P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death

by Red Death(Lit)

  "What do you mean? Of course I should be alarmed."

  "Shh. You're not hurt, are you? Did it hurt then? Does it hurt now?"

  No... I thought.

  "Only the idea of it is strange to you but, my darling, let me assure you that it is entirely natural and necessary to me."

  "Necessary?"

  "For how I live, how I love."

  "But the way we did it earlier..."

  "Was the way of most men and women, yes. Mine was a variation that gives me the greatest form of pleasure, not just for myself, but for my lover. Did you not find it so? You didn't want me to stop."

  "I must have been mad. Damnation, Nora, you were drinking my blood!"

  Her features dissolved from concern to amused chagrin. "Yes, I was. But be honest, was it so terrible?"

  That took all the wind out of me.

  Amusement surpassed chagrin. "Oh, my dear, if you could only see your face."

  "But... well, I mean... well, it's damnably strange."

  "Only because it's new to you."

  "This isn't, well, harmful, is it?" I asked.

  "Hardly. You may wobble a bit tomorrow, but some sleep and good food will restore you."

  "You're sure?"

  She kissed my fingers. "Yes, my darling. I would never, ever harm you. If it were within my power I would protect you from all the world's harms as well."

  I settled back, overtaken by another bout of dizziness and the oddity of dealing with her... preferences. It was hardly a struggle, for I found myself curiously able to accept them. The sincerity of feeling behind her last words was so sharp that it was almost painful to listen to them, but at the same time a thrill went through me. I'd hardly dared to hope that she would love me as I was loving her.

  She was absolutely right about her needs not being so terrible, quite the contrary, in fact. And if she'd started kissing me again

  in the same spot and in the same way I would not have stopped her. Merely the thought of the light touch of her lips revived me greatly in mind and in spirit. My body, sad to say, was not yet sufficiently recovered for me to extend the invitation just now,

  but soon.

  Gingerly, I explored the place on my throat with my fingers, It felt slightly bruised, nothing more, and the only evidence of her bite were two small, raised blemishes.

  "They're not very noticeable," she said. "Your neck cloth will cover everything."

  "Have you a mirror?"

  "Not handy, and I don't like to trouble the servants this

  late."

  "Good God, what time is it?"

  "Close on to three, I should think. Time to sleep. My people will see that you get home in the morning."

  "Not too early," I said, echoing Warburton's instruction. Instead of resentment toward him, I now felt an almost brotherly compassion and camaraderie. "Poor Tony. He's so terribly in love with you."

  "Yes." She rose and lay down next to me, but on top of the coverlet. "Perhaps too much in love."

  "Don't you love him?"

  "Not in the way he wants. He wants marriage and children, and that is not my chosen path."

  "Why not?"

  "It's too long a story and I don't wish to tell it."

  "But I know nothing about you." Her eyes were not so red now. The darker pupils were slowly emerging from their scarlet

  background.

  "You know enough, I think." She stroked the hair away from my brow and kissed me. "You'll learn more in the nights

  ahead."

  The dreamlike comfort that had begun to envelop my thoughts abruptly whipped away once more. "No I won't. I'm going up to Cambridge tomorrow, God help me. I'll never see you again!"

  "Yes, you will. Do you think I'd let anyone as dear to me as you get away?"

  "You mean you'd come with me?"

  "Not with you, but I can take a house in Cambridge as easily as in London. The place is a dull and windy fen, but if you're

  there..." Her mouth closed over mine, warm and soft and tasting of salt.

  Not salt. Tasting of blood. My own blood.

  But I didn't care now. She could do what she liked as long as I had a place in her heart. She wholly filled mine.

  We talked and planned for a little while, but I was exhausted and soon fell asleep in her arms.

  I awoke slowly, lazily, my eyelids reluctant to lift and start the day. I had no idea of the time. The room's one window, though large, was heavily curtained. I was alone in the bed. Nora must have risen earlier and gone down to breakfast.

  Rolling on my side, I noticed a fold of paper on the table by the bed. Written on it was the simple message, "Ring when you are awake." Next to the paper was a silver bell. I did as instructed and presently a large and terrifyingly dignified butler appeared and asked how he could be of service to me.

  "Where is Miss Jones?"

  "Gone for the day, sir, but she left a message for you."

  I sat up with interest. "Yes?"

  "She will try to meet with you again tonight, but if she is unable to, she will certainly see you in Cambridge within the week."

  My disappointment fell on me like a great stone. I'd hoped for more than a mere verbal communication. A lengthy love letter would have been nice. A week? That was an eternity. "Where has she gone?"

  "She did not confide that information to me, sir."

  "What about Mrs. Poole? Would she know?"

  "Mrs. Poole left early to go visiting, sir. I do not think she will be able to help you, either."

