P N Elrod - Barrett 3 - Death Masque

by Death Masque(Lit)

  "Oliver," I said gently. "You're making me dizzy with all this walking about to no purpose. Let's get out of here and take a little air."

  "But it's freezing," he said, not meeting my eye. "Just the tonic we want to clear our heads." "What about Elizabeth? Can't leave her alone with all that's happened. Not right, that."

  "I am going up to bed, so don't worry about me," she said. "Jericho, can you trust Lottie to ready my room? Excellent. I'll just finish this and be right up."

  "Well, if you're sure..." Oliver said doubtfully.

  "Wrap up against the chill," she advised him with a careless wave.

  Jericho quickly produced dry cloaks for us to don, and with hats in place and sticks in hand, I got us out the door before Oliver could change his mind.

  "There's such a thing as too much when it comes to tonics," he remarked as the first blast of wind stuck him. "Are you sure you want a walk on a night like this?"

  "As long as it ends at a tavern," I said.

  "But I've plenty of drink inside."

  "It's not the same. Much too quiet for one thing. Elizabeth enjoys it, but I need to see that there are other people in the world right now."

  He grunted a reluctant agreement to that and let me lead him away.

  The cold air woke him up a bit, and he offered directions as needed to get us to The Red Swan, which he said was one of the more superior establishments of its kind in the neighborhood. It was quite different from The Oak back in Glenbriar, being much louder, smokier, and noisier. Oliver was evidently a favored patron, to judge from the boisterous greeting that was raised when we came in. Several garishly made up women squealed their hellos, but did not forsake their perches on various male customers. That was another difference. The landlord of The Oak never allowed such women into his house... more's the pity.

  Oliver asked for a private room and got it, and though we were separate from the others, we were not completely isolated. The sounds of their current revel came right through the walls, letting us know we were most certainly not alone in the wide, lonely world.

  Drinks were brought, as well as food, and an inquiry on whether additional companionship might be desired. Oliver said later perhaps, and they shut the door on us.

  "You and Elizabeth worked this out, didn't you?" he asked, glowering at me, but not in a serious manner.

  "It seemed for the best," I said, pouring more brandy for him. By the smell of it, it wasn't of the same quality as his own, but doubtless it would do him some good.

  "Without saying a single word?"

  "We understand each other very well. It's sometimes easier to talk to one friend at a time, rather than to two at once. Elizabeth knows that, so here we are."

  "And if I prefer to drink instead of talk?"

  "Then I make sure you come home in one piece so you don't disappoint your patients tomorrow."

  "Ugh. Tomorrow. How am I going to face it after this?"

  "You have regrets?"

  "No, but be assured the story of what happened tonight will run through the town like an outbreak of the pox."

  "Idle gossip," I murmured dismissively.

  "Not with Mother doing the gossiping. She'll present herself favorably, of course, and I shall be the villain, and what she'll say about you and Elizabeth doesn't bear thinking about."

  "Your mother will say nothing."

  "Can you really be so sure?"

  "I know it for a fact. Granted, there might be some talk of you two having a falling out, but there will be no ill rumors spread about myself and Elizabeth. Like it or not, we are still half Fonteyn and your mother would rather set fire to herself than endanger the good name of her precious father."

  He finished his drink, coughed on it, then got another from the bottle. "It's horrible. Absolutely horrible what she said. Absolutely horrible."

  I put my hand out, touching his arm. "Oliver."

  Reluctantly he looked at me.

  "It's not true."

  His mouth trembled. "How can you think that I'd believe-"

  "I know you don't believe, but you are troubled, perhaps by a doubt no larger than a pinprick. There's no reason to be ashamed of it. God knows we all have a thousand doubts bubbling up in our minds about this and that every living moment we're on this earth. It's perfectly normal. All I want is to put this one to rest forever. You have my sacred word of honor as a Barrett to you as a Marling, that Elizabeth and I are brother and sister and nothing more.

  We'll leave the Fonteyns and their vile delusions right out of it." I gave his arm a quick, solid press and let go.

  Oliver let his jaw hang open, then emitted a short, mirthless laugh. "Well, when you put it like that... I feel a fool for ever listening to the old witch."

  "More fool she for listening to my mother. I'm sorry for letting my temper take hold tonight, but to hear that disgusting lie again was too much for me. I just couldn't help myself."

  "Yes, probably in the same way I can't help myself when there's a boil to be lanced. The patient may howl at the time, but it's better done than ignored until it poisons his blood and kills him. No regrets, Cousin," he said, raising his glass to toast me.

  "None," I responded and felt badly for not being able to return the honor, but Oliver seemed not to notice. I wondered if this might be the right time to confide to him about my changed condition.

  Perhaps not. Later would suffice. He'd been through enough for one evening.

