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

by Irina Shapiro

  “Max, you are offering to die in my place,” Hugo retorted. “I must admit that I am somewhat taken aback by your pangs of conscience at this late stage, but you don’t understand what you’re suggesting. This is not a game.”

  “Don’t talk to me of games, Hugo. I am the one who’d been sent down to a sugar plantation. I still have marks on my back as a souvenir of the flogging I received, and I’d agreed to be buried alive and ingested puffer fish poison to facilitate my escape. I know this isn’t a game, but having gone through all that to save my life, once safe, I realized that my life is actually quite worthless. I’ve thought this through.”

  “This is absurd. I won’t do it,” Hugo hissed as the muffled sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. The guard was coming back.

  “Yes, you will. You will do it for Neve because she doesn’t deserve to be a widow. I have never known love like that, Hugo. If I had a woman who loved me as much as Neve loves you, I would do anything to stay alive. I would sacrifice anything, including a man who wronged you.”

  “What is it you’re really after, Max?”

  Max hung his head for a moment before answering, his breathing labored. “Redemption. I want redemption.”

  Hugo opened his mouth to reply when they heard the jangle of keys outside the door. Their eyes met as Max pushed the cloak into Hugo’s hands. “Go.”

  “I’ll be back in three days, Max. I need to see to my family and try to figure out what evidence the Crown has on me, but I will be back. You have my word. I’m not prepared to let you sacrifice your life for me.”

  “That’s my decision to make,” Max replied as he sat down on the cot.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Just go.”

  Hugo threw on the cloak, pulled the hood up over his head, and followed the guard out the door, his heart thumping painfully against his ribs. The corridors were illuminated by the faint light coming from several sconces, the flames of the torches flickering and casting eerie shadows onto the walls. This part of the Tower wasn’t beneath ground, but it felt like a tomb; the inmates buried alive, their chances of regaining freedom practically nonexistent. The next time most of them walked out of this prison would be to face their executioner. Some received a pardon, but Hugo wouldn’t be one of them— not this time.

  His insides twisted with guilt, but he forced himself to walk on, his eyes glued to the stone floor until he was outside in the fresh April air, walking through the gates and out to freedom. Max’s horse was tethered outside, just as he said, but Hugo chose not to ride. He led the animal by the reins, needing some time just to walk and come to terms with what had just occurred. He still doubted Max’s motives. Could a person truly have such a drastic change of heart?

  Even if Max were repentant, Hugo couldn’t accept his sacrifice. What kind of man would that make him? He supposed many would, especially given their past history, but this just wasn’t right. To kill Max during an altercation would have been honorable; to simply condemn him to death wasn’t. But, Max had given Hugo a welcome reprieve, an opportunity to see to Neve and try to discredit the evidence against him. He would return in three days as promised, and set Max free, perhaps to return home to the twenty-first century. Hugo smiled bitterly as he imagined himself as Lord Everly in that distant future. How sweet it would be.

  **

  The streets were deserted and nearly pitch dark, the overhanging top floors of Tudor houses that stood shoulder to shoulder like a line of soldiers casting the streets of Blackfriars into deep shadow. Narrow alleyways gaped like open mouths, their dank breath stinking of refuse and rotten vegetables. Only the light of the moon lit Hugo’s way as he walked in the direction of the Strand. The night was still, but a slight tang of the Thames hovered in the air, bringing with it the smell of wet mud, which couldn’t overpower the scent of new grass and flowers that grew stronger as Hugo left Blackfriars behind. What was it about spring that made a man so acutely aware of his desire to live? Somehow, dying in the dead of winter never seemed as devastating as it did when the world was bursting with life, the cold and dark of winter replaced at last by sunlight and color.

  Hugo hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door of Brad’s house. He could see a narrow chink of light glowing between the shutters on the ground floor. Someone was still awake, and he hoped it was Archie. He was desperate to see Neve, but talking the situation over with Archie would help him put things in perspective, and maybe come up with a feasible plan of action before facing his distraught wife. He needed to reassure her, not inform her that he would be going back to the Tower in three days’ time, and this might be their last goodbye.

