by P. N. Elrod
She staggered out under the combined weight of our cloaks and hats, taking them away to dry in the kitchen, nearly running into Jericho. He’d known we’d not be staying for supper at Fonteyn House and had prepared accordingly. Fresh bread, a cold fowl, several kinds of cheese, biscuits, and two teapots crowded the great tray he carried. He put it on a table, filled a teacup for Elizabeth and took it straight to her.
She sipped at the steaming brew and sighed gratefully. “Jonathan, you will triple Jericho’s wage as of this very moment.”
“Done,” I said.
Jericho paused, seeing that I was serious. “But, sir. . .” he began, taken aback. I’d made legal arrangements to wrest him from the bonds of slavery right after we’d moved from the inn, and he was still in the throes of adjusting to his newly bestowed freedom.
After this night, the same might be said for the rest of us.
“But nothing. My sister requests it and so it is done. ’Tis paltry pay for such imperial comfort.”
He gaped and nearly let the pot slip from his fingers before his customary dignity reasserted itself.
Oliver noticed our byplay, but added no light remarks as he might have done if things had been more normal. Instead, he paced in a distracted manner, pausing in each pass before the fire to warm himself.
“Tea, Dr. Oliver?” Jericho asked, reaching for another cup.
“Oh, ah, no, thank you. Need to settle myself first.” Oliver helped himself to another brandy. The glass clinked and rattled from the tremors running through his hands.
Jericho put the first pot down and picked up the second, raising a questioning eyebrow at me. Elizabeth apparently guessed its contents, but this time offered only a wry smile in reaction. After a glance at Oliver, I nodded. In his present state my cousin wouldn’t notice anything short of the roof falling on his head, but just to be safe Jericho obscured the pouring of my beverage by interposing his body.
“Bit of a risk, this,” I murmured as he presented the cup to me. The warm bloodsmell rising from it was sweet to my senses. I felt my upper corner teeth begin to lengthen in response.
“When you left tonight, you gave me to understand that the circumstances of your visit might be exceptionally difficult. With that in mind, I thought you might be in need of reviving afterward.”
“And I am grateful, just don’t make a habit of it.”
“Of course, sir.”
I downed it in one glowing draught and had another. Drinking from a cup did have its advantage over sucking directly from a vein, being more refined and cleaner, but I had reasonable fears against making frequent use of it. Though I could readily deal with discovery, it might not go so well for Jericho should someone notice him regularly drawing blood from our horses.
Elizabeth nibbled from the food she’d been given, assuring me that she was recovering from the business, but Oliver refused an offered plate and continued pacing nervously around, rubbing his hands together as though to warm them. Elizabeth’s gaze followed him for a time, then she looked at me. I raised one finger to my lips and winked to let her know all would be well.
“Oliver,” I said gently. “You’re making me dizzy with this walking about to no purpose. Let’s get out of here and take a little air.”
“But it’s freezing,” he said, not meeting my eye.
“Just the tonic we want to clear our heads.”
“What about Elizabeth? Can’t leave her alone with all that’s happened. Not right, that.”
“I am going up to bed, so don’t worry about me,” she said. “Jericho, can you trust Lottie to ready my room? Excellent. I’ll just finish this and be right up.”
“Well, if you’re sure. . .” Oliver said doubtfully.
“Wrap up against the chill,” she advised him with a careless wave from her chair as though nothing was amiss. It was a well-calculated attitude. Had she been standing she might have gone over to kiss his cheek, but that would have broken him down into tears. He did not need that sort of release just now.
Jericho quickly produced dry cloaks for us to don, and with hats in place and sticks in hand, I got us out the door before Oliver could change his mind.
“There’s such a thing as too much when it comes to tonics,” he remarked as the first blast of wind struck him. “Are you sure you want a walk on a night like this?”
“So long as it ends at a tavern,” I said.
“But I’ve plenty of drink inside.”
“It’s not the same. Much too quiet for one thing. Elizabeth enjoys it, but I need to see that there are other people in the world right now. Ordinary folk with kindly hearts and smiles.”
He grunted a reluctant agreement to that and let me lead him away.
The cold air woke him up and he offered directions as needed to get us to The Red Swan, which he said was one of the more superior establishments of its kind in the neighborhood. It was quite different from The Oak back in Glenbriar, being much louder, smokier and noisier. Oliver was evidently a favored patron, to judge from the boisterous greeting that was raised when we came in. Several garishly made-up women squealed their hellos, but did not forsake their perches on various male customers’ knees. That was another difference. The landlord of The Oak never allowed such women into his house . . . more’s the pity.
Oliver asked for a private room and got it, and though separate from the others, we were not completely isolated. The sounds of their current revel came right through the thin walls, letting us know we were most certainly not alone in the wide, lonely world.
Drinks were brought, as well as food, and an inquiry as to whether additional companionship might be desired. Oliver mumbled, “Later, perhaps,” and they shut the door on us.
