Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (4 page)

“Ah, Jonathan. At last. Do come in and meet my very dear friends.” She conducted us through formal introductions.

On my best behavior, I bowed low over Mrs. Hardinbrook’s hand and expressed my pleasure at meeting her in French. She was about Mother’s age, with a hard eye and lines around her mouth that may have been placed there by laughter but not joy. She assessed me quickly, efficiently, and was fulsome with complements to Mother about me. I felt like an over-priced statue on display, not valued for my own merits, but for the enlargement of its owner.

Dr. Beldon was in his thirties, which also made him seem quite old to me. He was wiry and dark, his brown eyes so large and rounded that they seemed to swell from their sockets. They settled an assessment similar to his sister’s upon me but with a different kind of intensity, though what it was, I could not have guessed. We bowed and exchanged the necessary social pleasantries toward one another.

Mrs. Hardinbrook resumed her talk with Mother, giving her a full account of the harrowing journey from Philadelphia. At first I listened with resentful politeness, then with interest, for despite her exaggerations of manner, she was amusing. Mother actually seemed to be enjoying herself. Beldon smiled at appropriate moments and occasionally added comments. Unlike his sister, he made an effort to include me in the conversation. Smiling. Smiling. Smiling.

Toad-eaters, I thought behind my own twisted lips. Fawning in deference to the family wealth. Father had taught me to recognize their sort and to beware of them.

“They’re full of flattery and little else, laddie,” he’d told me. “Having no advantage of their own, they put themselves ahead by using others. Useless bloodsuckers, the lot of them, always looking out for their own good, but no one else’s, and with bottomless stomachs. Don’t let them fool you with fair words or use you in any way. No need to waste your time with any of them.”

Perhaps Mother had not heard his opinion, or chose to ignore it.

“Where will your journey finally take you, Mrs. Hardinbrook?” I asked when an opening presented itself.

Her face was bright with a shortage of understanding. “I beg your pardon, Master Barrett?”

I ignored the little jibe of her address, meant to place me on a level with beardless children. “Your destination, madam. I was inquiring—”

“This is their destination, Jonathan,” Mother said firmly, indicating the house with the curve of one hand. “Deborah and her brother are my guests.”

This was not unexpected, but certainly unpleasant. Mother’s guests, not Father’s, and absolutely no mention was made of when they would leave.

“How delightful,” I told them, my smile entirely genuine.

There’d be the devil to pay when Father came home, and I looked forward to that confrontation.

* * *

Supper was less of a disaster than I’d anticipated.

When Elizabeth returned from her ride, Jericho headed her off at the stables and passed on the news. She charged up to the house immediately.

“What are they like?” she demanded, bursting in after a quick thump on my bedroom door to announce herself.

“You’ll have to draw your own conclusions.” I was at my table, trying to translate more Greek, but with indifferent results.

“Jonathan, you’re not a lawyer yet, so tell me.”

“Toad-eaters, without a doubt. They seem clever about it, though, so be careful around them. You know what Father says.”

She did, and hurried to her room to change for supper. I waited in mine until it was time, then escorted her downstairs. She looked perfect in a dress of such a pale gray as to be nearly white with touches of dark pink throughout. The latter, I abruptly noticed, complemented my claret-colored coat in some subtle way. We would present a united front against these invaders, if they bothered to notice.

Mrs. Hardinbrook was again effusive in her praise when she and Elizabeth were introduced. Elizabeth returned her complements in French. Our guest was astonished that she was able to speak a foreign language.

“It’s nothing,” Elizabeth demurred. “I understand that even the children in France do so.”

This went right over Mrs. Hardinbrook’s uncomprehending head; Mother glowered, but Beldon smothered a knowing smile. When his turn came he bowed gravely over Elizabeth’s hand and expressed his enchantment with her. She was politely cool and made no reply beyond a civil nod. Even Mother could find no fault with her for that.

We went in to supper, which, oddly enough, was made bearable by the presence of the guests. They distracted Mother, and for the first time in a month the usual heavy silence was lifted from the table. The relief lasted for the whole meal. Elizabeth and I said next to nothing throughout, our ears instinctively open for information on these strangers.

