Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (3 page)

“Yes, but she wanted to talk to you about Cambridge.”

“She told you about that nonsense?”

“In extraordinary detail. She seems to have decided how you’re to spend your next few years—down to the last minute.”

“How very thorough of her.”

“She’s in the kitchen with Mrs. Nooth planning meals, and I didn’t think you’d want to run into her.”

I took one of Elizabeth’s hands and solemnly bowed over it. “For that, dear sister, you have my undying gratitude, but I am famished and must eat. A fellow can hardly spend his life going about in fear of his own mother.”

“Ha! It’s not fear, only avoiding a disagreeable encounter.”

She was right. I didn’t want to face the woman on an empty belly; some alternative needed to be thought up, but not out here. The day had warmed a little, but Elizabeth’s hand was icy. “Let’s go inside, you’re freezing. Where’s your shawl?”

She shrugged, indifferent to the chill. “Upstairs someplace. You should be the one to talk; look at yourself, riding all morning without hat, coat, or even gloves. It will serve you right if you get the rheumatics, God forbid.”

I shrugged as well. The ailments of age were still far away for me. My morning’s ride was worth a spot of stiffness in the joints. We went in by the same side door I’d used to escape, and Elizabeth led me to the library. A good fire blazed there now, and abruptly forgetting our lack of concern about the cool day, we rushed toward it like moths.

“So you think your going to Cambridge is nonsense?” she asked, stretching out her hands and spreading her long fingers against the flames.

“Mmm. The woman’s mad. When I see Father I’ll sort it out with him as you said.”

“She’s very sure of herself. What if he’s on her side?”

“Why should he be?”

“Because he usually does whatever she wants. It’s not as wearing on the soul, you know. Or as noisy.”

“I don’t think he will for something as important as this. Besides, look at the impracticality of it. Why send me all the way to England to read law? It may garner me some status, but what else?”

“An education?” she suggested.

“There’s that, but everyone knows you really go to university to make the kind of friends and acquaintances who will become useful later in life. If I do that in England, they’ll be left behind when I return home.”

You’ve become cynical, little brother?” She was hardly a year older than me, but had always taken enjoyment from her position as the eldest.

“Realistic. I’ve spent a lot of time in this very room listening to Father and his cronies while they’re sharing a bottle. I can practice law well enough, but I’ll be better at it for having a few friends ’round me as he does. Which reminds me . . .” I quit the fireplace to open a nearby cupboard and poured a bit of wine to keep my strength up. My stomach snarled at the thoughtful gesture. It wanted real food.

Elizabeth giggled at the noise. She looked remarkably like the portrait above her. Prettier, I thought. Livelier. Certainly saner.

“What is it?” she asked, taking note of my distraction.

“I was just thinking that you could have almost posed for that.” I indicated the painting.

She stood away for a better look. “Perhaps, but my face is longer. If it’s all the same to you, I would prefer not to be compared to her at all.”

“She may have been different back then,” I pointed out. “If not, then why did Father ever marry her and have us?”

“That’s hardly our business, Jonathan.”

“It certainly is since we’re the living results of their . . . affection? . . . for one another.”

“Now you’re being crude.”

“No I’m not. When I get crude, you’ll know it, dear sister. Who do I look like?”

She tilted her head, unknowingly copying Mother’s affected mannerism, but in an unaffected way. “Father, of course, but younger and not as heavy.”

“Father’s not fat,” I protested.

“You know what I mean. When men get older they either go to fat or put on another layer of muscle.”

“Or both.”

“Ugh. But not you. You’ve put on the muscle and look just like him.”

“That’s reassuring.” We always regarded Father as being a very handsome man.

“Peacock,” said Elizabeth, reading my face and thus my thoughts. I grinned and saluted her with my glass. It was empty, but I corrected that. The wine tasted wonderful but was shooting straight to my head.

“Mother will burst a blood vessel if you turn up drunk in the kitchen,” my sister observed without rancor. “Or anyplace else for that matter.”

“If I really get drunk, then I shan’t care. Would you like some?”

