P N Elrod - Barrett 4 - Dance of Death

by Dance Of Death(Lit)

  The candles on the desk burned down to the point where fresh ones were needed. Rather than halt my work by calling for them, or even opening the curtains to the general glow of the night sky, I simply thieved more from the sconces on either side of the mantel, shoving them into the desk holders.

  Some portions of the letter were easier to write than others. Surprising to myself, my past liaison with Clarinda proved to be the easiest of all to get through. I'd resolved to tell it plainly and make no apologies for my actions or hers. Father was a man of the world in his own right, having a dearly loved mistress as well as an estranged wife, so I had no doubt he would clearly understand the needs of passion when they so firmly seized hold of me. I did, however, make it clear to him my surprise and regret at finding Clarinda to be married and of my sober intention to avoid a repetition of the circumstance with other ladies. I then told him that there was a very good reason why I had written at all about my encounter with her, and so word by word and page by page, as I told all there was to tell about Clarinda's now broken plans, I led up to the subject of Richard.

  Again I surprised myself, for now the ease of writing deserted me. I could not seem to put pen to paper about him for very long. Each time I tried, my mind wandered off in a dreamy speculation of a happy future, rather than framing a solid report of the happy present. How that child could lay hold of my mind and keep hold of it-had my father felt this way about me at my birth? Perhaps, though, he'd have had several months to anticipate the event, thus getting used to the prospect of having another baby in the house. Richard had been-to grossly understate it-a complete surprise.

  At least I could and did say with all truth that there was no question in my mind whatsoever about the child's paternity, adding that I considered myself to be one of the most fortunate of all men. I added also that unless upon finding Nora and she told me otherwise, Richard was like to be my only child because of my changed condition. With that in mind I expressed the profound wish that Father would receive the news he was a grandparent as joyfully as I gave it.

  After that, I couldn't think of anything else to say. His acceptance of Richard meant much to me. He would or he would not, but I had every confidence in his love for me and felt he would have no trouble welcoming my son into his own heart as well as I had myself.

  I blotted the last page and shuffled them into order like a huge pack of flimsy playing cards. They'd make a sizable parcel and would cost a fortune to post. Well, it wasn't as though I didn't have the money for it. I rolled the letter into a cylinder and tied it up with a bit of string filched from a drawer. Then I wrote a short note to Elizabeth, asking her to wrap it up and post it for me.

  The thought came to me on the wisdom of making a copy of the thing. That might not be a bad idea, especially should something adverse happen to this pile of paper while en route to Long Island. But to do all that work over again? Ugh. Though I could easily have the whole thing copied for a modest fee....

  Oh.

  Good heavens, no. I snorted at myself for being such a fool.

  To hire someone, to allow some stranger a look at the intimate doings of the Fonteyns and their relations? That was impossible-not to mention ridiculous. The schemes, lying, adultery, assaults, and murder? No, no, no, far better and safer to keep all that within the family where it belonged. I'd do the copying myself.

  Then all I had to do was hope neither letter fell into the wrong hands.

  Well-a-day, maybe I should have used that as an argument with Elizabeth against writing the whole lot down to start with and saved myself an evening's toil. Too late now. For that matter, how late was it, anyway?

  When I finally glanced up at the mantel clock, the hour shocked me. Listening closely for a minute or so, I determined the whole house was fast asleep and had likely been so for a long time. If I wanted company to help me pass the meager remains of the night it would have to be chatting with the watch again or reading another book.

  Or copy work.

  I shuddered and pushed away from the desk. It could keep until tomorrow night; I'd devoted quite enough time on the project.

  Quite enough and quite a lot, since I'd been left alone for nearly the whole of the night. In this mild form of abandonment, I sensed Elizabeth's hand. Guessing that I might be writing to Father, she'd probably told Oliver all about it and had cautioned him against a return to his study lest he interrupt the task. If I grew tired of the work, I'd be out to visit them in the parlor. Since I hadn't once emerged, she was likely to be quite pleased with me. I thought of confronting her about it tomorrow and teasing her a bit by saying I'd spent the whole time reading old magazines. It would serve her right for knowing me so well as to predict my behavior with such accuracy.

