Frances took a drink of water and resumed her pacing. The house beyond her door was quiet; everyone was asleep, even Valentine. Normally, Hugo liked to stay up and read or play a game of dice with Archie, but he’d been abed for the past week recovering from his wound, and even if he weren’t, relations between Archie and him were strained these days. Frances stopped pacing for a moment. She hadn’t seen Archie since early afternoon, and he hadn’t come down for supper either, now that she thought of it. Archie liked to eat in the kitchen, but Neve insisted that they all dine together like a family. Archie found that to be unorthodox, but complied, secretly enjoying the feeling of belonging.
Tonight there were only three of them at supper: Frances, Jem, and Neve, since Archie was out, and Hugo had a tray in bed. He complained bitterly about being treated like an invalid, but Neve gave him one of her basilisk stares and ordered him to follow doctor’s orders if he didn’t wish to be bled. That seemed to have the desired effect and he surrendered with good grace. Frances barely ate anything at supper, and Neve had only picked at her food. She looked tired and worried, despite the fact that Hugo seemed to be recovering. Only Jem had been his usual self, tucking into his meal with relish.
Frances had decided before supper that today would be the day. Hugo was resting; Neve was too busy taking care of him and the baby, and Archie was out somewhere. No one would be the wiser, and she would be free to start her new life with Archie. It had taken them a long time to get to this point, but now their feelings were out in the open, and they could finally speak of the future. And tomorrow, that future would be assured.
Frances sat down for a moment, tired of pacing. She still felt panicky, but the feeling receded somewhat, allowing her to feel more peaceful. She climbed back into bed. Perhaps she might sleep a little before the pains came. Maybe she would miscarry while asleep and wake up to find it all behind her. Sabine said it was like menstruation, and she slept through that all the time. Frances began to drift off when she felt a tensing of her womb. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable. Was it starting? she wondered.
The tightness went away, but came back again a few minutes later. It came and went for about half an hour before the tensing of the womb turned into cramping. Not too bad, Frances thought as she adjusted the rags just in case. There was no bleeding yet. Frances sat down by the empty hearth and waited, moaning quietly and bending over as each new contraction took her breath away. The pain intensified with every passing minute, reminding her of the labor pains she suffered when Gabriel was born. Frances suddenly wished that someone was with her; she was terribly afraid. She wanted Neve, but couldn’t find the strength to go down the hall. Besides, Neve would be upset with her if she realized that this wasn’t a random act of nature, but a deliberate attempt to snuff out a life that bore no responsibility for the foolish actions of its mother or the carelessness of its father. A disturbing thought flashed through Frances’s mind as she stifled a scream; Hugo would see this as murder.
Frances wasn’t sure how much time had passed; it might have been ten minutes or an hour. The pain was becoming unbearable, and she felt nauseous and disoriented. Objects in the room began to move of their own accord, and seemed to be surrounded by an iridescent haze as if they were glowing. Frances shrieked with terror when she thought she saw Lionel lurking behind the heavy wardrobe in the corner. She drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest as wave after wave of terrible pain kept her prisoner. It has to be soon, she thought frantically. Her hands were shaking, and her vision became blurred by disorientation and tears. Frances was crying hard now, and whispering jumbled prayers as she rocked back and forth in a futile attempt to ease her suffering.
At last, she felt a gush of blood between her legs. The rags were soaked in moments, forcing her to reach for the towels and stuff them between her thighs. The blood was hot and thick, coming out in clumps as her body expelled the child. Frances cried with relief, hoping it would all be over soon, but the pain continued to escalate, and the bleeding became more profuse, the towels doing little to contain the flow. Frances’s lower back was aching unbearably, and her womb was contracting, one contraction blending into another. Frances was panting, but felt as if she weren’t getting enough air in her lungs. She needed help; something was wrong.
