by P. N. Elrod
Aunt Fonteyn was obviously not used to face-to-face rebellion. Her jaw tightened to the point of setting her whole body aquiver. Her grip on the scratching stick was so hard it looked ready to break in her hand.
Elizabeth read the signs correctly and smoothly added, “Your sister is in complete agreement with me on this, Aunt Fonteyn. Mother knows the depth of pain I have suffered and deemed it best for me to put it behind me. So it is with her full approval and blessing that I have returned to the use of my maiden name.”
And very true that was, too. It was one of the few times Elizabeth applauded my talent for influencing others.
Now it was Aunt Fonteyn’s turn to look as though she’d been slapped. A mighty struggle must have been going on behind that face paint, to judge by the twitchings beneath its surface. We did our best to remain unmoved ourselves, waiting with interest for her reply.
“Very well,” she finally puffed. “If Marie thinks it is for the best, then I shall respect her wishes.”
“Thank you, Aunt.”
“But it’s wrong for a female to display stubbornness in her nature. I expect you to cease such blunt behavior, for you are only giving yourself injury. You are forgiven on this occasion. I’m keeping in mind that you are yet under the wayward authority of your father’s patchy upbringing and still unsettled from your sea voyage. Such wild manners will not be allowed here. This is a respectable, refined house, and you will learn to curb yourself.”
Oliver and I held our breath, but Elizabeth simply murmured a quiet and humble-seeming agreement. Like the rest of us she could manage to “curb” herself for the duration of a short visit. She had, after all, skillfully won the match and could afford to be generous.
“It took you long enough to get here,” Aunt Fonteyn added, addressing me again. I hardly need mention that she made it into an accusation.
“We came as soon as we could, ma’am,” I said. “The captain of the ship assured us that we had a swift crossing.” Actually, Elizabeth and Jericho had gotten the assurance, but it was easy enough to repeat what they’d told me.
“I was referring to the fact that you wasted time stopping over at that disreputable inn when you should have sent for my coach to bring you straight from the docks to Fonteyn House.”
As there seemed no advantage for any of us to offer comment on the subject, we remained silent.
“It was a sinful waste of money and time, and there will be no more of it, y’hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And as for your present arrangements, I suppose Oliver talked you into staying at his house?”
“We accepted his invitation, yes, ma’am. And very comfortable it is, too. Your son is a most generous and gracious host.”
“Well, that’s fine for you two, but Elizabeth Antoinette will move into Fonteyn House. She will remain here tonight. When the coach takes you both back, you will see to it that her things are loaded in and—”
“I will not!” Elizabeth cried, her composure now vanished.
Aunt Fonteyn turned a calculating eye upon her niece. “Did you say something, girl?”
“I prefer to remain where I am,” she stated, lifting her chin.
“Do you, now? Well, I do not, and you can’t tell me that you have your mother’s support on this one, because I know you don’t.”
“Nevertheless—”
“You will not argue with me on this, Elizabeth Antoinette. It isn’t seemly for an unmarried girl to be living with two unmarried men, any fool knows that.”
“There is nothing unseemly about it,” Elizabeth protested.
“You have no chaperon, girl, that’s what’s—”
“Oliver is my first cousin and Jonathan my own brother—what better chaperons and protectors could I want?”
Aunt Fonteyn shot her a look so cold that Elizabeth instantly halted any further comment she might have put in. Aunt Fonteyn exuded a near-palpable air of victory.
Oh, dear God, not that again, I thought, groaning inside.
“And so it comes out at last, does it?” she said, and there was a truly evil glint in her small, hate-filled eyes.
Elizabeth must have also divined what was coming. Her body stiffened, and she glanced once at me.
Our aunt leaped upon it. “I see that it does. See how she blushes for her shame!”
Red-faced with suppressed fury was the correct interpretation of Elizabeth’s high color. Oliver, thoroughly confused by this turn, looked wide-eyed at us for an explanation.
Aunt Fonteyn went on, clearly enjoying herself. “You dirty, shameless slut! Did you think I would tolerate such blatant sin under my own nose?”
Shaken beyond words, Elizabeth could do nothing more than tremble. I feared her temper might overtake her as it had once done with Mother and that a physical attack was in the offing. An interruption was desperately needed.
“Tolerate what, Aunt Fonteyn?” I asked in a lazy voice, heavy with unconcerned innocence.
Her stare whipped over to me, but I stared back, quite impervious to any threat this one dung-headed old woman might hold. I could feel Oliver’s gaze hard on me as well, still trying to fathom what had set her off.
“How dare you raise such an impertinent face to me, you filthy fornicator!” she screeched. “You know very well what I’m talking about. Your mother has long written to me about your unnatural liaison, and since she cannot get your blind father to end what’s been going on, she begged me to put a stop to it.”
Oliver choked with shock as the dawn started to break. “What—what are you saying?”
I readily answered. “It seems that my mother, who suffers from a singularly unstable mind, has the disgusting delusion that Elizabeth and I are engaged in incestuous relation with one another, and that your mother is imbecile enough to believe her lunatic sister’s ravings.”
