Max sat down in a vacant pew and bent his head, more in thought than in prayer. He needed a few minutes to compose himself, and the solemn silence of the cathedral always helped. The doubts of a few minutes ago were gone, replaced by a blessed calm. Max felt a familiar peace begin to steal over him as he soaked in the atmosphere. He could just sit for a while and go back home, but today his visit had a purpose. There’s no reason to rush, Max thought to himself. I want to be sure.
But you are sure, his mind replied. You’ve been sure for months. Just go talk to him.
Max finally worked up the courage to approach Father Mathieu, and left the safety of the pew. His steps echoed on the stone floor as he walked slowly toward the pulpit, hoping that Father Mathieu would look up. If he looks up, it’s a sign from God that I am doing the right thing.
As if on cue, Father Mathieu lifted his head, his face breaking into a warm smile. He didn’t seem to mind the interruption; just waited patiently for Max to speak as he rested his hands on the pages of the text he’d been perusing.
“Father, I was wondering if I might have a word,” Max began, suddenly tongue-tied. He’d rehearsed his speech many times over the past few weeks, but now that he was actually here, his vocabulary seemed to be reduced to that of a child, and he forgot all the sophisticated phrases he’d prepared.
“Of course, of course,” the priest said, closing the book and taking a step closer to Max. “How can I help?”
“I wish to make a confession, but I would like to do it in the open, not in a confessional. I don’t require anonymity. I wish to confess to my sins to you and hear what you have to say to me without any barrier between us.”
The priest looked somewhat taken aback, but smiled kindly and nodded in agreement. “As you wish. I would be honored to hear your confession. Since you don’t wish for anonymity, would you like to talk in the garden? The sun seems to have blessed us with its presence, and I could do with some fresh air.”
Max gazed up at the stained glass windows, surprised to see shafts of golden light filtering through and casting colorful patterns onto the stone floor and the pews, instantly brightening the atmosphere inside the church. The sun had indeed appeared, and Max suddenly wished for nothing more than to be out in the open where he could talk without the fear of being overheard. Perhaps his confession would fly directly up to the heavens, and he would be afforded some measure of forgiveness.
Max followed the priest out to the garden behind the cathedral. At this time of the year, it consisted mostly of bare rose bushes, which in a few short months would be heavy with fragrant blooms. The garden was small but well-tended, and the bushes were covered with burlap sacks for the winter to protect them from the cold. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the garden, separating it from the busy streets behind the cathedral. The day was chilly, but the sudden burst of sunshine warmed the temperature by a few degrees and lit up the river with shimmering lights which twinkled on the surface, making the previously gray waters of the Seine come to life as they continued their timeless flow.
“I’ve noticed you attending the services,” Father Mathieu remarked as he walked slowly down a stone path between the bushes.
“Yes, I try to come every week,” Max replied as he tried to work up the courage to tell the priest what he’d come to say. “I am not even Catholic,” Max confessed.
“You are English. A Protestant.” It wasn’t really a question, more a statement of fact which seemed to amuse the priest.
“Yes, I am, but I’ve greatly enjoyed your sermons.”
“That’s quite a compliment from someone who’s not of the faith.”
“Father, I’ve been in France for nearly three years now, but I am making plans to go home since there’s no longer anything for me here,” Max added ruefully.
“And there’s nothing for you back in England,” the priest supplied.
“No, not anymore. I must admit that I am rather apprehensive about returning.”
“What is it you wish to confess, my son? Will your confession make it easier for you to return home?” Father Mathieu asked as he studied Max.
“Perhaps. You see, Father, there was a time when I considered myself to be a good man, a worthy man,” Max began, but his voice trailed off as he tried to put a label to what he considered himself to be now.
“Tell me,” the priest said softly. “I will not judge you, only listen.”
“I allowed fear and greed to get the best of me. I wronged a man who came to me for help. I tried to kill him, thinking that he would take from me that which was most important to me.”
“And did you?”
“No, he outwitted me, and instead of taking his revenge, he showed me mercy,” Max confessed.
“He sounds like a good man,” Father Mathieu said as he continued to walk, his face raised to the feeble rays of the spring sunshine.
“Yes, he is, but I went on to wrong him once again. I kidnapped his wife and child to lure him into a trap. I used those he loved most to bring him to his knees, and planned to kill him as they watched. I believed that I could regain something I’d lost by getting rid of him. He outwitted me once again, only this time, he wasn’t as merciful. I sustained injuries that nearly killed me, but I survived.”
“Is it God’s forgiveness that you seek or your own?” the priest asked, curious about this strange man.
“I think that God allowed me to live when surely I should have died. I want to know why.”
“Perhaps God has a different plan for you. If you are repentant, then you should make amends. This man showed you mercy once, and spared you the second time as well. I suspect he could have killed you when he had the chance, but chose not to.”
“Yes, he could have, and should have killed me. I left him no choice, but still he couldn’t bring himself to end my life, especially not in front of his wife, whom I’ve lusted after for years. I planned to make her mine after his death and adopt his child. I wanted to obliterate him from their lives, and hear his daughter call me “Father”.”