Frances shuffled to the door, careful not to dislodge the towels between her legs. Blood streaked down her thighs, and she left bloody footprints as she walked. Frances pulled open the door, but couldn’t go any further. “Help,” she called, but her voice sounded weak and frightened and came out more like a squeak. “Help me, please,” she tried again. The world seemed to tilt as Frances grabbed on to the doorjamb for support, but black spots danced before her eyes and strange lights exploded just beyond her line of vision. She slid to the floor. It’s nice and cool, was her last thought before she lost consciousness.
Crimson blood pooled beneath her hips, seeping into the cracks of the parquet and congealing as it cooled. The house was quiet, the night silent, as Frances remained unconscious, life bleeding out of her.
Chapter 55
Archie carefully washed his hands before making his way upstairs. He’d missed supper, and questions would be asked, so he’d have to make something up to explain his absence. He didn’t want to tell Neve that he’d been stalking Hugo’s attacker and had killed him in cold blood; she had enough to worry about. But, he needed her to know that now they were safe. Neve looked worn out, the lack of sleep beginning to tell on her face. She was living in fear, terrified that whoever had attempted to kill Hugo would try again as soon as he was well enough to leave the house. Archie wanted to run upstairs and tell her that Hugo was safe, and she could stop worrying and allow herself to rest easy, but confessing to killing a man, even if he was a hired killer, would not endear him to Neve. Being a woman, she tended to see things as black and white, whereas Archie was more partial to shades of gray. Perhaps he should leave telling Neve up to Hugo. Archie would speak to Hugo tomorrow, and come clean about what he’d done. Tonight’s events might help thaw the relations between them, and they could finally clear the air and move forward.
Hugo would have no choice but to forgive him for his behavior toward Frances. Archie smiled at the thought of Frances. Funny, how before no one ever cared when he took a woman to bed, but the one time he’d done the chivalrous thing, he was painted as a blackguard. It had been worth it. He knew now that Frances loved him, and they would make a life together no matter what. Hugo would probably insist that Archie marry Frances, and he would do so gladly. He wasn’t so glad about Luke’s child, but he’d made a promise, and he would keep it. He would accept the child as his own, and love it even if it killed him, for Frances’s sake. The girl had suffered enough not to spend a lifetime being made to pay for her mistakes. She was young and naïve and needed his protection and guidance, not derision and guilt.
Archie wished that he could go see Frances and tell her that all would be well, but it was late, and she would be asleep. She’d looked so wan these past few days, worrying about the future and her fractured relationship with Hugo. They would talk tomorrow. As his father always said, “Good news will keep, and bad news won’t leave.” Archie sprinted up the stairs and was just about to head to the top floor when he saw something white lying on the floor by Frances’s room. He turned away from the stairs and made his way down the hall, unsure of what he was seeing, but suddenly scared.
“Oh, dear God,” he exclaimed. Frances was lying in a pool of blood, her body at an unnatural angle, as if someone just threw her down in a heap. She was cold to the touch, her skin almost translucent in the moonlight streaming through the window. Archie grabbed the girl’s wrist and held his breath as he felt for a pulse. It was weak, but her heart was beating, so there was still hope. He lifted her off the floor, laid her on the bed, and covered her with a blanket before going for help. He’d never entered Hugo’s bedchamber without permission, but he had no choice; he needed Neve.
“My lady,” A
rchie called as he burst into the room. “My lady, please help. It’s Frances,” he cried. He was about to shake Neve awake, but she was already up, her eyes full of terror as she stared as Archie, trying to comprehend what had happened. He hated to frighten her, but he had no choice. Time was of the essence. Hugo tried to sit up, but winced with pain and sank back onto the pillows.
“What’s happened, Archie?” Hugo asked, his calm voice masking the worry in his eyes.
“Frances is bleeding, and she’s insensible. I’m going for the doctor. Please see to her. I don’t know what she’s done, but she’s dying.”
Archie didn’t wait for a reply as he flew down the stairs and into the night. His mind was desperate for answers, but they wouldn’t know anything until Frances came to. All he knew was that if he hadn’t come home when he had, Frances would have certainly died. She still might, but at least there was a chance. He didn’t bother saddling the horse, just vaulted onto the startled animal and galloped down the empty street.
