The Flame Eater

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “Perhaps you were delayed by that dreadful black shadow that wiped out the sun this morning?” Aunt Elizabeth wavered from her shadows. “Father Joseph took to his knees in the chapel for half an hour or more and has proclaimed imminent disaster.”

  Nicholas smiled into the candlelight. “The eclipse.”

  Tapping his pointed toe to the boards, “Don’t attempt to educate us, Nicholas. We are all well aware of the phenomena.”

  “Clearly Aunt Elizabeth was not. Didn’t you choose to enlighten her?”

  “Something so absolute, the sun so completely blackened, is hardly common,” Sysabel said. “I have never seen anything like it before.”

  “A harbinger,” croaked the aged lady from the window side, dabbing emotion from her eyes with her kerchief. “Certain death and destruction.”

  “I thought the same at first.” The steward had taken her cloak, and now Emeline pulled off her riding gloves. “Nicholas doesn’t agree.”

  “Nicholas,” sniffed Sysabel, “never believes in anything uncomfortable.”

  Nicholas tucked his gloves into his belt, shook out his sleeves and wandered over to the fire. “The eclipse set us back very little, and my squire had already warned me something of the sort was due according to astrologers.” An elbow to the lintel, he turned his back to the fire’s heat and regarded his small audience. “But when we stopped for dinner near Barrow, there was a great pile up of over turned carts in the road, horses frightened perhaps, and that kept us dawdling some time. Now we’re little more than hungry pilgrims.”

  “No altar here, cousin. But if you’re ready to do penance –”

  “Thank you, Adrian. But sadly I have little to confess. Our pilgrimage is simply an attempt to satisfy our more wholesome appetites.”

  “I am,” admitted Emeline, “awfully hungry. Starving, in fact.” She hovered mid chamber, one eye to the waiting table and its empty platters. “Though we are, of course, only here for your most congenial company.”

  “My wife,” Nicholas informed his cousins, “is permanently hungry. A challenge to the castle’s depleted kitchens.”

  Emeline stretched the saddle weary miles from her back and her fingers to the fire’s warmth. “Nicholas wouldn’t let me stop for a proper dinner and I’ve eaten no more than a crust at that miserable tavern outside Burton. And that was hours and hours ago!”

  Sysabel, a sudden whirl in mahogany damask, took her hand and brought her to the ready table. “How vilely misused, Emma dear. I may call you Emma? Then we’ll have supper served before everything congeals in its dishes.” She turned back a moment to Nicholas. “And it’s a pleasure to see you both so comfortable now, in each other’s company.”

  “Finally accustomed to my lovable self,” explained Nicholas, still enjoying the warmth of the fire. “If I remember rightly, last time we saw you, my dear wife was covered in soot and no doubt planning to stick a knife in my back.”

  Emeline blushed and sat quickly. But Sysabel frowned and said, “One day I shall have to face marriage myself of course. I do not – welcome –”

  “Enough nonsense.” Adrian snorted, stepping immediately to the table. “My sister’s tongue is frequently undisciplined. I hope you forgive her immaturity. And now – before it is entirely wasted –”

  Nicholas wandered to the window, offering his arm. Aunt Elizabeth clutched his elbow and hoisted herself upwards. The train of her gown rustled across the woven reed mats. “All this tittle tattle. Talk, talk. Oh, the energy of youth. I am exhausted already.”

  “Discussion. The joy of great intellectual conversation, my lady.” Nicholas seated his aunt, then sat himself as the serving boys entered with three tepid platters of buttered chicken livers, curdled cream cheese with floating wafers and a sad eyed mackerel beneath a cinnamon rash. Two candles on the table almost extinguished in a flurry as Adrian muttered a semblance of grace.

  Then the trenchers were filled and flagons of wine emptied as Sysabel said quickly, “You’ll take Adrian hunting tomorrow I hope, Nicholas, leaving me free to make friends with dear Emma.”

  “But who is the bait, and where the trap, I wonder,” murmured Nicholas, helping himself to a slice of mackerel.

  Emeline said in a hurry, “I could not dream of anything – nicer.”

