“Lord Hugo Everly, by order of His Majesty King William III, you are under arrest. You will accompany us to the Tower of London where you will await trial.” The man was clearly in charge, and he motioned for one of the other soldiers to clap Hugo in irons.
“That won’t be necessary. I will come willingly,” Hugo replied, his tone even. “What is the charge?”
“Treason,” the man replied with a smirk. “You just can’t keep your nose clean, can you, your lordship?” he sniggered as he shoved Hugo toward the door. Archie made a move toward Hugo, but the man who’d pushed him against the wall punched him hard in the stomach, making Archie double over in pain. “Stay out of the way,” he growled, driving his knee into Archie’s middle for good measure.
Hugo turned around, his eyes searching out mine in the dim light of the foyer. “It will be all right, Neve. Don’t worry. I love you.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the men had already forced Hugo outside and slammed the door shut behind them. I felt as if my knees turned to water as I slid down onto the step beneath me. I was shaking with shock and terror, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Why had Hugo been arrested? What did they have on him? And what was I to do?
Frances was torn between supporting me and going to Archie, who slid down to the floor and was still gasping for air, his hand on his stomach. “Go to him,” I murmured to Frances. There was nothing she could do for me.
**
Eventually, Archie and Frances talked me into going to bed, but sleep was impossible. I lay in the empty bed, staring at the canopy as my mind went absolutely haywire. It was me. I had done this. I had talked to Hugo about changing history with the proof being our attendance at the coronation. Well, history was at it again. There was no proof that we could change anything since we would not be at the coronation after all. Something had happened at the eleventh hour, changing everything — possibly forever. Archie, Frances, and I had sat up for hours, trying to brainstorm a way to help Hugo, but we couldn’t think of anything. If Hugo had been arrested, there was some evidence against him, some accusation, and since we all knew what Hugo was involved in, we also knew that it was probably not fabricated. Hugo had cheated death several times in the past few years. What if his destiny finally caught up with him?
Hot tears slid down my cheeks as I sat up, wrapped my arms about my knees, and rocked back and forth. I had lost my baby, and now I might lose my husband. What if Valentine and Michael were next? What if this was the final reckoning?
Chapter 64
William of Orange stood patiently as his manservant went about undressing his person. He was tired and ill-tempered tonight, his nerves thrumming with tension at the thought of tomorrow’s coronation. A myriad of little details had been seen to; last minute preparations finally complete. He could have left all the planning to others, but he was a man who liked to be in control, and he needed to be sure that everything would be done to his satisfaction. The palace kitchens would be going all night with numerous cooks and maids preparing for tomorrow’s celebration, but the royal apartments were quiet at last, the hissing of the fire in the grate the only sound in the vast bedchamber.
William closed his eyes and lowered his head as his faithful servant began to knead his shoulders skillfully. William sighed with contentment as the tension began to ease and a languid drowsiness stole over him, making him wish that he could just retire. But, there was one more thing he had to do. Mary had asked to see him before he went to bed; she had some urgent matter to discuss. William didn’t feel like visiting her bedchamber tonight, but his wife was his loyal companion and advisor. He wouldn’t join her in bed, but he would go and talk to her as courtesy demanded.
“Thank you, Wilf. That will be all,” William said as he flexed his shoulders, threw on a dressing gown, and headed to the adjoining door between the chambers.
Mary was still fully dressed, her face tense as she sat staring into the fire. Her maid hovered in the background, waiting for the order to help her mistress prepare for bed, but Mary paid her no mind, her eyes alert and full of anxiety. Mary was a woman who rarely allowed herself to relax; she was always in control, at least when in front of others. She’d had a few episodes of utter despair, but those occasions were preceded by the loss of their unborn children. William had held her and allowed her to cry as he smoothed back her hair and told her over and over again that it wasn’t her fault, and their childless state was the will of God. Could Mary be with child again? William briefly wondered. Her anxiety could be caused by fear of another miscarriage, but he didn’t think that was the case. He hadn’t been around her much lately, not in the intimate sense, so the likelihood of pregnancy was slight. It would be a blessing, though. He must try harder to get Mary with child. Perhaps the good Lord would be kinder to them this time, and allow them the joy of welcoming a live child into their life.
