Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire

by P. N. Elrod

  “He’s your living image,” Oliver said under his breath.

  “In miniature,” said Elizabeth in the same hushed tone. “Oh, he’s beautiful, Jonathan.”

  As though I could take much credit for the boy All I’d done was provide seed for his mother to conceive him. Despite the hasty and imprudent circumstances of that illicit joining, I had to admit that the results were astonishing.

  Mrs. Howard urged him forward. “Richard, this is your Cousin Oliver. Remember how you were taught to greet people?”

  Mouth pursed in concentration, Richard nodded and made a deep bow, hand to the waist of his petticoats. “At your service, sir,” he said, the seriousness of his manner making an appealing contrast to his light, piping voice.

  “And yours, young master,” Oliver gravely responded.

  “Oliver’s the head of the family now, did you know that?” Mrs. Howard asked of the boy.

  Whatever it might mean to Richard, he decided that another bow was in order and so executed one in good form. This time Oliver returned it with a dignified nod of his head, but he was struggling hard not to smile.

  Mrs. Howard turned the boy slightly to face his second visitor. “And this is your pretty Cousin Elizabeth.”

  “How do you do, Cousin Richard?” Elizabeth asked. She was positively quivering from inner excitement. Above all the others I could hear her heart pattering away as she extended her hand toward him. He bowed deeply over it, grand as a young prince at court.

  “Very well, thank you.” There seemed to be a hint of guarded interest in his eyes for her.

  “How old are you?”

  “I am four, and next year I shall be five. How old are you?”

  This brought forth an admonishment from Mrs. Howard that that was not a proper question for a gentleman to ask a lady. He then inquired why it was so.

  “We’ll discuss it later. Now you must greet Miss Elizabeth’s brother. This is your Cousin Jonathan, and he’s come all the way from America to meet you.”

  Reminded of his social duty, Richard bowed and I returned it. Doubtless our respective dancing masters would have been well pleased.

  “What’s ’Merica?” he demanded, looking me right in the eye.

  “It’s a land very far from here,” I told him.

  “Is it farther than Lon’on?”

  “Oh, yes. Very much farther. Right across the ocean.”

  “What ocean? I can tell them all to you, the ’Lantic, the Pacific, the Ind’n. . . .”

  “Stop showing off, Richard,” said Mrs. Howard.

  He subsided, pouting at the interruption of his recitation.

  “You’re well up on your geography, aren’t you?” I asked

  He nodded.

  “Do you know your letters and numbers, too?”

  Another nod.

  “Mr. Fonteyn is most particular that the boys have their lessons early and regular.” Mrs. Howard had not referred to Edmond Fonteyn as Richard’s father, I noted, wondering if that was a conscious effort on her part.

  “Boys? Oh, yes. Richard’s older brother.” I recalled Clarinda mentioning him, but not his name.

  “Away at school, bless his heart. And then this one will be off himself in a few short years. They grow up much too fast for me.”

  I vaguely agreed with her and found myself first staring at Richard, then trying hard not to stare. Shifting from one foot to the other, I experienced the uncomfortable realization that I’d run out of things to say to him.

  Elizabeth came to my rescue with a gentle tap on the package I held in one arm and had quite forgotten. I shot her a look of gratitude and knelt to be at a better level with Richard.

  “Do you like presents?” I asked him. “If you do, then this one is yours.”

  From his reaction as he took the package, I gathered that he very much liked presents. The string baffled him a moment, but Mrs. Howard’s sewing scissors removed it as an obstacle. A few seconds of frenzied action accomplished the release of his prize from the wrappings, and he crowed and held up a truly magnificent horse for all to see. Shiny black with a brightly painted saddle and bridle, it was lifelike, carved in a noble pose with an arched neck and tail.

  “By George,” said Oliver, “if it doesn’t look like that great beast you brought over with you.”

  Elizabeth beamed. “That’s the reason why I picked that one over the others in the shop. It reminded me of Rolly.”

  “You’re brilliant,” I told her.

  “Aren’t I just?”

  “Who’s Rolly?” asked Richard, his bright gaze momentarily shifting toward us.

  “Rolly’s my own horse,” I said. “He’s a big black one with some white on his face just like the one you have there. I’ll. . . I’ll give you a ride on him some day, if you like.”

  “Yes, please!”

  “Not so loud,” Mrs. Howard cautioned. “A gentleman never raises his voice to another, you know”

  “Yes, please,” he repeated in a much lower pitch.

  “And what do we say when we get a gift?”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome, I’m sure,” I said, feeling shaky inside because I liked this far too much. ’Fore God, what am I getting myself into?

  Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Richard darted away and began playing with his new toy, strutting back and forth through the room as though practicing the art of dressage. He provided a variety of horse noises to go with his imagined exhibition, from whinnies to the clip-clop of hooves.

  “A success,” Elizabeth observed, leaning toward my ear.

  “To you goes the credit, if not the thanks.”

  “I got my thanks when I saw the look on your face.”

  “Don’t you mean his?”

  “I mean yours while he opened it up. You looked ready to burst.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Do you not?”

  Oliver, not to be excluded, got Richard to pause long enough in his parade to ask if he liked chocolate.

