P N Elrod - Barrett 2 - Death and the Maiden

by Death

  And as for Elizabeth's little accident... well, it was yet another reminder of an appetite that the world would doubtless look upon as disgusting or at the very least react to with alarm and fear.

  I paused by the bookcase and stared at the titles within without reading them. "Remember the night I... came back?"

  She nodded. It was not likely that either of us would forget.

  "After we'd captured the rebels, two of Nash's Hessians escorted me to Mrs. Montagu's. I thought I'd gotten rid of them, but they came back and saw me in her barn with her horses... feeding myself."

  "Then what?"

  "They ran like rabbits. They were terrified. One of them called me a name, 'blutsauger.' "

  She stumbled over my no doubt questionable pronunciation. "Bluet-saw-"

  I repeated the word for her. "It means 'bloodsucker.' Hardly flattering."

  "Certainly not in the context that it was given."

  "Not in any context."

  "What of it? You're a 'bloodsucker,' I'm an eater of animal flesh."

  "That's not the same."

  "It would be if dining on a good hot joint was thought to be repugnant by most people. It's not like you to be feeling sorry for yourself, little brother. I hope you can get over it."

  I idly poked at a crescent of dust gathered in a tight corner of the bookcase woodwork. One of the maids had been careless over her cleaning chores. Woe to her if Mother noticed. "Perhaps the Fonteyn blood is doing its work upon me after all, and I shall become mad."

  "I think not, since you've been diluting it so regularly with that of our livestock."

  My openmouthed stare was returned with a flash of her bright eyes as she cocked her head to one side. It was meant to convince me that I was taking myself far too seriously. "1 do believe you have a fool for a brother," I said wearily.

  "Better a fool than a corpse," she responded bluntly. "You're not going mad, you're just getting used to things. I still am, myself."

  "And what do you do about it?"

  "Ask God to sort it out for me, say 'amen,' and go to sleep." The point of one quill cut to perfection, she put it aside and picked up another. The feathering had not yet been trimmed away and she made a fine mess on her wide skirts as she worked to correct the oversight.

  "Would that I could sleep," I muttered.

  "More dreams?"

  "Nothing but, and no waking to escape them is allowed."

  "Dr. Beldon couldn't help?"

  "He let me try some of his laudanum."

  "And it didn't work?"

  "Not really. He made up a draught and told me to take it when I was ready to retire, but I knew I'd never be able to keep it down. So I went out to the stables and drew off blood from one of the horses to mix it in and was able to drink that. It put me into quite a stupor, but the dreams were still there and more disturbing than usual. Never again." I dropped into Father's big chair by the dormant fireplace. "Damnation, but the only rest I've gotten since my return was when I was forced to shelter in the old barn."

  "Perhaps you could go back and try it again."

  "Why should my sleeping there be any different than here in my own bed?"

  "I don't know. If you went back you might find an answer."

  "It's hardly safe."

  Her brows drew together as she glanced up from her fine carving. "No one goes out there anymore."

  "The Hessians might. You know they wanted to take Rapelji's house away from him for their own lodging? He's lucky they changed their minds and took over the church instead."

  "Not so lucky for the church."

  "Better to have them there than at Rapelji's or even in our own house. I've been down to The Oak to learn the news, and they're a pretty rough and savage lot. And they enjoy it."

  "I've heard the stories, Jonathan," she said dryly. Because of the recent occupation, Elizabeth had hardly been able to stir a foot outside the door for fear of being insulted by the very army sent to protect us. "Anyway, you've wandered off the subject of the barn. Why don't you try spending the day there? Jericho can run out and check on you if you're that worried."

  I grimaced. "It's so open and unprotected, without doors or shutters. I only used it because I had no other choice."

  "But you were able to find rest then, with no dreaming."

  That was inarguable. I was about to raise more objections anyway, just to keep up the flow of talk, when Father came in, shutting the library doors behind him. He was a tall man with a spare figure and a still-handsome face, but lately more lines had begun to clutter his normally amiable expression. Imprinted there by the upheavals in our own lives and by the larger conflicts outside our home, they seemed to lift when he looked upon us, his children.

  "Is the card game finished?" Elizabeth asked.

  "No, they're still at it," he replied, meaning Mother, Dr. Beldon, and Mrs. Hardinbrook, who was Beldon's widowed sister. "They've changed to something that needs but three players to work well, so I made my escape."

  "Why do you play if you don't enjoy it?"

  "It soothes your mother's soul." He strode toward the cabinet that held a small supply of wine and spirits, then changed his mind with a sigh. "No. I'll be damned before I let that woman drive me to drink."