William took a seat across from his wife and reached for her hands. They were cold despite the roaring fire in the grate. “What is it, my dear? You look upset.”
Mary sighed as her gaze slid to her husband, a look of relief passing over her features. Talking things over always helped her put things in perspective, and now that William was there, they’d put the matter to rest.
“I’m better now that you are here,” Mary said with a gentle smile. “I’ve been fretting all evening, but you were too busy to see me, so I had to take measures into my own hands.”
“Regarding what?” William felt the blissful relaxation of only a few moments ago slipping away, the tension stealing back in, his neck and shoulders stiffening. Mary was a strong and intelligent woman who made her own decisions without consulting him on every detail. If she felt this anxious about something, it had to be rather serious.
“What troubles you, my love?” William asked patiently. “Tell me.”
“I’ve issued an arrest warrant for Lord Everly in your name. He’s been apprehended and taken to the Tower,” Mary said, her words coming out in an uncharacteristic rush.
“What? Why?” William gasped. “I’ve just issued a royal pardon for the man. What possible reason could you have to have him arrested?”
“I’ve applied a little pressure to my cousin Henry. You know how wily he is, and I was sure that he was passing information to my father in France. I needed to frighten him into declaring his loyalty, and to find out who else is working on behalf of James II. I took a gamble, William, and blackmailed Henry into giving me a name of a traitor as proof of his loyalty.”
“Have you any proof?”
Mary pulled out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her gown. She held it out to William, who unfolded the letter and looked at lines and lines of indecipherable gibberish.
“What is this?”
“It’s written in code. Henry helped me translate it. It’s most incriminating, William.”
“But it’s not signed, so there’s no proof that this was written by Hugo Everly. Henry could have written this himself for all you know, to deflect attention from his own activities. You can’t put a man on trial based on one piece of coded correspondence that isn’t signed, Mary. I think you might have blundered on this one.”
“William, I believe Henry when he says that Everly is a traitor. I didn’t want him to be at the coronation, honored by our invitation and then arrested for treason later. It would make us look weak and foolish.” Mary was becoming agitated, her cheeks stained with two patches of bright color.
“Mary, my love, Hugo Everly worked with the Duke of Monmouth to bring about a Protestant monarchy. What reason would he now have to spy for a Catholic king? This makes no sense. We can’t arrest a man simply on hearsay from your cousin, who would do anything to save his own skin, I might add. This should have been handled delicately. I could have put one of my best men on Everly: watched him, intercepted his correspondence, and questioned his contacts. Now that he’s in the Tower, we can do nothing to prove his guilt unless we can get someone to testify against him or pr
oduce actual proof of treason.”
“I am sorry, William. I thought I was doing the right thing. What are we to do?”
William pulled Mary to her feet and wrapped his arms about her waist, resting his cheek against her stomacher.
“We do nothing for the moment. To arrest Everly and then to release him will make us look even more foolish. Perhaps we can find evidence to support our claim that he is a traitor.”
“You mean fabricate evidence?” Mary asked, her voice filled with hope.
William nodded silently against her as she stroked his hair, a faraway look in her eyes. They needed to assert themselves and make a show of strength. Sacrificing one for the benefit of many was a sound strategy, if it worked.
Chapter 65
“Archie, what is going to happen?” Frances asked as she gazed at Archie in the cold light of a merciless dawn. She hadn’t slept at all, and although Archie had drifted off sometime in the small hours, she could feel the tension coursing through his body even in sleep. The room was cold, the fire having burned down to ashes, their acrid smell filling the air. Frances snuggled closer to Archie, desperate for warmth and reassurance.
