Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire

by P. N. Elrod

  “Wonder what they’ll make of this?” I mused.

  “Who knows, but we may be certain it will in no wise remotely approach the truth.”

  “Mmm, then I must thank God for such a mighty favor.”

  We moved along toward the blue drawing room, Oliver’s favorite lair, to await the arrival of his brandy. By now I was in sore need of a restorative as well. That hollow feeling in my bones had progressed to my muscles, and the pain in my head from the influence I’d exercised against Ridley seemed worse than before. I wanted a deep draught of blood in me and fairly soon; the dull pounding in residence behind my eyes was threatening to become a permanent condition.

  “Please excuse me for a few minutes,” I said as we approached the room. “I’d like to get some air to clear my brain.”

  “Go out to the stables for a drink, you mean,” he corrected. “Of course, you’ve more than earned it. Would you object if I watched?”

  “Good God, why on earth would you want to?”

  “As a physician I am impelled by scientific curiosity,” he stated, full of dignity.

  “The same curiosity that allows you to sit through amputations?”

  “Something the same as that, yes.”

  I shrugged, not up to talking him out of it, and, as before when he wanted to see how I was to influence Ridley, there was no reason to deny his request. “Come along, then, let’s get it over with.”

  “Such eagerness,” he remarked. “You weren’t like this that time with Miss Jemma at the Red Swan.”

  “That was for pleasure, this is for nourishment. There’s a difference.”

  “So you’ve said, but don’t you look forward to a nice bit of supper as much as any other man?”

  “I do, but how would you feel having someone closely watching while you eat?”

  “If you really mind that much—”

  “I don’t, I’m just reluctant lest the process disgust you. But then if you can witness an amputation without so much as batting an eye. . . .”

  Oliver went somewhat pink along his cheeks and ears. I’d caught him out, but decided against pressing him for embarrassing details. We found a maid to fetch our cloaks and wrapped against the outside chill, then ventured forth into the night.

  The air was cold and clean as only a newly born winter can make it. My lungs normally worked just when I had need of breath to speak; now I made a bellows of them, flushing out the stale humors lingering from the cellars. Oliver must have felt the same rejuvenating effect, for like schoolboys we contested to see who could make the greatest dragon plume as we crunched our way over the frozen earth to the stables.

  Last night’s sleet had transformed the world into a silver-trimmed garden that turned the most mundane things magical. My sensitive eyes found delight wherever I looked, a happiness that was somewhat dampened when I realized Oliver was unable to share it. After my second attempt to point out an arresting view was accompanied by his complaint that he couldn’t see a damned thing except that which was in the circle of his lantern light, I gave up and kept my appreciation for nature’s joys to myself.

  My cousin’s presence was not unwelcome, though, particularly concerning this errand. In the London house that my sister, Elizabeth, and I shared with him, the servants had been carefully influenced by me to ignore my more singular customs, especially after-dark excursions to the stable. The retainers at Fonteyn House were not so prepared, making me glad of Oliver’s company as an insurance against discovery. He was the master here now, following the sudden death of his mother, and should anyone interrupt my feeding, he’d be the best man to deal with the problem.

  He then demonstrated his own keen understanding about my need for privacy, for when we encountered some of the stable lads, he invented a minor household duty to take them elsewhere.

  “Will you be long at this?” he murmured, watching them go.

  I shook my head. “Having second thoughts?”

  “No. Not trying to discourage me, are you?”

  “Hardly. You’re doing a fine enough job of it on your own.”

  “Am not,” he stoutly protested, eyes wide with mock indignation.

  Chuckling a little, I led the way in, picking out an occupied stall. Within stood one of the estate’s huge plow horses. Placid to the point of being half asleep, the beast would hardly notice what would be done to him, and his vast body would provide far more sustenance than I could possibly take in.

  Oliver fussed a bit to make sure he was in a position to have a clear line of observation and that his lantern was well placed for the best light. I spoke to the horse in my own silent way until I was certain of its tranquility. The inner anticipation I felt building within swiftly prepared me to sup. My corner teeth, sharp enough to pierce the toughest of hides, budded to a proper length for the work. I knelt, closing my eyes, the better to hear the heavy beat of the animal’s great heart, the better to shut away my awareness of Oliver’s presence. His own heart was thumping madly away, but the sound quickly became a distant triviality as my immediate need was at last free to assert supremacy over outside distractions.

  Now did I cut hard and fast with my teeth into the thick skin of the animal’s leg to tap the vein that lay beneath. I was dimly aware of Oliver’s suppressed gasp somewhere to one side, and then I heard nothing else for a brief and blessed time as I sucked in all I needed and more of the fiery red vitality that had become my sole nourishment.

  The night before I’d drunk deeply from another of the animals here, but then I’d been weary beyond thought, hurting, and in need of haste. There’d been no time to savor, no enjoyment to be had beyond the basic sating of appetite. Now could I hold the rich taste in my mouth and revel in it and give wordless thanks for its roaring heat as it suffused throughout my chilled flesh. The injuries, the worries, the cold failings of a harsh world thawed from my soul and melted into nothing.

