Oliver raised his glass, saw that it was nearly empty, and took the opportunity to fill it again. "Then here's to the very good health of my cousin Jonathan and his son Richard."
Elizabeth raised her teacup and joined him in the toast. I spread my hands and bobbed my head once, modestly accepting the honor. I was yet unable to offer coherent conversation and quietly eased into a comfortable chair near the fire. They occupied themselves with their own talk about Richard, not excluding me so much as allowing me time for my own reflections and speculations. I folded my hands and watched the flames, content with all the world and my lot of it in particular.
"Heavens!" Elizabeth hastily set down her cup and gestured sharply at the mantel clock. "See the time-I'll be late for dinner if I don't go up now and dress for it. You, too, Oliver, unless you want to pique family curiosity even more about what you've been doing today."
"No," he said, sighing deeply. "Can't have that, though it's bound to be a rotten tribulation. Jonathan's the lucky one, he can do whatever he likes while we sit chained to the table for the next few hours."
"Or at least until the ladies take their leave," she reminded him. "Then you and the other men can get as drunk as you please while I drown in tea." Custom held that all ladies had to eventually retire from the table for their tea or coffee until it was time for the gentlemen to rejoin them for the serving of dessert.
"Well, I did warn you. Tell you what, I'll see if Radcliff will sneak some brandy into the teapots for you. That should help you pass the time more merrily."
"Dearest Oliver, it's a wonderful idea, but we ladies have already long made a practice of it."
"Have you, by God! First time I've heard of it. Perhaps I should forsake keeping company with the gentlemen and fall in with your troop."
"Cleave to your duty," she advised him. "Except for me there's not a woman left in the house that's under sixty. You'd be bored to death in five minutes for that's ever been my fate. Now I really must go." So saying, she swept out, skirts swinging wide and bumping against the doorframe, and we heard her quick progress down the hall.
"A damn fine girl, your sister," said Oliver. "A pity she didn't find a man worthy of her."
"She probably will, given time and inclination," I murmured. "But whoever she may settle on will have to behave himself with the two of us as her guardians."
He laughed. "Now, isn't that heaven's honest truth, especially with your talents. Tell me, though, if it's not too impertinent, why did you not question that Norwood fellow first before she married him-just to be sure about him?"
What a sore wound it was he'd struck. I actually winced. Oliver started to withdraw the question, but I waved him down. "No, it's all right. All I can say is that it seemed an ungodly intrusion at the time. She was so in love with him that I hesitated to tamper with her happiness. As it turned out, my hesitation damned near got her killed. Be assured, I will not make the same mistake again. Should she seriously take up with another suitor I'll be able to tell soon enough if he's a right one or a rogue."
"Now there's a good idea for an occupation."
"Hmm?"
"It just occurred to me that since you can't practice law because of your condition, you could busy yourself as some sort of inspector of marriage proposals. The ladies could come to you to have you ferret out the truth about their gentlemen prior to committing marriage. That way they can find out the worst about them before it's too late."
"The gentlemen might also be interested in such a service," I pointed out.
"True... then it's an idea best forgotten. If engaged couples knew all there was to know awaiting them, then none would marry, and humanity would die out for want of progeny. Unless they do what you've done and father a child by-er-ah-that is to say-well, no offense."
"None taken. Get on with you, Cousin, and ready yourself for dinner. You wouldn't want to leave Elizabeth all alone with the crows, would you?"
"No. But given a choice I'd prefer to leave the crows all alone with themselves, then they could feed on each other and soon disappear altogether."
"Dreamer," I called to his back as he left to prepare himself for the endeavor to come.
Alone and comfortably settled before the revived fire, I let forth a satisfied sigh. Now could I finally give in to my own dreams for a little time. Not the bad ones I'd endured for a brief interval early that morning, but the light and fanciful ones that possess a man so filled with good feeling that it overflows his heart and makes the very air about him seem to hum from it.
I'd met my son, and all was well.
The trepidation and apprehensions had fled. I was so encompassed with warmth for the boy that it seemed impossible I'd ever been worried at all. Whatever problems the future might hold would solve themselves, of that I had no doubt.
There was much work ahead, of course, but it would be easy enough labor. Facing down the disapproval of the family, dealing with the scandal of the boy's conception, dealing with Edmond, even dealing with Clarinda, tribulations all, to be sure, but not terribly important so long as I could spend time with Richard. I could hardly wait to see his face again, to see it glow with another smile, like Edmond would even allow it. Before God, he could tell me to go to hell and be well within his rights and then I'd never see...
My moment of panic came and instantly passed. He would allow it. I'd make certain of that no matter what. If I could turn the likes of Ridley into a lamb, then I could just as easily convince Edmond to cheerfully welcome me into his home. Elizabeth would probably disapprove-she usually did when it came to forcing my influence upon another person, but this was a special circumstance. Surely she'd not object to my making life a bit smoother for all concerned by the use of this strange talent.
