by Sam Burnell
“I think you were right, this isn’t going to work. How much longer do we wait?” Jack asked quietly. He was cold and wet and didn’t really want to remain in the garden any longer than he had to.
“Until they give in,” came the quiet reply he had known he would receive.
“Wonderful,” Jack’s words heavy with sarcasm.
Night had now truly taken over. The only light was a faint glow from Fairfax’s side of the wall where the Steward and his men continued to try and set the wood on fire. Suddenly, a dull thump heralded a yellow glow as whatever liquid they had doused the wood in ignited instantly at the torch’s touch.
“I don’t believe it, they are actually cheering, can you hear them?” said Jack in the darkness, utter disbelief in his voice.
“Trust me, I’m thinking of joining in. It’s taken them nearly an hour to get that damned fire going.” Richard replied sarcastically. “Indeed I might need to go and warm myself at it; I’m bloody frozen.”
“You’re not the only one,” Jack was rubbing his arms in a vain attempt to keep warm.
“I’m guessing they have just poured Fairfax’s entire supply of aqua vitae on it to get it to light,” Richard watched the yellow flames dance above the wall in the dark.
“I could use a cupful myself to warm my insides, I can tell you,” Jack replied, then hopefully, “the wood is so wet, there’s a good chance the fire won’t get hold. If we are lucky it will just burn the aqua vitae out without setting the wood on fire.”
“We can only hope,” agreed Richard, quietly rubbing his own hands together to keep them warm.
As they watched, the yellow flames fuelled by Fairfax’s liquor began to change to orange as they dried the wood and then set it to burn. It was a still night and it could not have served them better; there was already a blanket of fog which had crept up from the Thames and the smoke seemed to be trapped between the land and the fog, clinging close to the ground.
“I think this is going to work, you know,” Jack observed gloomily, then, “It looks like you might be wrong for once.”
His brother ignored his remark, saying instead. “Wait here while see what’s happening,” Richard pushed himself up and headed towards the house.
“Well, just hurry up, I’m bloody half frozen,” Jack replied quickly as his brother disappeared into the night.
With Richard gone, Jack crouched down again to wait. The fog seemed to push the darkness back towards the ground. He could smell the aroma of woodsmoke on the air, masking the stale unpleasant tang given off by the river. Where was Richard? Jack’s eyes searched the gloom of the gardens but he could discern neither movement nor the sound of his brother returning.
The back of the house was in complete darkness. The fog - thickened with smoke - had real substance, if there was moonlight in the sky, none was admitted through its smoky presence. The fog-riddled smoke had another effect; it seemed to have robbed the sound from his surroundings. There wasn’t a bird call, the lap of the water on the river bank had gone and even the noise from Fairfax’s men was now absent.
He stood up and turned about, casting eyes around for some point of reference. Jack’s throat tightened. He felt sealed off from the world and, in the silence at the back of his mind, he heard a sudden mad cackle of laughter. Without warning, the sharp claw clamped onto his chest; he recognised it and cried out inwardly. No, please, no…
All thought of the night, his brother, why they were there started to leave him as the crawling, evil creature within spread its talons, its incessant cruel laugh ringing in his ears. Jack tried to stop it. He hit out wildly at the wall he knew was to his left, feeling the pain as his knuckles left their skin on the stones. He hit out again and again, trying to feel the pain, to focus his mind on it and away from the creature in his mind, but the laughter just increased. Jack sank to the ground, his arms around his knees.
†
Richard ran back silently through the gardens, avoiding the low ornamental hedges and keeping his feet on the gravel paths more by memory than sight; it was now truly dark. Behind him, he heard the shouts of the servants raising the alarm in Durham Place as the first of the smoke had began to make its presence known.
“Come on Jack, let’s go,” Richard had arrived back at the place where he knew Jack was waiting for him.
There was no reply.
“Jack?” Richard spoke a little louder this time.
Nothing.