  But my inclination for mischief passed; it occurred to me that Jericho might also have had something to do with it. He possessed an uncanny ability for understanding and predicting the actions not only of me but of others if given enough time to come to acquaint himself with them, and he knew me better than I did myself. He would be aware of Elizabeth's wish for me to write-he knew all the goings-on of the house-and would have arranged for me to work on undisturbed. A keen observer of life was my good friend and valet.

  I found evidence of this in the central hall. On a narrow settee he'd laid out my heavy cloak, hat, walking shoes, gloves, and stick, anticipating that I'd want to take a turn about the early morning streets before diving into my cellar sanctuary for the day. Not wanting to disappoint him, I donned the things and quietly let myself out without bothering to open the entry door.

  It was a fine clear night, if windy. I had to keep a tight hold on my hat lest it go flying. The ends of my cloak whipped about as though alive and trying to make good an escape from my shoulders. Finally giving up on the hat, 1 held it close to my chest with one hand and bravely walked into the wind with my cloak streaming behind like a great woolen flag. Not an arrangement to protect one from the elements, but I wasn't one to feel the cold as sharply as other people do. My chief annoyance was the way its collar tie tugged like a hangman's rope at my throat. I thought it might be better after all to turn back to the house and fill the time with a book, but I'd been physically idle for hours and my body craved exercise. Though the wind was a nuisance, it freshened the air marvelously, a rare thing in London, inviting me to partake of it while it lasted. Coming hard out of the north, it reminded me of the wholesome landscape of the country and my desire to eventually move there.

  The street was empty, though the tumbling of a stray newspaper and the constant dance on either hand of tree branches in the breeze made it seem less so. The creaks and whispers they made unnerved me at first until I grew used to the sound. Not so for a dog I heard occasionally giving vent to his unease by barking.

  Most of the houses had lamps burning outside to aid in the lighting and thus the safety of the street. Oliver's was one of their number because of his profession. Once or twice since moving in, I'd witnessed him being called forth on a late medical errand, and it was best for all concerned that his door be easily found by those in need.

  Within the houses all must have been peaceful with sleep, though now and then I'd see candlelight showing through the curtains or shutters. When I did, it was always my hope that it was simply an early riser or another wakeful soul passing the night in study, rather than sickness.

  I found the watch, in the person of an elderly man named Dunnett, uneasily dozing on his feet in his narrow box. He wore two cloaks wrapped close about his sturdy frame and a long muffler wound around his hat and head against the bitterness of the night, but the way he huddled in them gave me to understand they were somewhat inadequate to the task. So light was his sleep that he jerked awake at my soft approach, his startled gaze meeting mine in an instant of fearful suspicion until he recognized me.

  "Good e'nin', Mr. Barrett," he said, rubbing his red nose with the back of his gloved hand. "Up early or out late ag'in? That is, 'f y' don't mind my askin'."

  "Go
od morning to you, Mr. Dunnett. I'm out late, as always."

  "Mus' be rare 'ard for a youngun like you to 'ave such trouble findin' sleep."

  "Oh, it comes to me eventually. All quiet tonight?"

  "Aye, too cold for the bully boys, I'm thinkin'. Saw 'alf a dozen o' them Mohocks earlier tonight. Gave me a turn. I was afeared they'd be makin' some grief, but they left me alone, thanks be to God."

  "I'm glad to hear that." The night watch, mainly composed of unarmed old men, was ever a favorite target for the malice of the city's rowdy element.

  "A foolish lot they are, but mebe too cold fer their pranks. Tis fine with me."

  "Any other visitors aside from them?" "None as I could see. 'S been rare quiet tonight. 'S I said, 'tis fine with me."