“Oh, my God!” That was as much as he could get out before Aunt Fonteyn’s shriek of outrage burst forth, staying all speech.
It was more than sufficient to rattle the windows in the next room; it certainly brought the footman running as though his mistress was being murdered. The parlor door was thrown open, and he and other servants crowded through. Their swift appearance gave me to understand that they’d been listening all along. Excellent. I’d hand them something worth the hearing.
If I got the chance. Aunt Fonteyn was doing some considerable raving herself, calling me a number of names that a lady in her position should not have known, much less uttered. She’d risen from her chair and pointed at me with her ivory stick in such a way as to make me thankful it was only a stick and not a pistol. I held against this tide of ill feeling well enough, but Oliver had gone quite pasty. It was difficult to tell whether he was more upset by my revelation or by seeing his mother in such an extreme choleric state. Elizabeth backed out of the way and watched me with openmouthed astonishment, but by God I’d had enough of this sly and festering falsehood. It was time to put an end to it.
When Aunt Fonteyn ran out of breath, I seized the opening and continued, doing a fair imitation of a man bored with the topic. “Of course you’re aware that my poor mother has been under a doctor’s direct care for several years now. She’s often in a deluded state because of the laudanum she takes, and so is hardly responsible for herself or anything she says or thinks or imagines. She has suffered from this sickening fancy for some time. We’re all used to it and ignore it entirely.”
“Be quiet!” roared my aunt.
“I speak only the truth,” I said, full of offended dignity.
“You! All of you out of here!” she bellowed at the servants. Their scrambling escape back to the hall was most comical, but none of us smiled. The door slammed shut, but I had confidence that their ears were glued fast to the cracks and keyhole.
“You know, Oliver,” I went on in a carrying tone, “this display conv
inces me that your poor mother may also suffer from the same complaint as mine. She seems quite out of her mind.”
Oliver visibly flinched and could not yet speak, but Aunt Fonteyn did. Her voice turned low and murderous.
“You vicious young bastard. Lie all you wish, slander how you like, but I know the truth of things. You and your sister are an unnatural pair and will rot in hell for what you’ve done—”
“Which is exactly nothing, woman!” I bellowed, patience finally broken. “I know not where Mother got such a ludicrous idea, but surely you’re too intelligent to believe her nonsense.”
She wasn’t listening. “I opened my hearth to you, and here is my repayment. I’ll have the both of you arrested and whipped in the stocks for—”
“Oh, yes, by all means do that. I’m sure the display will make a favorable impression on your many dear friends.”
And there it was, my killing thrust right into the great weakness she shared with Mother. I had the supreme satisfaction of seeing Aunt Fonteyn snap that foul mouth of hers fast shut. Though it was impossible to judge her color under the paint, it must have been dark indeed. Had I pushed too far? Her eyes looked quite mad. If she dropped from a burst blood vessel I would not have been surprised.
Then, even as I watched, the hot madness changed to icy hatred with an alacrity that eerily reminded me of Mother’s abrupt and alarming changes of mood.
“You,” she whispered in a voice that raised my hackles, “are no longer a part of this family. You are dead, the two of you! And like the dead you forfeit all right to your inheritance. You can pander in the street for your bread and your whore-sister with you. I’ll see you both cast out.”
“No.” If she was icy, then I was glacial. “You. Will. Not.”
From some faraway place I heard Elizabeth murmur my name, warningly.
I had no mind for her, only for the hideous creature before me. I dared not spare the attention. All was in balance within me between anger and sense. Lean too far in the wrong direction . . . .
Aunt Fonteyn blinked rapidly several times. She seemed short of breath or had somehow forgotten to breathe. A sharp pain started up behind my eyes, but I ignored it.
“You will not,” I carefully repeated. “You will do nothing. This matter ends here and now. No more will ever be said of it. No changes of any kind will be made about our money. No more accusations will be raised ever again. That lie is dead. Do you understand?”
She made no reply, but I saw the answer I wanted. I also saw, once I released her from my influence, a look in her flat eyes that I should have anticipated, but got a wrenching turn from all the same.
She was afraid.
Of me.
We were fixed fast in a moment of mutual realization: she as the understanding dawned that she was no longer the unchallenged head of the family, and I in the discovery of yet another depth and use of my unnatural talents. It was heady, for I could have easily ordered her down from her throne and taken it for myself or generously presented it to Oliver.
Who would likely have less use for it than myself. Leave the poisonous spider to her tattered web and walk away.
Then the moment passed and she recovered herself and swiftly concealed this glimpse of her frailty. Too late. It had been revealed. She could never take it back again and well did she know it. Not that I was proud of having engendered the feeling in her, but I couldn’t help but think that she was more than deserving, the hateful old crow. She would despise me all the more for my knowledge, too, but I cared not.
“Jonathan.” Elizabeth was at my side, touching my arm. There was more to this than merely standing up to a bully; she’d known exactly what I’d just done. But I did not care, satisfied no further grief would trouble us.
“It’s all right,” I murmured. “It’s all over. We’re leaving.”
Aunt Fonteyn managed one last rally. “Never to return as long as I live.”
