“It seems that no one came to collect the wounded or dead. The fallen soldiers were buried at St. Giles by Vicar Creswell. He didn’t say so outright, but I believe they were tossed into a mass grave since there was no one to pay for the burial, and no names to go with the corpses,” Hugo explained, his voice laced with disgust. James’s army left their men behind.
“I would never say this to anyone but you, Hugo, but I was ashamed,” Brad confessed, his voice pitching low as if he could be overheard on the desolate road they were now traveling.
“You have no reason to feel shame,” Hugo countered. “Better soldiers than you have been disarmed and killed in battle.”
“Not quite what I meant,” Brad smirked.
“What then?”
“All my life, I’ve been taught that the king is God’s representative on Earth, a man who is as close to divinity as the Pope. But seeing that frightened, panicked man at Salisbury forced me to realize that the king is naught but a man; a vain, selfish man, fearful for his own skin. A person becomes a sovereign by accident of birth, not through merit or wisdom, which in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t seem right, does it? I’m ashamed to say that giving up my own life for his cause suddenly didn’t seem like a fair exchange.” Gone was the bluster of their earlier conversation. Brad knew the truth and was ready to face it at last. James would never rule England again.
Hugo was glad that Brad couldn’t see his expression. What Brad had just said was not only treasonous but dangerously democratic; something that men like him wouldn’t come to embrace for centuries to come, their free-thinking ideals delayed by centuries thanks to the catastrophic failure that had been Oliver Cromwell’s Republic. Instead, thousands would lay their lives down to restore James to his throne. They would lose their families, their livelihood, and any chance of a decent future to fight for a man who saw the throne as his due, but had done very little to deserve the loyalty and self-sacrifice he called for. Brad couldn’t know of the slaughter that was to come, but Hugo was well aware of the consequences of James’s defeat.
“Perhaps it’s not a fair exchange,” Hugo agreed. “These past few years have been eye-opening, to say the least.”
“You’ve changed, Hugo,” Brad remarked, his tone one of amusement rather than judgment. “I suppose it takes a much greater sacrifice to martyr yourself when you have a wife and children than when you have nothing to lose. I’ve learned that the hard way as well. All I could think of as I lay in that loft was that my boy would grow up without his father, and my daughter wouldn’t have anyone to arrange her marriage or protect her honor. My wife would be left widowed, lonely and shunned by polite society, which is not welcoming to women who are without husbands. And for what? For a man who decamped at the first opportunity, and ran away like a coward rather than staying and fighting for his country and his throne.”
Hugo was taken aback by Brad’s vehemence, but not by the sentiment. He’d experienced a similar kind of disillusionment, but just because he no longer cared to lay his life down for a monarch who would never again sit on the throne, didn’t mean there weren’t other, equally dangerous situations which couldn’t be avoided.
“Brad, I’ve done something while in France,” Hugo confessed. “Something which might still threaten both myself and my family.”
“What have you done, Hugo?” Brad asked warily.
“I’ve sold my soul to the Devil,” Hugo replied, his voice as tense as the set of his shoulders.
“What have you done?” Brad repeated, his tone no longer philosophical, but full of apprehension.
“Louis would never welcome me into his Court unless I had something of value to offer him. I am a man who plotted against his fellow Catholic king and cousin, so whatever I offered had to be of great value.”
“No, Hugo. Please, say I’m not hearing you correctly,” Brad pleaded.
“You are. I offered to spy for France if William took the throne. You know the volatile history between Louis and William. Any insight that Louis can gain into William’s affairs is valuable to him, more valuable than the honor of his cousin whom he secretly considers weak and deluded.”
“Spying is treason, Hugo, and treason is punishable by death, as you well know.”
“Yes, but I had little choice, Brad. I couldn’t very well stay in France for nearly three years without reclaiming my name or providing for my family. Louis had agreed to a stipend, one that helped me support us while in exile. Now that what Neve has predicted has come to pass, I must fulfill my end of the bargain, and it turns my stomach to have to honor it. I’ve no loyalty to William and Mary, but what I’ve promised to do is dishonorable and cowardly, and there’s no way out of the bargain. Louis will have me killed if I fail to deliver, and I must think of my family.”
