Death Masque
P. N. Elrod
Long Island, September 1777
Molly Audy opened her eyes, smiled, and said, "I'm that sorry to lose you as a caller, Johnny boy, I really am."
"You're very kind, Miss Audy," I replied lightly, looking down at her with my own smile firmly in place. Her little bedroom was a place of smiles for both of us, but soon to end, alas.
"You're the kind one, I'm sure." She brushed a light hand over her bare breasts. "Some gentlemen I've known couldn't care less about how I feel, but you take the trouble to do things right by me—and every single time. It's just as well you call as late as you do. Come 'round any sooner and I'd not have the strength left to deal with the others."
"You mean none of them bother to—"
"I didn't say that. Some are just as nice, but if I let myself be as free with them as I am with you . . . well, I'd be an old woman in a month from all the good feeling."
I laughed softly. "Now you're just flattering me, Mol—"
"Not a bit of it. On nights when I know you're coming over, I hold myself back with them and save it for you."
My jaw dropped quite a lot. "Good heavens, I had no idea. I am honored."
"And you really mean that, too. Some men don't give two figs for a whore's feelings, but not you." She tucked her lower lip in briefly, then lifted her head enough to kiss my cheek before dropping back onto her pillow. "You're a lovely, lovely man, Mr. Barrett, and I'm going to miss you terribly." Now her smooth face wrinkled up and her arms went hard around me and she abruptly hiccupped into a bout of sincere sobbing.
I held her close and made comforting noises and wasn't quite able to hold back a few tears of my own that unexpectedly spilled out. In a strangled voice I assured her that she was a lovely, lovely woman and I would also miss her, which was entirely true. In the year since we'd begun our pleasurable exchanges, she'd become a very dear friend, and it was a raw blow to realize anew that this was the last night we'd be together for some considerable time to come, if ever again.
"Just look at us," she said, finally straightening. She groped for a handkerchief from the small table next to the bed and used it thoroughly. "Goodness, you'd think someone had died. You'll be coming back, won't you?"
"I . . . don't know."
Her eyes, reflecting her spirits, fell, but she nodded. "We're all in God's hands, Johnny boy. Well, I can at least pray for a safe crossing for you, if there is such a thing these days."
"We've been told that there will be no trouble from the rebel ships."
"Rebels?" She snapped her fingers to dismiss their threat to my well-being. "It's the sea itself that's so dangerous. I lost my poor husband to it years back, so don't you be forgettin' your own prayers as you go."
"I won't," I promised.
"There now, you come here for cheering up and I've gone all serious."
"It's all right."
She made herself smile once more for me, then slipped from the mess we'd made of the bedclothes. She rose on her tiptoes, arms high overhead in a luxuriant stretch. I watched the easy movement of her rounded muscles, of how the candlelight caught and gilded the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, and suddenly wanted her all over again. The need swept into me, playing over and through my body like a swift red tide.
"La, but I wish it were cooler," she murmured, lifting her thick hair from the back of her neck. "I've half a mind to sneak down to the stream for a quick wash before I sleep. Want to come along?"
The sight of Molly Audy splashing away like some woodland nymph was not something I was going to deny myself. On past occasions when we'd stolen off for such adventures, the outcome had ever proved to be a happy one for both of us. "I should be most delighted to provide you with safe escort, Miss Audy."
She turned and saw how I was looking at her. "Oh, you're a wicked 'un, all right, Johnny boy. Goin' to make an old woman of me before the night's done, is that it?"
She danced out of my reach and pulled on a light wrapper and some shoes; I left my coat, hat, and neckcloth, knowing I'd be back for them, and didn't bother fastening up my shirt. My breeches and boots I'd left on throughout our recent lovemaking. Perhaps it was not really gentlemanly, but Molly had often expressed to me that she sometimes found their retention on my person to be rather stimulating to her when she was in the mood for it. Being no fool, I was only too happy to comply with her preferences.
The street that her house faced was silent at this late hour, but we still left by her back door rather than the front. Besides being the quickest route to the little stream that flowed through this part of Glenbriar, it spared us from any unexpected observers who might also be wakeful from the warmth of the night. Witnesses for what we had in mind would have been an utterly unwelcome inconvenience.