Then the only limitation I'd have against being with Richard would be my inability to see him during the day. Damnation, but there was one obstacle I could not influence my way around. Half a loaf was better than none, but it irked me all the same. Ah, well, I'd just have to live with it until he got older and could stay up later. By then he'd be away at school, though... but he'd be home for visits between terms...
So much to think about, so much to dream and plan. I stared at the fire until my eyes watered, blinked to clear them, but they only watered all the more. To my astonishment, first one tear then another spilled forth.
"You're being ridiculous, Johnny Boy," I said aloud, wiping at them with my sleeve before remembering my handkerchief. It was the one I'd used in the stable, the one bearing evidence of my last feeding in the form of some small bloodstains. No matter, I thought, scrubbing away at my wet cheeks.
Though in a way it did matter, for now did I realize why I wept. Mixed with my happiness was the certain knowledge that Richard was the only child I would ever father, thus making him immeasurably precious to me.
Because of my changed condition the male member of my body, though still capable of providing enjoyment to any lady so desiring to make use of it, was now incapable of producing seed. Though it could come to glad attention, allowing me to roger away as happily as any other man, it was no longer at all necessary for the achievement of a climax to my pleasures. That sweet accomplishment was only to be found when partaking of the lady's blood, a process we could both enjoy to its fullest for as long as we could stand the ecstasy. Wonderful as it was and superior as it was to the more common way of making love, it had a wretched price. The joys of having a wife and a hearth might yet be mine in the future, but my present state tragically precluded any possibility of ever having a family of my own to cherish.
Why was it so? I wondered. The question had long occurred to me prior this night, but never before had the lack of an answer seemed so hard to endure.
If I could only find Nora.
Seeing her again had ever been the focus of all things for me since that summer night when I'd awakened in a coffin deep beneath the church graveyard. For all its limitations, though, the condition she'd bequeathed upon me had its favorable side.
I was grateful for the advantages, but needed to know more about the drawbacks. Ignorance had caused me grief in the past, so I harbored a very reasonable desire to learn all there was to learn before committing additional blunders. If I could just speak with her, even once, and put to rest all my questions, then might I find a bit of peace for my troubled heart.
I'd have to tell her about Richard, of course. There was no way around it. I hoped she would not be too awfully upset.
If I found her.
Oliver and I would just have to take on the task with renewed vigor. I could have another look through her London house on the slender chance that I'd missed something earlier, and Oliver could track down the agents who had sold it to her. Perhaps they had records on where she'd lived before....
I quelled the speculations. Firmly. They'd had their race around inside my head far too often before to offer any new approach to this particular hunt. Time to let them rest and cast my mind back to better, more productive thoughts. Like Richard.
Alas, it was not to be. Just as I was summoning the energy to forsake my comfortable chair to build up the dwindling fire, one of the footmen came in with a message for me. Damnation, if it wasn't one thing it was another.
He handed over a small fold of paper, then stepped back a pace to await my reply. I more than half expected it to be from my valet Jericho, who was probably wondering if I planned to return home tonight. An excellent question, that. I opened the thing, but did not recognize the bold, flowing writing within.
For God's sake, will you come speak with me? I beg only a moment.
The signature was a large, florid C placed in the exact center at the bottom of the sheet.
Clarinda, I thought, my spirits sinking. What the devil did she want? And did I really wish to find out?
Edmond Fonteyn had taken full charge of his wife to make sure she was securely confined for the remainder of their stay at Fonteyn House. Had he not been forced by his injuries to rest, he would have swept her away to their own home by now.
A temporary prison for her had been improvised from one of the more distant upstairs rooms. I understood it to be cold, bare of all furnishings except dust, and horrifically dark and stuffy since it had no window. Oliver's description of it, given earlier when he filled me in on the day's events, was vivid, as the chamber had served well enough as a place of punishment for him when he was a child. Hi mother had a great fondness for shutting him away to for hours at a time whenever she deemed any given transgression of correct behavior to be serious enough to merit it. That meant most of them, he'd added with heartfelt disgust. Nanny Howard hadn't approved, but was forced to comply with orders or risk a dismissal with no reference To mitigate the worst of it for poor Oliver, she'd sit jus outside the door and keep him company, talking and cheering him while pretending for his parent to play the stern and watchful guard.
Clarinda had no such companionable warden. Edmond had instructed two of the footmen to keep a close eye on her locked door, and see to it she didn't mate too much noise. He had been up twice today to see she got her meals, but no one else had come since he'd put the story about that she'd fallen ill from the strain of the funeral and needed complete quiet to recover. That and the long climb up the stairs had been sufficient to discourage the remaining elderly relatives from paying any calls, though Oliver reported that speculation on the real nature of her illness was rife. Some took Edmond at his word, but others maintained that he'd gotten tired of her infidelities and had finally decided to lock her away. Though close enough to the truth, the chief mystery for them was why Edmond had chosen this particular time and place to take action.
