Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (77 page)

Yet another question for Nora.

Thankfully, I was able to manage water crossings on horseback or in a wagon, though it was hard going. I’d reasoned that taking a ship would entail about the same level of difficulty and was prepared to tolerate the inconvenience. It could be no worse than the bout of seasickness I’d suffered during my initial voyage to England four years ago. That had worn off as my body got used to the motion of the ship, and in this coming voyage I counted on a similar recovery.

Not that I was giving myself much of a choice. If I had to put up with the discomfort for the next two months or more, then so be it. To England I would go.

“Your livestock were sent ahead to the ship this morning,” said Father. “I hope to God it arrives safely.”

“I’m certain it will.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement. “You spoke to Lieutenant Nash?”

“At length. He’ll provide as safe an escort as any might hope for in these times.”

“My thought is that you’ve gotten a fox to guard your henhouse.”

“This fox is well trained, sir.”

Nash, the officer in charge of the profitable work of collecting supplies for the commissary, possessed the soul of a rapacious vulture, but early in our acquaintance I’d been able to successfully curb his greedy nature to something more moderate. On more than one occasion, I’d been able to put the fear of God into him by means of my unnatural influence, and he took care to pay attention to any little requests we might present to him as though they were written orders from the King himself. In turn, we were most careful not to abuse our advantage lest it draw unwelcome notice upon us.

In this instance, the request was to provide a safe escort for the cattle I would be taking to England. Nash was to make sure that all of them were put aboard without incident. Such an undertaking was highly unusual, but my need was great enough that I had no heavy weight on my conscience suborning one of the King’s officers to be my private agent for such a task. Only Nash had sufficient authority to protect the stock and see that they and their fodder for the trip were safely delivered.

Also, with the British army and the Hessians on one side and the rebels on the other, and all of them hungry as wolves for fresh beef, the idea of taking good cattle out of the country bordered on madness. But I would need to feed myself on the voyage, and for that I required a ready supply of animal blood. I hoped a dozen would be more than sufficient for my modest appetite, since I had no plans for indulging in any unnatural exertions like flying or vanishing while aboard. My only real worry was that the animals might not survive an ocean voyage. Well, if they all died, then so be it. I was not adverse to drinking human blood for food if necessity forced me to such an extreme. My power of influence would help there.

Father and I had devoted much thought to the framing of just how to ship the beasts and had planned things carefully. Between us, fees (and bribes) were paid, documents were issued, stamped and made inarguably legal in ways that only an experienced lawyer could devise. In the end, we’d obtained permission from His Majesty’s servants in charge of hindering honest travelers to ship one dozen heifers to England ostensibly for the purpose of breeding them to superior stock owned by the Fonteyn side of the family. The logical thing to do, as was pointed out to us by the first official we’d encountered, would be to purchase a bull in England and bring it here, thus reducing our expenses on the venture. I’d “persuaded” the fellow and all the others that came after not to argue, but to simply make the arrangements as we desired, without question.

None of it had been easy, but there is a great satisfaction to be derived from the accomplishment of a difficult endeavor. Perhaps I would feel this particular satisfaction again once we made landfall in England, God willing.

“Trained or not, I shan’t feel easy in my heart until I see the results of the lieutenant’s work for myself,” said Father.

His voice did not sound right to me, having in it an odd note of strain that I did not like one whit. “What is it, sir?”

He thought long before answering, or so it seemed to me as I waited. He gave a half shrug and nearly smiled, an expression remarkably similar to Elizabeth’s own subdued efforts of late. “I shall have to tell you, I see that well enough, and hope that you can forgive me for adding another worry to the others you carry.”

“Worry?”

His raised hand held back the formation of more specific questions from me. He pushed the window wide. “Come along, laddie,” he said and stepped over the low sill, quick as a thief.

Too startled to comment at this unorthodox exit, I followed, recovering enough wit to remember to close my gaping mouth.

