The Flame and the Flower (2 page)

In delightful luxury, she brushed her hair until it gleamed in the candlelight. This had been her father's pride, something he had treasured and often stroked in absent thought as, she surmised, he had done with her mother. More than once he had stared at her as if dreaming and in deep longing, murmured his wife's name before he had consciously shaken himself and turned away with misty eyes.

As directed, she coiled her hair around her head, but left a few stray curls to tumble down the back in feigned disarray and another on each temple in rare defiance. She surveyed herself in the piece of broken glass that served as a mirror and nodded her head. She had done better than she expected with the crude materials at hand.

On the other side of the curtain, Heather heard someone enter the cottage and move about the room; there was a deep hacking cough. She stepped around the drapery, knowing it was her uncle. He was lighting his pipe with a wood splint from the fire and he coughed again as it took light. Swirls of smoke filled the room.

John Simmons was a broken man. He had little to care about in his life but his miserly guarded money and the doubtful companionship of Aunt Fanny and had ceased to worry about his appearance. His shirt was grease stained and dirt was thick under his nails. He had lost the good looks of his younger years and now stood before Heather a stooped and withered man who appeared well beyond his two score and ten years. His eyes held a lackluster film of broken dreams and crushed hopes and frustration-filled days under his wife's heckling. His hands were gnarled and twisted with the years of backbreaking labor eking a shallow subsistence from the marshy land, and his weather-thickened skin held the pain of the passing seasons etched in deep lines that furrowed his face.

He glanced up and saw the soft beauty of his niece and something of a new pain seemed to fleet across his features. He sat back in his chair and smiled.

"You're looking lovely this evening, child. I'm supposing it be for William's visit?"

"Aunt Fanny gave me permission, Uncle," she answered.

He sucked on the pipe a moment as his teeth tightened upon it. "Aye, I can believe that," he sighed. "She goes to great lengths to please him though he's a cold man. Once when she journeyed to London to see him he refused to speak with her. Now, she dare not go for fear of angering him, and he's satisfied with it thus. He has his wealthy friends and wouldn't think of claiming her his kin."

A slightly blurred portrait of his sister, William Court was even the same height as Fanny, which was a full head taller than Heather. Perhaps he was not quite as obese, but Heather surmised that difference would diminish in a few years. His pudgy face was ruddy, with heavy jowls, and he possessed a protruding underlip which was constantly wet with saliva. He dabbed at it continuously with a lacy handkerchief, making sniffing noises as if it were his nose he wiped. When he held Heather's hand in greeting his was sickeningly soft, and when he bent to kiss her hand, she had a vague feeling of revulsion.

The clothes he wore bespoke of elegant taste, but his mincing manner did little to enhance a masculine mien. The suit of soft gray, liberally piped with silver, and the white shirt and stock seemed to accentuate his pinkish hands and wheezing red face. William Court may have been wealthy, but Heather could find little to attract her. His trousers were extremely tight, almost to a point of discomfort it seemed, and it could be guessed that they had been deliberately cut thus to display to the casual eye his otherwise questionable manhood.

He had arrived in a rented landau with a precisely dressed coachman who was sent to the barn to bed down with his two dapple-gray horses. Heather sensed the driver was put out with his lowly accommodations since he himself was better dressed than the occupants of the cottage. The barn was hardly fit for his animals. But if he were annoyed he said nothing, going silently about his work, tending the horses and carriage.

Aunt Fanny, with her grey hair pulled tightly against her large head, looked like a forboding fortress in her stiffly starched gown and apron. In spite of her past ranting and raving about how fancy clothes were the work of the devil, she was openly pleased to see her brother prosperously dressed and bustled about him like a hen over a baby chick. Heather had never seen her so affectionate to any individual, and it was kindly received by William Court who obviously enjoyed being waited upon hand and foot. She ignored her aunt's drooling endearments and didn't attend closely to their conversation until at dinner it drifted to the current news from London. Then she began to listen intently in hopes of hearing news of old friends.