He had to be here. Richard stopped motionless, closed his eyes and listened. The sound, when it finally came to him, was unnatural and directly in front of him. Moving forward carefully in the dark, he found Jack when his foot kicked something soft which moved.
“Jack?” Still no reply.
Richard knelt quickly. If they had found Jack in the darkness then there was no reason to suppose they would not find him and he hadn’t exactly been quiet. Cursing his stupidity and as quietly as he could, he drew his knife, setting his senses to find Jack’s assailant in the darkness. The only noise that met his ears was Jack’s ragged breathing. Satisfied, after what seemed an age, that he was not about to be jumped in the darkness, Richard turned his attention to his brother.
He found his head. “Are you hurt?”
There was still no reply.
Richard ran his hands over Jack’s body. There were no tell-tale sticky patches where a blade had entered, nothing seemed amiss. Jack was curled up, his head to his knees, breath coming in angry rasps.
“Jack, Jack, please speak to me,” Richard had his hand on Jack’s shoulder. He slid it down his arm and found his hands pulling his knees up to his chest.
“Jack, please.” Urgently he grasped Jack’s hand. As he took hold of it understanding caught up with him.
“No,” his voice was as anguished as Jack’s had been. As he’d found the trembling hand he realised what was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Richard said regretfully. Standing, he set off back across the garden, alone. He did not get as far as the house before realising he was never going to leave his brother. After taking three more slow false steps towards the house he stopped. Cursing under his breath, he turned on his heel and retraced the path to where he knew Jack was. Jack’s rightful accusation ringing in his ears: ‘Damn you to Hell you left me for her.’
“Come on, help me Jack, don’t make me do this all on my own,” Richard tried to pull the prone man back to a sitting position. There was a wall to his left and he managed to get Jack propped against it. Still his head lolled in front of him and the harsh animal breathing never stopped.
“What do we do Jack? Why didn’t you tell me? What do I need to do?” Richard asked desperately, shaking him. “Jack, tell me, what do I need to do?”
Jack’s senses started to return to him sooner than was usual: the cackling laughter that haunted his mind was drowned out by another insistent noise. He couldn’t understand it at first, but he recognised it and as he followed the sound of his brother’s voice, it became clearer, as though he were climbing out of some cave back to the surface.
Richard, in his frustration, shook the unresponsive man violently again by the shoulders as he tried to break through and get Jack to listen to him, to hear him. “Jack, we need to go, Jack come on, come back to me. I’m here, for God’s sake, Jack, talk to me.” Richard kept on repeating the words, shaking him; he’d even slapped his face a good few times to try and elicit some response from him. He stopped and listened: he was rewarded with calming in his brother’s breathing. It was something.
Richard didn’t know what to say, but his words, his voice seemed to have helped, so he continued. “This must be payment is it, for when I pulled my shoulder out, do you remember? I have never known pain like it since. If I had a dozen knives thrust into me, it could not have hurt as much.” Richard paused, sat down heavily next to Jack, put his arm around his brother and pulled his unresponsive body to slump against him
“You lifted me up. I never told you - I think when you did, I faint
ed with the pain - then I found myself helpless and supported up by you. God, I was furious. I’m not sure what hurt the most: the shoulder or my pride. Then you talked to me whilst I regained my senses, you never gave me an inkling of what you meant to do. God, it bloody hurt. I can’t remember if I screamed, but I think I probably did. The next I knew was when I awoke on the hillside soaked with sweat and shivering like…” Richard paused, “shivering like you are now.” Richard listened: Jack’s breathing was now harsh but regular, so he continued. “I don’t think I ever said thanks. You could have left me and I probably deserved that, but you didn’t.”
Jack’s voice against his shoulder was barely audible. “Are you trying to say I am like a loyal hound?” There was a pause while he gasped in more air, “loyal and devoted but as thick…” He didn’t finish as air chocked in his throat.
“Jack, thank God.” Richard felt control coming back to the lifeless body propped against him. “What do I need to do? Help me, help you.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Later. What do I need to do now?” Richard asked firmly.