  “Yes, please!” he bellowed, drawing Mrs. Howard’s mild reproof again.

  “Well, let’s see what I have in my pocket,” Oliver said, digging deep. “Here we are—I think. Yes, there it is.” He produced a fat twist of paper, collecting a thanks from Richard, who carried off this second prize to enjoy on his own in a far corner of the room.

  “You’re not to be spoiling him, Mr. Oliver,” Mrs. Howard said, hands on her hips.

  “Just this once won’t hurt.”

  “Only this once. More than that and I don’t care how big you are, I’ll put you over my knee just like I used to years ago.”

  “No doubt. Then I shall consider myself warned off. Does that rule against spoiling infants apply to Jonathan and Elizabeth, too?”

  He had her there, and knew it, though she continued to favor him with an arch gaze.

  “Of course, we won’t presume to infringe on what you deem to be best for the boy, Mrs. Howard,” Elizabeth promised. But I knew my sister and had seen that particular look on her face many times before. Richard was going to reap a bountiful crop of gifts from his aunt in the future.

  “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” By her tone, I gathered that Nanny Howard was not for one moment fooled, either. “Well, custom says that first meetings should be brief and polite, and it’s past his bedtime. . . . ”

  “I don’t want to go to bed,” Richard announced. Chocolate smeared the lower part of his face and coated his fingers. Mrs. Howard swooped on him, pulling a handkerchief from her apron pocket. There followed a short struggle as she cleaned away the worst before the stains wandered to his pinafore. She must have dressed him in his best for the occasion, so her anxiety to spare his garment from damage was understandable. It reminded me of my own tribulations in the nursery
and how glad I’d been to forsake my child’s petticoats for my first suit of boy’s clothing. He was at least two years away from that glorious rite of passage. I wondered if he’d lie awake nearly all night as I’d done, too excited with anticipation to sleep.

  “You seem pensive, little brother.”

  “Oh, not a bit of it. Just watching.”

  Duty done, Mrs. Howard invited Richard to bid us good night. He did so with notable hesitation, but I thought it had less to do with parting from our company than with a natural reluctance to give up the day and go to sleep. Mrs. Howard took him in hand and led him off to the next room. They’d just reached the door when with a cry he broke away from her and darted over to where he’d left his toy horse. He seized it strongly in both hands, hugging it to his body, and marched back.

  Then he paused, turned and looked me right in the eye as before, and flashed me the devil’s own grin.

  Then he was gone.

  My mouth had popped open. What breath I had within simply left, as if it had other business to attend. I stood as dumbfounded as one can be and still have consciousness, though there was little enough evidence of that in my frozen brain. I was dimly aware of Elizabeth exclaiming words of approval to Oliver and his own reply, but blast me if I was able to discern anything of their speech.

  I felt light and heavy at the same time, and if my heart no longer beat, then surely it gave a mighty lurch when that exquisite child smiled at me so. My sight misted over. I blinked to clear it, wondering what on earth was the matter with me.

  And then I knew, as clearly and as brightly as though lighted up by a thousand candles. I knew in that moment that I loved the boy. My child. My son.

  Just like that.

  “Jonathan?” Elizabeth pressed a hand on my arm. “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head at her foolishness. And at my own foolishness. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.”

  * * *

  “Come on, Elizabeth, you must have something to celebrate meeting your nephew,” said Oliver. “Since Jonathan can’t join in, you’ll have to make up for his place in a toast.”

  “I should be delighted to try, but if you give me anything stronger than barley water or better yet, some tea, I shall fall asleep here and now.”

  “Asleep! After all that?”

  “Especially after all that.”

  We’d returned to Oliver’s drawing room to find the fire in need of revival. Eschewing the employment of a servant, Oliver set himself to the task, being full of considerable energy and needing to work it off. He did ring for someone to bring in some form of refreshment, though. He chose port for himself and dutifully ordered a pot of tea for Elizabeth.

  “You’ll be awash with this later when dinner’s done,” he warned her after a maid had come and gone leaving behind a loaded tray.

  “I’m tempted to avoid dinner altogether and have something sent to my room,” she said, pouncing on the teapot like a she-cat on a mouse.

  “What? Leaving me to face the remaining crowd on my own?”

  “Hardly a crowd, Oliver. There’s just a few elderly aunts and uncles left, after all.”

  “And the lot of ’em starin’ at me the whole time like a flock of gouty crows. Don’t you think they aren’t interested in the goings-on last night, because they are. I managed to keep out of their way so far, but there’ll be no escaping them at dinner.” He shuddered, pouring himself a generous glass of the port, then downing the greater part of it.

  Elizabeth was not without pity. “Very well, for your sake I’ll play hostess and talk about the weather should anyone ask you an embarrassing question.”

  “Thank you, dear Coz. The weather! Excellent topic! There’s nothing they like better than to discuss how bad it’s been and how much better it was when they were younger. We’ll give ’em a real debate on it. Well, that’s all solved. Now, about young Richard. . . .”

  “What about him?”

  “I was only going to say what a fine lad he seems to be. What about you, Jonathan? We’ve not heard a peep from you since we came down.”