Father led the way around toward the parlor window and stopped close enough that we might see those within, but yet be concealed from them by the darkness. He signed for me to look inside, and I obeyed. It was a cozy enough scene to behold: Anne read her book, and the others still played at their cards. All was peaceful. Normal. Familiar.

I turned back to Father and indicated that I did not understand his reason for showing this. He moved back a little distance now, so there would be no chance of anyone overhearing us.

“Is this what you thought might worry me?”

“I’m coming to the worry, laddie.” He struck off slowly over the grounds, his gaze hardly leaving the house as we gradually began to pace around it. “It concerns the French,” he stated.

Father had a manner about him when he was in a light mood and wanting to be humorous. That manner was lacking in him now, so I understood he was not trying to make some sort of an oblique jest. That was all I understood, though. “Sir?”

“The damned French. You mark me, they’ll be coming into this war like wolves to a carcass. You’ve heard the news but have you worked out what it means?”

“I’ve heard rumors that the French are sending ships loaded with holy water and rosaries and are determined to make us all Catholic.”

Father paused and laughed at that one, just as I had done when I’d first caught wind of it at The Oak. Presumably, all good members of the English Church would be righteously horrified at the prospect of a forced conversion to an alien faith. Those who were less than firm in their loyalty to the King might then be persuaded to a more wholehearted support of his rule. It was an utterly ridiculous threat, of course, but some of our sovereign’s more excitable subjects were taking it seriously.

“France will be sending shiploads of cargo,” said Father, “but it will be gunpowder, arms and money. Some of their young rascals have already come over to lend support to the rebel cause; it’s only a matter of time before their government officially follows. We slapped them hard fourteen years ago, and they’re still stinging from it. They want revenge against England and this damned rebellion is the means.”

“But they’ll be risking another war.”

“Possibly. My thought is that they’ll play the rebels against the Crown for as much as it’s worth. Wars are expensive, but this one won’t have a high price for them at all if they work it to their advantage. ’Tis a fine way to weaken both sides with little effort on their part. Gives them a chance to put themselves ahead.”

“You’d think the Congress over here would see through the ploy.”

“Some of the clever ones do, of that I have no doubt, but they’re so desperate for help they dare not say a word to the people they claim to represent. I’ve no trust for them. My God, barely a year before they came out with that damnable declaration against the King they were just as loudly voicing their undying loyalty to him. Bloody liars and rogues, the lot of them.”

I made a noise to indicate my agreement with that sentiment. “And fools, if they will risk trusting the French.”

“Indeed, yes.”

“But this worry you spoke of . . . .”

Father paused. We’d climbed a little rise and had the pleasure of viewing the house and much of its surrounding grounds. He glanced at me, then extended his arm to take in all that lay before us. “This,” he said, “won’t last.” It was a flat and inarguable statement.

Inarguable, but needing an explanation. I asked for one.

“We’ve been safe enough here almost from the start. There have been raids and outrages and theft, but nothing like real war, Jonathan. The west end of the Island saw that when General Howe’s men landed. Stock was killed, crops burned to the roots, houses looted and burned and the owners turned out to fend for themselves on what was left. ’Tis one thing to hear of it, but another to have the experience, and we were spared only by God’s grace and Washington’s prudence in running like a rabbit in another direction. I don’t think we can count on many more such miracles.”

“But the fighting is over. Gone from here, anyway.”

“Who’s to say it won’t return, though? This has become a civil war with Englishman against Englishman, with each side regarding the other as the worst kind of traitor. Those are the most evil and the bitterest of conflicts, and when peace finally comes it won’t matter which side you were on, for there will be reprisals for all.”

“But the King must win. What else is possible? And I can’t believe that he would be so ignorant as to punish those who have remained loyal to him.”

“Stranger things have happened. Oh, don’t be alarmed, I’m not speaking treason, I just want you to know that I’ve had some hard thought over how the world has changed for us and how it is likely to continue changing, and not necessarily to our favor or liking.”