  Hugo took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door. He felt momentary relief when he heard Archie’s heavy footsteps, but the relief was quickly replaced by surprise as Neve, Frances, Brad, and Jem filed into the foyer, all talking over each other, their faces alight with joy at seeing him.

  “Hugo,” Neve flew into his arms, her face tearstained and wan, but her eyes shining with happiness. “Did they let you go? Was it all a terrible mistake?” She looked so hopeful, so relieved, that Hugo’s throat tightened with regret.

  “No, it wasn’t, love. I’ll explain later,” he mumbled, loath to tell Neve that he was still under arrest and would have to go back. Hugo was spared further questions when Jem flew at him and wrapped his arms about his middle. “Jem, what are you doing here? Is your father with you? Did you come for the coronation?” Hugo’s heart swelled with joy at the sight of the boy. He’d missed him so much since his father took Jem to live with him. Jem wasn’t Hugo’s son, but he would always be his first child, the first person who truly needed him and gave him unconditional love. Losing Jem had been painful for them all, but most of all for Hugo since he’d had no choice in the matter. To insist on keeping Jem would be to deny him a future he deserved, but Nick Marsden, although a good friend and honorable man could never love the boy as Hugo did.

  Jem shook his head against Hugo’s chest but made no reply. Hugo bent down and kissed the top of Jem’s head, the curls tickling his nose. Last time he held Jem his head only reached to Hugo’s waist. He was a child no longer. He was thirteen now, practically a man. Hugo held him at arm’s length studying his face. There was just a shadow of fuzz on his upper lip, and he’d grown at least a foot since they said goodbye in Paris. Jem’s voice was still that of a boy, but it wouldn’t be long before it changed, and all traces of the child were gone forever. “I’ll deal with you later,” Hugo said softly. “I’m happy to see you, Jemmy.”

  “Hugo, there’ve been some developments,” Brad said quietly as they all trooped into the parlor. Frances went to get some refreshments from the kitchen while everyone took a seat, eager to hear what Hugo had to say. He wasn’t even sure where to begin. To try to explain Max’s visit defeated even his imagination, so he turned to Brad.

  “What’s happened, Brad?”

  “Someone made an accusation against Neve. An ecclesiastical committee is already in Cranley, ready to arrest her as soon as she returns. I’ve come to warn her.”

  Hugo stared at Brad, his mouth open in shock. An accusation of witchcraft? He expelled his breath and took a seat by the hearth, suddenly exhausted. They’d returned to England less than four months ago, and already their peaceful existence in Rouen was nothing but a distant memory. Would they never be able to just live their lives without the constant threat of danger?

  Hugo waited until Frances handed around cups of ale and set down some bread and cheese on the sideboard. He gulped down his ale and held out his cup for a refill. He was hungry, but food would have to wait. Five pairs of eyes were boring into him, waiting for an explanation and some reassurance that Neve wouldn’t have to face trial.

  “Right,” Hugo began. “I have been granted a three-day reprieve, the reasons for which I am still trying to understand.”

  “A reprieve from the Tower?” Archie asked, his eyes round with incredulity.

  “In
a manner of speaking. I must use this time to discover what evidence the Crown has against me and try to discredit it. We also have to figure out how to deal with this baseless accusation against Neve,” he added. Hugo still couldn’t believe this was real. Who would make such an accusation at this stage? And why?

  “Neve must remain in London,” Brad chimed in. “She will be taken as soon as she returns.”

  “I have to go back to the children,” Neve protested. “I can’t stay away indefinitely. There’s nothing the committee can do to me. There’s no proof of anything.”

  “Proof is not always necessary,” Hugo replied, reminding Neve of her time in Newgate. “Proof can be fabricated, as we all know.”

  Neve shook her head stubbornly. “I must go back, Hugo. I must be with the children.”

  Hugo looked at the expectant faces. They assumed he had a plan, and one was forming in his mind, but he needed a little time to finesse the details.

