Daniel Friedman - Riot Most Uncouth

Even as I was saying it, I think I was aware that I was making a mistake, and when Olivia’s countenance hardened and her lips pressed together, I knew I’d spoiled my chances with her, at least for the night.

“My family earned its fortune in London trade, the same as Mr. Sedgewyck’s,” Olivia said. “I’d hate to think I’d inadvertently been inflicting myself upon all these marvelous and cultured people you’ve gathered here tonight.”

I could feel myself sweating beneath my clothes. Such social errors on my part were atypical, but my usual facility and glibness had been diminished somewhat by my days of sleeplessness and heavy drinking.

“I didn’t mean to impugn your family,” I said. “I only meant that Mr. Sedgewyck’s decision to appear here unbidden was a coarse and unbecoming behavior.”

At least I’d embarrassed Sedgewyck; spots of pink appeared on his sharp, white cheekbones. “You have me; I am here uninvited. When I learned of this event, I could scarce resist the chance to spend an evening in the presence of one of the great literary figures of our age.”

I remained still, so as not to make any gesture that might be mistaken for an offer of absolution.

“I’m sure such minor errors in protocol will be forgiven by our magnanimous host,” Olivia said. Her voice had a cold edge to it as she addressed me, but she was softly touching Sedgewyck’s arm.

The fact that I’d fumbled my seduction and lost my grasp on the girl made my desire to conquer her all the more urgent, and my distaste for Sedgewyck was amplified by my awareness that I might have been able to get inside of her if that lumbering Dutch bastard had had the good sense to stay away from where he wasn’t wanted. I had my pistols tucked inside my waistcoat, and I would have relished the opportunity to put them to use. But such action seemed unlikely to achieve my desired ends; Olivia wasn’t the type to be aroused by a display of wanton violence.

He apologized again, and when I failed to absolve him, he grabbed my hand and gave it a vigorous, friendly shake. His grip was dry and cool, like the skin of a reptile, but when he released me, I rubbed my palm with my handkerchief anyway. I held the soiled rag at arm’s length, and Joe Murray appeared to carry the thing off to the furnace. He did not speak as he did this; unlike some people, my butler felt no need to interrupt the conversation.

“I must compliment you on your ambulation this evening,” Sedgewyck said with a malicious nod. “You are quite spry for a cripple.”

“I am not crippled,” I said.

“But it’s true you are-” He licked his lips. “-malformed.” Sedgewyck let the word roll around on his tongue, and I was so infuriated that I nearly bashed him over the head with the Jolly Friar. I held back only because I didn’t want to damage the skull or waste the wine it contained.

“Many brilliant men have secret vulnerabilities,” Olivia said. The lovely corners of her mouth turned up slightly, and I decided this was mockery at my expense, which made me want to send all my guests home and throw her down on my bed.

Sedgewyck bent over and squinted at my weak left foot. “It isn’t really much of a secret, though,” he said.

“We do not discuss that,” I told them both. “I am quite strong. Any of the Eton boys who had the misfortune of boxing against me can attest to that.”

“And yet you look so very frail,” Sedgewyck said. “Thin. Sickly, I daresay.”

“You oughtn’t dare, you son of a bitch.” I stretched my spine to look taller, but I failed to match his height. “We can brawl right here, if you’d enjoy a demonstration of my fitness and haleness, right in your goddamn teeth. I will break you open and spill you in front of all my guests, and they shall know that you amply deserved such treatment.”

Sedgewyck took a step back; he managed to conjure an expression that might have looked, to a bystander, like genuine shock. “I don’t mean to be rude. I was only curious.”

“Well, your curiosity has been indulged. I think you ought to leave,” I told him.

“Don’t be cross,” Olivia said.

“Byron has been a gracious host, and has been most kind to an unbidden visitor in his home,” Sedgewyck said. “Thank you, my friend, for your patience, and for the lovely poems.”

“No thanks are required, now or hereafter,” I assured him. “If you never speak to me again, I shall not think you impolite for it. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

Sedgewyck turned back to Olivia. “The hour grows late, and I would be happy to see you home, if you require an escort.”

“I’m sure I can find the way on my own,” she said.

“But there are dangers in the night.” He leaned toward her so she could better see his sensuous red lips. “And even if my protection is unnecessary, I’m sure my company will not be unpleasant.”

Sweet Christ! I should have shot him! “I disagree,” I said, which prompted an awkward pause in the conversation. When nobody spoke up to fill it, I added: “If she needs the assistance of a gentleman, I shall provide it.”

Sedgewyck’s eyes twinkled kindly. I wondered how he made them do that. “But you are already in your home,” he said. “And the uneven cobblestones of the thoroughfare will be difficult for you to navigate in the dark, with your lameness.”

I ground my teeth. “You shouldn’t trouble yourself.”

“No trouble at all.” He patted the top of my head.

“I thank you, Mr. Sedgewyck, for being so thoughtful,” Olivia said. “Good night, Lord Byron.” And she left with him.

Earlier in the evening, a woman named Clarissa Something-or-other had made a point of apologizing to me on behalf of her husband, who had business out of town and was regrettably unable to attend. This was, of course, a signal that she was available, and so I availed myself of her.

After I finished, she made some indication that she might like to spend the night, so as not to risk anyone seeing her leave my residence in the scandalous hours of the morning. I told her I was happy to oblige, but Joe Murray released the Professor, who wandered into the bedroom. I let the bear climb up onto the bed, and the woman reconsidered her decision to stay over and vacated my premises shortly thereafter.

It was not until she’d left and I was lying in the dark, with my arms around the bear and a head full of liquor and laudanum, that I turned my thoughts back to Olivia. I had allowed her to walk out into the night with an amoral deviant. Sedgewyck was the murderer; it was obvious. And that sweet, unsuspecting girl would be his next victim.

Of course, I realized that if Sedgewyck was the murderer, then Felicity Whippleby could not have been killed by vampires. Unless Sedgewyck was himself a vampire. His mouth seemed very red, but red mouths weren’t necessarily a quality of vampirism. I had read that vampires slept in the earth during daylight hours, and the smell of dirt clung to them. According to some legends, their flesh was hard, like stone, and could not be penetrated by mortal weapons. I tried to remember if Sedgewyck’s handshake had felt stony, but my recollection was muddled by too much drink.

In many stories, vampires could not enter a dwelling uninvited, and Sedgewyck had clearly done that. So, perhaps he was not a vampire, but only a regular murderer. Or someone had granted him permission to cross my threshold; Joe Murray, or one of my guests. Or maybe he was just an ill-mannered piece of shit, and some other vampire had killed Felicity. I hoped so, for Olivia’s sake. Why had she left with him, anyway? Had she fallen under some sort of sinister vampire charm or spell? Was she trying to make me jealous? Did she like him better than me?

Whatever the case, I decided the problem could wait until morning. I was far too drunk to sort out the particulars, and if Sedgewyck had been plotting to kill Olivia, it was probably too late to stop him. Anyway, I was already in my pajamas. So I drifted to sleep for the first time in days, listening to the Professor’s rhythmic snores, and dreamt happy dreams of vengeance against tall, pale men.