“Didn’t what?” the driver asked, looking up at the man with curiosity.
“Maybe he didn’t run out on her,” he replied. Something in Abbie’s mind snapped at the sound of the soldier’s voice. He sounded so like Finn that the tears began to flow again, her vision blurring to the point where she couldn’t see anything at all. Her head snapped up as the officer suddenly jumped onto the bench of the cart, startling the driver and the horses. The horses reared, taking off at a gallop, the cart rocking from side to side. The driver tried to rein in the horses, managing to slow them down to a trot.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled at the officer, turning to face him, his mouth opening in shock as he saw the glint of sun on the dagger in the officer’s hand. He barely made a sound as it slid between his ribs, piercing the heart with fatal precision, his body sliding off the bench and into the dirt road like a sack of oats.
The soldier who had been with her in the cart was on his feet, musket drawn, frozen with indecision. Killing an officer was an offense punishable by death, and he had no idea what was happening. That split moment of uncertainty cost him his advantage as the second officer leapt into the cart, knocking him down. The two struggled, knocking Abbie off the bench and right out of the wagon. She flew out onto the dirt road, landing painfully on her bound hands. The fall knocked the wind out of her, leaving her dazed, her ears ringing. Abbie’s mouth and nose were full of dirt, making her cough and gasp for air as she rolled over onto her back, trying to sit up and get her bearings.
Abbie looked around in panic, not understanding what was happening. Why were British soldiers fighting British soldiers, and what did they want with her? The cart rocked from side to side as the soldiers wrestled with each other, evenly matched in size and strength. The horses stomped their feet, their nostrils flaring as they sensed danger. The other two horses wandered off, grazing peacefully halfway down the street. Abbie’s vision was still blurred, but she froze in terror as the officer who stabbed the driver jumped off the bench, heading toward her, knife in hand. Was he going to kill her too? She tried to scoot away from him as he got closer, but her bound hands and tangle of skirts prevented her from moving more than a foot or so. He got on his knees next to her, taking her by the shoulders, but she struggled against him, screaming in fear.
“Abbie, are you all right?” Finn was shaking her by the shoulders, his faces inches away from hers. “Abbie, it’s me.” She just stared at him, still in shock, unable to comprehend what just happened.
“Abbie, look at me.” Finn took her face in his hands, forcing her to focus on his face. It took her a few moments to comprehend that he was really there, and not a figment of her imagination. He pulled her close, holding her tight as she sobbed into his chest, her arms around his neck like a vice, afraid to let go.
The scuffle in the wagon seemed to be over. The guard had put up a good fight, but Sam finally managed to knock him out, using the butt of his own musket. He lay sprawled in the bed of the wagon, his face bloody and his body limp, but still alive. Sam had turned away from the guard, distracted by Abbie’s screams and needing to see that she was all right.
Abbie had never been so happy to see Sam in her whole life. She tried to smile at him to reassure him that she was all right as she noticed movement behind him. The guard had come to, and was reaching for the musket Sam had carelessly left in the cart.
“Sam, behind you!” she yelled as Sam spun around, but it was too late. The guard had managed to grab the musket, his hands shaking with effort. Abbie watched in horror as he drove the bayonet into Sam’s stomach. Sam fell to his knees, blood soaking his red tunic, his mouth open in shock as his hand went to the wound. He stared at the blood on his hands as if unable to comprehend that the blood was his own, and he’d really been wounded. The guard was still in the cart, musket pointed at Finn and Abbie as he tried to get to his feet. Finn shoved Abbie out of the way as the guard fired, thankfully missing them both. Finn ran toward the wagon before he had the chance to prime and load again. Finn wrenched the gun out of the soldier’s hands, turning it on him and driving the bayonet into his chest. The man fell over the side of the wagon and hit the ground with a thud, already dead.
“Finn, help me,” Sam moaned. He was on the ground next to the wagon, his hands clutching his belly. “Finn, please.”