There was enough of a moon showing to allow Molly to pick her way without much effort or noise. I could see perfectly well. As long as some bit of the sky was visible, the night was as day to me, and I kept an eye out for unwanted attention. The locals did not worry me so much as the Hessians. There had been many terrible incidents involving the army sent to protect us and put down the Rebellion, but many of those troops had left our little portion of the island for other places by now, so perhaps I was being overly cautious. Then again, how could one be overly cautious during these turbulent times? Not only Hessians, but packs of booty-seeking rebels from across the Sound might be lurking about. My past experiences had taught me that avoidance was far preferable to encounter when it came to dealing with either of them.
We reached the stream without trouble, though, and walked upon its bank until coming to a spot lending itself to an easy descent. Giggling, Molly stripped off her thin garment and shoes and gingerly stepped into the shallows.
"It's just right!" she gasped. "Oh, do come in!"
I laughed, shaking my head. "You know it doesn't like me much." She was very well aware of my singular problem with free-flowing water, but chose to ignore it as part of her game with me.
"Coward," she called and bent to sweep her hand in the stream to splash me.
"Right you are," I called back. I made no move to dodge, but waved and teased her on, getting a good soaking before she tired from the play. My hair fell dripping and untidy about my face, and my shirt clung like a second skin. Though the heat of summer had even less effect upon me than the cold of winter, I must have had some sense of it for this state of damp dishevelment to feel so pleasant. Or perhaps it was Molly's undemanding company, her acceptance of me, of my shortcomings as well as my gifts.
I dropped upon our favorite grassy spot, where she'd left her clothes. Propped on my elbows, I had a fine view of her bathing. Moonlight filtered through the scattered branches overhead, making irregular patterns in black and silver over her body that shifted and shimmered as she moved. She didn't look quite real; she'd become a creature of mist and shadow. Even her laughter had been turned into something magical by the wide sky and the woods as it merged with the small sounds of hidden life all around us. I could scent it upon the warm wind, the green things, the musk of passing animals, the last of the summer flowers, the vitality of the earth itself where I lay. To my ears came the soft drift of leaves in the wind, the creeping progress of insects seeking to escape my presence, the annoyed call of a nearby bird and answering cries from those more distant.
This unnatural augmentation of my senses was all part of my changed condition, of course, and could not be ignored any more than I could ignore the blinding explosion of a sunrise. But I was well content, something that would have seemed quite impossible for me a year ago when a musket ball had smashed into my chest one sweltering morning, changing everything in a most extraordinary way.
Thinking me dead, my poor family had buried me, but it was not my lot to remain in the ground, for the legacy hidden in my blood soon expelled me from that early and unfair grave.
Sleeping during the day, abroad during the night, and able to command some very alarming talents, I had no name for this change or whether it was a curse or a miracle, though the latter seemed most likely, once the shock of my return had been overcome.
And now a very full and instructive year had passed; I'd learned of and explored my new gifts . . . and limitations, but was yet consumed with questions about my condition. Only one person in all the world could possibly answer them, but I'd exceeded the last of my patience in waiting for a reply to my many letters to her. The emptiness within could no longer be put off. The time had come for me to somehow find her again.
"What a dark look you have, Mr. Barrett," said Molly.
I gave a small start, then laughed at my own foolish lack of attention to her.
"Thinking about your lady, the one you left in England?" she asked, lying down next to me.
"How the devil did you know that?"
"Because you always wear that same long face when she's on your mind. I hope you don't hate her."
Molly was well known for her discretion. I'd long since confided to her about my other lover. About Nora Jones.
"Of course I don't hate her. I'm . . . disappointed. And hurt. I understand why she so ill-used me at our last parting, but that hardly makes it easier to live with."
"As long as you don't hate her."
"I could never do that."
"Then no more long faces, or you could frighten her away." One of her hands stole into the folds of my wet shirt. "You should take this off and let it dry out. Don't want to catch a fever, do you?"
"No, indeed. But are you quite comfortable yourself?"
