Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire

by P. N. Elrod

  It was absurd, of course. I was absurd.

  My great and horrible fear had turned into boredom.

  A second laugh, more certain than the first.

  Absurd, and like many absurdities, it craved expression.

  I found another stone and tossed it high. It arced through the trees and crashed into the tangle of growth far below. I grabbed another and another until none were left, then got up and searched for more, eager as a child. Circling the kettle, I let fly dozens of similar missiles. As though in a game of chase, I darted through the trees, shouting greetings at them just to hear the echoes.

  Foolish, yes, but gloriously foolish. When one is suddenly liberated from a burden, one must celebrate. So I ran and jumped and called out bits of childish verse and song, careless and free.

  The last thing I did was to throw myself over the edge of the kettle at a swift run. The world surged for a mad instant as I hurtled down, then vanished. I’d swiftly willed myself out of danger, spinning into that state of joyful weightlessness, like a leaf floating upon the wind. I drifted high, leisurely contesting the gentle pressure of the air, invisible as thought, yet in some way just as substantial.

  I know not how long I played at this, but finally I tired and resumed solidity on the spot where I’d died. Whatever hurt I’d suffered, whatever anguish for that which I’d lost was no longer a part of this place. My ghost was not here, never had been. Such a specter existed only in my mind, and I had the intellect to dispel it. I laughed again, and this time the note of triumph was tempered only by a humble gratitude for that which remained: my life, changes and all, and my family.

  My misgivings about a permanent parting from these lands were gone. Perhaps the reluctance people felt when leaving home was more to do with the inability to resolve any unhappiness that’s occurred there, rather than the loss of the happiness they’ve had. The memories of dying were with me but could no longer instill their fear and pain. They had diminished; I had grown.

  With a vastly lighter heart than before, I hiked back to the house.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Much to Father’s relief the cattle arrived at the ship and had been safely loaded along with the rest of the baggage we were taking to England. There was quite a lot, for at the last we’d applied ourselves to additional packing in light of Father’s decision to soon follow. Not everything could come; Elizabeth was already mourning the loss of her spinet, but I’d promised to find her another, better one in London. My own deepest misery was having to leave behind my favorite hunter, Rolly. From the start of the conflict I’d dreaded losing him to the commissary men, and I hated the idea of his falling into careless and cruel hands. It was one of the many questions I’d posed for Father during our lengthy talk, and one for which he had no ready answer though he promised to do his best.

  I was held fast by my day sleep during the early morning rushing about as our things were piled into the carriage and wagon taking us to the ship. Though utterly oblivious to it all, I could count myself lucky to be well out of the maelstrom of activities attendant on our departure. That was the one positive aspect of my unconscious condition, and it stood alone against a legion of negatives, the chief of them being that I was forced to trust others to take proper care of me.

  Not that I held anything in my heart but confidence for those in my family, but I didn’t know the captain or crew of the ship, and it was easy enough to imagine the worst. Even the smallest lapse of attention during the process of putting me aboard could end with a disastrous plunge into the cold waters of the Sound. I’d received many assurances from Father that all would be well, but reluctantly surrendered to the effects of that morning’s dawn with a feeling of dread, murmuring a hasty prayer asking for the care and preservation of my helpless body.

  Elizabeth, with her talent for organization and the solving of problems, had early on determined the best means for me to travel while in this state. She had ordered the construction of a sturdy chest large enough for me to curl into like a badger in a burrow. As I was completely immobile and oblivious while the sun was up, there was little need to consider the thing’s lack of comfort. I’d tried out this peculiar bed and approved it, suffering no ill effects from its confined space.

  No pillows or mattress layered the bottom; instead, it was cushioned by several tightly woven canvas bags, each filled with a goodly quantity of earth from our lands. The grave had rejected me, but it was still necessary that I rest upon a portion of it while frozen by the day. Not doing so meant having to spend those hours in thrall to an endless series of terribly vivid and always frightful dreams. Why this had to be I did not know. I hoped Nora would enlighten me.

  I was later told that there were no mishaps in transporting my box to the ship. There was enough activity and confusion going on that the captain and crew did not miss my presence. Elizabeth skillfully answered inquiries by stating that she’d seen me, but I was elsewhere looking after some detail.

  The only time a question was raised was when Elizabeth insisted that the chest be placed in the small cabin I’d share with Jericho. For a servant to be in the same room as his master was irregular though not unheard of, but the quarters were limited in space. But Elizabeth turned a deaf ear to recommendations of stowing the box in the hold, and so I was finally, if obliviously, ensconced in my rightful place.

  By nightfall the ship was well on its way, a favorable wind and the tide having aided our progress. Too late now to turn back, or so I soon had to remind myself.

  Jericho had been hard at work, having thoughtfully freed me from the limits of the box with the intent of transferring me to the cabin’s narrow bed. He’d placed my bags of earth over its straw mattress, concealed them with a coverlet, then eased my senseless form on top. The story we’d agreed upon to explain my daytime absences was to say that I was a poor sailor and suffering from bouts of seasickness. It was a common enough occurrence and entirely reasonable; what we had not reckoned upon was it being so wretchedly true.

