The Flame Eater

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “I do, don’t I?” grinned Nicholas. “Courage and fortitude, of course. But actually it’s the bed. An inferior palliasse with inferior covers and a miserable set of damp flat pillows. I crawl out of it at every available excuse. The latest excuse happened to be you.”

  “How delightful,” sniffed Emeline.

  “Sarcasm,” smiled the invalid, “is entirely lost on me, madam. I am too simple a soul for that. But I agree, delightful is an appropriate word, or it was when I first saw you. You have now disappeared into scum. A shame.”

  The steam was beginning to evaporate and Emeline wondered how long she would be kept there. She managed to speak without sniffing. “If you would say whatever you came to say, my lord, perhaps I can then continue my bath before I catch a cold,” although it was difficult to keep one’s dignity while hiding underwater, knees scrunched, in considerable discomfort. And he was right about the scum.

  “As it happens,” continued Nicholas without noticeable interest in her request, “I can now state without doubt that one of the things Peter frequently described about you was, in fact, completely inaccurate. I can also confirm that what you yourself told me this morning is equally inaccurate. You are not pregnant, madam.”

  “If you just came here to embarrass me –”

  “I had no idea you were in the bath,” Nicholas pointed out, “though I suppose I might have guessed. You certainly needed one. I was actually spoiling the habit of a lifetime by behaving quite altruistically. I’m told you had no supper. You certainly missed dinner. And I doubt you were present for breakfast since I gather you were still asleep in the Keep. So I came to invite you to a small private supper in my bedchamber before retiring. Rather nice of me, I thought, since all you do is keep running away and getting excessively dirty.”

  Emeline blushed. “If that was all – you could have sent a message.”

  “I told you,” Nicholas explained, “I wanted any excuse to get out of bed. It’s now four days trapped and tortured by doctors. I’ve had enough. So come for supper and cheer me up by insulting me and telling me how sorry you are to have married me. That cheers me up no end. Besides, the supper’s already been ordered and you must be starving.”

  “You have your cousins to keep you company,” Emeline mumbled.

  He shook his head. “Adrian’s a loose knucklebone, and Sissy’s a baby. Besides, after travelling backwards and forwards for days, they’ve both gone to bed. They left here after the wedding feast and just managed to return home before hearing about the fire and deciding to travel back here to make sure I was well and truly dead. But they gave me a good idea before they went to bed, and it’s something I’d like to discuss with you as soon as possible. So do you want some cold pork, apple codlings in treacle, sugared raisins and cold salmon stuffed with spiced leeks and onions? Or not?”

  The wave of unsurmountable hunger swept immediately and painfully from her throat to her toes. She muttered, “I am a little – that is, it is a whole day since I ate anything at all.”

  “That decides it,” decided Nicholas. “I can’t help you out of the bath, I’m afraid, but you should come and eat at once. Having my wife expire of starvation in my own home and practically at my feet would be too much of a scandal even for my father to contend with.”

  The baroness entered at the appropriate moment, tottering beneath an armful of materials, and her two maids followed closely, each clutching towels, combs, hairpins, stockings and garters. “Oh, Nicholas,” her ladyship noticed in surprise, “I would not have expected – nor do I think it wise, sir – and during the late evening chill too. Not that I wish to interrupt you, naturally.”

  “You’re not,” said Nicholas. “I would be leaving, except that I need my page in order to get back to my own room. Perhaps you’ll be good enough to call him for me. Your daughter, once dressed I presume, will then be joining me for a late supper.”

  In a neat combination of her mother’s stockings and little starched headdress, Martha’s best linen shift, which was far too large, and her oldest plain dun blue gown without secondary sleeves or any trimmings, Emeline entered her husband’s bedchamber and felt immediately reconciled by the glorious perfumes of food. She sat at the little table which had been set before the hearth, and was already laid with platters, folded napkins, polished cutlery, and a dented candelabra. At least a dozen other candles had been lit and the small hearth was bright with fire. The flickering brilliance was lurid across Nicholas’s face where the previous scars combined with the oozing blisters of burned flesh, many small massed scabs and the partially healed welts. The sheen of medicinal goose fat was, however, no longer evident. He lounged at the table, propped in a heavy backed chair opposite her own. He smiled and said, “You’ll have to serve, my dear. I’m incapable and I sent the boys away. I need to talk to you.”