They would most certainly connect it with the row last night: Edmond and Arthur Tyne's injuries, Ridley being held prisoner in the cellar, Oliver getting roaring drunk, and all the other odd goings-on that had taken place in the wee hours after Aunt Fonteyn's funeral. I grimly wondered how Oliver and Elizabeth would ever manage to hold fast to topic like the weather throughout the ordeal of supper. The gouty crows would likely be disinclined to ask a direct question, but there was always a chance one of them might pluck up the nerve to try. Just as well for me that I was missing it all, for I'd find myself hard-pressed to keep a neutral and sober face.
I dismissed the footman, thanking him with a penny vale. He had most surely gotten the note directly from Clarinda, and even if he could not read might have some clear idea of what it was about. The fellow would likely go just far enough along the hall to ascertain the direction of my own movements. Though the servants of Fonteyn House were fairly trustworthy, they were not above taking an avid interest in the antics of their betters. Would I go to see her or stay? I had intended to have a talk with her, but not really planned out when. It was rather like having a tooth drawn, sooner or later it would have to be done, but neither haste nor delay would make the process the least bit pleasant to endure.
Well, I thought, heaving out of my chair with a groan, mustn't disappoint the below stairs gossips.
CHAPTER
-3-
Edmond had told the footmen on guard to ignore anything Clarinda said or promised on penalty of a prompt discharge from service and the pain of a sound thrashing that he would administer personally. Either threat was enough to ensure close observance of his orders; together they had the effect of inspiring a formidable dedication to duty. When I first approached and made known my intention to visit the lady, tit fellows were thrown into a painful dilemma. Passing on Clarinda's correspondence-that is to say, the note to me slipped under the door along with a penny bribe-was one thing, but they had no idea on what to do about visitors. Another bribe to grant me admission was out of the question because Edmond possessed the only key to the room. It would seem my out choice would be to confront him and ask if he might grant his consent to this call.
Well, that was one course of action I wasn't too keen to follow. Clarinda was asking much if she expected me to go to far for her. She probably wasn't aware of the business of & solitary key-that or she anticipated conducting a conversation through the locked door. Hardly wise, considering tit footmen would hear all and be only too glad to share a detailed recountal with the other servants. Perhaps she would think I'd simply order them out of earshot. Indeed, I could do so, but possessed no enthusiasm for crossing Edmond's instructions.
With a grimace for my own weakness, I chose the lesser of several evil options and quietly persuaded the men on guard to avail themselves of a short nap they would not remember taking. I borrowed one of their candles and stalked up to the storage room door, pausing before it to reflect that this was also a not very wise action. However, it would be easy enough to cause Clarinda to forget anything inconvenient. I vanished, candle and all, and resumed solidity on the other side.
Oliver's description was accurate; it was a depressing little closet right enough: cold, dark, and with a chamber pot smell to it, but not totally bare. A narrow bed with several blankets had been crammed in, along with a small chair and table. The latter held the leavings of her latest meal, paper, pen, and ink, and several candles, though only one was currently lighted. Unlike Ridley, Clarinda could be relied upon not to try burning the house down, though I wasn't sure I would have given her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps Edmond based his trust on her acute sense of self-regard, and he knew she'd not attempt anything that might miscarry and endanger her own skin.
She faced the door, apparently having heard me outside with the footmen and had composed herself to receive, standing in the small space between the bed and the desk, hands folded demurely at her waist. Still wearing yesterday's black mourning clothes, her dress was the worse for wear with some tears and dried smears of mud, so the suffering dignity she strove to affect was somewhat spoiled.
Of course, she could not have possibly expected me to make the entrance that I did, but before she could do more than widen her eyes in reaction, I bored into their depths with my full concentration.
Forget what you've just seen, Clarinda.<
br />
Her mouth popped open and she swayed backward one unsteady step as though she' d been physically struck. Had I been too forceful? Bad business for us all if that proved true. Fear of the dire consequences made me turn away from her until my composure was quite restored.
When I had nerve enough to look again, I saw her shake her head and blink as she regained her balance and her senses. Until this moment I'd taken care not to examine my feelings about her; now came the realization of just how strong they were and how dangerous they could prove. If I held mere anger in my heart for Ridley's actions, then Clarinda's had inspired white hot fury. With all this night's preoccupations I'd managed to thoroughly bury it, like heaping earth upon afire. But instead of smothering the flames, the burial had only served to preserve, if not increase, their heat. I couldn't trust myself to keep my temper under strict control with her. No more influencing for me; that state brought the true wishes of my deeper mind too close to implementation for comfort.
"Jonathan?" Her voice was none too firm, but I found it distinctly reassuring. It would seem that no permanent damage had been done to her mind if not her body. The fight last night had left its mark on her. Her jaw was bruised and swollen where I'd struck her unconscious.
P N Elrod - Barrett 4 - Dance of Death Page 5