Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (7 page)

Rapelji, the poor man, was out of his depth, as I’d expected. He had no heart for violent domestic disputes, preferring his battles to remain in history books; the more ancient the quarrel the better.

“I know I’ve embarrassed you, sir,” she said. “And I apologize, but I felt that of all people, you needed to know the truth of what has happened.”

“Yes, yes. Oh, you poor girl.”

“Anyway, I did not think it fair that you should be unaware of our situation. Mother has a horrible temper, and it is liable to get away from her at the least provocation. Father said she’d inherited it. The doctor visiting us seems to have things in hand, though.”

Rapelji heaved a sigh of his own. “Well, then, I can promise, that your confidence will stay here”—he tapped his temple— “and shall go no farther. I am so sorry that you have this problem. If you are ever in need, I am at your service.”

Past him, the ostensibly closed kitchen door moved slightly; Rachel and Sarah had heard everything, of course, and Elizabeth knew it. She’d made a point of speaking clearly and without moderating her tone to a lower level as others might have done while relating a confidence. A very canny girl, my sister.

“Mr. Rapelji, you have already helped, just by being here,” she said, patting his hand.

Our tutor smiled broadly. “Why, then, you are very welcome.”

This made Elizabeth smile and he inquired if we had any other problems requiring assistance. That’s when I stepped in and told him about the Cambridge business.

“And you don’t want to go?” he cried. “Why ever not?”

“It’s so far away,” I answered. “And it was how she presented it.” That sounded feeble even to me and Rapelji pounced on it.

“So it is the wrappings you object to, but not the gift.”

“Gift?” This was not the sort of reaction I’d expected from him.

“Try looking at it as a gift, not a punishment, Mr. Jonathan. What difference is it if you had a rough introduction to the idea? The idea itself is what matters: the chance to attend one of the great and ancient centers of higher learning in the world.”

“I had thought of it a bit, sir,” I said with very feeble enthusiasm, but the subtlety was lost on my tutor.

“Good! Think on it some more. If your father cannot turn Mrs. Barrett’s mind from the idea, then you won’t feel so badly about going.”

“I should not like to wager, upon that, sir,” I muttered. Rapelji thumped my shoulder, still beaming.

The front door swung wide just then as two of his other students arrived for the day’s lessons. They were the Finch boys, Roddy and Nathan.

We stood and greeted them and Rapelji put them through the social ritual of giving respects to my sister. Roddy, my age and awkward, blushed his way through his bow. Elizabeth was no doubt very beautiful to him despite her bruise. He gawked with curiosity, but said nothing except for a general inquiry about her health. For that he received a polite, but general reply that she was well enough today, thank you.

Nathan, a sullen-faced boy of fourteen who knew that manners were a waste of his time, barely got through his bow. It was just enough to accomplish the job, but not so little as to draw a reprimand.

“I killed a rabbit today,” he announced proudly, eager to introduce a subject more to his liking.

“Did you now?” said Rapelji.

“A good fat one for the pot.” From the cloth bag that carried all his things he hauled out a long, limp bundle of brown-and-gray fur. “Caught ’im in a snare and snapped ’is neck m’self. Next year Da said ’e’d teach me ’ow ter shoot ’em.”

“That’s ‘I caught him in a snare,’ Nathan,” began Rapelji, always the teacher.

The boy scowled. “You did not, I did. If’n you did, an’ it were on
our
land, then Da will shoot you dead for a-poachin’.”

Roddy gave Nathan a cuff. “Mr. Rapelji didn’t say
he
was a-poachin’, he was telling you how to talk right.”

Nathan glowered and grunted disapproval. He was one of the more difficult students and would have been happier working the fields or hunting. Rapelji had often recommended it, but their father was determined that they learn their letters and grimly paid for the effort. Roddy had a better head and might have progressed more if he didn’t have Nathan to constantly look after and keep in line.

Morning chores finished, the other boys began to wander in for their breakfast along with half a dozen others from neighboring houses. Nathan’s rabbit was the subject of much interest and conversation and he was compelled to repeat his story of how he’d snapped the animal’s neck.