“I don’t know, Franny. I keep trying to think of what his lordship would do, but nothing comes to mind. There are only two things that can save him: proof that the evidence against him is false or a royal pardon, neither of which is very likely to happen given the circumstances. I didn’t want to say so in front of her ladyship, but I believe Hugo’s luck has run out.”
“Shall we send a messenger to Master Bradford?”
“And what can he do? He has no influence at Court, and even if he did, nothing he can say or do could make a difference in a case of treason. He’d helped Maximillian escape the death penalty by engaging Gideon Warburton, but this time, there will be no escape. To show mercy to a man who’d been charged with treason twice would look like a sign of weakness in our new monarchs. Everyone will be watching and waiting, eager to see what others can expect for supporting Old King James. There will be many who will be accused of treason in days to come, and if William and Mary set a precedent of being lenient, there will that many more.”
Frances began to cry quietly, unable to believe that things had changed so quickly. Less than twenty-four hours ago she was pouting about not being able to attend the coronation, and now she had to accept that Hugo would likely die very soon, leaving Neve and the children to fend for themselves in a world where they would be disgraced and ostracized for their connection to a traitor. Little Michael might even be stripped of his title and estate, leaving Neve destitute.
“We’ll look after her, Franny,” Archie promised as he planted a kiss on top of Frances’s head. “We will remain loyal.”
Chapter 66
Hugo stood before the narrow window, his hands braced on the stone walls. He hadn’t slept a wink last night, unable to still his brain long enough to rest. He’d been betrayed, he knew that, but at this point, it didn’t really matter by whom. If there was proof of his treachery, he was done for. He’d played a game and lost. Checkmate. The worst part was that the only person he could blame was himself. He’d been living on borrowed time since the spring of 1685. He should have faced the consequences of his actions and spared Neve the horror he’d put her through. He should have let her go when he had the chance, but he’d been weak. He couldn’t say no to love, couldn’t say no to the promise of a family. He’d craved those things so desperately that he allowed his need to cloud his judgment.
And now Neve would be left a widow so soon after losing Elena. How would she cope? How would she survive in this world that wasn’t her own? Would she take the children to the future? He hoped so. They were young enough to forget he ever existed, to forget that their father was a source of shame and disappointment. Neve would meet someone eventually, and the man would raise Hugo’s children, never knowing that the man who sired them was right there in the history books, his name synonymous with treason just like Benedict Arnold whom Hugo had read about while in the twenty-first century.
Hugo moved away from the window and smashed his fist into the stone wall, gasping as the pain shot up his arm. He knew he should stop, but he hit the wall again, smearing blood on the stone that had seen many a prisoner’s fear and frustration. The physical pain momentarily eclipsed the emotional pain, but no amount of blood could wash away the sense of guilt.
Hugo moved away from the window and lay flat as a plank on the cot. He was suddenly exhausted, emotionally and physically, and he sank into a deep sleep while cradling his injured hand.
Chapter 67
Max looked around in wonder, amazed to see so many people lining the streets. The buoyancy of the crowds was amazing to behold; the people of London united for one brief moment in a show of unity and support. Everyone was happy and excited, people chatting loudly over the roar of the crowds and exchanging opinions and bits of gossip. The royal procession would begin in about an hour, but already the streets were impassable; the throngs of people impenetrable as they waited for a glimpse of the royal couple. Max suddenly wished he could just get away. This was all too much. Being pushed and shoved by strangers made him feel angry and anxious, so he carefully made his way through the crowd toward a tavern he’d seen earlier. It was probably closed, but at least he would no longer be in the thick of it. Being surrounded by such happy people united by a sense of camaraderie left him feeling lonelier than ever — a man apart.
