P N Elrod - Barrett 4 - Dance of Death

by Dance Of Death(Lit)

  "Upon my honor and before God, you may be sure of it."

  "Excellent. There's nothing that breaks my heart more than hearing the parents wailing away because they'd forgotten or had put it it off until it was too late."

  "You won't have that with me."

  "Excellent." He tapped his fingers along the spine of the magazine in his hand. The silence that now settled between us thickened like a sudden patch of fog. I didn't care much for it and he seemed not to, either. He cleared his throat. "About this idea of moving to a country home?"

  I gratefully seized his opening for a change of subject. "Mrs. Howard recommended Fonteyn House, but I'll have to find some other place." I clarified this statement by mentioning the probable situation ahead once Father and Mother arrived in England.

  When I'd finished, he was in full agreement with me, adding, "But whether or not your mother takes up residence there, you still wouldn't want Richard shut away in Fonteyn House. It's much too dark and drafty, but there will soon be changes. I'll be making a deal of those when things settle a bit. Changes, that is. Dress up the insides, knock a few holes in the walls and put in more windows and damnation on the window tax. Once I'm done you won't know the old pile. But as for your having a place of your own'

  "There's no hurry yet. I'm thinking I'll wait until Father's here."

  He shrugged. "As you wish, but I was going to say I know of a perfectly nice house standing empty that might suit. The land's been fallow for years, but that can be fixed. There's room for your cattle and what not, and it's just a few miles north of the city. The house will need a bit of work; it's been empty a long time."

  "Why is that?"

  "Oh, one of Mother's grand imperial orders, y'know.

  The estate belonged to my late father. Seems when he died, she closed it down hard and fast, wouldn't even rent it out."

  "Strange to do that."

  "Consider her nature, old lad. Y'see the whole lot was my father's, free and clear, and in accordance with his will it was to come to me when I came of age. But she shut the house up and let the property go, thereby making sure it would eventually become pretty worthless. I remember her sending Edmond around with an offer to buy it from me a day or two after I turned one and twenty."

  "Which you turned down?"

  "Not exactly. Edmond didn't say it in so many words, but he gave me to understand that her offer was much too low and that I should hang on to the deed for a bit longer. I didn't at first know what he was up to, but twigged to things after she sent him on a second visit and he managed to discourage me again. Mother had been going on about how she was doing me a favor by trying to take the place off my hands since it was essentially a ruin, so I went out to see things for myself. It seems that Edmond had been less than honest with her."

  "In what way?"

  "Oh, whenever a storm came through, he'd tell her another shutter had dropped off or there was a new hole in the roof. The truth was he'd made it his business to keep the place in tolerable repair. The doors and windows all hang straight and close snug, and it's dry as a drum inside. The land's all overgrown and that gives it a forlorn, ruinous look, but otherwise everything's sound."

  "And Edmond did that for you?"

  Oliver nodded. "He took a dreadful risk over the years. I mean, he'd have been out in the street quick enough if Mother had ever taken it into her head to pay a visit to the old Marling hold. He must have hidden the expense of repairs and the taxes from her in some clever way. Edmond's as intimidating as a bear with the gout, but deep down quite a decent chap at heart. We should all have such a fellow handling our business, don't you think?"

  "Great heavens, yes. Makes you wonder what other little secrets he's got hidden away."

  "I'll be finding out soon enough, I'm sure. Before he packed himself and Clarinda off home the other day, he said he'd have to soon sit down with me to go over the accounts. Seems there's a lot of legal nonsense that needs my attention now, and I can't put it off much longer. Anyway, if you want to look the place over some night'

  "Certainly, I'd be most happy to do so." What a painless way to find a home. By keeping all the business within the family I wouldn't have to wait for Father's arrival to avoid any purchasing pitfalls. "If it takes my fancy, then we can work out some sort of rent-or were you thinking of selling?"

  "I was thinking of neither." He sat well back in his chair, lifting his chin slightly to peer down his nose. "If you want it-well, then... for the price of the yearly taxes you may have it!"

  For a yawningly long moment I was in complete distrust of my ears. "What?"

  He repeated it, grinning away like an ass and most certainly because I must have looked exactly like one myself.

  CHAPTER

  ~5-

  He'd utterly stunned me. That was the only word to describe my feelings when the whole import of his proposal finally sank in. For some considerable period I could do nothing but gape, inspiring a good deal of amusement in him.

  "But I couldn't," I objected in a faint voice when partial recovery asserted itself sufficiently for me to speak.

  "And why ever not?" He was still grinning.

  "It's too magnificent a kindness."

  "Don't be sure of that until you see the place-it might not suit, y'know. But all that aside, it's my property and I can do whatever I please with it. Besides, I know damned well such an arrangement would have sent Mother into an apoplectic fit, so that's yet another good reason for me to do it."