  Both looked at me, but I had nothing to say. I was so full of feeling that words seemed pointless.

  “I think my brother is still in the thrall of shock,” Elizabeth observed. Smiling, I shrugged in a way to indicate that she was more than a little correct.

  Oliver’s face blossomed with sudden anxiety. “You don’t dislike him, do you?”

  My sister answered for me. “Of course he doesn’t, that’s why he’s in such shock. Give him time to get used to the idea, then you’ll hear him talking about nothing else.”

  I shrugged again, adding a sheepish smile.

  Oliver raised his glass, saw it was nearly empty and filled it again. “Then here’s to the very good health of my cousin Jonathan and his son Richard.”

  Elizabeth raised her teacup and joined him in the toast. I spread my hands and bobbed my head once, modestly accepting the honor. I was yet unable to offer coherent conversation and quietly eased into a comfortable chair near the fire. They occupied themselves with their own talk about Richard, not excluding me so much as allowing me time for my own reflections and speculations. I folded my hands and watched the flames, content with the world and my lot of it in particular.

  “Heavens!” Elizabeth hastily set down her cup and gestured sharply at the mantel clock. “See the time—I’ll be late for dinner if I don’t go now and dress for it. You, too, Oliver, unless you want to pique family curiosity even more about what you’ve been doing today.”

  “No,” he said, sighing deeply. “Can’t have that, though it’s bound to be a rotten tribulation. Jonathan’s the lucky one, he can do whatever he likes while we sit chained to the table for the next few hours.”

  “Or at least until the ladies take their leave,” she reminded him. “Then you and the other men can get as drunk as you please while I drown in tea.” Custom held that all ladies had to eventually retire from the table for their tea or coffee until it was time for the gentlemen to rejoin them for the serving of dessert.

  “Well, I did warn you. Tell you what, I’ll see if Radcliff will sneak some brandy into the teapots for you. That should help you pass the time more merrily.”

  “Dearest Oliver, it’s a wonderful idea, but we ladies have already long made a practice of it.”

  “Have you, by God! First time I’ve heard of it. Perhaps I should forsake keeping company with the gentlemen and fall in with your troop.”

  “Cleave to your duty,” she advised. “Except for me there’s not a woman left in the house that’s under sixty. You’d be bored to death in five minutes, for that’s ever been my fate. Now I really must go.” So saying, she swept out, skirts swinging wide and bumping against the doorframe, and we heard her quick progress down the hall.

  “A damn fine girl, your sister,” said Oliver. “A pity she didn’t find a man worthy of her.”

  “She probably will, given time and inclination,” I murmured. “But whoever she may settle on will have to behave himself with the two of us as her guardians.”

  He laughed. “Now, isn’t that heaven’s honest truth, especially with your talents. Tell me, though, if it’s not too impertinent, why did you not question that Norwood fellow first before she married him just to be sure about him?”

  What a sore wound it was he’d struck. I actually winced. Oliver started to withdraw the question, but I waved him down. “No, it’s all right. All I can say is that at the time it seemed an ungodly intrusion. She was so in love with him that I hesitated to tamper with her happiness. As it turned out, my hesitation damned near got her killed. Be assured, I will not make the same mistake again. Should she seriously take up with another suitor I’ll be able to tell soon enough if he’s a right one or a rogue.”

  “Now there’s a good idea for an occupation.”

  “Hmm?�
��

  “It just occurred to me that since you can’t practice law because of your condition, you could busy yourself as some sort of inspector of marriage proposals. The ladies could come to you to have you ferret out the truth about their gentlemen prior to committing marriage. That way they can find out the worst before it’s too late.”

  “The gentlemen might also be interested in such a service,” I pointed out.

  “True . . . then it’s an idea best forgotten. If engaged couples knew all there was to know awaiting them, then none would marry, and humanity would die out for want of progeny. Unless they do what you’ve done and father a child by—er—ah—that is to say—well, no offense.”

  “None taken. Get on with you, Cousin, and ready yourself for dinner. You wouldn’t want to leave Elizabeth alone with the crows, would you?”

  “No. But given a choice I’d prefer to leave the crows alone with themselves, then they could feed on each other and soon disappear altogether.”

  “Dreamer,” I called to his back as he left to prepare himself for the endeavor to come.

  Alone and comfortably settled before the revived fire, I let forth a satisfied sigh. Now could I give in to my own dreams for a little time. Not the bad ones I’d endured for a brief interval early that morning, but the light and fanciful ones that possess a man so filled with good feeling that it overflows his heart and makes the very air about him seem to hum from it.

  I’d met my son, and all was well.

  The trepidation and apprehensions had fled. I was so encompassed with warmth for the boy that it seemed impossible I’d ever been worried at all. Whatever problems the future might hold would solve themselves, of that I had no doubt.

  There was much work ahead, of course, but it would be easy labor. Facing down the disapproval of the family, dealing with the scandal of the boy’s conception, dealing with Edmond, even dealing with Clarinda, tribulations all, to be sure, but not terribly important so long as I could spend time with Richard. I could hardly wait to see his face again, to see it glow with another smile like—