P N Elrod - Barrett 4 - Dance of Death Read online

  "I suppose I must. After all, think how much we have in common." I meant it as a light jest, but it didn't come out right. Oliver looked back again, eyebrows high with shock. "I'm sorry, Coz. That was very rude of me."

  "Think nothing of it. You've had a hard time of things."

  Wasn't that the grand understatement? And not just for last night but for the last year or so of my life. Oliver's sympathy coupled with his kind dismissal of my poor manners crushed me down as much as the weight of recent events seemed to be doing. My death, my return to life, my search for the woman who had made such a miracle possible, all pressed close, crowding out any other thoughts in my brain for the next few moments. So thoroughly did they occupy me that I was genuinely surprised to come to myself in the central hall of Fonteyn House with no recollection of how I'd gotten there.

  "Now what?'' asked Oliver, setting his candle on a table.

  As an answer, I looked hard at Ridley until I was certain I had his full attention. "You are a guest of Fonteyn House and will conduct yourself in a gentle and honorable manner. The servants will see to your needs, and don't forget to give them a decent vale when you leave tomorrow morning."

  Ridley responded with a slight nod of acknowledgment, and I cocked an eyebrow at Oliver. He regarded each of us with no small amount of wonder.

  "He can stay the night in Arthur's room," I said.

  Taking the suggestion, Oliver called for a servant. One of the household's larger footmen appeared, stopping short in his tracks to give Ridley first a surprised, then highly wary look. He'd apparently heard tales from the men who had been on duty in the cellar. Of course, Ridley's appearance might have had something to do with it, what with all the bandaging, blood, and damage his clothes had taken from last night's fight and this day's incarceration. Add to that his abnormal calmness of manner and you had the makings of what promised to be some very speculative and animated below stairs gossip.

  "Show Mr. Ridley here to his cousin's room," Oliver instructed the man as though nothing at all was or had ever been amiss. "He'll take his supper there, and see that he's cleaned up and has all he needs to stay the night. And be sure to have someone fetch along a very large brandy for me to the blue drawing room."

  The fellow looked ready to offer a few dozen questions, but was too well trained to make the attempt. Oliver's mother, the previous mistress of Fonteyn House, had not been one to encourage any kind of familiarity between servants and their betters, and her influence still lingered. The footman bowed and cautiously invited Ridley to follow him upstairs. Our prisoner, now our guest, went along as nice as you please without a backward glance at us. Oliver breathed out a pent-up sigh and let his shoulders sag a trifle. He exchanged a quick look with me; I gave him a short nod meant to reassure him that all was well and would remain so.

  We watched until they reached the upper hall and turned into one of the rooms off the stairs where Arthur Tyne had been placed. More heavily concussed than Ridley and missing a goodly quantity of blood, he was slower to recover from his injuries. Bedrest and broth flavored with laudanum had been prescribed and administered, and he'd slept the day away under the watchful eye of one of the maids. The girl, her duties no longer required, soon emerged in the company of the footman and both quickly crossed our line of view to take the back way down to the kitchens. They were doubtless in a great hurry to carry the latest startling developments to the rest of the servants.

  ''Wonder what they'll make of all this?'' I mused.

  ''Who knows, but we may be certain it will in no wise even remotely approach the truth."

  ''Mmm, then shall I 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 very 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 all 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 that had taken up residence behind my eyes was threatening to become a permanent lodger.

  "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?''

  "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 trying to talk 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 ourselves 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 real 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 in 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 to me, though, particularly concerning this errand. In the London house that my sister Elizabeth and I shared with him, the servants had all been carefully influenced by me into ignoring some of my more singular customs, especially any after-dark excursions to visit the stable. The retainers at Fonteyn House were not so well prepared, making me glad of Oliver's company as an insurance against discovery. He was 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, since you're doing a fine enough job of it on your own."

  "Am not," he stoutly protested, eyes all wide with mock outrage.

  Laughing 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 way until I was utterly certain of its tranquillity. The inner anticipation I felt building within had swiftly prepared me to sup. My corner teeth, sharp enough to pierce the toughest of hides, had budded to a proper length for the work they were to do. 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 bodily need was at last free to assert its supremacy over all 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 strangled 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 for life.

  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 rapidly 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 most 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 very tidy in habit.

  The pain in my head was quite abated, and the strength had returned to all 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 raised 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 eyes 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. What am I? I had no name for my condition except for one fastened on me by a terrified Hessian soldier. Blutsduger. 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 vivid imagination."

  ''What's that to do with anything?''

  He gave a ghastly imitation of a smile. "Most of the tins 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 all that blood like it was so much ale night after night, like it or not. Once my mind fixed on that, on all that 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'd say 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 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 chose not to tell me about it as she'd done with a thousand other details.

  His mouth 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 ourselves 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 back in the house, and ensconced before the blazing hearth in the blue drawing room, I found myself to be 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 up 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 of it, I was still full of many important questions and singularly lacking in answers. The urgency to see her again and to 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, she 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 hi
nt of her presence. The only clue I'd had of her passing had come from a madman named Tony Warburton, and it had been less informative than frustrating 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 very hard not to imagine 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.

  When he'd initially learned about my change, the 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 since he'd hated the old harridan.