“Yes, you must,” was all that Brad said before falling quiet. What more was there to say?
Chapter 19
The last remnants of a winter sunset glowed in the western sky, a mauve band encircling the horizon and highlighting the dark limbs of bare trees, which looked like gnarled fingers pointing at the sky. A few shy stars already twinkled overhead upstaging the pale crescent of the moon. The snow crunched beneath the wheels of the wagon, the distant lights of Nash House at the end of the drive a welcome sight.
Brad slept for the best part of the journey, leaving Hugo to his own thoughts, which were unusually jumbled and nonsensical. Hugo woke up with a start several times, surprised that he had nodded off while driving the wagon. That wasn’t like him. Fragments of strange dreams swirled in his mind, confusing images overlapping each other in puzzling sequences. Hugo shivered beneath his cloak as a blast of cold wind found its way inside the folds. He felt unusually tired and achy. Hugo sat up straighter and urged the horse on, eager to get to their destination. The poor animal didn’t need much prodding; it was just as eager for their journey to end.
Hugo finally drew up in front of the house and ran up the steps to pound on the door. Beth’s frightened face appeared briefly at one of the downstairs windows, and then she was outside, with just a shawl over her shoulders, trying to peer over the side of the wagon at Brad’s immobile shape.
“Oh, dear God,” she moaned as she saw her husband. “Is he badly hurt? Is he dead?” she whispered as she tried to reach for Brad’s hand.
“He’s alive, Beth, but he needs a physician urgently. I’ll need some help to bring him inside. Summon one of the grooms and send someone for a medick right away.”
Beth opened her mouth to reply, but then thought better of it and went running back into the house. A moment later, two strapping lads came rushing from around the corner. They must have been having their supper in the kitchen when Beth summoned them. The boys lifted Brad out of the cart and carried him into the house and up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with Beth. Brad smiled at Beth dreamily, his eyes half closed. He was barely lucid, but some part of him registered that he was finally at home.
“Beth,” he breathed. “My sweet Beth.”
Beth bent down to kiss his forehead, drawing back in shock. “He’s burning up,” she whispered to Hugo, her eyes huge in her pale face. Her hands were shaking as she held Brad’s large hand in her own, but Beth was never one to fall apart in times of crisis. She drew herself up, her expression going from one of shock to one of determination.
“Bert, go fetch the doctor. Quick as you can. Harvey, bring up some hot water and clean linen bandages. And tell Cook to send up some hot broth and brew willow bark tea. Hugo, is there anything I need to know?” Beth asked, eyeing him over the vast bed.
“Brad’s wound is not deep, but it had been left to fester, and there’s no telling how far the infection has gone. The physician in Reading advised amputation, and it might come to that if the putrefaction has spread.”
“How you must have suffered, poor lamb,” Beth spoke soothingly to Brad as she went about removing his clothing. “You are home now, and I will take good care of you. The children have missed yo
u so very much. They’ll be so happy to see their papa. Where did you find him, Hugo? Was he well looked after?” she asked, her voice low.
“He was at a farmhouse outside Reading.” A partial truth. Hugo couldn’t bear to tell Beth of the condition he’d found Brad in. “Beth, is there anything else I can do for you?”
Beth glanced at Hugo, suddenly aware of how of tired and disheveled he looked. “Oh, Hugo, I am so sorry. You must be cold and tired. Would you like something to eat? Can I get you a brandy or some hot broth? There are no words to express the depth of my gratitude. I’m indebted to you, and to Neve for sparing you. Please forgive my rudeness; I was somewhat overcome.”
“Beth, there’s nothing to forgive, and you don’t need to thank me. There’s no debt, and never will be. I only hope that Brad recovers. But, I must get back to my family.”
“Yes, of course. Please, have a drink before you go. You look worn out.”
“I won’t say no to brandy,” Hugo conceded. “I’m chilled to the bone after that ride.”