Mrs. Hardinbrook managed to eat and talk at the same time, rolling along at a quick pace and cleaning her plate down to the last crumb. She spoke of this happening or that person, familiar to Mother, but not to us. Now and then she would touch on a general topic for a time and then our listening became less tedious.

Beldon was taciturn compared to his sister, who made enough speech for both. We already knew he was a doctor and learned that his practice had been unfairly disrupted by the unpleasantness in Philadelphia. One of the last people he’d been called to treat had been a victim of a mob of rebel ruffians.

“Poor fellow was dragged right from his home and beaten. They said he’d narrowly escaped being tarred and feathered except for the arrival of some of his friends. Then it was canes and clubs, gentlemen against the rowdies, who were soundly beaten themselves and sent away howling like beasts.”

“Being beasts, they got only what they deserved,” added Mrs. Hardinbrook with a chuckle.

“Beasts, indeed,” sniffed Mother. “Why was he beaten?”

“He’s Tory, which is reason enough for them,” answered Beldon. “These rebel louts have nothing better to do with themselves than stay drunk most of the time, and that heats up the brain. Then it only takes the wrong word in the right ear to set them off like tinder. Some of these rebels are men of education, but most seem to be louts of the lowest class with more wind than brains and more willing to blame the king for their woes than apply themselves to wholesome work. If there had been any proper enforcement of the law, they’d be in jail for sedition instead of hailed as heroes by the ignorant. No good will come of it, mark me.”

“What about the injured man?” asked Elizabeth.

“Oh, he’ll be all right, by and by. He went to live with his daughter and son-in-law on their farm. After tending to the poor fellow I came to realize that dear Deborah and I would no longer be safe ourselves, so we closed up the house and came here to accept the kind invitation your mother extended to us.”

“And glad I am that you did,” said Mother. “Beatings, tar, and feathers. Why, the two of you might have been murdered in your beds.”

Mrs. Hardinbrook shivered appreciatively at her narrow escape.

“The lot of them should be in jail, down to the last cowardly dog, and the rabble-rousers hanged on the common. What do you think, Mr. Barrett?” Beldon turned toward me.

“I agree,” I said heartily. Anyone who had the least responsibility for shifting Beldon and his sister from Philadelphia to my home certainly deserved severe punishment.

After supper, Mother suggested—or rather ordered—us to remove to the music room so Elizabeth could entertain us by playing on her spinet. This was greeted with enthusiasm from Mrs. Hardinbrook and resignation from Elizabeth.

“Do you play an instrument, Mr. Barrett?” asked Beldon.

“Not a note,” I said. “I enjoy music, but haven’t the ear or hand to reproduce it for myself.”

“What a pity,” said Mrs. Hardinbrook. “Theophilous is quite good with a fiddle. Perhaps he could play a duet with Miss Barrett.” She had a crafty look in her eye, the idea behind it so insufferably transparent that Mother’s head jerked warningly. If his sister did not notice it, Beldon certainly did.

“Another time, Deborah, I beg you. I am quite worn out from the journey, and any sounds I might draw from my fiddle would not be worth the hearing.” He spread his hands in mock deprecation and a look swiftly passed between them that said more than his words. She burned for the briefest instant and abruptly subsided into a smile of sympathy for him.

“Yes, of course,” she said, not quite able to smooth the edge from her voice.

Elizabeth looked relieved and assumed her seat before the spinet. She played well but with little enthusiasm. I drifted toward the door and lifted my eyebrows at Jericho, who had made it his business to keep close and listen in.

“No sign of Father?” I whispered from the side of my mouth.

“None,” he answered morosely.

“Have one of the lads sit out by the road with a lantern, then. We wouldn’t want him to miss the gate.”

He knew as well as I that there was little chance of Father losing himself. If nothing else, his horse knew the way home. I suspected that Mrs. Montagu was proving to be more charming than ever and Father had elected to take supper with her followed by Lord knows what else. He might even spend another night.

Jericho promised to see to things and disappeared just as Elizabeth finished her piece. I joined in the applause.