She was still dripping from her bath, the ends of her loose hair sticking to her shoulders. "I feel just fine, though I should like to feel even better, if you please."
"And how might that be accomplished, Miss Audy?" I asked, falling in with her humor.
"Oh, in any way as seems best to you, Mr. Barrett." She helped me remove the shirt and tossed it out of the way on a convenient bush, then proceeded on to less prosaic pursuits. My arms were quite full of Molly Audy as we wrestled back and forth in the grass until she began panting less from the exertion and more from what I was doing to her.
"Off with them," she murmured, plucking at the buttons of my breeches.
"As you wish," I said, helping her. Soon my last garments were shoved down about my knees and Molly was straddling my most intimate parts, writhing about in a delightful expression of enthusiasm. I lay back and left her to it, reveling in the fever building within me as the central member of those parts began to swell under her ministrations.
We'd learned very early on that I had no need to make use of that portion of my manhood in order to bring us to a satisfying conclusion, but old habits die hard. So to speak. Though no longer able to expel seed, I was yet capable of using it to help pleasure a woman, though it was no more (or less, for that matter) important to my own climax than any other part of my body. My release came in a far different way from that which other men enjoy. It was far more intense, far longer in duration—far superior in every aspect; so much so that to return to the old way would have meant a considerable lessening of my carnal gratification.
And so, though it was active, if not functional, Molly made warm use of it as she pleased, bringing herself up to a fine pitch of desire, then, leaning far forward, gave me that which I most desired.
The marks I'd left upon her throat earlier in the evening were long closed, but that was easily remedied. Mouth wide, I brushed my lips over them, tongue churning against her taut skin. She gasped and drew back, then came close for more, playing upon this pattern until she could no longer bear to pull away. My corner teeth were out, digging into her flesh, starting the slow flow of blood from her into myself.
It had to be slow, for her own well-being as for mine. Thus was I able to extend our climax indefinitely without inflicting harm to her. She moaned and her body went still as I shifted to roll on top of her. Her legs twitched as though to wrap around me, to hold herself in place, but it was unnecessary for her to pursue that joining. The heat that lay between them would have spread throughout all her body by now, even as her gift of blood spread throughout mine.
A few drops. A scant mouthful. So much from so little.
Molly shuddered, her nails gouging into my back. In turn, I buried myself more deeply into her neck. The blood flow increased somewhat, allowing me a generous swallow of her life. Another, more forceful shudder beneath me, but I hardly noticed for my own sharing of the ecstasy. I was beyond thought, lost in a red dream of sensation that wrapped me from head to toe in fiery fulfillment.
Only Molly's cry brought me back. I became aware of her thrashing arms and extended my own to pin them down. She pushed up against me, urging me to take more, and I might well have done so, had we not already made love that night. Many long minutes later she gave a second, softer cry, this one of disappointment, not triumph, as she understood I was readying to end things, then came many a long sigh while I licked the small wounds clean, kissing away the last of her blood.
I took my weight from her, but we lay close together, limbs still entangled, bodies and minds slowly recovering themselves from that glorious glimpse of paradise. Molly's breathing evened out as she dozed in my arms. It would have been very good to join her in a nap, but my own sleep could only come with the sunrise.
Which wasn't all that long away, to judge by the position of the stars. Damnation, but the nights were short.
I let her rest another few minutes, then gave her a gentle shake. "I'm needing to leave soon, Molly."
She mumbled, more than half asleep, but made no other protest as she got up. I helped her with her wrapper and offered a steadying arm as she slipped on her shoes. She woke up enough to laugh a bit as I struggled to pull my breeches back into place. I made more of an effort than was needed for the task, in order to keep her laughing, and played the clown again when I donned my still-damp shirt.
"You'll get a fever for sure," she cautioned.
"I'll risk it."
Taking her arm, I guided us back to her house. Quietly. Some of the very earliest risers of Glenbriar might be out and about by now; it wouldn't do to give them anything to gossip about. Or rather anything more to gossip about. Most of the village knew about Molly's nightly activities, but she made a good fiction of supporting herself with her sewing business during the day and otherwise held to the most modest behavior in public. Between that and a reputation for discretion, no one had cause to complain against her, and I wasn't of a mind to change things.
