Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (140 page)

“The bucket came up with him and was full of water. When I cut him free of the rope the damned thing tipped and slopped it all over me, then fell back into the well.” I left it to their imaginations to work out just how that kind of clumsiness could have possibly happened. “You’ll want a replacement.”

“God bless you, sir, as if we cared about an old bucket,” said Mrs. Kellway, wiping tears from her eyes before bellowing at a distracted scullery boy to keep heaping wood on the fire.

Indeed, but I wanted to account for everything. They might suspect me of being in on the foul deed, after all.

While Mrs. Kellway gently dabbed salve on Edmond’s head wound and bandaged it, I learned from them that Summerhill, Tyne and two men dressed like sailors had suddenly appeared in the house, brandishing pistols, then smartly locked everyone up. Not long afterward the coachman and a groom were also forced into the pantry, bearing the news their master had arrived home, but not knowing what had happened to him after their own capture. All waited in vain for him to either rescue them or join them, taking turns to listen, but hearing nothing until my noisy entrance.

No one knew how the men had gotten in, but after a quick head count by the butler, a missing footman was promptly declared to be the traitor who had likely given entry to the intruders. An enthusiastic round of invective aimed at the fellow started up, with each declaring him to have ever been an untrustworthy rogue and listing his bad points, slights they’d suffered from him and various other character flaws. So many piled up in such a short time I wryly wondered how the man had ever been employed here in the first place.

Under Kellway’s ministrations, Edmond looked a bit less blue than before, but remained unconscious. Having myself been through a similar experience of nearly freezing, I told them to start massaging his limbs and cover him with hot, wet linens, replacing them as they cooled. People were sent off to fetch more water for heating and to find the household’s bathtub. I meant to have him fully immersed in steaming hot water, but that good intention was dashed when a boy hefted the unwieldy thing in. It was not much more than a wildly overgrown tin punch bowl a half-foot deep. The bather was to sit or stand in the thing and have water poured over him, I supposed. Oh, for the soothing delights of Mandy Winkle’s house.

“But hasn’t he had enough water already, sir?” asked a dubious Mrs. Kellway, when I explained my disappointment at the limits of their “tub.”

“As long as the stuff was good and hot this time. It would have warmed him over.” Then I recalled what Oliver said of people believing anything about my birthplace. “It’s something I learned in America. We know all there is to know on this sort of thing.”

It worked a charm on her, and thus enlightened, she gave a sage nod of agreement.

Oliver. I’d have to return to Fonteyn House and tell him and Elizabeth about this latest disaster. Clarinda’s mischief was not over yet; we’d have to be doubly on our guard. Edmond needed a doctor anyway, and Oliver was nearest.

I raked my bedraggled hair back with my fingers, retying it with a damp ribbon. Now that work had calmed them, some of Edmond’s people found time to stare at my revealed features. My sharp ears plucked Richard’s name out of a medley of whispered comments. So, Edmond had not seen fit to confide family secrets to them. I didn’t think that was even possible, but he’d apparently managed. Would this weaken my position of assumed authority with them? Might they not think I was somehow allied with Clarinda since I’d so obviously once been her lover? Better to leave quickly before I found out.

Then Edmond stirred and gave a thick, water-choked cough, distracting us. I pushed in close just in time to see his eyes open.

“Thank God!” cried Mrs. Kellway, saying it for everyone.

He had a stark staring cast to his expression. Understandable; then I had a swift flash of perception and told them to gather as many candles as they could find.

“Sir?” questioned a hesitating butler.

“He’s been in the very heart of hell, man, give him light for pity’s sake.”

My urgency and insight got through, and soon the kitchen was brighter than a ballroom. Whether it was a help to Edmond or not was hard to tell, but it could do him no harm. When his eyes looked a bit less feral, I pressed a cup of brandy to his lips. He took that down easily enough, which was most encouraging.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” I asked him. “Just nod, no need to speak yet.”

He did nod, but ignored the rest. “That bastard Tyne. Where?”