  This sounded ominous, and the endearment made her suspicious. Emeline began to serve, saying, “There are so many candles, sir. Do you need the light brighter because of your – that is – if sight is a problem? My father is very thrifty with good wax candles.”

  Nicholas tapped his cup. “The wine, if you wouldn’t mind,” and then drained what she poured for him. “Now, my lady. You eat, and I shall talk. First, no I’m not blind as well as burned, mutilated and mistreated. You’ve been politely controlling your curiosity regarding my fascinating disfigurements, I presume? But my sight is fairly good, all things considered. Certainly good enough to notice that your father’s equally parsimonious with his daughters’ clothing. What has happened to status and fashion in Gloucestershire, may I ask? I know most of your clothes were destroyed, but surely you still had a trunk of clothes remaining in the guest wing.”

  Emeline stared resolutely at the flagon and poured her own wine. It was hippocras, and the steam rose in a spiced spiral. Deciding she could not now ask any further explanations regarding her husband’s unusual appearance, she said instead, “Do you know how to be nice? Or are you rude to everyone? Yes, Papa is very careful about waste, and he doesn’t believe in extravagance except sometimes for formal occasions. For instance, my wedding gown cost a great deal, and I’m very sad it’s gone. And yesterday Avice lent me her best shift, and I sort of ruined it, so today I only have my very oldest clothes left. But I thought you had something important to discuss, not just being horrid about my family and what I’m wearing.”

  “I liked you better wearing nothing,” said Nicholas, holding his cup out for a refill. “But I’ll buy you whatever you want once life gets back to normal. Not that having you around will seem normal of course. My family has always been profligate, and I’ve no intention of changing. So spend what you want. I always do. Money and property’s never been a problem, and you bring a fair purse with you too.”

  “That’s vulgar,” Emeline mumbled, eyes on her platter.

  “Truth – that’s all,” said Nicholas, the smile fading. “Something you seem to have a problem with, madam. As you’ve pointed out, romantic dreams don’t suit me at all. I don’t have the face for it.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said in a hurry, filling his cup again. “But Maman and Papa say that I do speak without – well, never mind what they say. The thing is, I never met anyone until I met Peter. Not men, anyway. I don’t even have any real cousins, except for one in Spain and Papa won’t talk about him because he’s nearly foreign. Our neighbours are just country bumpkins and a few tradesmen who come to the house sometimes, and Papa’s lawyer and his secretary who is rather a silly man, though Avice likes him. Then there’s the local priests and the others in our private chapel and the monastery just a mile away, and sometimes we hear them singing.” She paused, disconcerted by her husband’s glazed expression. “Am I boring you?” she asked faintly.

  “I was simply wondering,” remarked Nicholas, “whether all that was a clumsy attempt at an apology, or just an exercise in self-pity?” Since she glared at him and made no answer, he pointed to the wine jug, said, “Help yourself. You p
robably need it,” and drained his own cup for the third time. “Now,” he continued, “since we both suffer from objectionable fathers, the castle is half in ruins, you have the composure of an affronted flea and the brain of a half-starved sparrow, and now I’m about as useful as a shocked virgin, I intend taking up an offer from my cousin. Adrian is a pompous little prig and probably has even less intelligence than you do, but his suggestion is fairly sensible. So in about six or seven days or as soon as I’m capable of riding, I’ve agreed to take you to Nottingham where they have a reasonably comfortable house with a few spare bedchambers. There I’ll get a decent night’s rest in a comfortable bed, get a doctor who can think of more interesting medications than spreading me with putrid lard while shoving his fleam in my groin, you can get your hands on some more flattering clothes, have your own bedchamber, and enjoy some more congenial company while comparing Peter’s more saintly qualities. Sissy thought she was in love with him too. The female capacity for self-delusion can be quite amazing.”

