P N Elrod - Barrett 2 - Death and the Maiden

by Death

  P N Elrod - Barrett 2 - Death and the Maiden

  Long Island, September 1776

  "But this is miraculous," said Dr. Beldon, lifting my elbow closer to his large, somewhat bulging eyes. Next he ran his fingers over the point where the bone break had been. "It's not possible. There's not a single sign that you were ever injured."

  Which was of great relief to me. For a time I'd feared I would never recover the full use of my right arm. Beldon had chanced to call on me this evening just after I'd awakened and had been surprised to see that the sling I'd worn for nearly a week was gone.

  "And there is no more discomfort when you move it?"

  "None," I said. Days earlier, Beldon had expressed to me the need to rebreak the bone so as to properly set it again, but I'd been putting it off. Now I was very glad of that procrastination.

  His fingers dug a bit more deeply into the muscle. "Make a fist," he ordered. "Open. Close. Now stretch your arm straight. Twist your hand at the wrist." Eyes shut, he concentrated on the movement. "Amazing. Quite amazing," he muttered.

  "Yes, well, God has been most generous to me of late," I said with true sincerity.

  Eyes open, now his brows went up. "But, Mr. Barrett..."

  "You said yourself that it was a miracle," I reminded him. Our eyes locked. "But I don't think you need take any notice of it. Should anyone be curious, you may certainly inform them that my arm has healed as you expected."

  He didn't even blink. "Yes. I shall certainly do that." The only clue that anything was amiss was his slight flatness of tone and a brief slackening of expression.

  "Nothing unusual about it at all," I emphasized.

  "No... nothing un..."

  I broke off my influence upon him and asked, "Are you finished, Doctor?"

  Blink. "Yes, quite finished, Mr. Barrett, and may I express my delight that you are feeling better?"

  We exchanged further pleasantries, then Beldon finally took his leave. My valet, Jericho, had silently watched everything from one corner of my room, his dark face sober and aloof yet somehow still managing to convey mild disapproval.

  "It's only to spare us all unnecessary bother," I reminded him, shaking my shirtsleeve down.

  "Of course, sir." He stepped forward to fasten the cuff.

  "Very well, then. It's to spare me unnecessary bother."

  "Is the truth so evil?" he asked, helping me put on my waistcoat.

  "No, but it is unbelievable. And frightening. I've been frightened enough for myself; I've no wish to inflict that fear upon others."

  "Yet it still exists."

  "But I'm not afraid anymore. Bewildered, perhaps, but-"

  "I was speaking of other members of the household."

  "What other members? Who?"

  He made a vague gesture rather akin to a shrug. "In the slave quarters. There are whisperings that a devil has jumped into you."

  "Oh, really? For what purpose?"

  "That has not yet been decided."

  "Who is it that thinks so?"

  His lips closed, and he busied himself at brushing lint from my shoulders.

  "I hope you have discouraged such idle gossip," I said, adjusting my neckcloth. It had become rather tight in the last few moments.

  "I have. There will be no problems from it. I only mentioned this because you were seen."

  "Doing what?"

  "Something... extraordinary. The person I spoke to said he saw you... flying."

  "Oh."

  "Of course, no one really believed him, but his story was disturbing to the more gullible."

  "You hardly surprise me." One or two of our slaves, not as well educated as Jericho, would certainly be prey to all sorts of midnight imaginings, especially if they'd been listening to fanciful tales before bedtime.

  "Can you fly, Mr. Jonathan?" Jericho's face was utterly expressionless.

  I gulped, my belly suddenly churning. "What of it, if I could?"

  There was a considerable pause before he replied. "Then I would suggest that you be more discreet about it."

  My belly stopped churning and went stone still. "You... you've seen me?"

  "Yes."

  Oh, dear.

  He stopped brushing at lint and turned his attention to the shelves in my already orderly wardrobe.

  "You seem to have taken it rather calmly."

  "I assure you, I was most troubled when I saw you floating over the treetops yesterday evening..."

  "But... ?"

  "But you looked very happy," he admitted. "I concluded that anything capable of giving you such wholesome joy must not be a bad thing. Besides, my bomba has told me tales of his childhood that talk of men turning themselves into animals. If a man can learn the magic to become an animal, then why can a man not learn the magic to fly?"

  "This is not magic, Jericho."

  "Are you so sure? Then what is it that turns a tiny seed into a tree? Is that not a kind of magic?"

  "Now you're speaking of science or philosophy."

  He shook his head. "I speak only of what's been said. If I choose to ascribe all that has happened to you to magic, then it is magic."

  "Or superstition."

  "That comes in only when one is afraid or ignorant. I am neither, but I have adopted an explanation that is tolerable to me."

