone. Her quivering hands hovered around it as though seeking a way to take hold and pull it out. Her eyes flashed first shock, pain, and more pain as she realized his betrayal. They flickered
down at me, fearful. I was able to open my hand toward her. Nothing more.
Blood appeared on the ivory satin of her bodice. Over her heart.
Warburton made a soft exhalation, like a laugh.
Nora swayed to one side and fell heavily against the wall, flinging her arms out for balance. Warburton, still holding the sword-stick, followed her movement as though they were dancers.
Within my mind, I was screaming.
Without, silence.
Silence... until Nora began to slip to the floor with a whisper of fabric and her lips forming a sound halfway between a sob and a moan. Her wide skirts floated around her like flower petals. She stared at him the whole time, eyes brimming with anguish and anger and sorrow and loathing; stared until her eyes became fixed and empty and all motion and feeling drained away to nothing, leaving nothing.
Only then did Warburton draw the blade from her body.
Turned. Looked from her to me. He loomed over me like a giant and swung the sword so that the point lightly tapped, tapped, tapped just below my chin. He smiled at me. Cheerful, bright, interested in everything, and utterly normal-the same smile I'd seen the day I first met him. The smile of a sane man who is not sane.
He reached down to tear open my neck cloth, the easier to draw the sword across, from ear to ear. Better to remove the impediment than to cut through it. It flashed through my mind that things might look as though I'd killed Nora and then myself.
He placed its edge against my throat. I felt its cold pressure. Part of me would welcome what was to come for I would be with Nora, another part raged against it, denied it, fought it-
And could do
nothing, nothing, to stop him. He batted my feeble hands away with no effort.
Useless. Useless.
If heaven were not my destination, then hell could offer no worse than the utter helplessness I felt in these last seconds.
The blade pressed upon my naked skin. It was stained with her blood.
He made that soft laughing sound again.
All I could manage was a groan as his arm flexed to drive-Something seized his wrist like a striking snake. The sword jerked up and away from my throat.
Astonishment froze Warburton for an instant. He stared, all incredulous, before reason returned and told him that what he saw simply could not be possible. She had to be-must be-dead. The blood was yet there on her dress... dear God, I could smell it. No one could survive such an awful wound... no one human, I wailed.
Almost as though my thought had leaped into his head, Warburton flinched and backed from her, but she held fast to his arm, using his impetus to regain her feet. He tried to shake off her grip. Failed. Desperately clouted her head with his free hand. She didn't seem to feel it. Their natural difference in size and strength should have worked in his favor but it was as though none existed and he was suddenly aware of it.
There was a dull snap, Warburton cried out, and the sword-stick dropped from his nerveless fingers. Gasping, I was jus! able to crawl toward it, take it up. But Nora did not need my help.
Her eyes burned with something beyond fury. She was still beautiful, but the hellfire blazing in those eyes had transformed her from goddess to Gorgon; to look upon her now was to set your own death... or worse. And Warburton looked.
His jaw sagged as though for a scream. No sound came forth. I glimpsed in his face only a reflection of the horror he saw ami that was enough. No shriek or howl or cry flung up from the depths of hell could have possibly expressed it.
Silence, dark and heavy and alive and hungry. Silence, like an eternity of midnights compressed into a single moment ready to burst forth and engulf the universe forever. Silence. except for my own pained breath and the hard laboring of
my heart.
No one moved. Warburton was like a man of stone, frozen ia place by terror like a sparrow before a serpent: aware of what was to come, but unable to fly from it. Only his face changed, the sane insanity melted away, exposing the pitiful, raw despair
within.
Then Nora whispered, 'Wo," and released him, soul andbodj. There was a thump and thud as he folded to the floor.
She stood over him, hands loose at her sides. He cowered away, his legs curling up to his chest, arms wrapping tightly around his head. He choked convulsively once, twice, then began to weep like a child.
I wanted to weep as well, but for another reason. Dragging myself up, I stumbled toward her.
It was an hour before I stopped trembling. The churning in my belly had settled, but the back of my head still put forth lances of pain whenever I moved. Nora had wrapped a piece of ice from the buttery in a cloth for me to hold over the spot. She said the skin was broken, but would not need to be stitched together.
Her manner was as smooth and cool as the ice. Her eyes roved everywhere, never quite meeting mine. She'd withdrawn into herself without having to leave the room. When I put my hand out to her, she would only touch it briefly and then find some other task to distract her away. At first I thought it had to do with me, until I perceived that her mind was turned inward, and what ran through it was not pleasant.