  "What, not even footpads?" I asked, pretending surprise. " 'Tain't no one out fer 'em to rob," he said with a cackle. " 'Ceptin' me, 'n' I don't 'ave nothin'. There's you, but I 'eard as 'ow you can take care o' yerself."

  "You have? Where?-if you don't mind my asking." " 'Eard it 'round or by the Red Swan. I done a favor f the landlord 'n' he sees I get a tot o' rum once a night 'f it's to me fancy." From the look of the many veins decorating his nose, one could deduce it suited Dunnett's fancy very well indeed.

  I knew about his favor. The Red Swan's chief business was not the sort to have the approval of the law. According to Oliver-himself a regular customer there-Mr. Dunnett had warned the landlord of an impending raid from the forces of justice and decency in time to save the establishment from serious damage. The story went that the raiding party burst into the place ready to face the worst kind of resistance this side of a battlefield, only to find it occupied by a large group of Quakers having some sort of a meeting. There was vast disappointment on all sides once they worked out their business-the raiders had no one to arrest, and the Quakers failed to interest any of the newcomers in joining them on the closing prayer. Both sides eventually retired unbloodied from the field to go their separate ways. The next day the Swan was open for normal custom, free now of the harassment from the forces of morality because of a well-placed bribe from the landlord.

  Dunnett said, "I was in 'avin' me tot not long back, 'n 'eard some gentlemen drinkin' to yer very good 'ealth."

  I smiled, feeling absurdly pleased. "Some friends of mine, I suppose, or my cousin Oliver."

  "Friends," he confirmed with a nod. "I know Dr. Marlin' well enough. Many's the time I've seen 'im staggerin' from 'is coach to 'is front door when 'e's had a bit o' fun. Always 'as a friendly word for me no matter 'ow much 'e's swilled."

  "That's Oliver and no mistake. But you didn't know these men to name? If someone's toasting my health it's only right I should return the courtesy."

  "Not to name, nosir, but I've seen one or two of 'em visitin* the doctor now 'n' then. One was a 'andsome perky chap with a mole right 'ere," Mr. Dunnett pointed to a spot on his nose. "I noticed 'im special for it, 'n' for 'im bein' the one t' name you 'n 'is toast. Talked all 'bout that duel you was in, called you a real fire-eater, sir. Those were 'is very words. So that's 'ow I 'eard 'bout you takin' care o' yerself so well."

  I felt my face going red, and not from the wind. "I know the fellow," I admitted. The mole on the nose was the clue; he could only have been Brinsley Bolyn. Since the night of my duel with Ridley, young Mr. Bolyn had become my most devoted admirer and supporter. Good lord, but I'd have to find a polite way of asking him not to be so free with his enthusiasm or I'd have no end of challenges from men wanting to test themselves against me. I could fight, but had an unfair advantage over them in terms of strength, speed, and an unnatural ability to heal from even a mortal wound. Besides, unlike most of them, I had killed before and found no pleasure in it.

  Dunnett noticed the change in my expression. "Not a friend o' yers, sir?''

  I quickly sorted myself and laughed a little. "He's a friend, but he's doing me no favors with such praise, however well intentioned."

  "1 see 'ow it is, sir," he said with a quick wink. "Too much talk like that makes it 'ard to live up to the 'onor."

  "Exactly. You're a most perceptive man, Mr. Dunnett."

  "I do wot I can, sir."

  "And very well indeed."

  "Thank you kindly, sir, 'n' bless you," he said in response to the shilling I slipped him. I bade him a good morning and began to walk away, but he hailed for me to stop a moment more. "There's one thing botherin' me 'bout them Mohocks, sir."

  He had my full attention. "What would that be?"

  "They walked right past me without hardly a look which as I've said, 's fine with me. But 's been my experience that they always 'ave at least a curse or two to throw at me. Nothin' like that tonight. They just walked past, lookin' at all the houses like a pack o' damned foreigners. It was dark 'n' they was a ways down so I couldn't see too good, but I think they was payin' some extra mind to yer 'ouse-Dr. Marlin's 'ouse, that is."

