Til Death Do Us Part by Newton Webb
A Renaissance Folk Horror Short Story: On the eve of her wedding, Elizabeth, a terrified bride-to-be, accepts a devilish bargain to have a mysterious stranger marry her loathsome groom.
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Til Death Do Us Part
By Newton Webb
14 May 1598, Suffolk, England
The last of the sun faded, and with it any hope that the wedding would be called off. Elizabeth sat on the edge of her bed, wearing her best dress, a blue gown inherited from her mother and taken in to fit her slighter frame.
Her aunts had been buzzing around her all day, adjusting her gown, plying her with broth and small beer to keep her strength up. The male members of the family were sleeping at her uncle’s tonight. Only women remained in the house. She had not been alone once.
The door opened without knocking.
Nobody was knocking today.
“Eliza?” Her mother, Joan, sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. She did not make eye contact.
“Yes, mother?”
“You are to be a wife. You know what is required.” Her mother spoke in a clipped, awkward tone.
“I am to obey.”
Her mother coughed. “You will lie with him and give him children. God wills it.”
“I understand.”
“No, you do not. No girl does.” She paused. “The first time will hurt. It will sting, and you will be sore. It is so for all wives. It does not last. Do not lie still as stone. Let him know you are a maiden. He must see you are untouched.”
Tears pricked at Elizabeth’s eyes. “Mumma, I do not want to marry Edward.”
Her mother slapped her cheek. She locked eyes with Elizabeth for the first time, her face hardening. “You selfish child.” She looked down at the floor as her daughter wept. “This is about your family. Our sheep and their looms will raise the family from our shame.”
“I am sorry.” Elizabeth sniffed.
“If you would have a child, go to him after your courses. You are clean then. Strong alcohol or ale will help him. When he is done, lie still. Raise your hips. Keep his seed in you.”
She felt sick at the thought of him over her, taking her. He had had his eye on her for as long as she could remember, but her family had waited until she was fourteen to arrange the marriage.
“You must rest. Nobody will trouble you further tonight.” Her mother rose and left the room.
Elizabeth knew she would not sleep. When the door closed, the tears began again.
It was still dark, the candles guttering in the early breeze. Eliza had not moved from her position on the bed.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
She jerked upright and stifled a scream.
A man in a fine red coat with a neatly trimmed beard sat in the corner watching her. A fiddle rested against the chair. He pulled out a pipe and tamped down the tobacco.
“You must leave. Nobody can know you were here.”
Pulling out a taper, he lit it from a candle and drew on his pipe until a plume of smoke emerged.
“They will smell it and know!” Elizabeth hissed.
“Most would ask, ‘Who are you?’ first. But let me reassure you. Nobody will know I have been here. Nobody will smell the smoke. All are in such a sleep that cattle could pass through the house and not wake them.” He inhaled a deep draw of smoke and then released it, blowing a perfect smoke ring.
Elizabeth ran to the door. It was stuck.
“So many doubts. Come then, why do you not shout for your mother and see what happens?”
“Mother, please. Mother!” Elizabeth screamed.
“Joan, oh Joan! I am disturbing the sanctity of your daughter!” the man shouted. “Joan, hurry, I think she takes kindly to it.”
They were greeted by silence.
“Then we are agreed. Now the question. What would you do to escape marrying dear old Eddy?”
Elizabeth turned, her back to the door, and looked at the man.
“Who are you?”
“There we go!” The man smiled. “I am Nick. I come where I am called.”
“I did not call you.”
“Not with your voice, you did not.” He raised his fiddle.
“You must not. The fiddle is forbidden.”
Nick smiled. “So many things are, but have you ever asked why? Will the world descend into hell if you play an instrument?” He started with a cheery tune, drawing the bow across the strings, standing to dance. “Will the rivers rise if you wear fur? Will the earth break if you cast dice?”
Stopping, he winced and looked around. “I might be wrong, but the world seems to be fine.” He continued, the music filling the room.
Elizabeth smiled despite herself, watching the strange, cavorting man. It was the first smile she had experienced in weeks.
“Here is another question. If the rivers flooded and the ground erupted, would it be worse than wedding our dear Eddie?” He raised his eyebrows and shifted his hips in a foolish dance.
She looked down, the smile fading.
“My family needs this.”