He was happy enough to demonstrate this to everyone’s satisfaction, but his method sparked a debate on the various ways of snapping animal necks of all kinds. Elizabeth was not in the least fainthearted, but after several minutes of gleeful discussion she began to visibly pale. Rapelji noticed and dispatched Nathan off to the kitchen with his prize, as it was part of Finch’s payment for his boys’ tutoring.

Later, over tea, fresh bread, and hot porridge, we talked about the sorts of things that had nothing to do with Mother. Rapelji used these times to teach the boys how to conduct themselves in civilized conversation as he called it. He was popular, but often the boys’ natural high spirits got away with them and pandemonium would reign as each student contributed a comment more loudly than his neighbor, and at the same time. When this happened, Rapelji usually restored order, with a gavel kept handy for this purpose.

When lessons began in earnest, Elizabeth lent a hand supervising some of the younger lads while Rapelji took a moment to check my Greek. He pronounced himself satisfied, which surprised me, considering the interruptions my work had suffered.

“Next, we shall try some original composition,” he announced jovially, as though it were an event to celebrate. “Something with a rhyme to it. They often hold competitions at the universities on this and you’ll want to have the practice.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, looking toward Elizabeth for sympathy and only getting a smirk in return.

Rapelji sketched out my exercise in Greek for the day, then I was privileged to help the others with their work. Our tutor was of the opinion that nothing drove a lesson home so squarely as one that you must teach to another. He was also careful to be sure that the information we used was correct. On one memorable occasion a boy had given his “students” the impression that Columbus had made landfall in 1493, which was cause for much confusion and at least one fistfight when Rapelji’s back was turned.

The lively company around us did indeed help pass the time as Rapelji maintained. The girls emerged from the kitchen to announce the midday meal, which was received with extreme enthusiasm by one and all. Papers and books were cleared away, hands were washed of chalk and charcoal, and the plates were set out once more. Elizabeth and I stayed on until well into the afternoon, enjoying every minute. There was a bit of unease when one of the younger ones unabashedly asked Elizabeth why she had a black eye and cheek. She gently pointed out that it was impolite to ask such questions. She also told him a simple version of the truth: that her mother had struck her.

This did not cause much alarm, as most of the lads had no small experience with corporal punishment. They’d been curious and, once their need was satisfied, went on to other concerns.

“Why didn’t you say you’d run into a door?” I asked her afterward, when we were riding home.

“That would have been a lie.”

“I know, but if any of them mentions it to their families, it might start up a lot of gossip with no fact behind it. I thought you wanted to make sure people knew the facts.”

“I do. But keep in mind what you said about adults more readily believing other adults. I doubt if it will come up in conversation when they return home, anyway Nathan’s rabbit drew far more attention than I.”

“Hah! Roddy Finch couldn’t keep his eyes off you. This will get around, dear sister, don’t you worry.”

“You’re doing enough for both of us, and what objections do you have to Roddy Finch?”

“None, really, just to his beastly little brother. That Nathan’s going to be trouble one day.”

Too soon and we were on the lane to our house. Never before had we been reluctant to return home. Neither of us knew what might be waiting there nor did we especially care to find out. After the cheerful noise and activity of Rapelji’s everything seemed ominously silent and sinister.

“I hope Father’s straightened things out,” I said.

Elizabeth quietly agreed.

I almost expanded on that theme, then realized I had no heart for it, having left my good cheer behind at the school.

We rode around to the stables and dismounted. The lads there went about their business with the horses as usual, but apparently they knew something of the happenings of last night. Elizabeth endured their staring curiosity in silence. It would have been unseemly for her to answer their unasked questions.

“It’s probably all over the place by now,” I said as we trudged toward the house.

She nodded. “Today is Saturday. I shall have to decide what to wear to church.”

I gulped at the implications. The whole village would see her tomorrow. Her bruising would be in full bloom by then.

“And if anyone asks, I shall answer them truthfully,” she added, looking serene.

Jericho was on the watch for us. He opened the side door and saw to our cloaks and my bag of books.

“What’s happened today?” I asked.

“It’s been perfectly calm. Your mother kept to her room until the early afternoon, when she came down to eat. Mrs. Hardinbrook sat with her and the doctor looked in several times. They’re up there in her sitting room now, having tea and playing cards.”

