The Flame Eater

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “You really missed me?”

  “Quite horribly. And then, half mad with a dozen problems on my mind, I arrive at the hostelry where I intend staying in more comfort than usual, and come face to face with your sister.”

  Emeline put her hand over her mouth. “I’d love to have seen your reaction. You swore, didn’t you?”

  “At length. Then I demanded to know where you were. Avice told me everything. So I left at once, and rode out to find you.”

  “God was kind. You took the same lane I was on.”

  “I’d tried a dozen other lanes already.” Nicholas watched her as the sun outside the window brightened, slanting abruptly across the bed and turning his eyes brilliant. “And now,” he murmured, “the missing you and the thinking of you has grown into something deeper. This time alone with you in my arms – and the moments of fear when I imagine the loss of you – all leading to the words I use – which you doubt – but are now quite true.”

  “What words?” Hardly even a whisper.

  “Words of love.”

  Emeline drew a deep breath. “It would be worth – the pestilence – to hear that.”

  He shook his head abruptly. “And now knowing Adrian’s a traitor, is it easier to believe he’s a murderer?”

  “No.” She sighed, accepting the change of subject. “There’s a list. Sissy thinks it’s Jerrid.” Nicholas smiled and Emeline hurried on. “My mother thought it was some silly secretary of Papa’s, but it can’t be. She also thought it might be the boy you say was killed in your care.”

  “I know. Absurd.”

  “But, actually,” another deep breath, “it could have been my mother. I mean, she really had a horrid life with my father and she’s having such fun – and freedom – and spending – since he’s gone. And now I know she guessed some things about Peter, and didn’t really want me to marry him. But with father insisting, there wouldn’t have been any other way to stop it except killing Peter. I mean, I can’t actually suspect my own mother, can I? But she’s strong, and determined, and she had more motive than others.”

  “Equally absurd.” He had closed his eyes again. “Jerrid is too damned disinterested and never even knew your father. Your mother wouldn’t have known where to find your father, since he was closeted with his mistress. As for finding Peter, that would have been even more impossible. Peter was also killed at the home of his mistress. A local woman living in Desford, a few miles from the castle. No one knew about that woman, certainly not Sissy or your mother. Nor Jerrid, who rarely leaves Westminster.”

  “The woman could have told ---”

  “She died in the fire that followed Peter’s slaughter. The same story.”

  “It could even have been Sissy herself. What if she discovered this other woman?”

  “But hardly to slaughter your father.”

  “Why not? Another man cheating on the woman who trusted him?”

  “Absurd.”

  “And my old nurse Martha. She adores me and Avice and my mother. She knew what Peter was like. She knew what my father was like. She always wants to protect everyone. And she’s – clever. She knows things I don’t know how she knows. She knew about Sissy before we did, because Sissy’s maid told her. Everyone always confides in Martha. She could have known about my father in the same way.”

  “The servants always know more than their masters. But these killings weren’t done by a woman. To set the fire, perhaps. But not the rest. Slashing a man’s throat with a knife or sword? Neither man was killed from behind.”

  “Martha can carve a roast piglet with the same dexterity as any cook. I’ve seen her do it at home in the nursery when I was little. And neither man would have suspected – not until suddenly she pulled out the knife. Or she could have asked – paid – someone else to go with her. I think she has a brother.”

  “Still absurd. Who takes such risks, and tempts the executioner for simple dislike of one man for another?”

  “A mad man. But I don’t know any mad men. And there’s no one really with an equal motive for killing both your brother and my father.”

  “Myself?”

  Emeline glared at him. “Oh, Nicholas, don’t tease me.”

  Nicholas rolled over and sat up. “All right, my sweet. It’s a fine game to pass the time, choosing the assassin amongst our friends. So then there’s Adrian.”

  “Yes, because of Sissy. And Avice thinks he had another reason, which now puts you in danger too. Inheritance.”