“Yes,” she said decisively, and got a wineglass. “She’ll make drunkards of us all before she’s finished. I’m surprised Father isn’t . . .”

“Father has other occupations to distract him from unpleasantries,” I said, pouring generously.

“I wish I did,” she muttered, and drained off half her portion. “Father goes out, you have your riding and studies, but I’m expected to sit here all day and find contentment with needlework, household duties, and numbering out my prospects.”

“Prospects?”

Elizabeth’s mouth twisted in disgust. “After she finished going on about Cambridge, she started asking about the unmarried men in the area.”

“Uh-oh.”

“All of them, including old Mr. Cadwallader. He must be seventy if he’s a day.”

“But very rich.”

“Now who’s taking sides?”

“Not I. I was thinking the way she would think.”

“Please don’t.” Elizabeth groaned and finished her wine. I made to pour another, and she did not refuse it. “I hope things settle down quickly in Philadelphia so she can go back. I know that it’s wicked, wishing one’s mother away, but. . .”

“She’s only our mother by reason of birth,” I said. “If it comes to it, Mrs. Montagu’s been a mother to us. Or even Mrs. Nooth. I wish Father had married her instead. Mrs. Montagu, that is.”

“Then neither of us would have been ourselves, and we wouldn’t be sitting here getting drunk.”

“It’s something to think about, isn’t it?”

“A most wicked thought, though,” she concluded with an unrepentant grimace.

“Yes, I’m born to be hanged for that one.”

“God forbid,” she added.

As one, we lifted our glasses in a silent toast to many different things. I felt pleasantly muzzy now, with my limbs heavy and glowing from inner warmth. It was too nice a feeling to dispel with the inevitable scolding that awaited me the moment I stepped into the kitchen.

“P’haps,” I speculated, “I should leave Mother and Mrs. Nooth to their work. It would be boorish to disturb them.”

Elizabeth instantly noted my change of mind and smiled, shaking her head in mock sadness for my lost bravado.

“P’haps,” I continued thoughtfully, “I could just borrow a loaf of bread from one of the lads, then pick up a small cheese from the buttery. That would fill me ’til supper. Father should be home by then and Mother will have something else to be bothered about besides me.”

“And have one of the servants blamed for the theft of the cheese?”

“I’ll leave a note, confessing all,” I promised gravely. “Mrs. Nooth will surely forgive. . .” Then something soured inside and the game lost its charm. “Damnation, this is my own house. Why should I creep around like a thief?”

Someone’s shoe heels clacked and clattered hollowly against the wood floor of the hall. Elizabeth and I instantly recognized a familiar step and hastily replaced the glasses and wine bottle in the cupboard. The answer to my plaintive question entered the doorway just as we shut everything and turned innocent faces toward her.

Mother.

She wasn’t fooled by our pose. “What are you two doing?” she demanded.

“Only talking, Mother,” said Elizabeth.

Mother sniffed, either in disbelief or disdain. Fortunately she was too far away to pick up any scent of the wine. She cast an unfriendly eye upon me. “And where were you all day? Mrs. Nooth placed a perfectly good meal on the table and your portion went to waste.”

With as many servants as we had, I doubted that. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“You’ll tender your apologies to Mrs. Nooth. She was very offended.”

And very forgiving. And in the kitchen. With more food. “Indeed, Mother? I shall go immediately and make amends.”

She’d heard me but had not listened. “Where were you, Jonathan?”

“Inspecting the fields,” I answered easily. It was mostly true, but I resented that this woman was turning me into a liar.

“Never mind such things. You’ve far more important duties before you than farming. From now on leave menial work to those men who have been hired for it.”

“Yes, Mother.” My head spun with that peculiar weighty disorientation that I associated with intoxication. With each passing minute the wine soaked in more deeply, increasing its effect, but I was careful not to let it show.

“As long as you’re here I want to continue our talk about your education. Elizabeth, you are excused.”

From where I stood, I saw the flash of anger in my sister’s eyes at being dismissed as though she were one of the servants. Her mouth tightened and her chin lifted, but she said nothing, nothing at all, quite loudly, all the way out the door.