“What about Father?” That morning I’d asked Jericho to keep his eyes and ears open on my behalf. I also told him what Father had said in regard to his being sold. At least one of us had been spared from suffering the tortures of an unknown future for the day.

“He had a very long talk with her—” He broke off, for Father emerged from his library and strode toward us. He looked quite grim but his greeting was warm. Jericho, sensing that he was redundant, vanished.

By now I couldn’t contain myself. “Father, tell me—”

“Yes, Jonathan, I did speak with her.” He looked tired and my spirits fell, for I knew what he was going to say. “She would not be moved, laddie.”

“Oh, Father.” I felt a knot tightening at my throat as surely as though I stood on a scaffold with a hangman. “Please, I don’t want to. Can’t you try again?”

“She was like a stone. She won’t be moved on this.” he said, his voice as thick as my own. “You are to go to England and Cambridge.”

Elizabeth groaned and put an arm around me.

“Then God have mercy on my soul,” I said and found it impossible to hold back the tears spilling forth.

CHAPTER FOUR

LONDON, AUGUST, 1773

“Ho, sir! Would yer likes ter get married?”

The nearly toothless young man who accosted me as I descended from the coach was sodden with gin.

“I’ve a pretty wife for yer, sir! Sweet ’n’ willing.”

That’s not how I would have described the woman lurking just behind him. Over-used and apathetic came to mind. She was also drunk.

“A good ’ousekeeper and seamstress. She knows a’ there is ter know ’bout threadin’ a needle, haw-haw!” He jabbed an elbow into my side.

It was an even chance that if his ribald joviality didn’t knock me over his breath would. I pushed him off and checked to make sure my money purse was still in place. It was, thank goodness, so I bulled past him, seeking the sanctuary of the inn.

“A pretty wife, sir. A good wife ter carries a’ the family name!” he cried after me.

Now that was an idea. Bringing home such a wench for a daughter-in-law would certainly set Mother on her ear, or even flying head-first over a cliff.

I smiled at that pleasing picture. Suitable reparation for all that I’d been put through.

My thoughts were as sour as the sea smell clinging to my clothes. Instead of the clear air washed by miles of ocean waves, they stank of filthy bodies, damp wood and, disgustingly, rat droppings. Such was what I’d discovered upon opening a trunk in search of new linen. I’d grimly shook out the cleanest-looking shirt and neckcloth and donned them. Bad as they were, the stuff was still better than that which I’d been wearing. I was to meet my English cousin at this inn today and futilely hoped to give a good impression of myself.

“A pretty wife for yer!” said the pander to the next man off the coach, who cursed and shoved him out of the way much as one would an annoying dog.

The door of The Three Brewers beckoned. I ducked through, bumping into another man before me. The entrance hall was dark compared to the outside, and he’d paused to let his dazzled eyes adjust. We begged one another’s pardon, and I pretended not to notice as he surreptitiously touched a pocket where he must have his own money secreted. Perhaps I was not as well dressed as I thought, that or pickpockets had so great an income in London that they could afford such clothes that would allow them to pass for gentlemen.

The porter intruded at this point, giving a cheerful welcome and ringing his bell for a waiter to come see to us. We were shown into the strangers’ room with others from the coach and there made our needs known. I was famished and settled that part of my business promptly, even before taking a chair. Used to dealing with an endless number of similar starving guests, the man wasted no time seeing to everyone’s comfort. This inn had a favorable reputation, and I was thankful and pleased that it was living up to the praise.

A noisy family with an infant shrieking in its nurse’s arms rolled in. They disdained the stranger’s room and were shown to a more private place away from the other guests. Well and good, for my brain was feverish from the long journey and lack of food, and I might have been tempted into slaughtering an innocent had they remained.

Only when a hot plate of fatty boiled beef was placed before me along with a deep cup of wine did my disposition improve. I quickly handed over a shilling and fell with ravenous abandon upon my meal. When the plate was clean, I followed it up with pigeon pie and an excellent boiled pudding. Nearly replete, the dessert of apples and walnuts filled the last empty corners. If ever I gnawed salt beef and weevil-infested bread again it would be too soon.