  Emeline sat with her spoon in one hand and her cup in the other, her mouth slightly open, and eventually muttered, “Sissy?”

  “Sysabel,” nodded Nicholas. “My cousin. Adrian’s sister. I’ve told you who she is several times before, but no doubt your attention was floating around elsewhere at the time. You were probably busy planning your next escapade into the nearest pile of cinders.” When she still did not answer, he continued, “Of course, there won’t be too many cinders available in Nottingham, except the usual fireplaces. But don’t worry. There’s a nice wide river for you to throw yourself into when you get tired of talking to me. The River Trent, if I remember rightly. It’s waiting, just for you.”

  Emeline straightened, put down her spoon with a clatter, and said with dignified menace, “If that is a threat, my lord –”

  “Oh, good Lord,” muttered Nicholas. “Why do you insist on seeing threats everywhere? No, I’ve no particular desire to tramp along the damned riverbank in the snow, looking for my wife’s corpse.” He managed to reach the wine jug, and refilled his cup with only slight spillage. “Now,” he said with a renewed smile, “Have some apple codlings. I notice you seem particularly fond of them, and indeed, they’re very good. The kitchens may have burned down, but luckily the cook himself did not.”

  Emeline ignored the apple codlings. Besides, she had already eaten six of them. “Since we are invited to visit your cousins, I am clearly pleased to accept, my lord,” she said with the quiet dignity she was carefully practicing. “I trust you will tell me when the journey has been arranged. I merely wish to point out that I have no travelling clothes, nor any other possessions left to take with me. Is it a long way from here to Nottingham, sir? I do have my own little palfrey in your stables, though I cannot be sure Papa will let me keep her. I certainly have no wish to be an – inconvenience.”

  Nicholas grinned suddenly. “Too late,” he said. “As for the journey, it’s just a few hours as long as we have no wretched litters or carts to drag along with us. I’ll fix you up with some clothes before we go. There’s a tailor and a couple of seamstresses somewhere in the castle, and there’ll be time enough since I doubt I’ll be able to ride for a few more days. Just make sure you don’t choose some frumpy juvenile nonsense such as you’re wearing now. You can talk to Sissy in the morning and she’ll explain whatever you need to know.” He stretched, winced, drained his cup again, and sighed. “Now I feel I’ve suffered enough, and I need to get to bed before I fall. I assume you won’t want to share my bed, since you’ve a predilection for sleeping in some very odd places. Mind you, this bed is fairly odd too, but there’s nothing I can do about that for the moment. But apart from anything else, you smell of lavender, which I dislike intensely.”

  Emma clenched her fists and stood, flinging her napkin onto the little table. “The bath water was scented with lavender, my lord. I didn’t choose it. But my hair is still wet so the perfume remains.”

  “I might even put up with the smell if things were different,” said Nicholas. “But they’re not, and I’m not, and you’re not. And while I think of it, I should warn you I’m naked beneath this wretched grease smeared bedrobe, so if you wish to preserve your maidenly modesty, madam, you‘d do well to let me stagger to my bed alone.”

  “I most certainly intend to leave you entirely alone,” said his wife. “Indeed, I shall keep as distant as possible until it is time to travel to Nottingham. At which time, I expect you will inform me of your demands, which I shall dutifully obey. In the meantime, my lord, I wish you a good night.”

  Chapter Nine

  The castle did not feel in any way her home, nor did it welcome her. So Emeline was sad to wave her family goodbye, although she had claimed beforehand that she would be glad to see the back of them. She expected to miss her mother a little perhaps, but was not prepared for the black hole of loneliness that swallowed her thoughts after only a brief absence.

  The last two days with her mother and sister had involved a late bustle, materials brought from the town markets and spread for inspection with the tailor and the seamstress awaiting each breath, each exclamation. Avice had said, “You must choose that green satin, and the pale grey velvet. What grand gowns you’ll have. And oh, Emm, that glorious gold damask. Gold embroidered in gold all shot with gold, and the whole gown laced in gold ribbons. Perhaps with a black satin stomacher? You’ll be walking sunshine.” Sighing, “I do so hope Papa finds me a very rich husband one day.”

