Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire

by P. N. Elrod

  Some of the Hessian troops had been transferred out, both to the relief and annoyance of the locals. They were hated company, but their presence had been a curtailment to the raids. Our barn was empty once more, as was Mrs. Montagu’s. Father worried for her and visited as often as he could. He’d gifted her with several pistols and a good hunting rifle and had gone to no little trouble to teach her and her servants how to shoot well. The lady had also taken to increasing the numbers of geese around her home, being of the same opinion as the old Romans that they were better than dogs for giving the alarm against intruders.

  But though the times were hard, we knew they were much worse elsewhere, so we thanked God for our lot and prayed for a swift victory over our enemies and the restoration of peace.

  The sun set later each night and arrived sooner each day, but I’d long gotten over the feeling of being deprived of my waking hours. When I lay my head upon my pallet-covered earth, the dawn brought such complete oblivion that I had no knowledge of the day’s passage, yet I woke well rested with a sharpness of mind and spirit that had often been lacking before my change. There had once been many a sluggish morning for me, particularly after nights spent making merry with my Cambridge friends, but no more.

  Despite the shortening darkness I seemed to find plenty of time to do all that I wanted; I had no complaint unless it was loneliness for my sister’s company. Sorely did I miss our post-sunset meetings in the library when she would tell me about the day. Jericho assumed that role somewhat, as did Father when he was available, but neither could quite take her place. There was a void in my life now and it required an effort to adjust to things.

  As promised, and to ease the emptiness of that void, I did become a frequent visitor to Elizabeth’s new house. She’d made it into a pretty place despite Norwood’s objections to the expense.

  “I think it’s because of his plans to go back to England,” she confided on my latest sojourn over one evening. “He thinks it’s a waste of money to improve a house we won’t be staying in for long.”

  “What’s he mean by that? Are you to leave so soon?” The idea had been there for some time, but only in the abstract. Now Elizabeth spoke as though they were already starting to pack for the journey.

  “Oh, not for a while, perhaps. Maybe a year or so.”

  “That’s something, then,” I said grudgingly. Though my perception of time had been skewed by my change, a year still seemed a great interval. “I mean, if you really want to leave . . . .”

  “Actually, I don’t, but I should go and meet his family. I’m rather curious about how a duke lives.”

  “Doesn’t he tell you?”

  “Not always. I hear more about his dead ancestors than the living relatives. Do you know his people were at Agincourt? It seems that I’ve married into a famous family.”

  I looked on as she sewed away at some humble task, her head bowed over her work. She’d changed in the last month, grown up quite a bit, and would continue to grow as more and more of her interests came to center upon her new life. I’d seen similar changes in her friends who had married and formed their own circles with other matrons and their families. While I could not begrudge Elizabeth one moment of her new happiness it seemed that my place in her life would also go the same way as most of their relatives. Soon I would be the unmarried brother coming around for Sunday tea when there was naught else going on. When the time came doubtless I would become a doting uncle and still be made welcome to the hearth, but it would never be as it was. Elizabeth had Norwood to confide to and rely on and be best friends with, which was as it should be, but, oh, how I missed her.

  “Are you happy about so illustrious a lineage?” I asked.

  “It’s not real to me yet. All I know is James. He’s what’s real.”

  “Are you happy with him?”

  “Yes, certainly I am. How can you ask such a thing?”

  “Just being the protective brother, is all.”

  “That can’t be all. Don’t you like him?”

  “Well, yes, but you can’t expect me to be in favor of his taking you away to England someday. Father and I would miss you terribly.”

  “And I would miss you both terribly, but I have to go with my husband. That’s the way things are.”

  “Then it’s not right. You should have a say in where you want to live.

  “I know, but I’m sure things will work out for the best no matter where we are.”

  That was the core of it. She was in love and would follow her husband. I was only her brother, and it wasn’t my place to object.

  Lady Caroline had come over earlier that day and had stayed longer than expected. My arrival soon after dusk was greeted with surprise by them all, and we had a pleasant visit. She had been going to spend the night rather than risk traveling after dark, but as I made to leave she asked if I would escort her home after all.

  “But the road may be dangerous for a woman,” Norwood protested.

  “It will be perfectly safe,” I replied. I had confidence in my ability to see and hear a potential hazard long before it saw me. “There’s a bright moon up, which means things will be tranquil.”

  “Indeed,” said Lady Caroline. “Mr. Barrett shall want my company along to keep him awake on the ride back.”

  “If you’re certain . . . .” Norwood yet seemed dubious. “We’ve plenty of room for you.”

  “I know, but dear Anne is expecting me back. She has her heart set on me helping her read the scene between Portia and Nerissa discussing the suitors in The Merchant of Venice. I think she has a mind to memorize it and act it out at the next tea party.”

  “She does,” I added. Cousin Anne was quite taken with that play, and had consulted me already on the matter of costume. Apparently she had a mind to borrow one of Father’s wigs for the courtroom scene as a means to make her recitation more authentic. I saw no harm in it, but was apprehensive that in her pursuit she might want to don the rest of the male costume as well. That seemed rather adventurous, though it might be worth it to see the disconcertion it would cause Mother.