  “In fact she dreams of anything and everything,” Nicholas informed the mackerel, “and mumbles constantly in her sleep.” He looked up at Emeline, regarding her with faint amusement across the table. “Much like a demented mouse. Though it’s a shame,” Nicholas was chewing thoughtfully, “about the food. Did your cook die recently, Adrian?”

  “Simply that the guests,” Sysabel pointed out, “arrived at least three hours later than expected.”

  “Stop muttering, dear,” called Aunt Elizabeth from the other end, “and speak clearly or not at all. Not a word any of you young people utter makes any sense whatsoever.” She tapped her spoon on the table. “Where’s the boy? Where’s the wine?”

  “But at least it’s a decent Malmsy.”

  “Which is all you would know all about, Nicholas.”

  “But we appreciate it – the invitation – very much. Don’t we, Nicholas?” Emeline mumbled, a little lost. It was not the style of conversation she was accustomed to. Nicholas was grinning at her over the brim of his cup.

  “Since the castle is no more than a stinking heap,” Adrian said, pushing away his half-filled platter, “I had little choice. I believe in doing my duty. Unlike others.”

  Nicholas appeared unoffended. “I’m strangely sorry to see the castle so ruined,” he said, drinking slowly, as though thoughtful. “But I might take my bride to London in a week or so, once my legs obey me and I can face a longer journey.”

  “London?” Emeline was suddenly bright eyed.

  “Ever been?”

  She shook her head. “Is it as exciting as they say?”

  “Turgid, filthy, noisy and decrepit. But the old man has a decent enough place in the Strand. We can stay there.”

  Aunt Elizabeth had dropped her napkin. Sysabel retrieved it. Adrian still frowned. “As a married man now, Nicholas, I trust you’re planning to settle. Have you established some future home for your wife?”

  Still grinning. “You disapprove of my irresponsible passion for adventure. coz. But what of your own? I doubt you regret earning your knighthood on the battlefield.”

  “I fought for my king and my country.” Adrian put down his knife with a snap. “I hardly count that as a foolhardy risk.”

  “The Scottish skirmishes – a noble cause,” Nicholas leaned across the table and refilled his wife’s cup. “But I doubt we’ll have another war now,” He returned his gaze to his platter. “Our king governs with justice and moderation.”

  Dismissed, the serving boys hurried off with the half emptied platters and the doors swung shut. Adrian loosened the neck of his shirt. “We’ll not discuss battles and bloodshed in front of the women, thank you Nicholas”

  “Nor knighthoods and prowess, cousin dear? Perhaps you are right.” Nicholas pushed back his chair, a scrape of wood on wood. “And for the moment your hospitality is – all I could possibly desire, so I’ll not argue.” He stood slowly, stretching his back, and smiled at Emeline. “But since the ladies are no doubt tired, perhaps it is time to retire? May I escort you, Aunt Elizabeth?”

  She shook her head. “Foolish boy. I’ve no intention of travelling at this time of night. It is all your fault that we had such a late supper and I am quite tired out. Now I shall go straight to bed.”

  “I’ll take you up, aunt,” Sysabel stood beside her. “I am exhausted myself.”

  “Then I shall have the pleasure of escorting my wife, who is already half asleep at the table.”

  Adrian stood abruptly. “And I bid each of you a good night. But,” and he crossed the hall to the bottom step where the wide stairs led up, “I have matters to discuss in private, Nicholas. Return here, if you will, before you retire to bed.”

 
Emeline remained in the shadows a moment outside the door of the bedchamber they would share, the house being too small to offer separate quarters, and regarded her husband. Knowing Petronella would be waiting within, she did not yet open the door. Nicholas was smiling. “I won’t be long, little one. Sleep sound, until I come.”

  She whispered, “Do you dislike Adrian, Nicholas? Should we not have come?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve warned you before, my sweet. We’re a disreputable family. Cousinly distrust, of course. Adrian has never loved me. But he believes he owes my new wife some consideration after the fire, so invited us here, as he was obliged to do. Now he intends to lecture me about my irresponsible behaviour, and I shall smile meekly and accept his words, since I’m a guest in his house.”

  “I’ve never yet seen you meek., Nicholas.”

  “In your arms later, my love, I shall be meek as an ox to the plough.”