“He got away—for now.”

“Clarinda?”

“She went with him. I think they’re going to try getting away by ship.” And would do so unless I got moving myself and arranged to cut them and Summerhill off.

“Riddance,” he sighed out. “Good. . . riddance.”

By that I could assume Edmond wanted no more to do with her, but it was out of his hands. I had my own special plans for his wife and her charming friends. Half-formed, but doubtless when I caught up with them the other half would be fully matured.

“Tyne shot at me,” Edmond said, responding to Kellway’s question of how he got in the well. “Dismissed the coach. Alone at the front. He and others came up. Tried to shoot him. Saw his pistol go off. Couldn’t hear either of ’em. Strange. Thought someone hit me from the side.” He gingerly touched his head and encountered the bandages.

“Just a graze by God’s good will,” I said, pulling his hand away “Leave it for now until a doctor can see it. Do you recall aught else?”

His eyes shut a moment, then snapped open, focusing on the nearest of the candles. “Blackness. Cold. Water. Thought I’d been killed. Hard to breathe. So cold. Woke me a bit. Heard you next to me, jabbering on. Wanted to box you sharp and shut you up, but I couldn’t move.”

“That was after you were out of the well,” I said carefully, hoping he’d accept it. “You got things jumbled.”

“The
well
?” He tried to sit up, but the feeble state of his body won out over his disposition. “I was in the well?”

“It’s a miracle, sir,” pronounced Mrs. Kellway. “The good God and his angels took your part tonight and saved you, and that’s a fact. If Mr. Barrett hadn’t been there to pull you out we’d be praying for your soul’s rest now instead of for your recovery.”

He fastened his dark glower on me, still trying to take it in, I suppose. “How?” he demanded.

I shrugged. “You did the real work tying the rope around yourself.”

“But I didn’t—
you
were there . . . I know you—”

“And you damned near broke the winch with your weight,” I pressed, not giving him a chance to continue. “I’d have had an easier task of it if you were built less like Hercules and more like Mercury. Next time you fall in a well I’ll leave you there and spare myself a strained back.”

I’d hoped a brusque manner would put him off and counted upon raising a snarl from him at least. Instead, he gave me a long, hard look. I’d have been worried, but his eyes cloudy. He put a hand on my arm and squeezed once with a bare ghost of his usual strength.

“Thank you,” he whispered, then fell into a doze.

I expected to be hanged there and then by the staff, but Mrs. Kellway only dabbed at her face again and gazed at me with the sort of unaccountable fondness usually reserved for favorite children and small dogs. “Bless you, sir, for saying
just
the right thing.”

“But I—oh, never mind.” I stood, nearly tripping on my blanket. “Blast it. I need to borrow proper clothes. I’m sure my cousin won’t mind if I raided his cupboard.”

“But, sir, you’re in no fit state to be—

“I’m quite recuperated, thank you, and someone has to go for a doctor. My horse is out front and saddled, so if you please. . . .” I’d put on a firm unarguable manner, asserting my place again after the previous near-familiarity, and it worked, at least in this household. Jericho would have offered considerably more resistance—and have probably won.

Dry garments from Edmond’s wardrobe were found, all rather large, of course, and I had to wear my own damp riding boots, but none of it was of concern to me. My cousin needed help, and Oliver was but a few miles down the road.

I sent one of the stablemen to find Rolly, absentmindedly omitting to explain why I’d left my horse that far from the house. Donning my reclaimed cloak and hat (both found on the stair landing) I was ready to rush outside before anyone else decided to ply me with questions best left unanswered, when a commotion at the front door halted my progress.

To my surprise, Oliver strode forcefully in past a protesting maid, looked quickly around and spied me. Had Elizabeth gotten impatient for news and sent him? No, that couldn’t have been it.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” I asked, not bothering to check my utter bewilderment. But even as the words came out I grasped that something was dreadfully amiss. My otherwise cheerful cousin wore an awful expression and visibly trembled from head to toe. “What is it? Is Elizabeth—?”