Every moment that the doctor took to get ready felt like an hour to Archie, but he remained patient, waiting for the man to get dressed and collect his medical bag. The doctor’s horse had already been saddled by the sleepy groom and waiting outside when they finally emerged. Archie wished the man would hurry, but he rode at a trot, refusing to be rushed.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” the doctor said with a note of sympathy in his voice. Archie’s panic came off him in waves, but galloping down the dark streets of Paris would put them in danger of colliding with an oncoming vehicle.
Archie nearly dragged the man off his horse as soon as they got to the house. He didn’t even bother to tie the horse to a post or give it some water and oats. Instead, he ran upstairs before him, unable to wait any longer. Frances was still and white, the only spot of color the blood on her shift. Neve was pale and shaken, her hands covered in blood, and her own nightdress smeared with red streaks. She’d done her best to clean Frances up, but the tang of blood filled Archie’s nostrils, nearly making him gag. He sank to his knees by the bed and carefully took Frances’s hand. It was limp, but he could feel a barely noticeable pulsing in her wrist. There was still hope.
“Oh, thank God,” Neve breathed as the doctor finally entered the room. She moved out of the way to allow the doctor to approach the girl. “Please, Doctor LeGrand, save her,” she pleaded. “I don’t know what happened, but she’s lost a lot of blood.”
“I will do what I can, milady. Now, please, get me some clean water and towels, and get a cup of brandy for yourself and the young man. I think he’s about to have an apoplexy. And get him out of here.”
Archie opened his mouth to protest, but the doctor just held up his hand. “Leave now. This is no place for you.”
Neve grabbed Archie’s hand and pulled him from the room. She led him to the parlor and poured him a large brandy before taking one for herself and drinking it in one long swallow. Her hands were shaking, and she was ashen, but the brandy seemed to help. They both turned to the door as Hugo came in. He was walking slowly, holding on to the wall for support since he was still weakened from loss of blood. His chest was heavily bandaged, and his face was pale from the effort. Hugo sank into a chair and held out his hand for a cup of brandy as well.
“How is Frances?” he asked as he drained the cup and held it out to Neve for a refill. Archie held out his cup too. Before long, they would all be falling down drunk, but emotions were running high and there was nothing to do but wait.
“I think Frances tried to abort the baby,” Neve replied, watching Hugo’s expression, which went from worry to shock.
“Why? Archie, did you refuse to marry her?” Hugo asked, gazing at Archie with suspicion.
“No, but the child is not mine. I lied to you to protect Frances. It’s Luke’s, and she didn’t want it. I love her, Hugo. I swore I’d love the child, but she must not have believed me,” Archie explained miserably.
“Luke’s?” Hugo asked. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes in exasperation. “Luke begged her to marry him. Why didn’t she? He would have given her a good life.”
“Because she doesn’t love him,” Neve replied. “She loves Archie.”
“So, why in the name of all that’s holy did she allow him to fuck her?” Hugo exclaimed, finally losing control.
“Because I wouldn’t,” Archie replied.
Hugo held up his hand to silence Archie. He’d heard enough. “Now I understand why everyone wants sons,” he mumbled to himself as he shook his head. “It’s not because they perpetuate the bloodline and inherit; it’s because they are much easier on the nerves — and the heart,” he added.
Neve sat down next to Hugo and rested her head against his shoulder. Everyone just waited. There was nothing to say or do.
Chapter 56
Frances was walking down a dark wooded path. She couldn’t see anything between the trunks of the trees, but felt the danger all around her. Strange noises carried on the wind, and countless eyes watched her as she made her way through the forest. She had no idea where she was going or why, but she knew she had to get there. She was terrified and lost. She tried to run, but her feet barely moved, refusing to obey. She was terribly thirsty, but there was no water anywhere, just thickly growing trees with branches that intertwined over her head to block out all the light and obscure the sky. She couldn’t even tell if it was day or night, but it had to be night because the darkness was almost impenetrable.