  At the risk of making a supreme understatement, this was the second most disagreeable awakening of my life. The first, of course, was when I’d come to myself in that damned coffin over a year ago in the churchyard. That had been awful in terms of straightforward shock; this one was nearly as bad in terms of sheer physical distress.

  Rather than waking with my usual instantaneous alertness, I floated sluggishly to consciousness, confused and strangely anxious. I was aware of an unfamiliar discomfort afflicting every square inch of my body, inside and out. Had I felt illness upon my return to the Captain’s Kettle? Would that such a mild case would visit me now. Someone had taken my head and belly and tossed them around like dice in a cup, or so I might conclude in regard to their present lack of settlement. They still seemed to be rolling about on their own. Every hair on my head and down my neck stood on end, positively bristling with alarm at this unhappy sensation. My limbs seemed to weigh twice as much as normal, and my muscles seemed too spent to move them.

  “Mr. Jonathan?” Jericho hovered over me, and if I read the concern in his face and voice aright, then I was in a rather bad state.

  “We’re at sea,” I whispered decisively. The very air seemed to press hard on me. My skin crawled from its invisible touch.

  “I have been told that Sag Harbor is well behind us, sir.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Sir?”

  “Mal de mer,” I gasped, closing my eyes. On the lid of the closed chest was a lighted candle, and the upright position of its tall flame was not in keeping with that of our surroundings. Each moved contrary to the other, and I couldn’t bear to look at the difference.

  “You look feverish.” Jericho put a hand to my forehead, his expression grim. He had a right to be troubled. Since my change I’d not suffered any sickness.

  “Cold.”

  He found another blanket and tucked it around me. It did not help, but
it gave him something to do. I was also worried, but unable to act, which made things worse.

  “We can turn back. You look ill enough to justify—”

  “No!” No matter how awful I felt, I’d get through this somehow. But even if some freak of the wind should sweep us to Plymouth in the very next minute, the voyage would still be too long for me.

  “Perhaps you need something to—”

  “If you have any care for me, for God’s sake don’t mention food.”

  There was solace in the fact that I had no need to breathe, else the odors permeating the wood of the ship—tar and mildew and tallow and sweat and night soil and old paint and hundreds of others—would have sent me lunging for the chamber pot to empty my guts.

  Someone knocked at the door. The room was so small Jericho had but to reach over to open it.

  “Is he all right?” asked Elizabeth, peering in. “Good heavens!”

  “He is not feeling well,” he said, confirming her reaction to me. He moved past her to stand outside that she might come in. With her wide skirts it was not easily done, but she managed.

  Unknowingly imitating Jericho, she put a hand to my forehead. “You’re hot.”

  “On the contrary—”

  “I should fetch the ship’s surgeon.”

  “No. I won’t see him.”

  “But, Jonathan—”

  “No. We don’t dare. I’m too different now.”

  She didn’t care for that; all her instincts were to do something for me.

  “I forbid it,” I said. “First he’d listen for my heart, and God knows what he’d do next when he couldn’t hear it. Bleed me, probably, and that would be an extremely bad idea.”

  Elizabeth perceived the sense of my words. Even the most incompetent medical man could not be allowed to examine me. Besides being loath to part with a single drop of precious blood, I was incapable of drinking anything else that might be offered as a restorative. No glass of wine, no cup of brandy, no purge or sleeping draught could get past my lips; my changed condition would not allow it.

  “But for you to lie there and just suffer . . . .”

  “It will pass away with time, I’ve seen as much happen to others. I don’t plan to lie here, either.” With an effort I made myself sit up, preparatory to standing.

  My dear sister immediately objected.

  “I will be the better for it, so indulge me,” I said. “If I have something for occupation, the time will go more quickly, and I’ll be less mindful of this irksome state.” Or so I most desperately hoped.

  She and Jericho exchanged places again, allowing him to help with my shoes and coat and offer a steadying arm when I was ready to stand.

  “You’re not at all ill, are you?” I said to him, making it half question, half accusation.

  “No, sir, and that’s just as well, don’t you think?” He got me out the door into a dim and narrow passage.

  By their nature, all crafts that venture upon water are given a life as they move and react to that element. Our ship was very lively, indeed, as might be judged from the motion of the deck as I staggered along. It also had a voice, formed from wood creaking against wood and the deep and hollow sound of the sea rocking us. These features I could note, but not appreciate in a positive sense.

  Elizabeth led us topside, and only then did I fill my lungs with fresh, cleansing air. The wind was cooler and helped somewhat to clear my head. Fixing my eye on the unbroken gray horizon beyond the rail was of no help to my unsettled stomach; rather, it was a powerful reminder that we had a lengthy and lonely journey ahead. Lonely, that is, if we were lucky enough to avoid contact with rebels or privateers. I remembered what Molly Audy had said about prayer and vowed to spend some time at that occupation later tonight. For now I was too distracted asking for relief from my current state.