“Abbie, help me,” Finn called out. “We need to get Sam in the wagon.” Abbie grabbed Sam’s legs as Finn grabbed him beneath the arms, lifting him into the wagon. He shrugged off his tunic and folded it beneath Sam’s head then tore off both his sleeves, wadding them up and stuffing them into Sam’s tunic to staunch the blood. Sam looked ashen, his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling as he gasped for breath.
“Abbie, keep pressure on his wound. We need to go, and quickly.” Finn removed the driver’s coat, putting it on as he took the reins, turning the cart toward the Eastern Wharf and away from City Hall Park. Abbie felt as if someone suddenly poured a bucket of ice water over her. This wasn’t some dream. This was real and Sam could die. All thoughts of her execution were forgotten as she held the wadded cloth against the wound, begging Sam to hold on.
“Finn, where are we going?” she cried, terrified.
“There’s a boat waiting for us at the wharf. We’ll cross to Staten Island and then go back to Jenkins farm. We need to get away from here as quickly as possible.”
Finn jumped onto the bench and grabbed the reins, driving the cart down the street at breakneck speed. Several people had seen them and might raise the alert before they had a chance to get away. Abbie had noticed a curious female face in a second-floor window, the woman’s hand pressed to her mouth as she took in the carnage, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was getting Sam to safety. The streets were filling with traffic, making it more difficult for Finn to maneuver and forcing him to slow down. Several people just stared after them, curious to see what the hurry was. Abbie breathed a sigh of relief as she finally saw the water sparkling in the sunlight. They were almost there. Just a little further.
The boat was already waiting for them, a grizzled old man at the oars. He reluctantly got out and helped Finn carry Sam into the waiting boat, laying him on the bottom where he wouldn’t be noticed. Finn got in after Abbie, eager to leave Manhattan and the manhunt that would soon be under way.
The boat was old and weathered, hardly large enough for the four of them. Sam lay on the bottom, frighteningly still as Abbie tried to talk to him, but he wasn’t answering. His face was clammy to the touch, his lips devoid of any color. The old man began to row, humming a tuneless melody as if there was nothing remotely strange about transporting a wounded man and a woman sentenced to hang. He was surprisingly strong for a man his age, his muscles bunching under his dirty shirt as he rowed steadily across the Narrows. Finn sat erect, trying to look like an officer crossing to Staten Island with his lady. The less attention they attracted the better. There weren’t many boats on the water, but all it took was one person to notice that something wasn’t quite right.
“You have my coin?” the man asked suspiciously. “Mrs. Morse said you’d pay me well. Should keep me in drink for at least a week.” He grinned at the thought of spending his well-earned money at the tavern, oblivious to the bleeding young man at his feet. Finn silently handed over a few coins, his attention on Sam. Abbie tore off the hem of her chemise, wetting it and using it to wipe Sam’s face. His face was the color of whey, but he opened his eyes, looking up at Abbie with a slight smile.
“You just hang on, you hear me? We’ll get you back to the farm and take care of you. Don’t you even think of dying on me after you saved me.” Abbie wiped his face again, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Don’t die on me, Sam. Please.”
Finn drew her to him as she began to shake. The shock was beginning to wear off, reality setting in. They were still in danger, and would be until they reached Mr. Jenkins’s farm. It was imperative that they dock in some remote place and then make their way on f
oot to the farm.
“Dock at South Beach,” croaked Sam. “We should be able to walk to Dongan Hill from there. Finn, do you remember where the farm is?”
“I’ll find it. Don’t you worry. Just rest. How do you feel?”
“Cold,” Sam whispered, his eyes closing. Finn put his arm around Abbie as she looked at him in panic. Sam’s gaze was glazed, his eyes unable to focus. He seemed to be bleeding a little less, probably because he was lying down.
“We’re nearly there. He’ll make it, Abbie. You’ll see.” She just leaned against Finn, closing her eyes. Her arms and legs felt like lead, and her head was pounding, the light hurting her eyes, but she couldn’t afford to let herself fall apart. She’d rest later, once Sam was safely at the farm. She couldn’t believe how much the situation had changed in one hour and the irony of it.
