Liza huddled deeper into her shawl and stared at the road ahead. Life was full of opportunities, if one was clever enough to recognize them, and Liza was cleverer than most. She’d taken ten crowns off Lionel Finch, so perhaps she could use the same method to obtain another windfall. Hugo wasn’t willing to give her any money for the boy’s upkeep, but perhaps Josiah Finch would. He would never fall for the story that Johnny was Lionel’s son, but perhaps he would be interested to learn that Hugo Everly was back in England and sharing a house with Lionel’s errant wife.
No one in Surrey would readily make the connection between Frances Morley and Frances Finch, but having been in London during the trial and having heard the gossip, Liza surmised that it was too much of a coincidence that a young woman by the name of Frances was living with Hugo Everly — the very man who’d been accused of abducting her from her husband. Liza couldn’t fathom what Hugo’s interest in Frances Finch might have been, considering that he was already ensnared by the comely Neve Ashley, but whatever drove him to remove Frances Finch from her home must have been very powerful, since he was still supporting her and offering her his protection after all this time. And if Frances Morley was indeed Frances Finch, then there was one man whom she’d need protecting from — Josiah Finch.
As far as Liza knew, Lionel had been Josiah Finch’s only child, so now his widow stood to inherit the estate once the old man died. Perhaps that could be worked to Liza’s advantage somehow. Would the old man want the girl back, or would he perhaps want to punish her in some way for her role in his son’s death? Had Frances never run off with Hugo, Lionel would still be alive and well, an heir to the vast fortune that was the Finch estate. Surely the bereaved old man could spare a few coins for a woman who had known his son, and only wished to comfort him in his grief by bringing him information about his daughter-in-law.
Liza snapped the reins, urging the horse to go faster. Now that she had a plan, she felt infinitely better. She’d need to find out how to get to Finch House and arrange with her sisters to look after Johnny for a few days. It wouldn’t do to drag the child with her. She’d even offer to pay the little witches to mind their nephew. She could afford to be generous.
Chapter 36
I touched a taper to the candlewick and walked out of the room on silent feet. Hugo was fast asleep, his lashes fanned across his lean cheeks. He looked so tense these days, so guarded. He did his best to act normally around the children, but he had a harder time of keeping up the pretense when we were alone. I tried not to harp on him about his increased drinking, and not to point out that he wasn’t eating enough. Only a month had passed since Elena’s passing, so he was coping as best he could. Tomorrow would be a hard day, a day when Hugo would give Frances away in marriage, as he would have given Elena someday had she lived. Hugo would never disappoint Frances, but I knew what it would cost him to stand at the altar and take on the role of her father — a role that he would never again play with his own daughter.
I tried to keep busy during the day, desperate for any distraction which would keep my mind off our loss, but it was at night when the house was quiet and everyone was asleep that the pain came, and wouldn’t leave again till morning when I got up to see the sleepy faces of my two surviving children. I often went down to the library and sat in silence, surrounded by the creased spines of books and the comforting smell of leather. I wasn’t sure why it brought me peace, but it did. I padded down the corridor, surprised to see a flickering light beneath Frances’s door. She should be asleep, dreaming of her wedding, not lying awake. I rapped gently on the door. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep and forgot to blow out the candle, but I heard light footsteps as Frances opened the door and motioned me inside.
“What’s wrong, Frances? Are you nervous about tomorrow?” I asked as I took a seat by the hearth. Frances looked small and frightened; her face, although much more mature than it had been when I first met her, that of a child. She threw a shawl over her shoulders and joined me by the fire. Frances remained silent for a few minutes, but I knew her well enough to realize that she needed to talk; she was just gathering her thoughts. Spending time with Archie had taught her to value words, and to phrase things in the most efficient manner. She no longer prattled on the way she had when she was younger. Or maybe it wasn’t Archie’s influence, but just the residue of her experiences, having taught her that sometimes it’s best not to say too much, or share something which couldn’t be taken back. She finally tore her gaze away from the fire and looked at me, now more composed.
