Page 75 of The Phoenix Bride
For a moment, I wonder what would happen if I didn’t marry him, if I found some other way to escape this place. A convent; a faked death; and then what—live on the streets? Sell Sam’s mother’s diamonds and leave for the New World?
I sigh and turn away from the mirror. I look to the window instead, and I frown. I can see the glimmer of red light on the horizon.
Margaret reenters the room. Her face is flushed. “I have extraordinary news.”
I point to the window. “What is that?” I ask her.
She ignores this. “Thekinghas agreed to come to the ceremony,” she says, breathless. “Can you believe it? He won’t be at the banquet—thank the Lord, we couldn’t have possibly changed the menu at the last minute—but Mistress Myddleton mentioned it to him, and he has deigned to offer a blessing—”
“I think it’s flames,” I say.
“What? Are you even listening to me, Cecilia?”
“Yes, I—I know, it’s extraordinary, but—look.”
She finally looks out the window. “Yes, there’s a fire in the inner city. Apparently, some Catholics started it yesterday. It’s impressive that it still burns.”
“It must be enormous if we can see it from here. Won’t it spread?”
“There are firebreaks made near the park,” she says. “We are too distant regardless. It spreads east, last I heard.”
“East,” I echo. Toward Aldgate.
“It shouldn’t have much bearing on the wedding, thankfully. Most people are fleeing via the river.”
“What about those without a barge?”
She frowns. “Well, I imagine they’ll have to go by foot, as I doubt there are many carriages to be had. Did you touch your hair? It looks a little lopsided.”
“Won’t they lose their homes? All their things? How will they carry it all?”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” she says airily. “Perhaps it’ll do them good. Adversity is food for the spirit.”
Someone knocks on the door again: It is the same maid as before. “My lady, your husband has returned from court,” she says to Margaret.
“He is early,” Margaret replies.
“He requires your presence. He says it is urgent.”
She grimaces at this, but says, “Very well. Cecilia, I shall return soon. And don’t—”
“—touch my hair,” I reply. “I know.”
She leaves with the maid. Outside the window, the sky is swathed in gray clouds. The faint glimmer of the fire is barely visible, miles away from here. It sparkles in the glass; it is almost beautiful. And it travels east, toward Aldgate. Toward David. I picture the flames. I picture the heat and the chaos they willbring with them. Where will he go? How will he escape, without a carriage or barge of his own? He is so clearly foreign—a target for rioters and looters—and meanwhile I am here, swaddled insilks, pearls in my ears, preparing for a masquerade. My wedding will be no better than theater, really. Sam and I will be actors, playing pretend while London burns.
I remember Will and me in London last year. I dragged him into the bookstore, the one with the tabby cat and the Florentine history. A fire started that day, invisible and endless and cruel, and it has been burning within me ever since.
I will die before I see David burn, too.
I remove my delicate, coral-studded slippers, trading them for my walking boots. I don’t have time to remove the gown, but I hitch my skirts up, remove the collar of diamonds. Then I leave the room and sneak down the corridor toward the stairs, aiming for the kitchens. On the steps, I pause, as I can hear Margaret and Robert speaking in the parlor.
“…Absurd,” Margaret is saying. “The king is coming. We are distant enough that we are safe.”
“I am not suggesting wecancelit, my love, only move the ceremony a little later, once the panic has subsided—the streets are difficult to navigate, and the crowds are scattered—”
“It won’t reach us,” Margaret says. “God is with us. Whatever quarrel he has with the rest of the city, surely we are not to blame?”
I creep away. In the kitchen, the cook is at the hearth, stirring a pot that smells strongly of cloves. There is a delicate marzipan sculpture on the opposite counter: for my wedding feast, I presume. It is of a unicorn, spiral horned, rearing upward. Its mane has been painted with gilt.