We eased through her back door and on to the bedroom, where I gathered up the rest of my clothes. I resolved to carry, instead of wear, them home and thus give my shirt a chance to dry.
"Don't forget what I said about sayin' your prayers, Johnny boy."
"I'll say one for you, too," I promised, giving her a final embrace.
"God, but I shall miss having you come by. Nights like tonight make me wish I didn't have to bother with the other chaps. None of them can do it as well as you. I'm that spoiled, I am."
"Then that makes two of us."
She began to sniffle. "Oh, now, there I go again."
"Well, be off with you," she said, trying to sound brusque. "It won't do for you to be late."
"I know. God bless you, Molly." I kissed her hand and turned toward the doorway, then paused. "One more thing. I left a present for you under my pillow."
"La, Mr. Barrett, but you are—"
"And so are you, Molly dear." Then I had to dart outside and rush away because the sky was fractionally lighter than before. I trusted that she would find the ten guineas in coin—my parting gift to her on top of my normal payment for her services—to be most helpful in getting her quite comfortably through even the harshest of the coming winter.
I sped down the road leading home, feet hardly touching the earth.
The sun had become, if not an outright enemy, then an adversary whose movements must be respected. I had to keep close watch of the time or I'd find myself stranded all helpless in the dawn. That had nearly happened on my first night out of the grave. The old barn on our property had provided a safe enough shelter then, and it struck me that I might have to make use of it once more. The Hessians quartered in it over the last year were gone, thank God, so it would be secure, but my absence for the day would worry Father and my sister, Elizabeth.
I passed by that venerable landmark, ultimately deciding that there was just enough night left for me to make it to the house. Our open fields were tempting, clear of obstacles, unless one wished to count the ripening harvest. As it would be for the best to leave no traces of my passage, I willed myself into a state of partial transparency and, with my feet truly not touching the ground, was able to hurl forward, fast as a horse at full gallop.
It was one of my more exhilarating gifts and my favorite—next to the delight of drinking Molly's blood, of course.
Skimming along like a ghostly hawk, I sped across the gray landscape only a few feet above the ground. I might have laughed from the sheer joy of it, but no sound could issue from my mouth while I held to this tenuous form. Any verbal expression of my happiness would have to wait until I was solid again.
I covered the distance in good time, in better than good time, but saw that it would be a close race, after all. Too late to turn back. Our house was well in sight but still rather far away for the brief period I had left. The grays that formed the world as I saw it in this form were rapidly fading, going white with the advent of dawn.
Damnation, if I couldn't do better than this . . .
Faster and faster, until everything blurred except for the house upon which my eyes were focused. It grew larger, filling my vision with its promise of sanctuary, then I was abruptly in its shadow.
And just as abruptly found myself solid again. I couldn't help it. The sun's force was such as to wrench me right back into the world again. My legs weren't quite under me, and I threw my arms out to cushion the inevitable fall. My palms scraped against grass and weed, elbows cracked hard upon the ground, and any breath left in me was knocked out as my body struck and rolled and finally came to a stop.
If I could move as fast as a galloping horse, then by heavens, this was certainly like being thrown from one.
I lay stunned for a moment, trying to sort myself out, to see if I was hurt or not from the tumble. A few bruises at most, probably; I was not as easily given over to injury as before and knew well how to—
Light.
Burning, blinding.
Altogether hellish.
Even on this, the shadowed west side of the great structure, I could hardly bear up to its force. Fall forgotten, I dragged my coat over my head and all but crawled 'round to the back of the house and the cellar doors there. They were as I'd left them, thank God, unlocked. I wrenched one up and nearly fell down the stairs in my haste to get to shelter. The door made a great crash closing; if I hadn't already been keeping my head low, it would have given me a nasty knock.
The darkness helped a little, but provided no real comfort. That lay but a few paces ahead, deeper, in the most distant corner. My limbs were growing stiff, and it was with great difficulty that I staggered and slumped like a drunkard toward my waiting bed. I pitched into it, dropping clumsily on my face onto the canvas-covered earth and knew nothing more . . .
