P N Elrod - Barrett 2 - Death and the Maiden

by Death

  "Tea will do, but I'm enjoying this too much." He nodded at Elizabeth, his eyes shining with good-natured amusement. "Well, well, now I'm wondering if I should pass any of the news on to the girls."

  "The girls" were his elderly housekeepers, Rachel and Sarah. They were known for their exhaustive herb lore, good cooking, and choice gossip.

  "It might be a bit premature, yet," I said. "They've only just gotten to talking with one another."

  "They seem to be talking remarkably well. I've never seen your sister looking prettier, and I daresay Lord James would agree with me."

  "I think any man would agree with you on that point, Mr. Rapelji," said Beldon. Though indifferent to women, his nature was flexible enough to allow him to have an aesthetic appreciation of them.

  "I shall not debate with you, sir. What do you think of it, Jonathan?"

  "Think of what, exactly?"

  "A match between those two, of course."

  "I shall support whatever decision my sister is pleased to make."

  "What? That almost smacks of disapproval."

  "Or a trust in my sister's judgment."

  "Ho-ho, sir, I wish I'd thought of that one."

  Now Father came over to our group and some of our informality faded. "Good evening, gentlemen. Anything of interest?"

  "We were just remarking on the beauty of the ladies, sir," I said, uncertain whether Elizabeth's occupation with Norwood was the right subject to bring up with him at this time.

  "There is much to remark upon," he agreed. Then I saw his eyes light upon the couple in the corner and twinkle. They shifted to mine, and he winked. After passing some time with Beldon and Rapelji, he leaned in close to me. "I wondered when he'd work up the courage to finally approach her."

  "For how long?" I asked.

  "Since the morning we left for Hempstead. His mind was on Elizabeth for the whole trip, I think, as he was ever eager to talk about her. Can't say that I'm exactly pleased, though."

  "Have you anything against Norwood?"

  "No, he seems pleasant enough, but by God, I hate the thought of him taking away my little girl."

  On that I could sincerely commiserate, for I hated the thought of losing my sister to... well, he was a lord, but still a virtual stranger to us. I'd have to try to get to know him better.

  "Are you done with your tea, Father?"

  "What? Oh, yes, sorry."

  We quietly exchanged cups as usual and he drained away some of mine.

  "Got it just right this time, laddie," he said with a grateful smile. Father enjoyed lots of sugar in his tea, a habit I'd learned to imitate for his sake.

  "Did Cousin Anne make it strong enough for you as well?"

  "Yes, but she's let it steep too long. It's been very bitter."

  "She may be distracted tonight."

  "Oh? She taken with you, then?"

  "Ahh..."

  "Or is it the other way around to cause such distraction?"

  "Really, sir!" And then I saw that he was only playing.

  "She's a pretty enough girl, long as she doesn't talk too much," he said. "I heard her mentioning Shakespeare with some enthusiasm, though, so maybe there's hope for her."

  "Hope for what?"

  "That she might get that mind of hers into some kind of activity. I also hate seeing waste, and a pretty girl not given the chance to think is a terrible waste, or so it seems to me. To other men, too, I've seen on occasion. Having a beautiful but empty-headed woman for a wife can be an altogether wretched existence."

  He was looking at Anne in an absent sort of way, his words running on lightly as though there were not much thought behind them. Tea party conversation, nothing more.

  Or was there? Then, with a bitter shock, I realized he was thinking of Mother. She had certainly been beautiful once, if that portrait in the library was anything to go by. What had he been like himself? Young, about my age now, good prospects ahead, and then he falls in love with the stunning Marie Fonteyn. Had he been so wrapped in its fever that he'd not noted the flaws amid the virtues? Possibly. It ran in the family, too, if my feelings for Nora were anything to go by. Perhaps it ran in the whole human race.

  Mother had looks-once upon a time-but she was not especially clever. She got on well within the rules imposed by society and custom, but her intelligence was more of a kind of instinctual cunning than anything else. No wonder she worried so much over what people thought. They, all unknowing, essentially did her thinking for her, telling her what was right and proper to do and say. All that she did and said did not come from her own desires, but were a mirror of theirs.

  I fairly gaped at my mother, feeling shock, horror, and pity swirling up through me in one uneasy swell. That was bad enough, but to look on Father and feel the same but more of it... God have pity on us all.

  "Something wrong, Mr. Barrett?" inquired Beldon, who had returned to stand next to me. Father had gone off to the library with Rapelji. "You seem a little-" Haunted? "-pale."

  "I think I should like some air, Doctor." He stepped back to give me room to pass. "But it's very cold out."

  "Good."

  I left my upended cup and saucer on a table and quietly left, not wishing to draw any attention to myself. Going out the front door, I picked up my stride until I was safe from sight behind one of our larger trees. The snow was not so deep on this side of it, barely coming up over my shoes. Not that I was worried about that or much of anything for a time. I breathed in and out, as if to clear myself of the dusty taste of that suddenly stifling room.