  I argued a little more, but not too terribly hard. A firm and outright rejection of his generosity in the name of good sense would have been very rude and hurtful, of course, but aside from that I found myself partially willing to let him have his way. It was a magnificent gift, but if it proved to be too much so, then perhaps Edmond and I could argue him into something more equitable for all concerned. I had no wish to cheat my excellent cousin out of any of his rightful incomes. For now, deeply moved, I warmly and sincerely thanked him; he clapped his hands, practically crowing, then sat forward and told me all he could remember about the house and lands.

  It was a sizable place not all that far to the north and east of Fonteyn House, but not all that close, either. There were fields and woods in the generous acreage, all overgrown and running wild by now, at least one clear running stream, and several buildings. Edmond had seen to the care of the house, but Oliver wasn't as certain about the condition of the barns and stabling. The house itself had been erected not long after the Great Fire of the previous century.

  "Was it involved in that in some way?" I asked, fascinated.

  "What, you mean burned up and then put something in on top of the ruins? No, nothing like that. The property's not even close to where all the destruction happened. The story is that one of my Marling ancestors liked the look of all the new buildings going up in London at the time and decided to have one of 'em for himself. Found himself a fashionable architect for the job and..."

  The more he talked the greater waxed my interest and the more eager I became to see the place. Though it promised to involve a lot of work to make the house livable and get the land producing again, the prospect of undertaking such a project was enormously appealing. Now could I understand some of my father's youthful wish to cross a wild and dangerous ocean to a new land in order to create a place of his own.

  In my case it would be going to an old land, but still virtually a foreign country from the one where I'd been raised. That had a very compelling appeal as well, for I'd ever been intrigued by the history of my English ancestry.

  Who knows but that some famous battle or great event might have taken place on the Marling lands in ages past. Oliver expressed a degree of doubt over this speculation, but that did not dampen my enthusiasm. Even if nothing more exciting than a bit of sheepherding had ever occupied the property over the centuries, what is commonplace to the local is exotic to the visitor.

  When Oliver's store of description ran out, we resolved to visit and give the plac
e a thorough inspection within a week if the weather cooperated.

  "I'll probably go earlier to have a look 'round in the daylight," he said. "Shan't get much out of it at night I'm afraid, no matter how many lanterns I carry. Are you sure you'll be able to do as well?"

  "As well if not better, especially if the sky is clear."

  He shook his head. "Amazing business, your condition. That reminds me, I was meaning to ask if I might draw off a bit of your blood."

  Again, I found myself gaping at my cousin. "Good God, whatever for?"

  "For the purposes of scientific research, of course. A friend of mine has one of those microscope things, and I thought it might be interesting to use it to peep at a sample of your blood and compare it to that of another's, see if there's anything different between the two."

  "A microscope?"

  "You know, like a telescope, but for much smaller work. I may get one myself now, it's a marvelous toy. You wouldn't believe the things you can find in a humble drop of pond water with one of 'em. Most of my colleagues don't think much of the things, but my friend is always peering through his and making drawings of what he finds. Has an enormous collection of the most fascinating sketches. I don't think he quite knows what to do with any of it, but as a curiosity it'll hold your attention far better than a flea circus."

  "And if you find a difference between my blood and another's, what then?"

  He gave a great shrug. "It's knowledge and so it must be important. Come to think of it, perhaps I might take a sample from young Richard, then compare it to yours and see what's different and what's the same. I'll wager that might be very interesting, indeed."

  "Really, now, Oliver, I don't want you poking at the poor child with one of your fleams unless it's absolutely necessary."

  "I doubt that I'll need to; he's bound to get a scrape or two while playing-children are so good at that. I had my share of skinned knees and elbows and know it's only a matter of time for him to turn up with one. All I have to do is wait until he takes a tumble, then sneak a quick sample off him before binding up the wound. He'll never know a thing."

  "Oh, you've reassured me to no end," I grumbled, with more than a trace of annoyance. "Now I'll not only be worrying about the pox-which is worry enough-but about skinned knees, broken arms, and who knows what else."

  "Yes, the joys of fatherhood. You'll do all right, Jonathan. I've been in many a house where the parents are more concerned about the lapdog than the child, so be glad that you have such a heart in you that cares so. Anyway, God wouldn't have brought the two of you together unless he meant for it to last a bit. Just enjoy Richard one day-I mean, one night at a time, and let the future take care of itself."

  "You sound like Elizabeth."

  "Well! Thank you! I'll tell her you said that. She's a damn fine girl. Damn fine. I don't mind telling you that if she wasn't my first cousin I'd be sorely tempted to pay her court. With your permission, that is," he quickly added.

  This wasn't precisely news to me, for I knew Oliver had been quite taken with her from their first meeting. Certainly I wouldn't have minded having him for a brother-in-law. "Cousins have married before, y'know," I ventured with an optimistic air.