  “Brad, I’d like you to escort Neve and Frances back to Surrey. Archie, I need you to remain in London, and Jem, go with Lady Everly. Brad, you can send a message to me with Jem. It’s not safe for me to remain here, so I’ll be at the Black Dog in Blackfriars. Now, I need a few minutes with Archie, if you don’t mind.”

  Hugo pulled Neve into his arms as everyone began to file out of the parlor. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but the words simply wouldn’t come, so they just stood together, her head on his shoulder, his chin resting on her golden curls. Neve finally broke the embrace and looked up at him. “Is this it, Hugo? Is this the end?” He could hear the fear in her voice, but couldn’t bear to lie to her.

  “I don’t know, but I will do everything in my power to keep you and the children safe.”

  “And will you keep yourself safe as well?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “How did you get out?”

  “I left Max in my place,” Hugo replied with a smile.

  “That’s not even remotely funny.”

  “No, it’s not, but it happens to be true. I’ll explain when I come up. I didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone. Go get ready for bed; I’ll join you presently.” Hugo planted a lingering kiss on Neve’s lips before finally releasing her. “Go,” he whispered.

  Archie closed the door behind Neve and turned to Hugo, his face filled with determination. “What’s the plan?” he asked without preamble. “What will you have me do?”

  “Go home,” Hugo replied as he reached for some bread and cheese.

  “Home?”

  “Go back to Cranley, but keep your presence a secret. You can stay with your father; his farm is remote enough that no one will know you’re there. Find out who made the accusation against Neve and what evidence they have,” Hugo clarified as he chewed slowly. His mind was going in circles, but he needed to organize his thoughts and come up with a viable plan. He pushed his plate aside, no longer hungry.

  “There are three reasons why someone would make an accusation of witchcraft,” Hugo theorized as he began pacing in front of the hearth, something he frequently did while formulating an idea.

  “One: The accusation was made by a religious zealot who sees evil behind every bush. Two: Neve is somehow a threat, and this would get her out of the way. And three: This is done out of revenge, either against Neve or myself. Once we know what we are dealing with, we’ll decide on a course of action.”

  “What course of action did you have in mind?” Archie asked, still considering the three choices.

  “A zealot would be the hardest to dissuade, but if this is, in fact, a case of revenge or jealousy, there is always a financial angle to pursue. Everyone can be bought at the right price. If the accuser can be paid not to testify, the case would very quickly fall apart, and Neve would be safe from persecution.”

  “I can’t think of any religious fanatics in Cranley, can you?” Archie asked, his brow furrowed.

  “No. I wager this has nothing to do with witchcraft at all,” Hugo mused as he helped himself to another cup of ale. “Just make sure that Neve has nothing to do with your investigation. The committee must not learn of your efforts on Neve’s behalf. The accuser must withdraw their accusation without any hint of interference, understand?”

  “Of course,” Archie replied. “And what will you do in the meantime?”

  “I’ll start by having a friendly chat with Henry FitzRoy,” Hugo replied, his voice suddenly laced with anger. “He’s the only person who could have betrayed me, and like myself, he has much to lose. Henry is playing both sides, pandering to his cousin Mary while still maintaining his loyalty to his uncle, Mary’s father, James II. At this stage, he believes an armed invasion by James is a real possibility, and must convince James of his loyalty should he reclaim the throne.”

  Of course, Hugo knew this wouldn’t happen and William and Mary would rule for years to come, but Henry FitzRoy, illegitimate son of Charles II, nephew to James II, and cousin to Queen Mary, did not. Revealing his double-dealing to Mary, who was no doubt already suspicious, being the clever political consort to her husband for years, would destroy any credibility Henry had at Court and possibly force Mary’s hand in having Henry incarcerated for treason. Hugo had no wish to see Henry arrested, but he would blackmail him if it came to that.

  “Watch yourself,” Archie advised unnecessarily. “He’s a duplicitous bastard.”

