Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire

by P. N. Elrod

She chose to ignore it. “Meaning you don’t discuss your conquests with other gentlemen?”

  “Certainly not. Back at Cambridge you could find yourself bang in the middle of a duel for a careless boast.”

  “Ah, but I’m not a gentleman and have no wish to give challenge, so you’re safe with me.”

  “But really—”

  “I was just wondering who she was.”

  It wasn’t much to ask, but damnation, I had my principles. If Molly could keep silent, then so could I. “Sorry, no.”

  Elizabeth finished putting her music away. By her manner I could tell she was not pleased, nor at all ready to give up.

  “Why this curiosity over the company I keep?” I asked before she could frame another inquiry.

  She paused and made a face. “Oh, I don’t give a fig about who you’re with.”

  “Then why—”

  “Damnation, but I’m as bad as Mrs. Hardinbrook.”

  Now, that was an alarming declaration. “In what way?”

  Elizabeth dropped onto a settee, her wide skirts billowing up from the force of the movement. She impatiently slapped them down. “The woman worms her way around, asking a dozen questions in order to work her way up to the one she really wants to ask. What a dreadful thing for me to be doing.”

  “Given the right situation it has its place, usually for questions that might not otherwise be answered. But I’ve discovered you out, rendering the ploy inappropriate.”

  She shot me a sour look. “Indeed, yes, little brother.”

  “Now, then, what is it you really want to ask?”

  The sourness turned into mischievous caution. “I was curious as to whether you dealt with your lady in the same manner that Miss Jones dealt with you.”

  Whatever I was using for a mind that night went thick for the next few moments. “I-I’m not sure I rightly understand your meaning,” I finally said, straightening in my chair to face her.

  “When you’re with a lady and addressing certain intimate issues, do you conclude them by drinking her blood as Nora did with you?”

  “Good God, Elizabeth!” I felt my face flaming scarlet.

  “Oh, dear, now I’ve shocked you.” She appeared to be sincerely distressed.

  “That’s hardly the . . . I mean . . . what the devil d’ye want to know that for?” This wasn’t the sort of thing one discussed with any female, but especially with one’s sister . . . damnation . . . it just wasn’t . . . .

  “I’m just curious. I was wondering about it, and that if you did, whether or not you exchanged blood with her, and what your sweetheart thought about it.”

  My chin must have been sweeping the floor by then.

  “Of course, if this is a breach of confidence, I’ll withdraw the question,” she continued.

  “You can hardly do that! It’s been said and . . . and . . . oh, good God.”

  “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I worried that you might be a bit upset.”

  A bit?

  “But I thought that since you’ve already told me how things were between you and Miss Jones that you would not find it so difficult to. . . .”

  I waved a hand and she fell silent while I mastered myself. I finally understood her mood and knew that there would be no peace for either of us unless I answered her queries, however outrageous, with simple truth. “I’m just surprised. This isn’t the usual sort of thing one discusses. Why have you not raised the question before?”

  “When this change first came upon you, you were busy . . . and later on, I was busy.”

  “With your marriage?”

  She snorted with disgust. “With my liaison.”

  “As far as anyone is concerned, it was an honorable marriage.”

  “Words, words, words. You’re getting off the subject.”

  “I thought the two to be somehow related.”

  “In what way?”

  Time for less bewilderment and more candor. “Well, you did sleep with the bastard, as his wife, so there’s no shame in that, and for the short time you were together, we got the impression that he pleased you.”

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to go scarlet.

  “My conclusion is that you’re wondering if other women are also pleased with their men, so you ask me what I do and if the lady I’m with enjoys it.”

  Her gaze bounced all over the room since she could not quite meet my eyes. “You . . . you’re . . . .”

  “Absolutely right?”

  She ground her teeth. “Yes, damn it. Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t laugh at me.”

  “But it is funny.”

  And contagious. She fought it, but ultimately succumbed, collapsing back on the settee, hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. God, but it was good to see her laughing again, even given these peculiar circumstances.

  “All finished?” I asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Curiosity still intact?”

  “Yes. No more embarrassment?”

  “No more. If you speak plainly with me, then I shall return the favor.”

  “Done,” she said and leaned forward and we shook hands on it.

  The issue settled, I twisted around to hook my leg over the chair arm again, affording myself a view out the window. Nothing stirred past the curtains, which was a comfort. The events of the last year taught me to place a high value on dull inactivity.

  “Jonathan?” she prompted.

  “Mm? Oh. As for your initial query, yes, I do consummate things in the same manner that Nora did with me. As for the other, no. Though I take blood from the lady I have been seeing and she enjoys the taking, I have never exchanged blood with her.”

  “Why not? You once said that Miss Jones found it to be exceedingly pleasurable.”

  “True, but I’ve also surmised that it led to this change which has manifested itself in me.”

  “But it was a good thing.”

  “I’ll not deny it, but until I know all there is to know about my condition, I have not the right to inflict it upon another without warning.”

  “But Miss Jones did so without consulting you.”

