The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4)

by Irina Shapiro

  “Simon, are you all right? You look pale, mate,” Jack observed as he clapped him on the back. “Shall I get the smelling salts?” Jack asked with mock concern, clearly enjoying Simon’s panic.

  “I just need a minute alone,” Simon muttered. “Be right back.”

  Simon hastily crossed the nave without making eye contact with any of the guests, and bounded down the steps to the crypt. He hadn’t planned this, hadn’t even considered it until that moment, but he knew what he had to do. He strode over to the tomb of the knight, and ran his fingers frantically along the darkened wall until he found the six-petaled flower. The scraping of stone seemed deafening, but it really wasn’t all that loud. Simon poked his head into the passageway. He could just make out a thin band of light beneath the wooden door at the top of the worn steps. He closed the passage and walked toward the light. He would just hide out for a few hours until everyone left, then come right back and take off for London as soon as his mother finished giving him the bollocking of his life. He would go see Heather in a few days, explain, and apologize for being such a wanker. She would be hurt and angry, but a called-off wedding was better than a bitter divorce.

  Simon’s hand shook slightly as he reached for the heavy iron ring on the door. He had no idea what he was going to find, but somehow the unknown wasn’t nearly as frightening as the future he’d just left behind.

  January 24th, 1689

  Surrey, England

  Chapter 40

  I sat in the second pew next to Valentine, who’d begged to come to the church. Cook remained at home to prepare food for the wedding, and Michael opted to stay with Harriet, who was only too happy to be excused from her chores to keep him entertained. Ruby and Polly sat in the pew behind me despite all the empty space next to me. They didn’t think it appropriate to their station to sit next to the lady of the house, and I didn’t insist. Archie’s father sat across from me, dressed in his best coat, which had seen better days and had probably been made at least a decade ago. But, his iron-gray hair was brushed and his beard neatly trimmed for the occasion. He held his hat in his gnarled hands, his eyes fixed on the altar.

  Arnold and Peter, Archie’s friends from the village, sat next to Horatio Hicks, their bearded faces almost identical from my vantage point. Archie said they were cousins, but they looked more like brothers with their thick dark hair and broad shoulders. I had met them several years ago when I’d first come to the seventeenth century, and they bowed to me respectfully upon entering the church, painfully conscious of my new role as Lady Everly. Beth and Brad had come as well, and sat in the front since Brad found it painful to bend his leg in order to slide into the narrow pew. He looked well, and Beth glowed with happiness as she glanced at her husband.

  All in all, not a bad turnout for a dreary January day. Normally, weddings and christenings took place in the church porch for all to see, but taking the weather into account, everyone agreed that it was best to hold the wedding inside. After all, few would doubt the authenticity of the ceremony given that there were plenty of witnesses and an entry in the parish registry.

  Frances had chosen a light blue damask gown trimmed with ecru lace for the occasion. The color accentuated her eyes and reminded one of a clear blue sky on a spring day. Her hair was dressed in the fontange style and adorned with matching lace. I, myself, didn’t favor the style, but it was all the rage in seventeenth-century England. It made Frances look more mature than her eighteen years, but she was very pleased with the way it came out and patted it self-consciously just before Hugo walked her toward the altar.

  Archie had also dressed up, wearing his one good suit of midnight-blue velvet with a new shirt, its wide collar trimmed with lace. His hair was tied back with a leather thong, and his boots gleamed with polish. Hugo, having done his duty, now came to sit next to me, his eyes on the happy couple who were about to make their vows. I couldn’t help thinking that even if Frances and Archie were dressed in rags, they’d still be the most handsome couple I’d ever seen, not due to their youth and good looks, but because of the light of happiness which shone from their eyes. If ever love triumphed, this was the moment, and I chose to put aside my own pain and savor it.

