P N Elrod - Barrett 3 - Death Masque

by Death Masque(Lit)

  Oliver and I held our breath, but Elizabeth simply murmured a quiet thank you. She had, after all, won the round and could afford to be generous.

  "It took you long enough to get here," Aunt Fonteyn added, addressing me again. I hardly need mention that she made it into an accusation.

  "We came as soon as we could, ma'am," I said. "The captain of the ship assured us that we had a very swift crossing." Actually, Elizabeth and Jericho had gotten the assurance, but it was easy enough to repeat what they'd told me.

  "I was referring to the fact that you wasted time stopping over at that disreputable inn when you should have sent for my coach to bring you straight from the docks to Fonteyn House."

  As there seemed no advantage for any of us to offer comment to her on the subject, we remained sUent.

  "It was a sinful waste of money and time, and there will be no more of it, y'hear?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And as for your present arrangements-I suppose Oliver talked you into staying at his house?"

  "We accepted his invitation, yes, ma'am. And very comfortable it is, too. Your son is a most generous and gracious host."

  "Well, that's fine for you two, but Elizabeth Antoinette will be moving into Fonteyn House. She will remain here tonight. When the coach takes you both back, you will see to it that her things are loaded in and-"

  "I will not!" Elizabeth cried.

  Aunt Fonteyn turned a calculating eye upon her niece. "Did you say something, girl?"

  "I prefer to remain where I am," she stated, lifting her chin.

  "Do you, now? Well, I do not, and you can't tell me that you have your mother's support on this one, because I know you don't."

  "Nevertheless-"

  "You will not argue with me on this, Elizabeth Antoinette. It isn't seemly for an unmarried girl to be living with two unmarried men, any idiot knows that."

  "There is nothing unseemly about it," Elizabeth protested.

  "You have no chaperon, girl, that's what's-"

  "Oliver is my first cousin and Jonathan my own brother- what better chaperons and protectors could I want?"

  Aunt Fonteyn abruptly fell into a silence so cold and so hard that Elizabeth instantly halted any further comment she might have put in. Aunt Fonteyn was exuding a near-palpable air of triumph.

  Oh, dear God, not that again, I thought, groaning inside.

  "And so it comes out at last, does it?" she said, and there was a truly evil glint in her small, hate-filled eyes.

  Elizabeth must have also seen what was coming. Her whole body stiffened, and she glanced once at me.

  Our aunt leaped on it. "I see that it does. See how she blushes for her shame!"

  Blushing with anger would have been the correct interpretation of Elizabeth's high color.

  Aunt Fonteyn went on, clearly enjoying herself. "You dirty, shameless slut! Did you think I would tolerate such blatant sin under my own nose?"

  Shaken beyond words, Elizabeth could do nothing more than tremble. I feared her temper might overtake her as it had once done with Mother and that a physical attack was in the offing. An interruption was desperately needed.

  "Tolerate what, Aunt Fonteyn?" I asked in a lazy voice, all bland innocence.

  Her stare whipped over to me, but I stared back, quite impervious to any threat this one dungheaded woman might hold. I could feel Oliver's eyes hard on me as well. No doubt he was trying to fathom what had happened to set her off.

  "How dare you raise such an impertinent face to me, you filthy fornicator!" she screeched. "You know very well what I'm talking about. Your mother has long written to me about your unnatural liaison, and since she cannot get your blind father to end what's been going on, she's begged me to put a stop to it."

  Oliver choked with shock as the dawn started to break. "What-what are you saying?"

  I readily answered. "It seems that my mother, who suffers from a singularly unstable mind, has the disgusting delusion that Elizabeth and I are engaged in incestuous relation with one another, and that your mother is imbecile enough to believe her lunatic ravings."

  "Oh, my God!" That was as much as he could get out before Aunt Fonteyn's shriek of outrage burst forth.

  It was more than sufficient to rattle the windows in the next room; it certainly brought the footman running. The parlor door was thrown open, and he and some other servants crowded through. Their swift appearance gave me to understand that they'd been listening all along. Excellent. I'd hand them something worth the hearing.

  If I got the chance. Aunt Fonteyn was doing some considerable raving herself, calling me a number of names that a lady in her position should not have even known, much less spoken. She'd risen from her chair and was pointing at me with her ivory stick in such a way as to make me thankful it was only a stick and not a dagger. I held up against this tide of ill-feeling well enough, but Oliver had gone quite pasty. It was difficult to tell whether he was more upset by my revelation or by seeing his mother in such an extreme choleric state. Elizabeth had backed far out of the way and watched me with openmouthed astonishment, but by God I'd had enough of this sly and festering falsehood. It was past time to put an end to it.

  When Aunt Fonteyn ran out of breath, I seized the opening and continued, doing a fair imitation of a man bored with the topic. "Of course you're aware that my poor mother has been under a doctor's direct care for several years now. She's often deluded by the heavy influence of the laudanum she takes, and so is hardly responsible for herself or anything she says."