Oliver bit his lip and gave a violent shake of his head. His hands were clenched into quivering fists, and he looked ready to burst from inner agitation.

“Th—they got into the house,” he finally said in a voice, a terrible broken voice I’d never heard him use before.

My belly turned to water. I did not have to ask who “they” were. “Held pistols on us. Took him away. You must come.”

“Took who?” But in my heart I
knew.

“Oh, Jonathan.” Tears started from his eyes. “They’ve kidnapped Richard.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“They
won’t
hurt him,” Elizabeth told me. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“That bitch would dare anything,” I whispered, staring past her at nothing but my own rage blasting against the confining walls of the room. I couldn’t risk looking at her in this state. Too dangerous.

“She’d never endanger her chance of collecting the money for him. You have to believe that of her if nothing else.”

Yes, it was one thing we could trust about Clarinda: her avarice. But if she was capable of holding her own son for ransom, might she also get rid of him the moment he became useless? Or if once she had her money would she give him up? Not because she held any maternal affection, but to make him a continual source of spoils from the family coffers. How was he being treated? Like my anger, my anguished uncertainty was bottomless.

Oliver came into the blue parlor from his latest trip down to the front gates. I didn’t quite look at him either as he paused just inside the door, only swung my head part way in his direction, keeping my gaze from touching his. “No news yet,” he said in a subdued voice.

“We should have heard something by now,” I rumbled, glaring at the mantel clock. Useless thing. Last night Clarinda promised to communicate with us, but she’d not said
when.
Forced into hateful rest by the rising sun, I’d lain oblivious in the cellar through the whole helpless day and upon awakening was insensed near to madness to learn no word from her had come.

“It’s meant to make us more anxious,” Oliver added

And working all too well on me. I paced to the fireplace and back, too restless to sit. That wasn’t enough, though. Hardly aware of the act, I curled my hand into a fist and smashed it into the wall above the wainscoting. I pounded right through the paper and plaster and whatever lay beyond. Something wood, no doubt, to tell from the pain shooting up from my knuckles. I pulled free, scattering plaster dust mixed with the smell of my own blood. A quick vanishing and I was whole again, ready to do more damage.

“I say,” said Oliver, shaken. “I say—for God’s sake, Jonathan. . . .”

I understood now why Clarinda hadn’t been overly distressed at not finding Edmond’s money. With or without it, she’d planned all along to take Richard away; he was her surety of a clean and profitable escape. She’d made careful arrangements, indeed, and had smoothly carried them out with Summerhill’s help. Last night Clarinda and her friends forced themselves into Fonteyn House in much the same way Edmond’s home was invaded, with help from a turncoat.

In our case it had been one of the maids. The same one who had brought Richard’s milk. He’d fallen asleep so quickly because of the laudanum she’d put in it. A half-full phial of the stuff was discovered hidden under her bed. Thank God she’d not given him the lot, though what she’d done was harsh enough. I’d been right there
holding
him while it had done its work. I should have sensed something was wrong. I should have
known.

At about seven of the clock, apparently in accordance with instructions from Clarinda, the traitorous maid then snuck out to the front gate to distract the guards there from their duties. So successful was she in her mock flirtations that Summerhill and two of his sailors had the easy advantage of them, knocking them senseless. Then the whole party came rolling onto the grounds in Edmond’s carriage. They halted far enough from the house so its noise would not be marked, and went in through a door the maid had left unlocked for them.

Summerhill and his men kept everyone in place at pistol point while Clarinda rushed upstairs to fetch the sleeping Richard out of his nursery bed. Mrs. Howard had pleaded and finally screamed at her to desist. Clarinda knocked the tiny woman to the floor with one swipe of her hand. With Richard’s unconscious form wrapped in a blanket, she carried him down to face Elizabeth and Oliver.