  “Yes, and the why of it is the foremost of the questions that lie between us. Anyway, just because she did it doesn’t mean that I have to; it smacks of irresponsibility, don’t you know.”

  “I hope you don’t hate her.” She said it in almost exactly the same tone that Molly Audy had used, giving me quite a sharp turn. “Something wrong?”

  “Perhaps there is. That’s the second time someone’s voiced that sentiment to me. Makes me wonder about myself.”

  “You do seem forbidding when you speak of Miss Jones.”

  “Well, we both know all about betrayal, don’t we?”

  Elizabeth’s mouth thinned. “The nature of mine was rather different from yours.”

  “But the feelings engendered are the same. Nora hurt me deeply by sending me away, by making me forget, by not telling me the consequence of our exchanges. That’s what this whole miserable voyage is about, so I can find her and ask her why.”

  “I know. I can only pray that whatever answers you get will give you some peace in your heart. At least I know why I was betrayed.”

  We were silent for a time. The candles had burned. I rose and went ’round to them, blowing out all but two, which I brought over to place on a side table near us.

  “Is that enough light for you?” I asked.

  “It’s fine.” She gave herself a little shake. “I’ve not had my last question answered. What does your sweetheart, the one you see now, think of what you do?”

  “She thinks rather highly of it.”

  “It gives her pleasure?”

  “So I understand from her.”

  “Does she not think it unusual?”

  “At first it was rather ou
tside her experience, but not beyond her amiable tolerance.” I was pleased with myself for a few moments, but my smile faded.

  “What is it?”

  “She’s a good friend. I’m going miss her. Hated to leave her last night. That’s why I was late getting back. Won’t happen again, though; Jericho took me to task on the subject of banging doors at dawn and waking the household.”

  “Father wasn’t amused.”

  I winced. “I’ll apologize to him. Where is he? Not called away?”

  “On our last night home? Hardly. He’s playing cards with the others.” Father was not an enthusiastic player and only did so to placate his wife. “Is Mother being troublesome again?”

  “Enough so that everyone’s walking on tiptoes. You know what she thinks of our journeying together, at least when she’s having one of her spells. Vile woman. How could she ever come up with such a foul idea?”

  Mother was subject to a most disgusting delusion about myself and Elizabeth. It was a source of disruption and great pain to our family, and usually too upsetting to speak of openly. I had a thought or two on the origin of her misapprehension, but was not willing to share it with anyone. “She’s sick. Sick in mind and in soul.”

  “I shall not be sorry to leave her behind.”

  “Elizabeth . . ..”

  “Not to worry; I’ll behave myself,” she promised.

  Both of us had come to heartily dislike our mother, though Elizabeth was more vocal in her complaints than I. My chosen place was to listen and nod, but now and then I’d remind her to take more care. Mother would not be pleased if she chanced to overhear such bald honesty.

  “I hope it helps you to know that I feel the same,” I said, wanting to soften my reproach.

  “Helps? If I thought myself alone in this, then I should be as mad as she.”

  “God forbid.” I unhooked my leg from the chair arm and rose. “I need to deliver my apologies to Father. Will you stay or come?”

  “Stay. It might set her off to see us walking in together.”

  True, sadly true.

  I ambled toward the parlor, hearing the brief, quiet exchanges between the card players before reaching the room. From the advantage of the center hall, I could hear most of what was going on throughout the whole house. Mrs. Nooth and her people were still busy in the distant kitchen, and other servants, including Jericho and his father, Archimedes, moved methodically about upstairs readying the men’s bedrooms for the night. Two maids did the honors for the ladies, lighting candles, turning down the beds. . . .

  Long ignored as part of life’s normal background, the sounds tugged me like ropes. I’d felt it a dozen times over since the plans to leave for England had been finalized. Though not all that happened here was pleasant, it was home, my home, and even when we choose to do so, who of us can depart easily from such familiarity?

  And comfort. I hadn’t much enjoyed my previous voyages to and fro across the sea. The conditions of shipboard life could be appalling, yet another reason for concern over having Elizabeth along. But I’d seen other women make the crossing without complaint. Some claimed to even enjoy it, while not a few of the hardiest men were stricken helpless as babes with seasickness.

  Well, we’d muddle through somehow, God willing.

  I shed those worries for others upon opening the parlor door. Within, a burst of candlelight gilded the furnishings and their occupants. Clustered at the card table were Father, Mother, Dr. Beldon, and his sister, the gossipy Mrs. Hardinbrook. Beldon and Father looked up and nodded to me, then resumed attention on their play. Mrs. Hardinbrook’s back was to the door, so she noticed nothing. Mother sat opposite her and could see, but was either unaware I’d come in, or ignoring me.

  The game continued without break, each mindful of his cards and nothing else as I hesitated in the doorway. For an uneasy moment I felt like an invisible wraith whose presence, if sensed, is attributed to the wind or creaks of an aging house. Well, I could certainly make myself ghostlike if I chose. That would stir things a bit . . . but it wouldn’t be polite, however amusing.

  Mother shifted slightly, eyebrows high as she studied her hand. Her needle gaze flicked here and there upon the table, upon the others, upon everything except her only son.

