The Flame Eater

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  The small scream was muffled as the baroness marched across to Sysabel and shook her into silence. The silence was interrupted by the landlord, serving wine. Everyone exhaled in relief and the clatter of cups replaced the furious tension. “Off with you,” the earl pushed the landlord from the room. “We’ll serve ourselves.”

  Nicholas was already serving everyone. “My lady?”

  “Most certainly,” said the baroness thankfully, accepting the overfull cup.

  “Me too,” begged Avice. “I’m completely exhausted and I don’t know what anyone is talking about. And I wish I could go and talk to Emma instead.”

  “You can’t,” Nicholas told her. “Drink up. Your mother will explain everything to you later.”

  The baroness sighed. “Doubtful,” she said, but was ignored.

  Nicholas turned back to his father. “Your opinion of me never mattered,” he said quietly. “But it was always wrong. And as his father, you’re naturally entitled to your opinion of Peter, but that was always wrong too.” He shook his head, but he was no longer smiling. “I doubt you believe me, and that doesn’t matter either. The important matter at hand is that of Adrian.”

  The earl drank noisily and banged his cup down on the table. “The rest – whether lies or exaggeration, I need time to consider. But Adrian and Urswick! When’s he due back?”

  The Lady Elizabeth said calmly, “Later today. And since you failed to arrest this Mister Urswick, perhaps you’d better arrest young Adrian instead.”

  Sysabel stood up in the middle of the room, brimming cup in hand, and gazed around her. She appeared to swell, her face flushing from the neck upwards, until she appeared almost explosively crimson. She began to stamp both feet, a drum roll of fury, and then flung the contents of her cup directly into her aunt’s face. There was once again an immediate silence as the lady blinked, streaks of Burgundy trickling from her stiff white headdress to her chin. Then Sysabel turned, and threw the empty cup directly at Nicholas.

  Nicholas caught it. “No refill, perhaps,” he smiled. “Shocking waste of good wine, you know. But I understand the problem. I imagine,” he raised an eyebrow at his aunt, who was rocking slowly to her feet, “my cousin would be better retiring at this point. If you’d care to take her up to her room?”

  The baroness pushed Avice forward. “Go with her, my dear. I imagine she needs a little comfort. Amongst other things.”

  “I don’t want to,” muttered Avice.

  “Your wishes have absolutely nothing to do with it,” sighed her mother. “So you will, for once, simply do as you’re told.”

  A rustle of silk skirts and a flounce of forced compliance half emptied the parlour. It also interrupted the small group of hostelry servants who had been listening outside. The Lady Elizabeth turned once, saying, “I shall return for dinner shortly, and bring the girls with me. Until then I shall attempt to teach my niece some manners.” The door shut again with a determined clank, Jerrid sighed with relief, and Nicholas grinned at the baroness.

  “An interesting day, my lady. If it weren’t for Emma’s – chills – I’d say it was quite a delightful day.”

  “You’re looking forward to accusing your cousin of high treason, sir?” But the baroness was smiling. “It appears you are quite enamoured of adventure after all, my lord, whatever it entails.”

  “And,” Nicholas added, “since genuine adventure is proving harder and harder to find, I’m off to control my men out at the stables before they kill each other. May I leave my speechless father to your gentle patience, my lady?”

  The earl was still spluttering. The baroness murmured, “With pleasure, my lord.”

  The sun was high and the day had improved. Nicholas stretched his shoulders, enjoying the warmth on his back as he walked towards the noise and bustle coming from the stables. One disgruntled traveller was departing and seeing Nicholas, scowled. “I’ll have you know this was once a respectable hostelry, sir. But it appears as soon as the nobility move in, there’s complete upheaval. A shocking lack of decent civilised manners. I doubt I’ll be coming back here ever again, sir.”

  “Oh you’ll be safe enough the next time,” said Nicholas with cheerful abandon. “I doubt we’ll be staying much longer. We’ve nearly emptied the cellars.”

  The horses were kicking at their stalls as four men were having a furious argument. The argument stopped mid word as Nicholas walked in. Alan Venter sighed. “Ah, my lord. A great relief, if I may say so, my lord.”