“Is it love for this woman that motivated your actions?” Father Mathieu asked, trying to understand.
“In part, but I’ve since come to realize that I never actually loved her. I wanted her, desired her, and was furious when she thwarted me and chose him instead. I felt a need to prove to her that I was the better man, the stronger man. I wanted to show her that I could bring the man she chose to his knees, make him beg. There were other reasons as well.”
“And would the lady have gone along with your plans?” the priest asked, looking at Max with open curiosity.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Max replied with a chuckle. “She’s a feisty one. She probably would have slit my throat while I slept. Or maybe she’d do it while I was awake, so she could watch me die, and know that she avenged her man.”
“Is there a particular bond between you and this man?”
“I suppose you could say that. We are related. But, it’s more than that; we can’t exist at the same time. We are not meant to.”
Father Mathieu grew quiet for a moment as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes thoughtful. Max could see the priest’s struggle to control his distaste despite his promise not to judge. How could he not? He was only human, and what Max told him would make anyone despise him. He despised himself. This was why Max didn’t wish for an anonymous confession. He wanted to see Father Mathieu’s face when he told him the truth — he wanted and needed to be judged.
At last, the priest turned to Max, having come to some decision. “My son, you’ve come to me for guidance, but it seems to me that you already know the answer to your question. I can see it there in your eyes. I can tell you that God forgives you and tell you to do penance, but that’s not why you came. If that is what you were after, you would have simply gone to confession and walked out a much happier man.”
“So, what is it that I want, Father?”
“You want me to tell you what to do, and I can’t do
that. You must listen to what your conscience dictates.”
“What if I don’t have a conscience?” Max asked desperately.
“You wouldn’t be here talking to me if you didn’t. You carry a heavy burden that only you can find the means to lift, and only you know what it would take to undo the harm you’ve done to this man and his family. God will forgive you, but you must forgive yourself, and the only way you can do that is by righting a wrong.”
Max nodded in agreement. The priest was right; he couldn’t forgive himself. He’d had much time to think over the past several years, and he’d come to realize that he couldn’t live with the person he had become. He’d always been a bit selfish and self-absorbed, but he’d gone from being a prat to being a savage, a would-be-assassin of a man who’d done nothing more than try to stay alive and protect those he loved. Max had nearly robbed Neve of a husband she clearly adored, and would have gladly orphaned Hugo’s daughter. He assumed that it was his God-given right to possess them, but God gave him no such power; he’d taken it for himself, and nearly paid for it with his life. And now it was time to make things right.
“Thank you, Father. You’ve been a great help to me,” Max said as he smiled at the priest.
“Have I?” the priest asked cryptically.
March 2015
Surrey, England
Chapter 56
Simon glanced outside before swapping his shoes for wellies and tying a scarf around his neck for the walk to the church. It was nearly the end of March, but it was still unseasonably cold, and spring felt as far away as it had in January. Thinking of January always made Simon cringe inwardly, but now that two months had passed since his aborted wedding, he was starting to forgive himself. He supposed he might have allowed himself off the hook had Heather been really furious and abusive, but what he found when he got back was a white-faced, hollow-eyed woman who’d forgiven him for ruining the wedding as soon as she learned that he went missing. Heather had spent two days agonizing over his safety, and when he finally turned up, threw herself into his arms, sobbing with relief. Simon had expected a rant, or a massive hysterical outburst at the very least, but all he got were tears of joy that he had returned to her unhurt.
Simon knew at that moment that he stood at a crossroad. He could go on with his original plan and end things with Heather, or apologize profusely and reschedule the wedding. He had to admit that he’d been torn. Once he saw Heather’s haggard face, he wasn’t nearly as sure as he had been when he threw himself into the passage, but eventually common sense won out. He knew now that Heather loved him deeply, just as he knew that he didn’t love her enough to commit to her for the rest of his life. He liked her, desired her, but didn’t wish to marry her. That conversation had been difficult, more so because Heather just listened silently rather than throwing crockery at him and calling him names. She merely stared at the floor, her face going even paler than it already was, her hands folded demurely in her lap as if he were the headmaster and she was the student.
At last, she just got up, packed her things, and let herself out, leaving him feeling like the biggest wanker in the world. His mother didn’t help matters. She didn’t say much, but the looks she threw him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking were enough to convey her feelings. She’d never cared for Heather, but what he’d done was cowardly and selfish, and he should have been a man and faced up to his mistake instead of running away. “You are just like your father,” Stella Harding’s eyes said, and Simon felt himself cringing at the comparison. He didn’t wish to be like Roland Everly, yet he hadn’t had the backbone to stand up to Heather and give her the respect of telling her the truth. He ran away and hid like a little boy — a little boy who was afraid of taking his punishment.
It was all behind him now, but Simon’s life had changed. He’d closed up his flat in London, made arrangements to work remotely, and moved to Cranleigh where he devoted himself to running the thriving business Max had left behind and involving himself in the life of the village. He’d joined the football club Cranleigh FC, and began to volunteer at the local art center where he worked with kids. And now, he was on his way to the church for the emergency meeting Reverend Lambert had called. Simon had no idea what the meeting would be about, but felt it his duty to attend, as Max would have had he still been alive.
