When Stars Align: Part 3

Martin’s hand trembled as he held the lit match to Richard’s cigar. He had never been asked to do this before, never done something so intimate for him. As soon as it caught, he quickly drew his hand away and dropped the match into an ashtray.

Richard flashed him an odd look as he drew his first breath, but made no comment. With the glowing end of his cigar burning through the darkness of the room, he slumped down into a worn leather armchair beside the barren hearth.

Having stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do, Martin retrieved the matches from the table and set about lighting the candles around the room. As soon as he’d finished, the whole place felt much less dim and dank, and it wasn’t long before he’d set his sights on the fireplace.

‘Martin, don’t bother with that! I’m sure we can get the landlord to sort it once he’s finished fussing over Frances.’

Martin paid no heed and continued setting up the kindling on which to lay the logs. He grabbed a broadsheet from a stack of papers nearby and scrunched the pages up, sure that the pub’s usual patrons wouldn’t mind their absence. Richard watched on curiously as Martin finally lit the neat arrangement, a look of contentment on his face as he kneeled in front of the newly born flames.

‘You’ve done that before, haven’t you?’

Martin’s gaze shot to meet Richard’s. It was as though he’d been caught in some deplorable act, and the smirk on his friend’s face only added to it.

‘Yes, at school.’

‘At school? You never mentioned it.’

Martin shuffled awkwardly on his knees.

‘Why should I have? It was only a little chore the schoolmaster set out for me. It was simply part of my morning routine. Before anyone was awake, I’d set about lighting the fires in his apartments.’

‘His private apartments?’ Richard asked, his brow shooting up quizzically. ‘Why ever were you tasked with such a thing? Surely it would have been in the care of his housemaid to ensure the fires were lit before he woke.’

‘I don’t presume to know how the master ran his household,’ Martin shot back, a little colder than he meant.

Richard noticed him tense up, with his knees clamped together and his gaze set firmly on the fire, which was quickly eating through the newspaper and twigs. It was as though the sight of the blackening tinder broke Martin’s trance, and at once he was back on his feet, struggling to haul out a large log from the hearthside basket.

Richard pressed the end of his half-smoked cigar into an ashtray and rose to his feet. Martin barely registered his friend’s movement until he felt a warm hand over his own.

‘No need to wrestle with that alone.’

Martin instantly backed away from the wood. Without any sign of struggle, Richard lifted the log from the basket and gently set it down onto the flames, which were in dire need of sustenance, before brushing his hands off on his trousers.

‘Richard, you’re in your best!’ Martin exclaimed.

‘No bother, I’m sure the servants will do a fine job of cleaning it up,’ he replied, glad to see that this faux pas had somewhat returned Martin to his normal self.

‘If only you knew how hard they have to work to keep your clothes clean,’ Martin grumbled back in a rare show of defiance.

‘Is that how you wish to speak to the man who just resuscitated your precious fire?’

Martin could do nothing to suppress his amusement at this, flashing his teeth and rolling his eyes in that way Richard adored. He liked it when he could get his friend to let his playful side out, which he so often hid beneath a veneer of politeness.

‘Nice to see you’ve still got that mischievous streak running through you, no matter how hard you try to bury it.’

‘What mischievous streak?’ Martin replied, outraged at the suggestion that he presented some kind of false front.

‘You seem to have momentarily forgotten who took you under their wing at school. I know all your little secrets, Martin Litton.’

Richard’s gaze stayed on him as he brushed past and walked out the room, leaving Martin alone to stare at the fire. He would have thought it was the heat of the flames he could feel on his face, if it weren’t for the fact that he was stood nowhere near them.

Images

• Preview Image: Lippincott, W. H. (1890). Love's Ambush [Photograph]. Wikimedia Commons. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:William_Henry_Lippincott_-_Love%27s_Ambush.jpg