The sad drone of Warburton's crying had finally ceased and after a bout of prosaic sniffing and snuffling, he'd fallen asleep. We left him on the floor where he'd dropped and kept our distance as though he carried some kind of plague. "Shall I take him home?" I asked.
"What?" She stirred sluggishly, having lingered over the lighting of a candle. Dozens of them burned throughout the room except for a dim patch around Warburton. "It will cause less notice if I'm the one to take him home." "What will you tell Oliver?" "I'll think of something." "Lies, Jonathan?"
"Better than the truth. More discreet." I'd meant this to bring her comfort. Her lips thinned as she chose a more ironic interpretation.
"Everything will be all right," I told her, hoping she would
believe it.
She shook her head once, then looked past me toward Warburton. "He tried to murder us, Jonathan. I can forgive him for myself, but not for what he nearly did to you. I was the indirect cause of that."
"He was mad, it's past now."
"He is mad... and will probably remain so."
"How can you-"
"I've seen it before. I may have stopped myself in time, but who's to say how it will be for him when he wakes up?"
"Stopped yourself?"
"From totally destroying him."
There was no need to press for further explanation; what I'd seen had given me more understanding than I wanted. I shifted, made uncomfortable by the memory.
Nora opened a drawer and produced yet more candles and
lighted them all.
"What darkness are you trying to dispel?" I asked.
"None but that which lies within me. These little flames help drive away the shadows... for a time."
"Nora-"
Her hand brushed over the front of her ruined dress. "I live in the shadows and make shadows of my own in the minds of others. Shadows and illusions of life and love that fill my nights until something like this happens and shows them up for what
they are."
Though I but dimly perceived her meaning, her words and how she said them frightened me. Instinct told me she was working her way up to something, but I didn't know what, and in my ignorance I was unable to gainsay her.
"At least you're not a shadow, Jonathan. I can thank God for that comfort, whatever may come."
This sounded ominous. "What do you mean?" I asked, hardly
able to speak.
Now she sat by me and looked at me fully. "I mean that 1 love you as I've loved very few others before you."
My eyes filled. "I love you, too. I would sooner cut my heart out than leave you."
"I know," she said with a twisted smile. "But others need you as well, and I am now needed here." She glanced at Warburton. "To correct my mistakes, if that's possible."
"What are you-" But I already knew what she was talking about and she gave me no chance to alter her decision. It was now my turn to learn of betrayal and in the learning, to forget it. To forget many things.
"Please forgive me," she whispered.
And I did.
Without struggle, I slipped into the sweet darkness of her
eyes.
It had taken no small amount of time and trouble to arrange my passage home. I was not looking forward to the trip, though the captain had assured me the winter storms were over. What about the spring ones? I wondered. Ah, well, there was no turning back at this point. I'd have to pray that Providence would be kind and brave it out with the rest of the passengers. They looked to be an interesting lot: some clergymen and their wives, a bright-looking fellow who said he was an engineer, an artist, and inevitably, some army officers. In the next few months we would doubtless grow quite sick of one another, but things were all right for now.
As he had been the first to greet me, Oliver was now the last to say farewell. We were waiting for die ship's launch to come for me and the others in a tavern by the docks. We'd secured seats by the only window and would be the first to know of its arrival. We drank ale to pass the time. I didn't care for mine much. Ale was for celebrations, not for partings.
"I stopped by the Warburtons' on the way over," Oliver said, his expression falling. "How is he?" "About the same."
It was a great mystery, what had happened months back, to Tony Warburton. Oliver had been the first notice something was wrong, but had mistaken it for drunkenness. Everyone was used to seeing Warburton drunk. This time, he simply hadn't sobered up. His clothes were sopping wet from the weather and-Oliver discovered-his right wrist had been badly b
roken. He could not tell anyone how he had come by his injury, nor did he seem much concerned about it.
He still smiled and joked, but more often than not what he said was incomprehensible to others, as if he'd been carrying on a wholly different conversation in his head. He made people uneasy, but was unaware of it. He'd turn up for his studies, but had no concentration for them. Sooner or later he would wander out of the lecture hall. His friends covered for him until his tutor had had enough and called him in for a reckoning. After that interview, his parents were quickly sent for and Warburton was taken back home to London.
P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death Page 18