Simon trudged down the soggy hill, glad that he’d put on wellies and his feet were mercifully dry. Try as he might, he couldn’t avoid glancing at the gravestones of Elena and Hugo Everly as he walked up the path toward the church. Having actually met Hugo, he felt a pang of sorrow every time he saw the headstone, the memory of the man still fresh in his mind. What would befall him, and when?
His mother had asked him what prompted him to rent out his flat and move to Surrey, but Simon couldn’t tell her the truth. He needed a break from his London life. He hadn’t seen Heather since the day he’d come back, nor had he even attempted to pull any girls at the local bars. He needed to be alone for a while to make sense of where his life was going, but he also wanted to be on hand when Hugo met his end in the seventeenth century. He’d felt a strange kinship with Neve, and if he only did one chivalrous thing in his life, he wanted it to involve her. If she came to him for help, he’d be there, ready to offer whatever assistance he could.
Simon walked into the church and took a seat in one of the front pews, returning the greetings of the other members of the Church Committee. The Reverend Lambert was already there, standing in the center as one of the ladies — Simon couldn’t recall her name — handed out cups of steaming tea in Styrofoam cups. Simon pulled off his scarf, unbuttoned his coat and accepted a cup of tea. If this meeting were anything like the reverend’s sermons, then he’d be here a while.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming,” Reverend Lambert began. I’m afraid I have some bad news. As you all know, this has been rather a harsh winter, with several significant snowfalls. There has been as much as an inch of water in the crypt once the snow began to melt, the water seeping through the cracks in the foundation. I’m afraid the repairs need to happen sooner rather than later, and as usual, this requires funds. I’ve located a firm in Guilford which specializes in historic buildings such as our church, but, of course, this is a massive undertaking and will not only require funds, but will also disrupt the operations of St. Nicola’s.”
Reverend Lambert took a sip of his tea as he allowed the information to settle. What he was really asking for were hefty donations as well as ideas for raising money. The lady who passed around the tea was already talking excitedly about organizing a church fete, but the reverend’s eyes were on Simon. As the proverbial lord of the manor, he would be expected to make a sizeable contribution, especially since the church was part of the tour which began at the historic Everly Manor Museum and gardens, and often ended with a visit to the church. Simon was sure that Max had made regular donations to the church, but they were hardly large enough to rebuild a foundation.
Simon sat patiently through another hour and a half, listening to half-baked ideas about booths for the fete and other equally useless suggestions. A fete would raise a few hundred pounds, not the thousands that would be needed to make repairs. At last, the meeting was over, and Simon slipped out the door after bringing his thumb and pinky to his face in the universal sign for “call me” to Reverend Lambert. They would need to meet in private to discuss Simon’s contribution. Simon refused to be drawn into further discussion by the ladies who were still firing on all pistons about a bake sale. He walked back to Everly Manor lost in thought. He had no idea what was actually involved in repairing the foundation and the cracks in the walls of the crypt, but he was fairly certain that the entrance to the passage would somehow be affected, possibly preventing Neve from returning from the past if she were in trouble. Simon had no way of knowing precisely when Hugo would die except that it was some time in 1689, but he did know that once he did, Neve would be on her own, and would have no reason to remain in the past. Of co
urse, she might choose to stay, but what if she wished to return?
Simon stopped midway up the hill, pondering the situation. Was it his responsibility to warn her, or was he being ridiculous and involving himself in something that was none of his affair? Neve had chosen to go back in time — twice. She was a grown woman perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and although no one aspired to being a widow, being a wealthy, titled widow had its advantages. Mind your own business, old boy, Simon thought to himself as he resumed walking. Neve didn’t need him or his advice.
March 1689
Surrey, England
Chapter 57
I followed Hugo to his study and waited with trepidation as he broke the official-looking seal on a packet that had been delivered from London by special messenger. The young man was dressed in a splendid livery, and had ridden all the way from London without stopping. I sent him to the kitchen for a meal and a hot drink while Joe took the horse to be fed and watered. Hugo offered the messenger the use of a guestroom should he like to spend the night, but the young man announced that he had to return to London post haste as he was needed at the palace. I had never seen a royal seal before, but I was fairly certain this message came straight from the king. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath while Hugo scanned the missive. A smile split his face, my signal to breathe again.
“Is that what I think it is?” I asked, keeping my fingers crossed behind my back like a little kid.
“A royal pardon,” Hugo announced happily, “as well as an invitation to the coronation. What do you think of that?” He was trying to remain composed, but I could see the relief in his eyes. A royal pardon meant that he could reclaim his place in society without the taint of treason always hanging over his head like a thundercloud. Even if there were those who still believed him guilty, their feelings would need to be kept to themselves out of respect for the king. Everything Hugo had hoped for was finally coming to pass, and we would be rejoicing if this wonderful news wasn’t marred by Elena’s recent passing.
The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Page 28