“When I married Lionel,” she began, “my father counseled that I should obey my husband in all things, and all would be well. I was thirteen years old, and I took him at his word.”
“But now you don’t believe that? Are you having second thoughts about marrying again?”
“I’m frightened, Neve,” Frances admitted as her eyes slid away from mine.
“You are afraid of Archie?” I asked, incredulous. Archie was always kind and patient with Frances and the children, but perhaps something happened in private that had put her on her guard. I wasn’t sure if the two of them had consummated their relationship and didn’t dare ask, but hoped that if they had, Archie had been gentle.
Frances shook her head stubbornly. “I am not afraid of him; I am afraid for him. I couldn’t bear to lose him, Neve. I’ve waited so long for someone to love me, the thought of losing that love is worse than any beating or physical torment.”
“Why would you lose his love?” I asked. I was confused, but Frances needed to tell me in her own time. She’d obviously given this a lot of thought.
“There are so many things that can go wrong, aren’t there?” Frances whispered plaintively. Her fingers were pleating at the fabric of her nightdress, and one foot began to tap nervously on the wooden floor.
“Are you referring to having children?” The doctor in Paris had said that Frances might be barren after she tried to self-abort, especially so soon after giving birth, but she wouldn’t know unless she tried to get pregnant.
“Yes, there’s that, too. What if I can’t give him a child, Neve? Archie said that it wouldn’t matter, that he’d love me anyway, but you know how men are; they want sons.”
“Frances, you can’t put that kind of pressure on yourself. Time will tell. You are still very young, and you have many years of fertility left. It might not happen right away, but it will happen in time. Don’t work yourself up into knots over this.”
“There are other things as well,” Frances continued as if I hadn’t spoken. It seemed that having children was not her primary concern after all.
“Like what?”
“Archie is a man of blood, of violence,” Frances stated flatly. She didn’t appear to be judging him, just articulating a simple fact.
“Has he hurt you in some way?”
“No, of course not, but he’s not cut out to be a farmer. Lord Everly is talking of going to London, to see the new king, and Archie will go with him. Change is coming, and when there’s change, there’s violence. Look at what happened to Master Nash. He would have died had his lordship not found him and taken him to a medical man straight away. I’m afraid of losing him, Neve. So afraid.”
I wished I could reassure her and tell her that everything would be all right, that Archie would grow to be an old man and bounce his grandchildren on his knee while telling them stories of his youth, but having lost a child only last month, I could make no such promise. We all lived and loved at our own risk. I’d nearly lost Hugo, and he came damn close to losing me. I suddenly remembered the words of my foster father. “Life’s a crapshoot, Neve. Remember that.” I think he’d heard the phrase in some American film and liked the sound of it, but perhaps he’d been right. We were all like grains of sand on a vast beach, subject to winds, tides, and erosion. But, of course, I couldn’t tell Frances that the night before her wedding, so I walked over, put my arms around her, and kissed the top of her head.
“Trust in your love,
and all will be well,” I said, hoping desperately that I was right. Frances nodded like a marionette against my shoulder, but her shoulders were rigid, and her foot continued to its staccato on the floor.
Chapter 37
An indistinct murmur of voices could be heard coming from Frances’s room on the floor below. It seemed that she was wakeful as well on this final night before their wedding. Archie couldn’t help wondering what Frances and Neve were talking about. Was Frances too excited to sleep, or were fears and reservations keeping her awake? He hoped it wasn’t the latter. Archie normally fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but tonight he felt restless as well, his mind refusing to settle down. He had to admit that he was excited, and a little nervous as well. He’d sworn often enough that he would never marry, but here he was, a fretful bridegroom, spending his last night as an unmarried man alone in his attic bedroom, waiting for the morning to come.