  "Mr. Jonathan?"

  Bloody hell, I wanted to be alone.

  Jericho came up, wearing a worried face.

  "What is it?"

  One of his eyebrows quirked. "I'm aware of what passed between you and Mr. Barrett."

  Yes, he'd been standing right behind us, busy as usual with the punch bowl. Of course, he'd have heard everything. But could he have heard my very thoughts? He had a reputation for such in the servant's hall.

  "Your father is a very great man," he stated.

  More thought divination? No, but Jericho had correctly read my reactions. Having known me since birth, he'd instantly understood what had been set off by Father's most casual remark.

  "He is a wise man, too."

  "I'm glad you think it," I said roughly.

  "But a wise man only becomes so after making mistakes."

  "So Father marrying Mother was a mistake?"

  "Your judgment of him is."

  As soon as his words were out, I was flooded with shame and dropped my head. "I'm sorry."

  "Your father is human, Mr. Jonathan. As is mine. As are all fathers, all parents."

  "Yes, I know that. I've always known that, but tonight it just seemed to hit me all at once, all over."

  "No children are ever happy to learn about the true vulnerability of their parents. It shakes their world up too much."

  That's what had happened, I thought. "You're exactly right. I've been very stupid about the whole business."

  This time Jericho remained diplomatically silent. For a while. "It is rather cold, sir."

  "So Beldon said to me a moment ago. Very well." I let him lead the way back to the house. We stamped the snow from our feet.

  "Will I look at him the same as before, though, I wonder."

  He shook his head. "Never. But this time it will be with more understanding."

  He returned to his duties as I eventually did to mine.

  No one had missed us, apparently. The party was going well. Beldon was with Mother and Lady Caroline and saying something amusing. Both were smiling, though Mother's smile, as ever, was a brittle one. I don't think she had any kind of a sense of humor, but at least Beldon was trying. Elizabeth and Norwood were still in the corner, discussing all kinds of things, probably. Cousin Anne was alone at the tea table, so I went to her for a bit of company.

  She reached for the teapot, but faltered, seeing that I had no cup.

  "Had my fil
l ages ago," I told her, "but thank you very kindly."

  "A single cup fills you?"

  I shrugged amiably and changed the subject. "Enjoying that play, I hope?"

  Her eyes glazed as she searched her memory, then brightened. "Oh, the one you gave me? Yes, very much. Some of the language was very antique, but it was quite interesting. I went back the next day and got another one to read. He's a bit confusing in language until one gets used to it, and then it abruptly makes sense. I seem to know exactly what he means, once I've worked things out. But people didn't really talk like that then, did they?"

  I thought that Rapelji might provide her with a better answer and looked around for him before recalling that he was probably still in the library with Father. As I started to form my own opinion for her, the gentleman himself came into the room. The energy that constantly propelled him through months of rigorous labor pounding knowledge into stubborn skulls had suddenly deserted him. He seemed to have just enough strength to totter a few steps in and then had to grab the back of a chair to support himself. He was very white.

  He'd been so quiet that no one had noticed but me as I just happened to be facing in the right direction. The dreadful expression on his face went straight to my heart. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  "The doctor," he whispered. "Where's Beldon?" Now others stirred and looked over, but I paid them no mind as I was rushing out the door for the library. Had I been breathing regularly, I'd have been choked with terror. Instead, clawing and clutching, the stuff invaded my brain and body like a swift, icy fever.

  The fever did not abate, but increased its numbing effect on my mind, as I strode into the library and found Father stretched out on the settee. I called to him, but, disturbingly, he did not respond. He might have been taking a nap, but he was much too still and slack. His mouth was open, but his lips and skin had a blue cast to them that turned my cold fear into frosty panic. I was unable to move, and barely heard or felt Beldon pushing past me to get to him.

  He loosened Father's neckcloth immediately, then pressed an ear to his chest to listen to his heart. I could hear its slow beat, noted his deep, slow breathing, but combined with his stillness, neither seemed... right.

  Beldon shook Father's shoulders, trying to wake him, shouting his name as though the man were across an open field, not right in front of him. The others coming up behind me were greeted by this row, and worried questions began to be whispered in tight little voices. "What's going on? What has happened?"

  "Jonathan?" Elizabeth's voice managed to penetrate to me. She put a hand on my arm.

  I looked at her and saw a reflection of my own white and hollow-eyed face. I turned and hugged her close for a moment, and that seemed to help.

  "Someone get my box," Beldon ordered.

  From the comer of my eye I saw Jericho sprint off, taking the stairs three at a time.

  Other orders were given and various servants rushed to obey him.

  "Mr. Barrett."

  This time he addressed me, not Father. I stepped forward.

  "Help me get him to his feet."

  "Is that wise, sir?"