Mother did not ignore her so much as simply not notice. Her attention was entirely fixed upon me. She crossed the room to the chair she’d claimed next to Father’s desk and arranged herself. I was not invited to sit, nor did I ask to do so. It might unnecessarily prolong the interview. Though still hungry, that was outweighed by my need to hear her out and gain information in order to present a logical argument against it later. To Father. I knew better than to contend with his wife, who was partial to only her own unique logic and no one else’s.

She produced her ivory scratching stick from somewhere and tapped it lightly against the palm of one hand. “And now, Jonathan,” she announced importantly, “we will plan out what you are going to do once you get to Cambridge.” She paused to poke vigorously at a spot above the nape of her neck with the stick. My teeth went on edge.

Never, never in all my life was I so glad to be drunk.

CHAPTER TWO

Some twenty minutes later, Mother generously excused me, by which time I’d developed a pressing need to rid myself of the wine. A good deal of it remained behind in my head, though, for it was aching badly. The pain so interfered with my thinking that afterward I couldn’t decide whether to visit the kitchen or retreat in misery to my room to sleep it away.

Jericho resolved things when he emerged from the hall leading to the kitchen carrying a covered tray.

“Is that for me?” I asked hopefully in response to his smile of greeting.

“Miss Elizabeth suggested it,” he said. “Something to see you through until supper.”

“Then God bless her for being the dearest, sweetest sister anyone ever had. Where is she?”

“Out taking a ride of her own.”

“Yes. Since Mother came back the horses are getting more than their share of exercise. Come, put that down somewhere.”

“I would suggest that you take it in your sitting room. To avoid interruptions,” he added significantly

I glanced uneasily back at the library and indicated that he should lead the way upstairs. Somehow I was able to follow, leaning heavily on the rail and gulping frequently. Hot in the face and dizzy, I staggered the last few feet into my room and collapsed in my chair before the big study table. Jericho moved some books around to make space for my meal. He had the enviable skill of being able to balance the tray with one hand while his other quickly and quite independently made order out of chaos. Between the blink of one eye and the next he put down his burden and whipped off the cloth revealing a plump loaf of bread, some cheese, and a squat jug. From the latter he poured out drink and gave me the cup.

“More wine?” I asked dubiously.

“Barley water. It will thin the wine in your blood.”

“Good idea.” I drank deeply and felt better for it, looking at the food with more interest than before, falling upon the cheese. “There’s too much here for me, have some.” Jericho hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “Is something wrong?”

“No, sir, but I do not think it would be quite—”

“Of course it wouldn’t, so. . .” I kicked out another chair for him. “Those fools in Philadelphia are rebelling against the king without a second thought, so I shall rebel against our local queen. It’s been a hard day, Jericho, and I need your company. Eat or not as you choose, but do sit with me.”

He closed the door to the hall and only then allowed himself the ease of the chair and the comfort of good food.

He was slightly older than I, and his father was my father’s valet. After I was born, they decided that he should assume that duty for me once I had outgrown the nursery. Though a servant, Jericho and I had been friends long before the establishment of his place in the household, and this strict deference for convention troubled me.

“Is it Mother?” I asked, reaching to tear off a piece of bread. I made a mess of it, scattering crumbs everywhere.

“In an indirect way,” he admitted. “We’ve all heard that you’re to go off to England soon.”

“I most certainly am not. She’s got this idea lodged in her head, but Father will shake it loose and that will be the end of it.”

“My bomba isn’t too sure of that,” he said. Jericho spoke perfect English, but sometimes used a few words his father had brought with him from Africa, the only baggage he’d been allowed by the slavers.

Knowing that Archimedes might be privy to information I didn’t have, I said, “Why does he think so?”

“Because your father does what your mother says.”

“Now you’re sounding like Elizabeth,” I complained. “But Father is the head of this house. Mother will have to do what he says and she knows that. She waited and told me only after he was gone. She thought to put me on her side so he would say yes to please me. I’ve gone along with it, but only until he comes home.” I took a vicious bite from the cheese. Damnation. The woman was treating me like a petulant child, and now I was beginning to sound like one.