Mrs. Hardinbrook gushed forth with more praise. This time it seemed directed less at Mother and more toward Beldon, in an attempt to draw his attention to Elizabeth. His praise was more subdued and disappointingly neutral, at least from his sister’s point of view. Then he stood and bowed to us.

“You will think me terribly rude, Mrs. Barrett, but I must beg leave to go to my room. I don’t know where Deborah gets all her liveliness, but I am absolutely exhausted.”

“I quite understand, Dr. Beldon. Pray do not let us keep you. Jonathan, show Dr. Beldon up to the yellow room, if you please.”

It hardly pleased me, but I offered my own bow and waited for Beldon to join me in the hall.

“Your mother is a very kind woman to take us in,” he said as we trudged up the stairs.

“Yes.”

“I fully realize that this must be an imposition. Deborah and I are very grateful and glad to be here.”

What a surprise, I thought.

“I would like to take this opportunity to let you know that I am entirely at the service of you and your house should you require it.”

“As a doctor?” I asked, somewhat insolently, now that he was away from Mother’s protection.

A perceptive man, he decided interpret my tone as a joke. “I’m afraid so. Doubtless I could make myself useful working in the fields, but I have more talent for doctoring than animal husbandry or farming.”

I paused on the landing and looked at him squarely “You consider yourself a good doctor, then?”

“As good as most. I studied with Dr. Richard Shippen of Philadelphia,” he added with some pride.

“Did you really? The smallpox man?”

Beldon was surprised that I’d heard of him and said as much.

“I should think so. Years ago Mother instructed Father by letter to pack Elizabeth and me off to the man for an inoculation against the pox. I still have the scar. Couldn’t have been more than nine, but I remember it vividly, worst six weeks of my life. What a horrible thing to do to children.”

“Less horrible than dying of the pox,” he pointed out.

I was unwilling to relinquish my hostile opinion of the man. “I’d read that they had Shippen up for body-snatching three years back.”

Beldon was not to be drawn and only shook his head, amused. “Something that every teaching physician seems doomed to endure. He was accused of taking a woman’s body for his dissecting class, but those subjects only ever come from the Potter’s Field, never from Christian burial grounds. The whole business was utterly absurd. The woman he supposedly dissected in the winter had died months earlier in the summer—of a putrid fever. No physician would ever find use for such a long-corrupted subject in his classes. Most absurd,” he repeated.

“Oh, yes, very.”

He gestured at one of the doors. “Is this my room?”

“This one,” I said, taking him farther down the hall.

“I understand that you have a good library here.”

“Yes. Downstairs. Any of the servants can show you the way.”

“I’ll look forward to it. I was unable to bring many books. Perhaps you would like to inspect my own small collection?”

“Another time, Dr. Beldon. I must return to the ladies, you know.”

Again the incessant smile, this one tinged with regret and goodwill. “Yes. The ladies can be quite demanding. Good night, then, Mr. Barrett. Thank you once more for your kindness.”

The man sounded sincere. A bit nonplussed, I left before he could try drawing me into another conversation. That macabre story about the doctor dissecting a corpse that did not exist had been interesting. Not the sort of tale one could relate in genteel company. Well, Mother’s company, anyway.

Tempting as it was to retreat to my room, I felt bound to go back to the parlor and look after Elizabeth. She was still grimly playing on, missing a note now and then as her thoughts wandered. Mother employed her scratching stick. Mrs. Hardinbrook looked bored.

At the end of the piece I applauded louder than the others and walked over to the spinet. “Excellent, Elizabeth. You get better every day.”

She knew what I was up to and seized upon it smoothly and with both hands. “You are so kind, Jonathan.” She stood up and away from the instrument and curtsied to her audience. “Ah, but I am weary myself. In another minute I’m sure I shall fall asleep on my feet.”

“You have had a very long day,” I agreed. “Mother, may we be excused?”

“Poor thing,” said Mrs. Hardinbrook, all sympathy. She started to launch into a no doubt pretty speech, but Mother interrupted her, granting us permission to leave. We took it.

Once outside, Elizabeth and I dropped our formal pretenses and marched toward the stairs as equals.

“Thank you for the rescue,” she said.

“Always at your service.”

“It looks like we’re going to be lumbered with them for as long as Mother is here.”