  Caroline smiled, exchanging a brief sly look with Elizabeth. “If so, then you shall be wanted there as well. I recall she asked you to play the Prince of Morocco.”

  “And the Prince of Arragon—and Bassanio, too, if there’s time.”

  “Indeed,” said Elizabeth. “Anne seems to have found a way of putting you into romantical situations with herself. Is there something you’d like to tell us, Jonathan?”

  I refused to take the bait and held to a sober face. “Only that she’s turned into quite the scholar. I’m happy to assist her studies.”

  “ ’Tis a pleasing task for you to play the tutor,” Caroline put in. “But taxing. If she continues like this, Mr. Garrick will have to come out of retirement, for I shan’t be able to keep up with her.”

  “Who?”

  “David Garrick,” I clarified.

  “You remember,” Norwood said. “The actor? Back in London?”

  Caroline rolled her eyes prettily. “Oh, goodness, of course. For some reason I thought you meant one of the farmers hereabouts. I could not imagine who.”

  “You’ll not catch many of them with time for reading Shakespeare.”

  She gave a small laugh. “Or aught else, I’m sure. Well, Mr. Barrett, we’d best be along or it will be much too late for any reading.”

  “Yes, and I want to stop in Glenbriar to check the post.”

  “For that letter from England?” Caroline, like the others, knew of my correspondence with Cousin Oliver, and how keenly I anticipated his next missive. It was due any week now. “I hope it comes soon, or you shall wear out your welcome at the inn.”

  “I’ll see to the horses, then.” I bowed and went out, heading toward the miserable-looking structure that served as a stable. Elizabeth had mentioned her desire to repair
and improve it before the winter, lightly complaining when Norwood asked to put it off a while longer. I wondered if his tightfisted nature would become be a source of discontent for her. Often mild failings grow into great faults, given time. I should hate for that to happen.

  They had no stablemen, not even a lad to see to their own beasts. Norwood claimed that he enjoyed looking after them himself, which was understandable to me, but I thought it odd for a man in his position not to have at least one servant for the less pleasant tasks like mucking out the stalls. There wasn’t that much work, though, with but two horses. He had a hunter and Elizabeth had brought along her favorite from home, Satin. So far they’d yet to acquire a carriage, not that there were many to be had these days. When Sunday came along, Father sent a man along in ours to pick them up for church.

  I’d taken up riding again to give Rolly some much needed exercise and make a change for me on my trips to The Oak. This also helped me avoid being seen floating about. I’d been spotted twice, but fortunately both times the men had been drunk and no one believed their story about a “flying ghost.” Afterward I became more careful.

  Taking Rolly’s reins and those of Lady Caroline’s horse, I walked back to the house in no particular hurry. Elizabeth had already bade me good night and gone upstairs, leaving Norwood and his sister just outside the front entry. They spoke in low tones and looked to be having some kind of a disagreement. Before I’d quite gotten close enough to hear anything, they broke off and acted as though nothing were amiss.

  Well, if they wished it to be so, then I would behave in kind. Brothers and sisters were entitled to their secrets, after all. Elizabeth and I had a surfeit of those.

  I assisted Lady Caroline up to her sidesaddle, swung onto Rolly and called farewell to Norwood. He stood in the doorway and watched until we were out of sight down the lane.

  “Is there anything amiss?” I asked.

  “Not really. He’s just worried about my being out, but I told him that we’d be fine.”

  It had appeared more earnest than simple brotherly concern, but if so, then she was determined to keep it to herself.

  “You are armed, I hope?” she asked.

  “I’d feel unclothed without these.” I touched the case hanging from my saddle that held a set of duelers I’d bought on a whim in London. Since my abduction, I took them everywhere, loaded and ready at hand. “And you?”

  “Of course.” Instead of the small, easily concealed pistol favored by some ladies, she produced a formidable brass-barreled specimen made by Powell of Dublin that was capable of firing six shots, one after another. It was an amazing piece of work, and I had hopes of someday acquiring one myself. Its appeal lay in the fact that after an initial priming, all one had to do was to pull back the trigger guard after each shot, turn the cylinder a little, push the guard forward to lock it, then fire again. Six in a row without reloading—an absolutely marvelous invention. It had been quite a treat when she’d let me test it out once. I’d never known such fast shooting.

  Our safety assured by our arms collection, we kicked the horses up with confidence and cantered toward Glenbriar. It wasn’t far, and I found the ride shortened by her agreeable company. The moon was high, making things bright for her, and she commented on its silvery brilliance with some wonder. For me it blazed like the noon sun and I was glad of the shade my hat provided.

  Almost before I knew it, we were reining up before The Oak. There was a room on the side reserved for females if Lady Caroline desired to come in, and I asked her as much, but she professed that she was content to wait without. As this night I was only interested in the post and not buying a round of drinks, I would be but a moment and promised a swift return.

