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

by Irina Shapiro

  Liza sat with her head bent, her hands clasped before her when Reverend Snow came out of the vestry and closed the door softly behind him, as if he were afraid of disturbing God himself. Liza looked up, eager to see his reaction to finding her in his church. Reverend Snow’s look of surprise was quickly replaced by a smile of welcome as he approached her slowly.

  “Liza, is it not?” he asked, his head tilted slightly to the side as he tried to connect the face to the name.

  “Yes,” Liza answered timidly.

  “I haven’t seen you here since you left Everly Manor,” the reverend commented, tactfully refraining from mentioning the circumstances of Liza’s dismissal. “Have you found employment hereabouts?”

  “No, Reverend Snow, I came here to speak to you.”

  “Oh?”

  Reverend Snow would assume that Liza couldn’t talk to her own parish clergyman because of something shameful that she had done, but she wasn’t here to speak of her own shame. She’d led a blameless life for the past few years, taking care of her ailing mother, raising her son, and trying to be both mother and sister to her younger sisters. She was here for an entirely different reason.

  “How can I be of service to you?” Reverend Snow asked as he took a seat next to Liza. She’d always liked him. He was an approachable and understanding man, not like Reverend Pettigrew at her parish church near Haslemere. Pettigrew was fanatical and cruel, a man who couldn’t begin to relate to the problems his parishioners faced, or give the support and guidance they needed. The God he served was as cruel and unforgiving as the clergyman, one who would see them all burn in Hell.

  Liza lowered her eyes and began to pleat the fabric of her skirt, as if in apprehension. In reality, she wasn’t apprehensive at all, but she needed to give the appearance of a woman who was wrestling with her conscience. Reverend Snow had to see that she was conflicted, torn even. Liza took a shuddering breath and let it out, before allowing herself a peek at the reverend. He just sat quietly, waiting for her to compose herself.

  “I shouldn’t have come,” Liza said, making as if to rise to her feet.

  “Come, Liza, tell me what’s on your mind. The Lord is forgiving to those who repent for their sins.”

  “‘Tis not my sin I’ve come to speak of,” Liza whispered dramatically.

  “Whose then?”

  Liza finally raised her eyes to the reverend, ready to commence the performance. It was a gamble to be sure, but she not only had a great need of money, but of revenge. Hugo Everly had ruined her life. He’d used her; left her at the mercy of his vicious sister who dismissed her without a character reference or wages owed to her, and nearly got her killed by Lionel Finch. She knew that wasn’t strictly true, but needed to believe her own lie in order to do what she must to survive and provide for Johnny.

  “I’ve kept this to myself for several years, Reverend Snow, but I feel that I can remain silent no longer. My conscience won’t permit me to allow evil to thrive.”

  “And what evil is that?” Reverend Snow had sat up straighter, his kind eyes no longer full of sympathy. He looked wary, almost frightened, which was what Liza had been hoping for. She took another deep breath and stared at her shoes for a moment before squaring her shoulders and raising her head defiantly, ready to tell all.

  "I saw things when I worked at Everly Manor — terrible things. I was too afraid to speak out, too fearful for my own soul, but I have worked up the courage to tell the truth.”

  “About what?”

  “About witchcraft,” Liza said, lowering her voice to a barely audible whisper. “I knew that Neve Ashley was a witch as soon as she came. Appeared out of nowhere, she did, and bewitched Lord Everly on the spot. Told him she knew things, could see things.”

  “There are those who have the Sight, Liza,” Reverend Snow said sternly.

  “Oh, aye, some do, but not her. ‘Tis not the Sight she has, but black magic. I was there the day Lord Everly disappeared. I was watching from behind a tree. She spirited him away, turned him into a crow before my very own eyes. They flew away together, not to be seen again for months. Why, Captain Norrington and his men had seen it too, but were too afraid to speak of it. Afraid of the wrath of the witch.”

  “And have you seen any other signs of witchcraft while at Everly Manor?” the reverend asked. Liza had his full attention now.

  “Oh, yes. There were times when I was still awake at midnight, working late to finish my daily chores, when I saw her performing strange rituals and intoning incantations in a language I didn’t recognize. Spoke in tongues, she did, when no one was watching. I mentioned my fears to Mistress Hiddleston, and she became so frightened for his lordship that she dismissed me rather than face the truth. Why, you can ask Harriet. She’s seen strange happenings as well,” Liza added for good measure.

  “Liza, are you making a formal accusation against Lady Everly?” Reverend Snow asked, his eyes no longer kind. He wanted her to deny what she’d just said and go away, but Liza had come this far. She wasn’t about to stop.

  “I am.”

  “Accusing someone of witchcraft is a very serious matter. Are you prepared to testify before an ecclesiastical court?”

  “Ecclesiastical court?” Liza asked, stunned.

  “Yes, of course. I will have to make a report of this to the archbishop, and he will send a tribunal of experienced witch-hunters to examine Lady Everly. Your testimony will be required since you are the one making the accusation.”