The tavern proved to be open, and packed, spectators getting tankards of ale and beer while waiting for the show to begin. Some weren’t as interested in a glimpse of the royals as they were in simply enjoying the day and basking in the feeling of well-being, which permeated every corner of the city on a day like today. Max ordered some beer and sat in the corner, relieved to be in a place where he could have some personal space. He took a sip and leaned back in his chair, watching the comings and goings. He had nowhere to be and no reason to rush. Getting out of the city today would be impossible anyway.
Max stiffened as two men walked into the tavern. One was a stranger, but one he recognized as a guard from the Tower. He was the man who’d escorted him to the trial and clapped him in chains. Max drew into the shadows not wanting to draw attention to himself, but the men were oblivious, happy to have a little time off. They were talking loudly in order to be heard over the crowds outside as they gulped their ale. Max paid no attention to the conversation. It was all “shop talk” about the prisoners at the Tower of London and something about a lion dying at the menagerie. Max ordered some bread and cheese and tucked in, feeling suddenly ravenously hungry. He hadn’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday, but lately his appetite came and went, and he often forgot to eat altogether.
“Have you heard about our latest arrival?” one of the guards asked the other with a look of glee. “A friend of yours, I believe, Cecil.”
“And who might that be?”
“Hugo Everly. Accused of treason. Again.”
“Really?” Cecil asked in astonishment. “Last I heard, he’d been sent down to Barbados. What’s he doing back in London? And up to his old tricks already? I tell you, some people just have a death wish, they do. God’s wounds, if I were a wealthy lord, I’d enjoy my estates, collect rents, and chase all the pretty village girls. Do they still have that custom where the lord of the manor can sample the girls before the marriage?”
“That was during the feudal days, you fool. It was called “Droit du seigneur”,” the man replied with a laugh.
“Well, aren’t you well informed,” Cecil guffawed. “In that case, I’d like to be a feudal lord. Just give me the money and send in the women. I wouldn’t care a jot about who is on the throne or of what faith they are. I’d be lord and master of my own little kingdom.”
“If you’re quite finished fantasizing, oh lord and master, it’s time for us to return. The Constable of the Tower reckons today might be a good day for an escape attempt since attention will be on the coronation, so we
need to return to our posts. Wouldn’t do to have someone break out; there’d be hell to pay.”
“Right you are, Rich. Right you are. Let’s go then.” Cecil threw a coin on the table and followed his companion out into the bright April morning.
Max stared at their retreating backs, his mind still trying to absorb the news he’d just heard. Hugo had been arrested for treason, which meant several things: Neve was alone and vulnerable; Hugo would most likely be executed, and Clarence would inherit the estate as he was meant to, unless Hugo and Neve had a son. Still, the child might lose the title thanks to his father’s propensity for getting caught red-handed. Was it possible that everything would still turn out as it was supposed to? Max wondered as he took a slow pull of beer.
**
The sounds of jubilation had long died down, but Max sat immobile, his bread and cheese forgotten. The tavern wench had refilled his tankard twice, but Max covered it with his hand the last time she came ‘round in the universal gesture of “thanks, but no more.” He had no wish to be drunk. Max was lost in thought, his eyes focused on some faraway point only he could see. He’d felt aimless and depressed for the past few months, but suddenly everything had changed with one random conversation. Or perhaps it hadn’t been random at all; perhaps he was meant to overhear it and act on the information. Years ago, he scoffed at the idea of fate or destiny, but not anymore. Things had a way of happening, as if they were all part of some grand design, invented by a celestial architect who probably had a wicked sense of humor at best or a cruel streak at the very worst.
The news changed everything. Max now had a purpose, a destiny to fulfill. He finally rose to his feet, paid for his food and drink, and made his way out of the tavern onto the less crowded street. People were still celebrating, the inns and public houses overflowing with patrons, and drunken masses of humanity moving in slow motion from place to place. Sounds of song could be heard erupting from various establishments, and the city’s commerce seemed to have come to a standstill, people of every social class taking a few hours out of their mundane lives to celebrate a new chapter in their country’s turbulent history.
The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Page 32