  "That woman" referred to Mrs. Hardinbrook, not Mother.

  "What did she do tonight?" I asked.

  Father rolled his eyes, looking glum. "She opened her mouth, and that's more than enough. How she does clack on. I don't know as I've ever seen her pause for breath. At least when we're at cards she shuts up for the play."

  "And when Mother is talking," Elizabeth put in.

  Father grunted agreement to that, then turned all his attention upon me. "All right, laddie, what's the rest of your tale? Just how did your arm heal so quickly?"

  Elizabeth left off her carving of pens and put her hands in her lap.

  I gulped. It's one thing to promise an explanation, but quite another to actually deliver it, particularly when one doesn't know where to start.

  "Well, it's connected with how I... escaped my grave." My last words came out in a rush, as I wanted to get past them as quickly as possible. I did not like to think about that time; it always made me feel ill. They could see how difficult it was for me to talk, and waited me out. Suddenly restless again, I launched out of Father's chair and stalked up and down the room.

  "I... floated out," I finally said.

  They exchanged looks. Father's brows went up. Somehow, this had been so much easier to talk about with Jericho, but then he'd already known something of the subject.

  "That's how I got out without disturbing the earth. I can make my body..."

  They leaned forward, silently encouraging me to continue.

  "... make it..."

  "What?" demanded Elizabeth.

  And the words just would not come. Their combined gaze left me entirely flummoxed over what to say next. I was being foolish again, worried they wouldn't believe me, or worse, that they'd be afraid of me. But they'd accepted so much already and now seemed willing to accept more, so such worries were certainly all in my own head.

  "Jonathan," Father prompted, his expression kindly.

  I nodded. "Yes. I'm trying. What it is... is that I have the ability to make myself insubstantial, allowing me to pass through solid objects. To float."

  "Float?" he echoed.

  "Yes, sir."

  Neither said anything for a time, but they did exchange looks once more. They did not, thank God, laugh.

  "Well," he finally said. "What has that to do with your arm healing?"

  It was my turn to stare. The floating and the restoration were so linked in my mind that it had been natural for me to conclude that others would also see the connection.

  "Uhh... that is... when I ceased to float around, I was all better."

  Another lengthy silence.

  "I know I'm not doing this very well-"

  "No, not at all," agreed Elizabeth.

  "It
's like that business with mirrors. I've no explanation for it, it just is."

  "Perhaps," said Father, "if you gave us a demonstration?"

  I'd foreseen the need for one from the start. That knowledge did not make it any easier, though. I nodded, went to the windows and closed the shutters to prevent anyone from spying, then turned to face Father and Elizabeth. Holding my hands up before me that I might observe my progress, I willed myself to slip slowly into... whatever it was. The room seemed to fill with fog as I grew more and more transparent.

  Elizabeth rose straight up from her chair to gape. Father staggered back, bumped against his desk, then suddenly sat down. On the floor.

  Immediately becoming solid again, I started forward, but abruptly froze in place, held back by doubt, by their wide-eyed stares.

  "Good God," Father whispered.

  "I'm sorry," I said.

  He gave himself a shake and inhaled deeply. Stood up. Stared some more. "Sorry for what, laddie?"

  Then I seemed to see myself through his eyes. They were the only mirrors left to me. They showed an uncertain young man who might as well apologize for the color of his hair as for this new... ability. "Excellent question, sir."

  He glanced at Elizabeth, who had gone very white, and touched her arm in a reassuring gesture. "You just surprised us, that's all. Nothing to apologize for." He put his hand out to me. I hesitantly came closer and took it. His grip was warm, encouraging. "You're solid enough, now."

  Elizabeth took my other hand, but said nothing.

  "Perhaps you could do that again," he suggested.

  And so I did. Eyes shut so that I did not have to watch them fading into the fog, I repeated my action.

  "He's so cold," said Elizabeth, her voice distant though I stood right next to her.

  Then I let go of all ties to solidity. The pull of the earth, the feel of my clothes, the familiar constraints of my own body ceased to be. I held myself in place by thought alone.

  "My God, he's vanished!" Father whispered.

  But I'm right here, I protested, but of course, I had no mouth with which to speak. Opening my eyes now was something that could be exercised only in my mind, for in this state I was unable to see anything. Enough. I instantly resumed form again.

  They yet held my hands and continued to do so. Father's grip increased somewhat, Elizabeth appeared too shocked yet to react.

  "I vanished?" I asked. "Is it true? Father?"

  He exhaled, turning it into a sort of laugh. "Clean away."

