The Invisible Husband

The Invisible Husband

Copyright 2008 Cari Hislop

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The Invisible Husband

Eve jostled against cold leather as the sound of the carriage wheels squelching through cold November mud almost drowned out her parents’ snores. Of course they could sleep, they weren’t the one being married off to an unknown man they wouldn’t meet until after the wedding. Shivering, she clutched her thin pink silk cape tighter around her arms. There was no passing countryside to watch. The occasional tree and cottage beyond the carriage lamps were merely black jagged shapes. Four outriders were delivering her to a country church at three-thirty in the morning where she was to become the property of a stranger. After weeks of being starved into submission, the thought of marrying an unknown man on an empty stomach had inspired obedience. That morning she’d put on the clothes her mother had chosen and prayed she wouldn’t end up in the clutches of a fiend.

Reins jingled in time with the hooves of the four black horses pulling the carriage and the four heavily armed outriders draped in black hooded cloaks. The whole situation was ridiculous. She was being treated like some sort of beautiful princess, but she was merely pretty without even an illegitimate royal connection to sweeten the deal. All she knew about her prospective husband was that he wasn’t poor. He’d paid her parents ten-thousand pounds for her hand and once she became his wife, in the event of his death, she’d have a two-thousand pound annuity purchased out of his own purse. If he died before she could produce an heir she wouldn’t have to return to live with her parents, but the annuity wouldn’t be of any use if she died in childbed.

Her every thought seemed to lead back to the subject of beds. The thought of sharing a bed with a stranger made her feel like she was being sent blindfolded to her execution. Her only consolation was that she’d never have to see her parents again. Snuggled into a corner of the seat she turned her head to see one of the black caped outriders outlined by the carriage lamps galloping along side; his large hood pulled forward. She was living a nightmare. Who was this man who wanted her so badly he’d paid her parents ten thousand pounds and why did he want her?

Twenty minutes later the carriage started to slow. Craning her neck she could see torches lighting up the ancient arch of an old church door. Her impending groom was proving melodramatic. The torchlit scene set her imagination on fire; no doubt he’d chain her to his dungeon wall in her chemise until she swore she’d be an obedient bedfellow. The thought made her scowl. If her infernal husband thought he was acquiring a biddable wife he’d be unpleasantly surprised. As the carriage jerked to a stop the four riders dismounted and took up sentry outside the carriage.

The carriage steps lowered and the door opened, one of the outriders stretched out a black leather glove to help her down. She took hold of the strong hand and stepped onto the pebbled walkway. Taking a deep breath she straightened her pink bonnet and clutched her thin cape around her shoulders as she hurried up the path towards the church. The old wooden door creaked open like the mouth of hell ready to swallow her whole. Stepping through the stone archway she stiffened with apprehension. Chills tingled up her spine and over her scalp; she’d felt the odd sensation too many times in the last six months to dismiss it as a product of her imagination. She abruptly stopped and turned around to find the four outriders swiftly halting two by two behind her, their hoods bowing. Were they men or bashful demons? Was one of them her husband in disguise? A strange peaceful hush in the churchyard seemed to reach out and caress her. Was she dreaming? The spell was broken by her parents rudely hollering for her to wait. She snubbed them by turning and continuing up the aisle where four more torches lit up the Vicar and another cloaked figure. The flickering light reached dimly into the corners where eerie large rectangular shapes supported what appeared to be ladies and knights resting for the wedding.

Hoping the dead would be too busy elsewhere, Eve reached the altar to find the hooded man was merely a proxy for her husband. Standing still, her teeth started to chatter. There was only a thin layer of dried calfskin and a fine silk stocking between her feet and icy flagstones. Eve opened her mouth to ask how long the service would take, but she could feel brimming tears waiting for her to try to speak. Tingles caressed her neck as a single outrider took up guard on her right. Did the demons think she’d attack the vicar? Did they think she’d try to escape? How would she flee into freezing darkness dressed like a butterfly? Where would she go? Her parents had conspired with her evil groom; she didn’t even know where she was.

