Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire

by P. N. Elrod

  I became aware of her thrashing arms and extended my own to pin them down. She pushed hard against me, urging me to take more, and I might well have done so, had we not already made love that night. Many long minutes later she fell into a series of soft gasps, as though recovering her breath from a running. This went on for some while, the sound arousing me to press into her, matching her rhythm. Her gasps gradually rose to a near-shriek as I rode her as hard as I dared and drank and drank.

  Then she went quite limp and still, with only her pounding heart to tell me all was well with her. This wasn’t the first time she’d fainted from the vigor of it. Well did I recall the feeling for myself.

  Molly soon recuperated enough to give a final little sleepy moan, this one of disappointment as she understood I was readying to end things, then came many a long sigh while I licked the small wounds clean, kissing away the last of her blood. She tenderly stroked my back with one hand, fingers sliding smooth over the gathered sweat there.

  I took my weight from her, but we lay close together, limbs still entangled, bodies and minds slowly recovering from that glorious glimpse of paradise. Molly’s breathing evened out as she dozed in my arms. It would have been good to join her in a nap, but my own sleep could only come with the sunrise.

  Which wasn’t that long away, to judge by the position of the stars. Damnation, but the nights were short.

  I let her rest another few minutes, then gave her a gentle shake. “I’m needing to leave soon, Molly.”

  She mumbled, more than half asleep, but made no other protest as she got up. I helped with her wrapper and offered a steadying arm as she slipped on her shoes. She woke up enough to laugh a bit as I struggled to pull my breeches back into place. I made more of an effort than was needed for the task, in order to keep her laughing, and played the clown again when I donned my still-damp shirt.

  “You’ll get a fever for sure,” she cautioned.

  “I’ll risk it.”

  Taking her arm, I guided us to her house. Quietly. Some of the earliest risers of Glenbriar might be out and about by now; it wouldn’t do to give them anything to gossip about. Or rather anything more to gossip about. Most of the village knew about Molly’s nightly activities, but she made a good fiction of supporting herself with her sewing trade during the day and otherwise held to the most modest behavior in public. Between that and a reputation for discretion, no one had cause to complain against her, and I wasn’t of a mind to change things.

  We eased through her back door and on to the little bedroom, where I gathered up the rest of my clothes. I resolved to carry, instead of wear, them home and thus give my shirt a chance to dry.

  “Don’t forget what I said about sayin’ your prayers, Johnny-boy.”

  “I’ll say one for you, too,” I promised, giving her a final embrace.

  “God, but I shall miss having you come by. Nights like tonight make me wish I didn’t have to bother with the other chaps. None of them can do it as well as you. I’m that spoiled, I am.”

  “Then that makes two of us.”

  She began to sniffle. “Oh, now, there I go again.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Well, be off with you,” she said, trying to sound brusque. “It won’t do for you to be late.”

  “I know. God bless you, Molly.” I kissed her hand and turned toward the doorway, then paused. “One more thing. I left a present for you under your pillow.”

  “La, Mr. Barrett, but you are—”

  “And so are you, dearest Molly.” Then I had to dart outside and rush away because the sky was fractionally lighter than before. I trusted that she would find the ten guineas in coin, my parting gift on top of my normal payment for her services, to be most helpful in getting her quite comfortably through even the harshest of the coming winter.

  I sped down the road leading home, feet hardly touching the earth.

  * * *

  The sun had become, if not an outright enemy, then an antagonist who required respect and caution. I had to keep close watch of the time or I’d find myself stranded and helpless in the dawn. That had nearly happened on my first night out of the grave. The old barn on our property had provided a safe enough shelter then, and it struck me that I might have to make use of it once more. The Hessians quartered there over the last year were gone, thank God, so it would be secure, but my absence for the day would worry Father and Elizabeth, my sister. As for the judgment of my valet Jericho . . . that did not bear thinking about; one raised eyebrow from him could be as potent as a physical beating.

  I passed by that venerable landmark, ultimately deciding that there was just enough night left for me to make it to the house. Our open fields tempted me to a reckless, pell-mell run, being clear of obstacles, unless one wished to count the ripening harvest. As it would be for the best to leave no traces of my passage, I willed myself into a state of partial transparency and, with my feet truly not touching the ground, was able to hurtle forward, fast as a horse at full gallop.

  It was one of my more exhilarating gifts and my favorite, next to the delight of drinking Molly’s blood, of course.

  Skimming along like a ghostly hawk, and as arrow-straight, I sped across the gray landscape only a few feet above the ground. I might have laughed from the sheer joy of it, but no sound could issue from my lips while I held to this tenuous form. Any verbal expression of my happiness would have to wait until I was solid again.

  I covered the distance in good time, in better than good time, but saw that it would be a close race, after all. Too late to turn back. Our house was in sight but still rather far away for the brief span remaining to the night. The grays that formed the world as I saw it in this form were fading rapidly, going white with the advent of dawn.

  Damnation, if I couldn’t do better than this . . . .

  Faster and faster, until everything blurred except for the house upon which my eyes were focused. It grew larger, filling my vision with its promise of sanctuary, then I was abruptly in its shadow.