  “So he needs to kill me now, in order to inherit title, castle and wealth on my father’s death.” His smile slowly lit his eyes like sunshine. “Indeed, I’d thought of that. Adrian has few advantages, and very few funds to support either his own way of life or his sister’s future. There’s Aunt Elizabeth, but she has only her own small portion to pass on.”

  “You’ll laugh at me,” she looked momentarily into her lap. “But you know I thought you were in danger from Adrian. And that’s why I travelled all this way to find you, because I thought I had to warn you. So Adrian’s the favourite.”

  “Especially now there’s the interesting possibility of him being in league with the French, and the Richmond exile.”

  “Unless his friend Urswick is another man altogether, and quite innocent. And Adrian killing my father doesn’t seem to fit.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Perhaps only I had motive for both killings.”

  “Why would you kill my father?”

  “We were talking of inheritance. The same applies. Once matters are finally unravelled, you and your sister will inherit almost all your father’s wealth. Your mother will retain her dower lands and her own portion I presume, but I will have married more than an heiress. You’re about to be a very wealthy woman, my dear.”

  “But as an heiress, there wasn’t much difference. You just had to wait. And you’re rich yourself, besides being your father’s only heir. It’s not the same as Adrian.”

  Nicholas smiled suddenly. “There were at least half a dozen occasions when I’d have cheerfully murdered your father.”

  “That’s different too. So would I. So would Avice. So would Maman. But I know it wasn’t you.” Emeline sighed, clasping her hands. “But Sissy seems to think – and of course, she’d never suspect Adrian. We’ve all spoken about this together. And we all suspect different people.”

  Nicholas sat abruptly and reached for his cup. “I’ve doubted Adrian, then denied it for months. But now I know he dabbles in treachery. On this coast, at this time, there’s only one Urswick, my dear. But I, on the other hand, now have a great urge to kill several people all at once.”

  “Me? Adrian?”

  “Most of the people I’d like to kill are dead already. Peter, and the motives are endless. Your Ralph Cole for putting you at such terrible risk. Sissy’s parents for leaving their daughter a shameless fool. And the one person still alive – my father – for every bastard thing he’s ever done, and in particular for how he misunderstood Peter.”

  “He never judged Peter, did he? Why?”

  “Because Peter was the heir. Perhaps because my father associated the death of his wife with me. Simply because he’s a blind fool. I have no real idea. I doubt my father knows now – or ever did.”

  “Well,” Emeline looked back into her lap. “If I die, there’s no else for you to blame. Just my own stupidity.”

  “I’m rather fond of your stupidity.” He laughed. “You’re an endearing little puss, my sweet. And by my reckoning you’d already be feeling tired and ill if the pestilence was taking hold.” He kissed her lightly, then moved his fingers to her chin, lifting it and smoothing his hands gently beneath her jaw. “No swelling, no soreness. I don’t believe there’s any danger. You’ll not escape from me that easily.”

  She stared back at him. “You really mean what you’re saying?”

  “That you’ve not caught the contagion – yes, of course.”

  “No.” She blushed a little. “That you’re really growing �
� fond of me?”

  “Must I write it down? Must I swear it on the bible?” His arm was around her now, and he kissed her again, his mouth warm and quick against her cheek. “My sweet, if you weren’t already my wife, I’d ask you to marry me.”

  “I’d say yes please.”

  “Since the wedding itself was as much a Chatwyn disaster as most of our family dealings seem to be, it’s as well we’re already wed. Now, my lady,” he shook his head. “Do we speak of romance, or of murder?”

  “Since we have to be locked in here alone together for days to come, perhaps both in turn.” She paused. “How many days will it be, Nicholas – to be sure?”

  “One – two – three – it’s all a guess, my love. But if you were going to succumb, I believe you’d have a headache by now at the least.” She began to answer but he raised one finger, interrupting her. “Hush a moment, my love. There’s someone on the steps outside.”

  The creak of the stairs and the patter of footsteps seemed careful, almost surreptitious. Then Avice’s whisper, “Emma, is that you? Are you alright?” Pause. Then, “Nicholas?”