“We’re going on a little trip,” she told them with a smile. “Not a long one, for children can be tiresome when traveling. You may have him back again afterwards if you like. I’ll let you know the price for him soon enough.”

“What do you want?” Elizabeth asked, her voice thin with fury. Oliver, though infuriated himself, had the presence of mind to hold tight to one of her arms to prevent her from charging into their midst and possibly getting shot.

Clarinda continued to smile unnervingly. “I judge this little man to be worth much more than ten thousand guineas to you, but that’s all I want for him. You have tomorrow to collect it together. When you’ve got it, tie a white rag to the front gate. Don’t do anything foolish like trying to follow us or calling in the magistrates or I promise you’ll not see your dear nephew again. This is a family matter. Keep it quiet and within these walls and everything will be well for him.”

When asked if she understood, Elizabeth nodded, giving Clarinda a look that should have burned a hole right through the woman’s skull. A pity that it had not.

The invaders, along with the maid, then backed their way from the house. Arthur Tyne had driven the coach up to the entry by then, and from his high perch covered the watching household with a pistol until Clarinda and the others were aboard. Summerhill climbed up with him to take the reins, and off they cantered.

Jericho, driven by anger and outrage into taking a chance, broke away from the house to follow the coach, avoiding the curving drive and making a straight-line shortcut through the grounds to reach the gates. Alas, he did not get there in time to close them and delay the party, but was at least able to report they’d turned south. Since Edmond’s house lay to the north and east, a rider could go there and fetch me back without putting Richard into additional danger. Oliver was mad to do it anyway, to find out how she’d escaped and if anyone had been hurt in the process. Thus when he arrived, he had his traveling medicine box with him, which was fortunate for poor Edmond.

Since then, Oliver had been kept busy running back and forth between Fonteyn Old Hall, Fonteyn House, and his bankers in London. The latter had been understandably curious about why he had need for such a tremendous amount of money, but turned it over to him all the same. Clarinda had calculated well; it was more than enough to set her up in royal style wherever she wanted, but not so much that it could not be readily collected together. As soon as he had it, Oliver sped home, pausing at the gates to rip away his neckcloth and tie it to the bars for the signal. Since then, Jericho and others of the household—including the now recovered and quite angry Mrs. Howard—spent the time in futile watch for any sign from Clarinda.

“I . . . I brought along help,” said Oliver.

“Who? Edmond? I thought he was still confined to bed.”

“And so he is.” Oliver now came in the room and stood aside. “This way, dear lady,” he said.

Nora swept in, arms stretching out to me, and my whole world turned right over.

We clung to each other without speaking, she giving comfort, me shamelessly taking it. I choked on some long held back tears, but she said everything would be all right, and that gentle reassurance was sufficient to keep me from breaking down. When I next looked up, I discovered Oliver and Elizabeth had tactfully departed, allowing us some privacy.

“Oliver told me all that’s happened,” she said. “I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“It’s a godsend just to have you here.’

“He’s worried about you. Said you were in quite a bad state last night.” She glanced at the hole I’d put through the wall. “It seems you still are.”

“The day’s rest took care of my body, but not the torments in my heart.”

“That’s how it’s ever been for me. I’ve seen wickedness, Jonathan, but nothing to measure to this. All that I have is at your service.”

“Bless you for it. Just looking at you gives me new hope. Between the two of us we have an army.” But an army held in abeyance, forced to near-unbearable waiting until word came from Clarinda. Damn the woman.

Seeming to sense my thoughts, Nora embraced me again, then asked if I was up to introducing her to Elizabeth.

“What?”

“Oliver just rushed me right in. I don’t want to be rude.”

There was more here than simple etiquette, I knew. She wanted to help and would begin by trying to distract me out of myself. A change of subject, a resumption of innocuous social obligations—perhaps then I wouldn’t feel the brutal, raging emptiness of guilt tearing my soul to bits. If only I’d anticipated . . . if only I’d hurried back sooner . . . if only I’d been more cautious. . . .