  A somewhat larger crowd than usual hailed my entry. It being a calm clear night, it was easy to conclude that Nassau County’s own irregulars were unable to prowl the opposite shores of the Sound for booty. I didn’t approve or disapprove of their work, but did hope that they harmed no one and avoid capture. If made prisoners, their treatment would doubtless be short and brutal. The hangings here on the Island had made many of the Connecticut “militia” bitter.

  “Anything at all, Mr. Farr?” I asked, after giving him greeting.

  With a flourish as though he’d brought it across the Atlantic himself, he placed a battered packet before me, smiling broadly. I let out a crow and fell upon it like a starving man discovering a loaf of bread. This gave much amusement to the other patrons, for I made something of an ass of myself, but I didn’t care. I cut the thing open then and there with my penknife and unfolded the sheets within of the first letter.

  The date, as nearly as I could make out from Oliver’s atrocious handwriting, was late in February, indicating that he’d replied only days after the arrival of my last missive to him. So it had taken a solid four months to get to me. Old news by now, but better than nothing. My eyes flew over the crabbed words, searching for Nora’s name.

  And when I found it . . . . Well, I’d hoped for more . . . expected more.

  He told me that he’d forwarded my letter to Nora to the Warburtons as per my request and hoped that I should get a speedy reply. He’d had no word from them other than a note from Mrs. Warburton saying that her son, Tony, had improved a little in the temperate Italian climate, though he was still far from recovered.

  Damned murdering bastard, I thought, my mood going foul from this lack of news. I didn’t care about him, I wanted to hear about Nora.

  “Not ill tidings, I hope?” said Mr. Farr.

  “More like no tidings at all,” I grumbled.

  The rest of the letter reflected the one I’d sent, chatty and full of comments about things written long past and near forgotten. I was to the point of folding it to peruse later when I caught the name “Norbury” and “Norwood” and read a bit farther. I’d asked Oliver for an opinion of the Duke’s family and he provided one.

  I was reading it for the fourth time when Lady Caroline, apparently impatient from the waiting, came in. Mr. Farr went to her and asked permission to show her to the ladies’ portion of his house, but she put him off and came toward me smiling apologetically.

  “Mr. Barrett? I’ve no wish to press you, but I thought you might have forgotten that your cousin is waiting for us.”

  Couldn’t speak. Could barely hear her. Could only stare at her face, familiar for so many months, pretty, friendly, intelligent, charming, an entirely lovely woman. I stared, with a terrible sickness sweeping up from my belly.

  Farr noticed something was wrong. “Mr. Barrett? What is it? Mr. Barrett?”

  My gaze wrested from her face to his, and I struggled to form an answer. Impossible. The whole world was impossible.

  She said my name again. Questioning.

  Still couldn’t answer. Shock, I suppose. Made it hard to think.

  “. . . some brandy, sir?” Farr was saying. “Mr. Barrett?”

  I shook my head. Put a hand to my eyes, rubbed them. When I blinked them clear, the horror was still before me. Undeniable. It would not go away on its own. It would have to be dealt with, and the damnable job had fallen to me.

  Once I understood that, a kind of acceptance and resolve took hold. Without another word, I seized Caroline by the arm and, ignoring her surprised protest, guided her firmly toward one of the private receiving rooms. I grabbed up a candle from one of the tables in passing, much to the startlement of the men there. Ignoring their comments as well, I pushed her ahead of me into the room and shut the door.

  “What is the matter, Mr. Barrett?” she demanded, nonplussed if not fully angered by my abrupt and odd behavior.

  “That is something for you to explain.” I put the candle on a heavy oak table and placed Oliver’s letter next to it. “Read,” I ordered, pointing.

  “This is ridiculous,” she protested. “What on earth—?”

  “Read, damn you!”
/>   She went pink with true anger at this insult, but there was an unmistakable wavering in her eyes.

  Doubt, I thought, fighting back my growing fury. Most definitely doubt. I wanted to be wrong, for this to be a misunderstanding for which I could tender a profound apology afterwards.

  She kept anger to the front, though, and showing it in her every move and gesture, sat in one of the chairs and plucked up the pages. It was slow going, as she was not used to the handwriting, but I knew how things stood as I watched her grow more and more pale until she was deathly white. Then there was a strange reversal and her color returned until she was flushed, with two crimson spots high on her cheeks.

  Oliver had been fairly succinct on the subject:

  “ . . . I’d not heard of any Duke of Norbury, but thought if Cousin Elizabeth were considering adding a peer to the family it wouldn’t hurt to improve my knowledge, so I began asking around. The news isn’t good, I fear. I was most exhaustive in my inquiries, making a pest of myself to the people who dote upon anything to do with the peerage. They checked every history at hand, but there is no doubt-there is no such duke and never has been. The only Norbury I can turn up is some nothing of a little hamlet south of London that doesn’t even have a church, much less a duke. There is a village called Norwood and I understand it has a rather fine inn, but again, no duke lurking about the place, never has been. I’d question this fellow and his sister most closely as they’re bound to be bounders, don’t you know.”