  Would that all the problems of life could be dealt with so easily.

  I drank for as long as necessity dictated and beyond. No imbibing only enough to sustain myself for an evening or two; tonight I felt like playing the glutton. Perhaps I could take in enough blood to hold me for a whole week—an interesting, but questionable accomplishment. To achieve it might mean that my present enjoyment would be less frequent in occurrence. There had ever been a touch of the hedonist in my nature, and, knowing that quality would not suffer, but quantity would, it seemed reasonable to bring things to a stop.

  But not until many, many delicious minutes passed by.

  Reluctantly drawing away, despite the fact that I was full near to bursting, I pressed the vein above the point where I’d gone in and waited until the seeping blood slowed and finally clotted. My handkerchief took care of the few stains on my face and fingers. Practice had made me tidy in habit.

  The pain in my head abated, and full strength returned to my limbs. Satisfaction, in every sense of the word, was mine. Then I looked over at Oliver.

  The golden glow of the lantern light lent no illusion of well-being to his face, which had gone very pasty, nor did his cloak seem to be of any use keeping him warm. He shivered from head to toe, exhibiting a misery so palpable that I felt its onrush like a buffet of wind.

  Contrite that I’d caused him such distress, I lifted one hand, but did not quite touch him for fear he might flinch away. I’d expected him to be affected in some adverse manner, for it is one thing to hear how a thing is done and quite another to watch, but I’d not expected his reaction to be this adverse.

  “It’s all right,” he said quickly, his staring gaze not leaving mine. “Give me a moment.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “Sorry for what?” he demanded after taking in a few deep draughts of air. “You do what you must to live. If that involves drinking a bit of blood now and then, what of it?”

  What, indeed? I thought. W
hat am I? I had no name for my condition except for one fastened on me by a terrified Hessian soldier. Blutsäuger. Never liked the word. It made me think of spiders and how they sucked the life from their living prey. Ugh. No wonder poor Oliver was having a hard time of it.

  He went on. “Pay no mind to me, I’m just cursed with a vivid imagination.”

  “What’s that to do with anything?”

  He gave a ghastly imitation of a smile. “Most of the time it’s well in check, but tonight what with one thing and another. . . .”

  “What are you on about?”

  “The bane of my life as a doctor, but only if I let it get away from me. Have to keep a tight hold on it when I’m dealing with a patient, else I’d be no good at all.”

  “Oliver—”

  He waved a hand to quell my mild exasperation. “While you did your work just now, the physician in me was doing his. I was fine at first, observing, noting everything there was to note. Then I began to wonder what it might be like to be in your boots, downing blood like it was so much ale night after night, like it or not. Once my mind fixed on that, on all the blood drinking, and on the smell and taste of it . . . well, I couldn’t seem to shake it off, so this foolish reaction is my own damned fault.”

  “I should not have allowed this.”

  “God’s death, man, you think this is bad? Then you should have been there to see me at that first amputation. Five of the students fainted, and I was one of the dozen others who lost his last meal. Sometimes I can still hear the poor wretch’s screams and the rasp of the bone saw. By comparison, this was nothing. Well-a-day, but I declare that I’m doing rather splendidly this time around.”

  “Oliver, you’re—”

  “A complete ass? And babbling his head off? Oh, yes, I’m sure of it, but even an ass needs to learn new things now and then to get on in the world. Sometimes the lesson is easy and pleasant, and sometimes not, but it doesn’t matter, knowledge is the goal.”

  “And you’ve gained knowledge from this?”

  “Indeed I have, and from now on I’ll not take it so lightly when you try to present a warning about any given aspect of your condition. That disappearance you did in the cellar fair gave me a turn, y’know. Thought my poor heart would stop then and there.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I thought if I did you’d get the wind up and not let me watch. I’m quite ashamed of myself. To be like this after all the bleedings I’ve done. . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But enough on me, tell me what happened to your teeth. One minute they’re normal and the next. . . and I want to know how your eyes feel right now.”

  “My eyes?”

  “They’re redder than a sunset—does it hurt? Does it affect your sight?”

  “No, not at all, and I can see perfectly well.”

  “Why do they get like that?”

  “Damned if I know. I once asked Nora about it, for hers did the same when she fed, but she said she didn’t know, either.” Or she’d chosen not to tell me about it as she had been silent over a thousand other details.

  Oliver’s lips twitched at the mention of Nora’s name. “And damned funny that she never told you what to expect after . . . well, we’ve talked that one over often enough. Let me see your teeth.”

  I obliged and opened my mouth. He muttered that the light wasn’t good for a proper examination, and I suggested that we remove back to the warmth of the house where there were plenty of candles. I also reminded him that a large brandy still awaited him there. Either enticement was enough to inspire him to action; together both inspired him to haste.

  Once in the house, and ensconced before the blazing hearth in the blue drawing room, I found myself better disposed to undergo a doctor’s examination. Though Oliver had known about my changed condition and the story behind it for some little time, this had been the first opportunity he’d had to really look into things. I harbored a small hope that his training in medicine might yield some explanation for my unusual physical state.

