Quincey Morris, Vampire by P. N. Elrod

Author:P. N. Elrod [Elrod, P. N. ]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 0-671-31988-4
Publisher: Baen Publishing Enterprises
Published: 2001-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

"Bertie! Darling girl!" A very large, full-blown woman in a white powdered wig and red ball gown swooped toward us. She swept Bertrice right off the floor in a bear's hug. Then I got a closer look under the heavy face paint she affected and realized the woman was a man. That gave me a turn.

"Wyndon, how lovely, now put me down, you great oaf," Bertrice cheerfully ordered.

"Your wish is my command," he boomed. He looked at me. "My word, but that is an original. You must be the only Frenchman here who is not dressed as Napoleon."

"He's not a Frenchman, Wyndon—"

"You're absolutely right, dear girl. Bonaparte was from Corsica. My apologies, sir." He curtsied at me, and I almost bowed back before catching myself.

She patted his arm and had to reach up to do so, for he was very tall. "Wyndon Price, may I introduce you to Mr. Quincey P.—"

"Quinn," I hastily finished, thrusting out my hand to him. Bertrice only blinked at my interruption, not giving away any startlement. She understood the value of anonymity, even if she didn't know my particular reasons for wanting it.

"How do you do, Mr. Quinn," said Wyndon Price. "Were your parents at a loss for a name?" Anyone else might have sounded rude, but this fellow seemed only innocently curious.

"I could not rightly say, Mr. Price, but people always remember me for the repetition."

"He's delightful, Bertie. Where did you find him?"

"He found me—that is, he's an old friend of the family. He saw the scene my company did at the hall tonight and came backstage." She watched me for a reaction, probably mindful that I might object to what she said, but I only nodded agreement. It was the truth, after all.

"Yes, she and all her ladies did a real corker of a job," I added. "I am filled with admiration for their effort."

"That makes one for your side, Bertie, out of . . . what is the population of London again?"

"Hush, Wyndon, or you shall annoy Mr. Quinn. He thinks you're serious."

"How gallant. You've found yourself a knight-errant, albeit an American in French clothes. There's a story, I'm sure." He looked at me expectantly.

"A dull one, Mr. Price. I spent some time on the Continent looking after my businesses, is all. Nothing nearly as interesting as this."

"Oh, but this is dull as ditch-water, sir. You should come 'round the place when Burce really gives a show. Puts the old Roman emperors to shame."

"That I should like to see. May I ask what prompted this occasion?"

"Just a little birthday party for one of the crowd. I forget whose, but you know Burce, any excuse to have people over. He hates getting drunk alone."

As there seemed no proper way to respond to that, I gave what I hoped was an amused smile.

"Speaking of refreshment," said Bertrice. "I'm famished. Is the feed trough in the usual place?"

Price pointed. "Right through there. Mind you don't trip on the fallen. Some of the revelers arrived early and the servants haven't cleared them away yet.

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