  "Damn."

  "Would you care for a bath and shave, sir?"

  "Really?" Considering all the trouble Warburton's servants had been to yesterday, this was an unexpected boon. I accepted the offered luxury and while things were being prepared for me in another room, sat at the table and composed a note to Nora.

  Like my first kisses, it was chiefly more enthusiastic than polished, but sincere. Some parts of it were doubtless overdone, but love can forgive anything, including bad writing. When I came to a point where I could either go on for several more

  pages or stop, I chose to stop. It struck me that the whole thing was highly indiscreet, and Nora had specifically asked for my discretion. Virtuously, I recopied it, but changed the salutation to read "My Dearest Darling," rather than "My Dearest Nora." I signed it with a simple "J" and threw the first draft into the fire. That was as discreet as I wanted to be for the moment.

  Her servants saw to my every comfort, and made sure I was groomed, fed, and dressed in clothes that had been magically aired and brushed anew. I was-as Nora predicted-a little wobbly, but that was hardly to be compared with the stiffness in those muscles and joints unaccustomed to certain horizontal activities. I also found it necessary to tread carefully in order to spare myself from another kind of unexpected discomfort, for there was a decided tenderness between my legs due to last night's many endeavors. Perhaps a few days of rest would not be so bad for me, after all.

  A coach was engaged to take me to Warburton's. It was early afternoon by now, but I had no great concern about my tardy return-not until the coach stopped at the front steps and Oliver burst out the door.

  "My God! Where on earth have you been?" "I told Warburton-"

  "Yes, yes, and so you went off for the night. Well-a-day, man, you could have at least given him a hint on where you'd be sol could find you."

  "Is there some trouble?"

  "Only that we're supposed to be on our way to meet Mother

  by now."

  Oh dear. With that pronouncement of doom hanging in the

  air like a curse, he hustled me inside.

  Warburton greeted me with a grin and a wink and I had the decency to blush to his face. Courtiers to Nora we might be, but I wasn't yet ready to talk about it with him now.

  If ever.

  "You're white as a ghost, but seem well enough," he said. "Poor Oliver thought you'd fallen into a ditch or worse."

  I regarded his own pale skin with new eyes. "Yes. I d
o beg everyone's pardon. It was wrong of me to go off so suddenly. I didn't think that I would be so long."

  "One never does," he purred. "Come in and sit and tell us all

  about her."

  "Absolutely not!" Oliver howled from the stairs he was taking two at a time. "As soon as they bring down your baggage, we are leaving."

  Warburton shrugged expressively. "Another day, then. She must have been extraordinary, though, eh?"

  I had to remember that he was still under the impression I'd been with some servant girl. "She was, indeed. That is the only word that could possibly describe her."

  His eyed widened with inner laughter. "Heavens, you've fallen in love, and after but one night. Do you plan to see her again?"

  "Yes, I'm sure I will. At least I hope so."

  "Then you'll have to lay in a supply of eel-skins. No offense against your lady, but you don't want to pick up a case of the clap or pox while you're with her. They'll also keep you from fathering a brat, v'know."

  "Uh..."

  "No arguments. There's not a doctor in the land who won't agree with me. Oliver would tell you the same, only I'm sure he's too shy, but once you're up at Cambridge, ask him straight out and he'll tell you where you can get some. Or me, if you can wait that long. I won't be leaving for another week or so."

  He was different from the preoccupied man I'd left last night, and very different from the high-spirited suitor I'd first met: genial and interested in things outside of himself. I again wondered what Nora had said to him. I knew just how persuasive she could be but this taxed all understanding.

  Oliver returned, followed by some footmen wrestling with my trunk and other things. He had asked the coach that brought me to wait and now supervised its loading. Finished, he rushed back and wrung Warburton's hand.

  "Sorry to have to hare off, but you know how Mother is."

  "It's all right, my dear fellow. I'll see you at the same rooms later this month?"

  "Certainly! Come on, Jonathan. I'm not Joshua, I can't make the sun stand still, though God knows it would be damned convenient right now." He seized my arm and pulled me out. I waved once at Warburton, who grinned again, then tumbled down the steps and into the coach. Oliver's fine horse was tethered behind, its saddle and tack littering the floor and tripping

  me as I charged inside. By a lucky twist, I managed to correctly land my backside on a seat.

  Oliver collapsed opposite me with a weary sigh. "Damn good fortune you picked this instead of a chair or wagon. When we're clear of the town traffic, we should make good time."

  Once more I apologized to him.

  "You needn't worry about my feelings, it's Mother who may take things badly. Some of her friends were at that party last night and it could get back to her that we were out having a good time instead of hurrying home to introduce you to her. She has to have things her way or it's the devil to pay otherwise."