The music stopped abruptly.
“It does rather, does it not? A knot indeed.” Nick placed the fiddle down, leaning it against the chair. “What to do, what to do.” He tapped his cheek, took a deep breath, and then turned to Elizabeth, beaming. “I have it. I shall marry him in your stead.”
She stared at him. “You jest.”
“What? Am I not as fair as you, my dear?” He struck a dramatic pose.
“You are a man.”
“Why, thank you.”
“You are a man,” she repeated, louder.
“Repetitive, but yes. Thank you again.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You cannot say such things.”
“I just did. Should I say it again?” He pulled out a scroll of parchment. “Let us make a bargain. You shall not suffer as his wife. You shall have your freedom, and Edward shall have his marriage, and his heir. Ask not how. I heard Joan try to explain earlier, and she is a deeply confused woman.”
“You are moonstruck.”
“Hmm, possibly. But do let me continue. Lend me your flesh for ten years, and all that is Edward’s shall be yours.” He winked at her, then showed her the parchment.
She read the parchment. “I dare not hope.”
Nick shrugged. “What is there without hope? What do you really have to lose?” He looked out at the sky. “Dawn approaches, and you have a wedding to consummate. All I need is your mark.”
She looked into his eyes.
He gave a warm smile and took her hand into his.
“Lord preserve me, I will do it.”
She gasped as a sharp pain lanced through her thumb. He pricked her thumb with a quill and slipped it back into his coat.
“Now, press your thumb against the parchment.”
Her heart pounding in her chest, she left her mark on the page.
15 May 1598, Suffolk, England
Elizabeth woke feeling more refreshed than she had in weeks. The sun filtered through the slats as she lay tucked beneath the covers.
Her mother stood over her with a small jug of small beer, bread, and some cheese. “You did well, child. I could not sleep the day of my wedding.”
With that, the realisation returned that she was to be wed. A thick cloud of despair weighed down upon her. The dream that had seemed so real last night faded away.
“Eat up. I waited as long as I could to let you rest. But we must prepare now for the church.”
Her stomach clenching, Elizabeth took a sip of small beer and pushed aside the plate.
Her mother nodded. Her face was dispassionate, but Elizabeth thought she could see a glimmer of understanding behind the stony expression.
The church was austere, with whitewashed walls and wrought iron candlesticks for light. The narrow window slits let in precious little natural light.
Elizabeth stood. Her family sat nearby, waiting for the groom. Her heart sank. She heard him before she saw him. He was laughing with his friends and witnesses before a hacking cough interrupted him.
Disgusted, she tried to keep the tears from her eyes. She would not shame herself in front of her family.
The vicar, having extolled the virtues of marriage as being ordained by God, a bulwark against sin, a means of procreation, and the very foundation of household order, proceeded to guide them through the vows.
Edward’s eyes roamed hungrily over her as he promised to love, to cherish, and to keep. When she promised to love, to cherish, and to obey, his mouth stretched open into a grin.
Her father passed her hand into Edward’s sweaty palm, and he gripped her tight as if fearing she would flee. He gave his vow, winking at her as he said, “I will.”
The vicar took a deep breath. “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband?”
“I will,” said Elizabeth. “I, Elizabeth, take thee, Edward, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I give thee my troth.”
The room spun.
Edward’s damp hand tightened around hers.
A ringing began deep inside her skull. At first, she thought it was the church bells, but the sound grew sharper, thinner, until it drowned the vicar’s voice entirely. The whitewashed walls seemed suddenly far away, as though she stood at the end of a long tunnel.
The words reached her, strangely stretched and warped.
Edward leaned closer, his grin wavering. “You look pale, wife.”
Wife.
Elizabeth tried to answer, but her tongue felt thick.
For one impossible instant, she felt her heart beating somewhere higher in her chest, heavier and slower than before.
Her vision doubled.
The church split into two overlapping images. Candles burned beside themselves. Faces drifted apart and rejoined.
The smell hit next.
Sweat.
Wet wool.
Ale.
Rotting teeth.
Elizabeth coughed violently as pain lanced through her chest. Her limbs grew heavy.
Gasps erupted through the congregation.