  "Be quiet!" roared my aunt.

  "I only speak the truth," I said, full of offended dignity.

  "You! All of you out of here!" she bellowed at the servants. It was quite amusing to watch their scrambling escape into the hall. The door slammed shut, but I had every confidence that their ears were glued fast to the cracks and keyhole.

  "You know, Oliver," I went on in a carrying tone, "this display convinces me that your poor mother may also suffer from the same complaint as mine. She seems quite out of control."

  Oliver could not yet speak, but Aunt Fonteyn did. Her voice was low and murderous.

  "You vicious young bastard! Lie all you wish, slander how you like, but I know the truth of things. You and your sister are an unnatural pair and will rot in hell for what you've done-"

  "Which is exactly nothing, woman!" I shouted, patience finally broken. "I know not where Mother got such a ludicrous idea, but surely you're too intelligent to believe her nonsense."

  She wasn't listening. "I opened my hearth to you, and here is my repayment. I'll have the both of you arrested and put in the stocks for-"

  "Oh, yes, by all means do that. I'm sure the scandal will make a most favorable impression on all your many friends."

  And there it was, my killing thrust right into the great weakness she shared with Mother. I had the supreme satisfaction of seeing Aunt Fonteyn snap that foul mouth of hers shut, tighter than any clam. Though it was impossible to judge her color under the paint, it must have been very dark indeed. Had I pushed her too far? Her eyes looked quite mad.

  Then, even as I watched, the madness changed to icy hatred with an alacrity that eerily reminded me of Mother's alarming changes of mood.

  "You," she whispered in a voice that raised my hackles, "are no longer a part of this family. You are dead, the two of you. And like the dead you forfeit all right to your inheritance. You can pander in the street for your bread and your whore-sister with you. I'll see you both cast out."

  "No." If she was merely icy, then I was glacial. "You. Will. Not."

  From some faraway place I heard Elizabeth calling my name.

  I had no mind for her, only for the hideous woman before me. I dared not spare the attention. All was in balance within me between anger and sense. Lean too far in the wrong direction...

  Aunt Fonteyn blinked rapidly several times. She seemed short of breath or had somehow forgotten to breathe.

  "You will not," I carefully repeated. "You will do n
othing. The matter ends here and now. No more will be said of it. No changes of any kind will be made. No more accusations will be raised. Do you understand?"

  She said nothing, but I saw the answer I wanted. I also saw, once I released her from my influence, a flat look in her eyes that I should have expected, but gave me a wrenching turn all the same.

  She was afraid. Of me.

  But a moment passed and she'd recovered herself and concealed it. Too late. It had been revealed. She could never take it back again. Not that I was proud of having engendered the feeling in her, but I couldn't help but think that she was more than deserving, the hateful old crow.

  "Jonathan." Elizabeth was at my side, touching my arm. She'd seen and known exactly what I'd just done.

  "It's all right. It's all over. We're leaving."

  Aunt Fonteyn managed one last rally. "Never to return as long as I live."

  As a threat it was pathetically wanting in power. If I ever saw the inside of this dungeon and its guardian dragon again, it would be too soon.

  "Oliver," she snarled. "Take these two creatures out of this house. Immediately. They are no longer a part of this family."

  Oliver made no move to obey. He was pale as fog and looked about as substantial, but he did not so much as shift one shoe.

  "Do it, boy! Are you deaf?"

  "No," he said, and there was enough force in his reply to suffice as an answer for both questions.

  She turned full upon him and in an instant absorbed the fact that the mutiny had spread. "Do you know what you say?"

  "Yes, and it's past time that I said it. So far past time that there's too much inside for me to get it all out. You horrify me and make me ashamed I'm your son, but no more. I'm going with them and I won't be back."

  He started for the door.

  "Oliver!"

  And kept going.

  "Oliver!" But there was no hint of anguish or regret in her, only fury.

  Elizabeth and I hurried to follow him. I closed the door behind us, shutting Aunt Fonteyn off in mid-bellow.

  The servants who had been listening were now in the process of vanishing, except for the footman who had let us in. I told him to fetch our things, which he did, moving with gratifying speed.

  "Well, that's torn it," Oliver gasped. He was shivering from head to toe.

  "You can apologize when she's in a cooler mind," I said. "There's no reason for you to cut yourself off just because I-"

  "Apologize? I'll be damned before I apologize to that night hag. My God, the years and years I've put up with... Well, it's beyond further endurance and no more of it for me." He shrugged into his cloak, arms jerking every which way.

  "Then I'm glad for you," said Elizabeth, pulling the hood of her wrap over her head. "Let's get away from this cursed pile of old bones."

  "Yes!" he agreed, his voice rather too high and strained.

  The footman rushed ahead and threw wide the big double doors of the main entrance. Elizabeth moved past me into the winter night, then Oliver, both of them in a great hurry, for which I could not blame them. Glancing back at the parlor door, I almost expected Aunt Fonteyn to emerge and renew her attack, but happily she did not.