“You and Elizabeth worked this out, didn’t you?” he asked, glowering at me but not in a serious manner.
“It seemed for the best,” I said, pouring more brandy for him. By the smell of it, it wasn’t of the same quality as his own, but doubtless its warmth would do him good.
“Without saying a single word?”
“We understand each other very well. It’s sometimes easier to speak to one friend at a time, rather than two at once. Also one man to another, without having to be concerned about a female’s sensibilities. Elizabeth knows that, so here we are.”
“And if I prefer to drink instead of talk?”
“Then I make sure you come home in one piece so you don’t disappoint your patients tomorrow.”
“Ugh. Tomorrow. How am I going to face it after this?”
“The same as any other day, but freer. You have regrets?”
“No, but be assured the story of what happened tonight at Fonteyn House will run through the town like the pox.”
“Idle gossip,” I murmured dismissively.
“Not with Mother doing the gossiping. She’ll present herself favorably, of course, and I shall be the villain, and what she’ll say about you and Elizabeth doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Your mother will say nothing.”
“Can you really be so sure?”
“I know it for a fact. Granted, there might be some talk of you two having a falling out, but there will be no ill rumors spread about myself and Elizabeth. Like it or not, we are still half Fonteyn and your mother would rather set fire to herself than endanger the good name of her precious father. Even the servants will keep mum if they know what’s good for them.”
Oliver finished his drink, coughed on it, then poured another from the bottle.
“It’s horrible. Absolutely horrible what she said. Absolutely horrible.”
I put my hand out, touching his arm. “Oliver.” Reluctantly he looked at me. “It’s not true.”
His lips trembled. “How can you think that I’d believe—”
“I know you don’t believe, but you are troubled, perhaps by a doubt no larger than a
pinprick. There’s no reason to be ashamed of it. God knows we all have a thousand doubts bubbling up in our minds about this and that every living moment we’re on this earth. It’s perfectly normal. All I want is to put this one to rest forever. You have my sacred word of honor as a Barrett to you as a Marling, that Elizabeth and I are brother and sister and nothing inappropriate has ever passed between us. We’ll leave the Fonteyn sisters and their vile delusions right out of it.” I gave his arm a quick, solid press and let go.
Oliver let his jaw hang open, then emitted a short, mirthless laugh. “Well, when you put it like that . . . I feel a fool for ever listening to the old witch.”
“More fool she for listening to my mother. I’m sorry for letting my temper take hold tonight, but to hear that disgusting lie again was too much for me. I just couldn’t help myself.”
“Yes, probably in the same way I can’t help myself when there’s a boil to be lanced. The patient may howl at the time, but it’s better done than ignored until it poisons his blood and kills him. No regrets, Cousin,” he said, raising his glass to toast me.
“None,” I responded and felt badly for not being able to return the honor, but Oliver seemed not to notice. I wondered if this might be the right time to confide to him about my changed condition.
Perhaps not. Later would suffice. He’d been through enough for one evening.
Putting his glass aside, he leaned forward across the table. “Those things you said about your mother, about the doctor and the laudanum. . . .
“All true. She goes into these raving fits, and Dr. Beldon and his sister are the only ones who can deal with her. The laudanum helps, but Beldon has to be sparing with it, lest there be permanent harm.”
“Sounds like he knows his business, then.”
“He’s a decent fellow, all told.”
“What’s your mother like when she’s in one of her fits?”
“About the way your mother was tonight but with less direction.”
“Good God.”
“The difference being that your mother knows what she’s doing when it comes to inflicting pain and mine does not. Hers is more of a thoughtless lashing out than a directed volley. I don’t think she takes enjoyment from hurting others as Aunt Fonteyn so clearly does, but she does like to win. There are no conversations with the woman, only pronouncements. What she says is law, and God help you if you disagree.
“Grandfather Fonteyn was the same way,” he said, hunching his shoulders as he leaned upon the table. “Certainly in observations I’ve made outside of my own family, I’ve seen how a nervous condition can be inherited. Let us pray to heaven that it spares us and our own children.”
“Amen to that,” I genially concurred.
Oliver’s face went twisty again and I hoped he would not be ill. “I . . . I don’t remember much about Grandfather, but he quite terrified me. I used to hide from him, and then Mother would make my nurse whip me for being disrespectful, but better that than having to see him.”
“Understandable. I’ve heard that he was a perfectly dreadful man.”
“But you don’t have the whole story. Mother was always a trial, but Grandfather . . . he always treated me like—like a special pet. He’d laugh and try to play with me, gave me sweets and toys. I remember that much.”
I found that difficult to believe from the tales told about him and said as much.
“I know. It makes no sense. It made no sense. There was something strangely wrong about it. Children have sharp instincts, like animals sometimes when it comes to surviving a harsh life. Whenever I was with him I felt like a rabbit in a lion’s den, and the lion was only playing with his supper: me. I never could fathom why until . . . until tonight.”
Something cold began to insinuate itself in my stomach. It oozed through my guts, sending a frigid hand up to squeeze my heart.