I glanced at my knuckles with their leftover smears of drying blood and dusting of plaster.
It’s better than beating at the walls, Johnny-boy.

Swallowing back the cloying self-pity and panic, I said, “God bless you, Nora,” then went to fetch my sister and cousin.

* * *

We assumed a defiant desperation, resolutely carrying on in a nearly normal manner against the strain of the situation. I say nearly, for we were drawn tighter than a fiddle string and like to snap at the least noise, real or imagined.

Because of this shared adversity, Nora forgot about any trepidations she’d confided to me earlier over meeting Elizabeth. Both ladies took to each other, but I’d expected as much, knowing them so well; still, it was heartening to see them getting on together.

Of all things, Oliver was the one who proved to be the most shy around Nora.

“Because of what she did, don’t you know,” he said, when I went aside to ask why he was holding his distance from the group. He touched his throat with nervous fingers. “I mean,
you
know. All this while a chap’s not even aware of it. Doesn’t seem quite right.”

“That’s why she stopped with you. Stopped a long time ago.”

“And made me forget it. Couldn’t have me carrying that sort of stuff around in my head and not expect me to mention it to someone sooner or later. She didn’t have much choice, did she, though? Notwithstanding, I feel rather peculiar about it.”

“You should talk to her, then.”

“Well—ah—well, I’m not so sure about trying
that
. Besides, she already apologized about it, y’see, when I went to fetch her over here. Bringing it up again might seem ill-mannered.”

“True. Then perhaps what you need is some ordinary converse to help you see there’s more to her than what you’ve experienced in the past. I will tell you it means a great deal to Nora that, knowing what you know, you’ve still extended a welcoming friendship to her.”

“Does it?”

“This condition isolates her dreadfully. I’ve been given to understand that she’s only ever rarely found people who accept it. She was thunderstruck when I told her how many knew about my change. For her to be drawn into a circle of friends where she is free to be herself and not have to lie or influence to avoid a fear-filled reaction is a great comfort to her soul.”

“Is it, by God?” He looked at her with new eyes. “But she seems so confident with herself.”

“That’s from years of practice.” I dared not guess how many years, nor did I share this thought with him. “Just be easy with her, Oliver, as you are with me, and be her friend. She’ll ask nothing more of you, I promise.” My gaze darted significantly to his neck and he went beet red.

“Uh—ah—well, of course. Be glad to do it, Coz. If you’re sure.”

“My word on it.”

Then I jerked my head around, as did Nora, being the first to hear. Elizabeth and Oliver froze to listen and perceived it for themselves: the sound of quick footsteps in the hall without.

Jericho had stationed himself by the front gate for much of the day, keeping watch with others for Clarinda’s promised message. Sweating and breathless from his run, he burst in holding a thin oilcloth packet in one hand. No need for him to say what it was; tied to it was a scrap of white cloth. We rushed him like thieves falling upon a treasure. This time I recognized Clarinda’s bold handwriting; it was addressed to Elizabeth, which seemed odd until I remembered that they thought me to be dead. With a great effort of will I gave it to her to open. I couldn’t have done it anyway, my hands shook too much.

She tore at it and unfolded the oilcloth. Inside was a single sheet of paper bearing but a few lines, which she read aloud:

“Come to the town of Brighthelmstone by this time tomorrow night. You’ll find the Bell to be a most agreeable place to lodge. Don’t forget to bring along your special gift.”

“No signature,” said Elizabeth. “And it’s vague enough to be no more than an innocent invitation. She’s not risking herself.”

“That’s fine for her,” grumbled Oliver. “Where the devil is Brighthelmstone?”

“A little seaside town about fifty miles south of London,” Nora told us. “I stopped there once years ago after a storm on a channel crossing drove our ship off course. I don’t remember much about it.”

“I’ll wager
they
know it well, especially that Summerhill rogue. Our going there will make it easy for them to make their own crossing once they get the money, unless they have us running off to some other place. Clarinda will lead us a merry dance before this is done.”