  I strolled slowly on the small area of deck that was clear enough to allow it. Elizabeth introduced me to the captain, certain of his officers and a few of the other passengers who were also taking the air. No one had any comment for not having witnessed my ever coming aboard. For that I could thank Elizabeth’s ploy, the natural activity of preparing a ship for sailing and everyone being busy enough with their own concerns.

  Many of those aboard were fleeing the unrest at home, preferring to take the longer sea voyage to England over risking the unknowns of a much closer Halifax. What news that had come to us on the latter locale had given everyone to understand that it was an altogether dismal place as well as dangerous. The winters there were said to be hellishly cold, plagued by too many other refugees, too few supplies, inadequate shelter and outbreaks of the pox. Much better to go to England, where all one had to worry about was the pox and which coffeehouse to patronize.

  As I’d expected, keeping myself diverted with conversation helped take my mind off my interior woes. Within an hour of introductions, several of us had found enough commonalties in our lives to form quick and comfortable friendships. An excellent situation, given the fact that we were going to have to share close and near-constant company with one another for the next two months or more.

  The universal lament was the detestable unfairness that we, the loyal and law-keeping subjects of His Majesty, had to give way to the damned traitors who were running amok.

  “It’s too perilous to stay while the fighting’s on,” stated Mr. Thomas Quinton, an apothecary close to my age traveling with his wife and young daughter. The females in his life were in their cabin, feeling the adverse effects of sea travel themselves. While Elizabeth conversed with another lady, we two men stood by the rail, braced against the wind and rolling of the ship. Somehow Quinton had been able to light his pipe to enjoy a final smoke before retiring.

  “Many share that view, sir,” I said. “It only makes sense to remove oneself from the conflict.” I was far enough upwind of him to avoid his smoke. I was a little recovered, but uncertain of my belly; it had a disconcerting habit of cramping at irregular intervals.

  “Would that the conflict removed itself from me. Surely the generals can find other places to fight their wars. Of course, the rogues that were raising the devil near my house weren’t of any army.”

  “Who were they? More Sons of Liberty?”

  “Damned Sons of Perdition is what I call ’em. For all the King’s soldiers about, those lawless rascals still get up to enough mischief to curdle a butcher’s blood. We had a fine house not far from Hempstead, and one night they came storming up demanding to see a neighbor of mine. They were so drunk that they’d come to the wrong door, and I was fearful they’d be dragging me out to be tarred and feathered.”

  “What incensed them? Besides the drink, that is.”

  “They’d taken it into their heads that my innocent neighbor was spying for General Howe . . . or Lord North. They weren’t clear about that point, but were damning both with equal fervor.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Called at them from the upper window to disperse and go home. I had a pistol in hand, but one shot’s not enough for a crowd and there looked to be a dozen of them. They even had an effigy of my neighbor hanging from a pole, ready for burning. Took the longest time to convince them they were lost, then they wanted to know about me and whether I was a true follower of their cause. Told them that if their cause was to frighten good people out of their rest in the dead of night, then they should take it elsewhere and be damned.”

  “Given the circumstances, that doesn’t strike me as having been a wise thing to say.”

  “It wasn’t, but I was that angered by them. ‘If you’re not for us, you’re against us!’ they cried. They won’t let an honest man mind his own business, not them. Some of the fools were for breaking in and taking me off for that sauce, but I decided to aim my pistol right at the leader and made sure he noticed. Asked him if he’d rather go back to his tavern and drink to the health of Gener
al Washington or take a ball between his eyes right then and there. He chose the tavern and spared us all a great deal of trouble. My poor wife was left half-distracted by that bother, and the next morning we were packing to leave. It’s a hard thing to bear, but it won’t last forever. Perhaps in a year or two we can return and resume where we left off.”

  “I hope all goes well for you, then. Have you friends in London to help you when you arrive?”

  “There are one or two people I know from New York who are now living in Chelsea. They left before Howe’s landing and a good thing, too, for the fire last year consumed their houses.”

  No need to ask what fire. For those who lived within even distant sight of New York, there was only the one.

  “Have you friends as well?” asked Mr. Quinton.

  “Family. My sister and I will be staying with our cousin Oliver. I hope that he’ll have received the letter we sent announcing our coming and will put us up until we find a place of our own.”

  “Has a large family, does he?”

  “No, he just prefers his solitude.” After a lifetime of having to account for himself every time his mother pinned him with her glare, my good cousin was positively reveling in his freedom. We’d shared rooms at Cambridge, but that’s different from having one’s own house and servants. Having also come into his inheritance from Grandfather Fonteyn’s estate, and with the beginnings of a fine medical practice bringing a steady income, Oliver was more than content with his lot. “I’m looking forward to seeing him again; we had some fine times together.”

  Quinton’s eyes lit up. “Ho, raised a bit of the devil yourselves, did you?”

  “Our share, though we weren’t as wild as some of our friends.”

  “But wild enough, hey?”

  Compared to some of the others at the university, we were positively sedate, but then both of us would have to work for our suppers someday, so we applied ourselves to study as it became necessary. Oliver wanted to be out and away from the restrictions of Fonteyn House, his mother’s home, and I had pledged to Father that I would do my best. Not that our studies seriously interfered with the pursuit of pleasure, though.