Hugo was surprised to see a decanter of brandy on a table by the window. Few people kept spirits in their bedchamber.
“I’ve had trouble sleeping,” Beth confided as she poured Hugo a healthy measure of brandy. “Brandy helps calm my nerves. I needed to stay calm for the children.”
“There’s no need to explain. Thank you,” Hugo said as he accepted the crystal glass. He drained the brandy in one gulp and held out the glass for more as a pleasant warmth began to spread through his chest and belly. He needed to get going, but suddenly felt too tired to do anything but remain in this warm, cozy room in front of the roaring fire. He felt a pleasant drowsiness settle over him as he sat down and savored the second glass, closing his eyes for just a moment.
“Hugo,” Beth’s gentle voice recalled him from near slumber.
“I must go,” he said again as Harvey made his way carefully into the room carrying a pitcher of hot water, clean bandages, and a bowl of broth.
“Shall I walk you out?” Beth asked, but her eyes were on Brad.
“You see to your husband. I’ll check back tomorrow.”
Hugo’s limbs felt unnaturally heavy as he unhitched the cart and left it for the grooms to deal with before vaulting onto his horse and galloping away. He was desperate to get home to Neve and the children. He’d never been away from them, and this separation had hurt more than he expected. Only the light of the moon was there to guide him, but he knew the way by heart and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the lights of Everly Manor in the distance.
Chapter 20
Hugo was relieved when a young man emerged from the stables to take his horse. He didn’t recognize him, but the groom obviously knew him.
“Welcome home, your lordship,” the young man said as he took the reins from Hugo and bowed respectfully.
“Thank you, eh…”
“Robbie, sir,” the young man filled in helpfully. “Master Bowden hired me for the position of head groom.”
“Very good,” Hugo replied absentmindedly. “Carry on.”
The young man led the horse away as Hugo strode toward the door, happy to be home at last. It was just past eight in the evening, so the children would already be in bed, but if he hurried he might still have a chance to kiss them goodnight. The door had not been locked for the night yet, so Hugo let himself in. The house was quiet, a single candle burning in the foyer, and casting shifting shadows onto the walls and the breastplate of Bruce’s suit of armor which stood in the corner, the armor polished to a dull shine. Hugo’s heart soared as he heard a child’s voice. Not too late then. He took the stairs two at a time, but slowed down before bursting through the door so as not to startle Neve or the children. Neve was sitting in bed with Elena in her arms. Elena’s dark curls were unruly, as always, and her eyes bright with tears, but her face lit up when she saw Hugo.
“Papa,” she squealed. She still pronounced it the French way, which Hugo found charming.
“Hello, my darling,” Hugo whispered as he scooped up the little girl. She pressed her face to his chest, her arms going around his neck in a sweet embrace. Hugo inhaled the intoxicating smell of babyhood as he kissed the top of her head. Elena raised her face and planted a kiss on his lips. “Love Papa,” she said as she buried her face in his shoulder. She was wearing her nightdress and bare feet dangled from beneath the hem, pink in the firelight.
“I love Papa too,” Neve said as she smiled at them. “I’m so glad you are back. Have you found Brad?” Neve’s voice sounded casual for Elena’s benefit, but Hugo could see the tension in her face.
“Yes, Brad is at home, but he’s wounded and in rather a bad shape. Beth has summoned the physician,” Hugo added as he set the child back on the bed and planted a kiss on Neve’s head before shrugging off his coat and sitting down by the fire to remove his boots. “Where are the others? I was so hoping to see them.”
“You’re too late, I’m afraid,” Neve replied as she tucked Elena in next to her. “Michael is already asleep; he tired himself out with a temper tantrum right after supper, and Valentine asked Frances to tell her a bedtime story and fell asleep in her bed. And I haven’t laid eyes on Archie since this afternoon. He’s been personally training the new grooms, or terrorizing them, I should say.”