“I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I’d die alone, and now it’s Sam who’s dying. Oh, Finn, how did it all go so wrong?” Finn just held her close, not knowing what to say. They took a great risk doing that they did, and this was the price they had to pay for saving Abbie’s life.
Sam moaned as they helped him out of the boat, setting him on his feet. “Godspeed,” the old man called out as he rowed away, a big grin on his face. He’d earned his money and he was eager to spend it. He didn’t care what happened to them now that he’d gotten paid.
“Can he be trusted not to betray us?” Abbie asked.
“Yes,” Sam mouthed as he nearly collapsed onto the sand. “He’ll go to the gallows too if he betrays us. Finn, you have to leave me. Help me to a sheltered spot and go on. Take Abbie to Mr. Jenkins and come back for me with the wagon. I can’t walk on my own, and I don’t want to hold you back. They’ll be looking for her once they realize she’s gone and two soldiers are dead. Keep her safe, Finn.” Sam’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, his lips turning bluish.
“I’m not leaving him, Finn. I’m not,” Abbie said fiercely.
“Listen to me; if you get caught, Sam’s sacrifice would have been for nothing. The best thing we can do is go back to the farm and get the wagon. Mr. Jenkins and I will come back for Sam. We’ll hide him over there for now. All we can do is pray that he lasts another few hours. Now help me make him comfortable.” Finn dragged Sam to a secluded spot, laying him down in the shade. He hoped he’d bleed less if lying down. He poured some water into Sam’s mouth; putting the bottle in his hand should he want a drink.
“Sam, I’ll be back for you very soon. Just hold on, all right? Don’t give up, no matter what.” Abbie looked away as Finn held Sam’s head to his chest, kissing the top of his head. “You hold on.”
“Just go already,” Sam whispered, a small smile on his face. “I’ll be here, waiting.” Abbie kissed Sam, smoothing away a lock of dark hair from his clammy forehead.
“I love you.” She turned away to hide her tears from her brother. “Let’s go.” Finn followed at a brisk pace, knowing better than to talk. She was in hell, and all he could do was return for Sam as soon as he could.
September 1624
France
Chapter 48
Alec felt a chill as soon as he passed through the doors of the convent. It wasn’t just the cold reception he and Valerie received at the gate, but also the bone-chilling cold of a building made entirely of stone, with windows no wider than arrow slits, allowing in very little light and warmth. The sunshine of early September did not penetrate the cold or the gloom of the monastery, giving the impression of being in a tomb. The silence was so complete that it almost hurt his ears as he followed an elderly nun to the office of Mother Superior.
The nun had refused to admit them, saying that their order was almost entirely cut off from the outside world and did not permit visitors, but he wouldn’t be turned away so easily. After several minutes of arguing, the nun finally agreed to consult Mother Superior, and returned for them with a look of severe disapproval on her weathered face, her lips pursed to the point of almost being invisible. She glided down the stone hallway as if her feet didn’t touch the ground, frowning at the sound of Alec’s boots echoing through the dim halls.
They passed the chapel where countless candles burned at the feet of Christ, casting eerie shadows on his face and making it appear almost lifelike. The chapel smelled of wax and wood polish, but there were no signs of life, not even nuns at prayer. What had it been like to grow up in a place like this? No wonder Genevieve was so timid and shy. Most likely, she’d never known the sound of joy or laughter, or the comfort of touch.
Their guide brought them to an arched doorway at the end of the corridor and knocked lightly before turning on her heel and leaving without a word.
“Ready?” Valerie asked. She looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but here, and suddenly Alec felt the same way. Why had he come? What was he hoping to find? Whatever information lay on the other side of the door wouldn’t really change anything. Nothing Mother Superior could tell him would change the fact that his sister was dead by her own hand, and that her daughter was the product of an encounter which most likely lead to her suicide. All he could do now was offer Genevieve the love and protection that she’d lacked since the day she was born, and in that small way, hope to make up for the actions of her parents. But at this point it was too late to turn back. Alec gave Valerie a rueful smile before he turned the brass handle of the door.
