Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire

by P. N. Elrod

Mother sniffed, either in disbelief or disdain. Fortunately she was too far away to pick up any scent of the wine. She cast an unfriendly eye upon me. “And where were you all day? Mrs. Nooth placed a perfectly good meal on the table and your portion went to waste.”

  With as many servants as we had, I doubted that. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  “You’ll tender your apologies to Mrs. Nooth. She was very offended.”

  And very forgiving. And in the kitchen. With more food. “Indeed, Mother? I shall go immediately and make amends.”

  She’d heard me but had not listened. “Where were you, Jonathan?”

  “Inspecting the fields,” I answered easily. It was mostly true, but I resented that this woman was turning me into a liar.

  “Never mind such things. You’ve far more important duties before you than farming. From now on leave menial work to those men who have been hired for it.”

  “Yes, Mother.” My head spun with that peculiar weighty disorientation that I associated with intoxication. With each passing minute the wine soaked in more deeply, increasing its effect, but I was careful not to let it show.

  “As long as you’re here I want to continue our talk about your education. Elizabeth, you are excused.”

  From where I stood, I saw the flash of anger in my sister’s eyes at being dismissed as though she were one of the servants. Her mouth tightened and her chin lifted, but she said nothing, nothing at all, quite loudly, all the way out the door.

  Mother did not ignore her so much as simply not notice. Her attention was entirely fixed upon me. She crossed the room to the chair she’d claimed next to Father’s desk and arranged herself. I was not invited to sit, nor did I ask to do so. It might unnecessarily prolong the interview. Though still hungry, that was outweighed by my need to hear her out and gain information in order to present a logical argument against it later. To Father. I knew better than to contend with his wife, who was partial to only her own unique logic and no one else’s.

  She produced her ivory scratching stick from somewhere and tapped it lightly against the palm of one hand. “And now, Jonathan,” she announced importantly, “we will plan out what you are going to do once you get to Cambridge.” She paused to poke vigorously at a spot above the nape of her neck with the stick. My teeth went on edge.

  Never, never in all my life was I so glad to be drunk.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Some twenty minutes later, Mother generously excused me, by which time I’d developed a pressing need to rid myself of the wine. A good deal of it remained behind in my head, though, for it was aching badly. The pain so interfered with my thinking that afterward I couldn’t decide whether to visit the kitchen or retreat in misery to my room to sleep it away.

  Jericho resolved things when he emerged from the hall leading to the kitchen carrying a covered tray.

  “Is that for me?” I asked hopefully in response to his smile of greeting.

  “Miss Elizabeth suggested it,” he said. “Something to see you through until supper.”

  “Then God bless her for being the dearest, sweetest sister anyone ever had. Where is she?”

  “Out taking a ride of her own.”

  “Yes. Since Mother came back the horses are getting more than their share of exercise. Come, put that down somewhere.”

  “I would suggest that you take it in your sitting room. To avoid interruptions,” he added significantly

  I glanced uneasily back at the library and indicated that he should lead the way upstairs. Somehow I was able to follow, leaning heavily on the rail and gulping frequently. Hot in the face and dizzy, I staggered the last few feet into my room and collapsed in my chair before the big study table. Jericho moved some books around to make space for my meal. He had the enviable skill of being able to balance the tray with one hand while his other quickly and quite independently made order out of chaos. Between the blink of one eye and the next he put down his burden and whipped off the cloth revealing a plump loaf of bread, some cheese, and a squat jug. From the latter he poured out drink and gave me the cup.

  “More wine?” I asked dubiously.

  “Barley water. It will thin the wine in your blood.”

  “Good idea.” I drank deeply and felt better for it, looking at the food with more interest than before, falling upon the cheese. “There’s too much here for me, have some.” Jericho hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, sir, but I do not think it would be quite—”

  “Of course it wouldn’t, so. . .” I kicked out another chair for him. “Those fools in Philadelphia are rebelling against the king without a second thought, so I shall rebel against our local queen. It’s been a hard day, Jericho, and I need your company. Eat or not as you choose, but do sit with me.”

  He closed the door to the hall and only then allowed himself the ease of the chair and the comfort of good food.

  He was slightly older than I, and his father was my father’s valet. After I was born, they decided that he should assume that duty for me once I had outgrown the nursery. Though a servant, Jericho and I had been friends long before the establishment of his place in the household, and this strict deference for convention troubled me.

  “Is it Mother?” I asked, reaching to tear off a piece of bread. I made a mess of it, scattering crumbs everywhere.

  “In an indirect way,” he admitted. “We’ve all heard that you’re to go off to England soon.”

  “I most certainly am not. She’s got this idea lodged in her head, but Father will shake it loose and that will be the end of it.”

  “My bomba isn’t too sure of that,” he said. Jericho spoke perfect English, but sometimes used a few words his father had brought with him from Africa, the only baggage he’d been allowed by the slavers.

  Knowing that Archimedes might be privy to information I didn’t have, I said, “Why does he think so?”

  “Because your father does what your mother says.”

