Dark Weather

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  It was an hour later when Jasper indicated to one of the staff that he wished to rise. His chair was drawn back for him, and he stood, once again addressing the befuddled lord of the house. “I wonder, my lord,” he said, “whether you would care to take a walk with me in the garden?”

  “Yush, yush,” said my husband brightly. “Letsh go.” Scraping back the chair, it toppled backwards and himself with it. Tumbling directly onto his back, he lay there on the carpet, waved one hand, and closed his eyes.

  “Are you alright, my lord?” inquired the soft voice.

  “Yush, tush,” Arthur mumbled between hiccups. “Shtay here. All show huppy.” His eyes closed again, and he began to snore.

  The staff crowded around. “Call Robinson,” I commanded. “Then carry his lordship to bed.” With a quick smile at Jasper, I suggested, “I will be pleased to accompany you on that walk in the garden, sir, should you wish it and clearly my husband is unable to oblige.”

  “I should be delighted,” the expected answer.

  Our grounds were neither minute nor huge, an average space for a grand house I supposed, with gravel paths and hillocks of grass. The sun was ebbing but still shone as it hovered over the rooftop horizon. I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders, and Jasper followed me out onto the paved terrace, and stood there, looking across to the west. Then oblivious to any of the staff who might be watching, I hooked my arm into Jasper’s, and began to walk. I knew exactly which direction I aimed towards, but explained nothing and simply chatted about the weather, the price of spices, the politics concerning puritan insistence on dark plain colours, and the king’s younger brother, whom I disliked.

  “The king may have ideas which seem arrogant,” I mumbled, “but in fact that’s his attempt at fulfilling his duty. His brother, on the other hand, is truly arrogant and is quite sure he’ll make a better king.”

  Jasper seemed only vaguely interested in any of my mutterings, although he did once reply, “My dear Sarah, this is not the usual opinion expressed by Cromwell’s followers. You should be careful who you address in such a manner. And are you, I wonder, prepared for the king’s execution, should such a thing come to pass?”

  Only one part of this interested me, and that was when he’d called me his dear Sarah. Previously it had always been Lady Harrington. I probably smirked, but simply said, “I doubt it will come to that, since Cromwell would neither dare such a thing, nor gain the opportunity.”

  The tiny summerhouse was little more than a roofed archway overlooking an artificial pond. Yet within the three stone corners, the shadows played as a streak of sunshine crossed towards the daybed. Designed for two lovers to lay in the summer’s warmth yet relish the shade, this was a wide chair stretching into a mattressed cocoon. And as we came close, I pointed.

  “Shall we rest while we talk, Master Jasper?”

  I didn’t permit him to refuse, and walked the two steps into the faint perfume of briar roses and warm air.

  Now standing in the shadows, I turned to face him. He was leaning against the wall and watching me, thumbs in his belt and his ankles crossed. Perhaps he knew what I was going to do.

  “You called me your dear Sarah,” I said quickly. “May I address you as my dear Jasper?”

  As usual I had to strain to hear his voice. “You may call me as you wish,” he murmured, “and Jasper is my name, little one.”

  So I stood there next to the day bed with my knees like water, biting my lip and wondering if this was the biggest mistake of my life. Then I decided that I was going to do it anyway, mistake or otherwise, and I began to unlace the top of my gown from beneath my arm. It was a bit of a struggle without my maids, but Jasper didn’t help. He just stood completely silent and completely unmoving. But he watched me from beneath heavy lids, eyes narrowed, continuing to breathe without tension or any sign of either delight or disapproval.

  Then I was naked to the waist, shivered a moment, slowly turned and lit the one little candle on the stool beside the day bed. Immediately the tiny flicker of flame reflected in his eyes. He didn’t blink. So I sat carefully on the day bed, swung up my legs and clasped my hands in my lap. I faced him and waited.

  “A woman’s breasts,” he murmured, even more softly than before, “follow an individual curve which she alone can claim to own. The delight, to a man, is when that gentle curve is shown just to him, and he knows its unique beauty. When making love to a woman, he feels that intimacy to be the most glorious he has ever known. Yet the next experience will be the same, and each after that. Love making brings love, however momentary.”