“Ready.”
Mother Superior sat behind a carved desk, her hands steepled in front of her as if in prayer; a narrow shaft of light illuminating her stern face. She appeared to be somewhere in her mid-fifties with a narrow face, serious eyes, and lips that were so colorless, they almost blended into her pale skin. Unlike the other sisters who worked in the garden and tended the animals, she probably spent most of her time on administrative tasks, rarely setting foot outdoors. There was no sign of welcome as she gestured them to two high-backed chairs facing the desk.
“How can I help?” she asked, clearly displeased by their presence.
“Reverend Mother, a few weeks ago a young woman named Genevieve came to find me in London, claiming to be the daughter of my sister, Rose Whitfield, and informing me of her death. I must admit that I was shocked to learn that my sister gave birth to an illegitimate child and then took her own life. I am here to find out what happened to Rose once she came to your convent.” It hadn’t been Alec’s intention to be so blunt, but Mother Superior’s frosty reception left him in little doubt that putting things in a more diplomatic way would do nothing to help their cause. She didn’t look inclined to give them any more time than strictly necessary before showing them the door.
Mother Superior took a moment to answer, studying them with interest as if they were some specimen she’d never come across. She never moved, her hands still in front of her like a shield. Alec hoped that a woman who spent her life tending to the well-being of nuns would have a little more compassion, but the woman’s eyes were cold, her back rigid as she faced him and Valerie across the desk.
“Mr. Whitfield, I’m afraid I can’t offer you much more information than you already possess. I never knew Sister Rose. I came here from another convent after my predecessor died. I knew of her, of course, because of Genevieve. It was an unfortunate chapter in our history, if you’ll pardon me saying so, but we have managed to move on.” She didn’t look as if she much cared if Alec pardoned her, but she was being coolly polite.
“There must be something you can tell me,” Alec persisted. “Surely there are still sisters here who remember Rose and can tell me something of her final days.”
“Mr. Whitfield, we are a closed order, so the sisters will not speak with you, nor will I permit them to. Besides, I highly doubt that they remember something that happened so long ago to someone who was with us for only a short time. I will, however, give you the facts.”
Mother Superior rose from her desk going to a dusty bookshelf full of identical leather-bound volumes. She ran her finger along the spines until sh
e found what she was searching for and pulled out the volume, carrying it back to her desk and leafing through it very slowly.
“Here’s what I can tell you, Mr. Whitfield. Rose Whitfield came to us in the fall of the year of our Lord 1600. She was a novice for a year before taking her vows the following autumn. In July of 1602 she gave birth to a female child in her cell. Three days later, she died by drowning herself in the river. Most likely she couldn’t live with the disgrace she brought on herself and this house of God.” Mother Superior closed the book with a finality that suggested she wasn’t going to tell them anything else.
“Who is Genevieve’s father?”
“I don’t know. No one ever came forth to claim the child. I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave now. I have duties to attend to.” She rose once again, walking to the door and holding it open for them. The interview was over.
“Where is my sister buried?” Alec asked as he stopped in front of the woman, towering over her. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel such animosity toward a person who dedicated herself to the service of God, but he wanted nothing more than to grab her and shake her until he could see the person beneath the cold exterior she presented to the world, and maybe catch a glimpse of compassion for his poor sister and her orphaned child.
“As I’m sure you are aware, suicides are not buried in consecrated ground. Sister Rose is buried at a crossroads about two miles outside of Loudun. Good day to you both. I trust you can find your way out.” Mother Superior swept past them, disappearing down the hallway, her black habit billowing behind her like the sails.
“What did she say?” Valerie whispered as they left the convent. “I only caught a few words.”
“She didn’t say anything we didn’t already know,” Alec replied, taking Valerie by the arm as they walked back toward the village. He was oblivious to the beauty of the day around them as he went over every detail of the interview.
A Game of Shadows Page 19