  Liza stared at Reverend Snow in shock. She hadn’t considered that he might have to pass this on to a higher authority. The plan had been simple: make an accusation, watch the Everlys squirm as the whole village turned on Lady Everly in light of her nefarious activities, and then demand that Hugo Everly pay her off to withdraw the accusation. Oh, Liza did think there was something rather otherworldly about that woman, something odd and unspeakable, but she was no witch, not a good one in any case. Had she been a powerful witch, she would have saved her daughter from death, would have made a covenant with the Devil for the life of her child.

  Well, there was no going back now. She would testify, and get Harriet to testify as well. Everyone would learn of Neve Ashley’s strange arrival and even stranger departure. Perhaps she would be burned at the stake or drowned, leaving Hugo in need of comfort and understanding. Once he recovered from being bewitched, he might even realize that Liza had saved him from a life of damnation.

  Get a hold of yourself, you fool, Liza admonished herself. She was here for money and revenge, not scraps from Neve Ashley’s table. She didn’t want Hugo anymore, nor would he be stupid enough to believe a word of Liza’s accusation. He would hunt her to the ends of the earth if she were responsible for the death of his wife. But he wouldn’t have to suffer if he only gave her a small sum, enough to doubt her recollections and refuse to testify for fear of condemning a good woman to the fires of Hell.

  “Leave it with me, Liza,” Reverend Snow said sternly. Liza could see the disapproval in his face and the briskness of his manner, but she didn’t care. Of course, he would take the side of Lady Everly. To offend Lord Everly might cost him dearly, but he had no choice now. He couldn’t just ignore the accusation of witchcraft. He was compelled to act, whether he agreed or not. The wheels were in motion.

  April 1689

  Essex, England

  Chapter 62

  Jem stared balefully at the wall in front of him in order to distract himself from the terrible pain in his knees. There were a few interesting cracks, but nothing to really take his mind off the confrontation that had taken place an hour ago. These run-ins with his stepmother were happening more and more often, and although his father felt a certain loyalty to Jem, he had to side with his wife in order to keep the peace. Jem wasn’t sure if his father realized what was going on, but it wasn’t for him to enlighten him.

  Anjelica Marsden was waging a military campaign against Jem, the bastard child who stood to inherit the Marsden estate instead of her
own son. She was a shrewd and calculating woman who’d waited patiently for Anne Marsden to die so that she could marry her widowed husband, and managed to get with child just when it would make it impossible for Nicholas to have any second thoughts about marrying his mistress. And now she had a son, an heir, and his position was threatened by the by-blow of her husband’s affair with a woman who’d been no better than a whore. Not only was Jem a threat to Will’s inheritance, but he was a permanent reminder of the woman her husband once loved, a woman who still haunted his dreams and controlled Nicholas from beyond the grave through her son.

  It started innocently enough with Anjelica trying to assert “motherly” rights over Jem, but her demands were becoming more unreasonable, and the punishments more creative, like this torture she’d devised of making Jem kneel on his bare knees on a floor sprinkled with raw peas. The hard little pellets dug into his skin, making him want to cry. But he wouldn’t cry, just as he wouldn’t call that woman “mother.” That had been her latest demand, which she knew he’d refuse. It was just a ploy to turn Nicholas against him and show him that all she wanted was to be a mother to his son who refused to honor or obey her as a son should.

  “Jemmy, would it be so difficult for you to respect Anjelica’s wishes?” Nicholas asked, his voice tempered with a desire to be reasonable. Anjelica had come to him in tears a few minutes ago, stung by Jem’s refusal to give her a chance. The tears were fake, meant to soften Nicholas’s heart toward her and harden it toward the boy who took every opportunity to cause her pain.

  “She is not my mother,” Jem retorted, angry with his father for taking that woman’s side. He had no desire to hurt her or disrespect her; he simply wanted her to leave him be, but that wouldn’t achieve her aim of driving a wedge between Jem and Nicholas.

  “I know that, but she is my wife and the closest thing you have to a mother in this world. Please, just do it to make me happy,” Nicholas cajoled.

  “The closest person to a mother I have in this world is Lady Everly,” Jem answered calmly. “And the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father is Lord Everly, and nothing has changed,” he spat out.

  Jem enjoyed the shock in his father’s eyes, quickly replaced by hurt. He hadn’t meant what he said, well maybe a little, but he wanted Nicholas Marsden to feel the pain he was feeling at being ripped away from the family he loved; forced to accept a stepmother and a brother he despised, and kept from doing anything he found even remotely enjoyable. Oh, how he missed tagging along with Archie and spending time with Lord Everly. His father was always busy, always distracted. He loved Jem, to be sure, but he hadn’t actually devoted much time to him since returning from Paris. Jem was looked after, educated, given gifts, but the father-son bond that he’d hoped for never developed, leaving Jem missing the people he truly loved.

  Jem shifted his weight on his tortured knees and closed his eyes to stifle the tears which threatened to flow. He wasn’t some parcel to be picked up and carried home, then discarded. He was a person, and he had feelings and desires, and his desire was to get away from this place and be with the people he missed, even if that meant forfeiting his inheritance which Anjelica would find a way to strip him of anyway. The coronation was in a few days. He was sure that Lord and Lady Everly would be in London for the big event, and what fun it would be to see the procession and feel free of the tyranny he faced at home. All he had to do was find an opportune moment to get away. He had some money of his own, his horse, and a sense of direction. Getting to London wouldn’t be that difficult so long as he kept to the main roads. His father would have no idea where he’d gone, and it would never occur to him to look for Jem in London.