  David Witton was leaning against the far wall, keeping apart, smiling slightly. “Simply a clash of interests, my lord,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Worry?” demanded Nicholas. “Who said anything about worry? I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. Now – what entertainment have you miserable wretches to offer me?”

  Harry and Rob released their hold on old Bill, and he flopped to the straw with a half strangled sniff. “These buggers bin accusing me o’ all sorts, m’lord,” he complained. “An’ it ain’t proper, since I don’t even work for them, nor for no one here. From the Wrotham household, I is, and I were brought as guide an protector, I was, to the young ladies. And it ain’t my fault if I gets sick.”

  “’Tis your fault if you makes such a moaning and pissing as to have folks think you got the pox or the pestilence,” shrugged Rob. “And spreading rumours as to the lady getting the same. When all you wants is an excuse for a rest from your duties.”

  Nicholas laughed. “Is this all you beetle brains have been fighting over?”

  “Not ‘xactly, m’lord,” said Rob. “It were more what Mister Witton were saying set us all to buggery. As to how we bin searching low and lower for that bastard Urswick, and him disappeared into them shadows, so it seems. And now we hear as how ‘tis a member of your own family, m’lord, being that Sir Adrian hisself, what helped the traitor escape.”

  “And my beloved cousin,” frowned Nicholas, “is likely to return sometime today. If and when he does, see if you can use more brain than you’ve shown so far, and question his henchmen. He’ll have more than a couple with him, no doubt, since there were enough of them to knock you out and take down poor Wolt. And don’t make your questions too obvious.”

  Alan grinned suddenly. “You mean, don’t ask them if their master’s always been a, and whether they’re happy to go to the scaffold themselves for high treason?”

  “Perhaps not.” Nicholas turned, nodding to David. “You’re not planning on sleeping in the stables from now on I hope, my friend? There must still be a truckle bed to be had in my uncle’s chamber? Though now I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with my father’s presence as well.”

  “I have it already settled, my lord. But was called to witness the murder of this poor old wretch Bill by one of ours.”

  Nicholas turned and trudged back over to the hostelry, but stayed a moment outside, with the sunshine easing the muscles of his neck. He was smiling, but his own desperate tiredness was apparent. He did not return to the parlour, but he called to one of the passing kitchen boys and ordered more wine and a hot dinner brought up immediately to the attic chamber. Then he continued up the stairs.

  His wife was waiting for him. She had managed to dress, looking herself again, and stood at once as he closed the door.

  She said, “Nicholas. I have to say it. I’m terribly sorry. I lied.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Peter kissed me,” she whispered. “Twice. And I let him.”

  Nicholas stared at her a moment, then sat heavily on the bed beside her. “Sit, my love, and don’t frighten the wits from me. I thought you were about to confess the first signs of the pestilence. Kissed Peter? I no longer care. As long as you didn’t kiss his feet.”

  She didn’t laugh. “And I have a headache.” She sat beside him, propped by pillows. “But no lumps or rashes and I’m terribly hungry. And actually, it was three times.” She drew a deep breath, blushing slightly. “I mean Peter was three times. But once was just my ha
nd, and I don’t think that counts.”

  “Tell me about the headache.”

  She was twisting her fingers, playing with the diamonds Nicholas had given her, turning the ring endlessly. “My head is pounding.” She looked up, pleading. “But everybody gets headaches sometimes, don’t they?”

  Then he was pulling her closer and slipping one hand beneath her skirts, and his fingers moved to the white of her thighs above the garters of her stockings, and firmly pushed her legs apart. But he did not play or arouse her as he usually did. He bent to examine her and she blushed scarlet, but it was the warm skin at the top of her thighs he touched, pressing and tracing with his thumb. He leaned down and kissed her belly, his lips roaming across the soft swell, his tongue suddenly hot in her navel. Then he looked up, smiling, and said, “One thing more, my love, if you allow it.” And he slipped the shoulders of her gown down a little over her arms, unclasped the fichu which closed the deep V of the neckline, pulled the straps of her shift off to follow her gown, and in the bright dancing sunlight, examined the pale skin of her breasts, the lines where her ribs pressed up through her flesh, and the small tucked warmth beneath her arms. Then he sighed very deeply, and murmured, “Not one sign, my beautiful girl, not one threat of the sickness.”