  "Just do it," he snapped. He was already trying to lift Father to a sitting position. I helped him complete the job, and between us we got him standing. Father mumbled a protest at this liberty and tried to push us away. "We must wake him up and keep him awake."

  The three of us moved from the library into the larger hall like drunken sailors stumbling home from a debauch. The others parted out of our way, scuttling off and collecting in corners like dust. Jericho hastily came downstairs again with the box of medicines clutched in his arms. Beldon told him to put it in the library and then return. When he did, Beldon had him take his place helping me with Father.

  "What is wrong with Mr. Barrett?" Jericho whispered.

  "I don't know," I whispered back, unable to trust myself to speak with a full voice.

  Back and forth we went, encouraging Father to walk and to wake up for us. He shook his head at this, whether in denial or in an effort to comply, I could not tell. His face was slack, but now and then a beatific smile spasmed over it and he mumbled unintelligibly. Most of the time he was unaware of us, virtually asleep on his feet.

  Beldon, who had gone to the library, called Elizabeth in with him. She'd been watching our progress, in agony over the driving need to do something and the utter lack of anything to do, and now fairly jumped at this chance to help. They reappeared again, Beldon with a cup of something in his hand and Elizabeth carrying a cloth and a basin one of the maids had been ordered to bring. We stopped pacing a moment and Beldon managed to get Father to drink what was in the cup.

  We resumed walking, with Elizabeth standing nearby. Not much time passed before Father's body gave a frightening, uncontrolled jerk and he doubled over. Biting her lips and with tears streaming unnoticed down her cheeks, Elizabeth held the basin for him as he vomited into it. When he was finished, Jericho and I had to support him completely. He groaned, head drooping. Elizabeth tenderly wiped his mouth with the cloth, then draped it over the noisome contents and took it back to the library.

  Beldon lifted Father's head and pried open his eyes. They were like solid blue buttons, with hardly any pupil showing. A madman's eyes, I thought, a chill stabbing right through me to the bone.

  "Doctor..." I couldn't bring myself to say more, but he heard the pleading tone and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

  "He'll be all right, I'm sure. Just keep walking him up and down. I have Mrs. Nooth making some very strong cafe noir and he is to drink all of it."

  "But what is it? What sort of attack has he had?"

  "I'm still working that out, sir. For now, keep him moving. No rest, no matter how much he may protest."

  At this point Father was incapable of protesting, period. His skin was dreadfully gray, but it looked marginally better than that unhealthy blue tint. When the coffee arrived, I held him steady while Jericho persuaded him to drink some. The first cup did not stay down, no doubt because of the purgative he'd taken earlier. Beldon had anticipated this, though, for another vessel had been brought in to catch it. The second cup stayed in him, and a third, and so on until the pot was empty. It took a while, but eventually Father was walking on his own, though he still needed help and looked far from well.

  "There's something wrong, Jonathan," he murmured, over and over. "What's wrong? Please tell me, laddie."

  "Would that I could, sir," I said, hardly able to hold back my tears.

  "It will be all right, sir," said Jericho. I could not tell which of us he was trying to comfort.

  After a brief word from Beldon, Norwood took charge of the others and urged them to all wait in the music room. Mother objected to this and demanded a proper explanation for Father's condition. There was no tremor in her voice, though it was respectfully lowered. I got the strong impression that she thought Father was himself responsible for his wretched state.

  Beldon put on his best doctor's manner. "It's a bit early to tell, but I believe Mr. Barrett has had an attack of the flying gout."

  "Gout? He's never had gout in his life."

  "That's most fortunate, but this is the flying gout, with diverse symptoms and diverse manifestations..."

  I felt a fist closing hard around my throat. Oliver had studied medicine and had shared many observations with me on the subject. Whenever a doctor mentioned flying gout, it almost always meant he did not know what was wrong. I glared at Beldon but did not question him or his medical judgment just then. That would come later, in private, and he'd damn well better be able to account for himself.

  Mother was finally persuaded to retire with the others to wait and distract themselves with futile speculation. Elizabeth remained by the open door of the library, ready to rush forward if needed again. Archimedes had taken up a post at the parlor door and watched everything with a dour face. Only Beldon dared to pass him, and did, spending some time in that room before emerging to go to the library ag
ain.

  More coffee was brought in and Beldon saw to it that Father had an ample sampling. The poor man was awash with it by now, and after Beldon called for a chamber pot we retired elsewhere to allow him a chance to relieve himself. Beldon took that pot away rather than turning it over to a servant, which I thought odd.

  Up and down we walked, and Father ceased to ask me his heartbreaking and unanswerable questions. He was silent now, his eyes looking more normal but still dimmed and groggy despite the coffee and activity.

  "Something's afoot," he said in a soft but clear voice. We'd just passed the library and seen Beldon within, though we couldn't make out what he was doing.