“How can it not be in our favor once the rebels are subdued?”

“Reprisals, laddie. Not just in taxes to pay for the war, but court work and plenty of it. More than enough to keep me busy for the rest of my days . . . but I’ve no belly for it.”

I couldn’t help but stare. Father loved his vocation, or so he’d always told me.

He nodded at my reaction. “This won’t be arguing the ownership of a stray sheep, or who’s the rightful master of what parcel of land, or anything like that. This will be the trying of traitors, the confiscation of their property, jailings, floggings, hangings. Some have used the cloak of patriotism to cover their thefts and murders, and they will get all that they deserve, in this world or the next, but what of the others whose only crime may have been to read the wrong newspaper? I will not be a party to that, to punishing a man just because he
thinks
differently from me.”

“You won’t have to do any such thing, sir.”

“Won’t I? If I do not fulfill the duties thrust upon me by the court, then might I not also be a traitor to the Crown?” He waved his hand against my protest and I fell silent, for I knew that he was right.

“What’s to be done, then?”

He gave no answer, but sat on the grass, still facing the house. I sat next to him, plucking up a loose stone to play with. His somber mood had transferred onto me and I wanted distraction for my hands.

“What’s to be done,” he finally said in a heavy voice, “is to move back to England.”

Had he picked up a stone himself and lobbed it square between my eyes, I could not have been more stunned.

He continued, “And before you say aught else, remember that I’ve first put much hard thought into my decision.”

In truth, I could not bring myself to say a damned thing for a considerable period. It seemed too much an effort even to think, but think I must if I was to understand.

He seemed to anticipate the questions taking form in my mind. “You know why we came here all those years ago? Your mother and I?”

“To put distance between yourself and her father, you told us,” I mumbled, too shaken yet to raise my voice. I made a fist around the little piece of rock and the edges dug into my palm.

“Exactly. Old Judge Fonteyn was a monster and no mistake. He did all he could to make our lives miserable, using his influence to intimidate your mother into obedience to his will long after she was a settled matron with a home of her own. How that old sinner could howl and rage, but I had thought that would end once I’d put an ocean between us. And it worked, for a time.”

Until things had gone wrong between Father and Mother and she’d left him on Long Island to live a separate life in Philadelphia.

He grimaced. “I won’t repeat what you already know. What it has come to is this: the judge is long dead, and his threat upon my marriage fulfilled itself long ago, so my reason for staying on here has quite vanished. Combine that with the fact that you and Elizabeth are grown adults and more than capable of being on your own, an endeavor you’re about to undertake, anyway. Combine it again with the fact that the conflicts taking place around us have made this a most hazardous place in which to live. I’ve no sane reason to remain.”

“But this is our
home,”
I said, aware of the plaintive whine in my voice, but not caring.

“Only for as long as no one takes it from us. The rebels have confiscated property before, you’ve read the accounts and heard them at The Oak. If there should be an unforeseen setback and our army is forced from this island, those bastards from Connecticut will be over here with the next turn of the tide ready to pick us clean in the name of their precious Continental Congress.”

It was impossible to conceive of that ever happening, but the raids from across the Sound were real enough. We’d been watchful of our own and had been lucky, but many of our friends had not been so blessed. The story was still fresh of how two of the DeQuincey daughters had been burned out of their house and forced into the woods, barefoot, with only their nightdresses to protect them from the March cold. They’d managed to reach the safety of their uncle’s home some miles away, but not without great suffering and terror. Their attackers had even chased them for a goodly distance, hooting after them like schoolboys on a lark. The great Sons of Liberty had given up the hunt, fortunately, wanting to return to their booty-laden whaleboat before the coming of dawn.

That could happen to us, I thought. We were not immune. No one could be so long as such men roamed free who were base enough to think that two helpless girls were such a grave threat to their miserable cause. I now understood Father’s worry, but that understanding did not make his words easier to accept.