  I discreetly glanced toward the back of the church when I heard the opening of a door. I had so hoped that Nicholas Marsden received my letter and brought Jem to the wedding. It would be a wonderful surprise for everyone, especially Hugo. We hadn’t seen Jem since Nick took him back to England in the summer of 1686, and had only one letter from Nicholas since, assuring us that Jem was well and was settling into his new life. Nicholas had promised to write regularly and keep us abreast of Jem’s progress, but either he wasn’t much of a correspondent, or life simply got in the way.

  Hugo and I often spoke of Jem, and although we both knew that we’d done the right thing in letting Jem go, we still worried about his well-being and missed him terribly. Jem’s departure left a gaping hole in our hearts, which would never fully heal. He wasn’t our biological child, but both Hugo and I thought of him as an adopted son, and longed to see him again.

  I craned my neck to get a better look, but the door to the church remained firmly closed. I must be hearing things, I thought as I turned back to the front. Perhaps Nicholas couldn’t get away, or maybe my letter had gone astray. Either way, it didn’t seem they’d be coming. I was glad I hadn’t told Hugo of my intended surprise. At least he wouldn’t feel as disappointed as I did.

  The Reverend Snow was just about to pronounce Archie and Frances man and wife when a young man, wearing a twenty-first century morning suit in dove gray with a striped ascot, erupted into the church and froze at the sight of the congregation. His hair was disheveled, and his cheeks stained pink with embarrassment as he realized his mistake and tried to step back into the shadows. Hugo and I exchanged a look of surprise, having grasped the significance of this apparition, and recognizing him for what he was rather than just a strangely dressed man who’d stumbled into someone’s wedding.

  “Oh, dear,” I murmured as the young man looked from side to side, clearly searching for a graceful way out of his predicament. He looked vaguely familiar, and I suddenly realized where I’d seen him. There was a picture in Max’s study of him and the young man in Rugby gear. Simon. Simon Harding, son of Stella the housekeeper.

  “Simon,” I hissed. “Over here.” I patted the space next to me, inviting him to come and sit.

  Simon looked bewildered, but decided not to make a scene and slid into the pew next to me as if we were old friends. He fixed his eyes on the front as Reverend Snow, having regained his composure, proceeded to conclude the marriage ceremony. I forgot all about Simon and drank in the newlyweds, involuntarily grinning from ear to ear. Valentine clapped her hands in delight, her eyes large with wonder.

  “You may kiss your bride,” Reverend Snow announced. Archie’s mouth stretched into a joyful smile as he took Frances’s face in both hands and kissed her soundly. She blushed prettily, which was most becoming to a new bride according to Ruby, who whispered to Polly just behind me and sighed dramatically. She found Archie and Frances’s story to be unbearably romantic, as did Polly, who whispered back to Ruby that she hoped she’d be the next to marry.

  The bridal couple headed for the door, accepting good wishes as they made their way down the nave. Hugo scooped up Valentine, who looked displeased by Archie’s lack of attention toward her, and carried her off, giving me a chance to speak with Simon. Soon, we were the only ones left in the church. Simon sat next to me rigidly, unsure of how to begin.

  “Came from a wedding, did you?” I asked conversationally. “Is the weather as dreadful there as it is here?”

  “Worse,” he replied, although he had no way of knowing what the weather was like since he hadn’t left the church yet.

  “Whose wedding was it?” I asked. I had a pretty good idea, but wanted to get Simon talking. He appeared to be a little shell-shocked, and I hoped to put him at ease.

  “Mine,” he
replied, the blush on his cheeks deepening.

  “I take it your escape wasn’t accidental?” I enquired casually as Simon finally turned to face me.

  “No, it wasn’t. I left her at the altar like a total coward.” The telltale blush crept up his cheeks again, making him look very boyish. Simon hung his head in shame. “U.L.M.F.,” he spat out with disgust.

  “And that is?” I asked, smiling despite his misery. He had a disarming quality about him, which made it impossible to judge him. Any man who left his bride at the altar would be an unforgivable wanker in my eyes, but Simon looked so genuinely distressed that I actually felt sorry for him.

  “Utter Lack of Moral Fiber; one of Mum’s favorite expressions. Anyhow, I stood in the passage for what felt like an hour, telling myself to go back and face up to my responsibilities, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Any place seemed better than the place I’d just left. Where am I, by the way, and how do you know my name?”