  “Now you’re sounding like Elizabeth,” I complained. “But Father is the head of this house. Mother will have to do what he says and she knows that. She waited and told me only after he was gone. She thought to put me on her side so he would say yes to please me. I’ve gone along with it, but only until he comes home.” I took a vicious bite from the cheese. Damnation. The woman was treating me like a petulant child, and now I was beginning to sound like one.

  “But until then nothing is settled,” he said.

  “You’re worried. What is it?”

  “I heard some things in the kitchen. Mrs. Barrett was talking to Mrs. Nooth, and I wasn’t supposed to be listening.”

  “Never mind that. What was said?”

  “She wanted Mrs. Nooth to ask around and find a proper English servant to look after you.”

  For several moments I lost the power of speech. “To . . . to. . . ”

  “To take my place,” he said.

  “Impossible. She can’t mean it.”

  “But she does. She plans to sell me.”

  The blood hit the top of my head so hard that blackness clouded my vision. Without knowing how I got there, I found myself up and pacing the length of the room. Nothing intelligible came out of me for quite some time.

  “It’s not going to happen,” I told him finally. “It’s absolutely not going to happen. It’s ridiculous . . . utterly . . . stupid.” Then a cold thought rushed past. “Unless you want to . . .?”

  Now it was his turn to be upset, though he was so self-disciplined that in no wise was it comparable to my own display “No. A man must work and if I must work then I would rather work here. I do not wish to be sold. But your father might still do it for the sake of peace in the family”

  I shook my head. “Mother can throw whatever sort of fit she pleases, but you are not going to be sold.”

  He looked reassured. �
��I have hope then. This is a good place to be; I know of no better. When other servants visit with their masters I hear the most terrible things. Here we are treated well and given good care. No beatings, no starvations.”

  “That’s something the whole world can do without,” I added. He seemed to feel better, but I continued to pace. “Suppose Father arranged for your freedom? Then I could hire you. Mother couldn’t have anything to do with it then.”

  “Except dismiss me and engage a replacement. You have no rights of your own until your twenty-first birthday.”

  “Blast. Well, no matter what, I won’t let it happen. I’ll run away to sea first and you can come with me.”

  A smile crossed his dark features. “But then you would be guilty of theft.”

  “Jericho, you’ve been hanging about with lawyers too long.”

  His smile broadened for a moment, then gradually faded. I stopped my restless pacing and leaned against a wall and wished Father home immediately. “Why on earth does she want to hire another valet for me? You’re the best there ever was.”

  He nodded regally at the compliment. “It is not a question of finding someone better. It is because Mrs. Barrett is extremely fond of all things English. She wants an English servant.”

  “No, thank you. He’d only put on airs, correct my speech, and rearrange my clothes so that I couldn’t find anything for myself. And who would I have for company? Except for you and old Rapelji, there’s no one intelligent to talk to.”

  His brows pinched together. “But your sister and father—”

  “Are my sister and father. You know what I mean. Some of those long conversations we’ve had with Rapelji would have bored them to death.”

  He nodded agreement. “Speaking of him, did he not give you more Greek to interpret?” He looked at the pile of books on the table before him.

  “Doesn’t he always?” Greek was not my favorite study. My tutor well knew that and thus emphasized it more than any other. “I’ll see to it later tonight. My head hurts too much for the work right now.”

  “I’ll get you some moss snuff,” he said, rising.

  “Ugh, no. Mrs. Nooth can take it herself. It’s never helped any headache I’ve had and never will. I’ll just lie down until the pain’s out of me.”

  Pushing away from the wall, I wandered to the bed on the far side of the long room and almost dropped into its welcome comfort. Almost, because Jericho was instantly at my side to remove my coat. Since a refusal to cooperate would only inspire silent, long-suffering reproach from him, I gave in and gave up. Once started, off came the waistcoat and shoes as well, all to be taken away for brushing or polishing. I managed to retain my breeches and outer shirt; both would be changed before going down to supper so it didn’t matter if I napped in them or not.

  “When Father comes home. . .”

  “I shall inform you in plenty of time,” he promised as he started for the door.

  Then peevishly, I asked, “What the devil is that row?”

  Jericho listened with me. “A coach, I think.”

  Father had left on horseback, not taken the coach. Jericho and I looked at one another in mutual puzzlement, then he gave back my shoes. Curiosity triumphed over my headache. I reached for an especially florid, Oriental-looking dressing gown that Elizabeth had painstakingly made for me, and shrugged it on. “Let’s go see,” I sighed.

  No one was in the upper hall, but as we came downstairs we glimpsed one of the maids haring off to the kitchen, no doubt with fresh news for Mrs. Nooth. Mother emerged from the library like a merchant ship under full sail and stopped the girl with a curt order. The little wench came to heel and hastened to open wide the big front door. Outside stood a battered-looking coach and four, and there was much activity about the baggage and two alighting passengers. With a great smile, Mother went out to greet them.

  I shifted uneasily and glanced at Jericho. He shrugged. Having endured an extremely long month of Mother’s quirky temperament I was hard-pressed to imagine that anyone or anything could give her joy. Apparently the possibility existed; we’d just never seen it.

  “They must be friends of hers from Philadelphia,” I speculated.