"Napoleon escaped and now everyone believes him to be on his way back to France after his defeat in Egypt. Nelson taught him a thing or two. He'll think twice before tangling with our seamen again, by Jove!" William Court swore.

Heather noted that his speech was considerably better than his sister's and she wondered if he had attended a school.

Aunt Fanny wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and snarled. "Pitt didn't know what he was talking about when he said leave the French be. Now he's up to his bloody neck with them and those Irish too. I say kill 'em all!"

Heather bit her lip.

"The Irish! Ha! Pack of animals they are, if you ask me! They don't know when they're happy and well off!" Aunt Fanny continued.

"Pitt is trying to form a union with them now. Perhaps next year it will go through," Uncle John said.

"Per'aps we'll have our throats slit by the bloody lot of them, too!"

Heather glanced hesitantly to her uncle, uneasy as always with her aunt's prejudice. John lowered his eyes and drained his ale in one breath. He sighed and cast a longing glance to the jug Fanny guarded, then set his mug upon the hearth and silently returned to his pipe.

"The Yankee's the same! They'll cut your throat rather than look at you. We'll have them to fight again, mark my word."

William chuckled, his jowls quivering with amusement. "It would do you no good to come to London then, dear sister, for they come into port as if they owned the place. A few get snatched for impressment, but they're a careful lot and stay to themselves. When they venture into the city they go in numbers. They don't like the idea of sailing on the British ships. Aye, they're a careful lot and some have the audacity to think themselves gentlemen. Look at that fellow Washington, for instance. And now they have that other fool, Adams, whom they've elected as their king. It's outrageous! But it won't last. They'll come back, whining like the dogs they are!"

Heather didn't know any Yankees. She was simply glad that her aunt and Mr. Court were discussing them instead of the Irish.

She let her attention slide from the conversation. As long as they did not talk of London society or her ancestors she was not interested. If she dared speak up and declare her loyalty to them or ask if there was social news of London, she knew her aunt would descend on her viciously. As it was, her thoughts wandered elsewhere and she sat for what seemed an eternity.

Aunt Fanny brought Heather out of her shell; she reached across the table and maliciously pinched her arm. Heather jumped. She rubbed her arm, where a red welt was forming, and looked up at her aunt, blinking back tears of pain.

"I asked you if you wanted to teach at Lady Cabot's finishing school. My brother thinks he may be able to find you work," Aunt Fanny snapped.

Heather could hardly believe her ears. "What?"

William Court laughed and explained. "I've very good connections with the school, and I know they're looking for a young lady of quality, and you do have excellent manners and good speech. You would, I believe, be perfect for the position, and I understand you also attended a school in London which will be of much help." He dabbed at his massive lips before continuing. "Perhaps in the future I could arrange a suitable marriage for you with a prominent family in town. It would seem a shame to waste such ladylike grace on a farm yokel here. Of course, if I do arrange such a contract, it would mean supplying you with a substantial dowry which I'll expect to be repaid when you have your man secure. It's a slight trick, but could be profitable to each of us. You're in want of a dowry, which I can supply, and I'd favor the interest on the loan which you can provide afterwards. No one need know of such an arrangement and I know you're wise enough to obtain the money after you're married. Would this position at Lady Cabot's be acceptable to you?"

Heather was not sure about William Court's marriage scheme, but—to get away from this farm, Aunt Fanny, her boring existence! To once again be near London society—it would be marvelous! If it weren't for the stinging of her arm, she would think she was still dreaming.

"Speak up, child. What is your answer?" plied William.

Hardly able to suppress her glee, she did not hesitate further. "The offer is most kind of you, sir, and I'll be happy to."

William laughed again. "Good! Good! You'll not regret your decision." He rubbed his hands together. "Now, we must journey to London tomorrow. I've been away from my business too long and I must get back to relieve my assistant. Do you think you can be ready, child?" He waved a lace handkerchief under his nose and dabbed once again at his thick lips.

"Oh, yes, sir. Whenever you choose to leave I'll be ready," she said happily.