  He paused, and I swallowed, waiting. Then I whispered into the pause. “Make love to me then, Jasper.” I knew my breasts were quivering, but he wasn’t even breathing faster.

  One step, then two, and he stood over me, then sat half beside me, half facing. His fingers were long and hard tipped as a man used to the notching of the arrow, the grasping of the sword hilt, and the clutch to the reins of a horse. He slid one finger softly down the side of my breast and around over the nipple, then beneath. Finally, he said, “Your breasts are beautiful. Their curve is high and heavy, and sings directly to the tightness in my groin.” He was looking into my eyes, and not at where his fingers were. “I might make love to you, little one, and satisfy us both. Tonight, perhaps I shall dream of what I failed to do,” he continued. “But I came here today for your husband and for no other reason, and I shall not twice take such callous advantage of his condition.”

  He was saying no. I didn’t understand the rest. But I leaned my head over on his shoulder and started to cry. I couldn’t help it. I felt such a blithering fool, so ugly and so stupid, and my sobs were soaking his cravat.

  He moved me back a little, lifting my chin with his fingers. And then I realised that it was his tongue which licked my tears away. Hot breath in my ear and then his murmur, “But it is your husband I came for, my dear, and I will neither take advantage of your loneliness, nor take advantage of my wife’s particular ability to understand. For it is my wife I adore, little one, and your – let us say – likeness to her, does not excuse my attraction.” And he leaned forwards, helping me hoist up the straps of my petticoats, kissed my forehead very lightly, and murmured, “Forgive me. But I shall not complicate what is already so vastly complicated.”

  As he helped me dress, I quickly realised how practised he was with a woman’s clothes. And when I was once again respectable, he took my hand and began to walk back to the house. The sun had set and the hundred windows staring back at us were ablaze with candlelight. Above us the sky was darkening from the grey stupor to black night and the first stars were blinking out as we entered the house.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jasper said, “Take me to your husband’s bedchamber,” and I did. Up the stairs and along the corridor to the master’s chamber at the front of the house, overlooking the grand entrance. The door was a little ajar, and Arthur’s snores rebounded.

  I pushed in. The chamber was dark and no candle was lit, but with the bed curtains open and the window shutters down, moonlight striped the bed. My husband lay deeply asleep, eyes firmly shut and mouth gaping open. No one had undressed him but his long jacket was unfastened, his cravat removed, his belt flung aside and the fastenings on the waist of his knee length britches had been undone. His legs were splayed, no shoes, and stockings wrinkled. I thought he looked even more hideous than usual. I wondered what on earth Jasper intended doing with him and all I could think of was that he wished to kill the man.

  Was I supposed to comply? Was I expected to help? What I had so stupidly done in the summer house, and how Jasper had not at first stopped me, did not arouse my distrust. But I reminded myself I did not know the man however much I loved him. Now I simply stood by, controlling my nervousness, and watched.

  Jasper sat on the bed beside Arthur and stared down at him. Then he bent over him like a hungry wolf, clasping Arthur’s head between both palms. At once Jasper started to whisper words I didn
’t understand. I could only grasp a few. For a man whose voice was always quiet, now it was just a breeze in the night.

  He said the muffled sounds of, “Diabulus, nio relinque, lacrimo neoquarm,” and my husband began to tremble.

  I stood back. I was not asked to help, nor to leave so I stood and stared. I could see that Jasper was not hurting anyone, and his hands were spread quite gently to either side of Arthur’s head. Much as I loathed my husband, his death now would have been obvious murder with the risk of where the blame might be attached. The lurch of guilt, since clearly, I had no real objection to his sudden death, didn’t even last long. But not murder after all. Indeed, not anything I could understand. I stood like an idiot, clasping my shawl and sniffing. This all continued so I sat on the opposite side of the bed and tried to listen.