  She was fast asleep, but woke in Nicholas’s arms when everything happened. He had slipped in quietly beside her as she slept, and she had turned, wrapping her arms around him and nestling her cheek against his back. She wore her shift but he was naked, and the smooth knots of his spine became her pillow. She was listening to his small murmured pleasure as she drifted back into oblivion.

  It was a louder, more strident sound that woke her some hours later and she sat up, frightened in the blackness. Footsteps pounded past the door and echoed along the corridor outside. Then sobbing, an urgent call, and more footsteps resounding above her head. Nicholas slept on. Emma pushed at his shoulder. “Wake up. Is it danger again?” and clambered out of bed.

  Nicholas muttered, “It can’t be morning yet,” and closed his eyes once more.

  “And if it’s fire?”

  Reluctantly he squinted up at her, wedging himself up on his elbows. “Nightmares, my dear. We are not a permanent furnace, I assure you, and I smell no burning.”

  “Listen,” she said.

  Someone was crying as a man recited his prayers, loudly as if in desperation, and people were running. Nicholas groaned and rolled out of bed. He grabbed up his bedrobe, and flung open the chamber door. Emma squeezed to his side.

  A body lay in the corridor, huddled and shivering, half lost in shadow, her knees to her breasts, her shift soiled and her face hidden. Two men came running, one holding a torch, light and shade dashing from wall to ceiling and flushing across the body and floorboards. The other man knelt, whispering, “Is it the same, mother?” The huddled woman moaned and the man lifted her, cradling her against him as he stood again. “Then I’ll take you back to bed,” he whispered. “But we must be quiet not to disturb their lordships.”

  “Too late for that,” Nicholas said from the doorway.

  They stood facing one to the other, staring through the leaping shadows. It was the torchbearer who said softly, “My lord, forgive us. We had no choice. There is sickness in the house. Four of the household have fallen ill and fit to die. We feared to tell the masters lest we cause panic for no good reason. The signs are not yet clear, and the doctor is loath to come too close. But, my lord,” the man paused, then sighed, lowering the torch, “we fear the worst. We fear the pestilence.”

  “Dear sweet Jesus,” said Nicholas, and turning abruptly, pushed Emeline back into the bedchamber, closing the door hard in her face. “This doctor is resident in the house?” he demanded.

  The torchbearer nodded, face white with fright in the torchlight, eyes staring as if afraid to blink. “And is already in attendance, for there are more sick as we speak, and everyone wailing. Terrified, they are, my lord, and for good reason. But the doctor looks from the doorway and will not risk to touch. Forgive me for speaking out of turn, sir, but if this is what we think, then you should leave, and all their lordships with you this night.”

  “There are inns enough to take us,” Nicholas said at once, “but if the whole city becomes infected, then there’s no escape. Get that woman upstairs. I’ll alert my cousins.” He faced Emeline again within the bedchamber. She had been lighting candles. He said, “You and Sissy must get out of here. I don’t know what Adrian will choose to do, but I’ll get you two to the Cock Robin out on the high road, and come back for the baggage.”

  “And if we get sick too?” She was shivering. “So shouldn’t we stay? The doctor’s here, not at the inn.”

  “We arrived just a few hours back,” Nicholas said. “There’s an accepted period for the spread of such contagions. We can’t be infected yet, whether it’s the pestilence or not. Though Adrian and Sissy are perhaps, who knows.”

  Emeline was already part dressed, and held up her arm for Nicholas to lace her gown. “Can anyone run from disease?”

  “There’s no point in staying,” he said, pulling the ties tight and whirling her around to look at him. “This is not like the fire, and I’ll not be practising heroics. There’s no known cure, so no point whatsoever trying to nurse the sick. It’s been proved infectious, simple as that. Who stands near enough, gets it, and who gets it, usually dies. I don’t want you dead.”

  “I don’t want you dead either. So forget the baggage. But there’s Petronella, and Martha –?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll get someone to alert your women and get them all to the stables. But for us, in the middle of the night, fleeing and frightened with neither baggage nor retinue, and rumours of pestilence in the city travelling close behind us? Any tavern would bar its doors.” Nicholas was hooking up her stomacher. “So grab what you can, throw what you want into a basket, get a change of linen and warm stockings, and wear your thickest cape. I’ll get Witton to pack a bundle for myself while I go and wake Adrian.”