  Outside, Mother exchanged a kiss on the cheek with a woman and extended her hand to a man, who bowed deeply over it. Rather too deeply, I thought. What sort of people would find Mother’s company so agreeable that they would come for a visit?

  Past the broad threshold the wind blew in a few stray leaves and other . . . rubbish. That’s the word that occurred to me when I got a good look at them. They swept into the house, surveying it with bright eyes as though they owned the place. They noticed me at the same time and the woman gave a little exclamation of pleased surprise.

  “Dearest Marie, is this your good son, Jonathan Fonteyn?” she demanded in a loud, flat, and childishly thin voice.

  I winced.

  Mother was capable of swift thought and judgment and her conclusion was that now was not the time for introductions; I was not properly dressed to greet guests. “A moment, Deborah, a moment to catch my breath and then I shall ask him to come and meet you.”

  Deborah, apparently deducing that she’d been importune, turned a beaming face to Mother and ignored me entirely. The man copied her.

  Mother issued a sharp order to the maid for tea and biscuits and then invited her guests into the parlor with a graceful gesture. As they proceeded ahead, she swung a livid face in my direction and pointed upstairs meaningfully.

  “Good God,” I muttered sourly through clenched teeth, masking my annoyance with a cordial smile and a nod of understanding. “Them.” Jericho followed as I fled to my room.

  “You know who they are?” he asked, putting down my clothes and smoothly moving toward the wardrobe.

  “Friends of hers from Philadelphia. Deborah Hardinbrook and her brother, Theophilous Beldon. I’ve heard her talk about them. At length. She’s the widow of some captain who drowned at sea, and he’s supposed to be a doctor, God help us. Whatever you do, don’t mention my headache lest he offer to cure it.”

  Jericho removed a claret-colored coat from the wardrobe and shook it out.

  “Why this one?” I asked, as he helped me into it. “It’s not my best.”

  “Exactly. To wear anything really nice might tell these two you wish to impress them. This coat declares that you care nothing about their favor, but at the same time informs them that you are the head of this house in your father’s absence and it is their job to impress you.”

  “It will?” All that from one coat?

  “It does. Trust me on this matter, Mr. Jonathan.”

  I would, for he was always right on such details. “Elizabeth. She’ll have to be warned.”

  “And so she shall be,” he promised, pulling out a pair of shoes and inspecting the silver buckles for tarnish. There was none, of course.

  “I have these,” I protested, pointing at the ones on my feet.

  “New buckles on old shoes,” he chided. “It doesn’t look right, not for a first meeting.”

  “We can switch them to another pair.”

  He firmly held the shoes out for me. “Wear these. They will demand respect. Save the others for Sunday”

  I grunted and did as I was told.

  He finished with me in a very few minutes. “There. Sometimes you cannot avoid going into a lion’s den, but when you must, it is better to be well dressed.”

  “What makes you think this is a lion’s den?”

  “What makes you think it is not?”

  “Excellent point. Go find Elizabeth, will you?”

  “Certainly.”

  In deference to my sober garb and still-buzzing brain, I did not rush downstairs. Head high and with a serious face, I descended slowly, then paced across the hall to the parlor and paused in the doorway, waiting to be noticed.
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  Mother had her back to me, so it was Deborah Hardinbrook who looked up and stopped her conversation. Her brother, seated next to her, politely stood. Mother turned and assumed an unfamiliar smile.

  “Ah, Jonathan. At last. Do come in and meet my very dear friends.” She conducted us through formal introductions.

  On my best behavior, I bowed low over Mrs. Hardinbrook’s hand and expressed my pleasure at meeting her in French. She was about Mother’s age, with a hard eye and lines around her mouth that may have been placed there by laughter but not joy. She assessed me quickly, efficiently, and was fulsome with complements to Mother about me. I felt like an over-priced statue on display, not valued for my own merits, but for the enlargement of its owner.

  Dr. Beldon was in his thirties, which also made him seem quite old to me. He was wiry and dark, his brown eyes so large and rounded that they seemed to swell from their sockets. They settled an assessment similar to his sister’s upon me but with a different kind of intensity, though what it was, I could not have guessed. We bowed and exchanged the necessary social pleasantries toward one another.

  Mrs. Hardinbrook resumed her talk with Mother, giving her a full account of the harrowing journey from Philadelphia. At first I listened with resentful politeness, then with interest, for despite her exaggerations of manner, she was amusing. Mother actually seemed to be enjoying herself. Beldon smiled at appropriate moments and occasionally added comments. Unlike his sister, he made an effort to include me in the conversation. Smiling. Smiling. Smiling.

  Toad-eaters, I thought behind my own twisted lips. Fawning in deference to the family wealth. Father had taught me to recognize their sort and to beware of them.

  “They’re full of flattery and little else, laddie,” he’d told me. “Having no advantage of their own, they put themselves ahead by using others. Useless bloodsuckers, the lot of them, always looking out for their own good, but no one else’s, and with bottomless stomachs. Don’t let them fool you with fair words or use you in any way. No need to waste your time with any of them.”

  Perhaps Mother had not heard his opinion, or chose to ignore it.