  The murmur of strange words ground on, and Arthur began to flail. I began to think he was waking, but that wasn’t it. His eyes not only remained shut, but seemed glued. Yet his arms were flung upwards by some sleeping impulse and his legs thrashed. Since his britches were already undone and the belt thrown off, he was soon almost undressed and the small bent legs kicked. He rolled over, then back. And as he turned, laying suddenly calm, his eyes snapped open. But they weren’t Arthur’s eyes.

  They were greener than the spring grass and as vivid as a man wide awake. He wasn’t interested in me of course. He stared at Jasper. But now I was quite sure that whoever he was, he wasn’t my husband.

  The new voice was so unpleasant, I thought it crueller than ever Arthur’s had been. The thing’s words grated like small forced coughs and sounded like knife thrusts. “You have no power over me,” it said.

  Jasper spoke English, and I could understand him again. “Leave the essence,” he said, this time loud and clear.

  The other voice cackled. “My essence, absurd human. No man can force me out, not even the one I suck.”

  “You do not know my power, nor do you know my intentions. As Lilith lost all power, so she disintegrated into the ether and pissed out all the fragments of her evil. Now each fragment believes itself divine, and feeds on others, each cannibalising its companion in order to grow stronger. So will you feed or will you be the food of another. Will you feel yourself chewed like nuts on the bush, and be swallowed into the abyss of another’s evil?”

  “When I have sucked this human dry,” said the rasping screech, “I shall move to another and take it until I am the strongest in this world of men.”

  “Every fragment of cruelty has its limits.”

  I saw something flicker over Arthur’s head. A shadowed green, murky and stained as though leaking its own body mass. I thought it spoke with its eyes. They darted and glowed, then shrank back into the hollows of the face.

  Jasper told the thing, “You understand only cruelty, yet crudelitatem crudelitatemque - stultitia - erit semper resiliant.” Now even his voice had changed. This felt like a chant, a little like the chanting in church which I had once loved, and the thing I had seen within my husband, now crawled back. I was shivering again and twisted my fingers so tightly together, they began to hurt and then felt numb.

  With an abrupt lurch, my husband opened his own dark eyes, stared around, grabbed his own head and screamed, “Help. Help me.” His wig had fallen uncovering his small shaved head, leaving only the stubs of greasy hair, and now he clawed his scalp, screaming, “Get it out. Get it out now. I command you to help me.”

  “I have indeed been helping,” Jasper said, his voice soft once more. “But now you have woken far too soon, my lord, and no doubt your servants are running to your call. I shall therefore escort Lady Harrington to the salon downstairs, and order supper to be made ready for her. I shall then leave, my lord, and hope to see you again on a more salubrious occasion.”

  I almost laughed and then I almost collapsed. Finally, I trotted meekly downstairs with Jasper. I could hear Arthur’s valet, head page and barber dashing into his chamber, begging to know what was wrong and how they could help. My own head was in a whirl, and I was wondering how dangerous Jasper might be. I followed as he marched into the living room, stood looking down at the empty grate, his elbow to the mantel and his back to me.

  I sat and waited.

  It was quite some time before he turned at last. His eyes were once again cold, heavy lidded and unblinking.

  “Come here,” he said.

  And then I was afraid of him all over again. I imagined myself broken between his hands, as though I was shattered crockery.

  Yet, obedient as usual, I stood and stepped slowly towards him. He didn’t speak again. He waited, unmoving and without any expression, until I stood directly in front of him and as close as I dared.

  Abruptly he clasped the back of my shoulders, both hands tight, and pulled me close. Then he turned me and suddenly pressed me back against the wall next to the fireplace, leaned hard against me and kissed me on the mouth, so harshly he almost bit. I felt my lips forced open and the heat of his breath down my throat. His eyes remained open, almost crimson with the candle flame’s refection, unblinking and as fierce as the thing he forced out from my husband.

  But I closed my eyes and breathed in his breath. His hands crawled, one up to the back of my head with his fingers in my hair, and the other hand down to the back of my waist, and inching further to where he should not have touched.

  Sudden again, as abrupt as the kiss, Jasper released me. I rocked back, dizzy and unbalanced. He sighed and spoke again.