Well, perhaps not. Given the opportunity to turn ’round and sail straight back to Long Island today, I’d have taken it. I was dreadfully homesick and likely to remain so. Rapelji had said to regard this as an adventure.

If adventures meant bad food, coarse company, weeks of staring at miles of bottomless cold gray water, bumpy coach rides and encounters with a gin-soaked pander and his trollop, then he was welcome to mine. To be fair, London promised many interests and excitements, and the victuals of The Three Brewers were filling, but not as good as Mrs. Nooth’s table at home.

I cracked two walnuts against each other and wished for a speedy return. Regardless of Mother’s presence, it was at least familiar. I smashed the shells into smaller shards and picked out the meat.

Mother. Other men regarded the word with warmth and sentiment; all it inspired in me was anger and frustration.

Father’s reasoning had not moved her to change her mind, neither had my tears—not that I wept in her sight. To do so would have only invited her contempt. Instead, I arranged for a private interview, hoping that a direct plea might work, but it was an absolute failure before I ever opened my mouth to speak. The naked disgust on her face as she looked upon me shriveled my liver down to nothing. I had no experience dealing with the mad, nor did I wish to acquire any. My only desire was to leave the room and never see her again. Since my effort at persuasion had died stillborn, I had to supply another reason to justify my visit. Red-faced and with the sweat tickling under my arms I blathered out a stuttering apology to her and concluded with a little speech of gratitude for her kindness toward me.

I did not state what I was apologizing for; I would not give a name to an evil that only existed in her sick mind. Thankfully, she did not refer to the events of the previous evening. Had she done so I’d have fled. I did feel like a complete fool, for this was uncomfortably like an admission of guilt.

If one wishes to count childish fibs, then it was not the first time I’d ever lied, but it was the first time I had ever lied at length and so convincingly. The further I went, the worse I felt. Even as the words bubbled up into elaborate constructions of remorse, I vowed to never place myself in such a position again. The experience left me feeling foully humiliated and in no doubt that if I hadn’t utterly tarnished my honor this day, then I’d definitely thrown a shadow upon it.

It was an impossible situation, as Elizabeth maintained, but what else could be done? The woman was mad, but she was our mother and until we came of age, we were unhappily subject to her whims. The other problem, as Father had pointed out, was the money. For a good education I needed the sum that set aside for me—which would be denied if I insisted on Harvard. Very well, then I’d go to Cambridge. If groveling to this demented creature for a few minutes would curry her favor, then I would grovel, and did so. Thoroughly.

It worked. A creaking, rattling ghost of a smile drifted across her face, smacking of arrogant triumph. I’d been forgiven. My future was assured. It was time for her evening tea. I had permission to be excused.

After that bitter degradation, I was less ready to so harshly judge Beldon and Mrs. Hardinbrook for their toad-eating.

My shameful scene with Mother concluded, I went to see Father. It took me a while to work up the courage, but I finally introduced an idea that had been stirring uneasily in my brain: the possibility of having her declared incapable. I had feared he would be angry with me, but came to realize that he’d already thought it over for himself.

“How do we prove it, laddie?” he asked. When I faltered over my answer, he continued. “It would be different if she wandered about raving at the top of her voice all the time, but you’ve seen how she is. She’s been in a temper over that incident, but you need more than that to take to court. In public her behavior has always been above reproach.”

“But we’ve plenty of witnesses here to the contrary.”

“To what would be dismissed as an unpleasant altercation within a family. No court would judge in our favor with—”

“But surely as her husband, you are able to do
something
.” I could not quite keep a whine from invading my tone. Damnation. I was better than that, but desperate.

Father’s face darkened, and with an effort, he swallowed back his annoyance. “Jonathan, there are some things that I will not do, even for your sake. One of those is compromising my honor. To go down the path you are suggesting would do just that.”

My gaze dropped; my skin seemed aflame. For the second time I stammered an apology, only now I meant what was said.

He accepted it instantly. “I do understand exactly how you feel, I’ve been there many times. Life is not fair, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make the best of what fate—or your mother—drops on us.”

Cold comfort, I thought.