  Since Nora Jones, the woman I had loved—still loved—the woman who had gifted me with this strange condition, had seen fit not to provide me with anything in the way of preparation on how to deal with it, I’d had to learn about my advantages and limitations by many trials and much error. Certainly I’d used what knowledge I recalled about her own habits as a guide, but after more than a year, I was still full of many important questions and singularly lacking in answers. The urgency to see her again and obtain those answers had drawn me from my lifelong home on Long island and back to England again in an effort to find her.

  Unhappily, Nora was not to be found. Oliver had done his best, moving through his wide circle of friends and acquaintances in London, writing to others on the Continent trying to locate her, or at least a hint of her presence. The only clue I’d had of her had come from a madman named Tony Warburton. Questioning him had been more frustrating than informative and the cause of a profound unease on my soul. He’d said she’d been ill. So impervious was I to sickness and injury I could not imagine what she might be suffering from. I also tried hard not to envisage that she might have succumbed to it. My success at this endeavor was indifferent at best. If not for the support of Oliver and my sister, Elizabeth, I might have turned madman myself. They distracted me from my melancholy fits and helped me to maintain hope, but it was hard going—for all of us. Other issues of concern were afoot in the Barrett and Marling clans besides my own.

  When he’d initially learned about my change, the sheer shock had put Oliver’s innate curiosity off for a time, and after that family events and troubles had supplanted all other matters. Only last night we’d interred his mother in the Fonteyn mausoleum, a miserable occupation for everyone concerned, but particularly so for my poor cousin, for he’d hated the old harridan.

  Because of this hate, he’d had a difficult time dealing with her death. The world expected one kind of response from him and his heart poured forth quite another. He’d retreated into a shell filled with nebulous self-censure for several days, until I had enough and took a firm hand after the funeral, giving him a good talking to about it.

  I managed to coax him from his guilt in this very room. The servants had done a remarkable job of cleaning up the mess. Only a bit of scraped wood on the floor, a few dents in the frame of a painting knocked from the wall, and a missing vase broken during our “conversation” presented evidence that anything unusual had happened. My injuries from the encounter were healed, and so, I hoped, were his, particularly the old ones his mother had inflicted, the ones that had threatened to swell and fester upon Oliver’s soul.

  His reawakened curiosity about me seemed to be a good sign of his spiritual health, and had been one of the points I’d considered before giving my consent to let him watch me feeding. Whatever adverse reaction he might draw from it could hardly be worse than anything he’d dealt with while growing up in the dark halls of Fonteyn House.

  “Now just you open wide,” he told me after I’d taken a seat. He loomed in close with a candle.

  I opened wide, baring my teeth, then squawked when he brought the flame uncomfortably near. “You’ll singe my eyebrows off!”

  “No, I won’t,” he insisted. “Oh, very well, hold still and I’ll try something else.” He pulled a small mirror from a pocket and employed it in such a way as to reflect the candlelight where he wanted. Unfortunately for the purposes of his science, both his hands were occupied and he could not conduct a proper examination. “Damn, but if I could only get a good look in daylight,” he complained.

  “Impossible,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t insist on trying. The sun and I were no longer friends, but if Oliver’s zealousness overtook his sense, he might forget that vital detail and take action.

  “Don’t talk.” He put the candleholder on a small table and asked me to lean in its direction. I did so. Holding th
e mirror steady in one hand, he used the fingers of the other to grasp one of my corner teeth and tug. I felt it slide down. Surprised, he released it and gaped as it slowly retracted into place.

  “Like a deuced cat’s claw, only straighter,” he said, full of wonder and repeating the action. “Does that hurt?”

  “No.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “Damned strange,” I lisped.

  “You should see how it looks,” remarked a new voice that gave us a start. “The servants will think the both of you have gone mad.”

  My good sister Elizabeth stood in the open doorway regarding us with a calm eye and a curl of high amusement twisting one side of her mouth.

  “Hallo, sweet Cousin,” Oliver said, a grin breaking forth upon his mobile features. Elizabeth’s presence always had a hugely cheering effect on him. “You couldn’t come at a better time. I need you to hold this mirror so I can give your brother’s teeth a good looking over.”

  “Whatever are you doing?” she asked, not moving, God bless her.

  “Scientific inquiry, my dear girl. I want to thoroughly examine the workings of Jonathan’s condition, and since the good God did not provide me with three hands, I should like to borrow one of yours for a moment.”

  “Scientific inquiry? How fascinating.” With a wicked smile, she determinedly moved in on poor helpless me.

  “Now just one moment. . . .” But I had no chance to further object.

  In a twinkling she was next to Oliver, holding the mirror and watching with avid interest as he poked and tapped and tugged my teeth with happy abandon. I endured it for as long as I could, then made a garbled protest loud enough to inform them that the examination was, for the time being, over.

  “Before heaven, I think you’ve dislocated my jaw,” I complained, rubbing the offended area.

  “I just wanted to see if the lower teeth were also capable of extension,” he explained.