“I’ll be alright in a minute…” Jack managed.
“You’re about as alright as a hanged man,” Richard countered. “Tell me, I need to know?”
“It comes on…” Jack started, then stopped: he couldn’t say the word.
“Go on, it comes on when?” Richard prompted, holding Jack’s shoulders tightly.
“In the dark, when it is quiet, when…”
“When you are alone?” Richard finished for him after Jack’s words stopped.
“Yes, alone. It’s what Marshalsea has done,” Jack sobbed. Richard had to turn his head away.
Richard collected his thoughts quickly; he had to get his brother out of the garden. “Come on, get up. Take my arm.” Jack did and clumsily, using the wall and his brother for support, he made it back to his feet.
Jack’s arm over his shoulder, he began to guide him away from Durham Place, talking quietly all the time and hoping his words were helping. “None of us, Jack, are all solid and whole; we all have weaknesses.” He shifted his grip on Jack’s wrist to better manage his weight. “Christ man, how much has Lizbet been feeding you?”
“You don’t have any,” Jack managed in reply.
“I don’t have any what?” Richard swayed slightly under the burden, focusing on keeping the pair of them upright and going in the right direction.
“Weaknesses,” Jack managed, his voice shaking still.
“Oh no, we are not having that conversation now. I’m fairly sure you’ve pointed out mine to me on many occasions. And I think the scales are levelling up nicely. Now shift your bloody feet that way and keep on going,” Richard acrimoniously retorted.
†
It was half an hour later when Richard shouldered the door open to their rooms.
“Lord, what have you done to him?” shrieked Lizbet, her eyes wide.
“Nothing. I’ll be back later, I have to go,” Richard said and with that he was gone, leaving Jack standing, holding onto the door frame.
“Jack, come in, sit.” Lizbet pulled a chair out from the table and moved to take his arm. His skin was pale, there was blood all over his left hand and mud clung to his clothes. “What’s happened to you Jack, have you been in a fight?”
“Leave me, woman, I need no help.” Jack closed the door behind him and sat down heavily at the table, his head dropping into his hands.
“I want to know what’s gone on,” Lizbet demanded, pulling the cuff away from his hand to see the cuts better. “Oh God, they look sore, Jack, please tell me?”
“What’s it got to do with you?” Jack’s voice was weary.
“I’m charged with looking after you. So what happened?” Lizbet demanded none-to-kindly. “Look at you, you’re covered in mud and blood.”
“Bloody hell, what kind of man am I that needs a woman to look after him?” Jack buried his face in his hands once more.
“Will you tell me?” Lizbet demanded again sternly, her fingers on the buttons to his doublet. “Get this off, it’s soaked.”
When Jack didn’t answer, she pushed his head back so she could look in his face. “You bloody fool.” She released it with force. “What happened?”
Jack frowned unhappily in resignation, “We were just waiting, that was all, just waiting.”
“In the dark?” Lizbet asked; she had recognised the haunted look on Jack’s face all too well.
“In the dark,” Jack repeated shakily. “Then Richard went to find out what was happening…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish, or to say what had happened next.
“You haven’t told him, have you?” Lizbet hissed, “God have mercy, you fool, why the hell not? I told you to tell him. How else is he going to look out for you, or himself?”
“I couldn’t,” Jack’s voice was almost a whisper, “how could I tell him what makes me so afraid?”
“Oh well, at least he knows now.” Lizbet stood next to Jack and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head against her stomach.
“He knows now.” Jack echoed with a painful breath, his eyes closed. He wound his arms around her waist and buried his face in the folds of her skirt, letting her rock him gently, as she would a child.
†
“What are you doing?” came the shout from behind him.
“Please, Master, the Lady sent me back in for this?” Richard was holding aloft a delicate sewing box inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
“Bloody women! I told them the house was safe but nobody ever listens to me. It’s just smoke. Happened last year and they’ve all gone screaming into the street.” The man Richard had come across was Thomas Parry.