  Nicholas strode to the door and swung it open. “There’s little point in your sister staying isolated if we greet visitors,” he told his sister-in-law.

  “It was you I wanted.” Avice said, “Everyone is fighting downstairs. Your Papa says he’ll throw your Uncle Jerrid down the stairs if another word is spoken about Peter, and Sissy is having hysterics and screaming at everyone and says you’re a murderer. Maman is angry with everyone and has turned her back and says she’ll go home tomorrow, and your Aunt Elizabeth slapped Sissy’s face. Outside everyone is quarrelling too, with someone threatening old Bill saying he’s just pretending to be sick, and the landlord is wringing his hands and muttering under his breath.” She shook her head. “I thought perhaps you should come downstairs.”

  Emeline decided she had a headache after all.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The Earl of Chatwyn was roaring like a gale through castle turrets, standing central in the little parlour and sharing his fury between the various members of his immediate family. His brother Jerrid half sprawled, smiling placidly around as though delighted to be the cause of such entertainment. The Lady Elizabeth sat tight kneed in one corner. Sysabel, facing her uncle Jerrid, stamped her foot and screeched her fury. Near the little doorway, the baroness was placating the landlord.

  “It is quite beyond my power,” said the baroness firmly, “and indeed beyond my interests, to make any attempt to quieten or appease his lordship. He is not a gentleman easily distracted.” The baroness smiled. “But I imagine a large flagon of best Burgundy might go some way towards pleasing everyone.”

  “Yes, indeed, wine, your ladyship.” The landlord backed, wiping his hands on his apron.

  “Always a welcome diversion,” nodded the baroness. “A large flagon. Perhaps two.”

  “You’re just a horrid old man,” squealed Sysabel, drowning out the landlord’s acquiescence. “And I hate you.”

  Jerrid yawned. “The boy’s gone. Why quarrel over him now, m’dear?”

  “Because you said – you said –”

  “Because I said he was a nasty little slime ball, and I’d have sooner coughed up phlegm and called that my nephew.” Jerrid clasped his hands over his stomach. “But no point listing the lad’s many sins. Not now he’s being judged by a higher authority than my own.”

  “Peter was a saint,” screeched Sysabel. “Truly a saint. And when I think what he had to put up with – a brainless coward for a brother, a mean and spiteful uncle, a fool for an aunt – and a drunken sot for a father.”

  The earl quivered. “Lizzie, if you don’t take this spoiled brat away this instance, I shall personally give her the thrashing she deserves.”

  “Impossible to give the girl what she deserves,” sighed the Lady Elizabeth. “Since we have neither stocks nor gibbet to hand.”

  “If anyone lays a hand on me,” Sysabel shrieked, “I shall spit – I shall kick – I shall never speak to anyone ever again.”

  “What a mercy that would be,” sighed her ladyship.

  The baroness interrupted. “Should any one feel in the need of a placid moment or two, I have ordered wine. And it is, of course, approaching dinner time –”

  But she herself was interrupted. Nicholas wandered into the little parlour, nodding sympathetically to the hovering landlord. Avice scuttled in behind her brother-in-law as he closed the door rather loudly behind the landlord’s departure. He then faced the small group in the parlour. “What the devil’s happening now?” he demanded. “Can no one in this hostelry even lie sick in peace? And is there not even a drop to drink?”

  The baroness sniggered slightly. “I have this moment ordered wine, my lord.”

  “Excellent,” Nicholas heaved himself into the nearest empty chair. “And does anyone wish to inquire how my wife is doing?”

  “Simple sniffles. Chills,” dismissed the earl. “Meanwhile your uncle risks far more than a common cold, he risks being knocked out and your damned silly niece risks a thrashing. And I’ve no need of you, wretched boy, to interfere. I can battle my own arguments without your pointless impertinence.”

  Jerrid grinned at Nicholas from the other end of the table. “Nice to see you, m’boy. Hope your lady’s feeling better?”