“You think . . . ?” I had trouble recognizing my own voice, it sounded faded and lost.
Oliver stared at the table. “I think that something must have prompted your mother’s accusation in the first place, something in her life. In her past that happened to her.”
My heart seemed to empty itself, making room for the welling coldness. It spread along my limbs, numbing everything, yet bringing pain.
“And in my mother’s life as well,” he added in a whisper. “Oh, dear God. Do you think it’s true?”
I nodded. “I fear so, for it explains much.”
“God. ’Tis sick-making.”
“I know,” I whispered.
It was one thing to have the horror of incest as an abstract and untrue accusation, but quite another to be forced to face it as a ghastly probability. I’d had more than a hint of knowledge of it from some things Mother had muttered once while in the throes of a bad dream. Since then I’d made myself try to forget her words. But now Oliver and I stared at each other across the table. I had no need of a mirror; I saw my own abject dismay reflected back from his haggard face.
“But they revere him,” I said, making a last futile protest.
“Too much, wouldn’t you think?”
“But why should they?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t say, but I’ve seen dogs crawl on their bellies to lick their masters’ boots after being kicked. Perhaps the same principle applies here in some way.”
“It’s abominable.”
“I could be wrong, but growing up I heard—overheard—things from the servants. Listened to some of the adults when they thought they were alone. Didn’t understand it then, but to look back on it, after this night’s work, it makes a deal of sense to me now.”
And to me. That time I’d sneaked into Mother’s room to influence her into never speaking ill to Father again. What she’d mumbled before she’d fully wakened . . . no wonder Oliver had thrown up. I felt like doing so myself.
“Makes you see things differently, doesn’t it?” he asked in a bitter tone.
That was true enough. It seemed to cast a disfiguring shadow upon all my past. Did Father know or suspect any of this? I couldn’t recall anything that might provide an answer. We had the kind of accord between us that would not allow for such secrets, no matter how ugly, but he might have been able to hide this one. His heart was such as to want to spare his children from ever carrying such a burden.
Oliver tentatively reached for the bottle again, then changed his mind, bringing his hands together. One grasping the other. Wringing away. He became conscious of it, then laid them palms-flat upon the table to stop.
“It’s not as though any of it were our fault, y’know,” I said. “It’s something that happened a long time ago. That doesn’t make it less of a tragedy, but it’s not our tragedy.”
He frowned at the backs of his hands for a time, then tapped his fingers against the stained wood. “I was hoping . . . .” He took in a great breath and released it as an equally great sigh. “I was hoping that you would talk sensibly to me about this. It’s so hard being the ass all the time.”
“You’re not an ass, for God’s sake.”
“Yes, I know that, but few other people know it as well. I count myself blessed that you’re one of ’em.”
“Oliver—”
“Oh, bother it, just let me say thank you.”
“All right.” I was a bit surprised and abashed.
He steadily met my eye. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.
That achieved, his hunched posture eased and a ghost of his more cheerful old manner showed itself. “And now, my dear Coz, I should very much like to get as drunk as a lord, if not more so.”
* * *
It was an excellent idea, as far as it went, but when one is an observer rather than a participant in a drinking bout, one quickly loses a direct interest in the proceedings. It had been the same at The Oak when I’d buy for all just to be sociable, then ha
ve to either pretend to imbibe or politely refuse to join them. The men there had gotten used to my eccentricity and never failed to frequently toast my health. The difficult part was watching them get louder and happier as the evening progressed, while I remained stone sober. I missed that lack of control, the guilty euphoria of doing something that was unquestionably bad for me, of surrendering myself to the heavy-limbed comfort of the bottle.
I’d done much swilling of spirits at Cambridge with my cousin and our cronies. It was a wonder we got any studying done. Some did not. I recalled one fellow who came up for his exams in medicine full flushed with brandy. The instructors questioning him well knew it, but they’d passed him when his clever reply to a difficult inquiry set them on their heads with laughter. Ever afterward I kept his name in mind as a fellow not to go to for any doctoring no matter how dire the need.
But putting that aside, when it came down to the present I had nothing to occupy me except to watch Oliver gradually slip into a wobbling good mood, his jokes becoming less coherent, his gestures wider and more clumsy.
“You should have some,” he said for the third time over. “Do y’ a world of good.”
“Another time, thank you.”
“Bother that, you’re just thinking about the need to get me home again, but there is no need, don’t y’know. Mr. Gully takes care of that, y’ see. Lots of room for us.”
“The landlord here?”
“The very one, only he’s a bit more ’n that, ’f y’noticed anything comin’ in.” Oliver gave a wink, a ponderous one employing his whole face.
“I noticed quite a bit coming in, but they all seemed to be busy.”
“Hmph, should be someone free by now. Whad’y’ say to a bit of sport?”
“I’d say that you were beyond such pursuits for the time being.”
“Me? I beg to differ on that point, Coz. ’N’ be more ’n’ pleased to prove it to you.