  “You are in 1689, and I saw a picture of you on Max’s desk a few years back.”

  “Oh God, you’re that woman who vanished. Natalie? Nancy?” he tried again.

  “Neve. Yes, I am that woman.”

  “Well, bugger me, never fancied meeting you on the other side,” Simon said, eyeing me with interest. “So, you live here now? And was that…?” He glanced at the door.

  “Yes, that was. Hugo Everly. I’m sure you’ve seen the portrait a few thousand times.”

  “Blimey,” Simon said, clearly bowled over. “Look, Neve, is there any way I can just bide with you for a little while? I can’t go back now. Heather will rip my balls off if she lays eyes on me.”

  “Can’t say I blame her,” I added helpfully.

  “I know; I know. I was a total prat, but marrying her would have been an even bigger mistake. I’ll go back, explain, and apologize. I just need a place to stew for a little while. Besides, you guys are family,” he added. He no longer seemed as embarrassed; more fascinated by the situation he found himself in.

  “Are we?” I asked, confused.

  “Yes, well, you see, I didn’t find out until after Max had gone. All my life, my mother told me that my father was some bloke she’d met at a music festival. Didn’t even know his name. But I never really believed her; she’s not that kind of woman.”

  Few men could imagine their sweet, twin-set-and-pearl-wearing mother shagging wildly in the back of some car with a stranger, but in this case I had to agree. I’d met Stella Harding, and I couldn’t imagine her having a one-night stand with a faceless stranger. I thought she’d been married at some point, but it would seem that her ex-husband wasn’t Simon’s father.

  “My father was Roland Everly, Max’s father. Seems he and my mother carried on behind his wife’s back for over twenty years.” Simon actually looked as if he were about to cry. Clearly, the knowledge of the affair had upset him, or maybe it was just that he’d never gotten to know his father.

  “All right, Simon, you may stay, but you need to change out of those clothes, and come up with a convincing lie. Why would I suddenly let you stay at Everly Manor? Who are you?” I asked, forcing Simon to stop feeling sorry for himself and try to think practically.

  “I’m Hugo’s cousin a hundred times removed,” Simon suggested with an impish grin.

  “We’ve already had to explain Max, whom no one’s ever heard of. Perhaps with your light hair, you’d do better to be my cousin. From London. Do you know anything at all about the late seventeenth century?”

  “Only what I’ve seen in films, but I think I can pull it off. I have a good imagination,” Simon added.

  “What do you do in your real life?”

  “I’m in banking. Is there banking in this time, or does everyone just barter chickens and such?”

  “Of course there’s banking. It’s the world’s oldest profession besides prostitution,” I quipped. “Just say you are a clerk at the Bank of England, and you work at Mercer Hall. Don’t divulge anything more.”

  “Understood.” Simon gave me a conspiratory smile as he took me in — upswept hair with tendrils framing my powdered face, silk gown trimmed with fur, and velvet cloak with a silver clasp at the throat. “My, I really missed you, Cousin Neve. It’s been such a very long time. Why, we haven’t seen each other since we were children, playing in the narrow alleys of Blackfriars with our hoop and stick.”

  “Don’t overdo it, Mister,” I said, but couldn’t help smiling. Simon was getting over his bout of remorse and beginning to enjoy himself.

  “Come on then.”

  Chapter 41

  Simon felt like a right prat wearing hose and a shirt that would have been more appropriate on a pirate, but Neve and Hugo had been very kind to him, and he was grateful. It seemed wrong somehow to join the wedding celebration, so he asked if he might just sit in the library and read for a while. Simon moved closer to the fire, amazed at how cold the house was without central heating. The rest of them seemed immune to the chill, but Simon added a few extra logs to the fire after Neve left to rejoin the party. A young maid named Ruby brought him a plate of food, which was actually quite tasty, or maybe he was just really hungry. He could hear sounds of chatter and laughter coming from the dining room where everyone was now assembled, and the gaiety brought a lump to his throat.