  “Fine – so far.” Nicholas looked around the room and a temporary silence sank like unstoked ashes. “I presume my dear cousin hasn’t yet returned?”

  The earl shook his head. “Just as well. Hardly need another nit witted relative to tell me what I already know to be rubbish.”

  Sysabel sat hurriedly, squeezing up beside Avice on the bench. She mumbled, “Everybody’s horrible,” to her lap.

  Nicholas nodded to her. “A vile family, as we all recognise, child.” He paused a moment, then said, “So tell me, Sissy, about your brother’s friend. This Christopher Urswick. Do you know the man?”

  Sysabel looked up, surprised, and shook her curls. The earl, however, demanded immediately. “Who? I know that name. No friend of Adrian’s, I’d be bound.”

  Glad to contradict her uncle without fear of argument, Sysabel said at once, “Oh yes he is. He’s a very nice gentleman who helped save me from swamps and thieves. Didn’t he, Avice? He was here with Adrian three days ago, but then he had to go and catch a boat leaving on the next tide. That’s why Adrian had to go away again after he’d booked us all into this hostelry.”

  The silence lengthened. Eventually the earl looked to his son. “Is this true? Have you any idea, boy, who this Urswick is? Well, naturally you’d have no idea of the politics –enemies of the state – traitors –”

  “I know exactly who Christopher Urswick is,” Nicholas regarded his father with some impatience. “Especially since I’ve been chasing him for the past week.” He turned to Jerrid. “Can you believe it, uncle? The man we’ve been attempting to locate and arrest, was here the day before we arrived, and was in company with my own cousin.”

  The earl, bewildered, stared around. The baroness, equally confused, took her daughter’s hand. “I never met the man, but I’ve heard of his courage. Is he a criminal? How is that possible?”

  “Quite easily, madam,” Jerrid unwound himself from his chair and stood, glaring at his brother. “But it means we’ve a traitor in the family.”

  Sysabel screamed and fell backwards onto the Lady Elizabeth’s lap, who squeaked and immediately pushed her off. “I have no idea,” the lady said faintly, “what is going on. But everyone – absolutely everyone – is clearly mad.”

  “Probably true, aunt,” nodded Nicholas. “But the facts remain clear. My Uncle Jerrid and I, along with a parcel of my men, have been down here for almost two weeks on the king’s nosiness. Amongst other things, we were searching for a traitor, name of Christopher Urswick, who was bringing a letter from the Tudor exile to the Earl of Northumberland. Urswick is known to us, and has been working for the enemy for some years. We managed
to intercept the letter, but the man himself eluded us. It’s always been assumed he had helpful contacts over here, but who helped him this time was unclear. His men killed one of mine, and I’ll not forgive that. Now I know who to blame.”

  Jerrid nodded. “It’s been damned hard work, but the king’s business is the king’s business, and he trusts us. It’s serious or we’d not have been sent. But to fail because of my own nephew –”

  “We didn’t fail.” Nicholas stared at his father, who stared back, white faced and open mouthed. “We succeeded in taking the letter before it reached its destination, and that was the principal aim.” He smiled suddenly. “So what shocks you more, Father dearest? Adrian’s duplicity? Or the fact that I work in secret for the king?”

  “I knew Peter –”

  “Peter never did.” Nicholas was still smiling, the slant of his facial scar curling as he smiled, though his eyes remained cold. “Oh, he went off cheerfully shouting gallantry during the Scottish skirmishes. Never achieved much, but he was willing enough. Meanwhile I was sent behind the wall into Berwick.”

  The earl spluttered, “The siege? Impossible.”

  Jerrid answered him. “Your younger son and I have been acting under the king’s orders for the past five years, Symond. Peter didn’t know. Nicholas couldn’t tell you. For one thing, the work was usually secret. For another, we didn’t trust you. Oh, not because of treachery of course. Just stupidity. And we trusted Peter even less.”