"Good, good. It's all settled then."

Heather cleared the table and it was with a new feeling she did so, knowing it would be the last meal she would clean away in this cottage. She was too caught up in her happiness to bother making conversation with her aunt as the woman watched her, and when she was to herself behind her curtain she thought of all the delights of being free from Aunt Fanny. Any position in London would be superior to living under that woman's thumb and taking her abuse. Heather would be free of the harsh words, the violent anger, and maybe, somewhere, there'd be someone who cared.

Little preparation was necessary for the next day's journey for what she possessed was what she had worn that night and what she would wear again tomorrow. She slipped naked beneath the blanket on her cot. It was rough against her flesh and when the wind brought the chilled air of winter it failed to keep her sufficiently warm. She giggled with pleasure when she thought of not having to contend with it any longer. In less than a twelve month it would be a new century and she wondered what its years held for her now with this new chance to live and be happy.

The next afternoon they journeyed to London in William Court's carriage and Heather found it a most enjoyable ride. The countryside along the way was green and lush in June. She had not noticed the same moors when she traveled to her uncle's home two years before, but, now that she went south toward London, she thought it beyond comparison in its beauty.

Mr. Court proved a kind host and very attentive. She was able to talk with him at last about the current events of London society and she laughed gaily to hear his tales of the regency's court. Once she glanced up to find him watching her with an intensity she could not fathom, but he quickly looked away. For a moment she had some slight qualms about going to London with him alone since, after all, he was not a legal guardian but a most distant cousin. The uneasiness soon faded and she mused that he was studying her for what future marriage contract he could arrange.

It was dark when they reached the outskirts of London. The ride had made Heather uncomfortably sore and weary from being bumped around and thrown against the side of the coach every time they hit a sink hole. She was greatly relieved when they arrived at the shop.

Within the place, silks, muslins, lawns, velvets and satins of all colors and textures were stacked high on tables and shelves. There was everything a woman could desire for the making of a stylish gown. Heather was amazed at the vast selection, and in her excitement hurriedly felt one cloth, carefully examined another and failed to notice a man sitting at a desk near the rear of the shop.

William Court laughed as he watched her move about the room. "You'll have more time to examine everything later, my dear, but now you must meet my assistant, Mr. Thomas Hint."

Heather turned and saw a strange little man who she instantly decided was the ugliest creature she had ever seen. Large, liquid eyes bulged from a round face and the nose was a short, flattened thing with flaring nostrils. His tongue continually flicked over thick, scarred lips, reminding her of lizards she had seen on the farm. His grotesque, hunchback figure was clothed in a rich, scarlet silk that was spotted, like his shirt, with food stains. When he smiled at her it was lop-sided, with one whole side of his face compressing into a tight, horrible smirk. She thought he would look better if he didn't try to smile. In fact, she couldn't see why William had him in the shop. She was positive he frightened more customers away than he attracted, and if he attracted anyone they were persons whose minds were deranged.

As if in answer to her questioning thoughts, William Court spoke. "People are used to Thomas. We have a good trade here because they know we're well skilled in our business. Is that not so, Thomas?"

He was answered with a non-committal grunt.

"Now, my dear," William continued, "I want to show you my apartments upstairs. I believe you will be pleased."

He led her toward the back of the shop, through a doorway hung with draperies and into a small room where a meager window gave off the only light. There was a stairway to one side and it led them to a dim little hallway with a single door leading from it. It was a massive wooden door, ornate compared to the dreariness of the hall. William smiled and opened it for her and Heather caught her breath in surprise at what lay behind it. The apartment was luxuriously furnished with pieces of Hepplewhite and Chippendale. A red velvet settee was grouped with two matching chairs upon a splendid Persian rug. Oil paintings and rich tapestries hung from light colored walls and a chandelier reflected prisms of light on red velvet draperies and their trim of gold braid and tassels. Fragile porcelain figurines were placed upon tables with candelabras of pewter, and toward the rear of the room was a place to dine. Every appointment had been carefully chosen and obviously no cost had been spared.