  He couldn’t say he had any regrets about what he’d done, quite the opposite, but he did feel sorry for the hurt and worry he’d caused. His poor mother would be frantic, and Heather would go from red-hot fury to confusion and fear for his safety. Wedding guests had seen him going down to the crypt, so he hoped that his mother would realize where he’d gone. They’d spent hours discussing Henry’s journal and Max’s disappearance. Stella Harding chose to remain skeptical, but she wouldn’t be able to deny the existence of the wormhole after this. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother of his adventure, but the cozy chat he anticipated might have to wait until she finally cooled down and was ready to listen. His mother might not be Heather’s number-one fan, but she’d raised Simon to be responsible and have respect for the feelings of others.

  A deeply unpleasant thought suddenly bloomed in Simon’s mind, forcing him to sit up in the hard-backed chair. There was another parent who’d had a hand in his upbringing, a parent who never so much as acknowledged him, but who was callous, shallow, and treated women with less consideration and respect than his Labrador, Tilly. He behaved much as Roland Everly would have had he decided that he’d made a mistake and didn’t care to deal with the consequences. His father had done as he pleased, and relied on his good looks and charm to talk his way out of any situation, managing to smooth the ruffled feathers of his harem of women. His mother could never stay angry for long, allowing her lover back into her good graces after a brief sulk.

  Simon sat back and stared balefully into the flames, suddenly deeply ashamed of his behavior. He’d planned to charm Heather into forgiving him. He was Roland Everly through and through, and found the realization deeply disturbing, so much so that Simon decided to put the whole thing out of his mind. It was more interesting to analyze what he’d witnessed over the past few hours. Funny how people always had certain beliefs about the past, thinking that the people were ignorant, superstitious, and oblivious to the historical current of events that swept them along, usually with dire consequences.

  Simon hadn’t spoken to Hugo for long, just the few minutes they’d spent together while Hugo rooted in a trunk for some clothes which might fit Simon, but it was enough to completely crush any notion he had of the man. Hugo wasn’t at all the pompous, overbearing, feudal overlord Simon always imagined him to be. He was well-mannered, intelligent, and obviously didn’t lack for a sense of humor. But what really undid Simon was the hint of pain behind the eyes, the almost imperceptible fragility in both him and Neve which they were trying hard to hide. They had lost their daughter only a month ago, and under the façade of coping were two people who were still reeling from their loss.

  Simon’s mind was teeming
with questions, all of which Neve promised to answer in due course. She had to return to her guests, but by the end of the day, Simon would finally learn what had happened to Max, and perhaps get some closure. But at this moment, Max’s fate didn’t seem as important as that of Hugo. According to the gravestone, which was still there when Simon went back to check, Hugo would not live out the year. Simon had no idea if he would die of an illness or involve himself in another treasonous plot, but Neve was about to become a widow and find herself alone with her children in a hostile century with no family or friends. A woman in her position was only as safe as her husband made her, and her husband wasn’t long for this world. Hugo didn’t have any brothers or close male relatives who would assume responsibility for his family once he was gone, so Neve would be on her own with no one to turn to. There was a nephew somewhere, but he was still a teenager. Simon froze in mid-thought, suddenly aware of what he’d forgotten. Hugo’s nephew inherited the estate and title after his death, but Hugo was believed to have died without leaving a male heir. Was Michael Everly going to die as well? Simon suddenly wondered. He’d seen the little boy clinging to one of the maids and felt a stab of pity. He seemed like such a timid child, frightened by the boisterous wedding guests and dangerously close to tears.

  And then there was the older girl. Simon smiled at the thought of Valentine. That one was a pistol, he could tell just by looking at the determined look in her eyes. Valentine had been at the church, and demanded to ride home in the carriage with the bride and groom. The way she’d stared at the red-headed man who married the lovely Frances, one would think that she was experiencing the jealousy of a jilted lover. Archie had swept her up off her feet and handed her off to Hugo, despite her protests.