  Oddly enough, after all the practicing I'd done, observing myself as I became more and more transparent until the gray fog engulfed everything, it had never occurred to me that I could become entirely invisible during the process.

  "You're all right?" Elizabeth asked shakily.

  "Yes."

  "It doesn't hurt or anything?"

  "Not at all."

  "What does it feel like?"

  "Sort of... like holding your breath, but not having to lei it out for more air."

  She thought that one over a bit. Father asked me to do it once more. I obliged, this time willing myself to travel some distance across the room before reappearing.

  "Well-a-day," he said, borrowing one of my own expressions. "You said you floated, though?"

  As the worst of the surprise was past, I was more willing to oblige their curiosity. This time I did not let the fog swallow me completely and held myself in a near-transparent state, Weightless, I drifted upward until I was right against the ceiling. I felt its restraining barrier, but knew I could seep through I it to the floor above, if I wished. I did seriously consider it, but | decided not to; tonight's performance was quite sufficient.

  Growing gradually more solid, I sank to the floor.

  They had a hundred questions for me, which I tried to answer, though some were unanswerable.

  "I really don't know how it works," I said after nearly an hour of talk and a number of demonstrations that left me fatigued from the effort. "I don't know how it healed me. God knows, I wish I did."

  "If it pleases God to keep the secret to Himself, then so be it," said Father. "You're whole again and that's what matters, We shall have to content ourselves with that and give thanks for it, for it seems a mighty gift."

  "If not an alarming one," Elizabeth added.

  "I'm very sorry for that."

  Father laughed a little. "Don't see how it could possibly have been avoided, laddie. Have you any others we should know about?"

  1 shrugged. "I can't really say. That's why I was writing to Oliver tonight. I wanted him to pass a letter on to Nora for me. I've asked her a number of questions about what's happened to me, but it's going to be months before I hear from her... if she even answers."

  "Why do you think she won't?"

  "Because she made me forget so much."

  "But from what you've told us of her, she strikes me as being a woman of honor."

  "And overly secretive. She could have told me what to expect-" I broke off and firmly smothered that tiresome lament. "I'm sorry. When it comes to Nora, I sometimes just don't know what to think. She's gifted me with a very fine double-edged sword, but failed to give instruction on how to safely wield it. If I'm not careful, I could injure myself or others."

  "You're doing the best you can, laddie, no one can expect more than that. Anyway, there's no reason to think she won't answer. You might want to send more than one letter by different ships, though. Times are so unsettled that a single missive might not get through."

  "Yes, I'd thought of that."

  "Good. Get all your writing done tonight and I'll see that it's sent out for you tomorrow."

  "Thank you, sir."

  The words had hardly left my lips when the library doors were thrust open with a great deal of force. Mother stood on the threshold, glaring at the three of us turn on turn.

  "What's going on here, Samuel?" she demanded.

  "Nothing, as you see," he said, spreading his hands. "We were just talking."

  "Talking? I'm sure you were." Despite the heavy powder coating her face, we could see that she was very flushed. "About what, may I ask?"

  "Nothing important."

  "Yet you still have to shut the doors?"

  "We had no wish to disturb your card game."

  "And the shutters?"

  "There was a draft."

  "You've an answer for everything except what's been asked, don't you?"

  To that, Father made no reply. I wondered where Beldon had gotten to, as it looked to be one of those nights where his medical talents might be required.

  "Jonathan Fonteyn."

  I hated the contemptuous tone she always used when addressing me. "Yes, madam?" I whispered back.

  "What were you talking about?"

  "Nothing, really. I'm writing some letters, and Father promised to post them for me."

  "And what are you doing here, Elizabeth? I'm sure that such conversation can't possibly be of any interest to you."

  "I was just cutting some pens."

  "No doubt, I can see the mess you've made all over the place. You can leave off with that. It's late and past time thai you went upstairs."

  Elizabeth pursed her lips and said nothing.

  "Well, girl?"

  "I shall be along shortly, Mother, as soon as I've cleaned up."

  "You'll do as you're told and be along now."

  "She's no longer a child, Marie," said Father.

  "So you've noticed," Mother snarled back. "So you've both noticed! You think I'm blind to it? You think I don't see the three of you, the whispers, the looks you pass each other? It's disgusting."

  "Marie, that's quite enough. You've made a mistake-"

  "Yes, I'm always making mistakes. I'm always the one who's wrong, the one who imagines things. You'd like thai, wouldn't you?"

  Father said nothing. His face had become a hard, expressionless mask, as had my own, as had Elizabeth's. When Mother was in this kind of mood, no appeal to reason
would work on her.