  With her nose buried in the swathes of luxury on offer, Emeline had replied, “Really Avice, that’s exceedingly shallow of you. As St. Francis said, riches are just extraneous interruptions and have no real importance. Clothes can’t make anyone happy.”

  “Well, not if someone’s busy sulking and just determined to be miserable and ungrateful,” sniffed Avice.

  Emeline said, “Papa is always lecturing us about greed and vanity, and he ought to know. Nicholas says Papa only arranged our marriage because he wants political power and influence but I don’t believe it. Dearest Peter told me much nicer things. I can’t see why Papa could possibly want power when he lives so far from Westminster, and has all those farms to watch over. Besides, he says the only power on earth is God’s.”

  Tossing her curls and eyes to heaven, “So naturally, being so virtuous, you will decline any new gowns at all?” Avice sniggered. “And will either give them all to me, or send these gorgeous fabrics away at once?”

  “I would never be so rude,” replied Emeline carefully. “And besides, I have to wear something. But Papa says –”

  “If you think so highly of Papa, then you can go home with him and leave me here with all the wonderful new gowns and shoes and feathers and silk stockings,” objected Avice. “And don’t forget you owe me a good linen shift with a proper fitted bodice.”

  “There won’t be time to have it made before you leave tomorrow. I’ll send it to you. Unless you come to visit me in the meantime. And I wish you would.”

  Avice had shaken her head. “Papa would never allow such expense again for months. Though Sissy says I can come whenever I want to. She’s really nice. You’ll like staying with her.”

  “She’s a fourteen year old baby, like you. That’s why you like her, and that’s why I probably won’t.”

  Avice continued to shake her head. “I’m turned fifteen now, remember! But I still like her. Even though she says all those silly soppy things about Peter too, so you two can sit through the long evenings by the fire and sniff and sob together about what a wonderful person he was and how he was wickedly murdered.”

  “At nearly twenty, I know a great deal about broken hearts,” Emeline had pointed out. “What could she know of true love? And Adrian is pompous, and has conceited ideas.”

  “Just like you,” said Avice. “And like Papa too. Even bishops enjoy nice expensive clothes but Papa says it’s ungodly. Which reminds me, if Papa catches you looking at satins and brocades on a Sunday, he’ll start seething agai
n. And I do so want a nice cheerful trip home, and not one of those awful glowering angry ones. Maman will be moaning about the horrid litter and the bumps in the road, and there won’t even be a sulky sister to keep me company.”

  They had left in a bright shower of rain with the first shimmer of a rainbow. The earl, emerging only as far as the bailey, had wished them a speedy journey and returned quickly to the warmth indoors. Emeline had stood out beyond the drawbridge to see them ride off, but once their shadows had quite disappeared and the rickety trundle and splash of their progress had faded entirely, she hurried to the bedchamber she had been sharing with Avice, stared from the window at the newly sullen sky, and cried quietly into the gloom.

  The following day Sir Adrian Frye and his sister had left with their much smaller retinue. It was still raining, the rainbow had long since given up the fight, and for saying his goodbyes and good wishes the earl did not even risk getting his head wet. “We shall see you again within two weeks, my lady,” Sir Adrian, already mounted, had assured Emeline.

  Sysabel, water dripping from hood to lap and trickling from the horse’s mane, had nodded. “But I believe Nicholas seems much worse these past two days, and has probably relapsed. Such a fever, and some of those horrid sores reopened. The doctor blames Nick’s silly determination to get out of bed too early, and has warned him not to travel in case infection sets in, and then – well amputation would be the only way to save his life. It’s a warning to everyone,” she glanced dolefully at her brother, “not to indulge in foolish self-indulgence. I’m told Nicholas saved his father’s life, which I find very difficult to believe, but perhaps it was courage after all. But now, at the very least he’ll be scarred forever.”

  “He’s already scarred for life,” Adrian pointed out.

  Sysabel frowned. “All the more reason not to be scarred twice. Nicholas is always so irresponsible, you know.”