  Embarrassed, she struggled to adjust her clothing. The palliasse creaked as the mattress readjusted. “And you don’t care about Peter?”

  “I’ve just had the most delightful experience of telling my father a little of the truth about Peter,” he grinned back at her, “and some more about myself. The old man looked as stunned as a newborn sparrow. I relished every intake of his breath and every click of his tongue. He was longing to call me a liar, but Jerrid was there, confirming everything.” He smoothed her skirts back down over her ankles. “And you, my sweet, are suffering from no more than the results of too much worry, too much tension, and too much anticipation. After some hours of headache, if the pestilence was indeed the problem, you’d be showing faint bruising and the beginnings of the rash at least. Instead, I shall find you some willow bark mixture to dull the pain, and order apple codlings for dinner.”

  “Oh, Nicholas.”

  “Though why I bother helping you redress, I have no idea, since all I really want to do is undress you.”

  She reclasped her hands, looking back at her lap. “He’s still haunting us, isn’t he! What he did to you as a boy. What he did to Sissy. And now, wondering who killed him.”

  “Don’t we know?”

  “So what will you do when Adrian comes back?”

  “Enjoy myself, I imagine.” But Nicholas had stopped smiling. He wandered over to the little casement window and its diffusing panes, and opened it, pushing the little iron frame wide. The sunlight doubled, a great billowing golden light into every corner, with spangles along the dusty beamed ceiling arches. “I plan on finally banishing these dark shadowed doubts and black looming grievances.”

  “I have been feeling – gloomy. I was so worried about you when Avice thought Adrian might have followed you down here to kill you. After all, you’re the last barrier to his inheritance. Then weeks of thinking about murder, and finding out about Peter and Sissy, and Father of course. And now this, with the pestilence and that poor wretched couple dying in the village. I’ve been so frightened – and every little twinge seems like the footsteps of doom. And on – and on – and on. Everything is a nightmare with no soft fur linings.”

  He strode back to her. “What a fine family I’ve brought you into, little one, with the disillusion first, deciding you loved Peter virtually on the eve of his murder. Then the order to marry his ugly and deformed beast of a brother.”

  “Oh, Nicholas, I know I was stupid.”

  “Peter’s words, I’m sure, my sweet, just as he left me imagining I was to marry his outworn mistress.”

  Emeline sniffed. “Outworn?”

  Nicholas chuckled. “Well worn, rather than outworn perhaps.” He muffled her retaliation against his shoulder, taking her into his arms, then standing and pulling her up with him. “Do you dance, my love? Beautifully, I’ve no doubt. Well, we’ve not a rebec nor a knackerer’s drum here to sweeten the rhythm, but it’s time I danced with my wife. We’ve a sparkling future to dance into, my love.”

  “We do?”

  Her upturned face was strained, and he bent and kissed the furrows across her forehead. “It was an inauspicious wedding night, it’s true, but now we know better.” Keeping her still clasped tight, he turned with her, the steps of courtly dance, though not with the required restraint of finger to finger. “I should have danced with you then, but was too pissed and too angry. At least here in private, I’ve no need to play the gallant or keep you at arm’s length. I like the press of your breasts against me.” His eyes, gazing down at her, were summer sky blue in the sunshine. “At court they like to remind us, you know, of chivalry. And so they warn us to tighten the lacings on our codpieces before leaping too high to the music. Loose ties can be a disaster, as you might imagine. Indeed, I’ve seen it happen. But with you here alone, my sweet, perhaps we should be already naked. I’m no ardent dancer, my sweet, but in fact I’ve danced my way through life, choosing whatever steps kept me light footed, avoiding all but adventure. And I’ve spoken my true thoughts or feelings to no one at all since I was six years old. Until now. I’m willing – if you wish to dance into the future with me playing the juggler at your side.” He twisted her twice, arms high, then brought her back against him. “And let me tell you, my sweet, in case you still need to hear it, there’s no woman sickening with the pestilence who can dance, remember the steps, keep her balance and breath, and still feel hungry afterwards.”