  Putting his glass aside, he leaned forward across the table. "Those things you said about your mother, about the doctor and the laudanum..."

  "All true. She goes into these fits, and Dr. Beldon and his sister are the only ones who can deal with her. The laudanum helps, but Beldon has to be sparing with it."

  "Sounds like he knows his business, then."

  "He's a decent fellow, all told."

  "What's your mother like when she's in one of her fits?"

  "About the way your mother was tonight."

  "God."

  "The difference being that your mother knows what she's doing when it comes to inflicting pain and mine does not."

  "Grandfather Fonteyn was the same way," he said, hunching his shoulders as he leaned upon the table. "Certainly in observations I've made outside of my own family, I've seen how a nervous condition can be inherited. Let us pray to heaven that it spares us and our own children."

  "Amen to that," I genially agreed.

  Oliver's face went all pinched. "I... I don't remember much about Grandfather, but he quite terrified me. I used to hide from him, then Mother would make my nurse whip me for being disrespectful, but better that than having to see him."

  "Understandable. I've heard that he was a perfectly dreadful man."

  "But you don't have all the story. Mother was always a trial, but Grandfather... he always treated me like-like a special pet. He'd laugh and try to play with me, gave me sweets and toys. I remember that much."

  I found that difficult to believe from the tales told about him and said as much.

  "I know. It makes no sense. It made no sense. But you see, children have sharp instincts, like animals sometimes when it comes to surviving a harsh life. Whenever I was with him I felt like a rabbit in a lion's den and the lion was only playing with his supper. Me. I never could fathom why until... until tonight."

  Something cold was trying to insinuate itself in my stomach. It oozed through my guts, sending a frigid hand up to squeeze my heart.

  "You think... ?" I had trouble recognizing my own voice, it sounded so faded and lost.

  "I think that something must have prompted your mother's accusation in the first place-not you and Elizabeth- but something in her life. In her past."

  My heart seemed empty itself. Making room for the welling coldness. It spread along my limbs, numbing everything, yet bringing pain.

  "And in my mother's life as well," he added in a whisper.

  "Oh, dear God."

  "Sick making, isn't it?"

  It was o
ne thing to have the horror of incest as an abstract and untrue accusation, but quite another to be forced to face it as a ghastly probability. Oliver and I stared at each other across the table. I had no need of a mirror; I saw my own abject dismay reflecting back from his haggard face.

  "But they revere him," I said, making a last futile protest.

  "Too much, wouldn't you think?"

  "But why should they?"

  He shrugged. "Couldn't say, but I've seen dogs crawl on their bellies to lick their masters' boots after being kicked. Perhaps the same principle applies here in some way."

  "It's abominable."

  "I could be wrong, but growing up I heard-overheard- things from the servants. Listened to some of the adults when they thought they were alone. Didn't understand it then, but to look back on it, after this night's work, it makes a deal of sense to me now."

  And to me. That time I'd sneaked into Mother's room to influence her into never hurting Father again. What she'd mumbled before she'd fully wakened... no wonder Oliver had thrown up. I felt like doing so myself.

  "Makes you look at things differently, doesn't it?" he asked in a bitter tone.

  That was true enough. It seemed to cast a disfiguring shadow upon all my past. Did Father know or suspect any of this? I couldn't recall anything that might provide an answer, but thought he did not. We had the kind of accord between us that would not allow for such secrets, no matter how ugly.

  Oliver tentatively reached for the bottle again, then changed his mind, bringing his hands together. One grasping the other. Wringing away. He became conscious of it, then lay them palms flat upon the table to stop.

  "It's not as though any of it were our fault, y'know," I said. "It's something that happened a long time ago. That doesn't make it less of a tragedy, but it's not our tragedy."

  He frowned at the backs of his hands for a time, then tapped his fingers against the stained wood. "I was hoping..." He took in a great breath and released it as an equally great sigh. "I was hoping that you would talk sensibly to me about this. It's so hard being an ass all the time."

  "You're not an ass, for God's sake."

  "Yes, / know that, but few other people know it as well. I count myself very blessed that you're one of 'em."

  "Oliver-"

  "Oh, just let me say thank you."

  "All right." I was a bit surprised and abashed.

  He steadily met my eye. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  That achieved, his hunched posture eased, and a ghost of his more cheerful old manner showed itself. "And now, my dear Coz, I should very much like to get as drunk as a lord-if not more so."

  It was an excellent idea, as far as it went, but when one is an observer rather than a participant in a drinking bout, one quickly loses a direct interest in the proceedings. It had been the same at The Oak when I'd buy drinks for all just to be sociable, then have to either pretend to drink or politely refuse to join them. The men there had eventually gotten used to my eccentricity and never failed to frequently toast my health. The difficult part was watching them gradually get louder and happier as the evening progressed, while I remained stone sober. I missed that lack of control, the guilty euphoria of doing something that was unquestionably bad for me, of surrendering myself to the heavy-limbed comfort of the bottle.