  "I know," he said, rolling his eyes. "For the last century or so the Fonteyns have been famous for it and look where it got 'em. Any rustic huddled in his cottage will tell you about the dangers of inbreeding their stock. No, I don't think the Marlings and Barretts would benefit from such a course. Suppose Elizabeth would even have me, our children might turn out like Mother, and then where would we be? Ugh. No, thank you, I shall content myself with admiring your dear sister from afar only."

  "Such an inheritance of temper might not happen. Elizabeth and I aren't in the least way like our mother, after all, and I'm going to do my best to see that Richard doesn't turn out to be like Clarinda."

  "If anyone can do it, Coz, then it is you. I say, you mean you wouldn't have objected to me and Elizabeth... that is, if she'd... that is?"

  "Not at all. You're an excellent fellow. Not a bit like your mother, either."

  This pleased him to no end, and he told me as much, saying it gave him great hope for Richard's prospects. "It was Nanny Howard that trained me up right," he pronounced. "If it hadn't been for her, Lord knows how I might have ended up. Between the two of you, well, maybe the three or four of us-what with Elizabeth and me hanging about the lad-there won't be so much as a trace of Clarinda left in the boy."

  "And that's just as well," I muttered.

  "Yes, wretched business. I'd never have suspected it of her, but then I'm likely not to suspect it of anyone. It's just not in me to do so."

  "Then you are a very blessed man, Coz."

  "Not so blessed that I don't have a dark moment here and there. Sometimes I don't know if I should condemn Clarinda or thank her for what she did," he mused. "Murder's a horrible, awful thing, but I don't know of anyone in the family who was truly sorry to see Mother gone, myself included, once you woke me up to it. Do you think I'll be damned for even considering such stuff?''

  "I think rather that you might need to go dancing on her grave again and purge any lingering remnant of guilt out of your soul."

  "Perhaps you're right on that. What really bothers me about the business is that Clarinda's idea to marry me would have probably worked because, damn it all, I liked her. Suppose I still do in a way, though it's all mixed up with a sort of revulsion, like Eve and that serpent, y'know. A pretty animal, but so bloody dangerous. I don't envy Edmond's job of keeping her caged for good and all."

  "Neither do I."

  "What about Ridley? In a way you've become his keeper, too. You're sure that the influencing you did will hold him and Arthur in check?"

  His reminder of this unpleasant task waiting in the near future was hardly a welcome one. I found myself rubbing my arm again. The bone ached yet where Arthur Tyne had nearly severed it. That, or it only seemed to ache in my mind whenever I recalled the incident. "They'll be fine for the time being. I'll visit them within a week or so and bolster things up so they'll behave themselves."

  "Pity you can't do the same thing for Clarinda."

  "Oh, but I probably could. But I don't think it would'

  His eyes widened. "Really? Well, that would take the load off poor Edmond."

  "Indeed, but then I'd have to explain myself to him. I'm not quite prepared to do so just now. It's a damned heavy confidence."

  "Yes, that's the stark truth right enough. Edmond might think you'd gone mad and toss you out if you ever told him about your little secret. It's so extraordinary. He'd have to have proof, y'see."

  "And then I'd have to give it to him, and I'm not too terribly confident in the benevolence of his reaction." Which is a mild way of putting it, I thought, with a nasty cold twisting in my belly. For Edmond to find out that the father of his son was some sort of extra-natural blood drinker didn't bear lengthy consideration. My own immediate family accepted my condition well enough, but then we were held close together by the ties of our deep, mutual affection for one another. Not so with Edmond. "He'd be within his rights to take Richard away from me," I said, thinking aloud.

  "Then you could just influence him into leaving well enough alone," Oliver said, with some little heat. He seemed ready to enlarge upon the subject, but the look on my face stopped him. "Whatever is wrong?''

  I'd come all over glum at his idea of influencing Edmond, for the very same one had occurred to me as well and made my vitals twist in another direction. "I... well... damnation, that wouldn't be right."

  "In what way?"

  "Father and I have talked the length and breadth of this business about enforcing my will upon other people, the good points and the bad. It all comes down to a question of honor."

  "Honor? How so?"

  "Your suggestion of my influencing Edmond-it's all very well to talk about it, but to actually carry it out would be an unconscionable intrusion upon him. To be telling him what to do just so it's
convenient to my needs..."

  "But you're doing it all the time to keep the servants from being curious about your eccentric habits," he objected.

  "Yes, but I'm not telling them how to arrange their very lives. That's the difference. I don't think you're fully aware of just how frightening a power this is for me, Oliver. If I wanted to I could make my way right to the bedchamber of the king himself and play him or any of his ministers for a puppet on matters of state."

  "Good God." His color flagged. "I never thought of that."

  "Then think hard on it now. I have, and in weak moments it makes me tremble."

  "I don't fault you for it," he whispered, then recovered somewhat. "Mind you, it would be a way of settling things out with France. You could take a little trip to Paris, talk here and there with some of old Louis's ministers, and remove the threat of them jumping into the war to help those damned rebels."