“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.”