Frances heard the sound of rushing water and hurried toward it, but her progress was very slow; her limbs heavy. She saw a stream and kneeled down gratefully, but the stream was dark, blood tinting the murky water and spreading on the surface. Frances gasped and tried to turn away, but suddenly her hands were covered in blood, and a red stain bloomed on her shift just between her hips. Frances began to scream, but there was no one to hear her, no one to help. She fell onto the bank of the stream and just lay there, suddenly sure that she was about to die.
Something was lying next to her. It was mewling pitifully, so she forced herself to sit up and look for the source of the crying. It was a baby, tightly swaddled in a winding sheet. Frances’s heart leaped in her chest. “Oh, dear God, Gabriel,” she cried as she picked up the baby and held it close. The baby opened his eyes and looked at her, his expression one of an adult, not a child. “Come with me,” his eyes seemed to be saying. “We can be together again.”
Frances wanted to answer, but the words got stuck in her throat. She wanted to be with Gabriel, but something held her back, something important. She couldn’t quite remember what it was. She just held the baby and rocked him until he went to sleep in the crook of her arm. Frances was so exhausted, she could barely sit up straight, so she allowed herself to lie down on the bank and closed her eyes.
Frances wasn’t sure how long she remained there, but by the time she woke up, the sky seemed to have lightened, and the water was no longer streaked with red, but sparkling as it flowed by. Frances looked down at her hands; they were clean, and her shift was new. Gabriel was gone. It was only a dream, she thought groggily, only a dream. She tried to pry her eyes open, but couldn’t. Her body felt heavy and uncooperative, so she just allowed herself to lie quietly, listening to the wind moving through the trees above her head and to the birds who were singing now that the night was finally over. Eventually, different sounds began to penetrate her brain. She heard a male voice, but it wasn’t anyone she recognized.
“Frances, can you hear me?” A warm hand rested on her forehead, and she felt the pressure of a tube against her chest. “Frances?”
“Hmm,” was all that Frances could manage. She wanted to reply, but her tongue wouldn’t comply. It felt wooly and too large for her mouth. Her limbs felt as if they were weighted down with iron bars, and her lips were dry and cracked.
“Will she live?”
That was Neve. She sounded so frightened. Frances tried to open her eyes to reassure Neve that she was still here, but
couldn’t.
“Yes,” the man said. Doctor LeGrand, that’s who it is, Frances thought happily.
“What had she taken?” Hugo asked. He sounded furious, but Frances heard the underlying fear in his voice. He cared about her, just like a real father, she mused. She didn’t want him to be angry with her.
“She’s taken an infusion of rue. Many women take it to rid themselves of unwanted children, but what Frances must have taken was rue oil, not tea. The oil is more concentrated and highly dangerous; a large dose can be fatal. She suffered not only a miscarriage, but poisoning as well. Rue causes an initial period of anxiety and an excess of energy, then stimulates the womb. I expect that Frances also suffered nausea, tremors, headache, and hallucinations. It would have been better if she vomited the poison; the effects wouldn’t have been as severe. She would have most certainly died had Archie not found her in time.”
“Will she recover, Doctor?” Archie asked. His voice was shaking, and Frances felt a wave of guilt for putting Archie through this torture. She’d done it for him, but now he would feel responsible.
“It will take some time, and I am not at all certain that she will be able to conceive again. She might have damaged her womb, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Time will tell. Frances is to have nothing but broth for the next few days. No solids, not even bread. Her body needs to be cleansed of the poison. She’s still not fully conscious, but she will eventually wake up, and when she does, she will feel achy, disoriented, and weak.”
“Dear God, I can’t believe she’s done this to herself,” Neve breathed. “How would she even know to take rue?”
“Perhaps she learned of its properties from Sister Angela,” Hugo suggested. “You did say she helped out in the preparation of medicines while at the convent.”
Sins of Omission Page 30