Tomorrow everything would change, and he hoped that after years of longing and steadfast friendship, he and Frances would be able to transition to being man and wife. The thought of finally making love to Frances made Archie burn with a slow heat that had been building over the past few years, and at this point, it was about to consume him. He’d never made a conscious decision to remain celibate once he declared his love to Frances, but although it was perfectly acceptable for a man to satisfy his urges elsewhere before marriage, it seemed wrong, and truthfully, the thought of being with other women left him cold. It was Frances he yearned for, and Frances he would have — tomorrow.
Archie folded his arms behind his head and stared into the impenetrable darkness of the night, the conversation with his father replaying in his mind. He’d been excited and nervous about seeing his father after such a long absence. His father wasn’t a man of letters, so a correspondence had been out of the question. Asking someone else to read Archie’s letters and have them write back would leave Hugo too exposed, so Archie had no idea what to expect after a three-year silence. The cottage seemed in good order when Archie approached, a plume of smoke curling from the chimney and a good-sized pile of wood neatly stacked and covered against the damp.
Archie’s breath caught in his throat as he knocked on the door, hoping his father was in. He’d have heard that Lord Everly was back if he’d gone to the tavern, but if he were ill, he’d not have heard the news. The door swung open to reveal his Da, a huge smile on the old man’s face as he pulled Archie into a bear hug. Horatio Hicks had been a man to reckon with in his day, but although he’d shrunk and lost weight as he aged, he was still strong for a man of seventy. The bright hair of youth had faded to an ashy gray, and the cornflower-blue eyes which had many a lass sighing with longing were now rheumy, but still had that twinkle.
“Archie, my boy, what a wonderful surprise. Come in, son, come in. I was just about to have my dinner. Get a plate and cup. ‘Tis been a long time since you and I had a meal together.”
Archie felt something unclench in his heart as he sat across from his father. He seemed well, and that was more than Archie had hoped for. He knew that his friends, Arnold and Bill, would have looked after his father while he was gone, and the large pile of firewood and repairs to the cottage attested to the fact that they’d kept their promise, but no kindly neighbors could make up for the loss of one’s wife and children. With his wife long gone, his daughter moldering in a convent, and his son God-only-knew-where, Horatio Hicks might have succumbed to old age and melancholy.
“Tell me everything, or whatever you can tell me,” Horatio said as he poured Archie a cup of beer. “I have always longed to see foreign shores. Ah, to see Paris,” he sighed. “Is it much different from London?”
Archie tucked into the pottage his father offered him, surprised by how tasteless and unsatisfying it seemed after the fine meals he’d had in France. His mother always made pottage, it being the most economical and filling meal, but now the unappetizing mix of oats, stale bread, bits of vegetables, and dried peas tasted like mud. Archie pushed his plate away and told his father of the past years. He made his time in France sound like a wonderful adventure, a glittering holiday filled with trips to Versailles and gallops through the woods of Fontainebleau. He left out anything which might have made his father feel less than proud of him, such as killing a man in cold blood to avenge the attempt on Hugo’s life, although Horatio’s hands had seen their share of blood. His father had fought in the Civil War on the side of the Roundheads.
“And Jem? Has he come back with you? I know how attached that boy was to you,” Horatio said as he helped himself to Archie’s plate of pottage.
“Jem is gone, Da. His father came to fetch him, and he is now the heir to the Marsden estate.”
“You don’t say,” his father gasped. “Well, what good fortune for that boy. The way his mother carried on, ‘tis a wonder anyone knew who his father was at all. Nicholas Marsden, you say? Oh, I do remember him. A friend of his lordship’s, he was. A good man, if a bit wild.”
“Not so wild now. He’s got an invalid for a wife and no legitimate children of his own. I can’t help wondering if he’d been so keen to take Jem from us if he’d had a child with his wife before her riding accident.”
“Probably not, but it worked out well for our Jem, didn’t it? I always had a soft spot for that boy. There were those in the village as said he was his lordship’s bastard, but I always knew there was nothing in those rumors.”