The ringing vanished all at once as sound crashed back into the church. Hands took her by the arms and raised her. Her arms were broader, coarser with a sleeve of dark cloth, she recognised Edward’s coat. A silver ring gleamed upon a thickened hand dusted with dark hair.
There was movement before her.
Her breath caught.
No, no, no.
The world tilted sickeningly. A young woman was weeping nearby.
The sound froze her blood, it was her own voice.
“My poor husband.”
Elizabeth looked up.
A girl in a blue gown knelt before her.
That’s my gown.
She wore Elizabeth’s face, and tears fell from her eyes.
The figure wearing her flesh pressed a hand against her own mouth in false concern. The thing wearing her face turned towards the vicar with perfect composure.
“My husband requires rest. I shall tend him at home.”
The vicar nodded uncertainly.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
It was not a dream.
Elizabeth tried to speak, but what emerged was a ragged male cough.
Blood flecked the lips she now wore.
Panic surged through her. She staggered backwards as unfamiliar weight shifted beneath her. Her legs felt wrong.
The church seemed smaller somehow.
Because she was taller.
The congregation had gathered in frightened clusters now. Her mother stood frozen near the pews, white-faced and clutching her prayer book.
Edward’s friends moved towards her.
Towards Edward.
Hands grabbed beneath her shoulders. Elizabeth recoiled instinctively, but the movement sent another burst of agony through her chest. A hacking cough bent her double.
Elizabeth stared at herself. Delicate hands folded neatly at the waist. Smooth, unblemished skin.
Her own face smiled back at her.
Then she crossed the distance between them and took Edward’s trembling hand inside her own. The fingers tightening around hers did not belong to a frightened girl.
They belonged to Nick.
He leaned close enough for only her to hear. “Careful now,” he murmured in her own sweet voice. “All eyes are upon us.”
Elizabeth tried to wrench away.
Another coughing fit seized her before she could move.
The church spun around her.
The congregation blurred into pale smears.
Nick turned to the others.
“Help me bring my husband to the carriage.”
The carriage lurched forward, wheels grinding against the muddy road.
Elizabeth sat pressed against the cushions, though each breath rattled thickly in his ruined lungs. Heat burned beneath her ribs while her fingers remained cold and numb.
Across from her sat herself.
The blue wedding gown spread neatly across the seat. Small, pale hands rested in her lap. Nick had even adopted her posture, knees pressed modestly together, chin lowered as though painted into a prayer book.
Outside, rain began softly tapping against the carriage roof.
Elizabeth swallowed against the foul taste coating Edward’s mouth. “Give it back.”
Her own voice answered gently. “Hush, husband. You shall worsen your cough.”
“What did you do to my husband?” A violent spasm seized her lungs. She bent double, hacking wetly into her sleeve.
Blood spotted the dark cloth.
Nick watched with open fascination. “Nothing.” He tilted Elizabeth’s head slightly. “Consumption is the term you mortals use for it.”
Elizabeth stared at him in horror.
Nick noticed and smiled faintly. “Oh, do not look so wounded. There is always a price.”
“You lied.”
“No.” Golden candlelight from the carriage lantern illuminated Elizabeth’s stolen face. Anger marred it. “I never lie. Never. I said you would not suffer as Edward’s wife.”
He leaned forward slightly. “And you shall not.”
“You devil.”
“Such an ugly name, and woefully incorrect.” He brushed imaginary dust from the skirts of the gown. “I prefer Nick.”
The carriage rocked through a rut.
Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut as dizziness swept through her again. Edward’s heartbeat stumbled arrhythmically beneath her ribs.
When she opened her eyes, Nick was watching her with a sickly tenderness. “You need not be frightened.”
“You have damned me.”
Nick considered that. “No, Elizabeth.” He smiled sadly. “You were damned from birth. Edward had inclinations that you would not have survived. He mistook cruelty for appetite.”
The carriage slowed. Outside, Edward’s manor emerged through the rain and mist. Great dark beams. Narrow windows glowing amber against the dusk.
“If you can endure ten years. Then all this becomes yours.”
FREE Horror Story Compilations
Summer Screams: 47 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Enigmatic Skeleton’, ‘The Doll House Killer’, ‘The Spinster’, ‘The Leprechaun’ and ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’.
The Dark Fiction Summer Sale: 41 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4.’ and ‘Tales of the Macabre: Books 1-4’.
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