  Ignoring me. Most definitely ignoring me. One can always tell.

  Home, I thought grimly and stepped into the parlor.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Upon entering, I was noticed that my young cousin, Anne Fonteyn, was also present. She’d taken a chair close to a small table and pored over a book with fond intensity. More Shakespeare, it appeared. She’d developed a great liking for his work since the time I’d tempted her into reading some soon after her arrival to our house. She was the daughter of Grandfather Fonteyn’s youngest son and had sought shelter with us, safely away from the conflicts in Philadelphia. Though somewhat stunted in the way of education, she was pretty and possessed of a sweet and innocent soul. I liked her quite a lot.

  I drifted up to bid her a good evening, quietly, out of deference for the others. “What is it tonight? A play or the sonnets?”

  “Another play.” She lifted the book slightly. “Pericles, Prince of Tyre, but it’s not what I expected.”

  “How so?” I took a seat at the table across from her.

  “I thought he was supposed to kill a Gorgon named Medusa, but nothing of the sort has thus far occurred in this drama.”

  “That’s the legend of Perseus, not Pericles,” I gently explained.

  “Oh.”

  “It’s easy enough to mix them up.”

  “You must think me stupid and tiresome.”

  “I think nothing of the sort.”

  “But I’m always getting things wrong,” she stated mournfully.

  That was my mother’s work. Her sharp tongue had had its inevitable effect on my good-hearted cousin. Anne had gradually become subject to much unfair and undeserved criticism over the months. Mother had the idiotic idea that by this means Anne could be made to “improve herself,” though what those improvements might be were anyone’s guess. Mother was always short on providing helpful suggestions. Elizabeth and I had long ago learned to ignore the jibes aimed at us; Anne had no such defenses and instead grew shy and hesitant about herself. In turn, this inspired even more criticism.

  “Not at all. I think you’re charming and bright. In all my time in England I never once met a girl who was the least interested in reading, period, much less in reading Shakespeare.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” This was true. Nora Jones had been a woman, not a girl, after all. But some of the other young females I’d encountered there had possessed interests in areas not readily considered by most to be intellectual. Such pursuits were certainly enjoyable for their own sake; I should be the last person to object to them, having willingly partaken of their pleasures, but they were not the sort of activities my good cousin was quite prepared to indulge in yet.

  “What are they like? The English girls?”

  “Oh, a dull lot overall,” I said, gallantly lying.

  “Did you get to meet any actresses?” she whispered, throwing a wary glance in Mother’s direction. Whereas a discussion of a play, or even its reading aloud in the parlor was considered edifying, any mention of stage acting and of actresses in particular was not.

  “Hadn’t much time for the theater.” Another lie, or something close to it. Though I’d applied myself well enough to my studies, Cousin Oliver and I had taken care to keep ourselves entertained with numerous nonacademic diversions. Then there was all the time I’d spent with Nora. . . .

  “I should like to go to a play sometime,” said Ann. “I’ve heard that they have a company in New York now. Hard to believe, is it not? I mean, after the horrid fire destroying nearly everything last year.”

  “Very. Perhaps one day it will b
e possible for you to attend a performance, though it might not be by your favorite playwright, y’know.”

  “Then I must somehow find others to read so as to be well prepared, but I’ve been all through Uncle Samuel’s library and have found only works by Shakespeare.”

  “I’ll send you others as soon as I get to England,” I promised.

  Her face flowered into a smile. “Oh, but that is most kind of you, Cousin.

  “It will be a pleasure. However, I know that there are other plays in Father’s library.”

  “But they were in French and Greek and I don’t know those languages.

  “You shall have to learn them, then. Mr. Rapelji would be most happy to take you on as a student.”

  Instead of a protest as I’d half expected, Anneleaned forward, eyes shining. “Really? He would not mind tutoring a female?”

  “Not at all.” Rapelji had liberal views about education for the fair sex. Firstly, he had a love for teaching that transcended any differences his students might present, and secondly, he enjoyed the extra money.

  “I should like that very much, but how would I go about arranging things?”

  “Just ask your Uncle Samuel,” I said, canting my head once in Father’s direction. “He’ll sort it out for you.”

  She made a little squeak to indicate her barely suppressed enthusiasm, but unfortunately that drew Mother’s irate attention toward us.

  “Jonathan Fonteyn, what is all this row?” she demanded, simultaneously shifting the blame of her vexation to me while elevating it to the level of a riot. That she’d used my middle name, which I loathed, was an additional annoyance, but I was yet in a good humor and able to overlook it.

  “My apologies, Madam. I did not mean to disturb you.” The words came out smoothly, as I’d had much practice in the art of placation.

  “What are you two talking about?”

  “The book I’m reading, Aunt Marie,” said Ann, visibly anxious to keep the peace.

  “Novels,” Mother sneered. “I’m entirely opposed to such things. They’re corruption incarnate. You ought not to waste your time on them.”

  “But this is a play by Shakespeare,” Annewent on, perhaps hoping that an invocation of that immortal name would turn aside potential wrath.