  The footman trotted off to one side to fetch the coach, for which action he was probably placing himself at risk. I would not put it past my aunt to dismiss him and the driver for assisting us, sell the horses to the knackers, then burn the coach.

  I began to tremble. Reaction, of course.

  "Are you all right?" Elizabeth.

  "What have I done?"

  "Exactly what was needed and in exactly the right way."

  "But if I was wrong-"

  "That's impossible or I would not feel so well off."

  "Nor I," Oliver put in. "By God, I should have done this years ago. By God, by God..."

  And then it caught up with him. His mouth shut and lines appeared all over his twisting face. He bowed forward twice, his skin gone all green.

  "Oh, hell," he wheezed. Then he sightlessly staggered a few yards away and threw up.

  The ride back was notable for its atmosphere of barely restrained hysteria. We were each pleased with the outcome of our harrowing audience, each laughing as we recalled who said what, and repeating the better points to one another, but all with an air of doom hanging overhead. This was no petty family breach, but a catastrophic rift, and we were well aware of it despite the shrill giddiness presently buoying up our hearts.

  By the time we'd left the coach and mounted the steps into Oliver's house, a certain amount of sobriety had begun to manifest itself. My cousin wasted no time in dealing with it and made straight for the parlor cupboard where he kept his wine and spirits. He fumbled badly with his keys, though.

  "Let me," I said, stepping in.

  He relinquished them; I found the right one and used it. Wine was for celebrations, but brandy for reflection. I grabbed its decanter and two glasses. Knowing their respective capacities, I poured out four times as much for Oliver as for Elizabeth. Neither said a word until both had finished their portions. Elizabeth, not having much of a head for the stuff at the best of times, succumbed and sat down in the nearest chair, complaining that her legs felt too weak to hold her.

  Jericho walked in just then. With a lifetime of finely honed perception behind him, he instantly saw that we had survived a mighty conflict and withdrew again. Not for long, I thought, and was proved right when the scullery girl appeared and began to stoke up the fire and light more candles, acting the part of the maid we did not yet have, Apparently Jericho had been instructing her in the finer points of dealing with the gentry, for she said not a word, though her expression was eloquent enough, filled as it was with excited curiosity.

  Taking them away to dry in the kitchen, she stumbled out under the combined weight of our cloaks and hats, nearly running into Jericho, who was just returning. He'd known we'd not be staying for supper at Fonteyn House and had prepared accordingly. Fresh bread, a cold fowl, several kinds of cheese, and two teapots crowded the tray he carried. He put it down on a table, filled a teacup for Elizabeth, and took it straight to her.

  She sipped at the steaming brew and sighed gratefully. "Jonathan, you will triple Jericho's wage as of this very moment."

  "Done," I said.

  Jericho paused, seeing that I was entirely serious. "But, sir..." he began, taken aback. I'd made legal arrangements to wrest him from the bonds of slavery soon after we'd moved from the inn, and he was still in the throes of adjusting to his newly bestowed freedom.

  After this night, the same might be said for the rest of us.

  "But nothing. My sister requests it and so it is done. Tis paltry pay for such imperial service."

  He gaped and nearly let the pot slip from his fingers before his customary dignity reasserted itself.

  Oliver noticed our byplay, but added no remarks, as he might have done if things had been more normal. Instead, he paced in a distracted manner, pausing in each pass before the fire to warm himself.

  "Tea, Mr. Oliver?" Jericho asked, reaching for another cup.

  "Oh-ah-no, thank you. Need to settle my belly first." Oliver helped himself to another brandy. The glass clinked and rattled from the tremors running through his hands.

  Jericho put the first pot down and picked up the second, raising a questioning eyebrow at me. Elizabeth had appar- ently guessed its contents, but this time offered only a wry smile as her reaction. After a glance at Oliver, I nodded. In his present state my cousin wouldn't have noticed anything short of the roof falling on his head, but just to be safe Jericho obscured the pouring out of my own beverage by interposing his body.

  "Bit of a risk, this," I murmured as he presented the cup to me. The warm bloodsmell rising from it was sweet to my senses. I felt my upper corner teeth begin to lengthen in response.

  "When you left tonight, you gave me to understand that the circumstances of your visit might be exceptionally difficult. With that in mind, I thought you might be in ne
ed of reviving afterward."

  "And I am grateful, but don't make a habit of it." "Of course, sir."

  I downed it in one glowing draught and had another. Drinking from a cup did have its advantage over sucking directly from a vein, being much cleaner and more comfortable, but I had some very reasonable fears against making frequent use of it. Though I could readily deal with discovery, it might not go so well for Jericho should someone notice him regularly drawing off blood from our horses.

  Elizabeth ate what she'd been given, assuring me that she at least was recovering from the business, but Oliver refused an offered plate and continued pacing nervously around, rubbing his hands together as though to warm them. Elizabeth's eyes followed him for a time, then she looked at me. I raised one finger to my lips and winked to let her know all would be well.