  I certainly didn't like the sound of this. "Staring at it, you mean?"

  "That's what I'm not too sure of, sir. 'F it'd been plain I'd 'ave come 'round to let you know about it, but it wasn't, so I didn't. The 'pression I got was they might 'a' looked at it a bit longer than the other 'ouses, 'n' for that I can't rightly swear to on a Bible. Just thought I should mention it now since yer 'ere 'n' all. I don't mean t' be troubling 'r worryin' ye'."

  "Not at all, Mr. Dunnett, as I see it, you're only doing your duty. I'm very grateful you told me. Do you recall what time they came by?"

  "Not long after midnight, 'f the church bells rang true."

  By then I'd have been deeply occupied with my letter writing and the rest of the house asleep. It may have been nothing, but recent events gave me many excellent reasons to be cautious. Also, though I was endeavoring to bring a change for the better to Ridley and Arthur, it did not mean their friends would also be favorably affected by such reformation.

  This time I pressed a handful of shillings into Dunnett's hand, and he was sufficiently overwhelmed to start protesting that it was too much. "Not nearly enough," I said. "If ever you see anything of a similar nature in the future, I want you to come straight to the house as soon as you're able and let me know about it. You need have no fear of waking me no matter how late the hour-that is to say, if I'm home. If I'm not, then you be sure to tell Dr. Marling or Miss Barrett or Jericho, understand? I'll see to it they hear what you've just told me."

  "You 'specting' trouble?"

  "Not expecting, but it suits me to know all I can about anything to do with Mohocks. That duel I fought may not be quite finished yet. Friends of the man who lost might want to reopen the contest, but not on the field of honor, if you take my meaning."

  "God bless you, sir, I understand clear as day. Y' can count on me."

  I bade him a good morning and continued along the street, wanting to stretch my legs and needing to think. Neither activity took very long. I walked fast and thought faster.

  Tomorrow night, before anything else, I'd pay a call upon Ridley and see to it he kept his friends in check. Arthur Tyne would also briefly receive me as his guest, like it or not. I didn't believe either man to be much, if any sort, of a threat to me or my family now, but had learned to value caution over carelessness.

  Of course, the Mohocks Mr. Dunnett had observed might have had nothing to do with Ridley. There were dozens, if not hundreds of their ilk roaming the city at all hours of the night. Word of the duel might have reached some kindred group and they'd only come to look at the house out of a sense of curiosity and nothing more.

  And, of course, I was not prepared to believe that.

  Even knowing it was much too late by now to look for any sign of their band, I surrendered to the desire to take in a broader view of the area. Tucking the ends of my cloak close around my body, I gave the street a quick glance up and down to make sure it was deserted. Only then did I vanish. The world faded to a gray nothingness, though I soon had ample evidence of its continued existence despite my apparent leaving of it.
/>   Well-a-day, but I'd underestimated the wind.

  The beastly stuff must have blown me a good hundred yards before I knew what was happening. It tumbled me about as easily as that discarded newspaper, and I had to fight it with more than the usual effort of will required for this mode of movement. The wind felt every bit as solid to me without a visible body as with one. After a stint of hard work I managed to force my way back and upward until I reckoned myself to be well above the tops of the immediate houses. Then did I take on the barest amount of solidity to see exactly where I'd gotten myself.

  I was just within sight of Mr. Dunnett's box and silently crowed with an inward congratulation I certainly didn't deserve, for it had all been luck. I hovered over this one place a moment, decided it was possible for me to continue with this folly despite the weather, then went higher. The wind slacked off a bit, easing my work. Doubtless its strength was worse closer to the ground, being whipped up by its passage between all the city's many buildings, like that of a river being forced to flow between the pylons of a bridge. The more narrow their placement, the greater the speed of the water.