The cloaked demon on her right looked down at her shivering body and the ceremony was set in motion. When it came time for the ring to be put on her finger, the demon to the left of the proxy groom held out the ring and the proxy demon-husband, who appeared to be drunk or blind, shoved the ring onto her cold middle finger. Stop! That hurts… It obviously doesn’t go there or it would fit wouldn’t it? She was too angry to care that her eyes filled with tears. Are you an imbecile? Even demon-brides wear the ring on the third finger! The ring bearer’s leather glove reached out and took the Proxy husband’s clumsy fingers in a grip that made him gasp in pain. A black leather glove to her right was extended silently requesting her hand. She reluctantly complied too cold to refuse. The demon gently took possession of her trembling hand and carefully teased the ring free as if he had all night; as if there wasn’t another demon waiting to ravish her. As the hooded man slid the ring onto the correct finger, Eve tried to see what he looked like, but he was wearing a black mask. Perhaps he had no face. She was so cold she was imagining there was something in the man’s touch that went beyond courtesy; as if he cherished the opportunity to hold her hand. Was this cloaked demon her husband? Did he just squeeze her hand to comfort her? She sighed through chattering teeth; it didn’t really matter if he was her husband or the devil. It was all the same to her.

The ceremony was over before she could memorise her husband’s names; Adam Harold Damian Latham, sixth Earl of Latham was a mouthful, but reassuringly human. The madman would be named Adam. He probably believed she’d been ordained by God to be his perfect mate. She shivered as she imagined a faceless demon named Adam climbing on top of her and forcing her with child every nine months until she died of over breeding. She shivered in fear as her eyes filled with tears; the night promised endless nightmares. Her morbid thoughts were interrupted as the Vicar asked her to step forward to sign her name in the parish register. She found her husband had previously signed his name and was surprised to see that the ink was black. He hasn’t signed the register with blood; was that a good sign? It only remained for the proxy husband to step forward and place an x next to the real signature and it was done; Eve was the new Lady Latham. She could hear her Mother practicing her new name somewhere behind her, Lady Eve Latham…this is our daughter, Lady Eve… Eve clenched chattering teeth as she wondered what she was supposed to do next. Lady Eve… Her mother’s shrill cheerful command gave the sinister proceedings an air of farce. …come give your Mamma a kiss!

Snubbing her mother, she smiled as her parents loudly objected to their forced removal from the church. The door closed with a loud thud silencing their theatrical outrage. A peaceful silence fell over the empty pews; Eve was at the mercy of two cloaked demons. The figure on her right, who’d replaced her ring, held out his arm and led her with a dramatic swish of his cloak out through a small side door and back into the night where moonlight outlined tombstones as tall as Eve. Were they tombstones or doorways into hell? She slipped in the wet grass, but a strong black glove caught her around the waist and effortlessly returned her to her feet. Ensnared in the demon’s clutches she was led through a tunnel of clipped yew trees and into the parsonage. Would the madman deflower her before travelling further? She shivered in relief as the black leather glove on her waist gently led her into the parlour and waved her towards the fire where a chair and table were set with supper for one.

Ignoring the food she leaned into the flames as she strained to hear the two demons whispering near the door. They appeared to have forgotten her existence. Enraged, she raised her voice, Excuse me…would you be so good as to explain why my husband couldn’t attend his own wedding? Is he ill? Is he chained up in his attic? Is he unable to stand on consecrated ground or has he read so many Gothic novels he’s incapable of being sensible? The two faceless hoods turned in her direction with comical surprise. Well? Where is my invisible husband? The two hoods turned back to look at each other, one whispered something and the other made a soft choking snort, as if he were biting back laughter. I’m so glad someone’s amused, because I’m not! Where’s my husband? The two hoods turned again in her direction as silent as the grave. One whispered something to the other, who emphatically shook his head no.

Eve abruptly turned towards the fire to hide her distress as the door opened and closed behind retreating footsteps. Failing to restrain her tears, chills ran down her spine like wet ghostly fingers; one of the demons was still in the room and he was watching her. Shaking in fear she waited for hell to swallow her whole.

Chapter 2

The cloaked rider standing near the door clenched his hands in indecisive agony. His bride was clearly upset and needed reassurance that he wasn’t the devil, but years of experience with women had taught him that if he told her he was her husband and he wouldn’t hurt her she’d demand to see his face. Exhausted by the long cold ride and unnerved by the fact that her parents had withheld his identity, the last thing he wanted was to hear his wife scream in terror at the sight of him. He’d made up his mind; he’d introduce himself to his Eve in the comfort of his shadowy home. He’d swallow his pride and wear his cursed silly eye patch once she was his. She’d see he wasn’t completely monstrous and forgive him. That’s how he prayed it would happen or his heart would break. His mind made up, he strode over to the chair near the