  “I shall in no way harm you,” he murmured in that breeze-soft voice, “And as I speak to you now, I am speaking directly to my wife. That will seem absurd to you, but I will not attempt explanations. That would not serve my purpose, since I come not for you, my dear, but to bring out the force of evil from your husband. Once that is done, as it shall be soon enough, I shall explain as you wish.”

  I whispered back, “So do you want anything from me?”

  “You know exactly what I want from you,” he said without obvious emotion. “My desire to discover you further and explore your own needs is as strong as I permit it. But I will not come to your bed. I shall, instead, bring you what you need far more, which is the peace and the freedom to be yourself, and to discover the husband who may bring you satisfaction and tranquillity. That shall be either Arthur Harrington transformed, or another man for you to meet in the future.”

  Longing now and wanting more time, all absurd fear dissolved, I spoke quickly before he could leave. “You didn’t finish,” I mumbled. “Arthur, I mean. What is it? The thing inside? Demons, or something else?” I looked down, knowing I’d blush scarlet if I saw him watching me. “Arthur is a cruel man,” I whispered. “He – hurts me. Purposefully. He has mistresses of course, but I don’t know them so I can’t ask if he hurts them too. I think he probably does because he doesn’t seem to get – satisfaction – without perverse – behaviour.”

  It was all in a fast gabble, and I half expected Jasper to move away, revolted. But he did the opposite, and drew me close to him, one hand against the back of my head.

  “You are stronger than you appear to know,” he told me gently. “You have the courage to push this creature away. Yes, he houses demons. A demon which has already absorbed others. The number is unimportant. What is important is your own will to protect yourself.”

  “No one can fight a husband,’ I sniffed. “Would you let your wife tell you no?”

  I saw him smile and was surprised. “A secret joke,” he told me. “And the answer is most certainly yes, my dear. Protect yourself as you can, and don’t fear this man. I shall take out the demon when I can, and it will not be long now. But in the meantime, my dear Sarah, prove your strength to yourself.”

  He moved away, called to the page to bring his hat, gloves and coat, shrugged them on, and bowed. “My lady, I shall return when I can.” And he swept out from the room so quickly that I hardly knew what had happened.

  Flopping back down onto the large chair by the empty grate, I
struggled to remember everything he’d done and everything he’d said, and sat shaking, desperate to regain my balance. I wondered if it was a dream. I couldn’t eat the supper now served to me. But when I staggered upstairs with the intention of collapsing early to bed, I heard my husband call.

  Reluctantly, I went to him. Arthur was in a nightshirt, tucked up beneath his eiderdown, but wide awake. I stared, and wished it was a different man I was staring at.

  “Yes, my lord? You have been unwell,” I said flatly. “You seemed to have drunk too much at midday, or perhaps the content did not agree with you. I trust you now feel better?”

  He was staring with a puzzled belligerence. “I never drink too much. No, I must have been poisoned.”

  “Unlikely, my lord. No royalist spies work in our kitchens, I assure you.”

  Without the accusation that he suspected me, I relaxed and sat, hands in lap, on the bedside chair. He scowled at me. “Get me wine, now. And make sure it isn’t poisoned.”

  Jasper’s words came back into my head, and I breathed in courage as he’d told me. “Your page and valet were here until moments past,” I pointed out. “Why didn’t you send one of them for wine? I cannot become your servant, my lord.”

  Well, I had been his servant since we married, but I risked speaking now since he was safe tucked in bed.

  His scowl deepened. “They brought me nothing as the doctor advised me not to touch alcohol for two days. But wine is harmless. I don’t ask for Jerez.”

  He was clutching at his head. “You have a headache, sir?” He should have the worst headache of his life after all the drinking and then the thing inside.

  Nodding, Arthur lay back. “Willow tonic then. To kill the pain. I’ll sleep well enough, I imagine.” And he shut his eyes.

  When they brought him the willow bark medicine, I left him alone and hurried to my own room. The maid had warmed my bed, but it felt icy cold and so empty.