“But until then nothing is settled,” he said.

“You’re worried. What is it?”

“I heard some things in the kitchen. Mrs. Barrett was talking to Mrs. Nooth, and I wasn’t supposed to be listening.”

“Never mind that. What was said?”

“She wanted Mrs. Nooth to ask around and find a proper English servant to look after you.”

For several moments I lost the power of speech. “To . . . to. . . ”

“To take my place,” he said.

“Impossible. She can’t mean it.”

“But she does. She plans to sell me.”

The blood hit the top of my head so hard that blackness clouded my vision. Without knowing how I got there, I found myself up and pacing the length of the room. Nothing intelligible came out of me for quite some time.

“It’s not going to happen,” I told him finally. “It’s absolutely not going to happen. It’s ridiculous . . . utterly . . . stupid.” Then a cold thought rushed past. “Unless you want to . . .?”

Now it was his turn to be upset, though he was so self-disciplined that in no wise was it comparable to my own display “No. A man must work and if I must work then I would rather work here. I do not wish to be sold. But your father might still do it for the sake of peace in the family”

I shook my head. “Mother can throw whatever sort of fit she pleases, but you are not going to be sold.”

He looked reassured. “I have hope then. This is a good place to be; I know of no better. When other servants visit with their masters I hear the most terrible things. Here we are treated well and given good care. No beatings, no starvations.”

“That’s something the whole world can do without,” I added. He seemed to feel better, but I continued to pace. “Suppose Father arranged for your freedom? Then I could hire you. Mother couldn’t have anything to do with it then.”

“Except dismiss me and engage a replacement. You have no rights of your own until your twenty-first birthday.”

“Blast. Well, no matter what, I won’t let it happen. I’ll run away to sea first and you can come with me.”

A smile crossed his dark features. “But then you would be guilty of theft.”

“Jericho, you’ve been hanging about with lawyers too long.”

His smile broadened for a moment, then gradually faded. I stopped my restless pacing and leaned against a wall and wished Father home immediately. “Why on earth does she want to hire another valet for me? You’re the best there ever was.”

He nodded regally at the compliment. “It is not a question of finding someone better. It is because Mrs. Barrett is extremely fond of all things English. She wants an English servant.”

“No, thank you. He’d only put on airs, correct my speech, and rearrange my clothes so that I couldn’t find anything for myself. And who would I have for company? Except for you and old Rapelji, there’s no one intelligent to talk to.”

His brows pinched together. “But your sister and father—”

“Are my sister and father. You know what I mean. Some of those long conversations we’ve had with Rapelji would have bored them to death.”

He nodded agreement. “Speaking of him, did he not give you more Greek to interpret?” He looked at the pile of books on the table before him.

“Doesn’t he always?” Greek was not my favorite study. My tutor well knew that and thus emphasized it more than any other. “I’ll see to it later tonight. My head hurts too much for the work right now.”

“I’ll get you some moss snuff,” he said, rising.

“Ugh, no. Mrs. Nooth can take it herself. It’s never helped any headache I’ve had and never will. I’ll just lie down until the pain’s out of me.”

Pushing away from the wall, I wandered to the bed on the far side of the long room and almost dropped into its welcome comfort. Almost, because Jericho was instantly at my side to remove my coat. Since a refusal to cooperate would only inspire silent, long-suffering reproach from him, I gave in and gave up. Once started, off came the waistcoat and shoes as well, all to be taken away for brushing or polishing. I managed to retain my breeches and outer shirt; both would be changed before going down to supper so it didn’t matter if I napped in them or not.

“When Father comes home. . .”

“I shall inform you in plenty of time,” he promised as he started for the door.

Then peevishly, I asked, “What the devil is that row?”

Jericho listened with me. “A coach, I think.”

Father had left on horseback, not taken the coach. Jericho and I looked at one another in mutual puzzlement, then he gave back my shoes. Curiosity triumphed over my headache. I reached for an especially florid, Oriental-looking dressing gown that Elizabeth had painstakingly made for me, and shrugged it on. “Let’s go see,” I sighed.