“I did think they might be true, but Lord Everly denied it, and I believed him,” Archie said, putting an end to that particular discussion.
“And what about you, son? Any thoughts of settling down? You’ll be looking at thirty before the decade is out.”
“I’ve been betrothed these two years, Da,” Archie said, finally sharing the news he’d come to tell his father. “It’s Frances Finch, although she calls herself Morley now.”
“Frances? That little chit you rescued from Lionel Finch and took to our Julia?” Horatio asked, gazing at his son with newfound interest.
“Yes, the same.”
“How old is she now?”
“She just turned eighteen, Da. Old enough to know her mind.”
“Well, I would hope so. Any girl should know her mind when agreeing to marry. Is she not somewhat above your station, son?” Horatio asked carefully.
Archie shrugged, ignoring the question. “I love her, Da.”
Horatio Hicks leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving his son’s face. His head was tilted to the side as if he were studying him and coming to all the wrong conclusions. Archie had expected a less than enthusiastic response to his forthcoming marriage, his father being a proponent of marrying a girl of your own class, and preferably one whose family was known to him, but his father’s silence was strangely ominous.
“Is it because she was married before that you disapprove?” Archie finally asked, needing to know his father’s mind.
“I’ve never met your Frances, but I remember all too well you telling me about her when you returned from the convent. Heartbroken you were over that girl’s treatment at the hands of her husband; your protective instinct aroused. I know you, Archie; ever since you were a little lad, you had that sympathy in you, that kindness. If ever there was a wounded bird or an injured puppy, you’d nurse them until they were well, and pine for them once they were gone.”
“Frances is not a wounded bird,” Archie retorted, suddenly annoyed. Why did parents always do this? Why couldn’t his father just be happy that he’d found someone to love?
“Isn’t she? She is a fragile girl who has been broken beyond repair. Just make sure she doesn’t fly the coop once her wings have healed, cause then it’s you who’ll need mending.”
“Da, I am a grown man, and I am not exactly an innocent, am I?” Archie demanded. “I do know something of women, and Frances is not just a broken thing; she is a grown woman who knows her own mind, and she loves me, Da. She loves me for who I am.”
“And I suppose hi
s lordship has given his blessing? He’s another one you can’t break free of. He stole your heart when he fished you out of that river when you were seven, and you’ve followed him about like a faithful puppy ever since. I do hope he has your best interests in mind.”
“He’s never asked me for anything I wasn’t willing to give, and he does approve of the marriage. Frances and I are fated,” Archie said with surprising finality. He didn’t believe in fate, which made his declaration all the more startling, especially to himself.
“Glad to hear it. Then marry her and give me a grandchild to love before I breathe my last.”
Archie nodded, unable to tell his father that there might not be children. He’d assured Frances that it didn’t matter to him. He’d seen what losing children did to families, his sister’s especially, but Frances wanted so desperately to have a baby. There was no way of knowing if she would be able to conceive, but if she couldn’t, it would tear her apart.
“I have to go, Da,” Archie said, rising to his feet. “I’ll come by next week to see you.”
“And I’ll be waiting, my lad. I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter 38
Thankfully the snow had stopped, but the road was nearly impassable. Liza’s horse ambled along, picking its way through the snow, its nostrils flaring every time it felt less than secure on the slippery path. The winter day was drawing to a close, the lavender shadows of dusk already pooling between the trees and painting the snowy landscape in purples and blues. The temperature was dropping, and the wind was picking up, forcing Liza to dig her heels into the poor animal’s flanks. She had to get to Finch House before nightfall. Perhaps Josiah Finch would invite her to spend the night, Liza mused, but then again, if he were anything like his son, he’d throw her out into a storm and not give a toss if she froze to death. She’d have to find a place to shelter for the night. If he paid up, she’d get a room at an inn and a hot meal. If not, she’d try to bed down in a barn or some other outbuilding, with or without permission.
The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Page 17