  She stared up, trembling. “Is it always death we have to face then? First Peter. Then the fire. Now this. And yesterday there was the darkness – the eclipse – the warning.”

  He brought her to him, both hands firm to her shoulders. “Listen, little one. You showed great courage during the fire. Now you’ll do as I tell you, and find the courage to leave this place, and quickly. I won’t risk danger again if I can help it, and having found you, I won’t risk losing you.”

  “I wasn’t lost.”

  “In a way, my love, you were. I didn’t want you. You didn’t want me.” He grinned suddenly. “But we’ve changed our minds. So now we need to stay alive.” He pulled on his hose and braies as he spoke, hooking the codpiece and then climbing into his boots. “What – too proud to run? I hope this is nothing more than a handful of servants frightened of the stomach ache. But I’m getting you out until I’m sure. And you’ll obey me, my dear, or I’ll carry you out over my shoulder.”

  The flurry and desperation seemed unreal. She whispered, “It’s not pride, and I’m frightened too. But you’re still too weak from the fire. You can barely ride, let alone run.”

  “With the pestilence at our heels, I can outrun a fox.” He shrugged into his shirt. “I mean it, Emma. Have you never heard of outbreaks, and the desolation they leave behind them? It’s not just death, it’s agony and there’s no husband will subject his wife to that if he can help it. I can help it, so we’re getting out. Fast.”

  Chapter Twelve

  They were already slipping away, the scullions and the laundry maids, the cook, his assistant and the steward with his wife, two by two like ghosts in the moonlight, through the pantries into the small hedged gardens, through the back door into the lane, through the courtyard into the shadows of the stables and beyond. The ostlers were wakened, jumping up in alarm from the straw, scared and confused by the noise and the midnight bustle.

  Aunt Elizabeth stood trembling as Adrian shoved his bundled clothes into a saddle bag, and ordered the horses saddled. “The pack horses too, and two carts,” he told them. “Then I give you leave to get out yourselves if there’s no one already sick. Get off back to your wives and mothers but be quiet about it. Alarm will alert the city, and I’ll not have them try and lock the gates in my face.”

  “And what if we’re wr
ong?” ventured Sysabel. “What if it isn’t the Great Death?”

  “Then we’ll look like fools,” said Nicholas. “But happy fools, and can ride back home in a week.”

  “I am not in the habit of looking a fool,” Adrian said, turning briefly aside from the organisation of the carts and baggage. “If this was an enemy, I would face him, but no sensible man flails uselessly against disease.”

  “We’re leaving our people,” Sysabel whispered.

  Nicholas shook his head. “Most have left already. The pestilence moves fast, and respects neither title nor virtue. You can’t help the dead.”

  Adrian interrupted. “You should know better, Sysabel, as if I would ever desert our household if they had need of me. It’s high time you realised I know best.”

  Nicholas said, “Those still able are running quicker than we are, and the rest are beyond help.”

  Adrian turned to him. “You said the Cock Robin out on the west road? But that’s a small place with little more than two extra rooms and one spare stall for the horses.”

  “Then I’ll take Emma on further,” said Nicholas. “You’ll be recognised at the local inns, and be taken in more readily. I’ll bear south, and send a message back in a day or two. Take Sissy and get out now while I hurry up my own people. I won’t leave any of them behind. We’ll meet up again when all this is over.”

  The Lady Elizabeth shivered, confused, shaking her head, pins dropping from a headdress she had not been able to adjust. “You say our own people are already leaving? I have barely had time to dress. I called for my maid, but she never came to my call.”

  “Rats running from a sinking ship.”

  “The rats die too,” said Nicholas, helping the widow up onto the front bench of the cart. “I passed through a village once where the dead outnumbered the living. Every shed was full of rats’ corpses.”

  The larger of the carts was already filled, clothes and baskets thrown in as Adrian’s secretary clambered to the driving bench. “Get moving,” Adrian called, slapping the sumpter’s rump. Then he and his sister were mounted and left at once, Sysabel waving frantically as they thundered across the courtyard cobbles and through to the road beyond.