No one was in the upper hall, but as we came downstairs we glimpsed one of the maids haring off to the kitchen, no doubt with fresh news for Mrs. Nooth. Mother emerged from the library like a merchant ship under full sail and stopped the girl with a curt order. The little wench came to heel and hastened to open wide the big front door. Outside stood a battered-looking coach and four, and there was much activity about the baggage and two alighting passengers. With a great smile, Mother went out to greet them.

I shifted uneasily and glanced at Jericho. He shrugged. Having endured an extremely long month of Mother’s quirky temperament I was hard-pressed to imagine that anyone or anything could give her joy. Apparently the possibility existed; we’d just never seen it.

“They must be friends of hers from Philadelphia,” I speculated.

Outside, Mother exchanged a kiss on the cheek with a woman and extended her hand to a man, who bowed deeply over it. Rather too deeply, I thought. What sort of people would find Mother’s company so agreeable that they would come for a visit?

Past the broad threshold the wind blew in a few stray leaves and other . . . rubbish. That’s the word that occurred to me when I got a good look at them. They swept into the house, surveying it with bright eyes as though they owned the place. They noticed me at the same time and the woman gave a little exclamation of pleased surprise.

“Dearest Marie, is this your good son, Jonathan Fonteyn?” she demanded in a loud, flat, and childishly thin voice.

I winced.

Mother was capable of swift thought and judgment and her conclusion was that now was not the time for introductions; I was not properly dressed to greet guests. “A moment, Deborah, a moment to catch my breath and then I shall ask him to come and meet you.”

Deborah, apparently deducing that she’d been importune, turned a beaming face to Mother and ignored me entirely. The man copied her.

Mother issued a sharp order to the maid for tea and biscuits and then invited her guests into the parlor with a graceful gesture. As they proceeded ahead, she swung a livid face in my direction and pointed upstairs meaningfully.

“Good God,” I muttered sourly through clenched teeth, masking my annoyance with a cordial smile and a nod of understanding. “Them.” Jericho followed as I fled to my room.

“You know who they are?” he asked, putting down my clothes and smoothly moving toward the wardrobe.

“Friends of hers from Philadelphia. Deborah Hardinbrook and her brother, Theophilous Beldon. I’ve heard her talk about them. At length. She’s the widow of some captain who drowned at sea, and he’s supposed to be a doctor, God help us. Whatever you do, don’t mention my headache lest he offer to cure it.”

Jericho removed a claret-colored coat from the wardrobe and shook it out.

“Why this one?” I asked, as he helped me into it. “It’s not my best.”

“Exactly. To wear anything really nice might tell these two you wish to impress them. This coat declares that you care nothing about their favor, but at the same time informs them that you are the head of this house in your father’s absence and it is their job to impress you.”

“It will?” All that from one coat?

“It does. Trust me on this matter, Mr. Jonathan.”

I would, for he was always right on such details. “Elizabeth. She’ll have to be warned.”

“And so she shall be,” he promised, pulling out a pair of shoes and inspecting the silver buckles for tarnish. There was none, of course.

“I have these,” I protested, pointing at the ones on my feet.

“New buckles on old shoes,” he chided. “It doesn’t look right, not for a first meeting.”

“We can switch them to another pair.”

He firmly held the shoes out for me. “Wear these. They will demand respect. Save the others for Sunday”

I grunted and did as I was told.

He finished with me in a very few minutes. “There. Sometimes you cannot avoid going into a lion’s den, but when you must, it is better to be well dressed.”

“What makes you think this is a lion’s den?”

“What makes you think it is not?”

“Excellent point. Go find Elizabeth, will you?”

“Certainly.”

In deference to my sober garb and still-buzzing brain, I did not rush downstairs. Head high and with a serious face, I descended slowly, then paced across the hall to the parlor and paused in the doorway, waiting to be noticed.

Mother had her back to me, so it was Deborah Hardinbrook who looked up and stopped her conversation. Her brother, seated next to her, politely stood. Mother turned and assumed an unfamiliar smile.