For what seemed only an instant.
Unlike other sleepers, I have no sense at all of time's passage when resting. One second I'm on the shrieking edge of bright disaster, and the next I'm awake and calm and all is safe. Adding to the illusion on this new evening was the welcome sight of my manservant, Jericho, standing over me holding a lighted candle. His black face bore an expression that was a familiar combination of both annoyance and relief.
"Hallo," I said. "Anything interesting happen today?"
The candle flame bobbed ever so slightly. "Half the house was roused at dawn by the slamming of a cellar door, sir. These are not easy times. A loud noise can be most alarming when one is unprepared to hear it."
Oh, dear. "Sorry. Couldn't be helped. I was in a dreadful hurry."
"So I had assumed when I came down to look in on you."
That was when I noticed that I was lying on my back, not my face, and bereft of soiled shirt, breeches, and boots. Some bed linen had been carefully draped over my body to spare the sensibilities of any kitchen servants who might have need to fetch something from the cellar stores. My hands had been washed clean of the grass stains they'd picked up, and my tangled hair was smoothly brushed out. Jericho had been busy looking after me, as usual. I'd slept through it, as oblivious as the dead that I so closely imitated during the day.
Further reproach for me to be more mindful of the time and to have more consideration for the others in the household was unnecessary. He'd made his point, and I was now thoroughly chastised and repentant. After putting his candle aside, he assisted as I humbly traded the bed linens for the fresh clothing he'd brought down. He combed my hair back, tying it with a newly-ironed black ribbon, and decided that I could go one more night without shaving.
"You'll want a proper toilet before you have to leave, though," he warned.
"You speak as though you weren't coming along."
"I've been given to understand that the facilities aboard the ship may be severely limited, so I shall take what advantage I may in the time left to me."
No doubt, this advantage would be taken during the day. He got no arguments from me then. If ever a man was in thrall to a benevolent despot, that man was yours most truly, Jonathan Barrett.
Candle held high, Jericho led the way out of the cellar. We climbed the stairs, emerging into the stifling heat of the kitchen to be greeted as usual by Mrs. Nooth. She was busy with preparations for tomorrow's departure. Having decided that no ship's cook could possibly match her own skills, she was seeing to it my party would have sufficient provisions for the voyage. The fact I no longer ate food made no impression upon her; my gift for influencing other minds had seen to that. Except for Jericho, all the servants had been told to ignore such oddities in my behavior, like my sleeping the day through in the cellar. It was an intrusion upon them, yes, but quite for the best as far as I was concerned.
Jericho continued forward, taking me into the main part of the house. Now I could clearly hear my sister Elizabeth at her practice on the spinet. She'd borrowed something or other by Mozart from one of her friends and had labored to make a copy of the piece for herself, which I could only marvel over. From very early on it was discovered I had no musical inclinations to speak of; the terms and symbols were just so much gibberish to me, but I tried to make up for it with an appreciation of their translation from notes on paper into heavenly sounds. Elizabeth was a most accomplished translator, I thought.
I parted company from Jericho and quietly opened the door to the music room. Elizabeth was alone. A half dozen candles were lighted; wasteful, but well worth it as she made a very pretty picture in their golden glow. She glanced up but once to see who had come in, then returned her full concentration upon her music. I sprawled in my favorite chair by the open window, throwing one leg over an arm, and gave myself up to listening.
The last of the sun was finally gone, though its influence lingered in the warm air stirring the curtains. I breathed in the scents of the new night, enjoying them while I could. By this time tomorrow Elizabeth, Jericho, and I would be on a ship bound for England.
A little black spark of worry touched the back of my mind. Molly's concern for a safe voyage was not ill placed. The possibilities of autumn storms or a poorly maintained and thus dangerous ship or a discontented crew or—despite all assurances to the contrary—an attack by rebels or privateers in league with them loomed large before me. The night before I was too engrossed seeking the pleasures Molly offered to think much on them. Free of such distractions, I could no l...
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