  I'd done a lot of drinking at Cambridge with my cousin and our cronies. It was a wonder we got any studying done at all. Some did not. I recalled one fellow who came up for his exams in medicine full flushed with brandy. The instructors questioning him well knew it, but they'd passed him when his clever reply to a difficult inquiry set them on their heads with laughter. Ever afterward I kept his name in mind as a fellow not to go to for any doctoring no matter how dire the need.

  But putting that aside, when it came down to the present, 1 had nothing to occupy me except to watch Oliver gradually slip into a wobbling good mood, his jokes becoming less coherent, his gestures wider and more clumsy.

  "You should have some," he said for the third time over. "Do y' a world of good."

  "Another time, thank you."

  "Bother that, you're just thinking about the need to get me home again, but there is no need, don't y'know. Mr. Gully takes care of that, y'see. Lots of room for us."

  "The landlord here?"

  "The very one, only he's a bit more 'n that, 'f y'noticed anything comin' in." Oliver gave a wink, a ponderous one employing his whole face.

  "I noticed quite a bit coming in, but they all seemed to be busy."

  "Hmph, should be someone free by now. Wha'd'y' say to a bit 'f fun?"

  "I'd say that you were beyond such pursuits for the time being."

  "Me? I beg to differ on that point, Coz. 'N' be more 'n' pleased to prove it t' you."

  He staggered to the door and was out before I could quite make up my mind on the wisdom of his course. Just as I was to the point of getting up to follow, he returned, arms around two of the women from downstairs.

  "Cousin Jonathan, you have the honor of meeting Miss Frances and Miss Jemma, who are very excellent good friends of mine, aren't you, girls?" With that he pinched or tickled each, causing them to scream and giggle. They were painted and powdered and dressed as gorgeously as peacocks, as fine a pair of London trollops as any man could wish for when he has the time and money. Neither of them looked too drunk for fun, I judged. Perhaps Oliver was on to something here. This was borne out when I found Jemma suddenly squirming on my lap.

  "I think she likes you," Oliver said unnecessarily.

  "Doctor Owly 'ere sez yer new 'n town, 'zat true?" Jemma asked, looking me over.

  "This isn't my first visit, but I have just come from America," I politely responded.

  "That means he's been on board ship for months, girls," Oliver put in, "so watch yourselves."

  They cooed mightily over that one, and from then on the joking got much more suggestive. Jemma made it her business to ask about American men and if they were any measure against the English and so on, and I tried my best to answer, but there comes a point when talk fails and one must fall back upon demonstration.

  Again, this might have been easier for me had I been drunk, for Jemma was definitely too far past the first blush of youth to be instantly thought attractive. On the other hand, she knew her business well enough and seemed pleased to find that I was in no headlong hurry to conclude things. At some point in the proceedings, Oliver and Frances disappeared, which was just as well, since Jemma and I were growing increasingly more intimate in our activity.

  She had a solid figure under her gown, a little thick in the thighs, but smooth skinned and warm to the touch. I found my interest, among other things, quickening at the sight of the treasure concealed beneath her clothes and was more than happy to oblige her when it came to loosening my own. As ever, there was no real need to drop my breeches, but I found my coat to be somewhat restrictive and then my waistcoat. One was on the floor and the other unbuttoned when I came to see that though active, she was not exactly caught up in the fever of the event.

  I thought of Molly Audy and her habit of saving herself up lest she be too exhausted for the work of the evening and divined that Jemma was doing the same thing. Well and good for her, but I became determined to provide this English houri with an equal share of delights to come. I had my pride, after all.

  She noted the change in me as I began to concentrate more on her than myself, even protesting that she was fine as she was. I said I was glad to hear it and went on regardless, hands and mouth working together over her lush body. Then it was my turn to notice the change in her as she began to succumb, which only made me more eager.

  When it was obvious that she was fast approaching her peak, and I found myself in a likewise state, I buried my corner teeth hard into her throat, hurtling us both over the edge. She was so far gone that pleasure, rather than pain, was her reward for this unorthodox invasion of her person. She could not have been prepared for the intensity of rapture it wou
ld engender, nor the length of it; for having finally worked things up to this point I wasn't about to abandon them after but a few seconds of fulfillment as would be the case for a normal man reaching a climax. I continued on, drawing a few drops at a time from her, relishing her writhings against me almost as much as the taste of her blood.

  Here indeed was a surrender for me, to a different kind of heavy-limbed comfort, and here I intended to stay for as long as it pleased us both. I had no worries for Jemma; she seemed to be well and truly lost to it. As for myself. I knew I could continue for hours, if I was careful enough with her.