  And just as abruptly became solid again. I couldn’t help it. The approaching sun’s force was such as to wrench me violently back into the world. My legs weren’t quite under me, and I threw my arms out to cushion the inevitable plummet. My palms scraped against grass and weed, elbows cracked hard upon the ground, and any breath left in me was knocked out as my body struck and rolled and finally came to a stop.

  If I could move as fast as a galloping horse, then by heavens, this was certainly like being thrown from one.

  I lay for a moment, trying to sort myself out, to see if I was hurt or not from the tumble. A few bruises at most, probably; I was not as easily given over to injury as before and knew well how to—

  Light.

  Burning, blinding.

  Altogether hellish.

  Even on this, the shadowed west side of the great structure, I could hardly bear the brilliant force. Fall forgotten, I dragged my coat over my head and desperately scrambled ’round to the back of the house and the cellar doors there. They were as I’d left them, thank God, unlocked. I hauled one up and nearly fell down the stairs in my haste to get to shelter. The door made a great crash closing; if I hadn’t already been keeping my head low, it would have given me a nasty knock.

  The darkness helped a little, but provided no real comfort. That lay but a few paces ahead, deeper, in the most distant corner. My limbs grew stiff, and it was with great difficulty that I staggered and stumped like a drunkard toward my waiting bed. I pitched into it, dropping clumsily on my face onto the canvas-covered earth, and knew nothing more—

  —for what seemed only an instant.

  Unlike other sleepers, I had no sense at all of time’s passage when resting. One second I’m on the shrieking edge of fiery disaster, and the next I’m awake and calm and all is safe. Once disorientating, the sudden change had become normal, when there was change. On
other occasions, when my decent into rest was less headlong and more organized, I seemed only to close my eyes for a longer-than-usual blink, rising easily from bed. The impression given was that I never slept, but simply continued on, living one long continuous night.

  Adding to the illusion of an endless evening was the welcome sight of my manservant, Jericho, standing over me holding a lighted candle, as was his custom now. But the determined equanimity of his black face was gone, and he bore an expression that was a combination of both annoyance and relief.

  “Hallo,” I said. “Anything interesting happen today?”

  The candle flame bobbed ever so slightly. “Half the house was roused at dawn by the slamming of a cellar door, sir. These are not easy times. A loud noise can be most alarming when one is unprepared to hear it.”

  Oh, dear. Jericho’s temperament was of the sort that is strongly given to self-restraint. One could measure the depth of his ire by just how much of it he kept inside. He was severely annoyed with me, indication that my hasty homecoming had created a tremendous row. “Sorry. Couldn’t be helped. I was in a dreadful hurry.”

  “So I concluded when I came down to look in on you.”

  That was when I noticed that I was lying on my back, not my face, and bereft of soiled shirt, breeches and boots. Bed linens had been carefully draped over my body to spare the sensibilities of any kitchen servants who might need to fetch something from the cellar stores. My hands had been washed clean of the grass stains, and my tangled hair was smoothly brushed out. Jericho had been busy looking after me, as usual. I’d slept through it, as oblivious as the dead that I so closely imitated during the day. It had more than once occurred to me that he actually preferred me unconscious throughout these ministrations, allowing him to get through the task free of comment and argument from his master. After all, he really did know what was best when it came to a proper turning out. I was but the medium for expressing his art, and the less heard from his master the better.

  Further reproach from Jericho for me to be more mindful of the time and to have more consideration for the others in the household was unnecessary. He’d made his point, and I was now thoroughly chastised and repentant. After putting his candle aside, he assisted as I humbly traded the bed linens for the fresh clothing he’d brought down. He combed my hair back, tying it with a newly ironed black ribbon, and decided that I could go one more night without shaving.

  “You’ll want a proper toilet before leaving, though,” he warned. “With hot water.”

  “You speak as though you weren’t coming along.”

  “I’ve been given to understand that the facilities aboard the ship may be severely limited, so I shall take what advantage I may in the time left.”

  No doubt, this advantage would be taken during the day. He got no protests from me, for they would be useless. If ever a man was in thrall to a benevolent despot, that man was yours most truly, Jonathan Barrett.

  Candle held high, Jericho led the way out of the cellar. We climbed steep wooden stairs, emerging into the stifling heat of the kitchen to be greeted as usual by Mrs. Nooth. She was busy with preparations for tomorrow’s departure. Having decided that no ship’s cook could possibly match her own skills, she was seeing to it my party would have sufficient provision for the voyage. The fact that I’d ceased eating food made no impression upon her; my gift for influencing others’ minds had seen to that. Except for Jericho, all the servants had been told to ignore such oddities in my behavior, like my sleeping the day through in the cellar. It was an intrusion upon them, yes, but quite for the best as far as I was concerned.

  Jericho continued forward, taking me into the main part of the house. Now I could hear my sister Elizabeth at her practice on the spinet. She’d borrowed something or other by Mozart from one of her friends and had labored to make a copy of the piece for herself, which I could only marvel over. From early on it was discovered I had no musical inclination to speak of; the terms and symbols were so much gibberish to me, but I tried to make up for it with an appreciation of their translation from marks on paper into heavenly sounds. Elizabeth was an accomplished translator, I thought.