As a threat it was pathetically wanting in power. As a parting salvo it was empty of injury. If I never saw the inside of this dungeon and its guardian dragon again, it would be too soon.
“Oliver,” she snarled. “Take these two unclean beasts out of this house. Immediately. They are no longer a part of this family.”
Oliver made no move to obey. He was pale as fog and looked about as substantial, but he did not so much as shift one foot.
“Do it, boy! Are you deaf?”
“No,” he said, and there was enough force in his reply to suffice as an answer for both questions.
She turned full upon him and in an instant absorbed the fact that the mutiny had spread. “What?”
“How dare you, Mother? My cousins are good and honorable people, how dare you say such horrid things about them?”
But she wasn’t about to revive that topic. My influence upon her was yet fresh. She instead seized upon his defiance. “Do you know what you say?”
“Yes, and it’s past time that I said it. So far past time that there’s too much inside for me to get it all out. I could burst from it. You horrify me and make me ashamed I’m your son, but no more. I’m going with them, and I won’t be back either.”
He started for the door.
“Oliver!”
And kept going.
“Oliver!” But there was no hint of anguish or regret in her, only rage for his rebellion. Elizabeth and I hurried to follow him. I closed the door behind us, shutting Aunt Fonteyn off in mid-roar.
The servants who had been listening were in the process of vanishing, except for the footman who had let us in. I told him to fetch our things, which he did, moving with gratifying speed, his face as white as Oliver’s. There would be the devil’s own hell to pay in this house for who knows how long because of what had just passed.
“Well, that’s torn it,” Oliver gasped. He began shivering from head to toe.
“You can apologize when she’s in a cooler mind,” I said. “There’s no reason for you to cut yourself off from family just because I—”
“Apologize? I’ll be damned before I apologize to that night hag. My God, the years and years I’ve put up with . . . . Well, it’s beyond endurance and no more of it for me.” He shrugged into his cloak, arms jerking every which way. “Family? The two of you are all the family I need or want! By God, you’ve both shown her up for what she is and I’ll be damned if I’ll stomach any more of her ravings.”
“Then I’m glad for you and proud of you,” said Elizabeth, pulling the hood of her wrap over her head. She muddled her gloves, pulling the left one onto her right hand. “Let’s get away from this cursed pile of old bones.”
“Yes!” he agreed, his voice rather high and strained.
The footman rushed ahead and threw wide the big double doors of the main entrance. Elizabeth moved past me into the winter night, then Oliver, both of them in a great hurry, for which I could not blame them. Glancing back at the parlor door, I almost expected Aunt Fonteyn to emerge and renew her attack, but happily she did not.
The footman trotted off to fetch the coach, for which action he was probably placing himself at risk. I would not put it past my aunt to discharge him and the driver for assisting us, sell the horses to the knackers, then burn the coach.
I began to tremble as well. Reaction, of course. I had naught to fear. I hoped.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked me.
“What have I done?”
“Exactly what was needed and in exactly the right way.”
“But if I was wrong?”
“That’s impossible or I would not feel so well off.”
“Nor I,” Oliver put in. “I feel like an anvil’s been lifted from my head. By God, I should have done this years ago. By God, by God . . . .”
And then it caught up with him. His mouth shut and his face twisted. He bent forward suddenly once, twice, as though in
sudden agony, his skin gone green.
“Oh, hell,” he wheezed. Then he sightlessly staggered a few yards away and emptied his belly upon the snowy ground.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The ride back to Oliver’s home was notable for its atmosphere of barely restrained hysteria. We were each absurdly pleased with the outcome of our harrowing audience, each laughing as we recalled who said what and repeating the better points to one another, but with something of an air of doom hanging overhead. This was no petty family quarrel but a catastrophic and permanent rift, and we were well aware of it despite the shrill giddiness presently buoying up our hearts. Certainly the right actions had been taken, but even with my influence to assure our future incomes would continue, there was no telling what other repercussions might be pending.
By the time we’d left the coach and mounted the steps into the house, a certain amount of sobriety had begun to manifest itself. My cousin wasted no time in dealing with it and made straight for the parlor cupboard where he kept his wine and spirits. He fumbled badly with his keys, though, his hands still a-tremble.
“Let me,” I said, stepping in.
He relinquished them; I found the right one and used it. Wine was for celebrations, but brandy was useful for reflection as well as for its medicinal qualities. I grabbed a decanter and two glasses. Knowing their respective capacities, I poured out four times as much for Oliver as for Elizabeth. Neither said a word until both finished their portions. Elizabeth, not having much of a head for the stuff at the best of times, succumbed and sat in the nearest chair, complaining that her legs felt too weak to hold her.
Jericho walked in just then. With a lifetime of finely honed perception behind him, he instantly saw that we’d survived a mighty battle and withdrew again. Not for long, I thought, and was proved right when the scullery girl appeared and began to swiftly stoke up the fire and light more candles, acting the part of the maid we did not yet have. Apparently Jericho had instructed her in the finer points of dealing with the gentry, for she said not a word, though her expression was eloquent, filled as it was with excited curiosity. Things were happening.