  She was losing her breath after all. “I’m starving.”

  “It’s a drink I need.” Nicholas released her, sitting back with her on the side of the bed. “So more crumbs in the sheets.”

  She was panting a little but her headache had partially cleared. “I feel – almost better.” She drew a deep breath, calming her heartbeat and blinking up at him. “Not dreading the future, or wondering about murderers and traitors. Nor thinking about the past and the fire and the castle and you lying there all covered in ashes and raw bleeding patches.”

  He laughed suddenly, leaning back against the pillows and bringing her again into his embrace. “You slept in those ashes yourself, my love, and puzzled us all. Were you escaping? From your visions of a future with the monster of Chatwyn?”

  “I was so miserable.” He could not see her blushes, which were pressed into invisibility against his shoulder. “Not just because of you, Nicholas dear. It was your father and my father, and everyone telling me what to do when I didn’t want to do any of it. The whole nightmare of the fire.”

  “So you chose to sleep in the ruins of our marriage bed, echoing the ruins of our wedding night?”

  “I suppose you thought I was mad. First I was the immoral slattern, and then the crazy woman.” She wriggled upright for a moment, frowning at him. “I was so horribly melancholy. Feeling so forlorn, I searched out the most forlorn place to cry in. And perhaps I was a little crazy.” She shook her head, trying to remember. “But something happened I hadn’t even thought of again until now. At the time I thought the Keep was haunted. Ghosts. Ghouls. Whispers. I heard a voice, or thought I did. And when I slept, I dreamed –only a dream perhaps – but someone seemed to touch me. I dreamed of encroachment and fingers prying. Dark eyes watching.” She shook her head again, dismissing memories. “It was my myself I was running away from really. But the whispers frightened me.”

  “What words?” Nicholas was staring back at her. “If you remember whispers, my love, then try and remember the words.”

  “Most of it was rustles and muddled murmurs.” She was whispering herself. “But afterwards there were words. The stars are singing. That’s what I heard.”

  He paused, confused. “You heard singing?”

  “No, no.” she clasped his hand, as if for reassurance. �
�It’s what the whisper said. Sibilant and very, very soft. It said, “The stars are singing.” And that’s the last thing before I fell asleep. But even while I slept, I felt touch – fingers – inside my bedrobe.”

  “A vile thought, my sweet. Some half-drunk servant, perhaps. Surely not Adrian, though he was there that night and I’ve no idea what time he left.” Nicholas sighed. “But you’re a deep dreamer and mutter in your sleep most nights. Little mumbles and squeaks, like the busy mouse I once called you. So you woke and remembered the dream, and thought it real. If someone touched you, surely you’d have woken furious. And who there, that night of all nights, would have dared? I hope, my sweet, only dreams, and thank the Lord for it.” He looked up suddenly and smiled. “Now I hear footsteps on the stairs outside.”

  The tray was left at the door. Nicholas carried it in. Emeline clapped her hands and shrugged off the dismal past. “Apple codlings?”

  He left her after they had eaten, kissing her cheek with apologies. She asked, “To wait for Adrian?”

  “I’d hoped he’d be back by now. But until he is, I can’t settle to much else, my sweet. If you were ill, that would take precedence. But you’ve eaten a dinner large enough for two, and I need to talk to Jerrid.” He poured her another cup of wine, but took his own with him.

  Downstairs Nicholas found his uncle and his father outside, talking quietly together beneath the wide fluttering shade of the oak. Across the stable courtyard and the grassy bank, he joined them as they turned, hearing his steps. The ladies had presumably retired to their shared chamber. Nicholas blinked through the sunbeams.

  “My lord. No sign yet of my cousin?”

  Jerrid shook his head but the earl turned quickly, thumbs hooked into the opening of his doublet. “Ah, my son, claiming more gallant deeds, no doubt. And what do you intend to do, my boy, when Adrian arrives? You’ve no proof I assume. What if you’re wrong? You’ve been wrong more often than right over the years, whatever you may like to boast about now.” He paused, eyeing first Nicholas, and then Jerrid. “Personally,” he continued with belligerence, “I find it quite impossible to believe my nephew is a traitor.”