Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire

by P. N. Elrod

  “Then what?”

  “They ran like rabbits. They were terrified. One of them called me a name, ‘blutsäuger.’ ”

  She stumbled over my no doubt questionable pronunciation. “Blutsawer?”

  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 feel sorry for yourself, little brother. I hope you get over it before it becomes a habit.”

  I idly poked at a crescent of dust gathered in a 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 cheerful blue eyes as she tilted her head to one side. It convinced me that I was taking myself far too seriously. “I 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 her satisfaction, she put it aside and picked up another. Its feathering had not yet been trimmed, 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 possible.”

  “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 ever had 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.”

  “I’ve heard the stories, Jonathan,” she said dryly. Because of the recent occupation of our island by foreign mercenaries Elizabeth and the other women of our household 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 unguarded, 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, 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.

  “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 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 the carving of pens and folded her hands in her lap, her face bright with interest.

  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. Suddenly restless again, I launched out of Father’s chair and stalked up and down the room.

  “I . . . ceased to be solid and floated my way out,” I finally said. “Passed right through the ground. To the surface.”

  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 topic.

  “What? Digging like a badger?” asked Elizabeth.

  “No, it’s . . . uhh . . . .”

  “Not solid,” said Father. “Did I hear you right?”

  “Yes! 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 my body insubstantial, allowing me to pass through solid objects. To float.”

  “Float?” he echoed.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Neither spoke for a time, but they did exchange looks once more.

  “What,” he finally said, “has that to do with your arm healing?”

  It was my turn to stare. The floating and the restoration were so joined together in my mind that it was natural to conclude others would also see the connection.

  “Uhh … that is … when I ceased to float around and resumed a solid st
ate for my body 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, obviously struggling to affect a fair attitude, “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 slipped slowly into . . . whatever it was. The room seemed to obscure with fog as I grew more and more transparent.

  Elizabeth rose straight up from her chair, gaping. 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 white, and touched her arm in a reassuring gesture. She clutched his in turn. “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 seemed 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 body ceased. 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 was something that could be exercised only in though, 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 like a ghost.”

  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. I thought that some shadow of me lingered in place.

  “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 let it out for more air.”

  She thought that one over a bit. Father asked me to vanish once more. I obliged, this time willing myself to travel some distance across the room before reappearing. I’d been practicing, after all.

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

  As the worst of the surprise was past with acceptance and even approval pending, 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 it to the floor above, if I wished. I considered 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 which I tried to answer, though most were unanswerable.

  “I really don’t know how it works,” I said after much rapid talk and a number of demonstrations that left me fatigued. “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 an alarming one,” Elizabeth added.

  “I’m sorry for that,” I said.

  Father chuckled a little. “Don’t see how it could possibly have been avoided, laddie. Have you any others we should know about?”

  I 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 replies.”

  “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 secretive. She could have warned me—” I broke off and firmly smothered that tiresome lament. “I’m sorry. When it comes to Nora, I sometimes don’t know what to think. She’s gifted me with a 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. 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 is going on here, Samuel?” she demanded, her voice sharp and accusatory.

  “Very little, as you see,” he said, spreading his hands. “We were conversing.”

  “Conversing? I’m sure you were.” Despite the heavy powder coating her face, we could see that she was flushed. “About what, may I ask?”

  “Nothing of import, just passing the time.”

  “Yet you close 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 Dr. 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 used when addressing me.

  “Yes, madam?” I murmured back, striving for a meek tone.

  “What were you talking about?”

  “Nothing, really. I’m writing 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 cutting some pens.”

  “No doubt, I can see the mess you’ve made. You can leave off with that. It’s late and past time tha
t you went upstairs.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips, holding silent.

  “Well, girl?”

  “I shall be along shortly, Mother, as soon as I’ve cleaned up.”

  “Cleaning’s for servants. You’ll do as you’re told and be along now.”

  “She’s no 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 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 that, wouldn’t you?”

  Father’s face hardened to an 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.

  “The devoted father and his two loving children,” she sneered. “God should strike the lot of you dead where you stand.”

  “Oh, Marie,” sang out Mrs. Hardinbrook, coming up behind Mother. Her voice and manner were light and innocent of the situation she was walking into.

  Mother’s face underwent an immediate change. The Medusa abruptly transformed into a middle-aged matron, smooth of countenance and unblemished by vile fantasies.

  “Yes, Deborah, what is it?” she cooed sweetly.

  “We still have another hand to play out. I hope you will come back and finish it? Please say you will.”

  “Of course, of course. Do lead the way, my dear.”

  But Mother shot us one last venomous glance before turning to follow Mrs. Hardinbrook. She pointedly left the doors open.

  Father let out a pent-up breath and sat heavily in his chair. He didn’t look well. “God,” he said, putting his head in his hands. He rarely succumbed to the strain. Seeing him like this was enough to tear my heart in two. I went to him and knelt on one knee, feeling dreadfully helpless and angry all at once. I lay an arm lightly upon his shoulder, offering what comfort I could.

  Elizabeth crossed to the cabinet, poured out a portion of brandy into a cup and took it to him. This time he had no objection to drink. When he’d finished, she poured one for herself and took it straight down as though it were water. I could have used such a draught for myself, but knew better than to try.