The morning after those talks marked the official opening of Elizabeth’s quiet campaign against Mother. We rose early and left early for the church. She’d managed to keep out of Mother’s sight since the fight for fear that Mother might stop her from showing herself in public once she saw the extent of the damage done. Elizabeth’s dress was carefully chosen for its color, which brutally accented her fully developed bruises. She made no effort to hide them. Being a favorite among the women of our village, she was surrounded by a group of the concerned and the curious almost as soon as she stepped from the carriage. While I sent the driver back to the house for the rest of the family, Elizabeth made excellent use of her time.

I still disapproved, but since she was telling the plain truth, I had no difficulty supporting her. When the carriage rolled up again to discharge Mother, Mrs. Hardinbrook, Beldon, and Father, the atmosphere of avid curiosity mixed with revulsion was nearly as thick as a morning fog. Distracted by her guests, Mother did not notice it. A few late-comers who hadn’t yet heard the tale came over to greet her and meet her friends, but as soon as they detached themselves, others took them aside for a confidential whisper. Mother had been oblivious to the subtle change in the people around her, Father was not. But what he guessed or knew, he kept to himself and stood next to his wife in our pew.

Somehow we got through the service and returned home, me to brood on my disappointment, Elizabeth to her first feeling of triumph. She was all but glowing with satisfaction when I found her in the library. This dampened somewhat when she looked up and successfully read my face. Not wishing to intrude upon her, I’d kept my news, or lack of it, to myself throughout the morning.

“She wouldn’t listen, would she?” she asked.

I threw myself onto a chair. “I don’t think she knows I talked with Father, but it’s hopeless. He can’t do anything.”

“You’re not angry with him?”

“No, of course not. If he could change things, he would. I’m going to have to leave.”

“I wish I could come with you.”

“So do I, but you know what Mother would make of that.”

“Something evil,” she said. “What will you
do
at Cambridge?”

“Be miserable, I’m sure.”

“It will be a long, long time. When you come back, you’ll be all grown up. We won’t know you.”

“You think I’ll change so much?”

“Perhaps not, little brother. I’m being selfish, though.”

“Indeed?”

“Whatever shall I do with myself while you are gone?”

“You’ll miss me?” I gently mocked.

“Certainly I’ll miss you,” she said.

“Nothing selfish about that.”

“I’m selfish because all I can think of is my own troubles, of spending day after day facing that horrible woman and her toadies without you here to comfort me. I should really be worrying about you being off by yourself.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t think badly of me, Jonathan.”

“I don’t. Believe me, I do not. I’ve just never thought of how things might be for you while I’m gone.”

“Then thank you for thinking of it now. But it mightn’t last forever, you know You saw how it went at church today. She and that precious pair plan to go calling tomorrow, but I believe many of the people they’ll visit will be unavailable. Oh, dear, what’s wrong?” Her forehead wrinkled at my expression.

“I just don’t feel this action is worthy of you.”

She started to either object or defend, then caught herself. Her face grew hard. “Indeed, it is not, but she hurt me terribly and I want to hurt her back. It may not be Christian, but it does make me feel better.”

“I know, I just don’t want you to become so accustomed to it that it consumes you. Otherwise when I return, I shall not recognize you, either.”

The feeling behind the words got through to her. “You believe I might become like her?”

“Not at all, but I should not like to see you influenced by her into becoming someone you are not.”

“God forbid,” she murmured, staring at the floor. “Mirrors can be awful things, can’t they? But they do give you the truth when you bother to look in them.”

“I don’t mean to hurt you . . . ”

“No. I understand what you mean.”

“What will you do?”

“Whether my actions demean me or not, I will see them through. If Mother leaves, well and good, if not, then perhaps I may adopt Father’s example and leave the house myself. I have many friends I can visit, but give me some time, little brother, and trust in my own sense of honor.”

There was a word to make me wince.

Hopes of a reprieve from Cambridge dashed, there was little else to do but follow Father’s advice. I played the puppet in Mother’s presence, and it paid handsomely. The allowance Father was able to arrange for me was more than generous. Perhaps she thought to buy my affection. Perhaps she just didn’t care. Only later did I realize that her purpose was for me to make an impressive show to others. She gave many tedious lectures instructing me on how to behave once I was in England. I’d had lessons a few years before, but for a while feared that she’d hire another dancing master to refresh my memory about correct posturing in polite company.