“Anything happen while I was gone?” Hugo asked as he climbed into bed, bracketing Elena between himself and Neve. He was hungry, since he hadn’t eaten since midday, but he was too tired to go down to the kitchen in search of something, and the servants had already retired for the night. He’d just wait till morning. Elena snuggled up next to him and closed her eyes in contentment, her hand on Hugo’s as if she were afraid that he would leave again.
“Reverend Snow called the banns for Frances and Archie at Sunday service,” Neve whispered meaningfully over Elena’s head.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it seems they’ve grown tired of waiting,” Neve replied, watching Hugo for his reaction.
“It’s their right to marry when they please. I haven’t heard back from Gideon in nearly two years. Had he had something pertinent to tell me, he would have written. As far as I know, the elder Finch is still alive, so the estate is in his hands. It would be wise for Frances to wait just a little while longer, but I can understand her impatience.”
“Hugo, perhaps they don’t want Finch’s money,” Neve suggested.
“I am sure Archie doesn’t, but I thought it would be good for Frances to have some independent means after what she’d been through. It would give her peace of mind.”
“Perhaps, or perhaps it would drive a wedge between her and Archie.”
Hugo shrugged. “It’s their decision to make, and they’ve made it. I don’t suppose they can wait much longer without bursting into flames.”
“Would you have waited so long to marry me?” Neve asked coyly, smiling at him over the head of the sleeping child.
“I wouldn’t wait a day longer than I had to.”
“Then give them your blessing tomorrow,” Neve said as she turned to blow out the candle.
“I will.”
**
Hugo woke up sometime before dawn. The room was chilly, but he felt a searing heat welling up within him. His throat felt raw and swollen, and his head pounded worse than the day before. Hugo was desperate for a drink, but felt too weak to get out of bed and go down to the kitchen. His limbs ached, and a heaviness settled in his chest, pinning him down to the bed. Hugo closed his eyes. He must have caught a chill while riding for hours without a cloak. It would pass in a day or two. He shifted further away from Elena just in case, but she shifted with him, eager to stay close even in sleep.
“Hugo, what is it?” Neve asked from the other side of the bed. She’d become a very light sleeper since Valentine was born, always listening for any sounds coming from the children during the night.
“Go back to sleep. I just have a bit of a chill, and my throat is on fire.”
Neve reac
hed out and felt Hugo’s face. “You have a fever.”
“I had to use my cloak to cover Brad,” Hugo explained. “It was bitter out there.” His voice came out as a hoarse whisper, and it hurt to talk.
“I’ll go down and put some water on to boil. You need hot tea with honey, and I’ll see if we have any mustard seed to make mustard plaster with.”
“Can you add some brandy to that tea? I have a splitting headache.”
“Of course.”
Neve gently shifted Elena to the other side of the bed, away from Hugo, and tucked the blankets about her to prevent her from rolling off the high bed.
“I’ll be back soon.” She stuffed her feet into sheepskin slippers that Archie had made for her while in France, and put on her woolen dressing gown. The house was even colder downstairs with the fire in the kitchen having been out since the previous evening. Hugo tried to go back to sleep, but it hurt to swallow and his headache seemed to be intensifying. Elena was breathing evenly, her face angelic in sleep. Hugo reached out and lightly touched her cheek. Cool, thank God.
He was glad to see Neve slip back into the room. She presented him with a steaming cup of tea, liberally sweetened with honey and fortified with brandy. The tea felt good going down and relieved the throat pain for a few minutes, but it returned as soon as Hugo finished the drink.
Neve lit a candle and sat down on the side of the bed, looking at Hugo with concern. She set down the candle and wrapped her hands around his throat, feeling carefully with her fingers. “Your throat is swollen,” she said. “I’m calling for the doctor.”
“He might be at the Nashes,” Hugo whispered as he rested his head against the pillow.
Neve went around the other side of the bed and lifted Elena into her arms. “Hugo, stay in bed, and do not interact with anyone. I will instruct Frances to keep the children away from you. Understood?” Hugo could hear the fear in her voice. Any sign of illness sent Neve into a panic, and with good reason.
The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Page 11