“Shall I tell them to come back in, Master?” Richard offered obediently.
“No, no, not until this smoke clears. The horses have been sent round and the ladies are going to York House tonight,” Parry grumbled. “The place is full of bloody smoke, it’ll take days to get rid of the smell. Bloody Fairfax will have a lot to answer for I can tell you.”
“I’ll go and take this out Master, if you’ll not be needing me,” Richard bowed and made a hasty retreat passed Parry and towards the gatehouse at the side of Durham Place where the doors stood open.
Outside in the Strand, the scene was one of chaos. God, it seemed, had indeed smiled on Fairfax’s plan. No wonder Parry was hiding indoors. Servants holding aloft torches lit the way for their masters. Others carried valuables and boxes out of Durham Place and piled them in the street. There were several groups stood around and nobody seemed to be in control. A cart had been hastily brought around to transport the valuables away and it stood now outside the house. One of the horses, wide-eyed and kicking, had been released from the traces; a stable hand was holding it, trying to calm the beast. Its companion still stood attached to the cart, stamping angrily. There was no-one controlling it and the horse could smell the thick woodsmoke - a smell that instinctively bred panic in any animal.
Richard headed for the cluster of women standing near the cart; he recognised one of them. With a brown plait sneaking from under a white linen cap and a cloak over a nightgown, it was Catherine de Bernay standing in the torch lit gloom. He made his way straight for her.
“I’ve brought the box you asked for m’lady,” stooping to put it next to her. As he stood, he placed a finger rapidly across her lips. She looked at him with wide eyes but obeyed the command.
“Where’s Elizabeth?” he asked quickly.
“I’ve not seen her,” Catherine replied, looking wildly about her, but she recognised nobody around her. Then, “What’s happening? Where is the fire?”
Richard didn’t answer; he was too busy looking around the Strand for Elizabeth. Away from the carriage on the other side of the street were a small group of men at arms and what looked like more of Elizabeth’s household. As he set his foot toward them, the remaining horse still tethered to the carriage, reared.
Richard shouted a warning, then
with all the strength he had, he rammed Catherine into the girl standing at her elbow. Both women staggered and he continued pushing. Catherine tried to push him away, her hands outstretched, but it was too late; she felt herself falling as her feet went from beneath her. She crashed heavily on the other girl and Richard landed on top of the pile. Both women were screaming.
The horse reared and, the cart only held by a horse on one side had tipped; when it reared a second time and there was enough momentum then for the cart to continue over onto its side, pulling the screaming horse still attached to the long wood shafts with it. The cart landed not two feet from where Catherine lay in a tangle of arms and legs, its impact sending out splatters of mud in all directions.
Richard was the first to stand, offering an arm, he pulled Catherine back to her feet. “Are you hurt?”
Catherine, her eyes bulging, gasped for air; the fall had knocked the air from her lungs. Richard held her tightly, realising what had happened, “it’ll come back lass, it will, just be still.”
She shook her head, panic in her eyes. She fought to breathe and couldn’t.
“Just try and breathe in a little,” Richard kept his voice even and level.
Catherine’s face was the epitome of terror.
“It will. Lift your head up, here like this,” Richard pushed her head backwards, her face to the night sky and heard the first whopping breath come back into her chest, followed by another angry gasp. Catherine’s hands gripped hard; so tight was the hold she had on him, he felt her nails through his sleeve. Shaking, she began to sob. Richard pulled one arm around her shoulders Catherine buried her face against his chest.
“I’m so sorry. I have to go.” Richard said firmly.
“Help me - there’s two at least trapped under here,” a man’s voice shouted beside him.
Turning, Richard looked at the wreckage of the cart where he had stood only a moment before. A leg, running with crimson, protruded from the cracked planking.
“Lass please.” - Richard peeled Catherine’s hands from him - “I need to help.”
Catherine let go and Richard held her shoulders for the briefest of moments, “You’re safe.”