  "Maybe I should adopt it for myself, as well. Nothing else I've considered has come close to explaining things so handily. Especially things like this." I touched my miraculously healed arm.

  "And this?" he asked, his hand hovering over a small mirror that lay facedown on one of the shelves.

  "Yes, that, too. You can get rid of it, y'know." Since my change, I'd found that particular vanity item to be singularly useless, not to mention unsettling. I'd more or less known what to expect, but it had still given me a sharp turn to look into a mirror and not see a damned thing. I'd briefly and irrationally worried that that was what I'd become: "a damned thing." Father and I had discussed it thoroughly, for I was very upset at the time, but we'd been unable to explain the phenomenon. Perhaps Jericho was right and it was magic.

  "As you wish," he said, tucking the offending glass into a pocket. "Does Mr. Barrett know about the flying? Or Miss Elizabeth?"

  "Not yet. I'll tell them all about it later. The news won't grow stale for waiting. And I promise to take your advice and be more discreet."

  "I'm relieved to hear that."

  After a moment, I added, somewhat shyly, "It's... not really flying, y'know."

  He waited for me to go on.

  "I sort of float upon the air like a leaf. But I can move against the wind or with it as I choose."

  He thought that over for a long time. "And what is it like?"

  A grin and a soft laugh bubbled right out of me. "It's absolutely wonderful!"

  And so it was. Last night I'd done the impossible and broken away from the grasp of the earth to soar in the sky freer than any bird. It was surely the most remarkable portion of the legacy I'd come into since my... death.

  Or rather, my change.

  The details of that particular story-of my death and escape from the grave-have been recounted elsewhere. Let it suffice for now that upon my return, I soon discovered I'd acquired the same characteristics that governed the waking life of a certain Miss Nora Jones, a lady with whom I had shared a very intimate liaison.

  Like her, I was now able to influence the very minds and thoughts of anyone around me, thus allowing me to resume my former life with my family almost as though nothing had ever happened. I had learned the secret of how to heal swiftly and completely. And I was able to fly... so to speak. Though I'd never a
ctually witnessed Nora indulging in such a display, I had no doubt that she was capable of doing it, since my own condition now so completely mirrored her own.

  Mirrors. Yes, well, you've heard about them already.

  Like her, I was also unable to bear sunlight, which might be considered a heavy burden, but for the fact that my eyes were so improved. The night had become my day; the stars and moon my welcome companions in the sky. When the sun was up, I slept-or tried to; I was having some difficulties there, but more on that later.

  My strength was that of a young Hercules, and my other senses enjoyed similar improvements. Each evening I discovered a new delight to the ear, a fresh appreciation of touch, and, though I was not required to breathe regularly unless I chose to speak, I could pick out and identify a scent almost as well as one of our own hunting hounds. Taste had also undergone considerable alteration, though I never exercised it upon what might be considered a normal meal.

  For, like Nora, I had come to subsist solely upon blood for my sustenance.

  But again, more on that later.

  "What are you writing, little brother?" asked Elizabeth, peering across the library as she walked in. Her nightly practice at her spinet had ended, but I'd been so absorbed in my work that I hadn't noticed when the music stopped.

  "A letter to Cousin Oliver," I replied.

  The early part of the evening had passed pleasantly enough amid familial congratulations on my recovery. Diverting attention from myself, I had given all the credit to Dr. Beldon, much to his great enjoyment. Father and Elizabeth, who, along with Jericho, knew the full truth about my changed nature, required a more detailed account from me, which I'd promised, but had yet to provide. By subtle gesture and with a well-placed word or two, I gave them to understand that my healing was connected to my change, and thus not a topic for general discussion. We'd quietly arranged to talk later. As I had no interest in Mother's card game and was too restless to read, I'd taken sanctuary in the library to deal with some necessary correspondence.

  "But you just sent one only..." Her voice trailed off.

  "I know, but much has occurred since my last missive."

  She thought about that awhile, then came over to stand next to Father's desk, where I happened to be working. "I have something for you," she said, pulling a flat packet from her skirt pocket.

  I instantly recognized it. "My journal!"

  She gave it over. "I kept it from your things when Mother was having your room cleaned out. I was afraid she'd either throw it away or read it herself, and I didn't think you'd have liked either of those choices."

  "You're right, I wouldn't. Thank you."

  "I didn't read it," she added.

  This surprised me, not because Elizabeth was a prying sort of person, but because at the time she'd thought me dead. "Why not?"

  "I couldn't bring myself to. These are your words and your thoughts, I just couldn't bear the idea of reading them so soon after... anyway, I wanted only to keep them safe. From her. I don't know what I hated most, her utter coldness over you or the way she ransacked your room like a bloody vulture."

  Mother again. "It's all over now."

  She put her hand on mine. "Yes, thank God."