  Jem’s eyes flew open, the tears no longer a threat. He’d dreamed of running away for months. Well, why not? What was the worst thing that could happen? Hugo Everly would eventually write to Nicholas, but at least he would have an adventure, and spend some time with the Everlys. God, he even missed Frances. A slow smile spread across Jem’s face, his knees forgotten.

  April 1689

  London, England

  Chapter 63

  “Oh, I do wish I could go,” Frances complained for the hundredth time as she ran her fingers reverently over my best gown. Ruby had cleaned and steamed it, but I needed to hang it up once we got to Brad’s London house to avoid further creasing before I was to wear it tomorrow. Brad and Beth chose not to come to London for the big event; they had not been officially invited to the coronation, and had no desire to watch the procession from the sidelines, but they had kindly offered the use of their house since all the inns would be full to the bursting. Archie and Frances came with us, eager to see the spectacle and enjoy a few days in London. Archie had recently returned from London, but Frances had never actually been. Lionel never allowed her to leave the estate, and she had spent time at the convent before leaving with us for France. Frances was bubbling with excitement, her eyes sparkling with the wonder of it all.

  I had to admit that just like Frances, I was giddy with anticipation. The city pulsed with excitement, ready for the procession which would take place tomorrow. Some said that the coronation would be more modest than that of King James II, William and Mary being known for their practicality rather than frivolity, but the people didn’t care. It would still be an all-day celebration with pubs and taverns overflowing with humanity, and every able-bodied person out in the streets to watch the royal procession to Westminster Abbey. I wasn’t sure if there was a precedent, but this was to be a double coronation for both William and Mary, the first of its kind — in the seventeenth century at least.

  The buoyant mood of the people had been palpable this afternoon when we’d arrived, and I could only imagine what it would be like tomorrow once spectators began to line the streets, eager for a glimpse of the monarchs. I imagined it would be something like Prince Charles’s and Diana’s wedding, which I had seen footage of on television when I was a child. At the time, it had seemed like a fairy tale, with Charles dashing in his uniform and Diana dreamy in her princess gown. I was no longer the innocent child of those days, but I still longed to be part of this historic moment, a moment I had only learned about in school. I smiled at Frances as she continued to pout. “I am sure it will be long and dull,” I said in the hopes of making her feel better.

  “I still would have liked to see it,” she replied as she took the dress off its hanger, held it against her body and twirled around. There were times when Frances seemed much older than her eighteen years, but there were those rare moments when she was nothing more than a child; her natural innocence and exuberance shining through for brief seconds before being eclipsed by her natural reserve born of years of subjugation. I was glad to see that since marrying Archie, she had not withdrawn deeper into herself, but had blossomed in a subtle, but noticeable way, which reassured me that all was well between them.

  “I will tell you all about it; I promise.”

  “I want to hear all the details of the reception at the palace,” Frances said dreamily. “The gowns, the food, the music. Oh, I am sure it will be glorious.”

  “I wish I could smuggle you in,” I replied, knowing that Frances would probably enjoy the occasion a lot more than I would. I was terribly nervous, especially after my awkward experiences at Versailles. I suppose that after having survived the Court of Louis XIV I had nothing to worry about, but I still dreaded being put in a position where people would be judging and speculating about me. I wasn’t one of them; I was an outsider with no impressive family tree or a sizeable fortune which tended to pave the way for even the most unaristocratic of creatures. I was simply Hugo Everly’s wife, a woman who snagged a lord with nothing more than fading good looks and a fertile uterus, according to some.

  Frances sat down on the bed and stifled a yawn. “I am tired,” she complained. “Perhaps I should go to bed. I doubt Archie will be up any time soon. They are having a game of cards in the parlor.”

  “I think Archie would eagerly lose the game in orde
r to join you,” I joked, making her blush. “Come to think of it, I think I’d like Hugo to join me as well. Let’s go put the idea into their heads,” I suggested.

  Frances and I were halfway down the stairs when a loud banging sounded at the front door. It was nearly ten o’clock at night, and my heart leaped into my throat with sudden fear. No one brought good news at night. Ever. I froze, my hand gripping the banister until my knuckles turned white. I heard Frances’s sharp intake of breath behind me; she was just as scared. The flame of the candle she held wavered, casting shifting shadows onto the wall.

  Hugo appeared in the doorway of the parlor with Archie behind him, his hand going to his hip for his sword, but it wasn’t there. Both men had taken off their swords upon arrival and left them upstairs. Billingsley, the old family servant, had retired an hour ago with our blessing, so Archie stepped around Hugo to answer the door. The thick wood of the door practically vibrated with the relentless banging, the person on the other side determined to gain entrance.

  Archie unbolted and opened the door, and was instantly pushed aside and pinned to the wall by a member of the Royal Guard. Three more men trooped into the foyer, going straight for Hugo, who stood still despite the obvious hostility of the men. Any show of resistance would be futile.