  That sounded uncomfortably familiar. Ah, well, if his mother and mine were so alike, I would only have to endure her for a short while. Cambridge had suddenly become appealing to me and if I was anxious to get there and take up my studies, then she could hardly object to such an attitude.

  "Has Warburton spoken much about Miss Jones?" I asked.

  "Eh? No, I don't think so. He got a bit drunk last night, but that's all I can recall. I suppose his proposal was a failure, but usually when a girl turns him down he sulks in bed for a week. He seemed in good spirits today."

  "Why do you think it was a failure?"

  "Had he succeeded, he would have told us."

  "You seem incurious about it."

  "It's hardly my business." His expression changed from indifference to interest. "Oh-oh, are you thinking of-"

  "Of what?"

  "If the beauteous Miss Jones has said no to him, it would smooth the path for you, wouldn't it? Only I'm not sure what Tony would make of that. He has the devil's own temper at times."

  "The jealous sort, is he?"

  Oliver shrugged.

  That could be another reason why Nora refused his offer. "Jealous or not, it is the lady who should have the last word on who she chooses to spend her time with."

  "Yes, I've always thought that way myself. So much the better if she chooses to spend it with you."

  I lost my power of speech for a few moments.

  "Don't looked so surprised, I saw you following the girl's aunt into the maze. From the look on your face I knew it wasn't

  to have a quiet talk with her. You needn't worry; I'm not one to tell tales. I've found that it's healthier to stay well removed from any romantic intrigues that are of no direct concern to me. All I ask is that if you have a question, come on out with it. This hedging around for information is bad for my liver."

  So. Dear Cousin Oliver wasn't as simple as he pretended. Perhaps it was the Fonteyn blood. I began to chuckle.

  "All right. You've my word on it. I'll even drop the subject. It's bad manners to talk about a man when he's not present, anyway."

  "Heavens," he said, returning to his normal careless manner. 'Then what shall we talk about?"

  "There's one thing that comes to mind. It's what Warburton was saying to me in the hall before we left."

  "What's that?"

  "He said you'd help."

  "If I can. Help about what?"

  "I'm not exactly sure. Could you please tell me... what's an eel-skin?"

  My initial meeting with the family's reigning grand matriarch, Elizabeth Therese Fonteyn Marling, left me with the kind of lingering impression that months afterward could still raise a shiver between my shoulders. She had lived up-or perhaps down-to my worst expectations and more. She and my mother were eerily alike, physically and mentally, though my aunt was of a more thought-filled and colder nature, which, considering Mother, was really saying something in her favor. After that, it was about all I could say in her favor.

  Her husband had died years ago-Oliver had only a faint memory of him-and since then she was the uncontested head of both the Fonteyn and Marling clans. She held her place over all the others, including the men, by the force of her personality and the wealth she'd inherited from her father. As my father had done, her husband had signed an agreement forswearing all rights to her money before he was granted permission to marry her. Whether it had been a match based on love or property I was never to find out.

  As I entered her drawing room with a creeping feeling that I had not left home after all, she'd looked me over with her hard little eyes, her thin mouth growing thinner as it pulled back into an easy sneer. The surrounding lines in the heavily painted skin had been incised there by many years of repetition. I could expect no mercy or understanding from this woman, nor even the pretense of familial affection.

  "Marie said that you were a devil and you've the looks for

  it, boy, but if you've any ideas of devilry while you're under my watch you can put 'em out of your head this instant."

  Such were her first words to me, hardly before I'd completed my bow to her during introductions. "Yes, Aunt Therese," I mumbled meekly.

  "You will address me as 'Aunt Fonteyn,' " she snapped.

  "Yes, Aunt Fonteyn," I immediately responded.

  "It's a good name and better than you deserve. If you didn't have a half share of my father's blood I wouldn't waste my time on you, but for his sake and the sake of my dear Marie, I'll do what I can to civilize you."

  "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." What did she think I would do, use the soup tureen for a chamber pot in the middle of a meal with the local curate?

  Tempting thought.

  "Something amusing you, Jonathan Fonteyn?"

  "No, ma'am." I managed to hide the inevitable wince my middle name inspired.

  "You, boy," she said, addressing Oliver as though he were a servant of the lowest order. He seemed to be staring hard at some invisible object just off her left ear. "Get out of here. Have Meg bring the tea. Mind that she has it hot this time if she knows what's good for
her."

  He fled.

  She turned her gaze back upon me and I strove to find whatever it was that Oliver had seen. There was nothing, of course, but it was better than trying to face down her basilisk gaze.

  "Nought to say for yourself, boy?" she demanded of me.

  "I deemed it more fitting to wait upon your pleasure, Aunt Fonteyn."