  "It would have been all right if you had read it. There's nothing in here that I wouldn't have minded sharing with you and Father."

  She smiled at that. "But you're back and there's no need, is there?"

  "May there never be another," I solemnly intoned, putting my hand over my heart.

  That brought out another smile, which was most pleasing. Her good humor and mine restored, I picked up my pen and regarded the sheet of paper before me, wondering what to put down next.

  "Mind if I keep you company?" From one of the desk drawers she pulled out a penknife and some goose quills.

  "I should welcome it," I said absently.

  Apparently Elizabeth was prepared to wait for Father to join us before calling for my promised explanation. Taking a chair next to the desk and close to my candle, she began carving a point on one of the quills. "Are you going to tell Oliver about what's happened to you?"

  A brief laugh escaped me. "Hardly, or he'd think that the Fonteyn half of my blood had finally boiled my brain. Did I ever mention to you that tour we took of Bedlam?"

  "In noxious detail." She steadily sliced away on a quill, pausing only to narrowly inspect the results of her work.

  "I've no wish for Oliver to regard me as a potential inmate, so be assured that the details of my recent experience will find no place here."

  "Then what-"

  "Nora."

  Her name temporarily halted Elizabeth's inquiries, and I took the opportunity to dip my pen into the inkpot. After reading again my few lines assuring Oliver of my continued good health and a wish for the same for him, I had to pause yet again and think how to proceed. Before leaving England for home some months ago, I'd asked him to keep an eye on Nora for me and in such a way as to leave no doubt that my relationship with her had quite ended. My lightness of attitude quite puzzled my poor cousin, considering his awareness that Nora and I had been passionate lovers for nearly three years.

  But, of course, Nora had caused me to forget all that.

  I wasn't sure if I should curse her or bless her for what she'd done to me. Some nights I did both. This was one of those nights, and they happened more and more frequently as my memories of her returned. Though she had committed a great wrong against me, I yet loved her and missed her terribly.

  "Ow!"

  Elizabeth had had a mishap with the razor-sharp penknife and nicked a finger. She ruefully held it close to the candle to inspect the damage, started to put her finger to her mouth, then stopped, her eyes suddenly shifting up to meet mine.

  "Be more careful," I said, trying not to stare at the drop of blood welling from the tiny cut.

  She lowered her hand slightly. "Does this trouble you?"

  "Why should it?"

  "Because you've an odd look on your face. Are you hungry?"

  "No, I am not hungry." Not yet. Later, after everyone was asleep and the world was quiet, I'd slip out and...

  "Then what?"

  "I can smell it," I whispered, not without a feeling of awe.

  She brought her finger close to her nose and sniffed, then shrugged at her failure to sense it. "A little speck like this?"

  "Yes. It hangs in the air like perfume."

  "That must be interesting for you," she observed. The bleeding had stopped, so she wiped away the blood on her handkerchief. Picking up the quill, she gingerly resumed her delicate work with the knife.

  Disturbing, more like, I thought, unable to ignore the scent and the reactions it aroused within me. I raised one hand to cover my mouth and ran my tongue over my teeth. There, the two points on my upper jaw... a slight swelling, not painful... quite the opposite, in fact.

  "Jonathan?"

  "It's nothing," I said, a bit too quickly, letting my hand drop away.

  But she seemed to know what I was hiding. Sweet God, Jonathan, you've nothing to be ashamed of."

  "I'm not," I said. "Really."

  "Then why the glower?"

  I made a fist and bumped it lightly against the desk, then opened it flat. "I'm not sure I... that I'm... comfortable with this part of what's happened to me."

  "You do what you do because you have to."

  "Yes, but I've... I worry about what people might unnk should they find out."

  "But no one else knows but me, Father, and Jericho. We don't speak of it, and you're not likely to blurt it out in company."

  "As if it's something shameful."

  "Something private," she corrected. "Like your journal."

  Unable to endure her steady, sensible gaze, I shoved my pen into a cup of lead shot and stood up to pace.

  She continued to watch me. "Come now and listen to yourself. Worrying about what others may think is the sort of thing that bedevils Mother. There's no need for you to pay any mind to that s
ame voice, or you could end up like her."

  All too true. I had been haunted by a miserable chorus of dark voices muttering of nothing but doubt and doom. "It's just that most of the time everything is as it was for me before my... return. And yet"-I gestured vaguely-"everything is so different. I'm different."

  She did not-thank God-gainsay me. The changes within that had literally brought me back from the grave were profound, and their full influence upon how I now lived were only just being realized. I slept, if one could call it that, the whole day through, unable to stir for as long as the sun was up. Since the household held to an exactly opposite habit, my enjoyment of its society was unhappily limited. The rest of the time I was alone. Very much alone.