  I parted company from Jericho and quietly opened the door to the music room. Elizabeth was alone. A half dozen candles were lighted; wasteful, but well worth it as she made a pretty picture in their golden glow. She glanced up once to see who had come in, then returned her full concentration upon her music. I sprawled in my favorite chair by the open window, throwing one leg over an arm, and gave myself up to listening.

  The last of the sun was gone, though its influence lingered in the warm air stirring the curtains. I tasted the earth-bound scents of the new night, enjoying them while I could. By this time tomorrow Elizabeth, Jericho and I would be on a ship bound for England.

  A little black spark of worry touched the back of my mind. Molly’s concern for a safe voyage was not ill placed. The possibilities of autumn storms or a poorly maintained and thus dangerous ship or a discontented crew or, despite all assurances to the contrary, an attack by rebels or privateers in league with them loomed large before us. The night before I was too engrossed in seeking the pleasures Molly offered to think of much else. Free of such distractions, I watched Elizabeth and worried on the future.

  My initial invitation for her to come with me had been prompted by a strong wish to offer a diversion from the melancholy that had plagued her for the last few months. She’d been reluctant, but I’d talked her into it. With the risks involved, though, I had second thoughts about her coming along. And Jericho, but it was different with him. As his owner, I could command him to stay safe at home; with Elizabeth I could not. She’d been persuaded once and persuaded she would remain. The one time I’d raised the subject with her had convinced me of her commitment to come. We had not precisely argued, but she’d given me to understand in the clearest of terms that whatever perils that might lie ahead were of no concern to her and I would be advised to follow her example. Had I not already made the crossing twice and done well out of it?

  Too late to change things now. But as I’d heard from Molly, we were all in God’s hands. Sufficient unto the day is its own evil and all that. Or night, as the case was with me.

  Elizabeth finished her piece. The last sparkling notes fled from her instrument and the contentment that always seemed to engulf her when she played faded. Her face altered from a beatific smoothness to a troubled tightness, especially around her eyes and mouth. I didn’t care for that, wanting her to be cheerful as she used to be not too long ago.

  “What did you think?” she asked.

  “You did marvelous well, as always.”

  “Not my playing, but the piece itself.”

  “It’s very pretty, very pleasant.”

  “And what else?”

  No use trying to keep anything from her; we knew each other too well for that. “There did seem to be something of a darkness to it, especially that middle bit and toward the end.”

  That brought out a smile for me. “There’s hope for you, then, if you noticed.”

  “Really, now!” I put on an exaggeration of offense. Having played the clown for Molly last night—seeming little more than a half hour ago thanks to my atypical sleeping habits—it was just as easy to do so again for my sister. God knows, she was in sore need of having her spirits lightened. Elizabeth’s smile became more pronounced, but it failed to turn into laughter.

  Then it vanished altogether as she looked back to her music. “That ‘darkness’ is my favorite part of the piece, you know. It’s the whole point of it.”

  She’d lost me with this turn, but I’d come to understand that a passage of music could tell a story just as well as a book. “An interesting sentiment, no doubt.”

  Her gaze flicked to mine as she caught my wary tone. “Oh, Jonathan, do stop worrying about me.”

  “It’s gotten to be a habit, I fear.”
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  “Yes, you and Father both. I’m all right. It’s been awful and I’d never wish what happened upon my worst enemy, but I’m sure God had a reason for it.”

  “I should hope it to be a very good reason, because for the life of me I can’t fathom why. You merit better than what you’ve been served.”

  Her lips compressed into a hard line, and I knew I’d said too much. “Sorry,” I muttered. “But I get so angry on your behalf sometimes.”

  “More like all the time. I’ve worked hard to let it go. Can you not do the same?”

  I shrugged, not an easy movement given my informal posture in the chair.

  “You and Father have been of great help and comfort to me, but the need is past, I’m all better now.”

  Was she trying to convince me or herself? Or was I hearing things that weren’t there? She certainly seemed better, especially with the trip to look forward to, but I wasn’t over the shock yet myself, so how could she be so fully recovered?

  She wasn’t, then. She had to be lying. But I’d heard that if one lies often and loud enough, the lie eventually becomes the truth. If that was Elizabeth’s solution to living with the catastrophe that had engulfed her but thankfully allowed her to escape with her life, then so be it; she had my blessing.

  “Did you enjoy yourself last night?” she asked, standing and shuffling her sheets of music into order.

  “Quite a lot,” I said absently.

  “I’m glad to hear it, I’m concerned for your . . . happiness.” She paused to smile again and in such a way as to inform me that she knew exactly what I’d been doing. My vague stories to the rest of the household about going to The Oak to talk with tavern cronies were but smoke to her. And probably to Father. Most certainly to Jericho.

  “Very kind, but this is hardly a topic I can discuss with you.”

  “Because I’m a woman?”

  “Because I’m a gentleman,” I said, with smug finality.