  “That he is,” Hugo replied. “But, everyone has a weak spot, and I know Henry’s. Get some rest, Archie,” Hugo said as he turned toward the door. “This might be my last night with my wife,” he said sadly. “I want to make sure it’s memorable for us both.”

  Chapter 2

  His Majesty, King William III sank into a comfortable chair in front of the hearth and stretched his booted feet out to the fire, enjoying the warmth. He’d been attending to royal duties since rising at dawn, and his back ached from sitting on the throne, his back erect and shoulders rigid as he saw petitioner after petitioner, followed by a session with his advisors, and a never-ending supper which left his bowels groaning with indigestion. The king’s steward, Wilf, placed a cup of hot milk at his master’s side and retired discreetly to the corner to await further instructions, his day not over until William was tucked into bed. William reached for the cup of milk and took a sip, sighing with pleasure. He drank wine and brandy all day long, but his drink of choice was a simple cup of hot milk with a teaspoon of honey mixed in. It soothed the nerves as well as his irritated throat. Having to talk all day left William nearly mute by the time he finally came up to bed, a time when Mary liked to discuss the events of the day. Mary had retired early, pleading a headache, and William was more than happy to spend a few blissful minutes alone before his guest arrived.

  It was nearly midnight, but Jurgen Van Houten was a man who favored the night and felt most comfortable under the cover of darkness. William smiled at the thought of his old friend. He’d known Jurgen since the two were hardly more than children. Jurgen was the youngest son of the head groom at the palace where William grew up. He’d been something of a troublemaker then, and the perfect secret ally for a boy whose life revolved around duty and sacrifice. Despite the differences in their stations, Jurgen never treated William as a royal scion, but more as a timid friend who needed gentle prodding to loosen up enough to allow a little bit of fun into his otherwise overly structured life.

  William often snuck out to meet Jurgen in the stables after midnight, and the two had adventures together which seemed wild and exciting at the time, but were really nothing more than acts of rebellion more appropriate to peasants. As they reached their adolescence, the adventures took on a somewhat different character, but Jurgen assured William that a man had to have real experience of certain aspects of life rather than just acquired knowledge or advice from his elders. William hadn’t disagreed, but still blushed with embarrassment when he recalled some of the situations he’d allowed Jurgen to lure him into. Still, he had fond memories of those times, and the experience he acquired ha
d served him well, as had the brotherly camaraderie of his only real friendship.

  These days, Jurgen was a prosperous businessman who owned several merchant ships as well as a sugar plantation in the West Indies. William was sure that Jurgen dabbled in slavery and owned several brothels in his native Holland, but he didn’t judge. Jurgen Van Houten was the only person in his life who wasn’t intimidated by his station and had the courage to tell William the truth when asked for counsel. And tonight, William could use the advice of a trusted companion.

  William smiled as the door opened to admit his friend. Jurgen hadn’t changed much over the years. He was still slight and lean, his dark hair worn long, and his pointy beard thick and wiry above the intricately embroidered navy-blue doublet. Jurgen favored dark colors, preferring to appear sober rather than frivolous. His dark eyes twinkled with merriment as he spotted the glass of milk in William’s hands.

  “Wilf, bring me a brandy. A large one,” he added as he took a seat opposite William and folded his hands in front of his lean stomach.

  “Hard day?” he asked William, already knowing the answer.

  “You might say that, old friend. I’m afraid I’m in need of your advice,” William replied as he drained his cup of milk and handed it to Wilf, who came in on quiet feet with the brandy. Jurgen’s eyes slid to Wilf, but William waved a hand in a gesture of dismissal. Wilf had been with him for nearly a decade, a faithful retainer who knew how to meet his master’s every need and keep his mouth shut. Wilf never gossiped, his loyalty absolute. And for that, William treated the man with the respect he deserved and rewarded him handsomely at least once a year to remind Wilf of his gratitude.

  “We can speak freely,” William assured Jurgen, seeing the look of apprehension on his friend’s face. Jurgen valued his privacy, and for good reason, but he had nothing to fear from Wilf. Jurgen shrugged in acquiescence and turned back to William.